Red is the Color of Anger {Jamie}

[LIAM HENDERSON]

That date was a complete and utter fucking disaster. Sure, it had been fine in the beginning. Jamie went to work, so Liam didn't have to deal with the stress of Jamie and Huntsley having to face each other; the car ride to Bleeding Hearts had been plesant, talking and music and laughing. When they arrived, Liam was quite surprised to see that Huntsley had actually picked Bleeding Hearts, and he damn near choked. 'Dressing nice' consisted of Liam's barely used sweater, his nicest jeans that wern't black or blue, and his nice boots. That was it. The young man didn't own a dress shirt, he didn't own slacks, and he sure as hell did not own dress shoes.

Huntsley reassured him that he looked fine, cute even. It hadn't been so bad. Until they met their waiter. Huntsley had looked at Liam, Liam had looked at Jamie, and Jamie had looked at Huntsley. And then Liam attempted to shrink down in his seat. Had he been here with Amy, it would have been laughs, joking--playfulness. This was just ten different kinds of awkward, and Jamie hadn't made it easy. He had spilled a drink on him, had been clipped, and it took forever before Huntsley's food came out. It only actually had come out when Liam responded to Jamie that he was going to wait politely for Huntsley to recieve his food--before he himself dug in.

About halfway through the dinner, Liam started to figure out the game. Luckily, Huntsley didn't get mad, he didn't get too pissed. He seemed to keep his even temperment, which only resulted in Liam being rather proud of him. It was when they left, and Liam had pushed the tip a little angrily into Jamie's hands with a simple, 'We're talking when we get home.', did things only get more awkward. They tried to enjoy the play they had decided to see on Broadway. Huntsley paid for dinner, Liam got the tickets. It was enjoyable, they laughed, they had fun--but there was still that awkward air after the resturaunt. The ride home wasn't filled with excited talking, and when Liam stepped out to go back to the dorm, it was all awkward smiles.

As Liam walked across the courtyard to the dorm building, he realized he didn't remember going from the parkinglot to the courtyard. It made him stop for a moment, and take a deep breath. Maybe he was tired? Again, he started foward. This time, he was at the door. He looked back at the several feet that he must have just walked--but he couldn't remember taking. Had something been put in his drink at the resturaunt. Jamie could get upset, but he'd never...he'd never do something that could hurt him. Halfway up the stairs, Liam grasped the railing and gasped.

What the fuck was happening? It was coming faster now, and lasting longer. His knees shook, as he took another step up the stairs. He was afraid to move. It felt like every time he stepped foward he was being teleported closer and closer to the dorm. His green eyes were round, scared, almost hysterical. He wanted to call Jamie, because he was scared. He was straight up scared--but then he remembered he was supposed to be upset at Jamie, and he moved up another step. He was fine goind up the stairs from then on--but when he hit the landing, he was halfway down the hallway.

Liam finally dropped to his knees, shaking from head to toe. He wasn't going to cry, but what the fuck was happening? His vision blurred, and he had the strange notion that he was passing out. At least he was safe in the hallway. Maybe someone would see him in the hallway, and bring him to the dorm or call for help. Only, Liam didn't collapse. And instead, went to his feet. His entire body seemed to adjust as something strange fell into place. When he looked down the hall, his eyes were a startling blue, and red around his eyelids as though it was causing the blood to rush to the surface around his eyes.

When he continued down the hall, there was a frown on his face, and his movement seemed to be a little more rolling. He went from heel to toe, which almost gave him a wave-looking walk as he flowed straight into the apartment, looking like he was ready to start tearing things apart.

[/blockquote]

Tags: Stark/Jamie/Olley/Liam
Notes: Dis bitch gonna get it.
Outfit: Murder never looked so good.
Song Hate This by Grendel

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[JAMES KENNEDY]

Believe it or not, Jamie knew about the date beforehand. He wasn't thrilled about it, but he was Liam's best friend and that meant being happy when Liam was happy. Dates were happy things, and he absolutely didn't have a reason to be anything except happy. He gave Liam opinions on what he was wearing (which looked great on him, regardless of what he was saying about it not being nice enough or whatever), got ready and packed his bag for work, and took off. As per usual for him, he arrived early to change his clothes, both because he wasn't sure that he felt comfortable traveling in his work clothes (what if something terrible happened and they got messed up?) and because he didn't really want to run into anyone he knew when he was all cleaned up like that. It wasn't that he was ashamed, just that he definitely didn't look like his reputation (regardless of who you asked, and it changed depending on the person) suggested he should. Work was a whole different ballgame, and he made enough money at it that it was worth it.

The first stop when he came in through the kitchen entrance was to hit up the employee restroom and pull his Superman trick. White dress shirt, black slacks and shiny black dress shoes, his black vest and a tie, then the long bistro apron with his black napkin tucked into the waist (he never worked a shift without it, whether it was to deal with plates that felt like molten lava or to have it on hand in case of a mess), and he was mostly ready. He had to run a brush through his hair, tipping his head back to try to get it to fall as naturally as possible while he brushed it into a ponytail, then actually had to bobbypin stray pieces to his head. Yeah, his bosses would deal with some stray pieces, especially if they fell in his face in a 'nice' way, but they didn't want half of his hair falling out of the ponytail while he was on the floor, or they'd send him to fix it. It wasn't terribly masculine to be sitting in the bathroom pinning his hair up, but it was that, or cutting it, which he wasn't going to do.

He hit the floor with a smile in place, jumping into the opening sidework without a hesitation, especially since he wasn't the vacuum bitch that day. He'd gotten out of the bathroom before one of his co-workers even arrived, so it was up to him to polish glasses and silverware instead of running the vacuum, which was always preferred. For whatever reason, he hated that job more than any of the others; it was loud and like basically any vacuum used in a restaurant for more than a few months ever, there was a smell when it ran that he just couldn't deal with. The others didn't seem to mind it much, or really notice the smell, but he couldn't take it. Thus, silverware and glasses, he was happy.

The whole night seemed to be going well, to be honest. His first table was a couple who ordered a very expensive bottle of wine, an appetizer, surf and turf for dinner, and then cappuccinos to go with their desserts. They were high-maintenance, but when the bill got into the triple digits, you started paying attention. When it kept climbing, you catered. His other tables weren't quite as impressive, since that was just two people whose bill for dinner and dessert was about what his cost of living for the month was, but it was looking like it would be a fantastic night for him. That was why he was so caught off-guard when he walked up to his next table, two young men that Jamie didn't really pay much attention to until he'd walked up, welcoming them to Bleeding Hearts, introducing himself and glancing over the table to ensure that there was nothing amiss. It was when he looked up to inquire about a pre-dinner cocktail that the full gravity of the situation registered.

That was the end of that. His expression had gone from politely pleasant to completely closed off in a split second when he realized that not only was Liam there and staring at him in his full work-mode, but he was there with Huntsley. If he'd been just slightly less professional, he'd have just walked away from the table, but he'd forced an obviously fake smile for the fucking hillbilly, taken their drink order and it was the first miracle on his way to sainthood that he didn't kick the door into the wait station and kitchen hard enough for it to swing right back into his face. One girl looked at him with wide eyes, all shock because he never seemed to lose his temper on a customer, and he actually considered giving the table away. Actually, more than 'considered', because he tried. The problem was that they were getting their push right then, and nobody wanted to take one of his, especially since he was so desperate to get rid of it. They assumed there was something wrong with it, so he was stuck with it.

Cue temper. Horrible, irrational temper. Honestly, even he couldn't understand later why he was so fucking angry over this, but just the sight of Huntsley made his vision spot and his thoughts turn violent, so the fact that he dripped a little of a drink on the man, could hardly talk to him without his words going all short and irritated and then 'forgot' his plate in the window was actually the second miracle for the evening. He was one away from sainthood by that point, and well-aware of it, because he knew the things running through his mind and they were things he'd promised himself that he'd never, ever do to a customer. He still didn't, but god, he wanted to.

Liam was pissed, Jamie knew that. There wasn't anything he could do about it and Liam always took Huntsley's side, so it wasn't a surprise, but it still hurt. He didn't know why he hated the man so much, but hadn't he and Liam been close enough long enough that his opinion should matter? There had to be a reason he hated the guy and he had good instincts when he listened to them, so why was Liam so goddamned determined to do the exact opposite of what he said? It was worse that Liam always seemed capable of making him feel guilty whenever he was angry, so when he pressed a tip into Jamie's hand and said they were going to be talking when he got home, he just felt worse. The rest of the night was salvageable, but only because Jamie was able to get his head back into his game and push through. His mood was effectively ruined, though.

He kept Liam's tip aside at the end of the night, changing back into his street clothes, pulling the pins and ties out of his hair and heading home. Jamie wasn't usually the cowardly sort, but he actually hoped that Liam would be in bed by the time he got there, or that he could manage it before Liam got home. When he walked in, only the latter option was a possibility, so he got his shit together fast, tucked Liam's tip into the pocket his his best friend's red hoodie (hanging off his door and easily accessible), jumped into the shower, and was out in record time to hopefully miss out on this 'talk' until the following day, when Liam would hopefully have cooled down a little. It was stupid, but Jamie had a bit of an anxiety issue with confrontations involving loved ones, and the whole 'at night' thing just made it worse because his parents had always gotten worse as the night went on. It was late enough right then to hit on those type of memories, which he wasn't okay with. It actually made even a shower kind of nerve-wracking, even without the regular tub that so many bathrooms had. He just wanted to get to sleep and deal with this by the light of day.

Naturally, Jamie was completely oblivious as to the trouble that Liam was in as he came home, though he'd have been there in an instant if he'd realized. It didn't matter if Liam was upset with him when it came down to the other boy's well-being, though Jamie's first thought when Liam came into the apartment as he was stepping out of the bathroom wasn't that his friend had been in trouble. Liam had a strange sort of grace to him that must have been a result of just how pissed he was (and looked like he was), and Jamie's eyes showed just a little more of the whites than was usual for him as he set his towel down and froze there in his barefeet, dressed but still a little damp from the steam in the bathroom and being too lazy to towel down completely. His hair was still dripping just a little on the collar of his shirt and his feet were absolutely damp on the floor beneath him, but he really didn't have the ability to care right then. Liam was what mattered.

Liam, who looked about ready to murder him.

[LIAM HENDERSON]

There was that boy that had ruined everything. Liam's eyes swept over the apartment slow, like he was just getting a look on his surroundings, almost like he was on an unfamiliar place. To Red, she could sense it. She could see that spark, that shine, that glow, that told her the boy that was now staring at her and Liam, was one of them. But not just anyone--he was the Big Bad Wolf, straight from her very own pages. She had figured that out a long time ago. If she hadn't been ever so angry with that Wolf--she might have been petrified. But no, this boy was a threat. That was clear from the way he reacted at the resturaunt with Huntsley.

But it wasn't just anger; it was realization that the Wolf was sleeping under the same roof as Liam, her host. If something happened to Liam, then she would be forced to find another host--and who knows how long that could take? No, that wolf was awake and she knew it. Maybe Jamie didn't know it, but she remembered watching the wolf through Liam's eyes--he was bright eyed and bushy-tailed, and it was only a matter of time before the wolf did Liam in. Get them, before they get us.

Red didn't even jump when the door behind Liam slammed from the force of her opening it and storming in. Liam moved slowly across the room, but there was still that eerie grace he had. He didn't so much as bounce along like he had in the hall, but rather flowed, like some enraged ethereal being. Perhaps it was just the light reflecting off his sweater and his skin, maybe even glinting off the jewelry in his nose and lip--but there seemed to be (at least to someone who was a little more...aware, shall we put it) ghostly flashes of red and of yellow, bouncing curls. Liam had come to stop infront of the coffee table, not yet saying anything.

He looked down at it, like it was something he hadn't seen before, and picked up one of the coasters slowly, carefully. His fingers ran over the edge of the square, ceramic piece. He looked back up at Jamie with those eerie blue eyes that didn't seem to fit his face. They were cold, and almost empty, and even though Red was human--they had an almost predatory look to them. "You're never going to hurt him!" Liam's voice held a strange tone when he yelled, high pictured, almost feminine. With good ears, someone may even pick up a second voice just beneath the surface of Liam's, and he threw the cermain piece. Not just out of anger, not just out of frustration, but with an intent to seriously injure Jamie. Of course, she meant that he was never going to hurt Liam--but only after she said it did she pick up the second meaning.

Just as quickly as she grabbed the first coaster, she grabbed a second, and a third and threw--along with a glass that had been abandonded on the table. Maybe she shouldn't have gone for the coffee table first. The kitchen was starting to look like a better idea, but Jamie was in the way. Great, stupid. Liam backed up until his back hit the entertainment center, and his arm reached around, heart hammering in his chest when his fingers locked around a paperweight. He hurled that also, and moved to the side. Maybe, if she could just chase Jamie away from the kitchen. "I thought you died, you should have drowned in that lake! What are you doing here?! You stay away from us, you stay away!" Red continued to yell through Liam's vocal chords. Huntsley should be arriving any second through that door. He had to know; he should know. Why else would he be so attatched to Liam, right? Any moment now, they would be safe. The Wolf was going to die that night, and the Huntsman was going to help her.

They were going to be safe.

They were going to be happy.

Nothing was going to destroy that.

[/blockquote]

Tags: Stark/Jamie/Olley/Liam
Notes: Dis bitch gonna get it.
Outfit: Murder never looked so good.
Song Hate This by Grendel

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[JAMES KENNEDY]

Red may not have jumped when the door she'd thrown open slammed into the wall, but Jamie flinched, eyes widening even further as he stared at his best friend like a deer staring down the barrel of a rifle. He could see the violence in the smaller man's body, could see something even more dangerous catching the light here and there, but he didn't consciously know what it was or even really what he saw. All he knew was that Liam looked absolutely furious, and it was NOT something he was okay with. Considering his parents, Jamie couldn't help being sensitive about aggressive movements from people he cared about, which basically meant Liam and Gramma Jen at this point. There were only a few people he'd relinquished his trust to, and to have one of those people turn violent on him put him back into the kind of 'victim mode' that he didn't often see any longer. It was actually pretty depressing to know that it was just like riding a bike; you might not think you remembered it, but when the time came, you rode that damn bike.

Well, if knowing how to take someone else's abuse was a bike, Jamie was a fucking motocross stuntsman, because here was Liam staring him down and he couldn't even muster up the ability to take off into his room and hide away for the rest of the night. It didn't help that he felt bad for the way he'd behaved for Liam's date, even if he didn't regret how he felt about Huntsley. It was more of a personal sense of disappointment in himself for behaving in such an unprofessional manner at work and for upsetting Liam. He didn't give a shit if Huntsley was pissed off because he wanted that bastard away from Liam, but he didn't want his friend upset by it. He'd actually considered apologizing, at least for that portion of it, but words were beyond him right about then. He was all about staring at Liam and waiting for the man to make his move.

Liam made his move, and Jamie almost stayed put and just took the hit. At the last second, he snapped out of it and his sense of self-preservation reared its furry head to push him into movement, but just because he heard the coaster whizz by his ear didn't mean that it was all okay again. Liam had screamed that Jamie was never going to hurt 'him', and the only 'him' that the taller boy could imagine was Huntsley, which just made this whole situation more horrifying. Liam was so mad that he was throwing shit at him to protect Huntsley? The voice sounded strange to him, but he didn't know if it was just because he was in a panic or that he hadn't ever heard Liam really yell like that, but he couldn't exactly stop and work it over in his mind right about then. Another coaster came at him in the next second, taking him in the shoulder and bouncing away to break or bounce away or whatever those damn things did when they weren't drawing pained cries out of him on impact and causing sharp pains wherever they hit. The second one hit him in the back, just below his neck and between his shoulderblades, and he stumbled a little with the blow.

He was headed for his room, as cowardly as that sounded, but he couldn't argue this out while Liam was this upset, he couldn't wait around for his friend to calm down and he sure as hell wasn't confronting someone who was throwing shit at him, not when all he wanted to do was curl up in his bed and pretend none of this was happening, that Liam wasn't trying to hurt him like this, but his bedroom wasn't an option, not once the heavy glass that had been on the coffee table hit the wall in his path, cracked without breaking and then exploded into a bunch of larger chunks when it hit the floor around his feet. He backpedaled onto the sharp pieces in his bare feet without even thinking, and it was with another panicked stumble over the sudden pain that he twisted around to find somewhere else to go. The bathroom was too far, Liam's room wasn't an option, and the crazy man himself was still too close to the door for him to get past, though he considered it.

"LIAM, would you fucking STOP?" he cried, mustering up just a little anger because of the cold sweat that had hit him at the sight of bloody footprints on the wood floor between his room and where he'd hesitated, hands up in front of him like that would do him any good. Of course, any attempt he might have made at talking to his best friend in the world was completely and utterly halted when he heard Liam say that he 'thought [Jamie] died,' that he should have drowned, and anything that came after that sounded, ironically, like it was underwater. It was just sound, some words just barely registering in his mind, like 'stay away', but he wasn't able to really process anything other than 'should have drowned'. Liam thought...ohgod.

He was so dumbfounded by the whole situation that he didn't even think to move until the paperweight was already coming at him, and then it was a quick twist on his part that kept it from nailing him in the face, but it still clipped him with a glancing blow to the head that nearly drove him to his knees. He caught himself on his bleeding feet, choking down a pained cry at the sharp feeling of glass probably pressing deeper into the flesh, but it didn't matter. He had to get out, had to get away, couldn't let his vision swim out like this. It probably wasn't the best idea, but the only door he saw to get him out of Liam's immediate presence was right there in front of him, and he was taking it.

When he hit the cool air on the balcony, he sucked it in greedily, hitting the railing and clutching it so tightly that his knuckles were turning white around the dark of the wrought iron. He stared at the contrast of his white skin against the black-painted metal, not really processing anything beyond the spots in his vision and the pain resonating through his body, which was actually a really bad move on his part. If it was someone other than Liam, anyone other than the one person he wouldn't hesitate to put his life on the line for, he would have thought to shut the door behind him or try to climb down to someone else's balcony, but there was no actual thought going on here, just pain and white noise fuzzing up his brain.

Liam thought he should have drowned. He was sorry that they'd ever met, that Jamie's father hadn't succeeded in killing him. There was nothing that scared Jamie like water and drowning, and Liam wished he hadn't survived it. Liam hated him that much. He wanted to be sick, right then and there, but he held off on the puking in favor of a sudden sob as he shifted his weight and a piece of glass in his foot stabbed deeper. He looked down at the mess he was making, at the mess he had made getting out here (though he didn't dare look up enough to see Liam, who would no doubt be even more pissed at the mess on the floor), and the surreal part of it was that he knew he had to stop the bleeding because Liam wouldn't want it all over his floors. It would be a hassle to clean up.

"Fuck," he murmured, slowly glancing around for something that he could use to clean it up a little. Naturally, there was nothing out on the balcony that could do that, so he'd have to track more inside to do it, and Liam was inside. He was afraid to go back in.

He was afraid of his best friend.

[LIAM HENDERSON]

Red thought nothing of what she was doing, except she had to do this to protect her host. To protect Grandmother, and to protect Huntsley. It was almost too easy, the Wolf just sat there and stared at her. Maybe he had learned his lesson, maybe he remembered that she was a force to be reckoned with. She stopped to consider, Liam’s head twitching with the thought that maybe the Wolf would just back out graciously. But no—he was a wolf. A feral creature; if he didn’t prey on her, he’d prey on someone else. She couldn’t let anyone else suffer the terror and torment that she had because of her own carelessness. She was going to correct things in this life, no matter what it took.

It was the glass that did it, making a loud popping bang as it shattered against the wall. It startled Jamie enough that he stumbled over the glass, and a harsh cruel laugh that Liam had never expelled in his life came out. Liam’s laugh was quiet, gentle like he was. This laugh was bitter, and cut through the air like razors. Blood began to drip on the floor from the slices that cut through the man’s feet, and Red watched with a cold, blue-eyed gaze as Jamie stumbled around like the wounded creature he was. One single brow lifted when he yelled. So, the Wolf was going to keep up that ridiculous act. Try to convince her that he wasn’t there. Try to trick her again. Lead her off her path. Not this time.

When Jamie let out that pained sound, another one of those cruel laughs bubbled forward, but it didn’t reach those frosty eyes that were set in Liam’s face. Any time now. If the Wolf came at her, she could try to run to the kitchen. Anything to get him away from that area. Nstead, he made his way to the balcony and Red didn’t immediately chase after. She was a little confused by the fact that he had chosen to flee, rather than come at her lie the disgusting mutt he was. She glanced over, and approached the site of the blood and glass. Her eyes lowered to it, without moving her head, before she looked back at the door, still without moving Liam’s head much. That was a balcony. Oh, the Wolf had made this far too easy for her.

A cruel smile spread over Liam’s thin lips,

“Here, doggy doggy.” She cooed through Liam’s voice striding with that rolling gait towards the balcony door. She could see his form through the glass, and he was looking down at himself. She was betting he was surprised to realize she saw him. She knew what he was. Oh yes, this was far too easy. The sliding door banged open, and Liam stood in the doorway with that crazy grin on his pierced mouth. “You made this far too easy on me, puppy. I expected you to run.” Again, Liam’s head tilted, and his eyes swept the balcony. There wasn’t many useful things out here, but she did catch sight of how far up they were. Oh, excellent.

As she moved closer to Jamie, her hand banged on the metal barrier, echoing a low, metallic thrumming with each step she took. “I hope you didn’t stain a rug, Grandmother would be so upset to have to clean up your messes.” Red scowled in Liam’s face. Beneath the surface, there was panic. Panic that didn’t entirely belong to Red. Liam was somewhere there, locked away. As far as he knew, he was still passed out in the hallway. But he did had an awful feeling about something in the darkness of unconsciousness. Something that was making him want to wake up, try to wake up.

And Red could feel it. She wasn’t strong enough yet. But practice made perfect. But it also meant she didn’t have much time. Instead, she leaped at Jamie with that same grace, tattooed hands reaching out for Jamie’s throat. If she could just get him higher up on that railing, she could throw him over. If she couldn’t…well. Maybe she could hang on long enough to throttle him until the Huntsman came through the door to finish it all. “Why won’t you just leave us alone?!” She screamed again at Jamie. Peace, that’s all she wanted. Her family, her Huntsman. Just to be left alone in piece without the threat of a man-eating wolf.
[/blockquote]

Tags: Stark/Jamie/Olley/Liam
Notes: Dis bitch gonna get it.
Outfit: Murder never looked so good.
Song Hate This by Grendel

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[JAMES KENNEDY]

Liam was laughing.

How cruel had his life suddenly turned that he was bleeding and afraid, and Liam was laughing over it? He turned away from the railing to stare helplessly at his friend, not really comprehending what exactly had happened. This was beyond just the Huntsley situation, it had to be. There was no way that Liam would come at him so violently over something like that, no way at all. This was bigger and more terrible, and Jamie didn't understand it in the slightest, but he was afraid.

He didn't hear the 'here, doggy doggy' bit, but he could see his friend come through the door onto the balcony, he took in the crazy smile and the shocking...blue of his friend's eyes, and...why were Liam's eyes blue? Jamie's lips parted, his eyes narrowing in further confusion as he made eye contact and held it, trying to figure out if his mind was playing tricks on him. There was blood running down the side of his face from where the paperweight had struck him, Liam was telling him that he'd made it too easy, called him a 'puppy' and that he expected him to run. Closer, closer he got, banging on the railing as he approached, and Jamie's eyes flicked to the hand that was making the iron ring with that deep sound before he returned them to Liam's face and backed up some. He was pressed against the cool metal and had nowhere else to go, but Liam was still coming at him.

What? Why would Gramma Jen have to come clean up the mess? Had he bled on any of the rugs? Liam was back to looking pissed, and Jamie shifted on his bleeding feet, whimpering just a little as he tried to stand in a way that didn't hurt them worse; what he needed to do was sit down, dig out the glass and try to wrap them up, not stand out here in the cold. "I--I'll clean it up, Liam, I promise," he told his friend, voice betraying his confusion and fear, which was only getting worse because he didn't understand what was happening. Since when did Liam worry more about the floors than someone who was bleeding? Had he really crossed some line with his best friend by not liking Huntsley? He'd never displayed any kind of jealousy or dislike towards anyone else that either liked or was liked by Liam, so he didn't know. This was all new and made nofuckingsense.

This was Liam, Jamie could never hurt him, so the wolf was completely and utterly fucked in that regard. Jamie had a completely unintentional block on the spirit in that regard, so he wasn't getting any help in this situation unless he could either get over that, someone else showed up (like Huntsley, who he could wolf out on without guilt), or he got away. None of those options seemed at all likely as Liam rushed him, grabbing at his throat before Jamie realized what was happening, and he had nowhere to go. Liam's tattooed fingers wrapped around his throat and Jamie grasped his wrists, trying to pull his hands away, but where the fuck had this strength come from? Liam had Jamie's cut-up feet brushing the cold cement of the balcony without getting much in the way of traction, and it occurred to him all at once as he felt his weight being pressed backwards what was going to happen.

His already wide eyes practically bugged out of his skull when he realized that Liam was actually going to push him off the balcony, that he was going to die here if he didn't come up with something, and one of his hands left the other man's wrist to clutch at the railing, desperate to hang on. If Liam managed to push him, he'd never survive if he couldn't hang on. The fall was too great, ohgod, but what was going on?! Leave them alone? Leave who alone? Liam and Huntsley? WHAT THE FUCK? How could this be about that?! It was their first date, the guy was a douchebag, what was fucking going on?!

"Liam," he murmured, throat too constricted to get any real force to his voice, especially when he was clinging to the railing for dear life. He was trying with his other hand to pry those fingers away from his throat, but the grip was starting to really cut off his airway. He could feel the spots that had already been threatening from the blow to the head getting more frequent, his vision getting a little dark around the edges, but all he could stare at were those blue, blue eyes.

Liam's eyes were green.

[LIAM HENDERSON]

He had to die, he ha d to be gone from his life. As where the Wolf had reservations of attacking Red because of Jamie’s friendship with Liam—Red had no qualms. In her mind, she was protecting Liam, protecting herself. This had to be done, and then she could be free. Her story would finally end, and wherever that lead her—it could only be a happy ending. But for that happy ending, she wanted to see that pale body, broken and disjointed on the ground.

Liam’s nails pressed into Jamie’s skin, his face contorted into some grotesque mask of anger and hate. For a split second, a girl’s face flashed over Liam’s. Her mouth was open wide like she was screaming in absolute fury, but no further sound came from Liam’s mouth. She was losing control over her host, and it was apparent from the twitching that was in Liam’s fingers. She made him shove again, trying to give one final chance before she bled back.

But no.

Liam came back—eyes bleeding back to that warm green shade, and he screamed again like he was completely terrified. And he was. The last thing he knew was that he had been in the hallway, collapsed. And here he was on the balcony, with his hands around Jamie’s throat. He jerked his hands back like he had been burned, and grabbed Jamie by his shirt and pulled him away from the banister. Once his friend was cleared though, he completely leg go, and stumbled backwards.

The shock caused Liam to trip over his own feet, and he fell straight onto the concrete of the balcony and scrambled as far away from Jamie as he could. What the hell was going on? But he was terrified—he had his hands around Jamie’s throat when he came to. Liam sucked in a breath that he wasn’t aware he had been holding, and stared at Jamie like he had never seen him before. His eyes were wild with panic, and he looked around—seeing the blood on the concrete. Was that his? No—it lead to Jamie. Oh my god, Jamie was bleeding.

Liam pressed himself against the bars, trying to get as far from Jamie as he could. Jamie, who had always been there. Always protected him. Jamie, who was his best friend and someone that Liam loved unconditionally and with every fiber of his being. One of the most important people in the world to him, and he almost killed him. But he had hurt him. And he couldn’t remember doing it. They both came from terrible, abusive households. They both had been beaten as children, and here he was—channeling all that rage and he didn’t even know why. Was that a passable trait? Had he gotten it from his mother, or had his father been abusive too? Or was it a side-effect of his step-father’s inflicted trauma. It was often said that children who were abused, became abusers himself—is that what was happening?

Oh God, oh God. Liam’s chest started to rise and fall faster as the seconds ticked by. Where did he start? He could apologize—but abusers apologized too. And turned around and did it again. What had he done? Why couldn’t he remember? Liam’s mouth twisted, and his jaw clenched while those green eyes that had looked so terrified, suddenly looked so, so sad. They filled with tears, and he took a shuddering breath, words on his tongue but with no way to get them out.

“I didn’t…I blacked out, and. Oh my God, I didn’t mean…What happened? Jamie, you’re bleeding, I---oh my God.” Liam’s knees went up to his chest, and his hands covered his face as he sobbed into them. Full out, choking, anguished sounds.

What was happening? He had hurt Jamie, and he didn’t even know. What Jamie’s life in danger? Should he get help? Liam let out another scream though this time it was truly him. His feet stomped on the concrete and the pained yell died into more sobs. The most precious person in his life, and he had almost thrown him off the balcony. He should go inside, take care of Jamie’s feet. But he was terrified to touch Jamie. Well, no. He wasn’t terrified of touching Jamie—he was terrified of Jamie flinching away. Screaming. Being afraid of him.

Dear God, he was some kind of monster.
[/blockquote]

Tags: Stark/Jamie/Olley/Liam
Notes: I hate my life.
Outfit: Murder never looked so good.
Song Hate This by Grendel

[/size][/left][/color]

[JAMES KENNEDY]

Liam was going to kill him.

Jamie knew that with a shocking certainty, that he was going to die right then and there by his best friend's hand, because his vision was swimming and the only thing keeping Liam from pushing him over the balcony's railing right then was his death-grip on the metal. Once he lost consciousness, he'd lose his hold and that would be the end of it. Would he wake up before he hit the ground? Did he stand even the slightest chance of surviving the fall? Not likely, and if he did, he'd be too badly injured to get away. If Liam wanted him dead that badly, it would happen. The irony was that, in that moment, he knew that he was going to die the very same way that Liam had tried to kill himself. He'd sat for hours in the hospital while Liam recovered from a much smaller fall than this would be, but there wouldn't be a hospital room for him. Liam hadn't taken his own life this way, but he was about to trade Jamie's in.

It must have been some trick of his mind in those last seconds of consciousness, because he could have sworn he saw a girl's face where Liam's was, screaming at him silently with her bright blue eyes boring into his like the blue that Liam had been wearing, but that didn't make sense, did it? Of course it didn't, and it was gone in the next instant as Liam gave him another shove and his fingers slipped a little. He tightened his grip desperately, but it wasn't enough, he was going to go over.

Just as suddenly, Liam was screaming and releasing him, yanking him back by his shirt, and Jamie choked both on the sudden air he was allowed and the pain in his feet as he was shoved away from the railing. He hit the brick beside the sliding glass door and didn't care that it scraped at his skin as he slid down it, preferring to fall than stay on his agonized feet any longer. He was too busy gasping for air, choking and wheezing as he tried not to breathe too hard and fast while still desperate for it. Every breath hurt, but for each one he took, he felt the black around his vision starting to withdraw. He was trembling as he leaned against the cold bricks, both from cold, fear and adrenaline, but he didn't try to get up. Liam was curled up against the metal of the railing, and if Jamie were to guess, the other boy was freaking the fuck out. Welcome. To the motherfucking. Club.

Ohgod, and now Liam was crying. He was crying. Jamie made a soft, hurt sound at that, wanting to just get away to his bedroom to hide and figure out what the fuck had happened and how hurt he was, the rest of his 'victim training' kicking in and telling him to get out of dodge to lick his wounds, but he couldn't leave Liam like this. Since they'd met, he'd always tried to be the rock for Liam, the stable influence that would do anything for him and protect him always, and it rubbed him raw to think about walking (stumbling and limping, actually) away from his friend when he was in a state like this, but he couldn't pretend that he wasn't fucking terrified of Liam turning around and losing his shit again. He wasn't sure if he could take it if he tried to help and that happened, but he had to try, didn't he? He couldn't just leave his friend like that, he couldn't.

Yes, Jamie was actually afraid of Liam, even though he could have taken the little bastard and rationally, he knew that. The problem was that he could never do it. He couldn't have ever brought himself to raising a hand to Liam, so this was as much his fault as Liam's, wasn't it? If he'd have fought back, he could have stopped it, but it was Liam. If Liam was so angry with him that he turned violent, Jamie had to have deserved it. "Oh, god, Liam, don't cry," he told his friend, scooting closer without actually walking because it was close enough and he wasn't using his still bleeding feet unless he had to walk inside. There was no hesitation in wrapping Liam up in a hug, but that was contact initiated by Jamie, so that was honestly why. He was more in control of this situation, right?

Right. He had to tell himself that. "It's okay, I broke a glass and stepped in it," he lied, and with surprising ease. He'd done it before, years ago, and it was actually automatic. If Liam had somehow blacked out and didn't know what he'd done, Jamie wasn't telling him. His throat ached with the words, which he deserved just as much for lying, didn't he? Absolutely. He shouldn't, but Liam was flipped out enough without getting accusatory on him. Jamie didn't understand the situation, but no matter what way you cut it, he loved Liam.

"Shh, it's okay, relax," Jamie told him, hanging on and wanting only to calm his friend down. He could think this all over and figure out what was happening later, could take care of his feet and the cut that was bleeding down the side of his face in private, could see if the coasters had left bruises that he'd be hiding, could go through the motions. Nobody would ever have to know, and that was the way he preferred it.

[LIAM HENDERSON]

Liam didn’t want for Jamie to touch him. He felt like he was going to completely shatter, but the words wouldn’t come to his mouth to tell Jamie to stop. He felt like a monster, he didn’t understand, and as he watched Jamie scoot closer, he began shaking like a leaf.

“N-no.” He tried to say it, but it was quiet enough that it didn’t strum his vocal chords, and he was pulled into Jamie’s arms which only made him cry harder. He remained extremely still; Jamie’s touch felt like it was burning him. Guilt was a terrible thing. This wasn’t right, he should be comforting Jamie—but he was so ashamed he was afraid to advance on the other man.

Broke a glass? That seemed so out of context. The normally quiet, reserved boy almost wailed, but he choked it couch, coughing through his tears. “It’s not okay, what part of this is okay?!” Liam’s voice rose in panic, and he stared at Jamie with wide eyes. That when he noticed the cuts on his face. Slowly, he reached one hand out and touched them, almost to see if they were real. He barely brushed them, but when he felt the difference in the skin, and he jerked his hand back. “I don’t…suppose you rubbed your face in the glass either.” Liam sniffed loudly and shook his head. He almost curled in Jamie’s arms, but rather than give in, he broke out of the grasp gently, slowly.

His friend was hurting, and he had done that. And even through it all, Jamie was trying to hold him together. Liam crawled on all fours, before managing to use the rail to pull himself to his feet. His knees trembled all the way down to his boots, and he reached for the door, panting like he had run a marathon. “I-I’ll be right back. Don’t…don’t walk.” He sputtered through his shaking breaths. He wasn’t sobbing anymore, but it felt like the tears would come rushing forward at any second again. Liam moved into the living room slowly, and tried to make his way to the bathroom when he felt the crunch under his boots. He stepped back quickly, and choked on another sob. Glass and blood. And there were bloody footprints all the way leading outside.

Liam crashed into the wall like a broken bird, clutching at it to keep on his feet. He wanted to strip off those boots, and walk on the glass. Just so he felt the pain that Jamie felt. Just so he could punish himself for what he did. His frightened eyes really took in the living room. The paperweight was laying on the ground, cracked in two where it hit the ground—and coasters were strewn across the floor. It was then that he realized Jamie had lied. Something happened here, and it looked like a fight. And though he didn’t know what would happen, he was pretty sure that the glass…the paperweight…the coasters. It had all been him. Liam’s knees buckled beneath them, and he pressed his face against the cool wall. It was so hot, and he felt sick, and the world was spinning around him. He wanted to collapse—but he was afraid. If he collapsed, would it take over again, would he hurt his Jamie again?

Liam ripped at the turtleneck, and threw it towards his doorway, feeling comforted by the relief of being rd of the heat. He had a simple black t-shirt beneath it, and it was less suffocating somehow. Liam turned on the bathroom light, and rummaged under the sink. It took everything he had not to start bawling again, and instead he pulled out the gauze, bandages, alcohol and cotton swabs. He cradled them all in his arms like they were a precious stuffed animal, and he made his way back to the balcony. His breath, was short and fast, and he stared at Jamie utterly pale. He sniffed again, and slowly knelt down by Jamie’s feet, watching him carefully.

He still looked frightened, scared—but he moved slow, afraid that Jamie would flinch from him. Liam’s breath hitched, and he reached out and carefully took Jamie’s foot and placed it in his lap. Silently, he started to pick out the shards of glass, tears still dropping out of his eyes as he tried to get every last shining, bloody piece. He alternated between picking, and using the cotton swabs and alcohol to clean the bottom of his. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” He chanted over and over, quietly. He let out a shuddering sigh, his fingers tightening on Jamie’s ankle for just a moment, before slowly wrapping the gauze around his foot, then reached for the other one. “I-I….I’ll understand if you want a room change. I want…I want you to be safe, and I don’t…” Liam drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, “I don’t remember what happened.” Liam stopped picking out the glass to rub his face on the back of his arm, trying to clear his eyes from tears.
[/blockquote]

Tags: Stark/Jamie/Olley/Liam
Notes: I hate my life.
Outfit: Murder never looked so good.
Song Hate This by Grendel

[/size][/left][/color]

[JAMES KENNEDY]

Seriously, if Jamie could stand to touch Liam at that point in time, Liam could sure as hell suck it up enough for Jamie to give him a hug. Yeah, it was fucked up that Jamie's first instinct was to reassure his attacker that it was all fine, but hadn't he done this with his mother countless times? She'd fight with his father, throw things and scream at Jamie himself if he was in the way, had even frisbeed his dinner plate through the screen in the kitchen window once. She hadn't struck him nearly as often as his father had, but he'd been pegged with a coffee mug here and there when she was ranting and raving. Hell, he'd had one hit him so hard that it left a ding in the television's screen when it bounced off of his back and struck the glass beside him. Of course, the mug had shattered upon impact, but he'd been wearing shoes at the time, thank god.

After this evening, he might never walk around the house barefoot again.

That still didn't mean the was in any way interested in telling Liam what he'd done, since the man really didn't seem to know. That made absolutely no sense to Jamie, but he was essentially conditioned to give Liam the benefit of the doubt here, and Liam hadn't ever hurt him before this. Actually, the only time his friend had accidentally hit him, Liam had cried just as hard as he had, if not harder. It seemed like that was exactly what was going to happen here, since Jamie hadn't yet recovered from the shock and the blow to the head enough to cry, but Liam was doing enough for both of them. The smaller man was crying, arguing with Jamie's reassurances and had reached out to touch the blood on his face and the cut that it originated from. Jamie couldn't help flinching back when his friend's fingers hit the tender wound, but Liam was already jerking away by the time he moved at all.

Jamie stared at him, his expression surprisingly level considering his condition and his lack of ability to properly handle his own emotional state at that moment (he'd have his breakdown in a little while, but at that moment, he had to push through), when Liam mentioned him rubbing his face in the glass. He wasn't about to say it, but Liam shouldn't have underestimated his ability to come up with a plausible story. "I stepped in the glass and stumbled, hit my head on the coffee table and knocked everything all over," he offered, and was it just a little disturbing that he could come up with it that quickly? How many times had his mother and father fed him stories about how he'd gotten hurt as a small child, all playground hijinks and bike falls, to prepare him for the years that followed?

The problem he was going to have was that there was no way to explain away the fact that Liam had been trying to choke him, to throw him over the edge of the balcony, and if his throat bruised from Liam's fingers digging into his skin (there would probably be nail marks, little half-moons where his friend had been particularly brutal), and how was he supposed to explain those away? He'd need some foundation or something to cover it up, and wouldn't buying that shit be fantastic?

Jamie was drawn out of his mind by Liam disentangling himself from the taller boy's arms and his friend telling him not to walk, that he'd be right back. Liam didn't seem to be crying anymore, which Jamie hoped meant that he was going to calm down a little, but as the other man walked back inside and Jamie wrapped his arms around himself in the cool night air of the balcony, he entertained a brief spike of panic and adrenaline to his system. What if Liam wasn't going to get something to help him, but to hurt him again? No, if he'd wanted Jamie dead, he'd have done it. He'd been ready to pass out, would have fallen or could have been choked to death, and Liam had let him go; it had just been to make a point, it had to have been. Leave them alone. Liam and Huntsley. Well, lesson fucking learned, jesus christ. If anything, he hated Huntsley more for the abuse he'd just taken over the bastard, but he wouldn't be so blatant about it in the future, that was for sure.

It was truly terrible to know that after just one date, Liam was so quick to choose that guy over him, though. Must have been some date, which only made the whole situation that much worse. Jamie was afraid for Liam with that bastard because he just knew something wasn't right and that Huntsley couldn't be trusted, but something must have really impressed Liam for him to be so aggressive about it. Jamie could feel that terrible almost-itch in his sinuses as his eyes teared up a little, but he sniffed sharply and blinked away the tears, not willing to cry here and now. Liam would be back, and he couldn't be out there all upset when he returned, so pulling himself together for just a little while longer was absolutely necessary. Since Liam came out with an armful of stuff just a moment later, Jamie had been right not to let himself break down just yet.

Liam still looked so sad, though Jamie noticed that his friend had pulled the nice sweater off to deal with his blood, and he had to really concentrate on not moving at all when the other man took him by the ankle to pick pieces of glass out, all apologies and tears of his own. This was why Jamie would hold it together, because they couldn't both be freaking out and if there was one of them that had to tough it out, it would be Jamie. He was used to it, used to this cycle and knew the rules. Liam would say he was sorry, Jamie would accept the apology and stay with the hopes that it would never happen again, and they'd just wait and see, wouldn't they? "It's okay, Liam. Relax, it'll all be fine," he promised, though could he actually make that promise? Well, yes, because he'd be more careful about giving Huntsley shit in the future. He wouldn't set Liam off that way, since he knew it was a string that turned violent when plucked. He would just be smarter.

Liam didn't remember. How could he not remember? Jamie's eyes narrowed a little, putting his thoughts to examining his friend instead of thinking about how he'd like to go hide in his room to do this rather than letting Liam dig in his feet for the shards of glass. The only way Jamie could imagine not remembering all that would be if Liam was on something, really drunk or drugged up, because Jamie definitely had some nights that he didn't entirely remember. He knew the feeling, though that wouldn't help Liam all that much, but what was actually going on? What about the nights he'd had more recently that he couldn't remember, when he woke up all dirty, sometimes naked? He'd thought it was from the drugs he'd done, maybe, or perhaps he'd gone out drinking and forgot that part, as well? It seemed unlikely, but he'd been considering it. Liam didn't drink or do drugs, though. Did he?

"I don't...want a room change, don't be stupid," he told Liam with his voice still slightly rough (being choked could do that to you), actually surprised over the suggestion. He loved Liam, why would he want to move out? Just because of...this? It was just once, it wouldn't happen again, right? "Seriously, calm down, it's okay. I don't know why you don't remember, but we'll figure it out. Let's just finish wrapping my clumsy ass up and I'll get to work cleaning up that mess."

He'd promised, don't forget. He swore he'd clean it up, and after all that, he was definitely keeping that promise.

[LIAM HENDERSON]

Liam wished he had the excuse of being drunk or drugs. Actually, that raised a good point. His mind wandered all on its own--had something been put into his drink, or in his food? Huntsley wouldn't do that...would he? His heart started to pound in his chest while he picked out the pieces of glass in Jamie's other foot. Maybe Jamie had been right about Huntsley? Maybe the other man hadn't expected the night to go how it did...if he had still been in the car when he blacked out, what would that have done?

His lips parted with his quickened breath, and he stared at Jamie with round eyes, with that realization.

"Did....you were waiting our table. Did you see Huntsley...mess with my food...at any point?" There had been a moment when Liam had gone to the bathroom to try and compose himself after Jamie had dropped the water on Huntsley. That could have...no. No, it couldn't be, right? Liam's fearful eyes went back to Jamie's foot, carefully inspecting it for glass before running a alcohol soaked cottonball along the cuts. "I don't know why I don't remember." Liam's voice trembled, and he wanted to cry again. But he had run out of tears, and there was nothing those tears could do to fix what had happened.

Jamie was sticking to his story of being clumsy, and the spiel about having bumped his face on the table just didn't add up. Not with the paperweight and coasters that Liam had seen strewn across the livingroom, far away from the coffee table. "Don't worry about the mess. There's...there's blood, just...everywhere, and you're hurt. You need to stay off your feet." Regardless of what happened, Liam was putting Jamie's health first. He was shook up about himself, but his friend was hurt and by his own hands. Liam wasn't completely stupid, and the lies that Jamie was spinning just didn't add up. "Wait here." He said again quietly, before scooping up the bloody cotton balls and the rest of the items and rushed back inside. He dumped everything on the coffee table except the cottonballs, tossing those in the trash as he passed the kitchen.

He rushed into his room and grabbed the rolling computer chair from his desk, and carefully pushed it around the glass, and to the back porch. He placed it infront of the door, and wormed around the edge. He almost wished he could pick Jamie up and carry him to the chair, keep him off his feet entirely. "Are you hungry? I can make something after I clean up the mess? Do you need any medication? God...I'm sorry, Jamie. I'm so, so sorry." Liam rubbed his face on his tattooed arm again, and tried to suck in a breath. No more tears. No more. It was apparent that he wanted to cry again, but again he reminded himself--they wouldn't fix anything. He crouched down next to Jamie, and hooked one arm carefully around his waist. He braced his feet beneath him, getting ready to lift, "Put your arm around my shoulder, and try to keep the weight off your feet, okay?" Liam was breathy, and scared. What if Jamie refused his help again?

All Liam wanted to do was curl up in his room and lock himself away where he couldn't hurt his Jamie anymore. If he was drugged because of Huntsley, maybe Liam would throw him off the balcony instead. But only not really. Liam was actually hoping that he had been drugged, because that would be easier to explain. And less frightening than the conclusion that he had done this to Jamie all on his own. "Well...one thing's for certain. I won't be going on another date with Huntsley." He offered a chuckle that sounded weak and scared. He tried to make a joke, but it fell flat, especially with how quickly his face fell. God. If Huntsley had done this. Made him hurt his Jamie...the proverbial shit was going to hit the proverbial fan.[/blockquote]

Tags: Stark/Jamie/Olley/Liam
Notes: Dis bitch gonna get it.
Outfit: Murder never looked so good.
Song Hate This by Grendel

[/size][/left][/color]

[JAMES KENNEDY]

Straight up, Jamie was a mess, and it was a miracle he was able to sit there on the concrete floor of the balcony, back against the bricks with his arms crossed over his chest almost like he was trying to hug himself for comfort and against the chill that hadn't seemed so bad until the adrenaline had started to wear off again. He just felt cold now, which was possibly due to shock. He didn't really know what to do, but Liam had pulled the glass out of one foot and wrapped it up without anything terrible, so Jamie just tried to assure himself that everything was fine now so that Liam could get on with what he was doing. It was still difficult not to flinch away from his friend's hand when a piece of glass would cut him a little more upon being pulled out or the alcohol was swabbed over the open cuts. He wasn't actually sure which hurt worse for most of the cuts, but there was one piece that Liam seemed to be saving for last that Jamie knew was going to suck to get out. That had been the bad one.

He was momentarily distracted from the grip on his ankle that was trying to hold his foot in place, yanking it back when he'd pull away, and the picking and swabbing by Liam's question, and he actually just stared at Liam for a second. He wasn't sure how up to normal conversation he was at that moment, not when he was just barely containing his own breakdown and already shaking badly enough that he wasn't even sure if he was going to be able to light the cigarette he was suddenly desperate for. "With your food? Dude, I didn't see anything or I would have taken your plate," he assured Liam as soon as it clicked in his brain what his friend was asking, and his eyes narrowed with the understanding. Liam thought that Huntsley had drugged him?

FUCK THAT. If Jamie ever found out that bastard had slipped something into Liam's food, Huntsley's life would be forfeit, and he didn't even realize right then the extent to which he was serious. If he didn't have the abandon to do it as a human, the wolf would absolutely get the job done for him, and it was quite possible that would happen, anyway. Drugging Liam...if that was what had happened, then Jamie was glad that his friend had come home and raised hell, considering what the alternatives could have been. Having him black-out in Huntsley's company...Jamie had been there and done that, sometimes not even blacking out entirely but too useless to really do anything about it. That was his own fault for making bad life choices, but Liam hadn't done anything to deserve it. Thank God he'd come right home.

"I know there is, I said I'd clean it up, don't worry about it," he reaffirmed, eyes turning downward. Liam had made it clear when he was flipping out that the mess bothered him, and Jamie knew just how much blood he'd tracked through the house. It wasn't pretty, and Liam shouldn't have to clean that up; he looked like he felt guilty enough without leaving that for him, too. The problem was that the only way Jamie was going to be able to move around for at least a few hours would be if he limped along or he did the whole hands-and-knees-cinderella-scrubbing-technique at this point, because without the adrenaline pushing him along, his feet hurt like hell, he had a hell of a headache and he could definitely feel where the coasters had hit him. Liam was a hell of a shot; he should have played baseball instead of soccer. Having his best friend tug that big chunk free caused his toes to curl on both feet, his fingers digging into his arms in his attempt to avoid yanking his foot completely out of Liam's grip, and there was a lot more bleeding without the glass holding it all closed up. That. Sucked. Liam got some serious points for being able to clean and wrap that up without puking or losing his cool and insisting that they go straight to the hospital. Jamie would have refused, but he probably should have gone. That would have required he put that story of his to use, and figure out how to explain the bruises blossoming on his throat. He could have hid the bruises from the coasters from the doctors and could even have cleaned up the one on his head, but there were fucking handprints appearing on the pale skin of his neck, and his hair wasn't going to be enough to cover that up.

His job was going to have a fit over this.

With both feet wrapped up to Liam's specifications, Jamie sat back and just focused on breathing, on holding it together, on just sitting and waiting. He wanted a cigarette, wanted to go to his room, to get the fuck out of the apartment, to hang onto Liam and never let go and at the same time to get far away from him so that he could break down and get his shit together. He wanted to fall apart and to build up his strength all at once, but that was impossible and since when did Jamie ever get what he wanted? He was lucky to have survived. Again. Either someone out there hated his guts and liked torturing him, or really fucking liked him enough to make sure he kept surviving, because he had a hell of a track record, and he didn't even know the half of it, yet.

"Liam. Please stop apologizing," he finally said when his friend returned with the computer chair and all the questions and I'm-sorrys. Jamie's expression looked pained, but he didn't even mean it in the physical sense at that moment (though that was definitely a contributing factor), because it really was true that he'd had people apologize to him after beating the shit out of him. Hell, his father and mother had apologized and taken care of him after his father tried to drown him. He didn't want apologies. "I just want a cigarette. If you can grab them, they're in my coat pocket, that'd be fantastic. I can do the rest."

Basically, Jamie had no plans to use the computer chair and let Liam roll him around like a cripple when the cuts had been wrapped up. He was going to have to walk on them the next day, anyway, so he might as well get started, right? He had to work, and he didn't know for certain at that moment, but he was going to have to stop at a CVS or something for some make-up. It was honestly probably for the best that Liam didn't listen to Jamie when he said he'd do the rest, instead crouching down to help lift him onto the chair. Jamie, for lack of a better idea at that moment other than struggling on his own like a moron, wrapped his arm around Liam's shoulder like he'd been told and did what he could to help move himself. Naturally, that meant that he used his feet, but he figured out that Liam was thinking along the right lines when he put pressure on the right foot (the one that the largest chunk had been pulled from) and would have dropped himself on his ass when the pain shot through his foot and that side buckled. He made a shocked, pained sound and grasped at Liam's t-shirt tighter for that second before he settled into the chair. Fuck.

Yeah, that joke? Jamie was sweating from the whole ordeal and dealing with the first aid effort, including getting into the chair, and he was not a happy camper when he released a ragged, long breath of air and put his face into his hands for a moment that ended with him running his fingers through his still damp (and now bloodied) hair, not realizing that he just smeared the blood on one of his hands. He was a fucking mess, and having Liam bring Huntsley up again gave Jamie a way of venting his internal chaos into anger that he could aim at a specific person, but that might not have been a good thing. "I swear to God, Liam, if I find out he put something in your food, I'll fucking kill him."

He absolutely meant it.

[LIAM HENDERSON]

"We'll have a cigarette when you get inside, it's cold out here."

He'd stop apologizing if that's what Jamie wanted--but it didn't mean he was any less sorry. Liam had many plans to roll his friend around the house--actually. There had been times when he used the leg of the chair like a skateboard--mostly when Jamie had collapsed into it tired from work. That was always fun, but right now--probably not the best situation. "But you're not cleaning up the mess, Jamie. Cause you're going to hurt yourself even more, I'm going to feel even worse, and I'll have to re-wrap your feet, if not pick out more glass. I have boots on."[/b] Despite the terrible situation, Liam was firm with his words. Jamie's health came first in his mind, and he was not about to watch his friend limp and flinch about the house.

He did feel somewhat better when Jamie's arms went around his shoulder, and he lifted with his knees to pull him up. "W-woah--" Liam balanced himself when he felt Jamie wobble, and tightened his grip to make sure he didn't drop his friend on the ass. "Walk on your heel, pressure on the least injured foot." He instructed, and helped ease Jamie into the chair. He watched as he put his hands to his face, and then there was more blood everywhere. God, what the hell had he done. Liam leaned in and put his forehead against Jamie's carefully and closed his eyes. "Regardless, Jamie. I didn't mean to hurt you. I'll try to make this better, you didn't deserve that. No one ever does." He murmured quietly. He hoped that Jamie would hear past the typical abuser speech, and actually hear what Liam was saying. Because he meant it truely from the bottom of his heart, and this...this was just a disaster.

Pulling his head away from Jamie's, he left a careful kiss on his forehead, and then grasped the arms of the chair and pushed back carefully. He turned the chair, and pushed on the back carefully, rolling him to the livingroom next to the couch before grabbing Jamie's coat and fishing out his pack of cigarettes. He opened it up, and pulled out two cigarettes, lighting them both at the same time, before handing one over to Jamie. Once he took it--the work began.

Liam rushed to the kitchen, and grabbed a small cup, abd walked back over, setting it on the coffee table for Jamie's ashes. "Do you want to eat anything?" He asked, sucking on the filter of the cigarette as he wandered back to the kitchen, pulling the broom down from the hook. Sweep up all the glass first. Then worry about the blood. He stopped at the broken paperweight, and leaned down to pick up the pieces and set them on the counter, and started to push the broken coasters to the pile of glass he was sweeping up. He wanted to ask Jamie. Mention the paperweight and the coasters. Liam was organized enough that he would pretty much tweak out of the coasters weren't on the coffee table, and the paperweight was a decoration--it never left its station from the entertainment center. Catch him in the lie--but what could would it do?

Liam could piece things together, but it didn't help matters any. He also didn't bother with a cup for his own ashes, flicking them onto the floor only to sweep them up again. Liam crouched down and eyed the ground, making sure there were no more shards of glass laying about. Liam walked back to the kitchen to get a couple rags to clean up the blood, and the dust pan to sweep up the glass. God, he felt tired, and dizzy, and just...everything sucked. "We've got pork and steak. Or I can make pasta." Liam's voice was shaking again as he gripped the broom tighter. He had to distract himself, and cooking was good for that. You could only focus on one thing at a time, and Liam had to keep going to keep from breaking down. The fact that Jamie wasn't crying either, and seemed to be fucking okay with this was not helping him at all. What he really wanted was to curl up on the couch with Jamie, and cry with him. But at the same time--he was afraid to touch Jamie incase Jamie got afraid, not to mention--it seemed almost too intimate to curl up on the couch with someone. Fucking personal reservations.[/blockquote]

Tags: Stark/Jamie/Olley/Liam
Notes: Dis bitch gonna get it.
Outfit: Murder never looked so good.
Song Hate This by Grendel

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[JAMES KENNEDY]

Jamie wasn't actually sure which he'd prefer, to have Liam just leave him alone so that he could go have a meltdown in private, or this attention to his hurts and the distraction that came in the form of Liam talking to him and being nice. Under normal conditions, Liam refusing to let him clean up something wouldn't have been surprising, especially if it was something that had involved him burning himself or something, but this wasn't normal and Jamie wasn't going to forget how Liam had seemed upset about the idea of him making that mess and his own promise to clean it up in the moment. He wanted to do that he said he'd do, but Liam sounded so reasonable about it now and what he said made sense; Jamie was almost guaranteed to at least damage his feet a little more and cause them to bleed through the bandages some (if his right foot wasn't already bleeding through after having that big chunk pulled out), and that was assuming he didn't find more glass to somehow get cut on. There was certainly enough on the floor.

Liam making sense didn't make the whole situation any easier. Jamie was holding it together because that was how he handled shit like this. You couldn't cry and freak out in the aftermath or it might start again, but if you waited until it was all over and you were alone, you could freak out to your heart's content. Right about then, Jamie would have been fine if Liam rolled him right into his bedroom and told him to sleep it all off, but of course, that wasn't where this was going. Liam seemed upset by the blood that Jamie didn't even realize he'd spread across his hand, wiped off his shaking hand onto his pants, and effectively made a mess of himself with (his hair was still wet from the shower, so he thought it was water he was wiping away), but he leaned in to press their foreheads together, apologize without actually saying he was 'sorry', and assure Jamie that had hadn't deserved it. Right. Not dealing with this conversation right about now.

"Don't know what you're talking about, I did it to myself," he repeated, forcing something resembling a smile without actually making eye contact as though he didn't notice the harshness of his voice leaving his injured throat, and the moment Liam had dropped the kiss and withdrawn to push the chair around, the insincere smile was gone and he was gripped the arms of the computer chair like he was afraid of being dropped. That wasn't necessarily it, but he liked having something to hang onto as he was wheeled into the living room and stopped beside the couch so that Liam could retrieve cigarettes for them both. Jamie would have been satisfied with a silent smoke break to try to calm his trembling and the nerves, but Liam returned with a cup for his ashes a second later, asking about eating something and then jumping into the cleaning. Jamie didn't really know what to say or how to answer that immediately, nor did he feel particularly rushed when he had the cigarette to suck on and had to notice how bad he was shaking as he tried to put it between his lips without missing. He smirked at that, not really finding it funny, but unable to really do anything else with it.

Eat? No, he really didn't want to eat. Actually, he didn't want to do anything more than get his ass off the computer chair and go curl up in his bed to pretend that this night hadn't happened, but he had to stay out there where he could be seen. He'd been here and done this before; Liam had put him out where he was visible when he stopped the chair there, and Jamie could understand that it meant that he had to stay put for a little while. If his father had dropped his ass into a chair, he'd stayed put, too. Maybe it would be appropriate to go to his room after the cigarette? That could be enough time?

Nope, Liam was cleaning and pursuing the food topic. Jamie really didn't have an appetite, and since the first drag of his cigarette had thrown him into a coughing fit because of his throat, he was pretty damn sure that eating wouldn't feel good, either. If he'd had to choose between pork, steak and pasta any other night, he'd have been on the steak in an instant, especially since he hadn't eaten dinner, yet, but swallowing that would probably hurt. "I'm not really that hungry, but if you're set on cooking, then pasta," he responded, well-aware of the fact that Liam cooked and cleaned when he was antsy, nervous or otherwise upset. Liam probably wasn't hungry, either, but if Jamie was going to eat something, maybe the pasta wouldn't hurt his throat so much.

Fuck this day.

[LIAM HENDERSON]

If only Liam could read minds. Then he’d understand that all Jamie wanted to do was go to bed. However, the sense that Jamie was afraid of him would have probably driven into his own depression. Liam didn’t quite know what to think, actually. Jamie just kept denying it up and down that Liam did anything. The smaller of the two knew better—he couldn’t remember what happened, but the broken pieces around the livingroom didn’t match up with Jamie’s story. Liam needed the distraction of cooking, but he didn’t want to at the same time. He wanted to cling to Jamie, but trying to force his affection on Jamie at that moment was probably a pretty bad idea.

Liam swept the broom across the floor again, trying to make sure he got all of the pieces, before wandering back to get the dustpan, sweeping the ash and broken glass into the pan. He stared down at it like it was something vile, something disgusting in his hands. And it was. He did this to someone he loved and cared about. As much as he was hoping he could blame his reaction on a drug that may or may not have been slipped to him—he had done it. He had hurt something precious. And now things would never be the same again. Liam’s lips pulled in to a thin line as he wandered into the kitchen with the dustpan and broom, emptying it out into the trashcan. He let out a trembling breath laced with smoke, while his eyes misted over again.

“Okay, I’ll make pasta. But if…If you’re not that hungry you could always take it for lunch tomorrow, or have it for dinner at work.” Liam was afraid to force anything on Jamie right now. He chewed on his thumb, and stared at the blood spots on the floor, picking up an old rag from a drawer and soaking it under the faucet. “If you just want to go to bed, I can wheel you over there when I finish with the…mess.” He couldn’t say blood. The fact that he had made his friend bleed was horrific and grotesque. Everything sucked.

Liam dropped to his knees, and started scrubbing at the splatters of blood, wiping them off, scooting along on his knees to wipe up all of the blood. No, Liam wasn’t hungry—he had no appetite. He was sickened by this whole thing, and just wanted it to be entirely over. He sniffled loudly, trying to choke back the next set of tears that seemed determined to spill over. When he reached the porch, he stopped, and sat back on his folded legs for a moment. He took one last inhale off his cigarette, and put it out on the damp towel and pulled himself to his feet and trudged back to the kitchen. He abandoned the towel in the trash along with the mess and the end of his cigarette then started washing his hands. He looked at the stove and frowned a little. Trying to make the pasta seemed like a major task with how tired he was. He didn’t want to get Jamie to bed without dinner, but he said he hadn’t been hungry.

Liam twisted the ring in his mouth with his teeth and started to pull out a pot and fished out the pasta. “Do you want me to wheel you to your room, or do you really want something to eat? If you just want to head to bed, I can set up containers for your lunch tomorrow.”[/b] He offered, his voice a little more quiet than he had been expecting. He stared blankly at the water as it rushed to fill the pot he was holding. Now he was the one wanting to curl up in his room and lose it.

Seconded. Fuck this day.
[/blockquote]

Tags: Stark/Jamie/Olley/Liam
Notes: Dis bitch gonna get it.
Outfit: Murder never looked so good.
Song Hate This by Grendel

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