Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Slight headcanon about Andrew's showering routine inspired by this post :)

Andrew felt about six kinds of exhausted as he stood under the scalding spray of Binghamton’s locker room showers. His whole body throbbed in protest every time he moved his arms or back. Or his legs. Or hips. Or anything, really. He felt pummelled and worn out but despite it all, there was a tiny fizz under his skin. It was something like satisfaction to have denied the other team their goals and having made them curse and yell in frustration, a pleasant bit of spite he could chew on all day. He didn’t care that they’d won and would be going onto the next stage. He didn’t feel happy or exhilarated or pumped up the way the rest of the team did. He felt… quietly pleased, under the exhaustion. That alone was worthy of being alarming, but he was too tired to chase the feeling away. He scrubbed quickly over his body and ignored the way the water and soap oozed through his armbands, the only bits of fabric still on him. He kept his gaze on the tiled wall in front of him as he washed, trusting his family to keep him safe. He still hated being naked around the other guys – even if no one ever peeked at each other – and vulnerable, but he wasn’t as dramatic as Neil about hiding away in the locked stalls. At least Binghamton had stalls too, so it wasn’t as uncomfortable as usual. If someone wanted to stare at his ass they were welcome to, as long as they looked away before Andrew caught them. Eyes did nothing. It was hands that were the problem.

He pushed those thoughts away and rubbed shampoo through his sweaty hair instead. He wondered idly what would happen when they all got back to PSU – he could hear the others planning a drinking and shit-movies fest, but was as disinterested as ever. He wondered if the dorm bedroom would be free; Aaron would sneak off to spend the night with a simpering Katelyn, Kevin would drink himself blind with the upperclassmen given the chance, Nicky would probably do the same. Neil would probably be all riled up from their win and full of too much energy. He thought he could enjoy wearing Neil out, as long as he could be quiet about it. He knew he could turn that piercing gaze and smart mouth into eyes clouded over with surprised desire, teeth biting into soft lips as he surrendered control to Andrew’s hands and mouth and gasped incoherently. Neil had already proven ridiculously receptive and responsive to touch and firm handling, so much so that Andrew had almost been shocked the first time he’d gotten him off. If he’d been able to wreck Neil so thoroughly with just kisses and his hand, what would his mouth do? Would it make Neil’s legs shake? Would he cry out in pleasure? Would he tremble and blush and moan?

Ah, shit. Andrew rapidly turned his thoughts somewhere less engaging. He wasn’t about to jack off in the locker room shower, not now and not ever. Especially not with his family right there. Even if the thought didn’t make him feel a little queasy, Nicky would never let him live it down for getting ‘excited’ about Exy. He looked at his armbands instead, and that cooled him right down. Time enough to explore that later, if Neil was up for it. He had the feeling the junkie wouldn’t say no, especially when Exy seemed to get him hot and bothered for whatever reason.

Andrew finished up showering and kept a towel around his waist as he walked back to his bag and change of clothes, unlike Nicky and Matt who tended to saunter around ass-out in the locker rooms no matter what. He dried off and dressed with quick efficiency next to Kevin; he swapped out his damp and empty armbands for dry ones already filled with his knives, making the switch so calmly and without any attempts at subterfuge that nobody had ever tried to catch him at it. He just didn’t draw any attention to it, so nobody ever noticed that they might have been able to see scars for a few seconds if they were brave enough to stare.

He finger-combed his hair and followed Kevin out to the press area to wait for the girls, and Neil, to finish washing and dressing. He sat down heavily on one of the couches and rubbed absently at his shoulder; the hot water had helped most of his aches and pains, but he felt like one huge bruise from wielding his racquet so hard and using his gloves or torso in full dives to close out the goal. He knew Wymack was watching him with interest, no doubt wondering what had caused his sudden force on court, especially as Wymack hadn’t needed to offer any whiskey this time. Andrew didn’t care enough about his appraisal to meet his eye. He was thinking instead of what he would ask from Neil in return for his effort.

He knew he could ask without limits – Neil had promised just that. Anything, he’d breathed, eyes shining as he stood closer than Andrew ever let anybody. Metaphorically, physically, whatever. It was far too open-ended a promise for Andrew’s liking, especially knowing that Neil wouldn’t break it. He’d let Andrew ask whatever, demand whatever, and would deliver even if it tore him to pieces. It figured, that Andrew would meet somebody who finally understood the full weight of a real promise, but would be too apt to take it like a martyr at any opportunity. Moron. And yet, being trusted to ask anyway… it put an itch under his skin, an uneasiness and yearning and odd kind of contentment that bothered him endlessly.

Part of him wanted to demand answers for the list of questions he had for Neil, a thousand words long in his head. He judged he could argue maybe five answers for what he’d given tonight, depending on the question. And Neil would answer with honesty, and give him those secrets and reveal the half-truths Andrew knew he was still clinging onto with his fingertips.

But at the same time, demanding that felt… wrong. When he tried putting together the questions he would ask, he felt greasy and unclean despite his shower. Neil had proved just that day, on the bus ride, that he would talk if he felt the urge. He would talk about his past if Andrew let him ramble, just had to sit there and listen and not give much back at all. Maybe he would give up those last secrets and lies without needing to be forced. It felt wrong to demand answers when they might be freely given, if only Andrew was patient enough.

He wouldn’t ask for anything sexual. Their physical arrangement had nothing to do with their secrets game, and even thinking about extorting sex for giving slightly more of a shit than usual made him want to vomit. No matter if Neil said yes, it couldn’t be a true yes if he’d backed Neil into a corner for it.

There was an idea that had been lurking for a good few months now, ever since he’d heard Neil switch suddenly into shockingly fluent German without missing a beat, that morning after the first test in Columbia. The idea had grown every time he head Neil’s voice change, adopting a naturalistic accent in either German or French and wrapping his tongue and lips around the words with ease. Andrew was very good with German, he was aware enough of his own skill to know he spoke it much better than most Americans learning a foreign language, and that his grasp of the grammar and syntax was thorough. Vocabulary wasn’t a problem, and his memory helped a lot. But there was something different about the way Neil spoke his other languages, an ease and quiet, hidden sort of joy at expressing himself with words not everyone could understand. Andrew didn’t think Neil was even aware of that himself, but Andrew saw it each time Neil chose a particularly unique turn of phrase, a quirky little bit of slang or more casual way of bending the grammar than you’d find in a phrasebook or language course.

Andrew found that he wanted that ease, that flawlessly natural way of speaking. And he wanted it in a language nobody else on the team could understand. He wanted Neil to teach him how to speak so easily, how to find the words, and to discover something new without anybody else butting in.

Russian, Andrew decided between blinks. He’d ask Neil to learn Russian with him in exchange for closing the goal.

He nodded quietly to himself and watched as the rest of the team gathered and chatted excitedly. Renee perched on the arm of his chair and favoured him with a bright smile. She knew better than to comment on his efforts, but he could tell she was surprised and pleased regardless. She talked away about a movie she’d seen with Dan recently and he listened blank-faced. She wasn’t discouraged by his lack of participation, knowing his attention was more than enough, and that he was listening even if he didn’t speak.

A pair of campus police edged their way into the crowded room and Andrew tracked them out of habit, noting the guns at their hips and the solid confidence they exuded. Actual professionals, then. They certainly looked beefy enough to keep crowds in check, if needed. Once he saw they were hovering around the doorway instead of wandering about, Andrew put them out of his mind. Neil was certainly taking his sweet time in the showers. Andrew wondered briefly if the idiot was having a breakdown about going through to the next round or if maybe his legs had cramped up too much for him to walk. He was about to suggest a bet to Renee about it when the man at the doorway turned, his eyes on someone in the corridor with a hand casually resting on his gunbelt.

Neil stepped inside with his hair all wet and tousled from the shower and an intense look to his face as he rested eyes on his teammates, one by one. Andrew wasn’t sure what had put the tension in his frame or that light in his eyes, but it drew him in regardless. He moved to stand in front of Neil to examine his face and watched as the intensity blurred into something wistful and vulnerable and a little fierce. It was close to how he looked when he stared, but not quite the same.

“Thank you,” Neil said after a few moments, with a bit of choke in his voice. “You were amazing.”

This is nothing, Andrew reminded himself as his stomach swooped and something like surprise echoed in his head. It meant nothing that nobody had ever said that to him before. It meant nothing that the words eased some of the pain of his joints. It meant nothing that Neil kept staring, staring, as if Andrew’s face was the greatest thing he’d ever seen. It meant nothing that there was a maelstrom in Neil’s eyes to match the confusion in Andrew’s stomach. It meant absolutely nothing.

He was so distracted thinking about that nothingness that he lost his chance to snark back, to put him in his place and shove all the weird sensations away. Instead the lot of them were being escorted out of the stadium by the campus police. Neil was keeping his distance, oddly, walking close to the security officer. Andrew guessed he was uncomfortable with the crowds either side starting to boo and yell abuse at the Foxes for having the nerve to wreck their team. Even Nicky looked cowed, and hurried along with wide eyes. Tension was thick in the air and Andrew touched his sheaths out of habit, making sure he could get to his knives if needed. He checked where his family were, tugged Aaron a little closer to himself, and watched the crowd warily.

It took no time at all for things to get completely ass-backwards.

Andrew lost track of everything but the harsh scrape in his lungs as he panted for breath, the dull pain in his arms and sides as he was battered and shoved around by furious fans and drunken morons, the feeling of Aaron’s arm tight in the grip of one hand with the other wrestled hard in Nicky’s shirt. He pulled them through the chaotic mess as best he could, not even flinching at the blows he received and the screaming noise of it all.

“Stay there,” he yelled above the din, pushing them against the side of the Foxes’ bus and temporary safety, or at least a better place to fight with something solid at their backs. Aaron nodded, white-faced with blood in his hair. He and Nicky cowered while Andrew dove back into the fray. Where, where…? He found Kevin in a knot of the mob, easily distinguishable even by those idiots from the tattoo and towering arrogance. His eyebrow was split and flooding blood all down his face but he didn’t notice as he spat scorn at his attackers. Andrew’s claws came out as he fought his way through the throng until he got to Kevin.

“Come on!” Andrew yelled, and slashed a vicious cut against one man’s chest. It would bleed and hurt a lot, but wouldn’t need stitches. The man yelped and let go of Kevin’s shirt just long enough for Andrew to grab him instead. He set his shoulder against Kevin’s ribcage and heaved with all the strength in his back, propelling them through the ring of people. Kevin swore at being used as a battering ram and clutched in fear to Andrew’s shoulder when they got surrounded again. Andrew spat a curse filled with blood – someone had got him in the mouth, not that he’d noticed – and got to work clearing a path. Knives flashed in pretty patterns and his fists met flesh with heavy thuds sure to bruise bone. His blood was up and there was a niggling worry at the back of his head that he couldn’t concentrate on when he had to focus on the next man, next woman, next weapon, next obstacle, next attacker.

Renee joined him at one point, all hard eyes and bloody fists as they fought side by side to get Kevin – and a few of the upperclassmen she had with her – out of the mess. He couldn’t hear anything but the screams of the rioters and ineffectual whistles of the campus police. Where were those escorts now when they needed them? They all seemed to have melted away.

An elbow came out of nowhere and slammed into the side of his head, agony flaring sharp and cruel through his face and eye socket all the way down his jaw and into his neck. He stumbled, blood pounding in his ears as the world took on a grainy, dizzy tinge and the shouts gained a muffled, ringing quality.

Run, an old and oft-ignored instinct shrieked with the surge of panic in his chest.

And then the world seemed to stop.

Where the fuck was Neil?

Renee and Matt took over shepherding the Foxes back to the dubious safety of the bus where Nicky and Aaron waited with Wymack and Abby.

“Andrew!” Renee shouted when he made to break away from them.

“Protect Kevin,” he shouted back. “Neil!”

Her eyes widened in fear and she spared a dangerous moment to scan the crowd, looking for their striker.

“Be careful!”

He didn’t bother to reply and ducked under a giant’s arm, elbowing him in the kidney as he passed. He ran through the crowd as fast as he could, twisting and dodging like the man he was looking for, but he couldn’t find hide nor hair of Neil Josten.

“Neil!” He yelled eventually out of pure frustration, though he could barely hear himself over the racket of the mob and the wailing sirens getting ever-closer. “Neil!”

Predictably, Neil didn’t suddenly appear out of thin air just because Andrew called. There was a sick fear in his stomach that he absolutely refused to acknowledge. He cut through the uniforms arriving on the scene to break up the riot and made it back to Renee dishevelled and bloody. He scanned the Foxes, in varying states of injury and panic, counting heads lightning-fast in the hope Neil had found them on his own. Renee shook her head with a worried look as she held onto Allison’s sleeve.

“Where the fuck…” Andrew heard himself mutter hoarsely as he looked at his family, over and over looking for the missing person. Nicky gaped back, Aaron still looked shaken and Kevin looked queasy but they were there and relatively safe but where was Neil?

“We’ve lost Neil!” Renee called to Wymack, who immediately swore. Abby yelped and clapped hands to her mouth as she stared at the rampaging crowd where rioters were trampling each other as they resisted the violent attempts of the police to get them under control.

Matt tried to run back into the melee but Dan and Renee held him back. “He’s out there!” Matt yelled, his voice cracking. He was just as beaten up as Andrew but at least they were both on fire with the same need for once.

“Don’t get yourself killed running back into that mess,” Wymack barked, though he looked ashen under his tan. “Wait for the police to clear the riot. Neil’s tough, he’ll be alright another few minutes. Andrew, that goes for you too.”

Andrew clenched his aching fists and halted where he had been about to run back into the fight. His legs trembled and sick fear was churning in his gut, vertigo-sharp and twice as deadly. Neil? Neil? Neil?  his mind gibbered like a siren of his own, over and over. Renee set a hand on his shoulder and stood guard with him as they watched the police batter the rioters into submission. It was over as suddenly as it had begun, and Andrew’s more paranoid instincts muttered that it was almost as if it had been timed…

He let go of that thought and watched as emergency services and ambulances took over from the police. Wymack let the paramedics check over his team but refused to split them up to go to a local ER. The paramedics weren’t happy but as none of them needed surgery, and Abby had shown her qualifications, they let his decision stand. Abby accompanied Matt, Allison and Renee to the hospital briefly to get patched up, and brought them back again as fast as possible. Andrew barely noticed the woman inspecting his eye, shining lights and prodding his face. Once that would have alarmed him, but he had attention only for the flashing lights and the distinct lack of a moronic runner in their midst.

As soon as the last of the rioters had been carted away in police vans or ambulances, Andrew bolted. He heard Wymack and Renee trying to call him back but he was already gone. He ran the parking lot and retraced their steps back to the locker rooms. He wended through corridors and broke locks to see if Neil had scarpered for safety in the heat of the moment and found somewhere quiet to hole up and lick his wounds. Nothing, nothing. This means nothing, his own voice echoed in mockery, and he smacked the wall in frustration. He ran back outside and worked his way around the outside of the stadium. He tried calling Neil’s phone but it just kept ringing and ringing…

Almost on the opposite side of the stadium, Andrew spotted a hideously orange racquet. He tripped towards it with his heart in his throat and picked it up in stinging hands. It was Neil’s. He’d know that model anywhere, a clone of the one that had smashed Drake to pieces, the one Neil had picked out after that near-disastrous conversation in Excites where Andrew had nearly shown his hand far too soon.

His brain seemed stuck, unable to process the fact Neil’s racquet had been left on the ground like trash when Andrew knew Neil would be horrified by that.

He walked on, his mind blank but for the increasing sense of fear that he hadn’t known he could feel so strongly. Maybe this was him running, his instincts whispered. Maybe this is the abandonment you always knew was coming. He probably just picked his moment to slip away when you were busy. Once a rabbit, always a rabbit. Nothing, nothing, nothing. What’s another glass promise shattered?

Then he saw the duffel.

It was battered all to hell and the strap was nearly torn from the bag, but it still glowed almost neon in the darkening night and streetlamp glare. Neil would never…

He dropped to his knees beside it and rifled through it, looking for any sign, any clue as to where Neil might have run. Nothing, nothing, nothing. Until his fingers found the keyring. Until he found the phone.

He stared down at the two objects, one in each palm. He swallowed bile as his heart started to gallop. This was not running. This was a message. This was Neil’s home and future and obsession and stability tossed in the bag left crumpled on the floor.

Neil was in trouble.

He made it back to the team without noticing himself running, bag under one arm and racquet in his free hand. He wasn’t winded but the words still wouldn’t come and he snarled in his own head that now of all times, his brain had to quit on him.

Renee seemed to know he couldn’t speak and bit back a gasp when she saw what he was holding. He held her gaze for a moment, a hard mirror of understanding.

“Neil is missing,” She announced to Wymack and Abby as the Foxes gathered around in an anxious huddle. Kevin choked as he took in the racquet in Andrew’s arms. Matt pointed at the phone and swore loudly. Dan covered her mouth when she saw the duffel. Nicky yelled about the keys. Wymack looked at it all, then into Andrew’s eyes.

“He wouldn’t,” Andrew tried, fighting through the gravel in his throat and the static in his brain. He held out the keys and phone to Wymack as if they’d speak for him. Come on, brain, work with me, just for now, Christ alive… “This was force. He wouldn’t…”

“I know, Andrew,” Wymack replied gruffly. “Let’s not get completely deranged here. This could be as easy as him getting injured and whisked off to an ER before we could catch up to him. Everyone onto the bus and let Abby check you over. I’ll call around the local hospitals to make absolutely sure. Move it!”

The others scrambled on the bus with a chorus of pained moans. Andrew could feel adrenaline and sickening fear making his veins boil and his bones tremble. He didn’t know what expression was on his face but he knew he had to hide this weakness. He turned to the trunk and busied himself laying Neil’s racquet and duffel inside, ignoring how his brain likened it to a casket. He tried putting the phone and keys back in the duffel pocket but he couldn’t bear to let them go. The phone he tucked away into one of his armbands, snug beside a knife, and he held the keys hard enough in one hand to feel the teeth against his palm. Like Neil always held them. White-knuckled and desperate.

His traitor brain whispered that if he let go, he’d break the last tether holding Neil somewhere still within reach. He didn’t feel strong enough to risk letting go.

“Andrew,” Renee murmured gently. He realised he’d been standing staring into the trunk for a good few minutes, clutching at Neil’s keys. “We’ll find him. You know we’ll tear the world apart looking for him. Come onto the bus. There’s nothing you can do right now, so rest until you can. Come on.”

He swallowed the sand in his throat and followed her. He sat down heavily in his usual seat and occupied himself turning Neil’s keys over in his hands and staring at the empty row just in front.

His brain was on fire, skipping between dreadful thoughts and horrendous speculation and flick-flickering back and forth on the same handful of facts. Neil was gone. Neil said he would stay. Neil would not leave his phone when it tied him to Andrew. Neil was gone. Neil had dropped his keys. You were a foster child, you know it’s not just a key. Neil was gone.

Don’t come crying to me when someone breaks your face.

He drew in a slow, shuddering breath and traced the key to the house at Columbia, feeling out the ridges the way Neil did whenever he thought no one was looking. Maybe if he could sink himself deep in Neil’s behaviours, in his thoughts, he could figure out what the flying fuck was going on and why he felt so off-balance and sick to his stomach…

Abby was crouched at his side with a medical kit in her hands. She wanted to see his eye. He didn’t know why everyone was so bothered about that – his face didn’t hurt all that much – but he let her check him over with a terse nod. He kept his eyes on the empty seat and the keys in his hands and ignored her completely. She seemed satisfied with her examination and left him alone eventually.

Those kisses seemed lifetimes away. Like they’d happened to another Andrew and another Neil, sitting on that seat row and discussing how the upperclassmen were betting on them. Neil’s smiling make me and his hands eager but gentle in Andrew’s hair, Neil melting under his mouth. The fragile peace and contentment of those kisses seemed even more laughable now, but it was the only vaguely-safe thing in Andrew’s thoughts and he clung to it with all his strength.

Wymack stepped back on the bus after an hour of phone calls. He looked grim and the edges of worry were peeking out behind his calm mask.

“Nobody even vaguely matching Neil’s description was taken to the local hospitals or morgues,” He announced to his shaken team. “And the bus has been sitting here long enough for him to find us again under his own power. I’m calling him as officially missing. Gonna ring the local police now. Everyone stay put; this is gonna be a long night. Andrew – anything on Neil’s phone?”

Andrew blinked slowly as he realised the entire bus was staring at him expectantly. He couldn’t make sense of anything for a long minute, Wymack’s words filtering slow and treacle-like into his brain and rearranging themselves into nonsense syllables before he made an effort to reorder them. And then they spun out of control again, funny-speak and animal snarls and regurgitated yells from the memory of the riot.

Renee stepped down the bus and crouched in the aisle beside him. “Andrew,” she said clearly, and pointed to the phone-shaped lump in his armband.

Oh. That was much easier.

He pulled out the phone and flipped it open with a practised twitch of his thumb, the twin of his own. He navigated the menus easily and flicked between them quickly. There didn’t seem to be anything of interest… except his most recent text, a simple zero. Andrew assumed it was a simple case of wrong numbers until he looked into the deleted items bin, which stored them temporarily for thirty days before deletion. And there, right before his eyes, was a countdown.

Cold sweat formed on the back of his neck as he scrolled through the numbers backwards so he was counting up. This had been going on for at least a month. Probably longer, but the other texts had been properly deleted already.

I can’t unless you let me go, Neil had said just that morning, with his stupid soft voice and complicated eyes and rumpled hair. Stand with me, but don’t fight for me. Let me learn to fight for myself.

Andrew checked the timestamp on the zero text. Just an hour before that conversation. Neil had been lightly prodding to be released from Andrew’s protection for longer than that. Andrew didn’t want to lay money on it coinciding with the start of the countdown.

You’re the martyr no one asked for or needed, Andrew had said. He’d been more right than he’d known.

He flicked into the call log and saw his own name, enough to startle him for a moment. And not only the calls from just after the riot – Neil had kept the record of the call Andrew had made the day he got the phone. That stupid little call to show off the unsubtle ringtone he’d assigned, so long ago it felt. He saw the call Neil had made the morning after his ‘birthday surprise’, when Andrew had picked him up from the court and driven to get his Maserati half-bought with Neil’s stash. And there, sandwiched most unwelcome between the records of each call to or from Andrew, was an unknown number.

He checked the timestamp, and then his own watch.

The call had lasted maybe two minutes, but those two minutes slotted neatly between Neil’s shower and the riot.

Right before Neil’s ‘thank you’. His goodbye, Andrew realised. Too late. Too late.

His throat closed up for a minute and it took Renee saying his name a couple times for him to realise he’d stopped breathing. She peered in his face with real concern starting to bleed through but he had no time for that.

He snapped his fingers wordlessly until the others got the hint and someone passed him a smartphone. He looked up the area code and frowned in confusion. Baltimore? Why would Neil be getting a call from Baltimore? He’d never mentioned the place, never hinted he’d ever passed through it on his years on the run.

Kevin’s shocked noise drew his attention – Kevin had been looking over Andrew’s shoulder. He was staring at the smartphone screen and the call log on Neil’s phone with all colour drained from his face.

One thought burned through the confusion.

He knows something.

The last fraying threads of Andrew’s control burned to cinders on the wildfire of his temper. He was moving without thought, without consideration, without memory of any promise made. He had his hands around Kevin’s lying throat and the man himself slammed on his back on the seat in under a heartbeat. The background yelling was secondary to the beautiful choking noises stumbling from Kevin’s gaping mouth. His hands were strong and vicious and they did his bidding perfectly, bearing down down down…

There were hands batting at him, arms trying to pull him away, but not for nothing did he work so hard at the gym. He would not be moved until Kevin gave him answers or gasped his last.

It took a nasty jab to his groin and the backs of his knees for shock to loosen his grip, and then Matt’s arms were tight around his waist, Renee’s hands on his wrists and Wymack grabbing at his legs as they hauled him away, hoisting him between the three of them.

He snarled wordless promises of vengeance in-between pained gasps – fucking Christ, Renee, why did she always have to go for the crotch like that – and thrashed in their grip until they let him go and formed a wall between him and Kevin, who wheezed and flailed under Abby’s hands.

“He knows,” Andrew managed, poison in his veins and acid in his mouth. He thought he was yelling, he couldn’t really tell. The ringing in his ears was too loud. “He knows something! He knows something about where Neil is!” His voice definitely cracked on Neil’s name and sickly fear washed out the harshest tang of the rage, reminding him what was at stake. He shouldered Matt aside and dodged around them until he was back in his seat. He knelt and picked up the phone and keys again as gently as he could, feeling appalled he’d let them go for even a second. He tucked the phone back in his armband and counted the keys carefully.

“Tell me what you know,” he demanded of Kevin once they were all accounted for, turning his gaze on Kevin’s shocked face. “Tell me what you know, Day, or I swear to God I’ll kill you right now. Where is he? Where is he?”

Kevin swallowed a few times, a hand to the throat already starting to darken. Andrew had no remorse, no guilt. Only vicious conviction he should have kept squeezing.

Kevin opened his mouth and started talking. Andrew soaked it all in, holding tight to the small bundle of keys digging into his palm. Kevin’s words spun a horrific story of mobsters and Exy and promised children and torture and Moriyamas, of secrets half-spilled when Andrew had taken it for full honesty. The story wound itself into his brain and little bits of information slotted themselves around what he’d already been told, erasing lies made from whole cloth and completing truths half-told until the bigger picture was finally, finally, illuminated and spattered with decades of blood.

When Kevin was done, he said something even worse.

“He didn’t want me to tell you,” Kevin pleaded. “I think he thought you’d make him leave if you knew everything, because of the danger. I’m sorry, Andrew. I thought he’d have told you by now.”

Andrew lunged for him again but Wymack had been waiting. Andrew found himself hauled away again like a child having a tantrum and plonked outside the bus with firm orders to calm the fuck down.

He fumbled a cigarette into his mouth and breathed as much foul smoke and nicotine as he could. He tried holding it by his cheek like Neil did for all of two seconds before the addiction kicked in and he needed to take a drag. That one didn’t taste right, so he flicked it away half-done and lit another. That one was worse, so it spun away too. The third one was better and he ran that one down to the filter.

He rubbed his fingertips over the keys in his other hand and tried to sort his fractured thoughts.

Somehow it all felt worse, knowing Neil had sidestepped and lied and kept such important things from him for so long – and that Andrew didn’t hate him for it.

All he felt was fear that Neil was dead, that he’d never see that broken-but-healing young man again, never see him smirk or sprint up the court after a ball Andrew had served, never hear him gasp with pleasure, never hear him shoot someone down with beautiful viciousness, never have him sitting on the roof with a cigarette in hand. Ever again.

It hurt worse knowing it had always meant more than nothing, and he’d never allowed it to be otherwise.

It hurt worse knowing Neil was probably in a hell of a lot of trouble right now and there was nothing Andrew could do, to hell with letting him go.

It hurt worse trying not to think about whatever pain Neil was being put through and knowing Andrew couldn’t shield him from it. Idly he wondered if this was why Neil had gone to Evermore over Christmas. He hadn’t understood why Neil had bothered back then, had shrugged off his motivations as being stupidly martyred. But maybe it had been this clawing, sickening feeling instead, of knowing Andrew was locked away being hurt horrendously and nobody would be there to rescue him.

Nathaniel, Neil had said in the airport with truth shining in his eyes and restrained fear in the tense set of his shoulders.

He’d been getting there, with the truths. He hadn’t spilled all of them, but he’d been trying. In his own way. Andrew tried to be grateful for the piecemeal honesty he’d given and lit another cigarette. The cherry glow reflected off the burnished brass of Neil’s keys. He imagined the warmth of them was from Neil’s fingers instead of his own.

He lost time in scattered jumps. The president of Binghamton University came round, as did more cops. Wymack talked to them all and kept the rest of the Foxes on the bus. Renee joined him at some point in the night and draped his coat over his shoulders as he stared into the darkness and worked through his pack of cigarettes until his mouth tasted foul and his lungs felt three times smaller but he kept going until they were all gone.

“The longer it is until we hear anything, the more likely it is he’s still alive,” Renee said at some point, cold comfort but all that could be offered. She told him to call Bee but he shook his head.

Some time after midnight, Wymack drove them all to a local motel and marched them into their rooms. The others were asleep within minutes, worn out from the game and the exhaustion and stress of the riot and waiting for Neil.

Andrew slept in fits and starts, more due to his brain shutting down than his own choice. He startled awake every time from cruel dreams with his hands on his knives and phantom teeth on his skin.

“Did you sleep at all?” Nicky asked in the morning. His eyes were bloodshot and bruises littered his skin.

Andrew didn’t bother replying and mechanically ate the eggs and bacon Nicky offered him.

The others were already protesting the decision to stay at the motel until they heard from the cops but Andrew stayed silent. His brain whispered that it was only a matter of time before they found a battered, scarred body. He shared a brief glance with Renee and left the room to sit outside on the kerb. He counted Neil’s keys and wore the metal tang into the smell of his skin for hours while the others paced and talked and punched walls. Kevin was staying away, and all the better for him. Andrew thought he might finish the job if he saw his face again in this mood. Renee left him alone as well, her hands full managing the others without his influence.

It hit him around ten that he was grieving.

It was around ten thirty that Wymack got a phone call and gathered everyone back onto the bus. He looked as exhausted as Andrew felt but he looked less grim.

“I got a call just shy of dawn this morning saying that the FBI found Neil,” he started, before his Foxes interrupted with raucous yelling and questions. He yelled back until they were somewhat quiet. “He was in intensive care for a little while so I didn’t want to alarm anybody, but apparently he’s stable now and they’re hopeful he’ll be released later today. They want us to go down to Baltimore to answer questions.” His mouth quirked a bit. “Apparently Neil’s refusing to talk to them until he sees your ugly mugs again.”

“The little fucker,” Dan said with a fierce grin and tears falling from her eyes. Matt folded her into a tight hug and the others gave cries of relief, falling into each other’s arms for comfort.

Andrew took three measured breaths and a few minutes to himself. He’s alive. Andrew ran trembling hands through his hair. He’s alive. He let his head hang to hide his face and stared at the keys. He’s alive.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this much relief.

It was about four hours on the bus to Baltimore, and Andrew slept through nearly all of them.

He woke when Wymack’s wallet hit him in the chest and said they were stopping. They pulled into another shitty hotel’s parking lot and were filed into a couple of rooms. Some heavyset men in suits joined them shortly and introduced themselves, but Andrew didn’t pay attention to them.

“Where is Neil?” He asked in a voice that cut through the babble of the room and everyone turned to stare at him. He supposed he hadn’t spoken since threatening Kevin.

“He’s being discharged in an hour or so,” the agent replied. “He’s being completely uncooperative, so we’re giving him twenty minutes of a reunion for his honesty regarding his father’s business.”

“Twenty minutes?” Andrew repeated in a voice that seemed calm and blank to everyone except the Foxes, who tensed as one.

He knew, objectively, it wasn’t smart to threaten a federal agent or even look slightly violent in their presence. Especially someone with his record. But his brain had been left behind along with his control when he set his hands around Kevin’s neck and these men didn’t intend to let Neil stay and suddenly there were guns in his face and yelling in his ears and Wymack’s arms holding him back.

Before he knew what was going on he’d been handcuffed to Wymack. He vaguely heard something that sounded like a threat not to lose his temper again but ignored it in favour of checking the keys were still in his hands and the phone was still in his armband. He tucked both into his armbands for safekeeping and settled them against his skin. He could feel Wymack’s gaze on his hands as he did so but ignored that too.

“Jesus,” Matt muttered into the deadly silence of the room, sounding half-impressed. Andrew glanced up and found them all, once again, staring at him. Renee looked grimly proud, so he must have really given that agent a piece of his mind. The others looked shocked and thrilled, Allison especially. He dismissed them all as unimportant and watched the clock instead. The agents tried questioning the Foxes but they stuck together like glue and refused to talk about anything other than Exy or the weather.

After a while Wymack was asked to move the bus so Andrew had to go too, trailing along and helping him shift gears.

“I get that you’re rattled about all this,” Wymack said baldly as they parked the bus under cover. “But the crazy shit stops now. He’s alive. You’ll get to see him soon. Calm down or they’ll find an excuse to put you back on your meds before me or Betsy can say anything about it.”

Andrew wanted to be mad, but his skin was itching with impatience to see Neil again, hear his voice, feel his skin. He didn’t care that Neil had kept so much from him – he just needed to see him again. The rest could be worked around. He just needed Neil back.

“I’m on my very last nerve here,” Andrew replied through gritted teeth, because he had a tense truce with Wymack made from whiskey and sober nights on court and weekends of cracker dust and three contracts instead of one.

“I get that,” Wymack said again, spreading his hands. “Just promise me you’ll dial it back as much as you can. We only just got you back from Easthaven, don’t make me fight the system to keep you out of jail. Neil would be pissed, and Kevin, and Aaron, and Nicky, and Renee, and you know what the whole team would be pissed. But especially Neil. You get me?”

Andrew nodded and tugged impatiently at the cuff holding them together. They managed to get out of the bus again and had started towards the hotel rooms when Andrew spotted a new car in the lot, sporting a hospital parking stub in the windshield.

“Neil,” he said, and ran. Wymack cursed but ran to keep up with him and they clattered up stairs and down halls like the Devil was on their heels. He shoved past the hovering agents with a dirty bodycheck and slammed into the door until it opened. He could hear Neil’s voice, he could hear his name in Neil’s voice and there were too many bodies in the way and he could see Neil but the agents were reacting on instinct and one was reaching for his gun—

But Neil was quicker, always quicker, and grabbed the agent with both bandaged hands and a hoarse cry. He let go after only a second with another wheeze of agony, crumpling his hands to his stomach and swaying on his feet. Wymack inserted himself between the agents and Andrew so Andrew shot forwards, terror spiking in his chest at the thought that this wasn’t real until he could touch Neil again. He found the nape of Neil’s neck and pushed him to his knees where he wouldn’t fall over, following him down. Neil was inspecting the gauze on his hands as if expecting to see blood but Andrew just stared at his face.

He was covered in bandages and in unfamiliar clothes and had clearly taken one hell of a beating. But he was here. He was alive. The tether hadn’t broken but Andrew still didn’t want to let go. One hand had to dangle uselessly from the cuff holding him to Wymack but the other held tight to the back of Neil’s neck as they tried to remember how to breathe again.

Neil rested his mummified hands in his lap and slowly raised his eyes. Andrew held his chin so he couldn’t look away and catalogued every bandage, every piece of tape and gauze, every scrape and bruise left uncovered. His eyes had huge bags under them but they still shone icy blue, cold enough to meet the fire in Andrew’s belly without issue. He touched the edges of the bandages, hating that they were hiding whatever damage was lurking underneath, evidence of what Neil had been through.

Don’t come crying to me when someone breaks your face.

Andrew had always said he hated Neil, but he hated himself more just then.

Neil was staring back, as he always did. Far too naked and vulnerable when he stared, as if he were seeing Andrew for the first and last time, every time. But maybe that was appropriate just then.

“They could have blinded you,” Neil said softly in a scratchy voice, as if he’d been screaming all night. His gaze was on the eye that everyone had been fussing over. “All that time fighting and you never learned how to duck?”

Andrew couldn’t handle that – couldn’t handle this idiot. Couldn’t handle him being concerned for Andrew when he was the one who’d been kidnapped and apparently tortured and nearly killed, couldn’t handle the gentle mockery and relieved affection buried under his words. So instead of replying, Andrew tugged back the hood covering his hair and started unpeeling the bandages on his face, needing to see how bad it was.

On one cheek was a load of bruising and a handful of long, intersecting lacerations, the deepest parts held together with small stitches. Knife work. They looked painful but considering how he’d got them was the worst part. He moved to the other cheek and peeled away the bandages as carefully as he could, seeing the inflamed edges peeking around the tape.

His hand froze once the bandage was removed and his stomach quaked.

Burns were always bad, but these looked awful. A mess of overlapping circular injuries, surrounded by blisters and swollen skin and what looked like nail and bite marks. They oozed despite the antiseptic cream smeared on them and Andrew swallowed down the reflexive urge to vomit at the thought of someone burning Neil’s face. He must be on some heavy painkillers, because those would be horrifying and agonising every time he twitched his expression or moved his jaw. It was a mess of horrendous burns from under his eye – you could have been blinded – down to the underside of his cheekbone. At least the tattoo was gone.

Wymack’s gut-punched “Christ, Neil,” said he was watching over Andrew’s shoulder. At least he and the agent stopped the other Foxes crowding round.

Andrew tilted Neil’s chin up, and Neil let himself be moved. Andrew took a few moments to commit the sight of those burns and slashes to his steel-trap memory. This is what happens when you’re too fucking distracted to catch on in time, he told himself. This is what happens when you let someone get too close to watch their back.

He clutched at Neil’s hoodie instead, pulling him closer and keeping him anchored. Stay, stay, stay, his fool hands begged but he couldn’t control himself enough to let go.

“I’m sorry,” Neil said. Andrew knew he was apologising for scaring Andrew, for hurting him, for forcing him to feel, and that was far. Far. Too much. To handle.

His arm was shaking with the force of his shoulders and back, ready to strike back, ready to hurt, but he held onto the last whispers of self-control by the skin of his teeth. And still Neil looked at him, without a drop of fear in him, not an ounce of worry that Andrew might actually hit him. Just trust. And acceptance. They were a mirror image of crushed glass and barbed wire on high walls – Neil knew his jagged edges and cutting points because he had plenty of his own hidden under his skin. There was so much potential for pain in both of them if a hand slipped, if attention wandered at all while scaling those walls. But they both knew that, and it made the ascent more familiar than daunting.

His arm and hand went limp with defeat. This was one irritation he couldn’t handle with brute force, if he even wanted that. Neil had somehow worked his way under Andrew’s skin, found places to hide and explore between his bones and inside his veins, and tearing him out now would be more than a little bloody for both of them.

“Say it again and I will kill you,” Andrew forced between clenched teeth, and knew Neil understood the admission hidden in the threat, that this thing between them could not be walked away from, not now.

“This is the last time I’m going to say it to you,” the agent Andrew had threatened earlier broke in, “If you can’t stow that attitude and behave—”

Neil, of fucking course, opened his mouth before Andrew could. “You’ll what, asshole?”

Andrew wanted to hate the spark of amusement and almost relief in his chest, at seeing Neil be the unapologetic firebrand and fierce instigator that had snagged Andrew’s attention over and over again this year, even battered and injured and shaken. He was still Neil. Every jagged edge, every fiery retort, every reverent touch and every molten look. Neil.

It figured that he’d nearly had to lose him to see how much he needed the guy.

“The same goes for you, Nathaniel,” the agent scowled, and Andrew nearly jumped at hearing that secret name spoken so casually. He saw the way it twisted Neil’s mouth into a pained grimace and his blood was up again, in a distinctly unfriendly way. “That’s your second strike. A third misstep and this is over. Remember you’re only here because we’re allowing it.”

Andrew was about to get up and show that agent that it didn’t pay to threaten a man who carried two knives on him minimum, when Neil’s hands lightly rested on his cheeks to frame his face. It was a light touch, even lighter through the bandages, but startling for the gentleness of it, and the lack of permission asked. Any other day that would have set off a chain-reaction of anger and fear in Andrew’s brain, but today – from Neil – it was almost soothing. He realised abruptly that he was aching to touch Neil and feel his hands too, to be absolutely sure that they were both here, both alive, both in one relative piece. While his brain was awash with confusion over that, Neil fixed the agent with a deadly stare. His voice was like ice and it sent a pleased thrill down Andrew’s spine, one dangerous animal recognising another.

“Don’t lie to a liar,” Neil said, his lip almost curling in a derisive snarl. “We both know I’m here because you have nothing without me. A pile of dead bodies can’t close cases or play the money trail with you. I told you what those answers would cost you and you agreed to pay it. So take this handcuff off of Andrew, get your man out of our way, and stop using up my twenty minutes with your useless posturing.”

The room seemed to echo with Neil’s retort and Andrew had a brief, almost giddy urge to kiss him breathless and taste the fire and vitriol under his tongue. He brushed it off as sleep deprivation and stress.

Neil won the staring contest and argument and a little of the violence in his gaze softened once Andrew’s hand was free. He met Andrew’s eyes again and it softened further until it was almost hidden under the surface again.

“So the attitude problem wasn’t an act, at least,” Andrew said. The words came easier with Neil’s hands still on his face.

“I was going to tell you.” Not an apology, just a truth. Good.

“Stop lying to me,” Andrew said, because he needed to make that abundantly clear before they even got started on this conversation.

“I’m not lying,” Neil assured him. “I was going to tell you last night, but they were in our locker room.”

The agents tried to butt in and get some answers for free so Neil shoved them out again by switching to German without even a blink. Andrew forced himself not to be distracted by that irritatingly enticing ease and focus on his words instead.

“Those weren’t security guards that came for us. They were there for me, and they would have hurt all of you to get me out of there. I thought by keeping my mouth shut I could keep you safe.” A complicated look flitted across Neil’s face and he tapped a bandaged thumb lightly under Andrew’s injured eye, startling and soothing him all over again. “I didn’t know they’d staged a riot.”

“What did I tell you about playing the martyr card?” Andrew asked with just a bit of heat.

“You said no one wanted it,” Neil answered, his mouth twitching a little. “You didn’t tell me to stop.”

“It was implied.”

“I’m stupid, remember? I need things spelled out.”

Andrew gave up on trying to out-talk a smartass and went for the direct approach. “Shut up.”

“Am I at ninety-four yet?” Neil teased, fucking teased, as if he hadn’t been tortured less than twelve hours previous.

“You are at one hundred,” Andrew said firmly. He took back control with a vicious little hit that didn’t seem to land properly anyway. “What happened to your face?”

Neil didn’t flinch or go distant. He seemed almost resigned even as he swallowed. “A dashboard lighter.”

Nicky cried out and Aaron swore. Oh yeah. They weren’t alone, Andrew remembered. Neil turned with a flash of reactive panic in his expression, a hypervigilance Andrew knew too well. Turning his head meant everyone else saw what had been under the bandages and the room got abruptly noisier as the others reacted however they would. Andrew ignored them, focussing on Neil’s face and the feel of his hands, the firm clutch of his own hand in Neil’s hoodie. That was, until Abby started moving towards them. The thought of anyone else’s hands on Neil, whether to help or hurt, was suddenly far too much to bear and fire flashed in his gut.

He turned Neil’s face back towards himself and knelt up a bit, ready to surge into action. “Get away from us.”

“Andrew,” Abby said carefully, all saccharine caution. “He’s hurt. Let me see him.”

He barely recognised his own voice when he replied, and it was the white-hot anger that made it identifiable. “If you make me repeat myself you will not live to regret it.”

He caught a flicker of something like wonder on Neil’s face for a moment before his expression wiped clean. He tugged at Andrew’s hair and a visceral memory of just the day before and kisses on the bus overwhelmed him for a moment, all bright sunlight glinting off coppery hair and Neil’s smile hidden between their mouths, soft lips and warm skin and traded stories. Andrew blinked back into the room with Neil’s clumsy fingers twined in his hair and his cool gaze the only important thing.

“Abby, I just got out of the hospital,” Neil said calmly without breaking eye contact. “I’m as good as I can be right now.”

Abby tried to argue but Neil was having none of it. He kept a hand buried in Andrew’s hair and switched back to German to ask how much Andrew knew.

“I choked the answers out of Kevin on the way here. Guess you weren’t an orphan after all,” he replied. He couldn’t help the little pang of bitterness at the truths granted to Kevin but not to him. It still stung, under everything else. Neil had the grace to look a little uncomfortable at the reminder. “Where is your father now?”

“My uncle executed him,” Neil said as if surprised by his own words. A hand skittered down to touch over Andrew’s heart. His shudder was full-body but he kept speaking. “I spent my whole life wishing he would die, but I never thought he would. I thought he was invincible. I can’t believe it was that easy.”

It often was, Andrew thought distractedly. It had taken so little to stop Tilda, even after months of planning. A scripted argument, some prior fiddling with the brake lines, a hard yank on the wheel. Soon after Andrew had awoken in a hospital bed with a concussion but no mother. Simple.

“Was it easy?” He asked to get out of his own memories. “Kevin told us who he worked for.”

“My uncle said he was going to them to try and negotiate a ceasefire,” Neil replied carefully. “I don’t know if he’s strong enough to bargain with them, but I’d like to think he wouldn’t have risked it without real ground to stand on. Promise me no one’s told the FBI about them.”

“No one’s said a word to them since they said we couldn’t see you,” Andrew said and watched the surprise melting over Neil’s face. Moron. Typically, he didn’t understand a thing. “You are a Fox,” Andrew reminded him when he still didn’t understand.

Neil tore his eyes away with something like shame and swallowed a few times before speaking. His voice wobbled and came out full of choked-back sobs when he spoke. “Andrew, they want to take me away from here. They want to enrol me in Witness Protection so my father’s people won’t find me. I don’t want… if you tell me to leave, I’ll go.”

No. Every fibre of Andrew’s being screamed bloody resistance at the thought. He’d only just got Neil back, he couldn’t let him go again. No. No. No. No.

He curled his other hand in Neil’s collar and pulled until Neil met his eyes again. Neil looked so afraid of being pushed away, so terribly afraid. So Andrew did what he did best: he started a fight.

“You’re not going anywhere,” He announced clearly in English, loud enough for everyone to hear.  

The rest of the team played their parts magnificently until the agents had to appeal to Wymack. They really should have known better – he left the decision with Neil.

“I want – I know I shouldn’t stay,” Neil replied raggedly. “But I can’t – I don’t want to lose this.” His hand tightened in Andrew’s hair without him appearing to notice. “I don’t want to lose any of you. I don’t want to be Nathaniel anymore. I want to be Neil for as long as I can.”

“Good,” Wymack said into the heavy quiet. “I’d have a hell of a time fitting ‘Wesninski’ on a jersey.”

The agents tried blathering some more and Wymack seemed ready to go toe to toe with them, but Andrew’s already-thin patience and ability to cope with so much talking were at their limit. He tugged on Neil’s hoodie again to get his attention. The words came easier in German.

“Get rid of them before I kill them.”

“They’re waiting for answers,” Neil explained in the same language. “They were never able to charge my father while he was alive. They’re hoping I know enough to start decimating his circle in his absence. I’m going to give them the truth, or as much of it as I can without telling them my father was acting on someone else’s orders. Do you want to be there for it? It’s the story I should have given you months ago.”

What a stupid question, Andrew thought.

“I have to go. I don’t trust them to give you back.”

He looked away before the warmth in Neil’s eyes could warp him further. He let go of Neil’s hoodie reluctantly and they got to their feet. Neil looked around at his teammates as Andrew tried to wrestle control back over his wayward thoughts and reactions, grasping for the cold apathy that had served him so well since getting clean. He was so done with the day, was extremely ready to sleep for the rest of the week and sink his emotions back into cool numbness, but the day wasn’t nearly over yet.

“Thank you,” Neil was saying.

“No, thank you,” Allison replied with an admirable attempt at airiness. She flicked her fingers at the two of them. “You just closed three outstanding bets and made me five hundred bucks. I’d rather find out exactly why and when you two hooked up than think about this awfulness any longer, so let’s talk about that on the ride back instead.”

Oh, right. Shit.

Nicky looked astounded by it all but somehow kept his mouth shut. Matt looked smug for some reason. Kevin was aloof as always, but then Andrew had suspected Kevin knew more than he was letting on, what with all those night practices that ended up with him alone in the dorm while Neil and Andrew carved out time together on the roof. Aaron was more troublesome – he was looking rapidly between Neil and himself as if waiting for an angry denial. When it didn’t come, his expression dropped off like a stone into the ocean, promising ripples and angry currents to come.

He’s going for fight harder for Katelyn now, Andrew thought vaguely, but couldn’t focus on that when there was still so much to do.

“Ready?” Neil asked him, utterly unconcerned by their accidental outing.

“Waiting on you.”

“I didn’t invite him,” the agent protested.

“Trust me,” Wymack sighed wearily. “You’ll fare a lot better if you take them both.”

Chapter Text

Andrew felt himself sinking back into calm coldness the longer they sat cooped up with the FBI. The dangerous edge of adrenaline putting him in constant fight with the fear of Neil’s death or permanent removal from his life was fading now, soothed by each touch and glance and reminder that he was still here. He listened attentively to the story Neil gave the interviewers, but everyone else’s voices slurred and mumbled together in a confusing, exhausting mess. He didn’t bother trying to understand anyone else, and focussed on committing Neil’s history to memory. His grasp on words failed utterly as his brain let him know it was completely overworked from the stress of the last day. Emotion faded until he couldn’t even marvel at the intensity with which he’d felt only a few hours before. Numbness was a familiar balm after the rawness of his fear and the depth of his need for Neil.

When Neil gave the name of the woman who’d hurt him, Andrew started planning grisly things. Until Neil said she’d been killed in the shootout, so Andrew listened instead as Neil gave other names, people connected to his father’s circle. They’d have to do. He helped Neil argue against the Witness Protection Programme as much as he could, but he was at his limit and the words were getting tangled in his chest. He had to settle for fierce glares and aggressive body posture instead, and everyone seemed to understand just fine.

Even the handful of hours spent fitfully sleeping on cots in the interrogation room wasn’t enough to assuage the exhaustion claiming him, though waking up to see Neil facing him did a lot to counter the initial panic of waking confused in an unfamiliar place.

It was more than a full day later when the agents conceded and handed over the forms to legalise Neil Abram Josten. He watched the hope light up his idiot’s face, the eager tremble to his fingers as he asked for the pen. Andrew felt the urge to kiss him as he signed the papers with the legal promise to stay, to keep being Neil, to stop running for good. He squirreled the impulse away for later; he’d shown far too much over the past two days as it was, and was in no mood to give the agents a show.

“We’re done here,” the agent announced at long last. “If we think of anything else, we’ll let you know.”

“I’m sure you will,” Neil muttered, because he could never keep his mouth shut. They stood and stretched for a minute before being led out to the car. The afternoon light felt harsh to Andrew’s eyes and he squinted them almost shut until they were in the backseat of the car. They finally had a few minutes of relative privacy but they were both too drained to take full advantage of it. They spent the drive back to the hotel staring out the windows in easy silence. Even if Neil kept fiddling with his bandages – he earned the pop to the back of the head. It almost felt like an in-joke now.

Andrew trailed Neil to Abby’s hotel room and took up sentry position at his back on the bed. His territorial instincts were calming a little now, enough to tolerate Abby’s presence, but he still didn’t want Neil out of arm’s reach. Just in case.

Abby let them sit in silence as she inspected the burns and cuts and cleaned them where necessary. When she started unwrapping Neil’s arms Andrew couldn’t help his curiosity and leaned forward over his shoulder. He saw a horrifically organised patchwork of perfect circular burns and cruel parallel stripes. It didn’t take much imagination to see this had been methodical, and Andrew knew from the details Neil had given the FBI that he’d ‘earned’ each mark with refusing to give up the Foxes to Lola. He curled his hand in the back of Neil’s shirt as a tremble of anger and fear echoed through the numbness.

His hands were worse. Much worse.

Neil seemed to agree, and was in full panic attack before Andrew could get a hand to the back of his neck. He pushed down in an approximation of getting his head between his knees, but it didn’t seem to help much. Neil was gasping and hyperventilating and careening out of control, the breakdown he had been swallowing down since finding himself still alive, most likely.

Abby stroked through his hair and Andrew fleetingly thought she was lucky he was too tired to get into another fistfight, and too preoccupied with Neil’s panic. He kept his hand firm on the back of Neil’s neck and the other on his thigh, not that Neil seemed to feel it. He caught sight of Neil flexing and clenching his abused hands, making the fragile scabs crack and weep pink-tinged fluid.

“Stop it,” Andrew commanded, because he couldn’t bear the thought of Neil’s hands being permanently damaged.

Neil made an odd noise in his throat like he was choking or scoffing, but his breathing slowly evened out. Andrew’s fingertips brushed the small curls at the back of his head and waited for Neil to regain himself. He wanted to touch Neil’s hands, to prove that those were still the hands he remembered holding to the carpet, and twining themselves in his hair, but was too sensible of the alarming risk of infection with all those burns and cuts. When Neil was breathing slowly again, Andrew slowly pulled him back upright. He slumped against Andrew’s shoulder, looking a little lost and out of it, trapped in his head.

Andrew let him lean there. As he hadn’t been able to stop this damage – too slow, too slow – he knew the only thing he could do was be Neil’s support pillar right now. He hated feeling so useless, but having Neil propped against him, trusting, warm, and solidly real, was a small balm to his tattered mental state. Andrew watched Abby examining and further disinfecting the wounds and absently memorised her actions so he could take over later, if needed. Neil was watching his face, naturally. Andrew felt the urge to turn his face away, push him back, to desperately close him out so he’d never have to feel so useless and abandoned and hurt like that ever again. But he knew if he did that, Neil would crumble. They needed each other too badly, especially in both of their brittle states.

He had to open the door for Wymack and reluctantly peeled himself away from Neil, but found him again quickly. That miniscule separation had put a little anxious jump in his chest, and Neil’s too judging from the way he relaxed again against Andrew’s shoulder. Andrew sighed slowly. It was all too much. He didn’t want to feel so much, didn’t want to feel at all. It was horrible and painful and alarming after being numb for so long. He hated how intensely and thoroughly Neil’s near-death had shaken him, and he couldn’t seem to get back to kilter.

He needed sleep. And a shower. And a cigarette. And Bee. And to touch Neil and make sure this wasn’t some elaborate grief-born hallucination.

The others were talking but it was all a vague blur of voices, with Neil’s the only one somewhat clear in his head. He gathered they were heading out to the bus and back to South Carolina. He followed along numbly at Neil’s side, feeling the shutdown gnawing at his brain. He’d been swinging between violent emotion and welcome apathy all day and the crash was coming.

“Hey,” Boyd said when they reached the bus, eyes on Neil. “Coach made us promise to leave you alone, but are you okay?”

“No,” Neil said, bleeding honesty now out of every cut. “But I think I will be.”

Nope, Andrew decided. Time to crash.

He made a beeline for the back of the bus as his vision began to blur and stayed awake and aware just long enough to see Neil sitting in front and the rest of his family accounted for. He laid down and held onto the shapes of knives, keys and a phone under his armbands. Safe. We’re safe.

He woke when they were back at the Court, all eyesore orange and blinding white. He was a little glad to see it after the delights of Baltimore, not that he would admit it. He followed everyone off the bus and inside, keeping his eyes fixed on Neil the entire time. The nap had chipped away at his exhaustion, and he was feeling somewhat more like himself. As they walked the familiar corridors and rooms into the Court lounge, he felt himself ebbing back into something closer to normality, something a bit more stable. He didn’t think he had any words yet but he could listen to the others and make sense of them. It wouldn’t be long. Renee glanced at him with a slight raise of her eyebrows once they were seated. Checking in on him. He held her gaze blankly for a moment before looking back to Neil. She seemed satisfied with that and turned her attention back to her own pack.

Neil’s hiss of pain caught his attention – the moron was trying to open a protein bar. Andrew swiped it easily from his clumsy hands and opened it for him. He had a few handfuls of chips and two cookies swallowed down before Kevin started causing trouble.

Andrew didn’t understand French, but he recognised the word ‘no’ in any language and the tension in Neil’s voice. He reached over Neil and shoved hard at Kevin’s chest in silent warning. Kevin seemed to want to fight, but then touched his bruised throat and eased back. Maybe old dogs could learn new tricks after all. Andrew still didn’t feel sorry for choking him. He was still alive, that was enough. Kevin had been dumb enough to provoke Andrew when he was already on-edge; if he hadn’t known how to recognise it, that was on him.

Wymack sat down by Abby, and everyone’s attention was back on Neil. Andrew tuned them all out as Neil gave them his truths and concentrated on feeding his suddenly-ravenous stomach and swallowing as much coffee as he could stand. He’d heard Neil’s story in the interrogation room with the FBI, and he cared more about feeling his thigh pressed warm and reassuring against his own than to hear it all again.

It was interesting that Kevin knew the identity of his father, though. Andrew watched him for a moment, wondering just how many more secrets his pack had been keeping without him knowing. He didn’t like it. Not one bit.

But he caught the furtive glance Kevin shot to Wymack when Renee pulled everyone’s attention back to Neil. Ah. He also saw that Wymack saw that glance too, and how he carefully wiped his expression clean. Ah. Somebody’s going to have an interesting conversation.

Maybe it was better Andrew hadn’t known about that mess. Neil was enough of a tragedy to deal with right then. Hopefully Kevin would defer his breakdown until after Neil was a bit more settled – Andrew couldn’t split his attention between both of them when he was so wrung out himself.

Dan stood and hugged Neil tightly, a fiercely protective look on her face. Andrew concealed the reflexive twitch of his hands by putting them in his pockets. It’s fine, he told himself. He’s safe. The others can touch him. Calm the fuck down.

Neil relaxed into her and yawned, but when she let him go he leaned back against Andrew’s side. It was more soothing than Andrew wanted it to be.

Can this day just be over already.

Getting behind the wheel of his car again felt like another step in coming home. Before starting the engine, he took the cigarette lighter from his dashboard and tossed it calmly out the window and into a trash can. Nobody mentioned it. He drove his pack back to the Tower and took slow breaths as he accelerated and braked and eased the car around the campus roads. He didn’t really want to park up again but he was too exhausted still for a long drive. Maybe tomorrow, he promised himself. He could drive until he found the horizon and sort his mess of a head out.

The Foxes seemed determined not to let Neil out of their sight and Andrew watched as they began assembling cushions and blankets on the floor of Matt and Neil’s suite. He waited until the dorm was momentarily empty and crossed to where Matt had dumped the duffel bags. He crouched down by Neil’s and slowly pulled the keys and phone out from his armbands. He turned them over in his fingers for a long minute, then tucked them back into the pocket he’d found them in what felt like weeks ago. Neil was back, he was safe, he wasn’t going anywhere.

When he stood up, he found Matt watching him with cautious interest, almost evaluating. Andrew met his eyes calmly and waited for the inevitable big brotherly ‘don’t hurt him’ talk.

Instead, Matt smiled. “I’m happy for you two.”

Andrew wordlessly pushed past him to get his sleeping clothes from next door. He refused to deal with any of that until he was more rested. Being yanked out of the closet so violently had never been his plan, but it seemed oddly fitting for the general pattern of his life. He didn’t really care that the others knew, and trusted Renee to curb their curiosity if they asked too many questions, but he didn’t like the lack of control, the lack of his own permission or readiness. Aaron was certainly going to kick up a foul stink once the dust from Baltimore settled. Nicky was going to be insufferable about no longer being the only gay cousin. Kevin was going to break out his ‘perils of being a gay athlete’ speech, he just knew it. The upperclassmen would be laying even more bets and poking their noses in where they weren’t wanted. Everyone was probably drawing sour conclusions about whether Drake had ‘turned’ him. They’d ask all the questions he’d wrestled with in juvie. They’d want details. He hadn’t wanted any of this. He’d just wanted to keep Neil’s kisses and hands private. It was nobody else’s business. Why was it so much to want one nice thing for himself…

He paused in front of his dresser and pressed his hands to his face.

“Stop that,” he whispered. “Stop that, stop that, stop that.”

He took measured breaths the way Bee had taught him until his heartbeat was steady again and his hands stopped shaking. He dialled Bee’s number and organised a therapy session by phone for the next day. She didn’t reprimand him for calling so late at night, just said she was relieved everyone was safe and he was reaching out to her. She wished him a good night and he hung up and changed out.

He laid down next to Neil in the centre of the foxpile. Not having a wall at his back put him on edge, but it was just the Foxes around them, he told himself. There were no threats in this room. He could cope with sleeping here if it meant keeping Neil within reach.

Neil blinked sleepily and watched him in the low light as the others drifted off asleep around them one by one. Staring, Andrew wanted to mock, but he was staring too. They watched each other until they fell asleep. Andrew dreamed of driving Neil away from everything, on an endless journey with the wheel warm under his hands and Neil’s eyes on his face, sunlight all around them.

Chapter Text

He woke earlier than everyone else, though it was still much later than usual for any of them. He hesitated to leave, but convinced himself after watching Neil’s relaxed, sleeping face as he lay curled in the den of his teammates all around. They would keep him safe for half an hour. At the very least, if any hitmen tried to come in they’d trip over all the Foxes lying there and wake everyone up. He tiptoed over them all and made his way up to the roof, phone in hand.

“Hi Bee.”

“Good morning, Andrew. Are you ready for our session?” She replied, and he could hear the smile in her voice. He closed his eyes and let her put him back together, tethering him again and helping him work through at least some of the horror of the past few days.

“How are you feeling now?” She asked as their half hour drew to a close.

“Calmer,” he replied quietly, and opened his eyes.

“Good. You’ve had to deal with a huge amount of stress and fear, Andrew, it’s normal to be overwhelmed for a while. Be gentle with yourself – you’re doing very well coping with it all. I’m proud of you. Call me at any time between now and our next session, okay?”

“Okay,” he said. She spoke his language enough to hear the gratitude buried deep.

“Bye for now.”

“Bye.”

They disconnected the call and Andrew made his way back to the dorm. Ever since the riot, he’d been carrying a hurricane of anger and fear inside himself. Now, there was tentative peace and relief wrapped around his bones. He detoured into the kitchen to grab garbage bags and duct tape, then sidled past Kevin into Matt and Neil’s dorm. Matt was making coffee and chatting with Neil so Andrew sat down on the blankets to wait.

Neil joined him after a few minutes and gave a vague smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He still looked tired and, for some reason, like he’d been tortured recently. Andrew knew neither of them were especially hygienic either, what with stress and bloodloss and sleeping in their clothes for a night or two. Matt was in the kitchenette, but he didn’t bother them. It was almost like they were alone.

Andrew reached out and pulled up the hem of Neil’s hoodie a bit, wanting to touch him, and found bare skin underneath. He lifted it up in a few other places, then pushed his hand up there when Neil allowed.

His skin was warm and soft under his fingers, and Andrew could feel the smooth lines of scarring like he had in his kitchen at Columbia, like he had his first day back at practice after Easthaven, like he had a few times up on the roof since then. They felt much like his own, but told a very different story. Especially with the new context of the past few days.

“I don’t have a shirt on under this,” Neil commented after a moment. It was a completely redundant statement, with Andrew’s hand pressed firmly to his stomach. Andrew looked at him for a second, confused about his statement, then realised he was probably trying to prod Andrew into conversation. He probably wanted some kind of normality after the last few days. Maybe he wanted the easy back-and-forth of his nonsense and Andrew’s snarky replies. Maybe he’d find it comforting to know things between them hadn’t been irreparably damaged by all his lies.

Andrew looked away and stared into the middle distance. He couldn’t give Neil any words right then, they simply died in his throat. He’d always been better with his hands, anyway.

When Matt left them truly alone to have a shower, Andrew turned back to him and flicked his fingers at the hoodie. Neil did his best taking it off, but it was obvious his hands would be useless for quite some time. Andrew took over, and pulled it carefully over his head. He got to work securing Neil’s bandages under the garbage bags and duct tape. He kept his gaze on his work and his touch light, and said nothing. He added an extra layer of tape, just to be sure. Hot water and body wash would hurt like a motherfucker if it got into his wounds, and Andrew was done with seeing Neil in pain.

He pulled his eyes up to Neil’s face but avoided his searching eyes as he taped up the mess on his cheeks. He was careful not to press too hard, though gentleness felt foreign to his hands. He met Neil’s gaze for a second and hoped his actions spoke for him.

You’re here, I’m here, we’re a mess but we’re not going anywhere.

He got another look at the extensive scarring covering Neil’s torso and tugged one of the blankets out from under them to cover Neil up. If Neil hadn’t wanted the others to see his scars in the locker rooms before, Andrew would bet that impulse would be strengthened by the new wounds sure to scar just as horrendously. Neil tried tying the ends of the blanket over his chest like some kind of cape, but his hands were even more useless under the layers of plastic and garbage bags and he couldn’t exercise any kind of dexterity. Andrew tied it for him and saw the tiny smile of relief. It looked a little like the sun peeking out after storm clouds.

They sat in silence while Matt had his shower and got dressed. For some reason Neil seemed surprised that Andrew followed him into the bathroom – he thought he’d made it clear what he was planning when he brought in the garbage bags. If the idiot couldn’t tie a knot, how was he going to wash himself properly? Honestly.

The harsh wash of the fluorescent light would be unflattering on anybody. More so when you’ve lived through extensive torture and near-death. With the blanket dropped to the floor, each old scar looked jagged and puckered. Bruises were livid, angry splotches of ugly colour. Scrapes and minor cuts looked sinister and unhealthy. And that was just what wasn’t covered by the garbage bags.

Andrew pressed his hand to Neil’s chest and traced one with his fingertips. His own arms seemed to itch for a moment, and there was a peculiar, muffled kind of longing in his chest. He looked at the marks of Neil’s rotten childhood and recognised them for testament to his survival. He’d lived through hell and back and clawed his way through every day in defiance of those who wanted him dead. He’d made poor choices and worse ones but still lived through them. The world had left its mark, but Neil had rolled with the punches and got back on his feet, every time.

Andrew was more than familiar with the weary struggle to wake up each day and find something to keep his interest until night and the void of sleep. He was familiar with the particular kind of strength it took to survive trauma and keep plodding, and with how it seemed to never end. He was familiar with not wanting to wake up, sometimes. He knew the siren call of a quick way out of the overwhelming pain.

He knew his own strength was largely in the physical – he’d walled off his emotions and shut down his mind long ago instead of learning better coping mechanisms. Neil’s strength was in his head, in his fiery heart and acid tongue and fierce determination to live as much as he could in what little time he could gouge from the world. As Andrew traced the scars on him, he was reminded of just how much Neil had survived. He could survive anything. He was simply too strong to be broken.

And fuck, but Andrew needed something like that to hold him up.

“Hey,” Neil said.

One word, and he was abruptly different from the tattered wreck of a human being standing under unforgiving white light – he was the Neil who’d recognised a sober Andrew instead of an assholish Aaron within an hour of their meeting. He was the Neil who’d protected Kevin without needing to be asked on Kathy Ferdinand’s couch. He was the Neil who’d stood in Wymack’s lounge with German in his mouth and corpselight in his eyes. He was the Neil who’d occupied the few still-curious corners of Andrew’s mind all year. He was the Neil who’d kicked down a door with a weapon in his hands to protect a monster from an old demon. He was the Neil who’d pulled Andrew’s hand up his shirt and given him tantalising secrets and distracting amounts of touch. He was the Neil who’d run down four flights of stairs to collect his keys and take a mocking drag from a cigarette on the floor still-damp from Andrew’s lips, and had the cheek to salute him back. He was the Neil who’d asked where the boundaries were and never crossed them. He was the Neil who’d been slowly learning to share his secrets.

He was the same Neil as before. Hurt and bleeding, but still the same man under it all.

Their kiss was all desperation and recognition. Hello, hello, you’re here, I was grieving you but you’re alive, hello, things haven’t changed so much, hello…

There was no going back from this, he was lost, he was lost, he was found.

“You’re a mess,” Andrew murmured against Neil’s lips when he couldn’t stand feeling so much. The words buzzed between them and he wanted to chase the feeling deep into Neil’s mouth but he was already on the edge of losing control again.

“What else is new,” Neil said blandly with a little bit of amusement hidden in his voice. When he met Andrew’s quick glance, he looked so relieved and happy and settled, as if Andrew’s mouth had settled some deep existential question. Junkie.

Andrew leaned past him to turn on the shower and kept his hand under the spray until it was feeling more acceptable. Neil’s head followed him around with his lips parted as if he were hungry for another kiss. It was rather distracting.

He started trying to undress when it became clear Andrew wasn’t going to kiss him again, but, predictably, couldn’t do half of it properly. Andrew took over for him with a swallowed-down sigh. He could tell Neil was unhappy about being stripped naked when injured and kept his touch detached and clinical, and his hands to himself when he saw how Neil curved his bagged arms over his stomach unconsciously. He gave Neil a few minutes under the water to collect himself, then quietly stepped out of his shoes and socks. He considered the rest of his clothes, and slowly peeled off his armbands. He didn’t want Neil to get frightened of the knives in them. Any more had uneasy warning bells going off in his head – he wasn’t anywhere near ready for that, and even if he had been, he didn’t want Neil to feel pressured into something physical when he was so uncomfortable being naked right then.

He saw Neil had his eyes closed under the heavy beat of the water and stepped in to join him. The high temperature of the water was a relief, even through his clothes, and he took a moment to enjoy the water soaking through him and running over his head. Then he did what he’d been itching to do for some time now, and ran a hand slowly through Neil’s fiery hair. His eyes opened at that in surprise but he didn’t object, simply reached out to touch Andrew’s hair. The bags made it difficult, and he frowned at his hand. Andrew tried not to feel vaguely annoyed he couldn’t have Neil’s hands in his hair again and pulled the shower curtain closed instead.

Andrew asked permission with raised eyebrows and received a smile and nod in response. Yes, no? Yes. Words were useless to him, strangled in his throat with the weight of all he was cautiously allowing himself to feel, but he could use his hands. Green, red? Green. He ran both hands slowly through Neil’s hair, making sure it was wet all through, and started rubbing shampoo over his scalp. As he scrubbed Neil’s hair clean, he thought of the last shower they’d both had. Years ago, in Binghamton’s locker room. He remembered what he’d been daydreaming about, and his heart picked up a little. His dick seemed interested, especially with Neil pliant and trusting under his hands, with the safety of the curtain and locked door and steam all around them. He had Neil back under his hands and he didn’t want to let go again. He wanted… he wanted, and he wanted to show Neil things were still okay. That neither of them were walking away. That Neil had been forced to give up his truths earlier than he wanted, and Andrew could push himself too. That Neil had earned just a bit more of Andrew’s trust with each time he kept his hands in the safe zones, that Andrew could make his own progress because of it.

That this meant something, despite all of Andrew’s attempts at denial.

When Neil’s hair was clean, he moved his hands down to cup his jaw and kissed him carefully. Neil kissed back with apparent relief, opening his mouth and humming quietly. Green. Andrew sucked on his lip for a moment, and made his decision. He pulled away and squeezed shower gel into his hands. He asked another wordless question and received another nod. Green, green.

There was something very quietly profound with being allowed to touch like this, Andrew mused as he ran his hands everywhere over Neil’s body. It started off as just washing away the days of grime and sweat until his skin was soft and slippery with the body wash. Then, when Neil sighed contentedly and nodded again, it was something more appreciative. Their mouths pressed small promises and more hello’s against each other as Andrew’s hands roamed. His breathing was fast against Neil’s cheek, but so was Neil’s, so that was okay. He quickly passed soapy hands over Neil’s ass and between his legs and checked the reaction from them both. Green light. Green light.

Neil tilted his head down suddenly and sucked at a water rivulet running down Andrew’s neck. His hands clutched at Neil’s ribs as a shudder rolled down his spine with electricity sparking under his skin. Oh, fuck…

“Your neck fetish is not attractive,” he half-growled to cover up his reaction and ignored the hypocrisy in his words. It was his fetish after all, Neil was just exploiting it.

“You like it,” Neil replied simply. “I like that you like it.”

He bit down gently and sucked at the skin, his tongue pressing hot and slick. Andrew hissed between his teeth and couldn’t help but turn his head into Neil’s mouth as dizzy heat pounded all through him, demanding more.

Neil smiled into his neck as his tongue darted out to lick over the tiny bite and Andrew couldn’t take it, he needed to take back control, to take Neil apart and put him back together again. Green light. Green light? He pulled Neil’s head away by the hair and pushed him back against the wall, out of the water. Neil complied and Andrew kissed a line of hard kisses along his jaw.

“Yes or no?”

“It’s always yes with you,” Neil replied softly.

Fuck you.

“Except when it’s no.”

Neil tilted his chin up with a soggy plastic hand and kissed him slowly. “If you have to keep asking because – I’ll answer it as many times as you ask,” Neil murmured. “But this is always going to be yes.”

 “Don’t ‘always’ me,” Andrew huffed.

“Don’t ask for truth if you’re just going to dilute it.”

That fucking mouth. Andrew covered it to stop himself from kissing the words away, words he wanted even if he couldn’t admit it. He thought for another moment about whether he was really ready for this, then made his decision a final time as Neil curled and sighed into him trustingly. He kissed down Neil’s neck, over his collarbones, over a few scars, and down further until he had to take his hand away to kneel. Neil seemed surprised but willing. Another little glance – green? Green.

Andrew pressed his lips to Neil’s jutting hipbone for a moment, then eased his mouth over Neil’s half-hard dick. Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t blow you, his own words mocked him. Neil’s hands scrabbled clumsily at his hair as he gasped and shivered. Andrew pressed one hand firmly to his hip and closed his eyes as he started to work his tongue and jaw. Neil’s tiny gasps were almost covered by the hiss of the water but Andrew heard them just fine and committed them blissfully to memory as he worked Neil to aching hardness. He was gorgeous to touch, so responsive, so easy to excite. Neil had fallen apart under his hand, but this was almost something else entirely. His skin tasted musky with desire and clean with the shower gel, and Andrew could feel his pulse thundering hard and fast through his tongue. He swallowed back his own groan as he kissed away the small, tangy beads of fluid collecting at the head.

God, Neil…

He opened up his throat and took Neil as far as he could. Neil’s ragged gasps and breathy moans sent shocks all through him and he was getting uncomfortably hard in his pants but he was almost overwhelmed by the feeling of Neil in his mouth and the sounds he was making. He could feel Neil trembling and shaking and hunger roared in his gut. He wanted Neil to come. He wanted to make him come from just his mouth and learn the taste of him. He sucked harder and pressed his tongue along the hard underside of him, faster, faster, until Neil’s spine suddenly arched and his hips jerked and he was gasping. Andrew felt his own cock throb as Neil thickened in his mouth and gave over to his release. Hot liquid splashed in his mouth and he swallowed it down slickly. He kissed and sucked and swallowed eagerly as Neil shuddered himself to stillness. He ran his tongue over the softening shaft until Neil sighed and his legs gave a warning tremble.

Andrew pulled his head away regretfully as Neil slid down the wall to sit in the tub with him. He looked wrecked in the most wonderful way – a dark flush all over his face and chest, pupils blown wide, nipples hard, his ribs heaving for breath and thighs shaking in hard spasms. Andrew watched him and marvelled. He licked his lips to clean up the last few errant drops that had escaped and felt raw need burn through him.

“Do you want—” Neil started, but Andrew was kissing away his offer to leave. Stay, stay. Don’t leave me again. Don’t look, but don’t leave.

He braced himself against the wall behind Neil’s head and reached down to unzip his pants with a shaking hand. Neil didn’t notice, too busy being kissed oblivious and licking the taste of himself from Andrew’s mouth. That was fine. Andrew held himself and tried not to moan at how oversensitive and hard he was just from Neil’s reactions, from his noises, from his taste. He hesitated, old fear flaring at having someone close while he was so vulnerable, but then Neil’s arms cradled the back of his head as they kissed and it was okay. It was Neil. It was okay.

He started to stroke himself and knew it wouldn’t take long. Neil kissed him drowsily as desire reverberated through Andrew, losing himself with Neil’s breath and the slide of his tongue. His chest hitched and he struggled for breath, and that was when Neil finally noticed. He paused, his lips slipping away for a moment, then he hummed in encouragement.

Oh, fuck you.

Andrew growled back, embarrassed and angry and so close that he couldn’t stop moving his hand. Neil got the hint and kissed him again harder, pulling on his lips and humming and mumbling steady approval and happiness. It did more for Andrew than he wanted to admit. Neil held him close and safe and Andrew went rigid against him as pleasure finally rolled over him. His vision whited out and he pressed his mouth hard to Neil’s jaw to keep himself quiet as his body sang, coming harder than he’d known he could, sending painful aftershocks through him that left him dizzy and breathless and very glad he was already on the floor.

Neil held him safe and secure until he grounded himself again, and immediately let go when Andrew started to pull back. He couldn’t meet Neil’s eyes as he washed off his hand, knowing there’d be far too much softness there to deal with. And suddenly, he couldn’t handle having someone else there, not even Neil, it was all too much, it felt too overwhelming, he couldn’t take it.

He helped Neil up off the floor of the tub. Neil took one look at his face and didn’t even need to ask. He wrapped a towel around himself and slipped out with an understanding smile.

It eased a little of the sense of vertigo threatening to overwhelm him. He tossed his saturated clothes to the ground and scrubbed with unsteady hands. Once he was clean, he stood under the hot water for a while longer. He liked the way it pounded against the back of his neck and over his shoulders, setting his skin to smarting. He ran his hands through his squeaky-clean hair and counted the tiles he could see to soothe himself.

It’s okay, he repeated over and over again in a mantra. Neil is back. He’s not going anywhere. He’s alive. It’s okay.

Be gentle with yourself, Bee had said.

He ran his hands over the scars on his arms and sighed at the familiar prickle of uneasiness and relief touching them brought. He saw some moisturising shower cream – probably Matt’s – and stole some. He rubbed it gently over his arms in slowly-growing circles and took carefully paced breaths until the world stopped shaking and he felt okay again.

It was good, he allowed himself to think. It was really good. For both of us. I want to do it again. I want him to want it again too. I want his hands in my hair next time. I want to do it where we can both make noise. It was nice washing him, too. I want to do that again.

After a moment he realised he was letting himself plan for something. For some vague kind of future that involved more time together, more intimate showers, more privacy, more Neil. He was wanting and planning and… hoping.

It put a hot spike of anger in his gut but he breathed through it and turned off the water. Under the anger, there was something quieter. Something ever so slightly pleased.

Hope was a dangerous thing, he knew that very well. But he thought, perhaps, he liked it.