[FIC] When Darkness Falls 13

[makingamochrie.livejournal.com]

Happy Saturday.  We're back to a bit of angst now because the promised 'fall' does happen, even though it's inadvertent.  

TITLE:  When Darkness Falls
PART:  13/I really don't know
PAIRING: Ryan/Colin friendship
RATING: PG-13 for language
DISCLAIMER:  FICTION.  I'm not getting a plugged nickel for this.  FICTION!
SUMMARY:  Drew and Brad and Bowling do not mix, especially for Ryan and Colin

Drew caught Brad in one of the entertainment cars, head propped up on one fist and looking like every lyric in every bad country song ever written.  “Yo, Sherwood!  Why the long face?”

 

Brad shook his head.  “No reason,” he sighed.

 

Drew snorted.  “Yeah, I always look like my ex stole my truck and ran over my dog for no reason.  C’mon, spill.”

 

“I can’t find Colin.”

 

“He’s out with Ryan.”

 

Drew though it wasn’t possible for Brad to look any worse than he did.  He was wrong.

 

“That’s what I figured.”

 

“Hey, man, it’s nothing serious.  They went skating.”

 

Brad blinked.  “Skating?”

 

“Yeah.  I think it’s something they used to do when they both lived in Canada.  And you know what a hockey whore Mochrie is.”

 

“Yeah,” Brad said, chuckling.  “That’s true.”

 

“I think Colin just wanted to take Ryan somewhere where he could forget about …you know.”  He mimed tossing back a shot.  “Loosen him up a little.”

 

Brad nodded.  “I can understand that.”

 

“So can I, and frankly, I’m really thankful that he did.  I only hope it works.  The goddamn tension around here is even starting to get to me.”

 

“You and the rest of us.  Well, except Greg.  He’s just screwing his way through it.”

 

“I don’t hear you complaining.”

 

“Well….” Brad replied, coloring slightly.

 

“Thought as much.”  He slapped Brad’s thigh.  “So, we’re gonna be here awhile, so let’s you and I go do something.”

 

“Drew….”

 

“Oh, come on, Sherwood!  Let’s get off this damn train for a little while and do something fun.  What do you say?”

 

“What would we do?”

 

“Fuck if I know.”  He grinned.  “If you had a choice right now, right this minute, to do something just for fun, what would it be?”

 

“Well….”  Brad thought about it for a moment, and his blush became deeper.  “I…kinda like to go bowling sometimes.”

 

“Hell, yeah!” Drew agreed.  “Take out some frustrations on a few pins, knock back a couple watered down beers, sounds like a plan, man!”

 

“I don’t think we’ll find an alley open this early,” Brad said doubtfully.

 

Drew rolled his eyes.  “Don’t you worry about that.  We’ll find one.  C’mon. Get off your ass and let’s go bowling!”

 

As Brad rose to his feet, his goofy and completely endearing grin came back, lighting up his whole face.  “You’re on!”

 

*******

 

“Could you pull in here, please?” Colin asked the driver as they approached a small coffee-house on their way back to the train.

 

“With pleasure, sir.”

 

“I’m in the mood for something hot to drink,” Colin said to Ryan.  “How about you?”

 

“Yeah.  Yeah, that would be good.”

 

Colin turned back to the driver.  “Would you like anything?”

 

“Thank you, no.”  He patted a large thermos next to him on the seat.  “I’ve got my hot tea here.  Don’t worry about me.  But thank you for asking.”

 

Smiling, Colin nodded and exited the car with Ryan.  The store was warm and steamy and smelled pleasantly of roasted coffee and baking breads.  It wasn’t crowded, and both men were able to step right up to the counter for service.  Both ordered strong coffees and baguettes, then moved to a small table by the window to consume them.

 

“I really am sorry, Col,” Ryan said softly after taking a sip of his coffee.  It was hot, and strong and very, very good.

 

“And didn’t I ask you to stop apologizing?  Especially when there’s nothing to apologize for?”

 

“But—”

 

Colin laid a hand on Ryan’s wrist.  “I don’t want to feel like I’m continually walking on eggshells with you, Ryan.  What happened is three years in the past, now, and through it all, you’ve always remained my friend.”

 

“I…have?”

 

“You have.  No matter what.  I don’t make friends easily, Ryan.  You know that.  Acquaintances, maybe, but not real, true, in my blood friends.  You’re one of the few, and you are the best.”

 

Ryan shook his head in negation.

 

“Stop.  You have no say over who I can and cannot call a friend, even a best friend.  That position’s filled, and it happens to be filled by a tall goofy white guy with a big nose and big feet who goes by the name of Ryan Stiles.  It has been for well over half my life. Deal with it.”

 

“I don’t understand….”

 

“Sometimes, I don’t either.  But some things just are.  This is one of them.”  Lifting his hand, he brought it back down to turn Ryan’s, then to clamp them together.  “Ryan, I want my best friend back.  Please.  I’m really very lonely without him in my life.”

 

Ryan’s eyes—hazel with the coloring of his shirt—shone with tears.  “I miss my best friend, too,” he whispered, long fingers closing over Colin’s. 

 

*******

 

“Yippe-eye-oh-kai-ay, motherfucker!” Brad whooped, riding the ball return like it was a steer and swinging an imaginary lasso over his head.  Drew was bent double in laughter, tears streaming from his eyes.  Some of the other folks sharing the alley with them were staring, and quite a few were laughing as well. 

 

They’d managed to find an open-all-the-time bowling alley on the outskirts of Denver.  Turned out it was “Disco Tuesday”, and the hilarity had started from there, with both men shimmying and shaking to the music like Travolta wannabes. 

 

Drew had, of course, been immediately recognized, but after the first onslaught of autograph and picture requests, they were led to the empty end of the alley and generally left alone.  The beer, even though it wasn’t legally supposed to be served at this time of day, flowed like water, and only an hour into it, neither man was feeling much pain at all.

 

Both extremely competitive, they’d naturally turned to betting; in this case, betting pranks on each strike made.  Every time one bowled a strike, the other had to do whatever the strike-er asked.  Since they were both excellent bowlers, it was a sight to see, and the audience was enjoying it immensely.  Though they hadn’t quite descended to the level of rented bowling shoe licking, Brad had already once been made to bowl without his pants—luckily he’d worn clean undies—and he was busily plotting his revenge. 

 

Locating his ball, which by this point was a bit of a challenge as they all sort of blurred together, he picked his starting spot, took his steps, and released.  He had a beautiful hook, and the pins exploded.  “Turkey!” he crowed after his third strike in a row.  Sure enough, the scoring monitor over their heads showed a turkey with three Xs beneath it.

 

“You sure are,” Drew grumbled, waiting for his next ‘assignment’.

 

“Hang on.  I gotta clear something first.  Don’t go anywhere.”

 

“I’ll just stand here and drink my beer, man.”

 

Running up the stairs, he waved the manager close and whispered to him.  The man frowned and shook his head, but Brad could be very persuasive when he wanted to be—he was used to picking on unsuspecting audience members to come on stage to do his bidding, remember—and soon, against his better judgment and praying he wasn’t about to get his ass sued off, the manager reluctantly nodded his approval.  Brad grinned, pumped the man’s hand, and raced back down to the alley proper.

 

“Alright, Mr. Carey,” he stated, smug as smug could possibly be, “strip down to your t-shirt and boxers.  Or tightie-whities, or whatever you’re wearing under there.  You’re gonna be the ball.”

 

“I don’t think that’s allowed,” Drew commented calmly, still sipping his beer.

 

“I already cleared it with the manager, so get strippin, man.”

 

Drew shrugged.  “If you insist.”  ‘Staying Alive’ came on, and Drew proceeded to do his best seductive-strip-to-a-disco-song.  By this time, they’d once again attracted the attention of all the patrons, and everyone was laughing, staring and pointing.  So, of course, Drew played it up even more.  Hell, he didn’t care.  It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been seen in his underwear—or much worse!—on national television anyway.  This was a piece of cake.

 

Before long, and to generous applause, he was down to his white t-shirt and light blue boxers.  “I sure hope that damn alley’s slippery,” he muttered, looking down to where ‘little Drew’ was hidden beneath the flap.  “I might wanna use this sometime in the near future, you know.”

 

“Don’t worry.  It is.”

 

“Alright, then.”  Taking a deep breath, he stepped to the very back and started forward, slipping and sliding and actually falling onto his backside just as he crossed the foul line.  “Woah!  Shit fuck motherfucker!”

 

The alley was indeed well waxed and well oiled and he started sliding down like a runaway freight, picking up speed as he went, flipping and flopping all over the place.  “Shiiiiiiiiiiiit!”

 

“Not much of a ball, Carey!” Brad hooted, toasting the floundering man with his beer.

 

“Fuck you, Sherwood!”  BAM!  He hit the pins hard and ducked, nearly knocking himself out on the pinsetter.  He finally came to a stop at the backstop, bruising his elbows and god only knew what else. 

 

He’d made a strike, however, which gave him four in a row.  Carefully dragging himself up and looking down at his now oil-covered clothes, he just smirked at Brad as he made his way down the ball return lip.  “Eat that, turkey-fucker.”

 

“You haven’t won yet.”

 

“But I will.”

 

“Su-ur-ur-e you will.”

 

“You’ll see,” Drew replied, pulling on his clothes.  He held up his shoes.  “You know what to do.”

 

“Hey!  That’s not fair!  You can’t do a bet on a bet!”

 

“Sure I can!  Now get to kissing!  With tongue.”

 

“Fuck.”

 

“I’m saving that for later.”

 

*******

 

“Ready to go?”

 

Placing his hands flat on the table, Ryan rose.  “Yeah. Let’s get outta here.”

 

“Anything in particular you’d like to do before we get back to the train?”

 

Ryan shook his head, wincing slightly.  “A nap, I think.  I haven’t gotten that much exercise, outside of the shows, in awhile.”

 

Colin nodded.  “The train it is, then.”

 

“You don’t mind?”

 

“Of course I don’t mind, Ryan.  You’re tired, you want rest.  Perfectly fine with me.”

 

“Thanks,” Ryan said in relief.

 

Colin simply smiled.  “C’mon. Let’s go.

 

*******

 

When the arrived back at the train, it was nearly empty.  Most, it seemed, had decided to do what they had done and took off to have a little off-train fun for the afternoon.  The sleeping cars appeared deserted, unless some folks were just being very, very quiet.  Thinking of Greg, Colin smirked.  Ryan caught it.  “What was that for?”

 

“Oh, just wondering if Greg is ‘entertaining’ anywhere.”

 

“Probably hear at least someone if he was,” Ryan replied, hiding a grin.

 

“True.”  He leaned one shoulder against the doorway as Ryan ducked into his own berth. “How’s your back?”

 

Turning to him, Ryan smiled.  “Thanks to what you did for it last night, it hasn’t given me any trouble at all.”

 

Colin returned the smile.  “I’m glad I could help.  It felt nice to be able to do that for you.”

 

Ryan’s expression turned pensive.  “I was…wondering if you could maybe do something else for me.”

 

“Name it.”

 

“I…Could…Would you maybe lie down with me?  Just until I fall asleep,” he continued quickly.  Then blushed faintly.  “I…kinda miss holding someone in bed.  Miss holding you.”

 

Colin shrugged, not at all uncomfortable with the idea.  Well before their relationship had taken a turn toward the sexual, it had been intimate.  They’d shared many a cheap hotel bed in the more carefree, if money poor, days of their youth.  “Sure.  I think I’d like that.”

 

Ryan’s grin lit his entire face, gladdening Colin’s heart still further.  Stepping inside the tiny berth, he toed off his shoes and stripped down to his underclothing.  Ryan quickly did the same, except he also removed his t-shirt.  He hated sleeping in shirts.

 

He laid down on the narrow bunk and scooched over until his back was pressed flat against the side wall, creating a narrow pocket of space for Colin in which to recline.  Colin did so without hesitation, settling until the back of his own body was neatly aligned with Ryan’s front, spooning them.  Ryan’s long arm came around Colin’s waist as bony knees tucked in snugly behind his.

 

“God,” Ryan rasped, “this feels so nice.  After…what happened, I wouldn’t let anyone touch me.  Wouldn’t let myself touch anyone else.  I didn’t want…to…hurt.”  He sighed.  “Thank you, Colin, for letting me have this.  And for making today such a nice one.”

 

Colin smiled.  “Why, you’re welcome, Ryan.  It’s nice for me as well.”

 

There was the softest of brushes against the top of his head—Ryan’s lips, Colin guessed—before the taller man relaxed and, just like that, fell asleep.

 

Colin stayed awake a bit longer, not really being tired but enjoying the warmth and comfort surrounding him.  He loved being held by Brad; loved holding Greg, but there was nothing in his life quite like holding, and being held by Ryan.  He supposed part of that was because they’d known one another most of their lives, but he couldn’t ignore the larger fact that he still loved the man holding him, and figured that would probably never change.

 

Somewhere between that thought and whatever came next, he, too, fell asleep.

 

*******

 

Sometime later, neither of the occupants knew how much, the unlocked door of the berth slammed open and a very drunken Brad stormed in, teetering as his dark, drink reddened eyes lanced down at the entwined figures in the bed.  “Get your dirty, bloody fucking hands off him, you bastard!” he slurred, grabbing both sides of the doorframe for support.  “Now!”

 

Seeing how angry was, Ryan’s arms instinctively tightened over Colin, in protection.  Brad saw it as possession, which only made him angrier. 

 

“Back off Br-br-brad,” Drew slurred, having finally caught up to his enraged friend.  His small hands reached up to grab Brad’s broad, rock-hard shoulders and slipped off as if the taller man had greased them just for this.  “C’mon, Brad, back off!”

 

“No!  You can’t h-h-have him, you bashtard! ‘e’s mine!  You lost him!  ‘e’s mine!”

 

“I’m sorry, guys,” Drew apologized, trying for another hold and failing.  “He’s drunk off his gourd.”

 

As Brad charged in, Colin managed to slip Ryan’s tight hold and rolled to his feet.  “Brad, that’s enough.”

 

“No, ish not nearly enough.  Thish back shtabbing, abushing bashtard is gonna get what’sh coming to him!”

 

“No he’s not.  Get to bed, Brad.  You’ve had enough.”

 

“Shure,” Brad continued, ignoring Colin, “hide behind the guy you beat to a fucking pulp, big…big man.  Chickenshit ish what you are.”

 

Ryan felt the everpresent black anger begin to rise once again within him.

 

Colin stepped closer, laying both hands on Brad’s heaving chest.  “I said, that’s enough.  Go to bed, Brad.  You need the sleep.”

 

“Like hell I will!  He’sh gonna get what’sh coming to him, Colin.  Now get outta my way.”

 

Colin crossed his arms over his chest.  “You know that’s not going to happen, Brad.”

 

“Fuck this.”  Butting against Colin, he tried to slip around the thinner man, fist already raised.  “Take thish like man you’ll never be.”

 

“No!” Colin shouted, managing to wedge his body back between Brad and the bunk.  Brad’s fist shot forward, but this time, Colin caught it in his palm and pushed him back until they were locked together, eye to eye.  “Get out of here, Brad,” he growled, a tone of voice very unusual for Colin.  “Now.”

 

“No, I won’t,” Brad replied, suddenly appearing stone-cold sober.  “He doesn’t love you, Colin.  I do!”  He clapped his chest with his free hand.  “I do!  Can’t you see that!?  That fucker tore you apart, and I helped put you back together!  I love you, damnit!  Me!  I love you!!”  Brad dropped to his knees suddenly, sobbing and crying out “I love you, I love you, I love you!”

 

Colin walked over to him and slipped to his knees as well.  “I know you do, Brad,” he murmured, gathering him into a hug.  “I know you do.”

 

“Why can’t you love me back?  Why?”

 

“I do love you.  You know I do.”

 

“Then why are you sleeping with…him?!”  The venom put into that one word alone would have killed all the spiders and snakes within a ten mile vicinity. “That fucking bastard who beat you?  Who fucking used you and threw you away?  Huh?  Tell me why!?”

 

Colin sighed.  “Brad….”

 

“No!  Fuck this!  Get the fuck away from me!”  Thrusting his hands out, he tried to wriggle out of Colin’s tight hold, inadvertently knocking the smaller man to the ground in his anger.

 

With a growl worthy of any animal ever born, Ryan leapt from the bed and landed on Brad, not hitting or punching, but using his hands and fingers to wrench Brad away from Colin, who quickly slipped back to his feet.  “Stop this!  Both of you!”  Reaching down, he grabbed the shoulders of both men and yanked them away from one another using the great strength no one seemed to remember he had.  Ryan flew through the air and hit the bed hard, bouncing twice before stilling, wide eyed.  Brad slammed against the far wall, and slid down it onto his ass, blinking drunkenly, startled and hurting.

 

Greg and a half-dressed Jeff rushed in then and stood, staring in disbelief at the chaos the tiny room had become.

 

“That’s enough,” Colin said in a voice that was far, far too calm.  “I’m sick and tired of being treated like some object to be fought over and won.  I’m not a thing.  I’m a man.  And I’m out of here.  Greg and Jeff, take Brad back to his bed and make him sleep it off.  The rest of you, goodnight.”

 

Turning on his heel, he left.

****

to be continued....