Fic: Miasma
Nov. 4th, 2010 02:33 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
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This was something I did a while ago over at WliiaLove for the 1000 points meme Lawlzify set up, but I just reread it and realized I never cross posted. Therefore, it made its way over here tonight. So!
Title: Miasma
Author: Goblover
Table: 3
Pairing: Greg/Jeff
Rating: R
Prompt: 005. Miasma
Warning: Character death and other offensive words. You know me.
Word Count: 2,303
It was snowing that day. He couldn’t think of the last time it had snowed. It must have been that long ago. He never remembered things like that. Oh sure, he remembered the important things. Dates and such.
JFK assassinated, November 22nd 1963.
First man on the moon, July 20th 1969.
George Carlin’s death, June 22nd 2008. And yes, that was on the level on the other two.
He was a fucking encyclopedia of knowledge just waiting to impress the listening and the properly educated. He could school a person on anything, anything that went on. Just as long as it had significance to him. As long as it meant something.
But with all that behind him… he had no clue how to tell Jeff’s parents about their son.
What was he going to say?
He couldn’t give that fabricated convoluted story that was in the papers. The one that he and Ryan actually came up with. Of course Chip didn’t want to be involved. Chip had withdrawn from everyone since that day in April. That fucking day.
Dear God, what was he going to say?
Sorry, he supposed. Not that it was his fault, but then again it was in some respects.
Jeff and his parents had been estranged for years, something Jeff had said was purely accidental. His parents were divorced, he lived on his own since he was old enough to be able to, it was a hassle with his work schedule to see them. Jeff had many excuses. But when Greg looked through the window into Jeff’s father’s eyes, he knew. He knew something worse was at hand.
He could tell them so many lies. That it was an accident, that he had been okay all of this time, that Jeff-their little boy, was nothing but himself.
And yet he wanted to blame it on the world, and his age, and how he never really had that stability required for a proper safety net. To say that for as much as he tried, that was all folks. It was just the way things were when dealing with the stubborn and immature. The kids of the world, always trying to grow up so fast. They never waited around to hear about the problems with that. Jeff was a classic case.
How could he articulate that? How was he supposed to walk up and explain it away as Jeff being just another example of the fuckups of the world? How?
Jeff wasn’t a fuckup, that was the thing. Jeff was…Jeff was…
Jeff was loved.
He wasn’t going to cry, not over this. Not right now, it was too soon. He hadn’t even walked in there yet, he was still chain-smoking outside.
He was just watching them, watching them through the window. His mother looked sweet, almost too sweet. He studied them desperately looking for traces of Jeff. People probably often compared him to his mom, the eyes and the hair. But his father, no, his father was taller than God probably. And that’s where he got that.
Fucking hell. How was he supposed to do this?
No one told his parents anything, any of it. They came to Greg for answers. This was going to be interesting. He took a deep breath and marched inside.
--
The first clue comes early, on February the 12th , 2007.
The two of them stand on the roof of the theatre, sharing smokes and stories. The sun is setting and only manages to shine directly into Jeff’s eyes. At first he tries to block it, but then he gives up and just laughs-ducking every so often to save his eyesight.
Greg looks at Jeff, eyes shining far too brightly for their own good, swirling miasmas of colors that Greg cannot define. He is beautiful.
“What do you think of mortality?” Jeff asks.
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean, consequences and shit. How can you monitor what you do, how do you-how are you supposed to determine what’s bad and what’s good?”
A thought crosses Greg’s mind how it’s funny how Jeff put bad before good like that.
“Well,” Greg thinks. “I don’t like censorship, I don’t like people telling me what to do, and I don’t like religion. I’ve never taken the time to think out consequences, I just do things. It’s much easier.”
“So smoking?” Jeff waves the cigarette in his hand before taking a drag off of it.
“I like it.” Greg tosses an unfinished cigarette to the ground and grinds it out with his shoe, lighting another one as he does. “You?”
Jeff coughs into his hand and Greg looks over at him with a hint of concern.
And then Greg smiles.
“Don’t tell me you’re in it for the eventual death.”
Jeff raises an eyebrow. He takes it as a yes.
“I hope that’s sarcastic right there.” Greg points to Jeff with his cigarette. “A slow and painful death awaits you, Jeff. You do know there are easier ways to do that.”
“I’ll be sure to add them to my repertoire,” Jeff laughs.
Greg laughs as well.
The last time he sees Jeff being his normal and happy self is March 23rd.
The two of them lounge around Ryan’s house, feeling both completely out of place and right at home.
They watch Pat and Ryan wash dishes together, even though they have a dishwasher. Even though Greg and Jeff offer to help, they insist on doing it their way.
Pat wipes a handful of suds over Ryan’s face and he lights up, splashing water all over her “dishes apron”.
“Kinda makes you wanna stay forever and wait for them to fight, huh?” Jeff motions at Pat and Ryan.
Greg nods and laughs.
Any other day after that is just wrong.
The first time he catches him using is September 14th 2007. From the looks of things, it had to have been going on for awhile. Greg’s sorry he hasn’t caught on earlier.
Greg promptly throws him into the brick wall of the alleyway.
“I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry.” Jeff starts sobbing and falls to the ground.
Greg can’t even bring himself to respond and tosses him out onto the street.
Out of fear and fear alone, Jeff promises to quit. He’ll be clean for Greg.
Greg never thinks to ask him what he’s doing.
He overdoses on April 12th the following year. He is in a coma for three days.
He never comes back from that, not mentally. Not even physically.
It wreaks havoc on him; they may as well have torn out half of his brain. It’s a sad day when significant brain damage is the plus side.
Greg is unable to understand what exactly went wrong, though doctors explain it to him often. All he gets is that April 12th is the day he loses Jeff.
Greg remembers every day after that, trying to win him back. Desperately trying to coax back to where he once was. Seeing every strand of sanity unthread itself and fall, far away, to where they would never reach it.
People tell him that there is no hope, that it only gets worse. Greg refuses to believe.
Jeff latches onto Greg’s name, calling it over and over again. He screams it into the night and waits. He knows who comes.
He cries in fits. Greg thinks it sounds like laughter at first. The gasping and stuttering hiccups mimic Jeff’s laugh exactly. Tears as well. But ultimately, it’s the sliding cries of painful agony which dictate the difference. It’s heartbreaking, because Greg knows that Jeff is trying to force them out, to empty out the feelings. But feelings are bottomless pools and hope is not.
August 4th 2008. Ryan and Colin almost convince Greg of putting Jeff in a home after his second suicide attempt. (Funny that he has his wits about him enough to know how to off himself, and that’s the thing that always surprises Greg) Home being a nicer term for insane asylum.
He tells them no, sends them on their way. He’s convinced he can do better, save Jeff from himself.
He watches him more than ever before, because he knows none of this should have happened.
Through Chip, Greg accidentally finds religion. Falls into it.
Chip sends him away at first, telling him that he doesn’t want to talk to anyone.
He’s about to slam the door in his face.
Then he sees the remains of Jeff hovering behind Greg and he breaks.
Greg never thought he could get into a screaming match with Chip over heaven and hell and everything in between.
Jeff sits on Chip’s couch, his fingers glide over the fabric. He doesn’t notice anyone else is in the room.
And it’s Chip’s no longer blithe persistence that pushes him over the edge. He sees it as leverage, evening out the odds just in case. Because he needs all he can get.
Words slowly filter out of Jeff, and speech is more difficult. Chip crouches down next to Jeff and looks right into the eyes that refuse to meet his.
Greg likens it to him shutting down. Chip watches, completely horrified.
When they leave, Chip informs Greg that this (whatever this was) can’t happen again. He says he was better off not knowing. Greg knows that it crushed him. And he can’t handle it either.
October 2nd, 2008.
Jeff stares at Greg with a strange look. He figures an old memory has floated Jeff’s way. As if completely running off of sense and muscle memory, he kisses Greg.
Greg is hesitant to think that it is just like before. Guilt takes over.
Jeff reaches for the bottom of Greg’s shirt and goes to unbutton the buttons.
For a moment Greg thinks of making Jeff stop, but he sees it as a chance to get Jeff back.
But really, that’s the excuse he gives himself. So he can bring himself to do it, one last time. He’s a selfish bastard and he knows it.
He takes off Jeff’s shirt, and he almost loses it over the thought that he may as well be fucking a child. A ret- No.
Jeff kisses him fervently. If Greg doesn’t know better, it’s as if they both know it’s the only time it will happen. A last chance of sorts.
His hands skim over Jeff’s pajama pants and then, more decidedly, slide down through the pair of boxers and rest on Jeff’s cock.
Jeff pushes into Greg’s hands, signaling him to keep going. Greg almost cradle-carries Jeff to the bedroom and places him gently on the bed.
Greg doesn’t remember what it’s like to fuck Jeff at first. And then…he remembers the heat and the intensity and the rough display of a show Jeff liked to put on.
This is different. This is slow and careful, attentive and light. The both of them working together, neither competing. It’s understated but mind-blowing, borrowing a word Jeff used to use often. And it’s nothing more than the two of them coming together for a short time, and finally understanding-just a little-where they are at.
He holds him that night, the both of them naked. Greg begs internally for Jeff to sleep, afraid of Jeff’s possible reaction if he should voice those concerns.
Jeff eventually falls into his now regular but erratic sleep pattern.
Greg doesn’t. He spends the night scanning every inch of Jeff, memorizing him as if that was a possibility. He is moved to tears but doesn’t cry, knowing that it will set him off for days to come.
And he will not have tears obscuring his memory, not of this.
December 2008.
The entire month of December goes the way of that movie Groundhog Day. It seems they are just living the same day over and over again.
Greg gets up, he watches Jeff. He leaves him momentarily to take out his frustration on a mirror or a piece of furniture. Something gets broken. He comes back. He watches Jeff grow unresponsive.
With each passing day, Greg realizes that Jeff is forgetting who he is, his watchful keeper. Recognition is almost gone and he rarely hears his name pass over Jeff’s lips.
There is a second of realization, on Christmas of all days. He stares up at the lights and smiles.
Jeff smiles.
His eyes glitter with the reflected glow of them all. Greg remembers when they used to do that all by themselves. He remembers the day on the rooftop, he remembers what used to be his.
Sad when that is all it takes for Greg to cry. Someone looking at fucking Christmas lights.
3rd of Janua-
“Greg?”
His voice is not unlike a child’s, calling out. It echoes through all corners of the house.
Greg runs to him.
“I’m here. I’m here.” Greg calls back, coming to Jeff’s side and holding him close. Stroking his face, kissing away Jeff’s tears, forming many of his own.
Never letting go, never ever letting go.
That’s January the 3rd , 2009. His last moment of lucidity.
January 5th 2009.
Greg has a headache and leaves the bottle of aspirin on the counter. He is only half aware that he does this.
Two and a half hours later he finds Jeff foaming at the mouth. The empty bottle is near his outstretched left hand, like it has just fallen.
Like he's only missed him by a minute.
Greg jerks him upright, shaking him violently. He checks Jeff’s breathing, he listens for a pulse. He waits for a response.
None comes.
He stupidly thinks (in a moment of pure hysteria) that calling an ambulance would still work.
Greg screams out a low and painful cry, holding the hopelessly cold and lifeless body in his arms.
He’s gone.
It’s snowing outside.
no subject
Date: 2010-11-04 11:40 am (UTC)There's something especially saddening yet moving that Greg has all these dates memorised, all these memories of Jeff, good and bad. It shows he'll never forget him, which is heart-breakingly beautiful.
Greg screams out a low and painful cry, holding the hopelessly cold and lifeless body in his arms.
He’s gone.
It’s snowing outside.
;___;
Stop it, I'm crying now. *sniff* The last line is a great call back to the beginning, which is very well done. Kinda makes you want to read it again. And I did. :,)
no subject
Date: 2010-11-04 12:01 pm (UTC)I have to echo everything nova said...so beautifully, achingly, sad. Thanks for posting it here. ^_^
no subject
Date: 2010-11-05 01:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-11-07 02:12 am (UTC)That's about as coherent a sentence as I could put together now. I have no other words.
You're amazing.
*wipes eyes and goes back to re-read*
no subject
Date: 2011-01-11 02:16 am (UTC)God damn, woman. That's—wow. Wrench my heart out, why don't you? Damn, you're brilliant.
What I love best is how sudden the end is. Because that's just how it is. And even though the reader is expecting it, it just hits you like a fucking runaway train. Fantastic.
no subject
Date: 2011-01-12 09:36 pm (UTC)