Fighters

"Charlie!" Drugs were the last thing he needed; he was sobering up, not fucking continuing this shit.

"Do you want him to die, or what? I gave them to you, too, when you were going through this. You can't go without, you just can't." he sighed. "People do die from this shit, Ewan. All the time. You know that."

I stared, hard, down at Luka. I knew.

"If he went to hospital, there they'd give him ethanol."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously." Charlie watched him for a moment. "He seize?"

I ran my hand down the shaking back, felt it shudder again. "I can't tell. He's been so shaky, and sometimes he just like jacks up like -"

"Ewan." I looked up. "If he seized, you would know." He stood, dusting his hands on his pants. "Keep him in the bath until his temperature is under 38.5. In five hours, give him another two benz. In ten, one. If you think he needs more, go for it. If he's acting agitated, or getting crazy bursts of energy, if he's even in too much pain, don't fucking hesitate. He can go off the pills after he's off the booze." As he walked out the door, I heard him call, "And if he seizes, get him to the fucking hospital!"

***

He put other things in my mouth, the green eyes, but it was okay because it was him and it wasn't what I thought it was. Or was it? I don't know, I don't know what I thought it was, it was so hard to think like that, there was so much and so little and all of it was crashing into itself and making me empty and full and awful.

There was someone else there, and then there wasn't. And then there was someone else there again, and then that person left too which was good because I didn't want anyone else, couldn't have anyone else but Cooper.

Cooper.

The icicle was in and out of my mouth but he never let me melt it all the way, always took it out before it was gone and I felt like I was doing something wrong, like I wasn't doing what he asked and so I told him that, or tried to, but words had become so tangled. Everything was tangled. I was twisted up inside and it was so hard to get anything out, whether that was breath, or words, or thoughts, and so I know I said something but I don't really know what.

His hand smoothed back my hair. "Your fever's down. We can get you out from this tub now. How's that sound?"

Don't leave me, I wanted to say. But who knows what came out.

"Okay, up we go." My body moved through space without me; I stayed in Cooper's arms. I would always be in Cooper's arms.

***

"Bren," I called as I stepped out of the tub onto the strategically placed towels. I'd told him he didn't need to come home, that I could handle this myself, but.

I knew Bren. I should have known he'd drop everything, and drag Orin along for the ride.

He was in the doorway in a flash, his bright eyes concerned. "Shit, he's fucking skinny."

I didn't respond. The man in my arms was practically skin and bones; no wonder he'd been so light. His hair, usually so animated with it's own agenda, so lively, lay plastered to his skin in wet chunks. I brushed a lock from his face as I knelt down onto the towels. "Do you think you have any clothes that'll fit him?"

"Donno, mate." Bren sighed deeply. "I'll go look, yeah?"

I didn't look up as he left. My eyes were focused on the man in my arms, the way he shivered as if he was freezing even as his skin was burning up.

"Cooper," he said, suddenly sounding panicked, "Cooper, my stomach."

I got him to the toilet just in time.

I held back his hair and gently ran my hand down his back, knowing how sore he'd be tomorrow, how irritable. How bad he'd be jonesing. I couldn't even walk the next day, I'd been shaking so bad. A mixed blessing, to be unable to get myself to the corner liquor or even go out for a smoke.

But for now, he was here and he was sobering up, and he was with me. And he was going to be okay.

"Cooper," I heard him whisper, nearly crying. "Why do I feel like this?"

He sounded so fucking broken, so tired, so confused, and I pressed my lips into the top of his spine and felt another wave of heaving pass through his body.

"Here." Bren passed me a tank and drawstring shorts. I nodded my thanks. "Where's he gonna sleep?"

"With me," I said without hesitation. I pulled the shirt over his head and he let me, leaning back against my chest. The pants proved to be a bit trickier. He was mumbling now about emptiness, and eternity. I kissed his temple and kept going.

"He's gonna be okay waking up with that?"

The drawstring had to be pulled tight to keep the shorts on his small waist. I again ignored the bruises, the scars. Issues for another day; I had more pressing things in mind now. "I think we need another benzo-advil-applesauce concoction," I told Bren, ignoring his question. He nodded and turned to go. "And Bren?"

He stopped in the doorway.

"Hide all our booze."

***

CH 16

***

The first thing I noticed when I woke up that morning was that everything hurt.

Everything. My feet, my stomach, my arms. My goddamn hair follicles. It all hurt so fucking bad it was a wonder I didn't wake up just screaming. I felt like I had run some ultra marathon then fucked like 60 dudes then, like. I don't know. Got hit by lightning.

The second thing I noticed was how bad I had to throw up.

I leaned over the bed and there was a bucket, thank god, but fuck did it hurt so bad to toss, why did it hurt so bad why was my stomach so sore and why did nothing come up but bile and my last heave turned into a sob and all I could think was pathetic. You're pathetic.

"Hey," a voice mumbled behind me, soft with sleep, and I swear to you everything started to hurt even more.

Because it was that fucking man.

I should have noticed that I was in bed with someone but, hey, it doesn't really register anymore. Neither does my state of dress, but I was paying attention to it then and it was wrong, I wasn't wearing my clothes but I was wearing clothes anyway and why was I always waking up clothed with him and I tried to throw up again but nothing would come up and it hurt so fucking bad, it hurt so fucking, fucking bad.

His hand landed on my back, gentle and kind, and I swear that only made it worse except that somehow, for some reason, it made it better. I hated him for that. "Don't fucking look at me," I snapped at him. Or I tried to, but there was no snap left in me and so it just kind of spilled out of my mouth like the bile did, gross and wrong and painful.

His hand was on my shoulder then, turning me towards him. No, I thought, not like this. Don't look at me. Don't see me like this. But I let him turn me all the same.

He guided my head to his chest. One hand ran up and down my back gently while the other came to rest on my shoulder. "You okay?" he asked. His words warmed the top of my head but somehow still caused me to shiver.

"What's happening to me," I whispered, and immediately cringed. Pathetic, I thought again. Fucking pathetic.

His fingers found every notch in my spine in turn; his lips never left the top of my head. How long had it been since I had just been held? My body shuddered under his touch. "You're coming down off the drink."

Fuck, I thought. Fuck. I'd had mornings before, but. "Where am I?"

He merely kissed my head. "I've got you."

I didn't want to be got. I wanted to be better. I sat up, causing me to be so dizzy my vision actually went dark for a bit. When I came back he was sitting up with me, his body hovering right behind mine. Ready to catch me if I fell.

Fuck, I thought again. I can't do this. I can't be this. "I need a fucking drink," I told him.

His hands snaked around my waist; I slapped them away and pushed out of the bed. It was a miracle I didn't knock over the puke bucket in my haste to get away, my wild uncoordinated movements. What the fuck was wrong with me?

He followed me out of the room, I'm sure watching me lurch and move with such fucking idiocy with pity. Pathetic, pathetic.

Pathetic.

"Luka," he called, but I wasn't ready to talk to him, I wasn't -

Wait.

"Fuck," I said, the culmination of all the things that were slowly building up inside my head. Had he just said Luka? I whirled on him and narrowed my eyes stared him down as he moved towards me slowly like I was some kind of wounded fucking animal. "What the fuck did you just call me?"

"You told Mrs. Kovachs that was your name." He took another step closer. "If you don't want me to call you that -"

Kovachs. Hungarian. I racked my brain, finding nothing but fog and. Shit. I started backing up. "What did I say?"

"You." He looked like he wasn't sure if he should keep coming or not. Fuck, I wasn't sure, I didn't. He knew my name. "Nothing."

Lies, I thought. Fucking lies. "What the fucking shit did I say to her?"

He shifted. "You thought she was your grandmother."

"Fuck." I backed up faster. "Fuck fuck fuck."

"Luka," he said again, his voice so soft and that was too much, that was just too fucking much and I turned and fled into the kitchen.

I knew where he kept the booze and that's where I went straight away, climbing on the counter and slamming open the cabinet but it was empty, fucking empty like me, so I started slamming open cabinet after cabinet just trying to find anything, something, my stomach was dropping so fast and everything hurt so bad and he knew my name and my grandmother was dead and I had no home, had no one left, had no one and there was nothing fucking here. Where the fuck was the alcohol?

"Hey." He was in the kitchen and I grabbed the first thing I saw and threw it at him, just sent it his way with all the velocity I could find. I heard it shatter on the floor and wished it was me. "Hey. Calm down. It's gonna be alright."

His voice was so fucking calm, so smooth against all the edges I was, would always be. I hated it. I fucking hated him. I grabbed another object - a glass, this time - and held it up threateningly. "Stay the fuck away from me," I told him, still perched on his counter. Fuck, was I crying? When had I started crying? My chest was heaving, churning, unable to stop, unwilling to listen to me. "You stay the fuck away from me."

He started moving towards me.

"I fucking warned you," I screamed. My voice had no bottom. I was flying apart.

He kept coming.

He took the glass from me when he reached me. So smooth, so cold, his hands. The glass. Why hadn't I thrown it? Why hadn't I made him, it, me, all of it shattered, broken, why hadn't I just fucking.

Why didn't he just fucking leave?

"I've got you," he told me softly as he took a step even closer. I wanted to scream. I wanted to burst. "I'm not going anywhere."

I let my arms wrap around his neck and I just fucking cried.

***

It took four hours to get him calmed down, four hours and three lorazepams which I still felt so guilty about. I ended up calling Charlie, fucking freaking out about giving the guy I was supposed to be keeping away from drugs, well, drugs, and Charlie patiently explained that Luka had a chemical imbalance due to the sudden absence of the shit he'd become dependent on. If we left him like that he'd just deflate, collapse. That's what this shit was for anyway, people who couldn't make those chemicals. And he couldn't, not right now. We had it, Charlie said. It would be cruel not to use it.

Won't he get dependent on this then, I asked, and Charlie had simply said, in the way that Charlie said things. Don't let him.

So. That was that.

He was sleeping again, curled up in my arms, worn out from fighting and puking and crying and puking again. He'd barely spoken since he'd woken up that morning besides to beg for drinks, to curse me, or to tell me how much pain he was in.

I tightened my grip on him and felt him stir in his sleep.

Bren sat down on the ottoman. We were in the living room, entwined on the couch. He looked exhausted. I wondered what I must look like. "How much longer?"

"Maybe another day. He'll be pissy another week, and then jonesing for. I don't know. Three weeks? A month?" The rest of his life, maybe. It depended on him, really.

"And what about you, Coop. What about us?"

I placed a kiss on Luka's - it was amazing, to be able to call him that, just fucking incredible - on his forehead.

"Are we just supposed to keep him around for a month?"

"I think I love him, Bren." I said the words as quietly as I could, trying not to wake up the man in my arms. They felt like they were loud just by nature, those words. Massive.

"No, Coop." Bren sighed. "You love that version of him that you've made up in your head. You don't even know him. You've talked to him how many times? And have you ever even seen him sober?"

His breathing was so gentle; it shocked me to listen to it. How could a man that carried such violence breathe so gently? I felt like his every exhale should blow me away. And yet I could barely feel the dusting of his air on my chest.

"Coop," Bren said more insistently.

"Then let me get to know him." And his skin, the way it felt under mine. The way he held my name in his mouth, even when he was cursing me. Which he usually was. Which I loved, which I would have no other way. "Let me make that version be real."

"God, Coop." Bren put his head in his hands. "Is this a terrible idea?"

"Maybe," I admitted. He could take me down with him. Easy. Or I could take him down with me.

Or maybe, just maybe, we could keep each other held up. Maybe. I already knew he could hold himself; he'd gotten this far. He was still alive. And I knew I could hold me. Why couldn't we do the same for each other?

"Fuck." There was a soft squeak as Bren stood up. "I'll go make more mag tea."

"Bren," I said softly. He paused. "Thank you."

"Yeah, Coop." His hand landed on my shoulder as he walked past. "Of course."

****

CH 17

***

The shower water was hot, and felt amazing. I stood under the steaming torrent for what felt like forever, just trying to feel clean.

It wasn't working.

"Luka?" It took me a moment to realize that the soft voice was talking to me. Someone knowing my name; two full days - three, I guess, if you count the night I spent hallucinating - and I still wasn't used to that. "You okay?"

I didn't answer, halfway because I didn't know what to say, halfway because I hoped Cooper would come in. It worked, the door slowly creaking open, the larger man slipping in the opening. "Luka?"

I extended my hand out past the shower curtain. I'd been thinking a lot about how he'd been acting, about kindness. How I didn't deserve it. How I only had one way to repay him, in the ways I'd become good at paying for things.

And I was good at that. So why did this make my stomach hurt? Why did this feel different?

"You need something?" He came closer. It was what he wanted, anyway. It was what he'd always wanted. Better to give it to him now so that he could see me for what I was and then I could just go, both of us sated. Never bother him again.

He hesitated. I felt him from where I stood, waiting, beyond the curtain. His fingers landed in mine and I grabbed them hard, surprised him. Then I was pulling him closer, putting him where I needed him as I stepped out of the shower.

"You've been so nice, Cooper," I told him, my voice sweet and all the things I knew he wanted me to be. Sexy and still soft. Gentle and something to hold, maybe to hold down. Submissive. Subservient.

And above all, better.

He tried to jerk away but I had him tight. "Let me be nice to you." I had my fingers in his waistband now, was working at the button of his pants. I could feel how much this was doing for him, to have him here on my knees for him, all the things he'd dreamed of... "Let me repay you." My eyes flicked up to his; he was staring down at me, his mouth slightly open. "Sir."

"Fuck!" He pushed me away so hard I actually hit the tub; he, for his part, crashed into the sink with a sound that made me want to wince. "What the fuck, Luka!"

"You want me, Cooper." I dropped the voice. "Let me just fucking do this for you."

"That wasn't fucking. What the fuck was that?" He was staring at me with this... expression. "That wasn't you."

I looked away. "You seemed to like it fine anyway."

"Fuck," he muttered. There was a moment where he seemed to be collecting himself. I heard a zipper pull up, then he was crouched before me. "Luka, listen. I want to be with you. Like, really fucking want to. I've wanted that since the first time I saw you, okay?"

I still refused to look at him. He didn't act that way; I didn't believe what he was telling me.

"But that wasn't you, and I just. I want to be with you, Luka."

"I just wanted to make you feel good." I was talking to the bathrug. It was green and soft, and easier to look at than Cooper for some reason. "How else am I supposed to fucking repay you for all this shit?"

"Jesus Christ, Luka, I, when." He sighed. "I don't want that. I mean. You understand that, right? Like. This means more to me than that." He waited for me; I had nothing for him. I was nothing. "You mean more to me than that."

I gathered my knees to my chest. "No," I told him. "I don't get that."

"Fuck, Luka." He sat down beside me. "A fuck from you. A blow from you. Like, even saying those words sounds wrong. Because it's not just that, you know?"

I hugged my knees tighter. The water must have been too hot, I thought stubbornly. I felt so dizzy. "I don't have anything else to give you," I whispered.

"We'll figure something out, okay? You can teach me something, or make me pancakes. But nothing sexual." His hand came out carefully to touch my shoulder; it was warm, and solid, and felt like safety. I didn't fucking want it. "If we do anything, I need to know it's because you want to. Not because you feel like you have to."

I stared at the bathrug. It was still green. It was still soft. I wished I was staring into Cooper's eyes.

I didn't turn.

"Okay?"

I didn't answer.

I heard him sigh as he stood. "Finish your shower. We'll get some food when you get out." His lips pressed against my head and then he was gone.

I sat there in the steam for a long time, feeling his lips on my head, his hand on my shoulder. His words on my soul.

***

I closed the door behind me and sunk down on the couch, my head in my hands.

"Coop?" Bren was there almost immediately. "You okay?"

"Fuck," I told him. "He is so fucking hot."

Bren smirked. "And that's a problem?"

"It is if he's going to throw himself at me, all fucking." I passed my hands into my face, hoping they would fuse. Then I wouldn't be so damn fucking tempted. I didn't know what the fuck had just happened, why he had become like that. The same thing, I had to think, that happened when he found a man he liked in the club. When he chose the name Teddy for bears.

Why was he acting like this? He'd made himself what he'd thought I'd wanted, but all I wanted was him.

"Fuck," I said suddenly, voicing something that had sitting sick in my gut for days now. Weeks. "You don't think I'm just another one of his tricks, do you?"

Bren was quiet for a moment. "He came here. He came to you."

I stared at the skin behind my eyelids. "How will I ever know?" Know if he actually wants me. If he's just going along with things because he feels in debt, or if he cares? If I was just some long awaited fuck? Or worse, just a convenient one?

I heard Bren sigh. "I don't know, Coop."

"Fuck," I said again. "Fuck."

***

I went straight to Cooper when I got out of the shower.

I'd had a lot of time to think, there in the water. About gratitude, and how to show it. About meaning. About worth.