abstracts | ghost of a chance.

Entry tags:

au,
fallout

ghost of a chance.

The Capital Wasteland. It's a wasteland. It has dead trees. There are trash, debris, and rotting corpses everywhere. It's Neil's hometown. D.C. ain't pretty, but D.C. is where he comes from. A crappy start, literally.

Neil's hardly phased, though. Despite Alex's clear opinions regarding the area, the younger guy has been looking forward to getting back. Years have passed since he last laid eyes on the Capital Wasteland; some positive change must have occurred. Or any change, really. Anything would be fine.

As they pass through Megaton's gate, however, Neil catches a glimpse of that thing, and he stops dead in his tracks. His eyes widening to show white.

"Da... Dad?"

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He hears a sound, and a beat behind, is surprised to find his fist nearly embedded in one of the broken machines close to the side. He swallows, breathes in loudly, the sound filling the air as he struggles for calm. It's not coming, not really, the trick of breathing deep for some fucking shit beat of peace. He shakes, his body trembling, as he just. Fucking. Tries.

"...I...do not want to break up with you. You asked," he says, each and every word harsh and thick. "For a way to make peace with him."

Alex slams a fist into another dead machine (one that once measured the chemical composition of various rocks), and Neil can only watch clinically. Analyze the misstep and move from it. Despite the surprise rising within him, he gives his response with little feeling.

Neil does, however, place a hand on the center of Alex's chest. "Sorry. I misunderstood." is the apology given. "And I'm not breaking up with you."

If Neil had just replied, it would not have been enough. But he speaks and reaches to press his hand against Alex, and Alex trembles again, shivers under the touch like a skittish animal.

He takes in a breath. This time it sticks.

His hand is pulled out, metal shards and blood marring skin, but he still reaches out, reaches to wrap his arms around Neil and press his body against his. Tucking his head down, Alex breathes in Neil's scent at the place where neck and shoulder meet, and exhales. Breathes out. Breathes.

They're pressed together-- Contact, blood, and emotions mingling, and Neil finally gets that it's gotten far more into Alex's head than initially expected. Enough to evoke a severe reaction. For once, Neil reaches back and loops his free arm around the older man's waist, his lips unmoving and his voice silent.

Neil allows this break, this moment of calm. They can reconvene on things once they both breathe more easily.

Alex stays like that. He doesn't know how long. Eventually his grip loosens by increments, and he moves to speak quietly. "It's just history, you know. I've seen those reactions before. It doesn't get better. I'm sorry--"

He cuts off, a flash of anger heating his gut. He presses it down.

"--Sorry that we were seen like that."

History. History speaks of experience, and this sort of experience has a grown man upset to the point of pain. And it angers Neil, somewhere. That this was shoved onto Alex's plate without so much as a warning.

"Don't," Neil says tersely. He then amends his tone to something softer. "I get it, but nothing's changed with what I said. Dad's issue. Not yours or mine. Also, the fucktard who gave him that spare key. I'm going to kill him."

Simms.

There's a shift. A change in the air. And it's not something Alex had expected. He backs slightly, so he can look at Neil. He ignores the tail-end of the statement for now. "Not your issue? Doesn't this change things?"

Neil notes the surprise and chooses to ignore it. "No," is the reply. "Dad doesn't dictate my associations. I'm not fucking ten." A child under the guidance of his parent.

The confused expression makes it to Alex's face. He swallows, once. "...You're really going to stay with me for now? Despite that?"

"Yeah," says Neil firmly. He looks over the confusion written clearly on Alex's face before reaching up to pat a cheek. "Don't worry about it."

The confusion turns into a light snarl. Alex glares, grabbing Neil's hand. "Condescending behavior," he drawls in a dry tone. "How charming."

He rolls his eyes, pulling Neil forward, off the machine. "'Course I'm going to worry. You've had a daddy complex since I've known you. And daddy dear caught you with the big bad older man from outside and does not approve. 'Course I'd think you'd drop me in a second to please him."

He understands he crossed a line, but after Alex gives his piece, Neil finds himself not caring. The lack of care leads to a surge of anger, and as Alex tries to pull him forward, Neil pulls back and away, slamming back against the machine.

"I'm his child, not his fucking lapdog!" he yells, the disgust clear in his voice. "My fucking complex is because he doesn't give me the fucking time of day, not because I fucking want his approval!"

The anger is something nice to see. Alex wonders if it's genuine--if the reasons Neil gives are the actual ones. Neil pulls away and Alex doesn't fight it, holding his hands palm up and out. "And you know that's not going to change," he says calmly, like neither of their reactions happened. "Even if you abandoned everything to do actually as he says, he'll still just use you up and not give a damn."

Screw careful words.

Hot, angry breaths come rushing out of his nostrils as Neil attempts for calm. It's easier than expected when logic enters the picture, because in the end--

"Yeah," he gives in, defeated. "You're right. I'm just someone to use." Nothing more to his own damn father, and the mere thought of it makes him sick. His eyes fall on Alex's injured hand.

"You need help with that?"

There's that difference again that Alex noticed. Despite all this shit going on, Neil is being... Shit. Better, in a way. Less pissed with him at every turn. Alex glances at his hand and shrugs, dropping it to his side. "...Didn't even realize it was that messed up," he says, in some kind of tired annoyance. He has half a mind to just leave it like that for now.

"You're not, though," he continues, glancing back up. "Not someone to just use."

What a guy, punching through things and keeping to nonchalance. It does bother Neil, however; he quietly raises a hand and gestures to see the aforementioned injury. If the request is met with rejection, well-- There's nothing to do about that.

"Yet here I am," he replies. "At the beck and call of every fucker who has the caps or the mind to manipulate me. Shit." A labored exhale escapes his lips. "Didn't really grow up one bit, did I?"

Neil demonstrates a request, and the urge to leave things as they are evaporate. He moves forward again, passive and quiet.

With the hand not covered in blood and metal shards, he reaches to Neil's face, not knowing if it would be rejected. He moves to touch the edges of dark hair. "You did. Because you can see it now, and choose to not let it happen."

It is a whole hand that reaches for him, touches his face, and Neil allows it. Lets things move. He looks at Alex, eyes searching for something unknown. "Do you really believe that?" he asks quietly. That Alex believes Neil has grown just enough to make a choice.

"'Course I do," he says, still in that quiet tone. "Everything you told me before... of your dad or strangers... If they had something to do, you would do it, even if you felt like you were being used. Even if it's just the thought right now, you're thinking, 'no'. You see where the path leads, and you don't want it to happen."

He drops his hand, offers a small smile. "...And I hope you don't think I'm like that. I'm not trying to use or manipulate you."

What Alex speaks of is nothing but the truth. And still, Neil cannot help but wonder if the older man really believes it, especially when Alex so sincerely believed Neil would let him go from this.

"I hope you're right," says Neil. "And you. I'm still trying to figure you out." This last part is said jokingly, to lighten the mood.

There is an attempt. To move past this place of tension, even if it's ignoring certain things. At the moment, it's the best option, and Alex allows it. He shrugs, keeping his bloody hand still. "Well," he drawls, stretching out the word.

"You know me. I'm just trying to get in your pants."

The gamble at banter pays off, and Neil sighs. He releases a breath as though to clear the air. "You managed that a few times," the man continues. "Without getting shot. You should be impressed with your accomplishments."

Here, Neil reaches for the injured hand, to bring it up for examination.

He doesn't fight, and watches as Neil goes through the motions. The subject itself is something more tantalizing, at any rate.

His eyes raise to Neil's face. "You didn't seem to dislike it that much."

Neil starts pulling off the bits of glass and metal stuck in the skin. There isn't many, but quite a few prove too small for his fingers. For those, he reaches to one of his bookcases for a pair of tweezers.

He wouldn't normally indulge in this subject, but it's very distracting for both. And they sorely need a distraction at the moment. "Physiological reactions," he states simply. "Hard to resist those after a point."

Alex makes a thoughtful sound. "Good excuse," he gives lightly, watching Neil work.

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