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Risk [2/3] ;; PG-13
Title: Risk [2/3] (Or "Better as a Memory")
Pairing: Chris Pine/Zachary Quinto
Rating: PG-13 (Maybe R, there's a LOT of profanity, let me know if I should change it up)
Summary: Chris makes a mistake. Zach barely handles it. Chris deals…poorly.
Wordcount: 4,270
Warnings: Angst, language, alcohol, poorly thought out decisions, flashback!fluff, nonexplicit sexual content, angst. This is not made of happy.
Disclaimer: Clearly, this is a nonprofit product of my warped and depraved mind. I deal in lies, kids.
Beta: My darling![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
chellealistic who indulges me.
AN: This part is in Chris’ POV instead of Zach’s. Don’t worry, we’ll get back to him. Italics indicate flashbacks. This part is directly connected to the songfic meme I did (Specifically #7).
PART ONE
AN2 (aka, the obscenely long one): For my purposes of giving Chris two days of, well, NOTHING important to do, pick some indistinct point in the future for this whole story to take place.
Also, I am apparently incapable of writing without a “mood music” playlist.Since this started with a songfic meme, I feel like listing my playlist which I haven’t uploaded anywhere (just like with the first one) but I may do it all in one fail swoop after the next part if someone wants it.
-"What a Catch, Donnie" ~Fall Out Boy
-"You Get Used to Somebody" ~Tim McGraw
-"I Hate Myself for Losing You" ~Kelly Clarkson
-"Better as a Memory" ~Kenny Chesney
-"Golden" ~Fall Out Boy
-"Back in this Cigarette" ~Jason Aldean
-"I Got Drunk" ~Montgomery Gentry
Twenty minutes passed before Chris could think straight. Even then he wasn’t entirely sure he could actually understand what was happening inside his own head. Today definitely hadn’t made any semblance of sense. Because not only was he a cheat, but he was a dick.
He blinked as if the light had suddenly been turned up to solar levels as the metaphorical dust settled. Zach had walked out on him. Stormed in, looked very close to actually fucking hitting him, and then just left. Chris wanted to be angry and wanted to annoy the fuck out of him until he came back. No, he couldn’t do that, couldn’t allow himself to feel that, because this was his own damn fault. Zach had every right to leave, and Chris was just now starting to realize what all that entailed.
Glancing around the room, he would have laughed because Zach was right, per usual: he desperately needed a maid. On impulse, Chris started picking up dishes and trash to carry into the kitchen. There was this strange nervous energy filling his body, making his limbs buzz. The only remedy Chris could think of was to move, constant motion. It was a cure for all manner of things.
Maybe he should run it out. Just throw on some shoes and run until he couldn’t breathe, until his legs gave out, until he couldn’t fucking remember. Discarding his burden of living room debris into a trashcan (a plate caught in the mix that Chris couldn’t be bothered to concern himself with), it really hit him.
He wasn’t buzzing with nervous energy. No, it was something he couldn’t really name because he hadn’t felt it before. It was a level of desolation which no break up should ever cause. And he knew, fucking prophesized, that this would happen.
“Never cross the friends line, you stupid bastard,” Chris scolded himself. Even that had been his fault. Everything always was. Before he could stop himself, he kicked the trash bin. As it toppled over, Chris couldn’t even get upset over it.
“That’s just the mother fucking icing.” Since when did he talk to himself?
Since he ran Zach out of his life, Chris realized. Falling heavily into a chair, he tried to pull his synapses together and force them to spur some sort of genius idea. Looking at the situation simply: it was a fight.
It’s not as though they never had a fight before.
######
Something stupid had happened; it was always something silly and mundane. Some promise broken or comment taken too far. Chris honestly can’t remember anymore. Zach was glaring at him over a pizza and a half empty bottle of wine.
"Zach, baby, do we have to do this?” Chris could hear the whine in his own voice, distorting what was meant to be a playful tone to ease the tension.
“Did you just Zach, baby me?”
His lips quirked at the deep chocolate glare he was getting, Zach’s eyes always seemed to turn darker when he was agitated. Admittedly, it was a sexy expression. What did Zach Quinto do that wasn’t sexy, though.
“Yes, I did. Is there a problem?”
“Yeah, we’re not in one of your clichéd romantic comedies. Try to keep up,” Zach bit out as he shoved away from the table. For his part, Chris reeled from the comment.
“Below the belt, man. Not cool.”
“I wasn’t playing nice.” Unfortunately, Zach’s plan to storm off in a huff was hijacked by something nearly comical as he tripped over Noah. The remainder of his trek into the rest of the house was spent muttering about pets and Chris’ ignorance and the upcoming long weekend.
Right. That’s what the fight had started over. Zach was being stubborn and wanted to spend some serious non-L.A. time together but he wanted to visit his mother. There were about a million things Chris needed to do and he couldn’t get away even if he wanted to brave long flights and whatever was in Pennsylvania in the early spring. Chris suspected it was a lot of pollen and traffic but kept that to himself.
“I’m sorry, but you know I can’t.” Chris said for the third time as he followed behind Zach like he’d been trained. Maybe he just was that conditioned.
Zach headed for the chair in the corner of his bedroom, pulling some of Chris’ clothes out of it and heading for the hamper. “No, you want to go to some MTV party.”
“It’s not an MTV party. There just happens to be a few select MTV personalities on the very exclusive guest list. It would be impolite not to attend.” And that’s where Chris had gone too far.
“For a fairly talented actor, you are truly the least adept liar I have ever met.” He rolled his eyes; Chris could hear it in his voice even as he made to retrieve damp towels from the bathroom.
What was Zach trying to do anyway? Wear Chris down by wandering through the entire house for anything you could throw in a washing machine?
“Are you doing laundry?”
“Yes” was the curt reply from the guest room. What he was finding to wash in there was beyond Chris.
“Why?”
Zach reemerged with an armful of sheets which Chris knew had been washed five days ago because he’d been the one to throw them in the washer. “Nervous habit.”
“Laundry?”
“Cleaning. Don’t change the subject.” Was it entirely necessary for him to call Chris on everything all the time?
Chris moved to block his path back into his bedroom, arm straight out against the doorframe. “I’m just saying that I don’t have time to follow you to the other side of the country.”
Zach dropped the pile of bed linens between them. “I wouldn’t care if it was something important or if you just said you want the exposure.”
“I was actually planning on being fully clothed,” Chris quipped with a smirk.
“Christopher.” The you’re being an insolent child was implied.
Chris relented, sighing and licking at his bottom lip before he could contain it; he really needed to break that habit. “My publicist wants me to go,” he relented. “Apparently, I've been in hiding. I didn’t want you to call me a hypocrite.” Without realizing it, his eyes had dropped to study the pattern of the blanket between them, but it was solid burgundy so the activity was unsatisfying.
“When are you going to learn?” Sighing but apparently about to laugh, Chris heard it in his voice, Zach reached out to grip his bicep and shake him lightly. “Don't try to run a con on me, and I get it. Be straight with me and I don’t expect much.”
The tension had dissipated, Chris had made a poor joke about being “straight,” and they’d gone back to their pizza (after starting the laundry). Every disagreement, not that there were too many, ended nearly the same way.
######
Zach wasn’t going to talk sense into him this time because Chris had finally pushed him too far. Chris squeezed his eyes shut, trying to stop the shaking in his hands before he realized he only felt like he was shaking. One more self-indulgent sigh and Chris was heading back to his cleaning. Trash can back in place and Chris went for his phone.
I really am sorry. Can we just
Chris closed out the message before he wasted any more time on it; a text message had put him in this mess. Okay, fucking a blonde on some cheesy modern sofa in some poorly decorated apartment put him in this mess. The text message was the catalyst to Zach losing it and Chris could remember the look in his eyes when he shoved into the apartment.
Anger had been what Zach was trying to put off, that was the act. The thing about Zach was he always had a character when he was trying to hide something. Betrayal had been in his eyes and pain, so much pain that Chris had nearly crumbled to the floor and begged him to listen, begged him to work this out.
Hitting the speed dial for Zach’s cell, Chris simultaneously brought his phone to his ear and the corner of his thumbnail to his mouth. One ring then voicemail, he was being ignored. He tried three more times before giving up and deciding Zach just needed some time. A few hours from now and Chris could try again. Zach would cool down and they’d talk like the rational adults Zach always was and Chris on occasion pretended to be.
Methodically, Chris went through every room sorting and actually fucking dusting. When he found one of Zach’s books with an old Polaroid marking the page, the sun was sinking and Chris went for the liquor cabinet. Two drinks in and Chris tried Zach again. And again. Then Zoe texted him.
The hell, Pine!
That was too reminiscent of Zach’s own question, making him briefly consider throwing his phone into some water. He couldn’t do this via text. One super massive fucking text mistake was enough for one day. She answered on the second ring.
“What is wrong with you?”
Mid-drink, he just hummed and swallowed loudly before answering. “I really messed up this time, Zo.”
“No, really? You think?” The sarcasm hurt his ears, but everything else hurt too much for Chris to even be offended. Besides, he deserved this. After nearly a full minute of silence mixed with Chris muttering things which may or may not have been equivalent to one full sentence, Zoe sighed. “Can you just tell me what happened?”
######
The bar was new and probably filled to capacity, the line outside a force to be reckoned with. Luckily, fame came with some pretty snazzy damn perks. Chris had them inside with one pretty smile and a pointed ice blue gaze (Brendon’s term not his, Chris was never that Zoolander). The goal was to catch up so they made their way upstairs and into a more secluded area to find a booth.
Everyone had a thousand things to say so they were all talking over one another and the music. Chris hadn’t laughed so hard in about an age and the drinks just kept flowing. A waitress came by and they all ordered beer; the next pass brought Jack & Cokes; the third was Jager bombs. After that, Chris had no idea what they were drinking, but it was cold and that was fine.
A group of girls made their way tentatively to the table. Brendon was trying to chat up some redhead who was giggling like mad and it took them all a few minutes to realize the giggling had a hell of a lot less to do with the flirting and a lot more to do with Chris’ very presence.
He signed some napkins and a Chanel wallet he half expected to see on eBay in the near future, posed for nearly a dozen pictures, and accepted a plethora of phone numbers with good grace. They wandered off, save one blonde.
No one could begrudge him staring a little too long at her cleavage; you push them up that far you must want people to look. Her lipstick was bright pink and she pouted to perfection whenever he diverted his attention. Maybe her name was Brittany or Tiffany or something else with an –any suffix, but Chris hadn’t cared. Her hands were all over him, sliding up his thigh and through his hair before he could focus on just one sensation and the alcohol was giving him ideas.
She sipped something bright blue, comparing it to his eyes. Normally, Chris would have made some remarkably witty comment about how pathetic that one really was, but the color was staining her lips and he wanted to taste it. Last call was getting close and he considered making a last call of his own, but Zach had an early morning and Chris was getting too co-dependent.
He couldn’t always rely on Zach to be there. He wasn’t there now and eventually they wouldn’t have the option of making anymore movies and they wouldn’t need each other as much. Chris had to adjust before Zach was too ingrained in him for him to separate himself when the inevitable came.
Then the blonde mentioned a photoshoot with Playboy and Chris didn’t pause to think about taking her home. They stumbled to the car, her hand working against him through his jeans as she directed him to her place (never his, just like the “old days”) and Chris could barely keep his mouth off her shoulders, throat, the blue-tinted mouth that still tasted like alcohol.
It was too soft, a little unsure, and all together too fuzzy. Chris got off, but he doubted it had been very good for her. With a lie about calling, he drove home even though he wasn’t sober enough and passed out for a couple hours on the sofa. Karl called to say he was in town, waking him up around eight and he spent the rest of the morning gulping black coffee (some weird foreign blend Zach liked) and debating his options.
And he was a coward. But he never lied to Zach. So he had sent a text message and waited. It had been the worst half hour of his life, taking second place only to what had happened immediately after.
######
“Chris, you know I love you…” Zoe trailed off and Chris didn’t have the energy to respond. “But what you did...and he doesn't trust people... He’s such a damn mess right now, do you know that?”
For a solid thirty seconds, Chris’ teeth worried his lower lip. Oh, how could he not know? Did she think he didn’t know Zach that well? Did she think he was just happy as a motherfucking clam right now? He went to make another drink and decided on shots and a chaser instead.
“I know, Zoe. Fuck. I know what I did.” Evaluating his options, Chris realized he only had one can of Coke. When it ran out, he could do whiskey straight. “And I know I messed up and you can take his side. I’ll understand. Really, he deserves you all a lot more than I do right now.”
Zach, Chris couldn’t say the name but he could think it, deserved a lot of things. Hadn’t Chris always known he wasn’t good enough anyway? They were polar opposites on more levels than they were equal. Those opposite levels were the ones where Zach was so far above him, Chris knew he’d never really match up.
“No,” Zoe’s voice was stern, daring him to disagree. “Stop saying that right now. Pity parties are bad news, babe. No one is taking sides.” She paused for the briefest of moments. “Well, Kristen is, but she was always more Zach’s friend than yours. And, were I you, I wouldn't want to meet Joe in a dark alley.” He tried to laugh but the sound felt foreign and Zoe noticed. Observant bitch. “Let him get this out of his system, okay? Stop calling. He’ll talk to you when he’s ready.”
Suddenly, everything made sense. Zach had sic’d her on him.
“Yeah, fine. He’ll call. When he wants his shit out of my fucking closet.” The bitterness was aimed at himself, the situation, the blonde, his own insecurities, a thousand different things that were not directly connected to Zach or even Zoe.
Luckily, she was smart enough to know that. Switching to speaker, Chris knocked back a shot, gulped the soda to ease the burn, and slammed the glass down with extra force.
“Are you drinking?”
“Yes.”
“Alone?” The disapproval was right on par with everything else. Chris ignored it like he was everything else he didn’t have the capacity or energy to deal with.
“Does it make all that much difference?”
“Chris…” Undoubtedly, there was a lecture attached to this. No one drinks alone if they had a strong hold on reality, she’d told him once. Chris had plenty of reality, a really shitty one he had created. Zoe must have decided she didn’t want a half-drunk Pine argument-slash-angst-fest on her hands to match the Quinto-barhopping-slash-angst-fest she mentioned instead. “Look, I’m going out with Zach tonight. I’ll keep him out of trouble; you know how he gets when he’s angry. You…well, don’t drown, okay?”
Chris muttered something that may have been “sure” or “whore.” Zoe didn’t ask and he didn’t specify. Instead, he cut off the call and went back to his drink.
######
”Why do you drink this?” Zach had asked when they were at a bar, pre-Trek. They kept bumping into one another at strange places and finally accepted it and made nice when they were in mixed company.
Chris shrugged, sliding the florescent green shot glass away from Zach’s fingers and throwing it back. “I like the burn.”
An eyebrow shot up and the darker man snorted. “Have a masochistic streak?”
“I like to think of it as living. You can only live adequately if you experience the pain living has to offer.” He raised the empty shot toward the bartender and motioned for two.
“Deep.” The lights of the bar reflected little flecks of gold in Zach’s eyes and Chris was nearly mesmerized. Nearly. Not enough to shut him down, though.
“Poetic.”
“Are you going to debate me all evening?” A serious expression crossed the older man’s face, but Chris could tell it was forced.
Purely to be contrary, Chris let his lips twist into a smirk and tilted his head to look at Zach from under his eyelashes. Experience taught him that this expression was at least cute. “Or until you get bored and vanish off somewhere to let me drink in peace.”
“That’s pathetic.” Zach dropped the act now, already understanding this game and wondering where Chris would go with it now.
Chris never paused. “Artistic.”
“Insufferable.”
“Petulant.”
“Cocky.”
“Self-aware.”
“Mildly entertaining.”
“Fucking hilarious.”
In the midst of their debate, the bartender had returned. The two men had been leaning closer, until they noticed the drinks. As if in complete sync, they had shifted to lift the glasses and drank quickly. Zach had pretended to be appropriately offended by the liquor, but Chris has suspected he enjoyed it. It had been, as they say, the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
######
Chris’ phone was playing the Lord of the Rings theme, meaning it was Karl. Belatedly, he remembered they were supposed to have dinner. Chris let it go to voice mail, switching on the stereo to some jazz shit Zach must have put in the other night.
He gulped straight from his bottle this time, texting Zoe to check in while he let the burn coat his throat and fill his stomach. When had he last eaten something substantial? It didn’t matter, he decided.
At Akbar. Calm yourself. Under control.
The reply had been nearly immediate; apparently, she was expecting him to do this. If he had been in a better mood, he would have loved her for knowing him so well. Tonight, he just wanted to wallow in misery and something high proof.
Taking the typical advice into consideration, Chris slowed down, made a sandwich and stared at his phone. For the better part of an hour he kept up a stream of contact with his woman on the inside. Nothing interesting seemed to be happening. Zach was drinking whatever Kristen brought him and dancing with anyone within reach.
Just dancing. Chris couldn’t be jealous over that, he told himself. Hell, if Zach let some guy suck him off in the bathroom, Chris couldn’t be angry about that either.
Only, that was in theory and reality always had a way of stepping outside the neat little box created by sober rationality and un-heartbroken expectation.
R u gux7 bout doe thre?
Even technology was failing him at this point. Typical, just fucking typical. Whatever, Chris didn’t care; Zoe was intelligent, she could decipher it. Hopefully, it wouldn’t take too long because Chris really needed to sleep but couldn’t bring himself to close his eyes until he knew Zach was home. The girls had the situation under control, but Chris needed to know anyway.
Applause for Zoe! She must get frequent drunk texts because the reply was nearly immediate.
I lost him. He was here with this guy. Now I have no fucking idea where he is.
Zoe’s voice came through even in electronic print. Why was she telling him this? Was this absolutely necessary?
Wht?
Shit. Sorry. That was not meant for you. Please disregard.
Did she seriously expect that to work? Chris may be seeing double and failing at hand-eye coordination, but he wasn’t that dim. He put extra effort into the next message.
What?
His chest was getting tight, the hollow feeling the alcohol hadn’t filled finally dissipating. This was a million times worse. The worst part was that he could only sit there and wait for Zoe to come clean. The minutes dragged on into hours, or so it felt. To fill the time, Chris soldiered on through his bottle until a knock at the door finally dragged him somewhere that wasn’t the bathroom or the sofa.
Before he could get too hopeful, Karl’s voice filled the room. Oh, he forgot to lock the door. And to call Karl back. Oops.
“Zoe was worried you died. Where’s your phone?”
“Dunno,” Chris shrugged as Karl locked the door behind him.
“Where’s your bottle?”
“Dunno.”
“How old are you?” The exasperation in Karl’s voice was actually amusing enough to drag a laugh from Chris’ throat. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing right now?”
“Yes.” Since this was Karl, Chris knew he should elaborate before he was asked because Karl would ask. “Shuttin’ down for a’hile.” Wow, Chris didn’t realize how bad he was slurring his words. He should get on correcting that.
Something akin to a growl came from Karl as the man steered Chris into the kitchen. “Water, you moron. You’re going to regret this in the morning.”
Karl shoved him down into a chair at the table and rummaged the refrigerator for a bottle of water. While he uncapped it, Chris shrugged and slumped over to press his face to the cool wood of the tabletop.
“Don’ matter. Regret nuff already.” He took the bottle Karl offered while his friend patted his shoulder. That’s when Chris made the fatal mistake of that specific night: gulping.
Halfway through the bottle, Chris could only hear rushing. A cold sensation was radiating up from his stomach, his throat constricting, his mouth watering but feeling dry anyway. Chris didn’t get a word out as he stumbled at the fastest speed he could manage.
Had his place been any larger, Chris wouldn’t have made it. Hand braced on the wall behind the toilet, Chris was reminded that alcohol was, in fact, a poison. His whole body convulsed, trying to rid itself of the toxins filling his bloodstream. There were footsteps Chris couldn’t quite focus on and then he was sliding to the floor.
Karl leaned in the doorway, staring down at him with what Chris assumed was eighty-percent disgust and twenty-percent pity. Or maybe the ratio was ninety-ten. Numbers made Chris’ head pound and he groaned.
“Gettin’ too old for 'is shit,” Chris muttered, pulling himself up to release another stream of what appeared to be largely whiskey and phlegm. When his body finally stopped trying to force his fucking soul out of it, Chris slumped back against the tub and glared in Karl’s general direction but the room was moving too much for him to be sure. “I disapprove of your disapproval.”
Barking a laugh, Karl set the bottle of water by him. “You did it to yourself, kid.” His accent, that awesome one Chris often tried (and largely failed) to immitate properly, almost hid the double meaning behind the words. But somewhere in Chris' alcohol befuddled mind, he still had the ability to work out things that could make him feel just that much worse than he already did.
Clever retorts would never work after that statement. No amount of wit could counter the cold hard fact. Chris knew he caused this. Not only had he broken Zach a little bit, but he had messed himself up beyond his current capacity to comprehend. Somewhere around his third year at Berkeley, Chris had stopped behaving this way because, yeah, it clearly fell somewhere between maybe a bad idea and for contemplating this piss poor strategy, you are a serious fucking masochist.
But this was different. He’d ruined something great because…why? Because he was spooked for a minute? This time, there was no fixing it. No, he knew that as well as he knew his sister had hated him until he was three and his car pulled a little to the left. Chris really was a fuck up when he wanted to be and even inadvertently.
All he had left to do was hold the floor down as it spun and pray for death as his head did the same.
TBC...
PART THREE
Pairing: Chris Pine/Zachary Quinto
Rating: PG-13 (Maybe R, there's a LOT of profanity, let me know if I should change it up)
Summary: Chris makes a mistake. Zach barely handles it. Chris deals…poorly.
Wordcount: 4,270
Warnings: Angst, language, alcohol, poorly thought out decisions, flashback!fluff, nonexplicit sexual content, angst. This is not made of happy.
Disclaimer: Clearly, this is a nonprofit product of my warped and depraved mind. I deal in lies, kids.
Beta: My darling
chellealistic who indulges me.AN: This part is in Chris’ POV instead of Zach’s. Don’t worry, we’ll get back to him. Italics indicate flashbacks. This part is directly connected to the songfic meme I did (Specifically #7).
PART ONE
AN2 (aka, the obscenely long one): For my purposes of giving Chris two days of, well, NOTHING important to do, pick some indistinct point in the future for this whole story to take place.
Also, I am apparently incapable of writing without a “mood music” playlist.Since this started with a songfic meme, I feel like listing my playlist which I haven’t uploaded anywhere (just like with the first one) but I may do it all in one fail swoop after the next part if someone wants it.
-"What a Catch, Donnie" ~Fall Out Boy
-"You Get Used to Somebody" ~Tim McGraw
-"I Hate Myself for Losing You" ~Kelly Clarkson
-"Better as a Memory" ~Kenny Chesney
-"Golden" ~Fall Out Boy
-"Back in this Cigarette" ~Jason Aldean
-"I Got Drunk" ~Montgomery Gentry
Twenty minutes passed before Chris could think straight. Even then he wasn’t entirely sure he could actually understand what was happening inside his own head. Today definitely hadn’t made any semblance of sense. Because not only was he a cheat, but he was a dick.
He blinked as if the light had suddenly been turned up to solar levels as the metaphorical dust settled. Zach had walked out on him. Stormed in, looked very close to actually fucking hitting him, and then just left. Chris wanted to be angry and wanted to annoy the fuck out of him until he came back. No, he couldn’t do that, couldn’t allow himself to feel that, because this was his own damn fault. Zach had every right to leave, and Chris was just now starting to realize what all that entailed.
Glancing around the room, he would have laughed because Zach was right, per usual: he desperately needed a maid. On impulse, Chris started picking up dishes and trash to carry into the kitchen. There was this strange nervous energy filling his body, making his limbs buzz. The only remedy Chris could think of was to move, constant motion. It was a cure for all manner of things.
Maybe he should run it out. Just throw on some shoes and run until he couldn’t breathe, until his legs gave out, until he couldn’t fucking remember. Discarding his burden of living room debris into a trashcan (a plate caught in the mix that Chris couldn’t be bothered to concern himself with), it really hit him.
He wasn’t buzzing with nervous energy. No, it was something he couldn’t really name because he hadn’t felt it before. It was a level of desolation which no break up should ever cause. And he knew, fucking prophesized, that this would happen.
“Never cross the friends line, you stupid bastard,” Chris scolded himself. Even that had been his fault. Everything always was. Before he could stop himself, he kicked the trash bin. As it toppled over, Chris couldn’t even get upset over it.
“That’s just the mother fucking icing.” Since when did he talk to himself?
Since he ran Zach out of his life, Chris realized. Falling heavily into a chair, he tried to pull his synapses together and force them to spur some sort of genius idea. Looking at the situation simply: it was a fight.
It’s not as though they never had a fight before.
######
Something stupid had happened; it was always something silly and mundane. Some promise broken or comment taken too far. Chris honestly can’t remember anymore. Zach was glaring at him over a pizza and a half empty bottle of wine.
"Zach, baby, do we have to do this?” Chris could hear the whine in his own voice, distorting what was meant to be a playful tone to ease the tension.
“Did you just Zach, baby me?”
His lips quirked at the deep chocolate glare he was getting, Zach’s eyes always seemed to turn darker when he was agitated. Admittedly, it was a sexy expression. What did Zach Quinto do that wasn’t sexy, though.
“Yes, I did. Is there a problem?”
“Yeah, we’re not in one of your clichéd romantic comedies. Try to keep up,” Zach bit out as he shoved away from the table. For his part, Chris reeled from the comment.
“Below the belt, man. Not cool.”
“I wasn’t playing nice.” Unfortunately, Zach’s plan to storm off in a huff was hijacked by something nearly comical as he tripped over Noah. The remainder of his trek into the rest of the house was spent muttering about pets and Chris’ ignorance and the upcoming long weekend.
Right. That’s what the fight had started over. Zach was being stubborn and wanted to spend some serious non-L.A. time together but he wanted to visit his mother. There were about a million things Chris needed to do and he couldn’t get away even if he wanted to brave long flights and whatever was in Pennsylvania in the early spring. Chris suspected it was a lot of pollen and traffic but kept that to himself.
“I’m sorry, but you know I can’t.” Chris said for the third time as he followed behind Zach like he’d been trained. Maybe he just was that conditioned.
Zach headed for the chair in the corner of his bedroom, pulling some of Chris’ clothes out of it and heading for the hamper. “No, you want to go to some MTV party.”
“It’s not an MTV party. There just happens to be a few select MTV personalities on the very exclusive guest list. It would be impolite not to attend.” And that’s where Chris had gone too far.
“For a fairly talented actor, you are truly the least adept liar I have ever met.” He rolled his eyes; Chris could hear it in his voice even as he made to retrieve damp towels from the bathroom.
What was Zach trying to do anyway? Wear Chris down by wandering through the entire house for anything you could throw in a washing machine?
“Are you doing laundry?”
“Yes” was the curt reply from the guest room. What he was finding to wash in there was beyond Chris.
“Why?”
Zach reemerged with an armful of sheets which Chris knew had been washed five days ago because he’d been the one to throw them in the washer. “Nervous habit.”
“Laundry?”
“Cleaning. Don’t change the subject.” Was it entirely necessary for him to call Chris on everything all the time?
Chris moved to block his path back into his bedroom, arm straight out against the doorframe. “I’m just saying that I don’t have time to follow you to the other side of the country.”
Zach dropped the pile of bed linens between them. “I wouldn’t care if it was something important or if you just said you want the exposure.”
“I was actually planning on being fully clothed,” Chris quipped with a smirk.
“Christopher.” The you’re being an insolent child was implied.
Chris relented, sighing and licking at his bottom lip before he could contain it; he really needed to break that habit. “My publicist wants me to go,” he relented. “Apparently, I've been in hiding. I didn’t want you to call me a hypocrite.” Without realizing it, his eyes had dropped to study the pattern of the blanket between them, but it was solid burgundy so the activity was unsatisfying.
“When are you going to learn?” Sighing but apparently about to laugh, Chris heard it in his voice, Zach reached out to grip his bicep and shake him lightly. “Don't try to run a con on me, and I get it. Be straight with me and I don’t expect much.”
The tension had dissipated, Chris had made a poor joke about being “straight,” and they’d gone back to their pizza (after starting the laundry). Every disagreement, not that there were too many, ended nearly the same way.
######
Zach wasn’t going to talk sense into him this time because Chris had finally pushed him too far. Chris squeezed his eyes shut, trying to stop the shaking in his hands before he realized he only felt like he was shaking. One more self-indulgent sigh and Chris was heading back to his cleaning. Trash can back in place and Chris went for his phone.
I really am sorry. Can we just
Chris closed out the message before he wasted any more time on it; a text message had put him in this mess. Okay, fucking a blonde on some cheesy modern sofa in some poorly decorated apartment put him in this mess. The text message was the catalyst to Zach losing it and Chris could remember the look in his eyes when he shoved into the apartment.
Anger had been what Zach was trying to put off, that was the act. The thing about Zach was he always had a character when he was trying to hide something. Betrayal had been in his eyes and pain, so much pain that Chris had nearly crumbled to the floor and begged him to listen, begged him to work this out.
Hitting the speed dial for Zach’s cell, Chris simultaneously brought his phone to his ear and the corner of his thumbnail to his mouth. One ring then voicemail, he was being ignored. He tried three more times before giving up and deciding Zach just needed some time. A few hours from now and Chris could try again. Zach would cool down and they’d talk like the rational adults Zach always was and Chris on occasion pretended to be.
Methodically, Chris went through every room sorting and actually fucking dusting. When he found one of Zach’s books with an old Polaroid marking the page, the sun was sinking and Chris went for the liquor cabinet. Two drinks in and Chris tried Zach again. And again. Then Zoe texted him.
The hell, Pine!
That was too reminiscent of Zach’s own question, making him briefly consider throwing his phone into some water. He couldn’t do this via text. One super massive fucking text mistake was enough for one day. She answered on the second ring.
“What is wrong with you?”
Mid-drink, he just hummed and swallowed loudly before answering. “I really messed up this time, Zo.”
“No, really? You think?” The sarcasm hurt his ears, but everything else hurt too much for Chris to even be offended. Besides, he deserved this. After nearly a full minute of silence mixed with Chris muttering things which may or may not have been equivalent to one full sentence, Zoe sighed. “Can you just tell me what happened?”
######
The bar was new and probably filled to capacity, the line outside a force to be reckoned with. Luckily, fame came with some pretty snazzy damn perks. Chris had them inside with one pretty smile and a pointed ice blue gaze (Brendon’s term not his, Chris was never that Zoolander). The goal was to catch up so they made their way upstairs and into a more secluded area to find a booth.
Everyone had a thousand things to say so they were all talking over one another and the music. Chris hadn’t laughed so hard in about an age and the drinks just kept flowing. A waitress came by and they all ordered beer; the next pass brought Jack & Cokes; the third was Jager bombs. After that, Chris had no idea what they were drinking, but it was cold and that was fine.
A group of girls made their way tentatively to the table. Brendon was trying to chat up some redhead who was giggling like mad and it took them all a few minutes to realize the giggling had a hell of a lot less to do with the flirting and a lot more to do with Chris’ very presence.
He signed some napkins and a Chanel wallet he half expected to see on eBay in the near future, posed for nearly a dozen pictures, and accepted a plethora of phone numbers with good grace. They wandered off, save one blonde.
No one could begrudge him staring a little too long at her cleavage; you push them up that far you must want people to look. Her lipstick was bright pink and she pouted to perfection whenever he diverted his attention. Maybe her name was Brittany or Tiffany or something else with an –any suffix, but Chris hadn’t cared. Her hands were all over him, sliding up his thigh and through his hair before he could focus on just one sensation and the alcohol was giving him ideas.
She sipped something bright blue, comparing it to his eyes. Normally, Chris would have made some remarkably witty comment about how pathetic that one really was, but the color was staining her lips and he wanted to taste it. Last call was getting close and he considered making a last call of his own, but Zach had an early morning and Chris was getting too co-dependent.
He couldn’t always rely on Zach to be there. He wasn’t there now and eventually they wouldn’t have the option of making anymore movies and they wouldn’t need each other as much. Chris had to adjust before Zach was too ingrained in him for him to separate himself when the inevitable came.
Then the blonde mentioned a photoshoot with Playboy and Chris didn’t pause to think about taking her home. They stumbled to the car, her hand working against him through his jeans as she directed him to her place (never his, just like the “old days”) and Chris could barely keep his mouth off her shoulders, throat, the blue-tinted mouth that still tasted like alcohol.
It was too soft, a little unsure, and all together too fuzzy. Chris got off, but he doubted it had been very good for her. With a lie about calling, he drove home even though he wasn’t sober enough and passed out for a couple hours on the sofa. Karl called to say he was in town, waking him up around eight and he spent the rest of the morning gulping black coffee (some weird foreign blend Zach liked) and debating his options.
And he was a coward. But he never lied to Zach. So he had sent a text message and waited. It had been the worst half hour of his life, taking second place only to what had happened immediately after.
######
“Chris, you know I love you…” Zoe trailed off and Chris didn’t have the energy to respond. “But what you did...and he doesn't trust people... He’s such a damn mess right now, do you know that?”
For a solid thirty seconds, Chris’ teeth worried his lower lip. Oh, how could he not know? Did she think he didn’t know Zach that well? Did she think he was just happy as a motherfucking clam right now? He went to make another drink and decided on shots and a chaser instead.
“I know, Zoe. Fuck. I know what I did.” Evaluating his options, Chris realized he only had one can of Coke. When it ran out, he could do whiskey straight. “And I know I messed up and you can take his side. I’ll understand. Really, he deserves you all a lot more than I do right now.”
Zach, Chris couldn’t say the name but he could think it, deserved a lot of things. Hadn’t Chris always known he wasn’t good enough anyway? They were polar opposites on more levels than they were equal. Those opposite levels were the ones where Zach was so far above him, Chris knew he’d never really match up.
“No,” Zoe’s voice was stern, daring him to disagree. “Stop saying that right now. Pity parties are bad news, babe. No one is taking sides.” She paused for the briefest of moments. “Well, Kristen is, but she was always more Zach’s friend than yours. And, were I you, I wouldn't want to meet Joe in a dark alley.” He tried to laugh but the sound felt foreign and Zoe noticed. Observant bitch. “Let him get this out of his system, okay? Stop calling. He’ll talk to you when he’s ready.”
Suddenly, everything made sense. Zach had sic’d her on him.
“Yeah, fine. He’ll call. When he wants his shit out of my fucking closet.” The bitterness was aimed at himself, the situation, the blonde, his own insecurities, a thousand different things that were not directly connected to Zach or even Zoe.
Luckily, she was smart enough to know that. Switching to speaker, Chris knocked back a shot, gulped the soda to ease the burn, and slammed the glass down with extra force.
“Are you drinking?”
“Yes.”
“Alone?” The disapproval was right on par with everything else. Chris ignored it like he was everything else he didn’t have the capacity or energy to deal with.
“Does it make all that much difference?”
“Chris…” Undoubtedly, there was a lecture attached to this. No one drinks alone if they had a strong hold on reality, she’d told him once. Chris had plenty of reality, a really shitty one he had created. Zoe must have decided she didn’t want a half-drunk Pine argument-slash-angst-fest on her hands to match the Quinto-barhopping-slash-angst-fest she mentioned instead. “Look, I’m going out with Zach tonight. I’ll keep him out of trouble; you know how he gets when he’s angry. You…well, don’t drown, okay?”
Chris muttered something that may have been “sure” or “whore.” Zoe didn’t ask and he didn’t specify. Instead, he cut off the call and went back to his drink.
######
”Why do you drink this?” Zach had asked when they were at a bar, pre-Trek. They kept bumping into one another at strange places and finally accepted it and made nice when they were in mixed company.
Chris shrugged, sliding the florescent green shot glass away from Zach’s fingers and throwing it back. “I like the burn.”
An eyebrow shot up and the darker man snorted. “Have a masochistic streak?”
“I like to think of it as living. You can only live adequately if you experience the pain living has to offer.” He raised the empty shot toward the bartender and motioned for two.
“Deep.” The lights of the bar reflected little flecks of gold in Zach’s eyes and Chris was nearly mesmerized. Nearly. Not enough to shut him down, though.
“Poetic.”
“Are you going to debate me all evening?” A serious expression crossed the older man’s face, but Chris could tell it was forced.
Purely to be contrary, Chris let his lips twist into a smirk and tilted his head to look at Zach from under his eyelashes. Experience taught him that this expression was at least cute. “Or until you get bored and vanish off somewhere to let me drink in peace.”
“That’s pathetic.” Zach dropped the act now, already understanding this game and wondering where Chris would go with it now.
Chris never paused. “Artistic.”
“Insufferable.”
“Petulant.”
“Cocky.”
“Self-aware.”
“Mildly entertaining.”
“Fucking hilarious.”
In the midst of their debate, the bartender had returned. The two men had been leaning closer, until they noticed the drinks. As if in complete sync, they had shifted to lift the glasses and drank quickly. Zach had pretended to be appropriately offended by the liquor, but Chris has suspected he enjoyed it. It had been, as they say, the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
######
Chris’ phone was playing the Lord of the Rings theme, meaning it was Karl. Belatedly, he remembered they were supposed to have dinner. Chris let it go to voice mail, switching on the stereo to some jazz shit Zach must have put in the other night.
He gulped straight from his bottle this time, texting Zoe to check in while he let the burn coat his throat and fill his stomach. When had he last eaten something substantial? It didn’t matter, he decided.
At Akbar. Calm yourself. Under control.
The reply had been nearly immediate; apparently, she was expecting him to do this. If he had been in a better mood, he would have loved her for knowing him so well. Tonight, he just wanted to wallow in misery and something high proof.
Taking the typical advice into consideration, Chris slowed down, made a sandwich and stared at his phone. For the better part of an hour he kept up a stream of contact with his woman on the inside. Nothing interesting seemed to be happening. Zach was drinking whatever Kristen brought him and dancing with anyone within reach.
Just dancing. Chris couldn’t be jealous over that, he told himself. Hell, if Zach let some guy suck him off in the bathroom, Chris couldn’t be angry about that either.
Only, that was in theory and reality always had a way of stepping outside the neat little box created by sober rationality and un-heartbroken expectation.
R u gux7 bout doe thre?
Even technology was failing him at this point. Typical, just fucking typical. Whatever, Chris didn’t care; Zoe was intelligent, she could decipher it. Hopefully, it wouldn’t take too long because Chris really needed to sleep but couldn’t bring himself to close his eyes until he knew Zach was home. The girls had the situation under control, but Chris needed to know anyway.
Applause for Zoe! She must get frequent drunk texts because the reply was nearly immediate.
I lost him. He was here with this guy. Now I have no fucking idea where he is.
Zoe’s voice came through even in electronic print. Why was she telling him this? Was this absolutely necessary?
Wht?
Shit. Sorry. That was not meant for you. Please disregard.
Did she seriously expect that to work? Chris may be seeing double and failing at hand-eye coordination, but he wasn’t that dim. He put extra effort into the next message.
What?
His chest was getting tight, the hollow feeling the alcohol hadn’t filled finally dissipating. This was a million times worse. The worst part was that he could only sit there and wait for Zoe to come clean. The minutes dragged on into hours, or so it felt. To fill the time, Chris soldiered on through his bottle until a knock at the door finally dragged him somewhere that wasn’t the bathroom or the sofa.
Before he could get too hopeful, Karl’s voice filled the room. Oh, he forgot to lock the door. And to call Karl back. Oops.
“Zoe was worried you died. Where’s your phone?”
“Dunno,” Chris shrugged as Karl locked the door behind him.
“Where’s your bottle?”
“Dunno.”
“How old are you?” The exasperation in Karl’s voice was actually amusing enough to drag a laugh from Chris’ throat. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing right now?”
“Yes.” Since this was Karl, Chris knew he should elaborate before he was asked because Karl would ask. “Shuttin’ down for a’hile.” Wow, Chris didn’t realize how bad he was slurring his words. He should get on correcting that.
Something akin to a growl came from Karl as the man steered Chris into the kitchen. “Water, you moron. You’re going to regret this in the morning.”
Karl shoved him down into a chair at the table and rummaged the refrigerator for a bottle of water. While he uncapped it, Chris shrugged and slumped over to press his face to the cool wood of the tabletop.
“Don’ matter. Regret nuff already.” He took the bottle Karl offered while his friend patted his shoulder. That’s when Chris made the fatal mistake of that specific night: gulping.
Halfway through the bottle, Chris could only hear rushing. A cold sensation was radiating up from his stomach, his throat constricting, his mouth watering but feeling dry anyway. Chris didn’t get a word out as he stumbled at the fastest speed he could manage.
Had his place been any larger, Chris wouldn’t have made it. Hand braced on the wall behind the toilet, Chris was reminded that alcohol was, in fact, a poison. His whole body convulsed, trying to rid itself of the toxins filling his bloodstream. There were footsteps Chris couldn’t quite focus on and then he was sliding to the floor.
Karl leaned in the doorway, staring down at him with what Chris assumed was eighty-percent disgust and twenty-percent pity. Or maybe the ratio was ninety-ten. Numbers made Chris’ head pound and he groaned.
“Gettin’ too old for 'is shit,” Chris muttered, pulling himself up to release another stream of what appeared to be largely whiskey and phlegm. When his body finally stopped trying to force his fucking soul out of it, Chris slumped back against the tub and glared in Karl’s general direction but the room was moving too much for him to be sure. “I disapprove of your disapproval.”
Barking a laugh, Karl set the bottle of water by him. “You did it to yourself, kid.” His accent, that awesome one Chris often tried (and largely failed) to immitate properly, almost hid the double meaning behind the words. But somewhere in Chris' alcohol befuddled mind, he still had the ability to work out things that could make him feel just that much worse than he already did.
Clever retorts would never work after that statement. No amount of wit could counter the cold hard fact. Chris knew he caused this. Not only had he broken Zach a little bit, but he had messed himself up beyond his current capacity to comprehend. Somewhere around his third year at Berkeley, Chris had stopped behaving this way because, yeah, it clearly fell somewhere between maybe a bad idea and for contemplating this piss poor strategy, you are a serious fucking masochist.
But this was different. He’d ruined something great because…why? Because he was spooked for a minute? This time, there was no fixing it. No, he knew that as well as he knew his sister had hated him until he was three and his car pulled a little to the left. Chris really was a fuck up when he wanted to be and even inadvertently.
All he had left to do was hold the floor down as it spun and pray for death as his head did the same.
TBC...
PART THREE