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thejusticelounge2013-02-07 11:56 pm
bossymarmalade) wrote in thejusticelounge2013-02-07 11:56 pm
Entry tags:
good cop bad
Casa Verde.
At 1049hrs, Hal offered to come along, but Kyle refused. Sure, their GL powers were limited; but compared to not being able to use them at all, even limited powers were something of a mixed blessing for Kyle. And he needed to do this alone.
At 1104hrs, Kyle flew himself to LA, glad to see the graffiti off the side of the building was gone. He met with Kurt, only briefly, just to touch base without saying ‘oh so Guy is like nearly dead, nbd, carry on’. Instead they talked about Kurt’s vacation over the holidays - visiting his relatives in Bridgetown, Barbados. A tropical Christmas, he joked. Normal stuff. Everyday happenings. Kyle nodded and smiled and inside he was amazed at just how out of touch he was with regular people.
At 1302hrs he headed upstairs. The rest of the day was spent cleaning.
If I could still access Ion, I could’ve just—
Casa Verde was their home, his and Guy’s. Cleaning was good. It felt good. He went up to the roof several times that day and looked at the zeta tube for long, agonizing minutes. Everytime, he’d turn and go back downstairs.
My poor friend. What is happening to—
At 2356hrs, Kyle tried to sleep.
He woke at 0312hrs and took advantage of his slight dreamstate, padding up to the rooftop as his GL uniform slid over him, warm and cool and comforting. He beamed up to the Watchtower and walked the familiar path to the Medbay, stepping in for a moment before he realized that Dick was there. Dick was there with Guy - with that collection of agonizing-looking, nightmareish injuries that was Guy - and Dick was there with Guy and if there was one thing Kyle knew from movies and TV and comics and books and Hal’nOllie and Kate’nOllie - you don’t barge in there like an idiota and disturb lovers. Not at times like this.
Kyle flew backwards hastily, back down to Earth, back to LA. He sat on the floor where their ugly brown couch used to be, about to scream something just to break the fucking silence…when he saw another bloodstain.
Kyle spent that day cleaning and fixing as best as he could. He was almost tempted to shut the bar down again. Everything was so damned quiet in the apartment. He couldn’t sleep. That bloodstain wouldn’t come out.
At 0309hrs, he thought he might have woken up again and he padded up to the roof, uniform sliding over him and he stared at the zeta pad.
— Go.
Go see him.
No. I don’t want to.
Yes you do, you liar. You’ve been waiting to go. If you don’t, he’ll wake up and he’ll ask if you came to see him and Dick will tell him the truth, Dick will say ‘your partner, Kyle? no Guy, he never came to see you. Not even once’ and Guy will say ‘I went through hell and he never cared enough to visit me’ and you know that’s not true, Rayner. Do the right thing by Guy.
I can’t. I can’t go.
AREYOUSCARED —
At 0423hrs Kyle turned and went back to the living room, grabbing a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, a scrub brush and a bowl of scalding hot water. This time the blood stain was coming out, even if he had to rub his fingers raw to do it.
He wasn’t about to have poor brutalized Guy come home to see his own blood - all that violence and horror - staining their floor. The apartment had to be perfect.
At 1434hrs, Kyle finally went up to the Watchtower again. Dick wasn’t there - likely he’d gone to the washroom and would return soon, and Kyle didn’t want to disturb him with false reassurances and bullshit sympathy, so he hurried past the doctors and over to Guy’s side and forced himself to look at his partner.
And Kyle was mesmerized at the sight. He didn’t bother reading the charts, they were medical gobbeldy-goop anyway. Instead, his eyes greedily took in every detail of Guy’s face, his body - every purple-green bruise and orange-yellow blood vessel and red-blue bandage andhishandohDioshisHAND where his hand should be - Kyle committed every bit of it to memory, sketched it over and over in his head until it was a perfect replica of the real Guy.
Good.
At 1448hrs, Kyle fled back to Casa Verde, curling up in Guy’s bed and he closed his eyes. Guy’s image - the exact replica of the horror that Guy had to suffer - appeared on on the back of his eyelids and Kyle stared at it, stared long and hard until he fell asleep. Even in sleep, he still stared at Guy. Broken, mutilated, destroyed Guy.
Something laughed, hysterical and frightened.
Kyle curled deeper into Guy’s sheets, inhaling that familiar, comforting sandalwood scent and he stared at the Guy on the back of his eyelids until the laughter stopped.
At 0605hrs, Kyle refused to open his eyes.
At 1049hrs, Hal offered to come along, but Kyle refused. Sure, their GL powers were limited; but compared to not being able to use them at all, even limited powers were something of a mixed blessing for Kyle. And he needed to do this alone.
At 1104hrs, Kyle flew himself to LA, glad to see the graffiti off the side of the building was gone. He met with Kurt, only briefly, just to touch base without saying ‘oh so Guy is like nearly dead, nbd, carry on’. Instead they talked about Kurt’s vacation over the holidays - visiting his relatives in Bridgetown, Barbados. A tropical Christmas, he joked. Normal stuff. Everyday happenings. Kyle nodded and smiled and inside he was amazed at just how out of touch he was with regular people.
At 1302hrs he headed upstairs. The rest of the day was spent cleaning.
If I could still access Ion, I could’ve just—
Casa Verde was their home, his and Guy’s. Cleaning was good. It felt good. He went up to the roof several times that day and looked at the zeta tube for long, agonizing minutes. Everytime, he’d turn and go back downstairs.
My poor friend. What is happening to—
At 2356hrs, Kyle tried to sleep.
He woke at 0312hrs and took advantage of his slight dreamstate, padding up to the rooftop as his GL uniform slid over him, warm and cool and comforting. He beamed up to the Watchtower and walked the familiar path to the Medbay, stepping in for a moment before he realized that Dick was there. Dick was there with Guy - with that collection of agonizing-looking, nightmareish injuries that was Guy - and Dick was there with Guy and if there was one thing Kyle knew from movies and TV and comics and books and Hal’nOllie and Kate’nOllie - you don’t barge in there like an idiota and disturb lovers. Not at times like this.
Kyle flew backwards hastily, back down to Earth, back to LA. He sat on the floor where their ugly brown couch used to be, about to scream something just to break the fucking silence…when he saw another bloodstain.
Kyle spent that day cleaning and fixing as best as he could. He was almost tempted to shut the bar down again. Everything was so damned quiet in the apartment. He couldn’t sleep. That bloodstain wouldn’t come out.
At 0309hrs, he thought he might have woken up again and he padded up to the roof, uniform sliding over him and he stared at the zeta pad.
— Go.
Go see him.
No. I don’t want to.
Yes you do, you liar. You’ve been waiting to go. If you don’t, he’ll wake up and he’ll ask if you came to see him and Dick will tell him the truth, Dick will say ‘your partner, Kyle? no Guy, he never came to see you. Not even once’ and Guy will say ‘I went through hell and he never cared enough to visit me’ and you know that’s not true, Rayner. Do the right thing by Guy.
I can’t. I can’t go.
AREYOUSCARED —
At 0423hrs Kyle turned and went back to the living room, grabbing a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, a scrub brush and a bowl of scalding hot water. This time the blood stain was coming out, even if he had to rub his fingers raw to do it.
He wasn’t about to have poor brutalized Guy come home to see his own blood - all that violence and horror - staining their floor. The apartment had to be perfect.
At 1434hrs, Kyle finally went up to the Watchtower again. Dick wasn’t there - likely he’d gone to the washroom and would return soon, and Kyle didn’t want to disturb him with false reassurances and bullshit sympathy, so he hurried past the doctors and over to Guy’s side and forced himself to look at his partner.
And Kyle was mesmerized at the sight. He didn’t bother reading the charts, they were medical gobbeldy-goop anyway. Instead, his eyes greedily took in every detail of Guy’s face, his body - every purple-green bruise and orange-yellow blood vessel and red-blue bandage andhishandohDioshisHAND where his hand should be - Kyle committed every bit of it to memory, sketched it over and over in his head until it was a perfect replica of the real Guy.
Good.
At 1448hrs, Kyle fled back to Casa Verde, curling up in Guy’s bed and he closed his eyes. Guy’s image - the exact replica of the horror that Guy had to suffer - appeared on on the back of his eyelids and Kyle stared at it, stared long and hard until he fell asleep. Even in sleep, he still stared at Guy. Broken, mutilated, destroyed Guy.
Something laughed, hysterical and frightened.
Kyle curled deeper into Guy’s sheets, inhaling that familiar, comforting sandalwood scent and he stared at the Guy on the back of his eyelids until the laughter stopped.
At 0605hrs, Kyle refused to open his eyes.