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@abelrousseau

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Sun's up, it's a little after twelve Make breakfast for myself
From his place in the kitchenβa role reversal if ever there were oneβAbel can feel his shoulders tense up. He rolls his head from side to side, stretching his neck and attempting to release even a modicum of the sudden tightness. "Anything but that," he calls out.
It's like anything related to the law is off-limits. All of it reminds him of a past life he's trying desperately to move on from. There's no rewinding time, and it wouldn't matter if he could. Abe wouldn't change a single thing he's done, no matter the outcome. You are deserving, he'd reminded himselfβcountless times.
The doughy ball is dropped into hot oil, and Abe is skilled in the art of dodging it as it splashes and spits. "There's got to be something out there that doesn't involve law, kitchens, space, romance or politics." Beat. "What's that one movie? Dunkirk. We got Dunkirk."
@thebenrousseau
Rahi takes a breath and holds it there in his throat until he knows that it'll hurt on the way out. Needs that physical pain, to match the spiritual one. "I guess I just... I thought that the man I was with, the one that said he loved me, could see things without me having to spell everything out."
It was always there. On the surface, coating his skin and under his nails, burning but never noticed.
"Abe..." Be honest, his eyes beg. "That night was a bad night. Before you proposed, that was a bad night. It was 3am, we'd just had a fight, I was drunk. You can't tell me you woke up that day wanting to do that β it wasn't intentional. You said 'marry me' like you had to get that step out of the way. Like after that, you could go to sleep because you had locked me in. And after that, you just..." He shrugs. "It was the first time when you didn't try, and I accepted it. I'd said 'yeah, this is enough' when it wasn't, and you got the message that 'not enough' was enough and that's what you continued to give me after that. So yeah, maybe it was my fault. I didn't say it. And I can't blame you for going with what I gave you."
Truth is, Rahi had been drowning for long before finally abandoning the ship. And you had no idea, Rahi thinks, looking at Abel across the small table now. How do you love someone, and have no idea?
Then, Rahi nods. Yes, he does. Easton does many wonderful things, without it reading as self-immolation.
"For some people, sacrifices are worth it." Even the word has a bad fame. What if, it's no sacrifice at all?
But what if it is? It creeps back in β that ugly certainty that Rahi is hard to love, that the very act of making him happy is a sacrifice β and therefore delusional to wish for someone who sees oceans as shallow and mountains not so steep.
"If to you they're not, that's fine." His eyes are bloodshot, but there are no tears. Maybe later, they'd come through. Maybe in the shower, when it's easy to blend with the environment, he'd allow himself to cry. "You just need someone who's less... complicated as I am. Someone who's easier. Who doesn't ask for so much."
Rahi looks forward to that shower. He needs to wash all of this off, forget this conversation ever happened. A wound that had taken months to heal, brought out in public to be ripped open at the seams.
Why? He wants to ask. What's the point? I understand everything, but I don't understand this. I'm bleeding now. Are you happy now?
"It's not about you. I know who you are. There's nothing wrong about who you are." "It's about who we were, and there's nothing you can do to change that β it happened, it's done. I was there, I lived it." Barely survived it. "...Just make it worth it. Go and win your elections, and change the world, or whatever you wanna do. And don't worry about me. I'm good. I'm happy now." Beat. "I'm happy, in every aspect I can think of. I really am."
He shakes his head. "You don't have to prove anything, and I don't want you to. What happened, happened. It's done."
It's like being slapped in the face repeatedly, your hands tied behind your back, and just when you think its over, the suckerpunch to the gut comes. In the courtroom, he would call this a slam dunk. His case would be won, not matter who was doing the slapping. Here, he's already lostβall he can do is defend himself, and history. "You were mad because you thought I disappeared on you; that I was ignoring you. I got robbed, took my phone. Left me tied up in a conference room."
That night, everything that lead up to it all, is etched into his memory. The hotel had been busy, chaotic. Several robberies, several victims of various crimes, and Abel had been one of them. He can still remember talking to the man, navigating a volatile situation while thinking of Rahi, waiting for him. More than enough incentive to cooperate, he'd explained when he got home in the wee hours of the morning. "I told you what happened. You comforted me when I felt powerless and inadequate. You made me feel safe and loved." Breathe. "I asked you to marry me."
Despite how horrible the night had been, by all counts, it had been a perfect night in Abel's book.
"You laughed at first. Mentioned you weren't wearing pants." There's a sad smile now. It doesn't last. "And then you said Yessir."
There's a quiet reckoning coming on for Abe as he sits there in a vivid memory, now made ugly and far from pleasant. It had been one of those things he'd thought were untouchable, that no one could take away from him. He can feel his eyes burn as yet another thing is taken from him, leaving him feeling just as powerless and inadequate as he had that night.
"For some people, sacrifices are worth it. Just not me." And that's the point he'd been trying to makeβthe thing he'd been getting to. He wasn't worth it. There's no sense in beating around the bush or mincing words at this table where only honesty sits between them now. "I'm not perfect. I never have been, and haven't claimed to be. But you are wildly unfair to me, Rahi. I loved you fiercely. I sacrificed happily, and was faithful. I ran every gauntlet your friends threw down without a single complaint. And all I wanted, all I needed, was you."
He sniffs, glancing around to clear his eyes and mind. Out here, in the middle of Manhattan, there's no place for either of them to looking so deeply grim. "Do you think there's any universe where we made it?"

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"It's not the same thing," he says. "He lives in New York, he trains in New York, a lot of games are home games and even when they're not, the games are Sundays, Abe. I don't work on weekends, it's fine for me to go." Rahi's not so ignorant as to not acknowledge the way wealth makes it all easier, too, with private jets instead of long drives. "It's just different."
The cup is reclaimed, but he can't bring himself to sip the tea inside. Uses it as a prop, something to keep his hands busy. "And it's not just that. It's not just commuting. It made it worse, but it wasn't just that. Other things mattered. Matter."
"...He treats me so well, he takes care of me, he's never taken me to an event and forgotten that I'm there. He's more than nice. We want all the same things. We have plans." Just that single word, is music to his ears. "He listens to me when I'm anxious, he changed around all the furniture in his apartment so no matter where we were, I could always see the sky. I haven't opened a door in months β he probably wants me to go to Mars more than I do. He got me bespoke jewelry just to ask me to be his boyfriend, and youβ"
Rahi swallows, hard. Hurt from years ago comes bubbling back up. "...When you proposed, you didn't even get me a ring." It's not about the object, or its hypothetical worth in gold. It's clear in the way Rahi's voice had shifted into softest its ever been. All of this, it isn't hostile β it's confessional. "You didn't even get on your knee." Beat. "...You didn't even get on your knee, Abe. Did you ever notice that?"
"It's really not so different." He won't let this one go - travel is travel, and whether Rahi realizes it or not, Easton will be traveling for periods of time. If not traveling, it's demanding of time and energy. The difference is, from where he sits, a willingness to work with two competing schedules.
Abel stares at him, waiting, a shake of his head his only sign of dissent. He'd never forgotten Rahi; the claim is enough to put him right into the courtroom of their life together, a closing statement already building up in his mind. "Please stop saying that," is his only quiet request. That's not the right word. And then, Rahi lands that sucker punch right to his chest. "Wow," he's quiet, a pained smile touching his features before he sits back once more, leaning away from the things being said.
That had been special - a good memory. "Why did you wait until now, to tell me that it wasn't enough?"
He finds his sights traveling toward the barista who had congratulated Rahi, studying them for a moment before returning to the conversation. Just a moment - he needed just a second to recover. "He makes a lot of sacrifices for you." Behind it all, there's something left unsaid; a theme that Abel has identified. He can only hope it becomes a broken cycle.
"Rahi, I loved you." He sighs. "Love you."
He can't bring himself to lean back into this conversation, all but embracing the small space he's created.
"How do I prove to you that you're wrong about me?"
Must've been so hard, to have been so trusted. Rahi smiles in that way he does when he's blue. Lowers his vision to the wood grains on the table, thinking, You didn't understand it then, and you don't understand it now.
He lets Abel talk, but faintly shakes his head over any part that's untrue. Again, and again, and again. Finally, "Yeah, sounds like you missed me a lot."
"I did offer a solution, you just didn't like it." Rahi abandons the cup entirely now, setting it down near the window. "You're kidding, right? Yeah, I moved on. Or was I supposed to just never date anyone again after you?"
He lets out a breath, focusing to keep his voice even. "The problem with the way you trusted me, Abel, is that you trusted that you could give me the bare minimum and still have me stay. It's really not asking too much to live in the same city as my partner, and to have basic β basic β needs met. You stopped trying to see me happy, so then when I wasn't happy anymore, you acted like I blindsided you."
"I'm glad that you worked on yourself and that you're doing the job you wanted to do." Truly, he is. A little defeated, too. "I justβ I don't understand what you expect me to say that's different, when it's everything we already talked about."
"Take Berkeley's job isn't a solution. That's asking me to make myself smaller and walk in someone else's shadow." Abel sighs, watching as Rahi's cup turns wayward. It's still hot - just like their relationship had been. "The body was still warm, Rahi. Hell, it was still alive."
At the very least, in all of this, they are capable of talking. Taking turns. Listening, hearing, speaking. "The way you talk, you make it sound like I lost your number. It was fine for you to be busy and work long days when you were training, and I was happy to be there for you at the end of the day, every day, in Houston. I regret none of that. But you couldn't be there for me in the city we both lived in." His cup has joined the graveyard, forgotten.
"Rahi, you wouldn't even consolidate your life with mine. You wouldn't set a date with me. You wouldn't buy a house with me, wouldn't find an apartment with me - I tried. And when I finally decided it was time to run for Senate, I was willing to do all the commuting. But now you're with a man who also commutes, and commutes farther than I ever would have. And you're happy to travel for him, and don't seem to have a problem with how demanding his work is demanding of his time and energy. I don't understand."
context: trapped by the protest :( with: @abelrousseau
"You've got to be kidding me," he exclaims, not before trying to open every door by harshly pulling at the handles. There's protestors pressing against the glass panes of the doors, pushing in the opposite direction as him, and eventually he gives up trying. You're going to have to wait for them to break up the protest a security guard offers. "Great, yeah, I can see that," he points outside to the various struggling pairs of civilians and law officers and everything in between.
One turn proves it can and will get worse. "Abe," he acknowledges with a sigh and a nod of his head. "Thought you'd left earlier." Pause. "Think they'll let us smoke in here?"
"Halliday is on it." He's taken up residence away from the windows and doors - Abel isn't interested in dealing with the mess tonight. But hey - at least Ben got out before this all started, and took the damn football with him.
His name is uttered on a sigh, and Abel lets out one of his own. Don't worry, Alan, he wants to say. This isn't my dream scenario, either. "Bob's fault."
"What choice do they have? It's not like they're letting us out." Sure, there's laws out there to say otherwise - but Abel can think of a few loopholes, too. He glances at the guard, waiting for an argument that doesn't land. "How've you been?"
The question had been asked without premeditated intent; but now that Rahi knows the answer, it only gets him wondering, Then why now? "Oh, that's cool."
Then, the wave hits. Rahi had expected it to β just maybe not this soon.
Across the small table, Rahi's eyes meet his with a look that pleas, Abe.
Come on.
"A dinner sounds like a date," he says. "And I probably shouldn't be going on things that sound like a date when I have a boyfriend at home. Maybe you wouldn't care about that, but most guys do." As history has it, Abel's trust in him could easily override this logic. "He does, and he's not wrong for that."
"He is." Rahi drums his fingers against the small coffee cup, a little restless. "Is that what you wanted to talk about? Him?"
"That.. that's funny." He smiles, sitting back in his seat to observe. Abel takes a breath, letting it out slowly as he tries to work out exactly what to say in this moment. The smile only grows as Rahi carries on, taking jabs. "Must've been so hard, to have been so trusted."
Beat.
"I asked you to dinner because I missed you, wanted to see you. Talk with you." A small shake of his head. He leans forward, conversational. "You wanted to solve a problem. You rejected a commute, you rejected taking it a day at a time - but you offered no solutions. You wanted time and space, I gave you that. I was faithful to you during that time, and you were not to me. You broke up with me, and I spent months working on myself. You took no time in moving on. I've happily absorbed every bit of negative press, and you've let it happen. You keep pushing that I didn't and don't care, which you know isn't true, while suggesting through your actions that you didn't care."
"Yeah," he nods, stirring with a spoon. "Something with HR."
Rahi discards the spoon and presses the lid back on. "I mean, I saw it. I think everyone did." And all he can really think, is, Good for him.
Chai ready, he sinks back in his seat a little, taking the cup with him. It looks tiny in his hand. They're sat by a window, and Rahi looks out for prolonged moment β the busy New York City street, that gloomy haze that drapes over it in the winter. His gaze trails the fashionistas, and he smiles at the toddlers that pass by, bundled up in their parents' arms.
It feels unique to New York City. Not the same in Houston, or the ISS.
He looks back to Abe, "...Is this your first time back since New Years?"
"No." It's slow to come out. Abe's come back every weekend since, spending time with Ben and getting reacquainted with the city, but for whatever reason, he's feeling somewhat apprehensive. "I come up on weekends, over breaks." Like planned.
"Superbowl must've been really special. We went from dinner to coffee." He's seen enough, heard enough, been subjected to enough. There's no use in beating around the bush or pretending the sudden change in tone hadn't been noticed - he sees more than he's given credit for. "He seems nice."

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She had wondered whether or not he would react poorly to her question, but he does have poise. They all have to. Instead, she finds herself laughing at the way he handles the question with a volley of his own. Curiouser and curiouser. Everyone had seen the Superbowl, after all.
"I doubt you'd enjoy any of my recommendations, and perhaps my largest one is already quite happily married to his husband." It could be any number of people, but she allows his imagination to run with that one.
"By all means, I'm open to suggestions. I think we can both agree that respect is more meaningful than political beliefs." To a certain extent, at least. Abel does enjoy a good debate, though he isn't sure he'd be able to enjoy it at home. Still, this is a conversation far more lighthearted than they'd had for some time - a game, almost.
It's their specialty, after all.
"Sounds like a scandal." They both know he'd never touch that with a ten foot pole. "What's his name? I'd love to get some pointers from him." Weddings are good for elections, Bob had said.
"Really?" Double-take, but for better or for worse, he's... almost impressed. "I didn't hear about that one." Nothing happens in New York or DC, without Julian hearing about it. You can see why his gears are turning. "Though, I did hear something about the cheating. I've never seen someone laugh that hard at Starke's jokes."
(Because they're not funny, but that's a rant for a different day.)
"But then again, I suppose we're all hit with it at some point or another." Rumors. "Even you, Senator." Now he's smiling, resting a hand on Abel's shoulder, and mostly joking. Birds had chirped into his ear, but he's not pointing fingers β merely making conversation. "The sudden move to DC? It got people talking."
Consider Abel Rousseau's flabbers ghasted by the commentary on none other than Hans Starke. "You're kidding." Abe stares at him for a moment - but just a moment, letting it click in his head. "No wonder they were so cozy earlier."
Then, a low laugh - the kind that one lets out when they're caught in a shit storm and trying to stay afloat. "I honored our engagement, though I suppose some would argue that taking a break nullifies that." He's teetering on an imaginary line, but all he can do is shrug. "The move was for me. It was time."
ramsey gives abel a sympathetic smile. he may be one of the only truly good people there. the doctor would pity him for it, if it weren't so convenient for his own personal interests. in any case, in this sea of backstabbers and mediocre politicians, abel's presence is refreshing.
β ah, give it a moment. it's only a matter of time before all the booze sets in. β he's seen more than enough people there drowning their issues in alcohol, as well as various other substances, some of which he even helped procure. something is sure to erupt before the evening is over.
β this could be your moment. the chance to speak your mind... β
β half these people might not remember it, come tomorrow. β
Abel can only chuckle, taking a drink as if to punctuate Ramsey's wisest of words. It's early in day, this much is true. Less of a chance for people to retire when the day is young and the drinks are generously poured. "I think there's some existential question about bears in the woods."
If a man speaks his mind but it falls on deaf ears, did he ever speak at all?
"Besides, the tabloids have enough content without me speaking a word." At that, he nods in the direction of his ex and the golden retriever he's in attendance with - but we're not talking about that, right now. Abel would hate to fail a Bechdel Test so early in the day. "Which half of the crowd are you with?" The sober end, or the one blasting their memory away sip by sip.
"In her case," he says, "I think she never has anywhere else to be."
Julian huffs a laugh, and it melts right into his wine. It's the decision every politician has to make, at some point or another: if one's soul bears a price, and just how high or low it will turn out to be.
"Not worth it," Julian chimes in. "If not her, then it will be another. The awful thing about democracy, is that we have to give the other side a fighting chance. And the great thing about us," his smile doubles as punctuation, "is that we're willing to uphold that promise." Then, comes the joke: "Though if I've ever considered a dictatorship, is when I shook hands with her. God, what a piece of work."
"Normally I'd say to be the bigger man, but..." Abel looks in Joyce's direction, as if that is all that needs to be said. Piece of work is an understatement, in his world. "That woman has tried to shut down a bill her own party put forward just because it gained Democratic support." Is he joking? Yes. But he'll never tell.
@abelrousseau
"I'm sorry to inform, Senator," β Julian starts as he approaches, ready with one glass of Bonarda for each β "but RuPaul isn't gonna be able to make it."
He offers one of the glasses, whilst keeping the other close to his chest. Can't help but study him, gaze lingering longer than just about every time prior; but there had hardly been a reason for it, back then.
"I think I'm still detecting a soul on you." What a concept. "Is there a secret?"
"And yet, Joyce did." A disappointment, if ever there were one. Despite being a 'team', their partisan ideals and goals often fail to be cohesive - and it shows, no matter how hard he tries.
A quiet thank you is offered as he accepts the glass, a silent toast to Julian before a sip is taken.
"Waiting for the highest bidder." A joke, though they both know that eventually, the day always comes in politics. "I might sell my soul to keep her off the ballot, though. Stay tuned."

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closed starter for @abelrousseau where: the cloisters
There was a part of her that had hoped Abel would have stayed in DC instead of coming to this event, but no such luck indeed. Though they shared a state, it was hard enough being across the aisle from him. He was tough, and pretty much had a guaranteed spot for re-election ( or rather, stepping up from interim. )
Opponents and partners, in a way. Joyce tried to smile, bright and wide like every other greeting she'd sent to everyone else, but this would came out more tight, more tired. "Senator Rousseau, how lucky we are to have you here." With a tilt of her head, she glances around, "No date on your arm, I'm assuming?"
"Likewise." As they always are, it would seem. Abel doesn't bother with the bright smile that is worn like a mask, instead offering something much more sardonic for a brief moment. He wonders if she finds the humor in their working relationship, and subsequent niceties... and otherwise.
His brows quirk in confusion, and that smile widens. There are two choices in this moment, read between a million lines, or lean into it. "Why? You trying to set me up?"
Everything is different,this time around. Political events, fundraisers, everything to do with work - all of it has always been the same. Smile, try to talk less, don't make too many promises, be careful of popping off at the mouth. This time around, Bob's instruction is the complete opposite. Don't worry about being liked, he'd said. You're not here to provide lip service, you're here to do a job. You're just as angry as the rest of them. Empathy is your friend. Much more his speed - so why is it such a challenge?
More than once, Abel had caught Ramsey's eye throughout the evening so far. It was like a silent conversation between the two, spoken in glances and half smiles. Finally, they meet, and he is grateful for the reprieve. "If it isn't questions worthy of TMZ articles, it's an innate need to share a camera roll full of pet pictures." Still, he smiles at the absurdity of it all. "How has no one given everyone something to talk about, yet?"
@failedmedic