( * SINNER! )

𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐬. 80s-based, fandomless original character. scotland’s indie darling. call him the “hey now hey now” guy at your own peril. est. nov. 2016, rebooted dec. 2021. written by c. 21+. gmt. extremely low activity until further notice.

the   silence   is   deafening.         serena   stretches   her   hands   across   her   knees   ,         taking   a   deep   breath.      it’d   been   a   long   time   since   she   just   sat   quietly   with   james.         back   then   ,         it   had   been   nice.         comforting.         she   would   lay   her   head   on   his   shoulder   ,         palm   on   his   stomach.         almost   like   they   truly   cared   for   one   another.

maybe   they   had.         maybe   she   had   ,         and   maybe   she   did   want   him   to   wipe   her   tears   ,         in   spite   of   herself.

“         i   always   thought   you’d   find   out   sooner.         every   step   of   the   way   ,         i   thought   you   were   going   to   just   .   .   .         swoop   in   ,         and   tell   me   what   to   do.         help   me   in   some   way.         even   when   i   was   dying   ,         and   i   remember   them   taking   jayjay   out   of   my   arms   ,         part   of   me   thought   you   were   still   just   about   to   walk   in.         ”         it’s   better   he   didn’t   ,         though.         serena’s   sure   she   only   survived   because   she   couldn’t   leave   jayjay   alone.

“         and   my   life   is   here,         ”         serena   murmurs.         jayjay’s   too   ,         though   she   doesn’t   say   so.         moving   to   london   wasn’t   an   option.         there,   she’d   have   no   one   but   james,         and   the   thought   alone   tempts   loneliness.         “         but   we   could   .   .   .         come   visit.         ”

Seeing his obvious distress reflected in Serena’s expression, it seems to hit James all at once: what their affair had meant to her. For him, it had been a bit of fun, a way to feel young again, almost. But she’d almost seemed to idolize him, like a knight in shining armor, looking up to her suave professor who always seemed to have the answers. How far from the truth that is. “I’m sorry.” That’s all he can offer, a lame platitude in front of all the pain that Serena has gone through. “I just— I didn’t know.”

James really does not look good. If he actually believed anyone would be able to help, Xeno would be unlocking the door and shouting down the corridor by now. But they’re on their own, because he knows no real help would come. There would only be dozens of questions and intrusive eyes. Part of him already wants to protect James from that. He stays steady instead, supporting the other and holding the water bottle up. 

“Hey, hey, I know, everything feels really fucked up right now, yeah? But you’re not on your own. You’re in your dressing room backstage, and I’m here, and you’re gonna be okay. They want you out front for a show, but fuck ‘em, okay? You just keep breathing. We can just stay here.”

“A show?” James can’t help the snort of incredulity that leaves him when he hears that. He thinks the surroundings are familiar: God only knows he’s spent enough time in concert venues to recognize one, no matter how far gone he is. It occurs to him that he doesn’t know when he last ate, and he feels weak, really weak. It takes all of his energy to focus on Xeno. “Always something.” He manages to mumble. This guy looks really familiar. Has he spoken to him before?

THERE IS NO GOD. What a bold statement to make, though she supposes if Ali were here, he’d have a hell of a lot to say about aging rock stars and their attempts to relive glory days. though she supposes, James is still living through that without so much need to go chasing, that’s the irony in it, that even the rich and famous have good days and bad days, that there ‘s something still missing even with the world, seemingly at their fingertips. Like James and his unclaimed son. His unspoken lover. The husband that still doesn’t come home to him, even with her here, the teenaged runaway, the both of them sick and consumed with their own addiction.

And he faces it head on with his own dissatisfaction. He’s not really happy, not really anything much, lately. So much so that even Rue’s watching him peel apart at the edges, her head lifting and shaking, ever so slightly, the high spinning through her insides, leaving her both breathless, and winded, at the same time. “I’M A FUCK UP because I can’t get over the fact that nothing feels like when my dad was here. And nobody like…. like even with people who say they get it, they’ve been through it, they’re saying it just takes time, but I keep waiting and waiting and it doesn’t get better. So then… what’s the right thing?I don’t know. I keep fucking up and making a mess and I just feel like so much shit, it’s like, is it even worth climbing out of this, or am I just this… this like… perpetual piece of garbage with no hope, no redemption?”

“You’re so young, Rue.” There’s almost a tinge of envy as James says that. Yeah, alright, he was at the end of the rope when he was the same age as her, but still, he had time on his side then. He still wasn’t burdened with a failing marriage, a whole career, an image, this addiction— you name it. If there’s a book of regrets, you can be sure James Innes wrote it. “You still have time.” It’s not like he’s exactly out of time, either, and maybe there’s some fifty-year-old junkie living in a train station that would say the same thing to James. And he has money, doesn’t he? Heaps of it. It’s a blessing and a curse; something that keeps him off the streets, but enables his addiction, over, and over and over again.

“Maybe—” The thought comes into his mind for a second, and he banishes it instantly, because it’s too painful. He’s silent for a few minutes, staring into space, trying to figure out if he should release it into the world, if he should acknowledge the elephant in the room. He can’t keep thinking of himself all the time. He has to think about Rue, and her future, and her prospects, doesn’t he?

“     i  didn’t  know  that ,     ”         serena  says ,     tone  soft  and  …     sad.          she’s  pensive  for  a  few  moments ,     twisting  a  ring  around  her  finger ,     then  speaks  once  more.         “ how  was  i  meant  to ?          you  opened  up  to  me  sometimes ,     but  never  enough  for  me  to  think  that  i  really  meant  something  to  you ,     let  alone  a  bastard  child  that  could  ruin  your  life.          i  didn’t  think  you  would  care  if  i  left.         ”         the  whole  thing  is  frighteningly  honest ,     more  than  serena  felt  comfortable  with  ,     as  far  as  anyone  who  isn’t  her  siblings  is  concerned     ━━     james  being  in  her  life  again  is  overwhelming ,     a  mixture  of  grief  for  her  previous  life  and  relationship  with  him ,     a  yearning  for  something  again  …         if  their  son  could  have  both  of  his  parents  …         when  serena  realizes  tears  are  rolling  down  her  cheeks ,     she  pulls  the  sleeves  of  her  shirt  up  over  her  palms  and  wipes  them  away.         “     i  won’t  keep  him  from  you ,     if  you  want  t  -  to  try  coparenting ,     or  something  …          i  just  want  it  to  be  consistent.          kids  …         need  their  fathers.         need  their  parents.         i  didn’t  get  to  have  mine  for  very  long ,     i  want  jayjay  to  have  them.     ”

Serena’s talking sense. Way too much sense for James’ comfort. He knows she’s right, and he doesn’t have an argument to fire back like he always does, and that leaves him strangely silent for once. Back in London, he was always the one with all the smart answers, but there are no smart answers and glib replies for the situation he finds himself in now. He wants to reach out and wipe her tears away, as he would’ve done once upon a time, but he stops himself, that invisible touch barrier now suddenly back up after all the intimacy they’d shared.

“What’s your nephew’s name?” He could tell James was going to be good company. The car was cozy, and he didn’t feel cramped in the car. He felt himself relax a little, tension in his shoulder slowly ebbing away.

“Denver’s nice,” he hadn’t stayed long. On a previous trek crossing through the states, he had driven through the city, stopping by for gas and a quick lunch. “If you like the snow,” his lips pursed, and a true grin evolved, “I didn’t grow up around too much snow. So I really like to see it.”

He thought, he might just have to spend a night in Denver - just on the off chance it snowed. “She’s just over the state line. Green River. Wyoming.” Stay and buy himself enough time to work up the courage to call her and let her know he was coming.

“I’d drive myself too.” Tommy understood the value of space, to focus, and clear one’s head, “Tell me about your show?”

“Nick.” He beamed, with too much pride to be merely an uncle. Tommy didn’t know the complicated family history of James’ infidelity and backstabbing, but that wasn’t exactly the kind of conversation you got into on your first meeting, was it? “He’s a great kid. Can’t wait till he’s old enough to join us on tour, but we might have to clean up our act for him a bit.” Nick is really James’ son, but only two people know that secret; nephew sounds plausible enough to be the truth.

“It snowed a lot where I grew up. Small village in Scotland. I miss that in London, sometimes.” He was focused on the road again, one hand firmly on the gearbox, the other on the wheel, radiating the kind of confidence he never would’ve dreamed possible in his youth in Scotland. “Where did you grow up?” It was easy to have a conversation with Tommy: no pleas for autographs, pictures, invasive questions about his personal life. It was something James had sorely missed.

Odo bobs his head gently, still staring, intent, at James, with his fingers interlocked. Then his gaze falls.

He thinks about the Occupation. He thinks about his role at the time. He thinks about Kira, and Cardassia, and Bajor, and the unimaginable loss, betrayal, and devastation left in the wake of 50 years of brutal domination of one planet over another. Hardly anyone he had ever met before the Federation arrived had known anything else.

“Yes. Sometimes it is better,” he easily admits. Sometimes people deserved a happy ending. Sometimes it was safer that way. He had spent the better part of his life struggling to find that very balance.

“This face…” Odo gestures to himself, hesitating, “it’s not real. It is my approximation of what you are. Human. Solid. Most people I have met… find reasons to fear who I am, what I am, rather than understand. But it exhausts me to– perform. I think you know what I mean.”

They’re having a deep, heartfelt conversation here, and James is just in the process of nodding along solemnly when Odo brings up the thing about his face. He knows it’d be a dick move to laugh now. He knows it, but James has never been known for his filter or his inhibitions, so the chuckle leaves him before he even knows it. “Sorry, mate.” He puts a hand over his mouth, trying to stifle the further laughter. “I’m sorry.” Give him some credit; at least the man is trying.

“I just— it’s just— you’ve got everything here that you can think of, so why the face? I’m no model myself, but—” James shakes his head, and swallows his laughter. “Am nae laughin’ at you, it’s just—” He’s now fully embraced the absurdity of this situation, the fact that he’s sat here talking to a fucking alien, of all the things.