in loving memory of when i cared

Ash snorted in response to the question because they both knew he wore his disdain on his sleeve along with everything else. Ash wasn’t a moral person but he was unwillingly honest, his emotions yanking him around as badly as they did everyone else within his reach. 

His customary scowl returned when Max spoke again. Ash didn’t need reminding of his inability to skillfully execute subterfuge. “Can’t.” He stated simply when Max mentioned the money that he’d taken. Ash lifted the drink to his lips, bracing himself for the potential for it to be spiked. It turned out to either be virgin or dangerously disguised as such, prompting Ash to tip his head back further as he drank. 

He lowered the glass, glaring at Max over the rim of it for a moment before he spoke up again. “The money is already allocated. It’s outside of my reach here.” He gestured towards the ship around them, the ice in his glass clinking as it settled again. He wasn’t about to get into it over who had stolen from who, certain that an argument over it wouldn’t get him any closer to Wyatt Hartman. “I’m sure there are things you want more than that, though.” He countered, reaching for the tray of shots and plucking one of them between his fingers. It was risky business betting on Max’s tongue being loosened by booze when Ash himself was such a lightweight, but Max was several shots ahead of him and Ash was desperate. 

Resolutely ignoring any flashbacks that he was having of Max’s bachelor party, Ash placed the shot in Max’s hand and reached for the other for himself. “To your marriage.” He couldn’t help the shitty smirk that flashed across his features before he leaned back on the railing to take the shot, quickly chasing it with the Sprite in his glass. “Did my sister take your name? I don’t know if I should be appalled at the idiocy or relieved that I don’t have to share a name with that stupid bitch any more.” He shrugged and dropped the empty shot glass overboard before pushing away from the railing, nodding for Max to follow him. “Let’s go.” He commanded without checking to see whether or not Max was complying, stomping in the direction of the poolside bar on the other side of the ship. Ash could already feel the alcohol loosening his joints and warming him from the inside out, resisting the desire to untuck his shirt. “Did you at least bone before you took off?” He asked over his shoulder, denying to himself that he genuinely wished Max hadn’t. 

Wyatt both couldn't and wouldn't believe Ash's excuse that he wasn’t able to access his funds, unwilling to be duped so transparently. Even if it were true, he planned on getting that money back. But the line of thought didn't last very long, diverted by Ash plucking up a shot of Patron. He accepted the drink without hesitation, grin widening as he studied the forced calm etched into the other’s face. “To my marriage,” he echoed cheerfully before swallowing the shot. He looked pleased by the rude remarks made about his wife (ex-wife?), or perhaps it was simply the fact that Ash expressed interest at all.

“We talked about it, but I’m not sure if the paperwork went through,” Wyatt mused. He never particularly cared either way; he supposed leaving a trail of women with the surnames of his aliases was poetic, but the likelihood of getting caught that way wasn’t worth his desire for aesthetic irony. Looking intrigued as he was directed further down the ship, he abandoned the empty tray on the railing and followed with his boozy syrup in tow. At the salacious question, Wyatt nearly choked on his drink with a laugh, looking caught between gleeful and smug.

Ash wanted to break the waiter’s tray over Max’s head, only distracted from his ire when Max reminded him that he’d won before. Sure, Ash hadn’t been able to stop his sister from marrying this asshole but he’d walked away with the money before she could lose it to Max. Ego soothed momentarily, Ash gathered up what was left of his dignity and visibly relaxed while he tried to formulate his next plan. Stonewalling Max appeared to have zero effect and he needed a new tactic. He considered the fact that Max had always been weirdly flirtatious for someone who was trying to marry the sister but Ash had always written that off as mockery. He was certain that Max was gay (if not only in the derogatory, grade-school-bully use of the word) but Ash was indifferent to his own sexuality, chalking up any interest he’d ever experienced from anyone as purely masochistic. 

The thought of tequila alone was enough to make him nauseous, the wine still sitting in the bottom of his stomach like a mire. “You’re too open-minded. And it doesn’t concern you. Privacy might not be important to you but it is to me.” He shot back, shoving open the doors to exit the dining hall. He continued towards the doors leading onto the deck, his shoulders only falling to their normal space once he was outside. He didn’t typically seek fresh air or the outdoors but Ash was as partial to sea air as a 19th century matron. 

“Max,” He started as soon as he’d found a quiet space on the deck, turning to lean against the railing. “This is a very slow way to try and poison me.” He rattled the glass of Sprite in his hand, still unsure if the bartender had followed Max’s orders or his own. “As painful as this is, why don’t you just spare us both and tell me what figure you want for Wyatt’s contact information or a meet-up? Seriously, I would rather be broke than ever have to sit down in public with you ever again.” 

Wyatt was wholly oblivious to Ash’s simmering contempt, or at least appeared to be. He left the last two shots on the tray untouched, sipping instead from the garishly bright pink drink the waiter had brought. It was extremely sweet and very alcoholic, which gave him hope that Ash’s cherried drink was too. He stifled a laugh at the accusation that he wasn't a private person, knowing that it was best that Ash operated under the delusion. “Too open-minded?” he prompted, raising a brow. “You're not secretly racist, are you?” Although, to think that Ash would be secret about anything he hated was absurd.

Halting in his steps when Ash turned to face him, Wyatt leaned back to admire him with an approving grin. His gaze dropped to the drink in the other's hand at the rattle, taking a conspicuous sip of his own as he deposited the tray on the railing. The tequila sloshed and swayed with the movements of the ship, but didn't spill over.

“You're showing your hand,” Wyatt tsked with a click of his tongue. “Haven't you ever negotiated before?” Despite the criticism, he was charmed by Ash's naiveté, as if he were a particularly cute duckling and not a grand larcenist intent on his destruction. “You can start by returning the money you stole from me.” He popped the floating cube of pineapple from his drink into his mouth and added, “As a show of good faith.”

Ash couldn’t seem to combat the warmth that he felt building under his collar, embarrassment flooding him as Max spoke. The truth was that Ash didn’t really know or remember what he’d done (or hadn’t done) that night. And he didn’t trust Max to tell him the truth either, confident that Max just wanted to make him feel ashamed in some form of revenge.

Ash squared his shoulders as the waiter retreated to fulfill their contradictory drink order, Ash slowly inhaling as he tried to maintain his composure. Max smiling and laughing across the table from him didn’t make it easy but all that was forgotten when Max said that Wyatt already knew who he was, Ash staring back at him in a mixture of horror and surprise.

“Knows about me because you told him about me?” Ash demanded suspiciously, disinterested in anything of the food on the table anymore. The warmth of his skin was crawling higher and tinged the tips of his ears pink at the thought of what Max might have told Wyatt about him. It was mortifying enough to make Ash further consider putting his dick in a guillotine.

“I don't know him. That’s why I’m trying to meet him.” He insisted irritably, only tearing his accusatory gaze from Max’s face when the waiter reappeared to place a drink in front of him. “Let’s go. I don’t want to talk here.” Ash announced abruptly, fingers wrapping around his new glass and shoving his chair back to stand from the table. “Stop dicking me around.” He threw over his shoulder as he led the way out of the dining hall, assuming that Max would follow. His footsteps were hurried and while his tone indicated annoyance, the telling hunch of anxiety had his shoulders lifted in a tangle of knotted muscle and nerves. “I need to know what you told him and what his deal is. Just tell me how much you want to get in contact with him. I can’t talk to you about what I need to talk to him about.”

His eyes widened minutely with renewed glee at the sight of a blush blooming across Ash’s face. Wyatt looked happier than he did on his wedding day, which he knew the other could attest to. “I told him all about you, didn't I say that we're close?” He batted his eyes coquettishly. “No one else has ever managed to steal a quarter of a million dollars right out from under me.” It was as frustrating as it was enticing, knowing how sinister the man was under that buttoned-up facade. It was just like the time he found racy lingerie hiding beneath Audrey's pencil skirts.

Looking surprised but no less enthused when Ash jumped to his feet, Wyatt eagerly followed but not before whisking the tray of drinks right out of the waiter’s hands. “Send the bill to my room,” he said as he breezed by. He plucked up one of the shots of Patron and knocked it back, tossing the glass carelessly over his shoulder as he fell into step beside Ash. Instead of answering any of his questions, he glanced around their surroundings with a curious, “Where are we going?” He picked up another shot and offered it to the other with a cheerful, “Tequila?” before downing that one too when all he received was a withering glare.

“What could you possibly talk about with him that you can’t with me? I can guarantee that I’m much more open-minded than he is.” Wyatt’s brain raced for any sort of clue that would glean the other’s intentions, wondering if Ash had discovered his true identity. But that didn’t make sense, considering that he treated Wyatt and Max as separate entities.

Ash’s expression twisted at the reminder of the evening that he’d retained too-few memories of, particularly irritated because some treacherous part of him was entertained by the idea of Max’s tongue slurping salt and tequila off of his bare skin. -Despicable. Ash couldn’t trust anyone, not even his own stupid body. It was times like these (alongside the knowledge of his new tattoo) that Ash was beginning to wonder if he wouldn’t be better off without a dick at all.

A snort erupted from him as Max claimed the reason for why Wyatt wouldn’t want to meet him, Ash convinced without doubt that Max was mocking him. “I can’t believe this shtick works for you.” He rolled his eyes, marveling at the wishful thinking and desperation of his sister and all the other women that Max had conned. 

Ash’s gaze never left Max even as the waiter appeared, only moving to flick a piece of zucchini at Max’s face from across the table. “I’m not drinking that.” He reached out and grabbed the edge of the waiter’s coat, gripping the fabric in his talon-like hold. “Just bring me a Sprite. With cherries.” He instructed before releasing them again and turning back to Max.

“Do you know if he knows who I am?” Ash demanded, already hyper-aware of the vague warmth in his stomach and the sensation of the alcohol gently pulling at his brain like cotton candy. “I believe that he and I may have a common interest, but I’m not sure of the details. I need to know if he knows me. Text him. Ask.” He gestured impatiently, anxious for answers before the evening could spiral in any way out of his control. 

“It’s not a schtick,” Wyatt insisted, though amusement was evident in his features. “You deserve to be jailed for the things you did to me that night.” While being enthusiastically encouraged. Releasing a laugh and leaning away from the zucchini projectile, he casually dusted himself off with his napkin even though he remained spotless. He caught the waiter’s eye just as Ash freed him, calling out, “Make it alcoholic!” to the man's retreating form.

He turned back to Ash as he finished his drink, already giddy and a little buzzed-- though neither could be attributed to the wine. “Of course he knows who you are-- I don’t need to text him,” Wyatt said, pouring himself another glass. “We’re very close. He knows all about you.” His interest was piqued by the other’s insistence, wondering what the urgency was. A simple case of stolen luggage couldn’t possibly be of this much importance-- Wyatt got the feeling that Ash rarely concerned himself with such things unless it was dire.

Ash wasn’t sure how to answer the first question, quick to jump on the second instead. “You had his luggage.”  He stated simply, eyeing Max suspiciously even as he himself reached for the plate of fried zucchini. “Are you working for him?” He asked, suspecting as much but only half-hoping that it was true. A lead was a lead, but Ash really didn’t want Max to be involved simply because he already knew that Max wasn’t going to make this easy on him. As if being branded with a stranger’s name wasn’t bad enough already.

The clink of the glass drew a sigh from between parted lips, the memory of the one and only time that Ash had found himself inebriated in Max’s presence still haunting him. He felt obligated to play along though, keenly aware that in spite of his disdain for Max he also needed him at the moment. “I hate wine.” He informed Max even as he reached for the glass, hesitating momentarily as his fingers wrapped around the bowl of it. “Does he work for you?” He asked, shoulders pushing back as he sat up in his chair and tilted his head back to gulp the contents of the glass. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he refused to gag on the acidic beverage, determination overriding his body’s rejection of it. 

Having purposefully glugged ‘a drink’, Ash placed the glass back on the table and shoved it away from him, his face puckered with distaste as he reached for the glass of water to purge the lingering taste of the wine. “How do I get in contact with him?” He asked bitterly, resenting Max for already making this unpleasant. 

Wyatt grinned broadly when Ash finally took up his glass, reaching towards the center of the table for the drinks menu. “Well, I don’t think they serve body shots here, but I’m sure we could find you some top shelf tequila,” he offered generously. He had fond memories of being on the receiving end of those shots, and hoped to recreate them. Pretending to have missed the other’s questions as he flipped through the laminated pages, he paused to glance up as Ash continued to press.

“I work with him,” he corrected. “I’m the face of the operation.” Wyatt’s cheeks dimpled with amusement at his own inside joke. He closed the menu and picked up a spear of asparagus, swiping it through a mound of hollandaise. “If you want to talk to him, you have to go through me. He’s a bit shy. You might scare him off with your…” He trailed off as he paused to think. “Criminal sexuality.” Wyatt bit off half the asparagus with a snap and lifted his hand to wave over the waiter.

“Can we get a couple of shots of Patron and-- what do you want?” he asked, looking to Ash. Instead of waiting for an answer, he turned away to add, “And your sweetest drink mixed with your strongest alcohol, whatever that is.” From what Wyatt remembered, Ash had a legendary sweet tooth.

Ash was more than okay with the thought of being disowned by his mom and sisters, especially because he’d gotten the feeling from a very young age that his mother had already decided as much in regards to him. Now he had his sister’s fortune in his possession and even so there was little love lost between the four of them. Ash had long viewed his relationship to his family as solely a business venture, his dad being the only exception. Even now, Ash was certain that despite his mother and sister’s well-earned vitriol towards him their pathetic father wouldn’t have the backbone to actually hate him for it. The man had never had the balls to hate anyone at all, much less his only son.

Ash rolled his eyes in response to Max’s claim of an untainted record, certain that the authorities couldn’t be oblivious to the fact that Max’s same face had committed so many frauds under so many different aliases. “You should have picked a different line, then. This cruise isn’t selling itself on being the best of anything other than being discreet.” Ash caved at last and reached for the appetizer, moving the entire dish to place it in front of himself as he had zero intention of sharing.

The muscle beneath Ash’s eye twitched as Max mentioned the bachelor party, Ash dutifully tearing through the ring of calamari between his teeth. He didn’t want to take shit for trying to protect his investment at all costs, still only furious with himself for somehow managing to come away with no usable evidence that had been needed to convince his sister that Max was scum and call off the wedding. It was easier to focus his own self-loathing and disappointment into his hatred of the women that seemed to fall at Max’s feet. It was easy to understand how Max hooked them, even Ash could understand how Max managed that with his stupidly pretty face. What Ash couldn’t understand was being moronic enough to throw everything away because some guy with a six-pack sat too close and complimented your eye color. At the end of the day it meant nothing because Max was a fraud and anyone too blinded to see that deserved to get conned. 

Resisting the intense urge to accuse Max of being stupid and gay, Ash shoved the plate aside and leaned forward to fold his arms on the edge of the table. As much as he wanted to stalk out of the dining hall there was a reason that he’d showed up in the first place and he didn’t want to come away empty when he still had a mystery man’s name tattooed on his body.

“I need to know who Wyatt Hartman is.” He stated flatly in demand. “Just tell me what you want for information on who he is.” His stance softened slightly as he realized that he was the one doing the asking, specifically to someone who he’d wronged in recent history. Being humble wasn’t a strong suit for Ash, but this whole issue of unwanted body modification had certainly pushed him unwillingly towards it.

“It’s important, Max.” His demeanor uncharacteristically earnest as he spoke the other’s (fake) name, desperation and intent eeking through the cracks in Ash’s everyday mask of disdain.

Wyatt couldn’t quite suppress a grin when Ash greedily hoarded the calamari, incrementally nudging the other assortment of dishes forward in an effort to discover what the man liked. His usual types of women were socialites and heiresses or lonely widowers desperate for company-- and not to mention, women. He wasn’t so forgiving as to forget the injustice done to him, but he was extremely interested in exploring this new, blooming attraction to someone who had wronged him so heinously. Maybe it was the swoop of his hair or that perpetual scowl on his face, or maybe even the fact that Ash refused to let him get away with anything at all. Ever since the day they first met, it was obvious that he wouldn’t even consider the notion that Wyatt might be genuine.

Perhaps because most of the time, he wasn’t. “Why do you need info on him? And who says that I have it?” He appeared unmoved by the offer (mostly because he didn’t believe that Ash would give him anything he asked for), at least until Ash’s expression softened. For a terrifying split second, he wanted to shout his name from the crow’s nest.

Ash glared Wyatt down as the other moved to get his chair for him, waiting a beat further still before he finally relented and took his seat. “We’re not family.” He sniffed as he picked up his napkin and smoothed it over the tops of his thighs. He didn’t look up as Wyatt questioned his place on the ship, fully aware of how demeaning his current position was. He had to remind himself that it was all part of the plan- but then again, that was also what he’d told himself that night he’d been encouraging his sworn enemy to slurp tequila out of his navel.

“Appearances aren’t everything. Your dumbass just doesn’t understand keeping a low profile.” Ash bypassed the glass of wine that had been poured for him and reached for the water instead, his gaze finally lifting to meet Wyatt’s. “If anybody catches up to us who do you think they’re gonna look at first? The guy taking calls for fresh towels at the front desk or the guy who’s renting a luxury honeymoon suite for one?” He leaned back in his seat, smug satisfaction blooming across his features. “Unless you’ve already managed to bag that old bag.” The thought of Wyatt having already moved on to his next mark was a win-win for Ash, his vindictive nature living for the fact that it allowed him to revel in his sister’s unhappiness and tell her that he ‘told her so’. 

Wyatt looked pleased when Ash finally decided to join him, unperturbed by the other's blatant rejection. “Let’s put it this way, I’m probably the only person willing to call you family right now.” Although he hadn’t bothered to stick around much longer after Ash cleaned out the bank account he’d been after, it was long enough to witness the rift rippling through the Bordens.

“Why would I keep a low profile?” Wyatt asked, bewildered by the suggestion. The idea seemed preposterous to him, especially because it meant avoiding all the creature comforts he lived for. It was the very reason he had so many aliases, shedding each new persona like last year's fashion. “There isn’t anyone looking for me, because I haven’t done anything wrong.” ‘I’ being Wyatt Hartman, the only one of his identities that hadn’t been accused of a crime.

A grin stretched across his face to match the smug look on Ash’s. “You show a lot of interest in my love life. Is it jealousy? Or are you angling for another invite to my bachelor party?” He leaned forward to clink his drink against the other’s. “Don’t you worry, of course you can come.”

***

Ash knew this was a mistake but he was showing up at Poseidon anyway, too desperate for the potential to learn more about the name that had come to haunt him over the past twelve hours. 

He’d made the reservations (as requested) and gone back to his bunk to change before dinner, guessing that he’d be damned before he gave Max and the rest of the ship the satisfaction of seeing him after-hours in his uniform.

He was more than uncomfortable approaching the elegant dining hall, wishing for all the world that the ship had a McDonald’s aboard instead. Resisting the urge to keep his hands in his pockets, he spoke to the woman at the podium who checked the reservation and then offered to show him to their table. 

Ash wasn’t surprised to see that Max was already there, whatever discomfort he’d felt before quickly replaced by annoyance. “What.” He asked flatly, standing on his side of the table without moving to sit down. “Just tell me what you want.”

Wyatt beamed when he caught sight of Ash approaching their table, hopping to his feet and dutifully pulling out the chair across from him. “I’ve got what I want. The opportunity to spend some time with my brother. We are family, after all.” Despite fantasizing for several months about taking revenge, it had taken him all of two seconds within reuniting with Ash to scrap the whole plan. There was just something about that pinched expression and snooty attitude that made him want to give chase-- which was highly unusual for him, considering Wyatt’s tastes veered towards the very rich and extremely dumb. Ash was neither, which made the attraction even stranger.

“I’m surprised to see you here. You’re a bit overqualified,” he remarked, reaching across to pour the other a glass of wine. “Fallen on hard times, have we?” he asked, clearly teasing. “It’s a good thing happiness can’t be bought, or you’d be a very sad man.”

Ash scoffed, trying to worm his hand from the other’s grip without causing any more of a scene for the rest of the lobby. “Money can’t buy happiness. You were just as married with or without whatever I took.” He argued, jerking his hand away as soon as it was released. His blood boiled as Max touched his face with the card. Ash had a low tolerance for being touched at all, but the face was unforgivable.

In a futile effort to mask his discomfort, Ash stood from his chair and stalked around the edge of the desk towards the luggage cart. He was no physical match for Max but it made him feel better to blatantly disregard the fact that if Max wanted to he could pick him up and throw him back over the desk again. 

“Feel free to-” Ash stopped short when he noticed the all-too familiar name printed on one of the tags, the space between his eyebrows creasing in confusion and alarm. His gaze flashed towards Max with a mixture of suspicion and distrust. “Did you steal these?” He demanded, his mind jumping between a lot of possibilities that mostly landed on Max’s history of identity theft and fraud.

Wyatt looked ecstatic when Ash chose to step around the podium, stubbornly rooted in place as if encouraging the confrontation. “Of course money can buy happiness. Even if that weren’t true, I’d rather cry in an Aston Martin than a taxi.” He was about to point out that Ash seemed a lot happier (not happy) when they’d met years ago-- when he hadn’t been forced to wear a cute vest and work in the service industry-- but was distracted by the accusation.

“Of course not. I’m not a thief,” Wyatt said, which was mostly true. He only took things that were freely given to him (under false pretenses). “But they do need to go to their rightful owner, so I trust you’ll have them delivered safely.” He glanced over Ash’s shoulder when Bernice caught his eye, who was waving him over impatiently. Reluctantly stepping back, he paused to add, “Oh, and I need a dinner reservation at Poseidon for two at nine tonight.” He flashed Ash a wide grin. “Wear something slutty. Maybe that ruffled bikini if you still have it.”

Ash glared at Wyatt Max, ignoring the woman that the other had waved to. Ash was gritting his teeth because at this point he wanted to scream- or jump across the desk and strangle Max with the telephone cord. 

“I’m sure they’ll arrive safely to your room.” Ash had every intention of personally throwing the bags over the side of the ship, his tone doing little to disguise his insincerity. He didn’t know if Wyatt was here to exact revenge or just to rub his nose in the fact that he’d had to flee the country with the money because he couldn’t foil Max’s con on his sister- either way, Ash was livid about this unexpected contingency.

Something like a growl gurgled in the back of his throat as Max pushed the bill into his pocket. Despite his rage and heightened hostility, Ash squared his shoulders and picked up the authorization form that Max had provided in exchange for the key. “Grandma must be loaded, huh.” He commented too-loudly as he turned towards the computer to purposefully enter the information wrong. He leaned over behind his desk to open a drawer, plucking a room key from inside and scanning it. 

“I don’t want any trouble, Max.” He warned, his gaze cold as he leaned across the desk to offer the key. “You stick to sticking it in Bernie’s sandbox and stay out of my face.” 

Wyatt’s cheeks dimpled, amused by the other’s persistent hostility. It was just as vitriolic as he remembered, and he couldn’t say that he wasn’t pleased to be met with a personality he was already attuned to. Though his target had been Ash’s sister, he’d always found himself gravitating to the angrier sibling like a very stupid moth to a very dangerous flame.

“Jealousy is a good look on you,” Wyatt noted with delight. He accepted the key card but didn't pull away, his hand around the other's as he batted his eyes in an exaggerated look of innocence. “Who says I want trouble? You're the one who robbed me of matrimonial bliss.” He tapped Ash's cheek lightly with the card. “Though it is a nice face.”

Ash had no clue why the sudden focus on his haircut, of all things. His mind was racing with more important questions as he tried to decide what the most likely reasoning for Max being here was. Had he come after Ash because of the money he’d taken before Max could get his hands on it? Was he here for revenge? As if Ash didn’t have enough questions he wanted answered since waking up grotesquely disfigured with zero memory of how it had happened.

“Never, at this rate.” He complained, dropping the receiver onto its cradle. He reached for a pile of travel brochures and shoved them across the desk towards Wyatt. “Enjoy your stay. If you need anything at all feel free to ask someone else.”

Wyatt accepted the brochures with a grin, but made no move to leave. “Actually, I do need some help. I need an extra key card to room 2214, under Miss Bernice Clarendon.” He waved to an older woman behind Ash, beaming when she reciprocated enthusiastically, surrounded by Louis Vuitton luggage. “Here’s the authorization form with her signature.” He dropped it in front of Ash, and gestured to the suitcases piled high on a dolly beside him. “And these go to room 2250.” His luggage tags all read Wyatt Hartman, but he was banking on his ability to be ambiguous to keep Ash from catching on.

Wyatt produced a folded hundred dollar bill, leaning forward to tuck it into the other’s breast pocket. “I appreciate the help.”

Ash’s stomach flip-flopped the moment that he heard the familiar voice, too disoriented to even be angry about the intrusion into his work. Not only was the man in front of him the most annoying man in the world, he was also a reminder of how badly Ash had managed to let himself down when it came to foiling his stupid sister’s marriage. 

“Fuck off, Max.” He used the phone receiver to beat the other’s hand away from his uniform. “Do you owe alimony already?” Ash was unsure if he was more worried about Maximilian being on board or the potential that maybe his dumbshit sister was somewhere on board as well. 

Wyatt remained undeterred, expression only brightening as he removed his hand from the line of fire. He’d forgotten that Ash only knew him by his alias, an identity he’d had a great deal of fun fabricating. His expression was intrigued as he let his gaze linger, a spark of interest sizzling through him with closer inspection.

“Everyone always wants something,” he said breezily, dismissing the question. “You changed your hair,” he noted with approval. He ignored the growing line behind him, easily tuning out the frustrated sighs and grumbles. As if to make a point, he crossed his arms over the podium in clear indication that he planned on staying a while. “I like it, it makes you look…” Wyatt trailed off, though the smarmy look on his face needed no clarification. 

@hartchitect

Ash woke slowly at first, his lungs feeling as though they had collapsed and needed time to re-inflate with every breath that he took. Awareness of his body returned as his breathing slowly regulated itself, his vision blurring over once more before clearing as he struggled to sit up. He looked down at his hands and lap, legs sprawled out on the floor in front of him. He was wearing a suit- but not just any suit. It was a well-tailored suit. Ash could only remember having anything tailored twice in his life- his suit for his wedding and the suit that he’d planned (months ahead of Will’s death) to wear to his husband’s funeral.

“Fuck,” He sat up further to avoid the cabinet door that was poking into his ribcage from behind. He moved to stand when he noticed someone else was in the room , his eyes widening when he saw that it was Wyatt on the floor in a bloodied suit. “Fuck.” He repeated with urgency this time, scrambling to his feet and stumbling over towards the other. A gun laid on the floor several feet from them and he recognized it as his own, something he’d bought in case of home intruders or annoying neighbors. 

“Wyatt,” He demanded frantically, shaking the other as he tried to wake him. “Did you do this?” He muttered as he tore at the other’s shirt, pulling at it until the buttons gave way. Ash searched Wyatt’s torso to find a complete lack of injuries that would explain the amount of blood present at the scene. “What the fuck?” He glanced over his shoulder towards the door of the apartment, trying to sort if this was just some overly dramatic scheme Wyatt had invented.

Wyatt made a noise of complaint as he was rudely shaken awake, instinctively reaching forward to wrap his arms around Ash's waist. He could feel the other's hands tearing at his clothes, and despite his desire curl right back up, he couldn't resist the grin that tugged at his lips. “You're so needy, baby,” he hummed affectionately, mashing his nose into Ash's stomach and inhaling deeply. Eventually, he was forced to pull away when the panic in the other's voice proved unignorable, lifting his head to peer around them.

“Is this your house? I thought you got rid of this place.” By which he meant, ‘I'm pretty sure I burnt it to the ground.’ Wyatt looked somewhere between perplexed and outraged, glancing down to notice the dried blood Ash had been fretting over before. “Was I shot? Did you shoot me, Pookie?” The first was obvious, the second was highly likely.