#themoreyoustrex

I am a tumblr ancient, haha. 

Hi! It’s so nice to see you again! It seems like ages.

It had been three days, seven hours, and roughly twenty-one minutes since Christopher had left. Ricardo was certain of this because roughly three days, six hours, and forty-five minutes ago Kevin R Free had come storming into his office and demanded to know why Christopher hadn't shown up to lunch. It was three pm, and Christopher (according to Kevin) always lunched at three pm. The truth was that Ricardo took lunch at two thirty, and Christopher was free to find his own meal once the older man's was finished.

All of this was a fancy way of saying that it was currently nine forty-five and Kevin was standing outside Ricardo's office with a disgruntled look on his face. The options facing the executive were to either climb out the window and down the drain pipe, come in through the kitchen, and hope that Kevin didn't pick the lock on Ricardo's bedroom door; or he could let Kevin in. Climbing out the window very nearly won, but the thought of having to explain to Santi why he was tracking mud into the kitchen (it had been pouring all day) deterred Ricardo. The cook was a far more intimidating figure than Kevin.

Ricardo opened the door.

If the look of surprise on Kevin's was face was anything to go off of, he hadn't been expecting to get his way so easily. He stepped into the office after a moment of hesitation, suspicion flickering across his face before settling into a look of forced determination.

"Christopher was supposed to come home yesterday." The radio host set his jaw, staring Ricardo down.

"He was." The response was short, measured.

"He hasn't come home."

"The weather's been poor. I'm sure travel was delayed." Ricardo gestured to the pouring rain through the window. This was a perfectly rational response. It wasn't uncommon for travelers to hole up until inclement weather had passed; in fact, it would have been unreasonable to expect Christopher to travel in what were undoubtedly unsafe conditions.

"You sent him to see Diego." Kevin was rapidly going red in the face, words dancing on the tip of his tongue only to be swallowed down rapidly.

"I did." The executive tipped his head to the side. "Christopher travels to see Diego once a month. I don't see why this time would be cause for concern." Ricardo moved to the liquor cabinet next to the door, pushing aside earthen jars to pull forward a cut glass decanter. Amber liquid caressed the inside of the glass, easily older than both men combined. "Why don't you tell me what's really bothering you?" Kevin watched Ricardo pour two glasses and settle onto the couch. Old springs creaked sullenly, and Ricardo busied himself with his watch until he heard them creak again.

"Why do you keep sending him to Diego?" Kevin's long fingers wrapped around the glass. Pride demanded that the former radio host refuse the drink. Curiosity insisted that a sip wouldn’t hurt. He'd never had the chance to try pre-war whiskey, and it wasn't the sort of opportunity that presented itself every decade.

"Christopher is the expert in his project. It would be stupid to send someone else." The words were smooth, practiced; spoken as though the executive had been expecting this conversation. Kevin barely avoided choking on the whiskey.

"Stupid? So it's intelligent to send someone whom Diego knows he can treat however he wants, and get away scott free? It's intelligent to dangle him like a treat in front of a scientist you're trying to get results from? It's intelligent to not worry when he doesn't come home on time, when he could very well be lying tied to a sad-"

"That is enough, Mr. Free." Ricardo's voice, sharp and quiet cut across Kevin's tirade. Somewhere during the onslaught of words the radio host had risen to his feet, voice growing steadily louder.

"It's enough when I decide it's enough." Kevin retorted defiantly. The whiskey was still clutched in his left hand, his right balled into a fist and shaking. His voice dropped to match Ricardo's tone. "You may have Christopher convinced that you care for him, but I know better. I know you only view him as a tool. Something that you can whore out in order to get what you want. What's going to happen once he's too old to entice people with his pretty face? Will you find some new thing to take his place in your bed, Christopher cast to the side like so many other playthings?"

Kevin heard the glass shatter before he registered the pain. Ricardo was now standing over him, the former radio host knocked off his feet. Blood smeared across the floor as Kevin scrambled backwards, pouring freely from his palm.

The wall above Caesar’s desk is infuriatingly blank, giving Christopher nothing to focus on other than the therapist. The shrink is waiting for him to say something, for words to come pouring out. Normally Christopher can find something, but he can’t hear, today he can only search desperately for something else to latch onto. It’s like he’s been cast adrift at sea, water is filling his ears and he can feel the gentle pull of the waves caressing his body. He can’t hear, he can’t think. There’s only silence and the chaos in his mind.

The hour ends and Caesar escorts him out. Squeezes his shoulder once and tells him to tell Ellie and Maria hi.

There is suffering too terrible to name

Christopher wakes up, reaching desperately for Diego in the empty space next to him. The engineer hasn’t been there in months but Christopher continues to search for him. The bruises have long since faded, the bottles have been fished out from air vents and desk drawers, the sheets washed and replaced with a pale blue set.

Outside the sun breaks over the distant city skyline. A boy on a red bicycle pedals past, trying to get home before his parents wake up and notice he’s missing. Somewhere past the skyline Christopher’s husband (ex husband, a spiteful voice reminds him) will be woken up by a prison guard. Chris will go to work, will come home early for his weekly meeting with Jake. He’ll make dinner for Maria, and then he’ll go to bed.

You hold your child as tight as you can

Jake left early, an emergency pulling the social worker away from the long since gone cold cups of tea that Christopher had made. Maria was late, and Christopher paced restless circles around the living room, torn between calling her again and calling the police. He can't help but think that Diego’s broken out, kidnapped their daughter. That he sent a friend to get her and take her away.

The clock slips past six.

It’s an old thing. Diego had bought it at a second hand sore and refurbished it in a fit of boredom between work projects. That had been earlier in their marriage, and he had been so proud when he hung it on the wall. Christopher remembers wishing that Diego would look at him like that.

Six o’ five.

Maria walks in, unperturbed and unworried. A knot loosens in Christopher’s chest as he gathers her into his arms. She smells like grass from the soccer field. For a moment, everything is centered again.

This is just the commute home, and yet I see you everywhere. I miss you like breathing, a constant involuntary reaction. The city itself sighs in your absence as though it knows that some fundamental piece has departed.