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Log Title: All Apologies

Log setting: Walker’s front porch, the evening following Trace’s OD

Log Cast:
Trace
Jason
Jean-Batiste

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"That the rule, huh?" Trace moves over to offer Jason a hand of assistance, but glances back at the front door frequently. Well. By that logic, Trace -- no longer stoned -- should be fixing what he fucked up earlier. "But I mean, I mean... he said.." He seeks out your eyes. "I don't even know what he's pissed for, unless it's me again... but he didn't act like this yesterday..." Well, did he? Actually, now that he thinks back on it, last night is quite blurred. "I mean... Well, he didn't *cry*, I woulda remembered that. And he held me all night, didn't run like this..." Trace drops forlorn eyes to his unopened fruitopia on the coffee table.

Jason giggles softly, though not very playfully, as he pulls himself up and starts stumbling towards the door. "Oh, trust me, it's all my fault this time. Every little bit. Well, 'cept the parts that aren't, like yours." He shrugs and thumps against the front door, loudly, then works the handle and pulls it aside (though keeping it between him and the outside, where Batiste is. "Go talk to 'im. Ya both can like... come in 'n beat me up later 'r sumthin'." He sounds lighthearted, but the emotions behind that tone are hard to read. But even his unfocused eyes show that there's too many to sort out anyway. He hangs there like a scarecrow usher, waiting for Trace to do as he's bidden.

Jean-Batiste's sitting on the edge of the porch, leaned forward against his knees, braced with folded arms. A Marlboro dangles off to one side, half smoked. When the door opens, he's watching the grass five or six feet in front of his feet between drags of his cigarette.

Trace heaves a BIG sigh and peeks up at Jason before starting very slowly towards the door. Confrontations, ick. He wishes he could have gotten what he wanted to say out in the kitchen earlier, bad timing or not. Might've helped. He stands still with his hand on the doorknob for several heartbeats before finally shoving it open and slinking out. "Hey," he murmurs very softly. "Sorry, I-I know you said leave you alone, but later's a zillion forevers when you leave like that," he points out plaintively.

Jason heaves a soft sigh from behind the door. "Why do you always have to be the po-..." the rest drifts off as he swings the door shut behind Trace and latches it quietly. Padpadpad*thump*padpadpad...

Jean-Batiste glances back over his shoulder out of the corner of his eye, then stares out at the lawn again, shrugging. "It doesn't matter," he murmurs, voice soft. He drags on his cigarette, and gestures weakly to the porch while the smoke's caught between his lips. "Come sit? Where's Jason?" The cigarette bobs wildly as he talks around it - he plucks it away and ashes it off to the side.

"He's waiting for ya to come in and beat him up," Trace explains with a weak attempt at a grin that falls away when he adds, "We both feel real bad... I.." He sighs and drops down onto the stoop next to you, wringing his hands together. Shoulders hunched, he looks properly humbled and then some. "Tried ta tell ya earlier, 'least how I feel, anyway..."

Jean-Batiste takes another hard drag off his cigarette, flaring the ember up to a demonic orange gleam. He sighs out the smoke and looks over at you, blond braids fallen around his face. "You tried to say something in the kitchen," he agrees softly, "but sent me back into the living room." He phrases it as if he'd been a child sent to his room by his parents. Another lungful of smoke, before he asks, "What were you trying to say?"

Trace's mouth drops open a little, entirely taken by surprise. He hadn't expected to offend Batiste with *that*... "I... But Batiste, I would've, I just figured you were eager to get to the bong and Jason followed you in and... and Walker and people were waiting for you..." He purses his lips a moment. Okay, that defensive ramble's done with, now onto the harder part. Finally he draws a breath and continues, eyes on the vacant street, "I just... it was fucked up, what I did to you last night. And I'm... I'm real sorry. I had no right to dump all that on you. I shoulda... shoulda just dealt with it, y'know? I.. I'm sorry."

Jean-Batiste shrugs a little, frowning down at his cigarette. "They could've waited. It didn't matter. I wanted to know what you wanted to say to me." He seems so casual about it all, that he would have shrugged off everyone in the house to hear what you had to say. He drags on the cigarette, exhales, and murmurs, "It's okay." When you mention last night, he goes silent and stays that way until his cigarette is done and ground out neatly on the edge of the step before being flicked into the overgrown flowerbed. "You shouldn't apologize for last night. You...you had every right to do that, and...I'm glad you did. To...know, that even when things were that bad..." He presses his lips together, swallowing once, then continues. "That you'd want to be back with me...you shouldn't apologize for that. I don't want you to hide anything from me, or...or be afraid to tell me anything. Ever. It...means so much, Trace. That I'd be that important to you. I just...wish, that..." He hitches in a breath and frowns away tears. "I wish that I could have been there, to keep you safe. I should have been there..." Another hard swallow, his words finished off on a tight whisper. "I'm sorry."

Again, Trace looks stunned at your words, and he shakes his head and scrambles to sit up closer for a moment to take your cheeks into his hands, both of them to turn your face towards him. "No, no, no... Don't think like that, like you shoulda been there. I get blamed for all'a that, okay? Every bit. I just... I fucked up real bad. I heard he was in town, and I just.. I shouldn't've fixed before goin' t'see him, coz I *knew* he was gonna get me high... *Course* he was, that's just what he *does*. And since I did anyway, I shoulda told 'im no, but I didn't do that either. And it was just so stupid, but it was *all me*.. I didn't even tell ya I was goin' ta see him! How can you think that?"

Jean-Batiste shakes his head gently in your hands, his dark, watery eyes puddled with guilt and worry and frustration and a hundred other things all melted together. "I know you didn't tell me, but..." He closes his eyes for a moment, sighing heavily. He -knows- it's not logical at all, but he can't help it. He takes a deep breath that catches at the end, looking at you again. "I just...want you to be safe and happy and...and I know there's only so much I can do, and I don't want to get in your way, but..." He looks down, eyes closed again, as he grasps one of your hands in both of his, squeezing tight. Another deep breath, and his eyes reopen, fixed on you. "We're blood brothers," he whispers, almost desperately. "I, I don't want to lose you, not like that, not knowing what happened to you...I...I just, I was so scared I was going to lose you." He stares down at your hand tangled up in his, trying to swallow past a knot in his throat.

Suddenly you've got a bundle of Trace in your arms. His slender fingers are still clenched around yours tightly, but the other arm loops around to your back and hold you fiercely close. He's still a moment, very still and tense all over. But finally when he goes to speak, a sob breaks past his throat and he muffles it into your shoulder, your neck, and tiny blonde braids. "I-I'm sorry..! I understand... If, if I had to lose you some stupid way like that, I... you.." He sniffles and tries to catch his breath, quiet a moment, save for a sharp gasp to match each hitch in his chest. Finally, "I'm sorry... I'm sorry, I tried so hard to tell 'im no, I tried... I'm a junkie, oh God... B'tiste..." And after that nothing else he tries to say is intelligible through his tears, He clings to you so tightly.

Jean-Batiste squeezes your hand tightly between his chest and yours, then releases it to gather you up into his arms and turn a little so he's leaned back against a porch support with you in his lap, his cheek against the crown of your head. One hand rubs your back, gentle over the wing-like bumps of your shoulderblades, the other hand tangled in your braids at the back of your neck. He whispers to you, shaky and faltering, trying so hard to reassure you and make things better. "It's okay, sssh, it's okay... I was just worried, I forgive you, I promise I forgive you... Don't cry, Trace, it's okay..." Promptly upon asking you not to cry, he sniffles wetly himself and lets out a tight laugh at the irony. "L-love you, remember? It'll...it'll all be okay. I was just scared." He sighs warmly into your hair and fall silent, eyes closed, arms wrapped tight around you.

"I'm still scared," Trace confesses softly, once his sobbing has settled, gentled, into the occasional sniffle and gasp.."Love you.." Oh, he'd thought he'd never be able to say that without the help of X or something similar to fill him up with the heady emotion, but there it is, chanted softly, insistantly, with the boy stone cold sober. "Love you.. love you.." He burrows into the warmth of your chest, muffling and further calming the gasps until they disappear and his breathing is just slightly unsteady and rattling, but again controlled. "M'sorry everything just got heaped on you today," he says after a long lapse of relative silence. It's like an ammendement of what he'd claimed he had to say in the kitchen. "S'like yer tryin' so hard ta be the stable one, it's not fair of us sometimes... But.. But I meant it when I said you were just who I wanted to see, that night. I'm glad I got back home to you, I can't help it.."

Jean-Batiste stays quiet, simply holding you close and petting Sharkadelic blue braids until you've calmed again. He doesn't seem at all interested in budging from his spot, even if his shoulder falls asleep against the porch post and his feet go tingly from supporting your weight. He smiles against your hair, sighing warmly again before giving a gentle laugh, then murmurs, "Someone's got to be the stable one. Someone's got to take care of you, and Jason too...I'm just...sorry I broke down tonight." He sighs, rubbing his face against your braids for a second. "I'm so glad you got home, too. Even though I was so scared...just to see you." He leans one way then the other, adjusting your weight in his arms lightly. "How are you feeling? D'you figure you're okay now? You feel okay?"

"Well, I.." Trace peeks up and smiles shakily. Not exactly... He's a little cramped, and hasn't fixed all day, not once, but otherwise... "Yeah. Yeah, I... I'm doing okay." He rubs vaguely at his runny nose and teary eyes. "I guess... the way I see it, we shouldn't... get upset, things are good for us, y'know? I'm happy here at Walker's, and it'll be so much better in our place, all ours, y'know? We got.. a lot, right now. A hell of a lot to smile about..." He sighs and nuzzles at your chest. "Blood brother. Don't know how I lived 'for you came.." A small pause before he asks, "And how 'bout you? You alright now? And wanna go inside? Coz if yer hungry, the food's still out..."

Jean-Batiste gives you a crooked but warm smile when you look at him, and carefully helps you wipe your eyes. His own eyes are still reddened and watery, but the tears seem to have stopped. No, wait - you say you don't know how you lived before he came, and fresh tears mat his eyelashes with moisture. He looks so touched by those words, so...moved. "Trace..." is all he can murmur, hugging you with renewed ferocity. A while later he laughs once, barely audible except for you, and admits, "I'm starved. I want another Oreo with pudding, you have to try that, it's great. And those sandwiches were giving me the eye, I swear..." He fusses affectionately with your braids and adds, "I'm...I'm okay. I just...it's been a long couple of days, and the last two times Jason's been around, it's been like...like he's only hanging out with me because of you. And, and I guess it just got to me, tonight." He hugs you close a final time, soaking up the warmth and closeness and imprinting it on his mind, then says, "Anyways. We should go inside. You ought to eat while you're hungry."

"Well, so long as *you* eat too," Trace smiles and gently teases, "Talk like *I'm* the only one bony 'round here... oughta try huggin' yerself sometimes." He giggles softly and lugs himself up, extending a hand to you while scarcely thinking about it. It seems to be a constant among his friends, always helping each other to their feet.

Jean-Batiste reaches up and takes your hand, coming up with a grin for you as he stands. "I'm not -bony-!" he exclaims softly, trying to affect a snooty air. "I'm..." He sniffs. "S lim." He sniffs again, then chuckl es softly and steps forward to grab you around the shoulders and gently knuckle your braids. "I'll eat, I'll eat," he promises. "C'mon." When the two of you step inside and see Jason crashed out at the base of the stairs, Batiste sighs and pauses, looking towards him with a sad, fond, frustrated expression.

Trace giggles a little at poor Jason's uncomfortable sprawl. "And I thought *I* was a heavy sleeper..." He glances around, but Ayita and Walker are taking up the couch. "We can't just... leave him there. He'll wake up needin' a backrub moren'n Walker! Stairs has gotta be worse'n that one time we fell asleep on the top of the playground's castle..."

Jean-Batiste studies Jason, going a bit melancholy again. The mood abruptly shatters, and he looks to you, grinning, as he says, "If Walker's sleeping down here, why don't we raid his waterbed? There's room for the three of us on it, it's huge. I can carry him, if you'll get his feet for me?" He can't help but smile a bit, thinking of that. Waking up in a decadently comfortable waterbed near the both of you.

"Maybe if we get him started, he'll wake up a bit'n walk the rest of the way...?" Trace suggests hopefully. But an experimental lifting of Jason's feet and then dropping them again with a light 'thunk' pretty much demonstrate that he's out for the count. "Okay, well..." he chuckles a little and hefts up his half, as much as he can without your assistance on your end, at least. "Alright... Alright, let's try this. We'll get 'im up there, and I'll go back down real quick and grab us some of the plates and we can eat up there, if ya want...? Walker's waterbed sounds like heaven right now."

Jean-Batiste maneuvers in around Jason, and carefully lifts him up with a tight hug around his chest, hefting him up and a little back. It means he has to climb the stairs backwards, but it also means if he slips, Jason won't crack his skull open. Give and take. Slowly but surely, the staircase is climbed - feeling like a hundred steps instead of the twenty or so - and Jason is eased onto the waterbed. "How about you get his shoes off, and I'll go get the food?" he offers. "You sprawl out, get comfortable, and I'll bring the food up." He grins at you, stepping towards the stairs before you can argue.

Trace goes to work on Jason's shoelaces, deft, quick fingers making short work of the task. He tugs them off and tosses them to the floor, before clambering up onto the bed himself and awaiting Batiste's return.

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