The Ramification of Supplication

Rios awakes to the nightmare of what has occurred in Supplication.

WARNING: Discussion of M/M non-con, and Rios OOC

I've hurt him before. God knows I have hurt him before, but this, this is beyond, beyond anything…I've hurt a lot of men. Done things that make me a monster. Done them all for the greater good. I've done them, and let time and near sighted rationalization scab over the moral wounds making them easier to bear. But last night…Last night's not ever gonna scab over.

How it all began I don't fucking know. No, Samantha, that's how it always is with him and me it's always about Samantha. We got in after the op, a fucked up op at that, and just like we always do Ibunked at his place. The woman just won't, can't understand. Just can't get it through her jealous damned head that we need that time. We need to just decompress. We need to know that each other is ok. But she pushes me, and pushes me, and then it's always the same; she hits the right button, and all hell breaks loose. Last night wasn't the first time I took it out on him either. Last night was just the worst. It was the worst, and it wouldn't surprise me if he just vanished.

Samantha she just dragged me into the fight, and I took the bait, then I started thinking, and I started drinking, and then I was here at his place beating down his damn door. I can be fucking mean drunk too. I was mad at him for so many things. Things that I had no business being angry about. When has he ever intentionally hurt me? Never, never, and that's the sick part of this whole twisted mess. He sucks up Sam's cruelty. He forgets, and forgives me mine; he's a rock in my life, and now I am pretty sure I just picked him up and threw him so far away I'll never be able to retrieve him. Before, he'd skim along the surface of the sea when I threw him away, but last night, last night I know he just fucking hit and sank. I crushed him down so fucking far he's not even sand; he's just gonna be a powdery pile of pain, and the slightest breeze will blow him away from me forever if I can't find a way to make this right. Make it right! There is no making this right; who am I kidding.

So I've been stretched out here in his, well my recliner in the dark, frozen all day just trying to figure out how to fix it. What else can I do? No point in looking for him. When Elliot doesn't want to be found you're not gonna find him. So I'm just stuck, in shock, I think; just trying to understand why I didn't just kick the shit out of him, why I did what I did…It's just all too raw and confusing. It's so far out there that I can't believe I really did it. I can't, don't understand where it came from what I did. That's, I think, what scares me the most. I think I did it to punish him for trying to lead me down that road a few years back. I guess maybe it's guilt. I guess maybe somewhere deep down I harbor feelings for him I just can't process, feelings that make me feel guilty, and when Sam played that hand against me last night I just snapped.

I went to his place after getting good and fucked up at a bar. He answered his door, and I could see he was afraid of me a little bit. He knows me, knows my moods. He knows when the cruel switch has been turned on. He knows what I'm capable of. The in between is a sort of blurry mess of flashes of memory though. What's painfully clear, though, is the aftermath.

I woke up around 1300 sprawled out naked sideways across his bed. It's not my first morning after a fucked up night so I just rolled over onto my back, and catalogued my injuries. Knuckles were bruised, lip a bit puffy, bandage on my arm where Elliot fixed me up was shredded; what stopped me cold though was the stickiness, tackiness in my crotch. It was a familiar sort of morning grime, but I shouldn't have had it waking up in Salem's bed. That got me moving, and I lurched to the bathroom calling out for him as I stumbled along. I was annoyed that he didn't answer, and slammed the door shut hard once I was inside. I can't, don't want to remember the next part, but it flashes across my teary eyes anyway. I stepped up to the shitter, and started to piss. I was a bit more of a nasty mess down below than I'd thought, and I really started to feel confused. Then, as I leaned down to flush I noticed it. The tub, the floor, the wall by the door…blood. Footprints, a hand print…what the fuck did I do? I hollered for him again, and only silence filled the small apartment.

Panic? I don't panic. On occasion Salem he panics. It will pass in a flash, but he panics. Me never. My eyes swung back to the tub, and the memory slammed though me like a round from his fifty cal.. I vomited. It shot out, splattered the blood stained tub hitting the peach tile wall behind it. I vomited, and continued to for what seemed a life time until I was on my knees leaning over the bath gasping through dry heaves. I don't throw up. Salem he throws up at the drop of a hat. Drives us nuts. If I had Nickel for every time the little fucker barfed on me I could buy out Black Mountain, and solve half the world's problems. Finally, I fell back hard onto my ass, and scooted away from the tub like it was a rabid dog. It couldn't be real. It couldn't be true. It was a nightmare, and all I needed to do was just wake up. I just needed to wake up, go into the living room, and he'd be safe and sound asleep on the sofa wrapped in that shitty old blanket he stole from me in Somalia, and I'll make coffee and bagels and…

I don't know how long I sat there shivering, the sweat pouring off of me. The more I woke up the clearer the memory became. The more I sat there, the more I smelled; the blood and puke, the booze leeching from my pores, and the more smelled the more I remembered. 'Please Tyse, I can do things. Please…'

I raped him.

My stomach heaves again just thinking back to it. 'Please Tyse…' It's empty though. All I managed all day was some crackers and some juice. I guess at some point I got moving, and after a quick search of the house to make certain he wasn't crumpled up dead in a corner somewhere I cleaned out the tub, and took a shower. Then I cleaned up the rest of the room, changed out the bedding, and re-checked that no sign of the night before remained.

His keys are on the small foyer table, so he's walking. His phone's on his end table beside the sofa, and his stereo is still playing the CD he'd had in on repeat the night before, Gregorian Chants. He does that; just listens to the same thing over and over it's a strange habit, and Murray thinks it's indicative of some underlying mental issue.

Murray, I wonder for a brief second if I should call her. Call her, and see if just by some wild chance he called her too. He's got nowhere to go. No one to go to. I guess I do. I have family, I have Murray, I have Giddy, or Top Bene…even for something this grave I have outs, but Elliot not so much. He's a closed book. He's alone.

Where's he gonna go, and what's he gonna say. 'Hey Alice, guess what me and Tyse did? No guess what Tyse did to me. He fucking came over all drunk and all torqued at Samantha again, and he fucking raped my skinny ass. Go figure, I offered it to him once, you know 'cause I love him. I love him more than anything, and he shut me down. What was it he said? Oh yea 'Yo Elliot that dog don't hunt'. So yea, and now, now what am I supposed to do, Murray? He thinks I'm fucking Samantha behind his back. And now he'll think my ass is free for the taking. I was supposed to be safe from that shit with him. I was supposed to be able to trust him, Murray, but now what do I fucking do? Now who do I fucking have?'

I can hear it in his voice just like if he was standing right in front of me. I know him that well. Giddy, Giddy would freak. Giddy'll beat the shit outta me, and hell I'd deserve it. I wouldn't even fight back. But Elliot's not going to Giddy. He knows if Giddy knows he'll hurt me, and Salem never hurts me. So where does that leave us, him?

He's out there somewhere. He's out there alone, hurt and scared and despondent, and I don't know what to do. I called our usual hangouts he's not been to any of them, but that's about what I figured. He's in one of his 'around' places. I could look all day, all fucking week, but I'd never track him down. I just hope he's not dead some place. I just hope I didn't push him into his grave.

His land line rings, and I startle a bit. Maybe it's him, maybe it him checking to see if I'm still here. I stand up, and walk toward it. Two rings more, and the machine picks it up. My hand hovers over the receiver.

"Hey asshole, It's Heckler. Where the fuck are you? We were supposed to go out tonight, pool at Holy Smokin' Joe's. Remember ass wipe. What gives? I know you and Rios got dinged up a bit, but dude three days? Call me Fifty! Heck out."

My heart sinks, and I slog back to my recliner. It's damn near 1900 and I feel completely helpless. Can't even do a missing persons for another day. Not even if I feel like he's in danger. And what would I say. 'Yea officer, yea I raped him. Took him without his consent. Arrest me! What? No 'cause when he comes home I have to be here. No…' It's all just so hopeless.

Salem's had it tough. All of his life he had to fight, and scrape to get by. All of his life he lived in fear of the people who should have been taking care of him, and now I'm one of them too. He doesn't say much about it, but every now and then after some drinks he'll start talking to me. His story's not a good one, and it amazes me that he does as well as he does. He has some strange way of just locking the bad stuff away. It works for him, but last night I knew it was fresh and raw for him. He was shaking. I could hear his teeth clattering. He plead with me to just slow down, and let us work it out. 'Please Tyse I can do things.'

My stomach churns again. Will this fucking nausea ever go away? Will I ever stop crying? I don't cry but I've been crying now for six fucking hours. I just…I don't. I've seen him cry. Usually after I've fucked him one way, or the other. Usually after I spout off with some hurtful shit sometimes he'll cry. I think ninety percent of the reason is anger. He just gets so hurt, and it gets all twisted up with his anger, and the tears just slip out. He can't make himself hurt me so it's mostly frustration I think. Yea, we fight, but I always win. He's a tough little son of a bitch, but I think he just holds back with me. Only once has he ever really gone after me. The time I took his lucky hat. He was all teeth and claws. He broke my nose. I've seen him beat men senseless with tears in his eyes. Giddy says it's adrenalin, and raw emotion. I don't know. I know we don't talk about it. It's a private thing.

I went after him in the shower. I snuck in, cornered him, tortured him with words, played upon his greatest fears, and raped him. Why? Why, well because I could. Why, because I was blaming him for Sam telling me to go get fucked if I couldn't come straight home to her. Why, because he'd offered, and I hated him for having the balls to show me his true colors, and I hated myself for not indulging him, for being such a coward. Why, because I wanted him to hurt the way I hurt when Samantha tossed me out. Why, because I think this fucking job is stripping away every shred of our humanity, and I don't know what to do. Why?

I took from him every shred of security that he'd fought for so many years to obtain. He should have been safe with me. What had he said way back on that first day? 'You're a big ass mother fucker, and I'm just a little skinny ass bitch; so my little skinny ass should god damned safe around you right?' Right. What the fuck was I thinking?

He'd offered, and the courage that took goes way beyond him charging a fucking MMG. I can't imagine how he worked up to it. I can't imagine how he felt when I turned him down the way I did. He'd offered, asked out of nothing but pure love, and what the fuck did I repay that with…That dog don't hunt. He saw an opening. Sam and I had split for the millionth time, and he took his shot. That dog don't hunt. Maybe that dog wanted to, wants to, and maybe the only way I could find the courage to say yes, and still feel like what…a man…in charge…what? Was to take it from him by force.

I need to talk to somebody about this, and I just don't know who. I raped him, and it shouldn't have gone down like that. He fucking loves me un-conditionally, and I fucking raped him in more ways than one, and it's the others that scare me to death. He'll get over the physical pain and hurt, but emotionally? I feel in my gut that I'm not gonna get him all the way back from this. At least not for a long, long time.

Fuck it I'm calling Gabe. I can't just sit here like this. I can't I…I'm going crazy. I need a confessor.

"Gabe, Tyson." My voice is not my own, and I know he'll pick up on it.

"What's up Tyson? Good to hear from you." He did, I can tell.

"Gabe, I, we need help. It's Elliot."

"Is he ok?"

It's his command voice, his control voice, and it's good to hear.

"No. He's…we're…I raped him."

The silence is deafening. I can hear his breathing. I hear Dorrie walking up, and asking what's happened, and Gabe telling her. I can hear his hate, anger and repulsion, and he hasn't said a word. I hear Dorrie ask for the phone, and then glass smashing.

"Tyson talk to me."

Again the voice of reason. She's a therapist, she's a doctor, she knows Salem and me, and she'll be able to fix it, us. She has to be able to fix it, or least fix me so I can, if he gives me a chance, fix him. More smashing fills the back-round, and I hear her tell him to go outside, and go for a walk. Ironically the last time I earned Gabe's ire was when I treated Salem so poorly during his first days in Djibouti. Now he we were again. I know him. I know he'll seethe and rail, but in the end it will be ok. But still it scares me.

"Tyson are you still there?"

"Here."

My voice is small and scratchy. Nothing like the cruel twisted voice that torture Elliot in the shower last night, and I hope to never have to hear that voice again ever, not even for work. Last night has taught me that I need to kill that part of myself. Cut it out of my being so it could never be used to hurt Salem again. I can't take that chance. I can't lose control again like last night.

"I raped him. I was drunk, real drunk, Sam had me torqued all up, and I just went to his place, and I don't know the meanness came out, and I raped him. He offered me once, and I turned him down, and I was angry and confused and guilty and drunk, and the cruelness came out like the old days with Ferrell, and I raped him, and he's gone, and I don't know where, and I know I won't find him even if I could get up and go look, but I'm just stuck here in this chair, and I'm sick, and I keep crying, and I don't know what to do to fix it. I don't know what I'll do if I can't fix it. Jesus Christ Dorrie help me!"

The tears are flowing hard now, and I'm pacing back and forth like a caged animal. The words just tumbled out, and she knew enough to just them flow. Snots running down my face, and my chest is heaving, and it hurts. I feel dizzy, the room's closing in, and I'm sweating my balls off again. God my chest feels like some-one's crushing it in a bear hug. I can't die of a heart attack without telling him I'm sorry.

"Can't breathe."

"Sit back down Tyson. Sit, and try to take deep breaths."

I do. In the back-round I hear a door slam open against a wall, and then shut. Then Gabe's voice booming across the house.

"We go wheels up in forty-five. Cooper Wiggins is prepping his GV. Get that fat fucker settled, and pack a bag. Fucker's are gonna need more than a phone call for this one."

"Did you hear that Tyson? We will be to you in two hours max. Tyson?"

I'd heard her. Two hours was too soon. Two hours, and this will all become a sick reality. Two hours, and I'd have to face Gabe; the man I respected more than any other man I'd ever had to deal with. He was probably more of a father to me than my own. He'd saved my soul from Ferrell, and he was gonna have to save it again. As for Elliot…Gabe was his hero. Well aside from Tyannikov anyway, but Gabe was in our lives, and Tyannikov not so much. Salem knows I hate the big Russian fucker, and steers well clear of him. Again why do I need to assert myself over him like that. If I'd have let him have Tyannikov, then maybe he'd have a friend to talk to. Christ I'm just such a fucking mess. But Gabe, he was the only father Salem had ever truly had, and I just had to hope that by bringing him and Dorrie into this I wasn't completely closing the door on me and Salem.

"Roger that, wheels down here, in two. You don't have to do this. No you do. I'll pay for it all. Yea, in two then, Rios out."

Two hours is an eternity when you're locked inside of your own head, and your head is full of horror. They arrived right on cue, and when the bell rang I had no clue what to expect from Gabe. Hopefully Dorrie had calmed him down. There was no point in trying to avoid his punch so I didn't even try. As soon as he heard the locks click he twisted the knob, slammed through, and nailed me hard enough to knock me down. It was a classic take down. We'd trained it a thousand times over. I sat there not wanting to move with him looming over me, and hoping he'd just keep going until I was unconscious. Dorrie walked passed us, and dropped their bags on the floor behind the couch seemingly oblivious to the altercation.

"He loves you, you fat fucker. He loves you, and he wouldn't want to see you hurt so I won't hurt you, but god damn it Rios…here get up son."

I took his hand, and he pulled me up. My mouth was a bloody mess. I was a mess.

"Go clean up." We talked after that. I guess I felt a bit more in control. Then, they took off with a list of places to look for him and to get a hotel room. They wanted to stay at his place but I convinced them that when, if he came back that we'd need some space. The stuff that need to be said was for our ears only. Finally they agreed after I promised to keep them in the loop.

So here I am back in my recliner, sitting in the dark. It's 2100 and nothing no sign of him anywhere. Gabe and Dorrie came up empty too so their just waiting in a hotel a few blocks away. It's dark out, and I can hear the surf crashing down on the beach. It stormed for a bit so I hope Salem's inside somewhere out of the rain. It's crazy how instead of running good stuff through your head at a time like this only the bad scenarios seem to pop up. Him lying in an alley beat to shit and soaking wet, him dead and soaking wet, him getting the shit kicked out of him because he's too drunk to fight and on and on. Dorrie seemed to think he'd hole up somewhere lick his wounds and come home. I hope so. She said he's stronger than I'm giving him credit for but doctor or not I think she's wrong on that count. I'm fucking falling apart so I know he is.

This waiting is worse than anything I've ever experienced before. Even the time he was in a coma for a couple of weeks wasn't this bad. Then, he had help. He had doctors, he was being cared for, but this not knowing if he's being hurt again or worse…it's tearing me apart. I'm a man of action not this waiting. Elliot he can wait. For all of his hyper energy and bluster when it's time to just lay and wait the man can do it for days on end. It's uncanny.

I remember him telling us all those years ago at his first Fourth of July BBQ at Gabe's how in Sniper school for the stealth course he'd made his way to his position, and then just laid there waiting for the final minutes of the test before taking his shot. How he just hid, and watched as one by one the other men failed, and were sent back, or sent home. At times the walkers were inches from his hide, and still he just waited them out. Finally, at the five minute mark he took his first shot. He was the last man to shoot. The walkers failed to find him, and then were freaked out that he'd been there the entire time just waiting and watching. It was risky play. Anything could have gone wrong, and he would have failed. They applauded his skill, but scolded him for his brinksmanship. He graduated first in his class. The youngest, smallest man in the cycle.

Now he's hiding from me. He's hiding from me, and he's probably right under my fucking nose. Having come to that conclusion I swallow what pride I have left and grab my phone.

"Giddy, Tyson, you seen Elliot? No sure, no everything's fine; he's just been MIA all day, and it's not like him so soon after an op. I don't sound fine? No I'm good just fighting with Sam, and you know same old shit. Rios out."

"Murray, Tyson, you seen Elliot? No he's…he just…well he took off early this morning. No we're good, my voice? No I'm good. Just a fight with Sam, and he got pissed, and he's MIA. Not like him right after an op. Yea, call me if he does. Rios out."

Two down no point in calling Heckler, Salem blew his night with him off. Or did he? That would be right under my nose wouldn't it.

"Heckler, Rios, no I don't fucking know where he…will you shut the fuck up, Heck. He's fucking MIA ok, do to him? What makes you think I did something to him Heckler? Fuck. Pool, right, well good luck 'cause I don't know where he is either. I did not do anything to him. What even makes you…my voice? No, a fight, a screamer with Samantha. Let me know if shows up will you. It's not like him to go missing right after an op, and less like him to stand you up. Rios out. Fuck!"

One more and this will be the hardest. It will once again be breaking a trust. I know he talks to Tyannikov on occasion. Well we all have to. SSC works a few times a year with DBA so it's a necessary evil. I don't have his number though it's in Salem's phone under a fake name, and he doesn't think I know.

"Tyannikov, Rios."

"What."

"Elliot's MIA."

"Where?"

"Here, stateside; he took off on me this morning and I…"

"What did you do to him?"

"I hurt him, Tyannikov."

"He has not called me. Why are you calling me?"

"It's a bad situation…I thought he'd want to be as far from me as possible for a while. You're far away."

"I'm in Atlanta. Meeting. Doctors Without Borders. Prepping for mission in Africa."

"Right. Well if he turns up will…"

"I don't know. Depends if Barsukh wishes it. Tyannikov out."

It never pays to make an enemy that you can't just fucking kill. Sorry fucking arrogant fucking Russian son of a fucking bitch. Fuck I actually feel better. Being so pissed at the bastard has given me a little confidence back. 2300 I guess I'll just have to wait him out, and if he doesn't show by morning I'll scramble the team, tell them what I did, take a beating, and then we'll go after him somehow. In the meantime Gabe needs an update, and then I'll just settle in for the duration.

It was maybe an hour after I updated Gabe, and I guess I was actually dozing. The clicking of the front door locks was nearly imperceptible, but I heard it. Every hair on my body stood up, and my stomach heaved. Anxiety at this level is not something I am used to experiencing. It's a devastating feeling. It locks you up, and makes acting nearly impossible. Pain is a better situation. Pain kicks in Adrenalin, and Adrenalin is a good thing, but this, this is horrible. It seems like an eternity passing by before finally I hear the door slide open, the weather strip swishing across the small throw rug behind it. For a flash, in my minds eye, I see Elliot standing in the hall trying to figure out how to push open the door, and not brush over the rug. It's impossible, and I'd wager a month's pay that once he's back on track the little brown and yellow rug will disappear.

It's about fifteen steps, Elliot's steps, to get to the light switch. In my mind I count them off. The apartment is pitch dark. Only the glow of the little clock on the microwave can be seen. In my mind I see him reaching for the light switch; I cut him off by calling his name.

"Elliot."

My voice is deep, hoarse and shaky.

"Ty…Tyse."

He's scared. I turn on the lamp beside my chair. The click, click of the little switch sounds like a gun shot.

"Come here."

I know he will. It's an order. Elliot always follows my orders. Just as he reaches me I sit up, closing the foot rest on the recliner, and cross to him. He's terrified of me and backs away slightly, as I stand up, and I'm crushed. The tears start again, wracking sobs I can't stop.

"s'ok Tyse. Ain't nothin' that I ain't been through before. S'ok."

His voice is too small, too childlike. Have I lost him.

"S'my fault."

His fault? Is he crazy? His fault. But it's just like Elliot to take the blame, to somehow find a way to absolve me of my sins. All of his life he was made to believe everything was his fault, and he still takes it hard when something goes wrong, still struggles to not carry the weight of the problem on his shoulders.

I need him to forgive me, to not be afraid of me, to not have locked me out of his heart and soul, and I'm so fucking afraid that's' what he's done. I hold my arms out, my hands palms up in supplication and drop to my knees. Nothing else will do. Supplication. I'd done it for him before; knelt in supplication before Igor Romanov to try to save Elliot from the same acts I'd perpetrated against him last night. You can torture a man. You can threaten a man, and even the strongest of them will hold out for a long, long time, but if you truly want to get to the crux of a man's soul, his breaking point, threaten someone he loves. Romanov read us both like children's books and threatened Elliot with the unspeakable. He threatened him with his greatest fear. So I'd knelt in supplication. I broke, and now I'm breaking again.

Oh shit he's going down! I lean in, and catch him just as he hits the floor. He's in my arms, and I can't help it, but I crush him to my heaving chest. He's fighting me, struggling to get free. I can't let him go. I won't let him go. I know I'm probably hurting him. But fuck it; I need to have him close. I need to take away his fear.

"Elliot, Elliot no be still. It's ok, not gonna hurt you, it's ok, shh Elliot be still."

He starts to settle a little and I drag us over to the sofa, and lean back against it. He's limp, and curled up in a trembling ball. Elliot's not a small man. Not by regular standards. For us, though, around us the team, most guys in the business he's small. His five-ten, one-hundred and seventy pound frame is damn near tiny by comparison. It's a draw back. I admit it. He's not carrying my big ass twenty klicks to safety, and we both know it. So it can be a scary thing his size. Times like now though, it's a blessing. I have all of him wrapped in my arms, and I'm rocking us. He's not crying though, and I don't know why really, he's in shock I think. His eyes looked glazed, and unfocused in the quick glimpse he'd allowed me. So I'm just sobbing and rocking and praying that he'll come around.

His hands are clawing into the stitches he put in my arm, and the pain of them tearing gets me focused. He too realizes it, and tries to pull away.

"Gonna get you to bed, Elliot. We're gonna get through this."

"Hurt me."

"Yea, I did."

Then, I just pick him up, and tote him to the bathroom. It's all clean, and smells good so I hope he doesn't panic. I sit him on the closed toilet, and start the shower. He's eyeing me warily, but I think he's not going to try and run.

"Water's warm. Get outta those clothes."

He hesitates, and the fear is back.

"It's ok Elliot, just want to get you cleaned up."

Then he's in the shower. It would be easier if I could get in with him, but that's too much for right now. I'll just deal with the watery floor when we're through. I wash his hair, and body, and help him out. He's shy, and he's keeping his back to me. It hurts. We've seen each other naked thousands of times. We've helped one another shower due to wounds thousands of times, and now he's afraid to let me look at him. It hurts, and I'm crying again.

I dress him in comfortable soft clothes, and check his wounds. The thigh needs new bandaging, and his rib is more painful he said. I press the area gently.

"It's broken, Elliot."

"I know."

"You're gonna be down for a few weeks."

"I know, sorry."

I get him into bed, and pull the comforter up over his shoulders. Sleeping's gonna be painful, ribs are just such a bitch, but it's the wounds I can't see that scare me the most.

"Look Elliot, there was blood…"

"I'll be ok."

"Gonna lock up; be right back."

I lock the place up, call Gabe, and hit the med kit. He'll bitch, but I need him to take some pain meds. I need him to sleep. I need to sleep. Glass of water in hand I head back to him.

"Elliot, here. Take it."

"Don't like them."

"I know, how much have you had to drink?"

"Gimme half a one, Tyse."

"Ok."

I do, then crawl into the bed alongside of him. He slides away slightly, and I can feel him trembling again. I shush him, and wrap myself around him careful not to crush his ribs. We sleep together. Maybe it's because we'd crashed watching a movie together, or in the field to stay warm, maybe it's a small hide, maybe we just need each other sometimes. It's not sexual. It's not wrong. It's just us, and I don't give a fuck what anybody thinks about it. It's just us, and until last night it all seemed innocent, but now holding him I feel shame. Not at holding him, but at what our innocence has been, because of my actions, twisted into. We'll never be innocent again. Maybe we never were. He breaks my train of thought with my old game of waking him just as he's dozing off.

"Yo, Tyse?"

"Elliot?"

"I want…I want you to know…I want you to know that I…I…"

"I love you too Elliot."

It wasn't something I wanted to do. Elliot wanted to do it. He'd tried once, but… It was a lie thinking I didn't want to, and I'd harbored, and suppressed that lie for so many years. It was a wall, is a wall between us, and in my anger and confusion I broke it down by force, because I understand force. But, it's done now. It's done now, and not the way it should have gone down. He deserves so much better. I know he'd suffer it again a thousand times over to keep me happy. Supplication. It wasn't something I ever thought I wanted to do; and damn sure not the way it went down, but... Supplication, we know that word, and maybe, just maybe it was the best solution.