tears.
tom/doug.
Disclaimer: I own nothing
Tom was crying. Doug had given him the keys to his car, knowing that Tommy would be glad to finally drive her again. Tom had smiled at that; Doug had laughed. And they had both gotten into the vehicle, Tom behind the wheel and Doug riding shotgun. But now tears were visibly staining tracks down the younger man's cheeks – paler and thinner and Tom was actually sort of sick, wasn't he? – and Doug wasn't sure what to do. Tom stared straight ahead, eyes focused on the road he traveled, hands gripping the steering wheel and if he wasn't crying he would look normal. Too pale and too thin and too sick but normal, Doug thought. If Doug were driving the car they would no longer be in motion; the road ahead wouldn't be falling behind them every few seconds. They would be parked on the side of the empty road – Doug had seen maybe two or three cars go by in the twenty minutes they'd been driving – and they'd be out of the car and Doug would be hugging Tom, comforting him, trying to figure out why Tom was so upset. Except it was all wrong, Tom was behind the wheel, and they weren't going to be pulling over anytime soon. Doug still wanted to hug Tom, to figure out was wrong, to know why he was crying.
"It's nothing," Tom spoke up, breaking the silence within the vehicle and startling Doug out of his thoughts. "I'm not even sure why I'm crying, Doug." Doug laughed. He didn't mean to. Tom was crying and he really shouldn't of laughed but he now thought that maybe Tom wasn't upset.
"Yeah. Okay." Doug leaned back in his seat and focused on Tom's face and he wondered when Tom had last eaten. He was sick; in some way or another, Doug knew it. And maybe it was just malnutrition. Prisons didn't exactly serve the murderers and rapists of the world 3 five-star meals seven days a week.
"You wanna grab a bite to eat?" Doug asked, still focused on Tom's face, waiting for a reaction. A response. He knew Tom had to be hungry. He'd lost weight, a lot of weight.
"Yeah. Yeah, that'd be good." Tom turned to look at Doug. He had stopped crying but his eyes were still shiny, glistening with the leftover wetness. He reminded Doug of a puppy he had found when he had been seven. Abandoned. Hurt. But hopeful; Doug knew the dog had been hopeful. Still waiting for another chance at survival. It never gave up. Doug thought that Tom looked like that. People always said prison could change a man. And Tom had changed, but Doug knew that no matter what he would never actually let himself give up entirely. Tommy Hanson was too hard-headed for that.