Title: Aftermath

Fandom: Nip/Tuck

Rating: I'll put it at a 16+ despite the fact it's not that bad.

Summary: 3 months after Christian's encounter with the Carver.

Disclaimer: I own few things in life. Nip/Tuck isn't one of them.

AN: There isn't much fan fiction for this fandom so I decided I had to write some of my own. But I can't remember the layout of Chez McNamara so I might have written it wrong. Sorry if I have.

Aftermath

Christian woke in a cold sweat. Nightmares still plagued him of how The Carver had violated his body 3 months earlier. Christian got up and walked over to the bathroom. He tried to shower all feelings, all thoughts, away, as he had done then despite being barely conscious. But it never worked.

In the shower his mind had time to think. To remember every small detail that had been burned into his brain as well as his skin. His physical scars were fixed by the wonders of modern medicine and science, but his brain could never forget and the shower just brought it all back to him. Sleep was the same. In sleep, Christian remembered what he tried so hard to forget when he was awake. The dreams were so vivid because they weren't just dreams: they were memories.

It wasn't just The Carver that haunted Christian's dreams. His dreams contained another figure. Mr. Troy: the man who had violated him as a child, the man who was supposed to be his guardian. Yet even those two monsters didn't occupy Christian's nightmare's entirely. What scared him, what hurt him the most was when he saw himself in his dreams. He saw the pain, the mental anguish that he caused all the women he'd ever been with. And he hated himself for it.

If The Carver was attacking beauty he'd chosen the wrong victim. Christian wasn't beautiful: he felt like a monster.

Shutting off the water, Christian vaguely towelled himself dry and got dressed. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. The reflection showed a half-decent human being, but it wasn't a man Christian recognised. The true Christian was not that pretty. 'Appearances can be deceptive,' Christian thought with a self-depreciative snort.

Christian glanced at his bed but knew he wasn't going to get any sleep tonight, not there. He unlocked his door and left, not caring if he ever returned.

Sean heard a knock on his front door. It was erratic, hesitant, unsure. Sean blinked several times. As his alarm clock came into focus it read 03:12. Sean got up and put his underpants and robe on. It wasn't until the knocking stopped that Sean rushed from his bedroom to the front door. He unlocked it with caution but when he opened the door a wave of relief hit him. Christian was there, sitting on the step with his back against the doorframe. He hadn't heard, never felt, the door open.

Sean paused before putting his hand on Christian's shoulder. Christian looked up immediately, and quickly got to his feet. That was when Sean got his first real look at Christian. It was a painful sight.

Christian was a mess. His thin shirt was creased to hell as well as being half-untucked. The tight, cotton trousers had no pockets but he wore no jacket so that meant he'd come without his wallet; no money, no keys: nothing. Christian's hair was mussed up with water, or sweat. Christian's eyes were blood-shot, several tear-tracks were still visible on his face. The dark shadows under his eyes showed that he hadn't slept for a long while. Christian looked so pitiable, so lost: he looked so vulnerable.

Sean threw open the door to let Christian in, however Christian didn't respond at first. Christian felt that he didn't deserve to be made welcome. Sean saw this on Christian's face and simply put a hand on Christian's back, ushering him into the house.

On their way to the living room Sean grabbed two beers from the fridge in the kitchen. He watched Christian carefully, scrupulously, as Christian never said a word.

In the living room, Christian practically collapsed on the couch. Sean opened the beers and gave one to Christian. Christian took it belatedly before toeing off his shoes and curling up into a small ball on the left side of the couch. Sean sat down on the right side and waited.

As time passed it was clear Christian wasn't going to say anything. He just stared into space and occasionally supped his beer. When he'd finished his beer he carefully placed it on the table and curled up again on the couch. He used a cushion as a pillow and, with his knees tucked up close to his chest, he fell into an easy sleep.

Sean watched and decided he would stay there until Christian woke, which would hopefully be a long time because it looked like Christian could do with a lot of sleep. Sean looked at the empty seat between the two friends and wished he could close the distance, but it was too soon. Christian had come so far already.

Sean had to be patient and trust that Christian would tell him when he was ready. In the meantime he just had to keep doing what he had always done, was doing now and would do forever into the future: being there for him.