Be Reasonable
The only experience Waylon had with trials, lawyers, and court was watching daytime judge shows with Lisa. He felt extremely out of place as they checked into their Denver hotel. He was sharing a room with Lisa and Miles, who promised not to "make it weird." (Lisa's words) Waylon wished he had Eddie's fashion sense. His only suit was years old and he hadn't worn it since the funeral for Lisa's father. He knew that because the program for the funeral service had still been tucked in the pocket.
Miles was extremely busy with interviews. Every major news channel wanted to get his take on the situation, as the reporter that broke the story and a witness of the disaster. Lisa had taken a considerable amount of vacation time to make the trip. She had insisted on going so she could provide emotional support for both of her boys. Miles did not seem to care for the term, but Lisa was a difficult woman to dissuade.
It was unseasonably warm and the cool rain from the night before was evaporating, creating a hazy morning. Waylon froze at the front door to their hotel.
"I can't..."
"Way," said Lisa, squeezing his hand. "You can do this. We're just going to the courthouse it's really close.."
"But, I just can't..."
"Suck it up, Park. Or do you not care what happens to Murkoff—the people who made you this way?" asked Miles, giving a steady gray stare.
"I can come later. I don't need to be there for opening remarks. I'm not even being called to the stand today..." Waylon tried to rationalize his intense desire to flee back into the safety of his hotel room. This fog was different. There was nothing sinister about it. If only his rational mind was in control during times like these.
"It's a short ride before we are there. The car will be waiting all day if you need to go back," Lisa said where only Waylon could hear. She gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear. "You can do this. Opening remarks are important. We have to hear the ridiculous arguments Murkoff has dreamed up."
Waylon swallowed hard and then steeled himself before stalking out the door of the hotel. The car was waiting out front and it was a very short drive, though he did keep his eyes down in the car to avoid having to stare into the foggy void outside the windows. Waylon managed to relax slightly, until he caught sight of the hoard of people mulling around on the courthouse steps between large white pillars. The car stopped and let them off at the corner and fear of the fog had been fully replaced by anxiety about the throng of reporters. Once the trio came into focus, the cameras began to flash. Waylon began to panic anew.
"I...I can't. I haven't talked to the press. I don't want to talk to them. Miles!" His voice had raised several octaves. Part of him hated how weak he was coming across, but he felt helpless. All he could do was push through and use his coping techniques. Just breathe.
"I got this," said Miles. "Go around to the other side. Jerome and the other lawyers are around here somewhere. I texted them when we left. They know you aren't ready to talk to the press. Just push past and go toward the side entrance. Someone should be there waiting for you and will help you." Waylon could tell by his tone that Miles was struggling to remain patient. But at least he was trying. Impatience was an improvement to his usual open disdain.
"Miles! Miles! Mr. Upshur! Do you have a comment before the trial! Please! Mr. Upshur!"
The voices all became one deafening din. Waylon ducked his head against the onslaught of flash bulbs. Miles stalked directly toward the cameras and microphones, one hand firmly dragging Lisa with him. "I'll handle the reporters. Get inside," Miles instructed Waylon.
"See you inside Way!" Lisa called after him as he had already started on a beeline for the door.
Waylon was separated from Miles and Lisa as he rushed toward the doors. He had no interest in talking to any press. The lawyers had warned them, but they had seemed to think it would be a very small problem. Behind the swarm that had engulfed Miles and Lisa, Waylon encountered even more flashing lights.
"Mr. Park! Mr. Park! Can we have a statement? Mr. Park, are you testifying today? What are your feelings on Jeremy Blaire? Did you know Murkoff was experimenting illegally while you were employed there? Mr. Park? Waylon!"
Waylon was sweating and frowning. He had no comment. Why were all of these cameras taking his picture? Where would they end up? The internet? Some magazine? The hard-drive of some Murkoff file system keeping track of his every move. He recognized the feeling of fainting as his vision turned into a tiny dot and his body felt numb and cold. He had felt that way when he passed out in that hellish basement...
He would have landed face down on the marble tiles if someone had not walked up and shielded him from the cameras while pushing him forcefully toward the doors. Waylon's feet followed blindly. He did not even stop to breath until he was past the doors and waved through a private doorway that lead to the private rooms for those associated with the trial. Once inside, Waylon leaned forward with his hands on his thighs, sucking in air.
"Credentials?" asked a gruff voice. Waylon looked up meekly and found himself face to face with a uniformed police officer for the courthouse. His hands fumbled for the lanyard around his neck containing his photo-identification for the trial. The officer took the laminated ID in his hand and stared back and forth between the picture and Waylon before scanning it with a hand-held scanner and nodding his approval. "Welcome Mr. Park," the officer said politely. "Credentials?" The second inquisition was targeted at the person that had come to Waylon's rescue.
"Sorry," Waylon panted, still gazing at the ground. "I just...it's so foggy and..." Waylon stopped trying to explain and just focused on regaining his composure. He cleared his throat and stood upright. Then his heart stopped.
"Welcome Mr. Gluskin," said the security officer.
Eddie. It had been his large form blocking the press and leading him to safety. They were standing in the same space together after so many months. When Waylon finally found the courage to glance upwards he saw Eddie watching him with concern plain on his face. Waylon could not tear his gaze away from those blue eyes that haunted his dreams. Not blood red this time—lined with worry instead. The security guard had moved on with his duty, oblivious to the strange stand off happening in the hallway.
"Waylon," Eddie said to break the uncomfortable silence. His face was tense but his blue eyes were pleading. Waylon could not tear his eyes away from the sight of his long lost boyfriend.
"Eddie," breathed Waylon, a slow smile appearing on his face. The earlier panic seemed distant when he was looking at Eddie wearing his dark woolen overcoat and a fine vest and slacks peeking out underneath. His hair was the same but his face was still changed from the aftermath.
"I'm sorry to drag you in here, I just thought you..."
"Thank you," said Waylon, staring at Eddie. "You saved me." Eddie frowned at the choice of wording. "I'm so sorry Eddie. I'm sorry I did not meet with you that day you came to visit, and Miles was keeping us from seeing each other at the lawyers' office and then..."
Eddie silenced Waylon with a raised gloved hand. "After everything, you are here apologizing to me? Darling, be reasonable."
Waylon laughed, and strangely it might have been the first genuine laugh free of self-loathing since he was admitted to Sandy Branch.
"Are you..." Waylon started before he could stop himself, unsure what he wanted to say to first, "...how are you, Eddie?" That's what normal people said when greeting one another, right? Waylon needed to remember how to be normal.
The doors opened behind them and more personnel filtered in through the door.
"Why don't we move out of the hallway?" Eddie said, distracted by the new noises echoing through the courthouse corridor. He began to walk and Waylon immediately followed him. There was no fear that Eddie would lead him somewhere unsafe, and it was not just because of the heightened security surrounding the day's ordeal. Waylon was relieved to know he did not feel afraid, at least not at that time.
Eddie knew the way to the room set aside for the prosecution and their witnesses. The room was blessedly empty. Everyone was probably out dealing with the media frenzy out-front. It was not cold inside, but Eddie made no move to take off his coat. He stood stiffly near the door watching Waylon as he walked deeper into the holding area. There were tables, chairs, and closed circuit televisions that were currently showing a mostly empty courtroom with random people walking through. Waylon began to feel uncomfortable under Eddie's unwavering stare.
"I'm fine, thanks for asking," Eddie said, and Waylon was lost for a moment until he remembered that he had actually asked a question before they had relocated.
"Oh," Waylon responded, pushing his chin length hair back behind his ears as he submitted to the scrutiny. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"You look..." Eddie stopped himself before he said whatever had been on his mind. Waylon's brow scrunched up in confusion. "It's just been so long," Eddie finished with a small shrug of his large shoulders beneath his coat.
"I know," Waylon said, resting against a table in a half seated position without ever breaking eye contact.
"I had heard you suffered an injury to your leg..."
"Yeah. Yeah, but it's mostly better. Healed up and only a slight limp if I overexert myself." Waylon's tone was light and casual. Just two guys chatting about the events on trial that day like everyone else. Except their stiff postures and strained stares spoke of something different. "All of my injuries are healed."
A pained look flashed on Eddie's face at the mention of his other injuries. Fuck. Was it really going to be like this? After all this time and the longing and wanting they would sit here uncomfortable avoiding sensitive subjects? Waylon pushed away from the table and walked into Eddie's personal space, noting the way the larger man straightened his back as though preparing for some kind of attack.
Waylon reached a hand up slowly, studying the damaged side of Eddie's face. "Does it hurt if I.."
"No," Eddie whispered, still watching Waylon warily. Waylon nodded before gently sliding the pads of his fingers over Eddie's skin. That day in the basement, Eddie's face had been covered with so much blood and weeping fluid that Waylon could not tell how extensive the damage had been. It was later reported that when the gas came out in concentrated amounts it was in danger of condensing into a liquid which acted as an acid to human skin. Eddie must have taken a direct hit from the gas at some point. Now his skin was forever dimpled and scarred.
Waylon gently traced along the silvery pink and white ridges on Eddie's forehead, cheek, nose. He had not noticed when Eddie had closed his eyes. They were both so different after a year, but one thing definitely had not changed. Waylon was dying to kiss those scarred lips. When he ran his fingertips across Eddie's mouth, the taller man sighed and his lips parted slightly. Oh God. Could he? What would Eddie think if he were to lean slightly forward and...
"Hey! Ed! Looking for you," came a male voice walking through the doorway. Waylon quickly withdrew his hand and stepped to the side. Eddie turned around and the newcomer stopped in his tracks.
Waylon's stomach churned uncomfortably and his face looked suddenly guilty. He recognized the slicked back blond hair and the striking jaw. The article's picture caption had named him...
"Sean Taylor. It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Park. I've heard so much about you," said the handsome professional holding out a hand. Waylon gave a curt wave instead of accepting the offer.
"Everything okay here?" Taylor asked.
"Of course, darling," Eddie said, giving a tight smile. Darling. Oh... Waylon turned away from the other two men in the room. He had known for a while that Eddie had a new partner. He should not be so surprised that the man would be here at the trial.
"I'm right across the hall," said Taylor. "Just yell if you need anything Ed." Waylon did not turn around for several moments. He forced himself to breathe through his nose. Turning into a crying emotional mess before the trial even began was definitely not the best way to start the day. He turned around and saw that Eddie was watching him with a curious look on his face.
"Waylon, are you alright?" asked Eddie, stepping closer to the obviously agitated man.
"Yeah," he said, wiping his eyes on the back of his hand in the most inconspicuous way possible. "So, Taylor err Sean?...is your new..." Waylon intentionally left the sentence open ended. Partner? Lover? Boyfriend? What if they were even more than that? It had been months since Waylon had seen the article...
"Lawyer. Yes," Eddie said, his face still concerned as he frowned at Waylon from across the room. "Newest partner at the firm. You're working with Patricia I believe?"
Waylon dared to meet those too blue eyes. "Only your lawyer?"
Eddie stared at Waylon in confusion for several moments, and then a smile slowly pulled up one side of his mouth. "Darling. Are you jealous?"
Waylon tilted his chin up trying to look indignant, but it did not work. Eddie laughed and the sound was as infuriating as it was heartwarming. With quick steps Eddie closed the space between them and wrapped his strong arms around Waylon. The smaller man nuzzled his face into the wool of Eddie's overcoat, returning the embrace by sliding his arms around Eddie's neck. "There's only you," Eddie whispered into his hair. Waylon pressed his face harder against that coat, rubbing his face against Eddie like some kind of stray cat. He got lost in having Eddie hold him again.
Fingers through his hair brought Waylon back to the present. Eddie's hands threaded through his blond hair with a tender touch as though afraid of breaking a single strand. Waylon finally pushed away from Eddie's warmth enough to speak.
"Why didn't you come back to visit?"
"I could not stand the thought of causing you more distress, darling. After everything I had already done..."
"What do you remember?"
"Nothing. You. I remember waking up next to you. Watching you sleep. You make this noise, it's kind of between a snore and a wheeze..."
"Lisa always said that," chuckled Waylon against Eddie's chest. "What about immediately after? What's the first thing you do remember?"
"I woke up in a hospital. I was being chemically restrained for everyone's protection. I was confused. I demanded to see you. They told me I hurt you. No one would tell me how badly. I was..."
"They kept me away from you, too. I told them I needed to see you. No one would listen. And I was...well, I had some...I mean, I was not really myself..." Waylon was not sure he wanted to tell Eddie about his pregnancy scare in the hospital, nor about the hallucinations he had believed until he learned the truth from Miles.
"There's no shame in getting help," Eddie whispered, his hands petting Waylon's head in a soothing gesture. "I was just so worried about you. I hated to think you might be angry with me, hating me..."
"Never," Waylon said, squeezing his arms tighter against Eddie. "Everyone tried to tell me you were bad for me."
"They are probably right," Eddie said, his voice full of disgust. "I'm the only survivor that reacted... differently than intended by the chemical." Waylon bit his lip, glad Eddie could not see his expression. Eddie was wrong on that point, but Waylon could not really get into that yet. "They told me I was a danger to you, and I still reached out. I still wrote you. I tried to visit. But I still don't know, sometimes I feel like..."
Waylon remembered hearing the same type of words from Miles. "It's almost over now Eddie. They're going to find those bastards guilty and then we can get on with our lives and..."
"Oh, darling," whispered Eddie. A gentle hand tilted Waylon's face upwards as Eddie pulled away just enough to angle their faces together. Waylon had just started to close his eyes when...
"Get away from him, Gluskin."
"Way, we were looking everywhere! They had a separate room for us if you would feel more comfortable..."
"Fucking get away from him," Miles ordered again. "Are you ready for what's about to happen? Are you morons even aware of what's going on today? Quit thinking with your dicks for five minutes." Miles pointed with his nub of an index finger at the closed circuit television now showing a full courtroom with lawyers and the jury taking their positions and awaiting the judge.
Eddie refused to back off, instead tightening his grip on Waylon's arm. Waylon felt a small fluttering of fear, but he remained calm.
"That's right. We're here for a trial that's going to decide our futures. And they're going to be dragging up every thing that happened. Every. Single. Horrific. Detail. There's no way in hell I'm allowing Waylon to sit in a room with the man that tried to chop his dick off while that happens."
"Miles," admonished Lisa. "Stop it, you're being a bigger problem than Eddie right now."
"Then you get him to come. Make him see sense. There's separate rooms for a reason. Who knows how much of this trial is going to be upsetting to these two mental..."
"Miles," Lisa snapped again, her face morphing into something angry and feral. "That's enough. Go wait in the room."
The reporter started to say something, but one look at Lisa's glaring dark blue eyes sent him out of the room with an irritated huff like a toddler throwing a tantrum.
"I'm sorry Eddie," Lisa said, addressing the larger man first. "Waylon can be...unpredictable. It was really a decision made out of consideration for both of you. You're free to met up after the proceedings. I won't let Miles interfere. He'll be too busy fixing his hair for the cameras anyways." Lisa shifted her gaze to Waylon as she spoke gently, "The decision is yours Way. Wherever you want to stay."
Waylon wanted to insist that he would be fine, but he knew Lisa was speaking the truth. He was unpredictable, at best. What if he had a nervous break down in front of Eddie? God, that would be humiliating. Eddie's eyes were glued to the screen as everyone stood for the judge.
"I won't send you away, but I won't make you stay either," Eddie whispered to Waylon. It was a difficult decision. He did not want to lose any more time with Eddie, and the way the man was gripping him said he felt the same way. But did he really want Eddie to see him as a shivering, panicked mess?
"I'll see you soon. Don't leave without seeing me?" Waylon said, putting a hand over Eddie's where it was gripping his arm. "Today is going to be difficult for me..."
"Of course, darling," Eddie said, releasing his grip with a barely audible sigh. Waylon looked back right before he walked out the doorway and saw he was still being watched and the look on Eddie's face. Well. Maybe things had not changed as much as Waylon feared.
The other room was almost identical to the room where Eddie was waiting. Waylon and Lisa joined Miles at a table nearest the television. Lisa leaned forward and turned the volume up slightly. The prosecution was taking the floor to give their opening statements. Taylor was actually the main speaker and he looked very professional in his charcoal suit and slick blond hair.
"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the Murkoff Chemical Company created a compound they knew to be dangerous, and they continued to test it on humans. They tested this compound on paid volunteers, on subjects forced into cooperation, and even on unaffiliated innocents not aware of the dangers. The world saw the destruction unleashed by the Walrider project on August fourteenth. The wreckage shocked and terrified the world—but the Murkoff Chemical Company knew of the side-effects, the potential dangers, and the severity of the situation once containment was breached..."
The opening statement continued to detail the crimes Murkoff had committed. Waylon zoned out during some of the technical jargon. Gross Negligence. Blackmail. Fraud. Corporate Responsibility. Waylon got the feeling that the prosecution was secure in their stance. Murkoff Chemical was definitely guilty, and now it was only the simple matter of parading out all the evidence and witnesses to make it official in the eyes of the law.
It sounded good; airtight. The documents Waylon had extracted were proof of what had happened. After all the witnesses testified and the documents and video footage were reviewed, it was impossible for Murkoff to walk away. Waylon could barely make out on the television screen a man so elderly and gnarled he was sitting in a complex wheelchair that seemed to be keeping him alive. "Who's at the defendant's table?" Waylon asked as Taylor continued to outline the prosecution's intended plan.
"Wernicke," Miles said, not taking his eyes away from the screen. "He's Murkoff's CEO, but the post has been more honorary than anything else considering...well, I mean, look at him." Truly, Rudolf Wernicke looked one hundred and twenty years old, spoke with a thick German accent, and his family had strong ties to the Nazi Party. No wonder the papers were already calling him "The Crypt-keeper." Murkoff was definitely falling behind in the court of public opinion.
Waylon hummed in agreement. Even if Wernicke's mind was still sharp, someone that immobile and decrepit would probably have difficulty managing an international chemical corporation as large as Murkoff. Taylor continued to talk directly to the jury.
There was a murmur when Taylor finally finished his speech and took his seat at the table. Then a statuesque woman with short cropped black hair and alabaster skin walked onto the floor in front of the jury.
"Helen Granat, attorney for the defense. The prosecution, like much of America, is quick to blame the big guy and vilify corporations. The truth is, Murkoff Chemical Corporation saved the town of Leadville in the sixties when they moved their company here opening up new jobs and opportunities and drawing in a new intellectual crowd that quickly grew to include local libraries and universities. Murkoff is a local hero in addition to all they have accomplished worldwide."
Waylon could not stop the deep frown on his face. Miles openly cursed at the image of the defense lawyer detailing all the virtues of the Murkoff Company in front of the jury. Helen Granat painted a different picture entirely of Murkoff Chemical, the worldwide corporation busy helping bring water to third world countries and new drugs to a world constantly demanding new and better medications. She even indicated that Project Walrider was about developing a pill that aids patients suffering hallucinations.
"Are you fucking kidding?! God, I can't wait to watch these assholes burn..." Waylon hissed at the television.
"The person to blame for the unfortunate accident on August fourteenth is one rogue executive, a Mr. Jeremy Blaire. Blaire acted on his own self interests against the order of the board of directors and CEO. He was in league with other outside parties and attempting to morph Murkoff's helpful drug research into a chemical weapon. He acted alone."
"Only after the events of that day did certain aspects of Mr. Blaire's personality become apparent. The man had money problems, and a drug habit, that were all not known by superiors and in fact Blaire actively covered them up through falsification of records. Jeremy Blaire is the true criminal, and he expired on that fateful day along with many innocent people.
"In addition to the illegal actions of one rogue employee, the event was also caused by the terrorist actions of a single disgruntled employee. William Hope released the chemical as payback for what he viewed to be injustices against him perpetrated by Blaire acting alone. The Murkoff Chemical Corporation is already working hard to clean up the fall out from that fateful day, and will continue to do so, but the tragedy is placed fully on the shoulders of a young man with a vendetta and a rogue employee acting against company orders.
The lawyer continued to drone on in a professional way about corporate liability when an employee does something against the knowledge of their employers. "Is that even an argument they can make? What the fuck," muttered Waylon.
Once the statement was complete, Waylon, Miles and Lisa fell silent for several minutes. Everything had seemed so cut and dry. The odds had seemed innumerably stacked up in the prosecution's favor. After their agenda was made clear, Waylon felt his first twinges of worry. He was thankful that there was a call for recess and they could all relax for a few minutes.
"Jeremy Blaire...there's no way he was hurting for cash," said Miles. Waylon had gone rigid. The mention of the man that had violated him were causing him to feel uneasy. Was that why Blaire had been hounding him and causing him pain? Was Jeremy Blaire an out of control executive committing crimes outside the line of work for his own gain? Is that why he had forced Waylon to suck him off in a burnt down church while strapped to a chair?
Lisa noticed the distress and moved to wrap an arm around Waylon. "Way," she whispered into his flushed ear. "Way it's alright. They had to have some kind of argument, otherwise they would just be rolling over and settling outside of court. Come on Way. We're good."
But Waylon did not feel good. He was nervous because he knew what was coming next. The prosecution would make its case, and the defense would seek to tear it apart. Witnesses would be called. Waylon was a witness. It was a strange feeling that he simultaneously wanted to run to Eddie, while also never wanting Eddie to see how unstable he had become.
"I'm not sure I can stay...if the first piece of evidence is..."
"Everyone here knows about the video, Waylon. We know it's painful, but it's necessary evidence. It shows first hand how Jeremy Blaire blackmailed you into playing along. It shows him committing personal crimes against you. The press won't see it. Only the jury and those allowed to watch the footage such as the lawyers and some witnesses that needed to verify portions of the footage."
"You've watched it?" Waylon asked, the question directed at the reporter.
"Of course," said Miles with a 'duh' look on his face.
"They showed all of the witnesses and prosecution team, Way," said Lisa, squeezing him gently. "We all want to get justice for what happened to you."
"Justice? He's already dead," hissed Waylon. Miles had killed Jeremy. He knew that now.
"Yes, but his death doesn't help you. This company is going to pay you, Way. You'll be a millionaire. But first, we have to prove they are guilty. And this is strong evidence."
Waylon sighed and hid his face in his hands. Had Eddie seen the video? Did he know that Waylon had...that Blaire had...
The recess came to an end and the prosecution paraded out a collection of professional witnesses to authenticate the video evidence recorded that day. The team set up the video equipment and pointed the screen at the jury. Waylon felt nauseated. They started with his own footage. Of course the camera turned on when Waylon was already tied up in the chair. Waylon did not have to watch—he did not even have to listen. It didn't matter because he remembered everything vividly.
Smile pretty for the camera.
Waylon ran out of the room. He ran until he was in the hallway and there he saw a tall figure wearing a long woolen coat. Eddie.
"You're not watching," Waylon asked, pain obviously in his voice.
"I've seen it, darling," Eddie breathed, casting understanding blue eyes at the smaller man. The one man he could trust that had experienced sexual assault was right in front of him. Waylon walked up to Eddie, slid his arms around his waist, and whimpered softly.
"I should have told you. About the pictures," Waylon said though his voice was thick.
"Everything you did was to protect me. I would have rather had our home movies broadcast to the world than cause you any harm, but you know what they say about hindsight," Eddie said.
"You don't hate me for what I did?" Waylon asked, not daring to look up at Eddie.
"Hate...you? Because someone assaulted you and threatened you with blackmail? Oh, Waylon..."
"I can't be here while they are watching this," Waylon said. He knew that his sexual assault was only the beginning. Would they show all of his footage? Would they show Frank Manera sawing off a woman's leg, or Eddie tying him up in the basement? "I'm staying at a hotel down the street. Come with me?"