Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Author's Notes: This is unbeta'd because I forgot to send it to Mandi at the start of the week and will be in Mexico without computer access in less than 24 hours. Squee! Vacation time!
So this update comes early because otherwise it would come really late! More flashbacks ahead...
Chapter 14
"This is wrong too." Finley pointed out a sketch in the book Alexander had shown him. He paused, shook his head. "I'm not even sure what that's supposed to be. It looks...a house elf from Harry Potter or something."
Alexander snorted. "Since no where else is there anything that could remotely be connected to hobbits..."
Finley blinked. "You've got to be kidding me."
"Unfortunately, that's what I figured. Didn't know the name at the time but, yeah," Alexander said, coming into the room. He put a plate of cheese, fruit and crackers in front of Finley who wrinkled his nose. Alexander chuckled, "Nibble."
"Sam would be offended," Finley commented but he did pick up a slice of apple. He grinned and shook his head. "Pippin would find it amusing, I think."
Alexander smiled. He didn't remember, not in the way Finley seemed to but there were a few memories and other vague impression. He remembered certain people and the hobbits, well, they weren't exactly forgettable.
"No mention of the elves," Finley observed around a cracker. Alexander smiled. The best way to get Finley to eat was to put something in front of him when he was otherwise distracted. "I guess that makes sense. I think they might be what he refers to as another class of man. Hmm, I don't think King Thranduil would appreciate that."
Alexander raised an eyebrow at him. Finley smiled. "Legolas' father, King of Lasgalen or Mirkwood. He was rather haughty, if I remember correctly."
"I'm sure you do," Alexander told him automatically. "And Mirkwood rings vague bells, though not pleasant ones."
"It shouldn't," Finley told him, setting aside the book. He looked up at his lover. "It feels odd, remembering more than you do."
Alexander shrugged. "I'll make do with what I've got. I keep getting flashes through dreams and just...vague impressions sometimes." He paused. "I can't believe Annie never said anything."
Finley chuckled. "That's going to be an interesting conversation."
Alexander laughed and bent down, his face coming close to Finley's. Finley took the opportunity to tilt his head up and kiss him, something Alexander had greatly missed doing. Finley flushed slightly when they pulled apart but he was smiling.
Alexander took a step back. He frowned slightly then his hands dropped to Finley's shoulders and began kneading the constantly tense muscles. Finley made an appreciative, contented sound in the back of his throat.
"Tell me something that I don't know about you," Alexander requested.
"What? Not something no one else knows?" Finley teased. He let his head fall forward and gave a soft groan.
"There's something you haven't told Ben?" Alexander replied.
Finley chuckled. "He knows a helluva lot less than you do about my sex life."
Alexander laughed, leaned forward and kissed the tip of his ear. It was an unconscious move, one he almost froze after, hoping Finley wouldn't pull away from him, rejoicing at the positive reaction. "Good!"
Finley shivered, heard Alexander's chuckle even as the warm hands pressed on his neck. "So what do you want to know?"
"Dunno," Alexander replied. "You tell me."
Finley was silent for a few minutes, except for the groan he gave as Alexander worked on a knot in his shoulder. "I used to play the flute."
"Really?" Alexander questioned. "Used to?"
"Yeah, in school," Finley answered. "I started...in grade four, it was optional and the class was small. I don't know why I decided to do it, because Ben wasn't, because I liked the idea, I guess. Played right through until I graduated highschool."
"Why'd you stop?" Alexander asked.
"No flute after I graduated," Finley told him. "I'd always borrowed the school's instruments."
"Hmm," Alexander frowned. "What else did you do in school?"
"I dunno. That feels good," Finley murmured. "In highschool?"
"Sure."
"A bunch of stuff. It kept me out of the house," Finley replied. "I was on the swim team and cross country. Ben played football so I didn't do that. I played soccer instead. Didn't want to just be his little brother, you know?"
"Yeah, Danny used to complain about that, but with teachers mostly," Alexander told him.
"Yeah, I remember that, wasn't as much of a thing there," Finley said, smiling. "I worked on the yearbook. Did band and drama and this Odyssey of the Mind thing."
"I've heard of it," Alexander told him.
"So what about you?" Finley asked.
"What did I do in school?" Alexander clarified.
"Yeah, or something else I don't know about you," Finley replied.
Alexander chuckled. "I did as little as possible in school. The art club because I felt like it. I refused to join a sports team."
"Tell me something else then," Finley told him.
"When I was little I wanted to be a painter when I grew up," Alexander said.
"Why aren't you a painter then?" Finley asked.
"Changed my mind. Not sure when. I knew by high school I wanted to be a doctor," Alexander told him. "Just felt right to me. What about you?"
"Dunno," Finley was silent for a moment. "I wanted to go to College. I wanted to travel. Didn't know after that. Thought being a teacher might be an idea."
Alexander was silent. He concentrated on massaging Finley's neck. Finley closed his eyes. "Your turn."
Alexander raised his eyebrow, thought a moment, then smiled. "The first time I met you I wished that I was meeting you in a coffee shop, or something, not a club for a one night stand."
"Why?" Finley asked, it was the first thing he could think of.
"I wanted more than that. I don't know why, I just did. So I came back the next night, and I kept coming back as often as I could, hoping it would turn into something more. And then it did," Alexander told him. The motions of his hands had turned into a caress. He leaned forward and kissed the back of Finley's neck lightly. "I love you."
Finley swallowed and blinked his eyes open. "I know. Me too."
Alexander let his hands fall away and Finley shuddered at the lack of contact. Alexander moved around the couch to sit beside him. Finley reached for his hand and without speaking they leaned against each other. Finley gave a very soft sigh.
Alexander studied his hands for a moment, not speaking, and came to a decision. "Fin?"
"Yeah," Finley answered.
"Last night, when we were talking, when I said I'd rather be crazy then lose you..." Alexander felt all the tension return to Finley. "Fin?"
"This isn't crazy," Finley told him. "We're not crazy."
"No, we're not," Alexander agreed. "But your reaction..."
"It wasn't normal," Finley said very quietly. He would have pulled his hand away but Alexander kept a firm hold on it. Finley looked at him.
"I'd like to know," Alexander told him quietly. "But if you'd rather not tell me..."
"I'm going to need a smoke for this," Finley murmured. "Fuck! I'm going to need a whole fucking pack."
As he grabbed one from his pack, Alexander grabbed his hand gently. "Fin, no, not if you're uncomfortable telling me..."
Finley laughed humourlessly and pulled away, lighting the smoke, sucking in all the crap from the cigarette and giving himself an edge of calm, just enough to keep his hands from trembling too badly. "I'm never going to be comfortable talking about this and there's never going to be a good time to talk about it. You should know though, I probably should have told you before or something."
Alexander said nothing as Finley took another drag and blew out a puff of smoke. They sat for a few moments, the thin grey curl rising from the cigarette Finley had. He raised it to his lips, inhaled again, and Alexander put a careful hand on his arm.
"I know what it's like to not be...quite sane. I...wasn't, for awhile," Finley told him, not looking at him. "You don't want to experience it, believe me."
Alexander remained silent but his hand tightened around Finley's arm. Finley didn't look at him. "After I came back home, after my father died..."
"No, that's not exactly right," Finley frowned. "It was before he died. Just before my birthday that I...I started to lose my grip on things and I eventually lost it pretty much completely."
"I...Ben didn't know what to do with me. I was living with him and then I started to go really downhill and he just didn't know what to do to help me," Finley paused, took a deep breath, followed it with a drag. "He thought I'd been doing okay, getting better, and I was healing physically. Faramir..."
Alexander looked oddly at him. Finley smiled wryly. "He told me that at the start, when I came back, he tried to make things easier on me by...I dunno, suppressing things a bit, suppressing my reactions to everything as much as he could but I wasn't ready to remember and so when I became less vulnerable, when the pain pills were reduced and such, he had to withdraw and then..."
Finley finished the cigarette, started another. "Then I went to pieces. I don't remember everything about that time very clearly. It's muddled and I can't make sense of what I was thinking. I think maybe that's a good thing."
"I was losing weight, too much of it, and I got more and more...clingy, dependant. I couldn't function without Ben. It wasn't even like now, my reactions, I would have panic attacks when he wasn't around. I couldn't be alone in the apartment for more than an hour or so or he would come back to find me hiding under the bed or something, just completely out of it and sobbing," Finley shook his head. "It got really bad. Sometimes I'm surprised I didn't go catatonic or do myself physical damage. Even the weight loss alone could have done that...I went down to around a hundred pounds at one point."
"I never tried to kill myself or anything. Thought about it, I think, but after my father...I just couldn't do that to Ben. Still, not eating, not being to keep anything down, that would've killed me if my uncle hadn't intervened," Finley said. He took a drag, clenched his hand into a fist to keep it from shaking. "Ben tried, he really did, and then he called our uncle, asked if I could go stay with them, figuring maybe that could help."
Finley was curled tightly into himself on the floor next to the bed. Ben stood in the doorway, watching him, his heart aching.
He was just huddled there, shaking, but, thankfully, not crying again. Ben hated the crying jags most of all because he could never seem to comfort his brother during them, not enough to get him to stop. He would just keep weeping, even after he made himself sick, just keep crying until he finally fell asleep from exhaustion.
Ben was scared for him. The weight loss worried him most. It was out of control. Anything he'd gained back since he'd been home was gone and then some. Any gains he'd made seemed to have been lost. He just wasn't coping.
He couldn't stand being naked anymore, not even to bathe. He wore a bathing suit and a t-shirt to shower for Christ's sake and he hadn't even been able to do that for over a week. It was likely that he'd freak out if anyone touched him, only Ben was allowed to anymore and it was iffy even then and...goddamnit, he just didn't know what to do! He was losing his little brother; he knew that, he just didn't know how to stop it!
So he had finally, desperately, called his uncle and now Irving was on his way. He had driven down from fucking Nova Scotia, Canada to take Finley home with him.
Ben hadn't told Finley yet and Irving had called from his hotel. He'd be there tomorrow, sometime in the afternoon. They both thought it was best that he do a direct turn around with Finley too. Ben got the feeling the trip was going to exhaust him.
Ben figured if he didn't tell him until the last minute Finley would have less time to freak out. Ben...he wasn't dealing with the panic attacks so well. He'd had to call 911 they got so bad a couple times. Finley had hated that but, dammit, what else was he supposed to do when Finley was going blue in the face from hyperventilating and then passing out?
Ben couldn't help him anymore. He didn't know how to help him. But Finley needed some warning about what was going to happen. He sat across from Finley, facing his little brother, and tried to find the right words. Finley was still staring at his hands, slightly flushed. Ben knew how frustrated and scared he was most of the time.
"Fin...we need to talk," Ben began.
Finley said nothing but Ben felt the change in him. It was unsettling.
"Fin, I can't help you," Ben said, trying to keep his words gentle. Finley said nothing. "I think you should go live with uncle for awhile. He can do more for you, I think, what I can't."
A shiver raced through Finley. He curled tighter into himself.
"Fin, say something," Ben pleaded.
Finley's eyes flickered and Ben nearly flinched at the dullness there. "Don't sent me away. Please, I'll be better, just don't send me away. Please."
"God, Fin." Ben made a chocked sound and gathered Finley into his arms. Finley went too willingly, felt slight and fragile huddled against him, clinging.
"Fin, I'm not sending you away. I don't want you to go any more than you do but you're getting worse and I don't know what to do to help anymore," Ben murmured. "Uncle can help you. He'll be there all the time, like I can't be. I don't know what to do anymore and you're slipping away from me."
"I won't. I'm sorry. Ben..." Finley was shaking hard now and Ben felt tears on his neck.
"Shh, Fin," Ben hushed, stroking his hair gently, trying to stay calm himself. He couldn't do this anymore, he wasn't helping and he didn't know how. "It's okay. It's not your fault. We've just got to get you better. It'll all be okay."
Irving was sitting on the couch, reading, when Ben arrived home. Ben stared. He had seen his uncle just over three weeks ago. They had decided it was best not to see how Finley reacted to flying yet; instead Irving had driven down from Nova Scotia picked him up and taken him back. It was a long drive, but Irving had been willing to do it for Finley.
"Hello, Ben," Irving greeted, putting the magazine aside. "Finley is sleeping and we need to talk."
"Is he okay? What happened? Why are you back here?" Ben didn't wait for answers but raved into his bedroom to check on his brother.
Finley was curled up in the bed. He looked...bad. Ben felt a strange sick feeling settle in his stomach. He touched his short hair gently, frowning when Finley didn't even stir, he normally did. He never slept deeply anymore.
"He's sedated," Irving said from the doorway. "He won't wake up for a few more hours."
"What!?" Ben demanded, whirling to face his uncle, standing as if he would have to ward off an attack.
Irving kept calm, he rarely appeared otherwise. "We were worried he wouldn't be able to handle the plane ride and driving takes too long. It was cleared and prescribed by my doctor and we checked with his. We tested the effects before the flight to make sure he wasn't going to have a bad reaction."
"And they let you on the plane?" Ben asked.
"It was all arranged beforehand. They weren't pleased with the short notice but..." Irving shrugged. "He can wake enough to get off the plane and onto their airport golf carts and then into the rental car. It just takes a good deal of time to wake him that much."
Ben did not look pleased. "Why are you here? I thought..."
"Ben," Irving broke in, looking sadly at his nephew. "A vacation is not going to magically cure him. We need to talk but let's let him sleep, okay?"
Irving knew it would take a considerable amount of noise to rouse his youngest nephew but it was a chance he would rather not take. Finley didn't need to wake to an argument.
Ben gritted his teeth and strode into out of the bedroom, knowing his uncle would follow. When Irving closed the door, Ben turned on him. "I never thought a vacation would magically cure him. I'm not an idiot, uncle. I thought you would be able to help him. If you aren't...
"Ben, stop," Irving put his hands up in a gesture of peace and took a seat again. Ben did too, sitting rigidly. "Finley needs more help than either of us can give him. And he needs you, right now. He has become dependant on you. You're the only person he trusts at this point."
Ben got up, started pacing. This wasn't anything he didn't already know. "I'm not helping him though! He was getting worse here!"
"He's declining much faster when you aren't with him." Irving told him. He hesitated. "He's lost over ten pounds since he came to stay with me."
Ben stopped and stared. "What?!"
"He can't afford that," Irving continued. "But he can't stop it either and it has to stop. The weight loss cannot continue. We have to get him real, professional help or else we are going to have to look into institutionalized care for him."
"There is no way in hell I'm putting my little brother into a looney bin!" Ben roared. "Are you crazy?"
"He is dying, Ben!" Irving's voice rose in anger and his eyes were fierce. "He's dying by inches right in front of you. That is what is happening to him. He will die if this continues and if the only way to stop that is to put him in a hospital then you damn well better believe I will find a way to do it! I will not let him go that easily."
"I..." Ben stared, floundered, dying ringing in his ears. "Uncle..."
Irving was out of the chair and to Ben with two strides, grabbing him tightly and hugging him hard. Ben shuddered, hands closing into fists as he fought the burning behind his eyes. His uncle had a few inches on him, Irving was a tall man, and Ben pressed his face harshly against his collar bone, forcing himself not to fall apart entirely.
"He can't die," Ben murmured shakily. "They saved him. He can't die now, not from this."
"He can," Irving told him. "But we won't let him. We will find a way to help him. We have to, Ben. Neither of us can do this alone. I'm here, I'll stay, I'll help, but I need to know everything and I need you to trust me. I know you don't; you haven't trusted me since a few years after your mother's death."
Ben swallowed but couldn't disagree. Their mother had died when he was nine, of cancer, and after that their uncle hadn't been around nearly as much. He hadn't called except for Christmas, had written, but less frequently, and though they had, on occasion, found themselves shipped off to Nova Scotia by their father, it had never been the same. When Ben got older, he realized their father sent them away when he didn't want them around for awhile, for whatever reason. Those times...They were the best of his childhood, even before his mother had died.
Ben realized later that their father had been actively keeping their extended family away, had found letters in his father's files for them that they had never received, even. The birthday presents were the worst things to find, still wrapped, only the recent ones, since the last move, but Ben didn't doubt they had been sent one each year. Some years they had received nothing, they hadn't had the money, but they had never received the ones Ben found in their father's crawlspace. For pride or whatever he had kept them from his children.
It was dealing with his father's estate, what little there was, that Ben realized their uncle had not abandoned them though he hadn't been there. He had paid for proper medical insurance for both of them, had paid for any necessities that their father hadn't been able to afford himself, even sent school supplies, at least that hadn't been refused.
"Uncle..." Ben couldn't think of what to say. "I'm sorry."
Irving shook his head, tightening his arms around his fully grown nephew. "If there had been any chance of winning I would have tried to get custody of you two. There wasn't at the time, or so my lawyer told me, and I thought if I made the attempt and lost your father would take away the limited contact I had."
"He would have," Ben gritted out. "He fucking would have."
Irving remained silent for a moment and Ben pulled away, a bit embarrassed though he knew his uncle would never think any less of him even if he had given into tears. He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes. Irving touched his hair gently, ignoring Ben's slight flinch.
"Your father was a very troubled man," Irving said gently. "I can't defend him to you. I won't, he caused you too much pain but you should know that he wasn't always like that. Before he went to fight in his war he was, though not my favourite person, an okay guy. He never spoke of what happened but I believe something similar happened to him."
Ben jerked back. "Fin..."
"Has a much greater support system then your father ever did," Irving assured him. "We won't let that happen."
"I thought getting away from here would help. That the change would make a difference," Ben admitted. "I didn't know what else to do."
"We will figure it out, Ben," Irving assured him. "But he needs you around now. Without your emotional support he falls to pieces and it reflects physically as well. I know he wasn't losing this much weight when he was still here otherwise he would have been hospitalized by now. He can't eat and when he does he throws up."
"God, so now he has a fucking eating disorder?" Ben questioned.
"I don't know what to call it." Irving paused, thought. "He is never hungry but he's ashamed of that. He tries to force himself to eat and keep it down but he can't."
Irving frowned, thinking of holding his nephew in his arms after he had thrown up what little dinner he had chocked down, of Finley's shaking and sobbing and desperate apologies. "I noticed the more you engage him during the meal and the more he is kept occupied afterwards the less likely he is to lose throw up afterwards. I don't think he wants to, I think whatever is going on in his head unsettles his stomach enough to make him. He's trapped inside his thoughts too often."
Irving shrugged. "The problem now is mostly mental. He is healing physically. We need to get him a good psychiatrist, get the social worker he's supposed to have through the army sorted out and make sure he knows he has us to support him."
Ben fidgeted, looking distinctly uncomfortable but forcing the words out. "Uncle, I don't...I just don't have..."
"I will make sure he gets the best help, Ben. This is something we're in together. You don't have to worry about that or where the money will come from. You are family. I have it, you'll get it, whatever is needed," Irving said firmly. Both boys were touchy about money, they knew too well what it was like not to have it, but Ben knew this was not a time for pride. Not when Finley needed the help.
It took them nearly four weeks to find the right psychiatrist. Irving was a thorough investigator and, frankly, they couldn't waste time with someone who would do more harm then good. He dismissed three from consideration before Finley even knew about them. Two, he saw, but it quickly became apparent that it wasn't going to work with them. They both saw it themselves and recommended their fellows as a better option for Finley.
Then they found Dr. Mallan. She was an older woman, recommended by the second doctor who thought she would be able to help Finley where he couldn't. She wasn't the most expensive therapist they considered but she was up there. Ben knew he couldn't have afforded her, especially during the first three months when Finley was seeing her five times a week or more, on occasion.
Irving was in for the long haul, though, and never said anything about the money he was spending. He was with them more than his own family until the Senate resumed and even then he remained heavily involved in their lives, especially Fin's.
Ben wondered, for awhile, if Irving was doing it out of guilt but knew there was more to his motivation than that, even if guilt was a part of it. Absently, he wished that their uncle had taken them away from their father when they were children but he didn't dwell on it. Irving was there now, it hurt too much to think of what might have been. They didn't tell Finley about it. He didn't need the disappointment.
And Finley was getting better. It was a slow process, a very slow process but he was getting better. He was able to eat again and his responses were becoming less...child like, in a way, Ben supposed. It was still there, the need, the dependance, but they could leave him long enough to go to the corner store, or drop him off for his therapy and know when they came back he would not be having a break down.
He could face a session alone, though Irving or Ben still sometimes went with him, and that was a victory in itself. He could walk from Dr. Mallan's office to the car without needing Ben there, holding him, protecting him. Another victory, Ben thought as Finley did just that and even managed a small smile for his brother, though Ben knew he was distressed.
Ben took all the little victories. It was something to work for, hope for, and eventually they added up.
Finley was quiet on the car ride home. Ben was worried but not surprised and less worried than other times. Silence wasn't necessarily a bad thing, Dr. Mallan had told them, Finley did need time to think things through occasionally and especially after sessions. He had responded to the small talk like questions Ben had asked. That was enough for now.
And as they pulled out of the parking lot Finley reached for his hand and held it tightly. The need for touch, but not overwhelming touch, was a good sign. Sometimes after therapy sessions now he just huddled back in his seat refusing any comfort, even from Ben.
So even if Finley was quiet and even if Ben could see he had been crying he wasn't as worried as he could have been. He wasn't, even though Dr. Mallan had sent the tape home tonight. Dr. Mallan recorded all their sessions. Most of them were kept private but sometimes both the doctor and Finley agreed that they had to be shared with Finley's support system and most of the time it would be too hard on Finley to talk about it again any time soon. It meant Ben knew the session had been hard and important.
When they got home Finley went directly into the bathroom, moving with a purpose. Ben heard the water turn on as he hung up his coat. He went in to check but Finley had already disappeared into the bedroom.
He dipped his finger tips into the water and frowned slightly. It wasn't too hot but it was close.
"Fin?" Ben called.
"I'm okay," Finley replied, his voice muffled from the closed door.
"Do you need one of the anxiety pills?" Ben asked.
There was a slight hesitation but not enough of one to make Ben get the pills no matter what Finley said. "No. I'm okay, thanks."
"Alright," Ben sighed and went to find Finley's cigarettes. Whenever Finley considered taking on of the pills and decided against it a smoke was needed. It seemed to calm him a bit.
The bedroom door was open and bathroom door was half closed when he returned. He knocked on the door frame. "Fin?"
"You can come in," Finley replied.
Ben suppressed a grimace when he did. Finley was hunkered down in the bathtub wearing sweat pants and a t-shirt as the almost too hot water poured in. Ben put the lid down on the toilet and sat down. He reached out and touched Finley's hair, stroking it gently when Finley leaned into the touch.
"Cold?" Ben asked.
Finley nodded. "Yeah, and a bit self conscious, I guess. I just...need the barriers right now."
"You want to tell me about it?" Ben asked, keeping his voice gentle.
"Can't. Not now," Finley told him. He looked up at his brother. "It's on the tape."
Ben wasn't about to push it, he knew better than that. Finley was constantly cold. It seemed to get worse when he got upset.
"Should uncle listen to the tape as well?" Ben inquired. Irving had flown home for a few days. Finley was well enough to be okay with just Ben for the three days he was gone.
"Yeah," Finley replied.
"Okay," Ben said. "What do you want for dinner?"
Finley grimaced, shifted. "Mashed potatoes?"
"Something else too, Fin," Ben reminded him gently. Finley was seeing a nutritionist now too, once a week, and had to answer to her when his weight gain wasn't sufficient. Potatoes were not allowed to be a meal by themselves though she wasn't objecting yet to how often Finley ate them for the comfort factor.
"Something warm," Finley requested, reaching for his cigarettes, fiddling with them. "Something blandish, tonight."
"Okay," Ben said, trying to think of what they had. Irving did the shopping. Irving could afford the protein shakes and vitamin supplements Finley had to take until his weight stabilised.
He was paying for the doctor's bills too, anything the army wouldn't cover. They did cover quite a bit but the bits and pieces that Irving picked up would have broken Ben's budget. Having him around was good for Finley too. Finley had been close to Irving when they were younger and it meant someone was almost always close by in case there was a problem.
Independence wasn't in the cards yet, wouldn't be for a while probably. Finley couldn't function alone. It wasn't safe yet, not because he was going to hurt himself, but because he wasn't that stable yet. They were trying to find the right combination of drugs to balance the chemical problems in his brains, the first ones he was on had worked but it could be better. He still had panic attacks and that medication knocked him pretty much on his ass, same with the medication for the severe, multiple day spanning headaches he got. He just wasn't ready to deal with the world alone yet.
And as Ben got up to make dinner he was reminded that sometimes Finley just needed the reassurance that he wasn't alone. The hand on his wrist, the haunted look in his little brother's eyes...it got to him even more then the quiet, "Please stay."
Even before Ben would have never denied Finley anything now he really wouldn't, not unless it was a specific instruction from Dr. Mallan. He waited as Finley kept tight hold of his hand and struggled to find the courage to speak.
"We talked about the missing week today," Finley murmured. "That's not the part of the tape she sent home but that's part of it. The flashes I remember. Dr. Mallan said I shouldn't try too hard to remember, that I probably wouldn't remember anything much and even if I did it wouldn't make much sense."
"That's what the doctors said before," Ben told him.
"I know," Finley said, nodding. "She has all the records. She showed some of them to me. With all the different shit they used, the combination of drugs, the levels I tested for when they found me...I guess I should be lucky I didn't overdose and die or lose more than a week but it bothers me, not knowing, you know?"
"Yeah, I understand it," Ben replied.
"The other weeks are hazy and there are black spots where I think I was unconscious but they're still there. That whole week, nearly, it's gone. Just these crazy flashes that make no sense and were probably hallucinations on my part," Finley was shivering now and he turned his head away. "I don't remember being rescued. It's just not there and I want to know for myself, not what other people tell me happened."
Ben moved forward immediately, leaning into the tub and holding him. His skin was warm but he shivered. Ben knew he still felt cold, that he couldn't shake the feeling. "And there isn't even anyone to tell you what happened that week which makes it scarier. I get it, Fin."
"Fuck," Finley muttered, turning to rest his head against his brother. "Yes. God, I hate this. I hate it. I'm such a fucking mess."
"It takes time, Fin, that's what they keep telling us, that's what we've got to believe. You're getting better. It just takes time to get there," Ben soothed, stroking his brother's hair. It was a familiar complaint, one Ben was always glad to hear. It said a lot about Finley's awareness and that he wanted to get better.
"I don't want to be like this, Ben," Finley murmured.
"You won't be, not forever," Ben assured him. "We'll make it through this. We aren't alone in it."
"I know," Finley whispered. "Thanks."
Then Finley fell silent but curled further into his brother's embrace, pressed against the side of the bath tub. Ben held him until Finley was ready to let go.
Finley wiped a shaky hand over his eyes when they let go. "I feel like a bit of an idiot like this."
Ben shook his head. "Don't. If you still need the barrier then you still need the barriers. It's okay."
Truthfully, it scared the fuck out of Ben. The need to always be wearing clothes, and layers at that...well, it made Ben's mind leap to one thing and with the absence of a week in Finley's memory...Anything could have happened in that week, anything. Ben thought of it too often.
They had never found any evidence that Finley had been raped. The physical damage that would have suggested that was not there. He was bruised and battered just about everywhere but the marks and tearing associated with that sort of assault were not there. It looked like he had been left untouched in that respect.
Finley had been found naked. He remembered being stripped and thrown into a small, unlit cell for what they estimated had been three days in the first week of his captivity. That could explain his desire to avoid nudity.
And he didn't remember being raped at any point; he didn't even remember the threat being made. He had asked about it; he knew as well as Ben did that one of the easiest ways to debase a prisoner was to rape him or her. The lack of physical evidence, the lack of memory on his part, was enough for Finley.
Ben worried though. This was his little brother and he knew which way Finley swung. He didn't want to think about the implications that could have on any of his future relationships. Christ, he didn't want to think about what implications it could have at all. He just wanted Finley to be happy again.
Finley let out a shaky breath, pulling Ben from his thoughts. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging slightly. "This should be funny."
Ben frowned, looking at his brother, noticing how tense his muscles were. "What?"
"I'm sitting fully clothed in a bathtub. It should be fucking amusing or something." Finley stared at the wall and shook his head. "It isn't. It's not funny."
"No," Ben agreed. "It isn't."
Finley was silent again, hunched over a bit. He looked at his brother and Ben couldn't read his eyes. "I'm getting out now."
Finley was shaking as he stood. Ben helped support him, the wet clothes clinging uncomfortably to his skin. The air against them made him shiver again. Finley clenched a towel around himself as Ben went to get him new clothing, keeping the wet clothes on until he got back.
Getting him dressed again was touchy. He held the towel so tightly around himself his knuckles turned white and, after Ben pulled the long sleeved shirt over his head, he was so hasty to pull it the rest of the way on he accidentally dropped the towel into the still full bathtub. That was followed by a robe and then he stepped out of the cooling water.
The soaked sweat pants were replaced with boxers and flannel pj pants their uncle had bought him. Socks, which he hadn't worn into the tub, were put on, followed by slippers. Finley's feet ached badly when they were cold.
He managed to eat most of his dinner; mashed potatoes and cream of chicken soup of all things. He even managed to keep it down. Ben kept him talking about stupid little things that wouldn't upset him but Finley was agitated, Ben could tell, and he worried that the food wouldn't stay down once he went to sleep and the nightmares started. Dinner was the meal he was most likely to lose.
They talked for awhile, of light things, of what their cousins were up to, and watched a bit of television, some sitcom that didn't make Finley laugh and Ben wasn't really paying attention to but it was better than something that would upset him. Finley was too tired to argue about it; evening therapy sessions always drained him that way.
When he rested his head on Ben's shoulder, Ben shut the tv off and reached up to touch his hair gently. "Fin?"
"Yeah?"
"Tired enough to go to bed?" Ben asked.
Finley moved, rubbing his cheek against Ben's shoulder gently, and opened his slightly fuzzy eyes. "Yeah, think so."
It was early but Ben got ready for bed with Finley, plugging in the seashell nightlight and turning off the other lights before lying down next to him as Finley curled up tightly on his side. Ben grimaced. That wasn't a good sign. He rubbed Finley's back gently, trying to get him to relax, frowning when he didn't.
It was a rare thing for Finley to be able to get to sleep if someone, someone being Ben or Irving, wasn't there to lay down with him. He couldn't settle otherwise and being agitated meant he threw up dinner or brought on a headache or a panic attack. He 't do it yet. But on most nights the lights didn't have to be on full blast; they had managed to get down to a nightlight.
How settled Finley was after he had been asleep maybe twenty minutes determined where Ben slept for the night. If he was sleeping relatively peacefully, and Finley had never been a sound sleeper in contrast to his brother who could put his head down somewhere sort of soft and be asleep, then Ben used the couch; if Finley was overly restless then Ben stayed with him, knowing there would be nightmares and Finley would need him.
It was...stressful. Ben loved Finley more than anyone and anything but it was hard. Being with Finley, having to always take care of him...It was tiring, as much as Ben hated to admit it. Just the constant loss of sleep combined with Ben's demanding job made things difficult and when added to the constant emotional stress from seeing Finley so...off constantly...Ben would have been headed for a break down himself if it weren't for their uncle.
If Irving hadn't been there to share the burden, and Ben hated thinking of Finley's needs that way, Ben wasn't sure what he would have done. When Finley got comfortable enough in their uncle's company, Ben took at least one night a week at the hotel Irving was staying in. Irving made sure Ben always had a little time to himself in the day, either taking Finley out to do something small or giving Ben the chance to go out for a couple hours.
Irving, on Dr. Mallan's suggestion, was slowly getting Finley out of the apartment and helping him adjust to the world again. Ben was not supposed to participate in that. He didn't help. He had become Finley's crutch and if Finley showed the slightest hint of distress Ben hustled him away from the world again, trying to protect him. Irving knew just when and how far to push and wasn't going to call it quits when Finley's shoulders tensed a little.
They went for walks in the city park or to the library at first, places they wouldn't run into many people, then they progressed to the grocery store or the mall on a weekday morning then the art gallery or the museum downtown...just little things that exposed Finley to other people again; his world had shrunk a bit. Irving had been talking about trying a movie, more people, darker, more flashes, but public transit had been a disaster and now he was away so they were going to put it off, for awhile at least.
Finley, on a good day, had called them his big adventures with a wry smile. Ben had laughed and, just for a second, remembered clearly who his brother had once been.
"Ben?" Finley said quietly.
"Yeah, Fin?"
"I'm...I just..." Finley paused, silent for a few moments. "Thank you. I don't know if I say it enough."
Ben smiled softly, hauled himself up on one elbow and pressed a kiss to his brother's forehead. Finley opened his eyes and looked up at him in the half dark and smiled very thinly. Ben lay back on his back, staring at the ceiling while Finley remained curled on his side. Ben knew he wasn't sleeping yet.
"You want me to read to you?" Ben asked.
Ben saw him nod against the pillow. "Sometimes I...You know I don't like silence I...It...Sometimes when it's too quiet I can still hear them coming down the hall and it's like I'm back there and...I just start thinking about it and..."
Ben swallowed. He knew the and then, and then Finley lost it.
"It...It doesn't happen when you're here but...I still don't like it, the quiet," Finley finished.
Ben kept a hand on Finley's back, leaned over the bed and grabbed at a book, switching the light on low. He wasn't exactly what one could call an avid reader but Finley always had been and it was something that he could still do. It was also something Ben could give him now to soothe him.
"Once a friend had told me it was only when I was drunk that I seemed to know exactly what I wanted. And so, two months later, in the midst of a farewell party in my growing wilderness—dancing, balancing a wine glass on my forehead and falling to the floor and getting up without letting it tip, a trick which seemed only possible when I was drunk and relaxed—I knew I was already running..."
"I know what being crazy is like," Finley said. His hands were trembling so badly ash fell from the end of his cigarette as he took another drag. He didn't notice. "You don't want to be crazy rather than anything."
Alexander said nothing for a few moments. He moved his hand to Finley's face, touching his cheek. Finley flinched but didn't pull away. Alexander turned his face gently to meet the shuttered eyes.
"I love you," he said simply.
Finley swallowed, blinked rapidly to clear his eyes.
"Why aren't you seeing Dr. Mallan anymore?" Alexander asked.
Finley blinked and looked at him. "She had to retire. She had a massive heart attack and had to. How did you...?"
"Ben," Alexander answered. "He told me your doctor's name."
"Oh," Finley shrugged. "We looked around, after she retired. He was one of her recommendations for me. I...He's not as good as she was, not when it comes to me, but he's not bad, best there was, really."
Alexander raised an eyebrow. "The only things I've heard you say about him are negative."
Finley grimaced. "I've only talked to you about him after sessions and I'm not particularly charitable after them. They are never...easy for me."
Alexander hesitantly touched the soft hair at the back of Finley's neck, kneading gently when he didn't flinch away. "You've been...rough after the therapy sessions since we met."
Finley smiled humourlessly. "Yeah, I've been kind of pissed at him. He questioned my ability to handle a relationship and wanted to know if I wanted to go back to weekly or bi-monthly sessions. I don't know, maybe he was right, in a way, look at how well I dealt it when...yeah."
"When I was being an idiot and an ass," Alexander supplied.
Finley smiled slightly. "Yeah, well, I didn't respond to well to being questioned about that. He does help me, Dr. Walker; he's better than anyone else we tried and we did try. I'm a slut when it comes to shrinks, I don't know, I'm thinking maybe I should increase the number of sessions again."
"Why did he think you weren't ready for a relationship?" Alexander asked.
"Dependency issues," Finley shrugged. "You've seen the effects now. He didn't really approve of my one night stands either but I think he might've preferred those to me getting involved with someone."
Alexander snorted. Finley shrugged again. "He's not wrong, not entirely. We've worked on my independence for so long and I'm not there yet. If it wasn't you...I just don't know. You're different, because I love you, because of all this past life stuff that there is to deal with, because you're just you. I don't know but I...can't let myself do this again, get so dependant I can't function on my own."
Alexander was silent; Finley kept going. "It's something I have to work at just...I don't...I don't want to need you, I want to want you, you know?"
Alexander grimaced and nodded slowly. "So what should we do? What do you want?"
"I don't know," Finley answered. "Just understand it, okay? When I need space and stuff. That'd help me the most, I think."
He paused a moment, rubbed a tired hand over his eyes. "I can't...I don't want to lose you. I love you."
"You won't," Alexander told him. "I don't want to lose you either; I came too close to already. Any way I can help you I will; don't be afraid to tell me when you do need it, whether help is giving you space or whatever. I love you, Fin, not like I love anyone else and I've never loved lightly as it is. You're stuck with me until you don't want me anymore."
Finley looked at him with soft eyes, tilted his head and kissed him gently, shortly, on the lips. "That won't be happening any time soon."
The exert that Ben reads is from a absolutely fabulous book called "Running in the Family" by the wonderful Michael Ondaatije. I reccomend it and everything he's written to everyone. I don't travel without at least one of his books.
athelas63: Yes, for once no suffereing but we're back to it this chapter. Next chapter will be another break from suffering and also the reappearance of Evan and the appearance of a new character too! ;-) Hope the flashback wasn't too bad...
LadyBush: He's real. I'm not sure how it works but apparantly it does. He tries not to interfere with Finley's life but sometimes it becomes necessary. They'll be getting more in tune with each other now that Fin has the memories. And yay for noticing the Indiana Jones reference! First movie notice I've put in that's been picked up on.
faceted-mind: Technically it's not Faramir/Aragorn because Faramir and Aragorn were never romantically involved in this...just their reincarnations. I'm glad you're enjoying it so far!
Someone Stupid: Actually, it looks like people guess wrong with the she's...which I left as shes on purpose instead of clarifying completely. She is Annie who remembers because she was half-elven, not Edain.
Seadragon: You've got it a little mixed up. The Rohirrim are so stubborn they don't remember anything. It's Annie, or Arwen, who remembers everything in detail and always has. It's the Elven blood that relates most to memory...but Eowyn and Eomer had a little Elven blood through Morwen of Gondor so there's more of a change for memory there than say, from Gama or someone. Annie has told Eve everything though but not Evan. Evan took such good care of Fin just because he likes him.
Elenhin: With Faramir...he is drawing from 120 years experience here and during the majority of that time he was a father, assuming Eowyn andFaramir didn't wait too long to have Elboronand siblings (however many you want to imagine) which I don't think they didso...Yeah, older brother would be a good way of how he thinks of Fin!
LadyJanelly: It's lovely to see them cuddling, isn't it? I'm glad they've stopped fighting finally, I always knew they would I just wasn't sure how long it was going to take.
Catherine Maria: gets a very long responce for three reviews! Okay...
11-Dark, but particularly, quiet is hard for Finley to deal with, less so at this point but still hard if he's upset and/or had a nightmare. I figured Fin and Faramir should met in dreams, what with Faramir being the dreamer of the Hurin family and all it seemed to fit. I wanted to make it semi-clear that Aragorn and Faramir were not romantically involved but did love each other very much. By the end of Faramir's life, in the way I see them at least, Aragorn and Faramir were best friends and were family (even in blood alittle because the Steward family is an offshot of the royal line). There wasn't anything they wouldn't do for each other but they were both in love with their wives.
12-Got into a big discussion with this with someone else, about the medical limits in middle earth. There's the idea of mythical or energy healing by the King and Elrond and such but the amount of damage done to Fin required extensive surgery that likely couldn't have been accomplished plus they had to deal with the drugs that had been used on him, which was a large part of the problem. I figure Faramir wouldn't have survived something similiar because there wouldn't have been adequate treatment for his wounds BUT that there may have been a change depending on the calbier of healer because the drugs used would have been limited to those of middle earth as well. I didn't think of the Matrix connection but it certainly works!
13-Mix up! Annie remembers fully, not Eve, though Eve knows because Annie told her. It's not as weird for Annie because Alexander is her cousin so...no hope there! Plus, lesbian so no attraction which also helps. Boromir will make an appearance though in a different manner than Faramir did. Boromir only ever had one dream, after all. :-)