Disclaimer: Cynthia is, regretfully, mine. Other than that, I own naught.

Summary: A phone call is all it takes for something good to go wrong and the truth to be revealed. M/M.

Thank you for your response and adding this story on alerts! Though, updates won't be as quick or steady as this. School. It sucks. Sucks Giant Donkey balls.

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To be Used

Chapter Two.
Snap

Doug's smile faltered, "Yea?" He padded bare foot across the room, "Yea, okay, sure," he grabbed the remote control and flicked from the home-brand commercial to the sports channel, "You want dinner now?"

It took a moment for Doug's words to register to Tom, his uncaring, flippant attitude opposite to what Tom had imagined, "Yea," he drifted, "sure, just ah, here or at the table?"

"Here. Sports on"

"Right," he watched Doug's retreating back suspiciously. Was Doug acting too uncaring, which meant he definitely was involved with this woman somehow, or was he uncaring just enough to mean that she was only a friend?

"So what did Cynthia say?" A plate hit against another one as Doug drew them from the cupboard, placing them on the table top.

Tom fumed, "Nothing much. Just said hi. She'd call you back later." He was finding his anger taking control, leaving his passive mood behind.

"Oh," there was a faint trace of relief, "Good, good, she said she'd call, yea?" he grabbed the plates and headed back to the couch.

"A-ha," he was almost too angry and hurt to talk to Doug, finding his presence over bearing. The plate slipped onto his lap, heat passing through his jeans. He paused, staring unblinkingly at it then looked at Doug's chirpy grin with cold eyes, "This is your idea of cooking? Placing a meat pie in the oven?"

"Yup," a smack of lips.

"Figures," he murmured, not shifting down the couch when Doug sat down. A silence fell and the annoyingly high pitched voice of the reporter rang constantly, the occasionally slurp of meat filling and clink of plate. After a moment longer Doug turned to Tom, his pie only partially gone, "What's wrong Tom?"

"Nothing," he continued staring at the television.

"No there isn't, you've been all moody since I came out of the shower."

"Moody?" Tom resented the referral to a pre-menstrual woman.

Doug smiled, "Okay, okay, not moody, but you're not as happy as you were when you came in, not as," he let a hand fall to Tom's thigh, hoping to evoke some desire, "sexy."

Tom batted the hand agitatedly away, "Not now."

Irritated, Doug pulled away, "You are moody."

"I am not!"

"Yea? Then how come you're all cold and isolated. How come you don't wanna," he leaned in to whisper the sinful deed seductively, "touch and stuff?"

The only fault Tom could claim of Doug's, was that he missed the obvious, missed feelings, and didn't seem to always understand what could make another hurt. Even if it was right in front of him. Sometimes with Doug, you had to draw a big crayon picture and prep writing. "Just go away Doug."

"This is my house," Doug was now starting to feel his own anger.

Spitefully, Tom stood up, leaving the half eaten pie in place of where he'd been, "Fine," he kicked past the small table and made for the door, "fine, this is your house, so I'll just leave your house instead." What had happened to the 'what yours is mine', 'ours' slogans?

Doug stared in bewilderment, "Wha'?"

"Your house, so I leave. Even you can understand something like that."

Doug too stood, "Okay Hanson, what's wrong? Don't you dare leave my house without an explanation!"

He was inches from the door, "Scared Doug, real scared." His hand made contact with the door knob.

In seconds, Doug had raced around to pin Hanson aggressively to the door, "Scared now?" There was a venomous tone in Doug's voice that Tom hadn't heard directed to him, couldn't recall ever being there.

"C'mon Doug, get off me."

He gripped tighter to Tom's jacket, "You're not going Tom."

A fear started to rise in Tom. How serious was Doug? "Doug, let go of me now." His voice quivered slightly as Doug's grip only tightened further still.

"I said you're not going, understand?"

Tom's eyes narrowed in fear and concern, he had never seen this side of Doug. Not sure how far Doug would take this, or how he would react, Tom decided to go along with everything until he could easily get out and later work out what had happened.

"Yea, I do. I'm not going anywhere, okay?" he placed a smaller hand onto Doug's clenched one, "So how 'bout you lemme go and I'll come back over to the couch with you."

There was a half second pause, "Don't bullshit me Hanson."

Tom only remembered being called Hanson by Doug in the office, and it stung his pounding heart, "No one's bullshitting you okay? Just let me go. We'll talk about this some other time." He felt the grip release, now barely touching his jacket.

"Okay," he mumbled, sudden anger gone, "Sure. I didn't mean anything by this Tom, I just…" he paused, "Love ya I guess."

Even now the words angered Tom to a point that he had to resist hitting Doug hard in the face, "I know Doug." Doug's hands finally fell away, and Tom's shoulders relaxed, breathing evening out. They stood for a while, Tom leaning against the door, before Doug ventured back to the couch. Slow and tired like a month old puppy.

Tom let his head fall back, hitting the door with a soft bump, neck strained. His heart was only just starting to calm down. He had never, ever, seen Doug like that, never been on a receiving end of something violent. Only verbal little fights. So why now?

He racked his brain, letting a hand run through his hair. Sure there had been times when Doug's anger had climaxed, but never this bad. A thrown pillow, kicked table, slammed door, little things like that. But never like this. There had even been times when Tom could see Doug wanting to hit him, wanting to choke him, but they had always been suppressed, always. So why now?

"You coming?"

Startled, Tom's neck snapped forward, an unhealthy click sounding, "Ow," he mumbled, "Yea, coming now." He pushed off the door, walking slowly to the couch and sitting near the end.

They watched the images flash and dance, bright color blinding them and loud, mingled voices deafening them. Tom's hands fidgeted, wringing another, "Doug?" it was soft and timid.

"Yea?" There was nothing in his voice of before, just soft and happy, uncaring and sweet, like always.

"Who's…ah, you know, ah…" he sighed, "Who's Cynthia?"

Tom made eye contact, staring into the cold ones of Doug Penhall. He instantly recalled the look Doug wore and stood hurriedly off the couch; hearing a high pitched whistle close to his ear and the cuff of a finger.

For the first time, Doug had acted on his suppressed emotions.

Tom walked quickly to the door, feet barely hitting the ground, heart deafening in his ears. He heard Doug's hurried one's behind him and quickly lunged for the door handle, opening the door a good meter just as Doug turned him around.

"Doug-" he couldn't see the point in trying to reason, but he nothing else to give.

"Shut up okay?" the tone was soft and hushed, sending shivers down Tom's spine, "You don't know nothing."

"I just wanna know who she is Doug," he shrugged casually, almost regretfully.

"She's no one, okay," Doug's eyes shifted, body stressed, "no one."

Angry again, Tom rolled his eyes, "My ass Doug, she's obviously someone. Someone who wants to, 'discuss some details," he mimicked. He bore angry eyes into equally angry ones, "You wanna tell me what the hell's going on?"

"Nothing Tom, nothing. Christ, you analyze everything! She's just a friend. God, why do you have to be so paranoid about everything, so attached?"

Tom felt a crack run through the middle of his heart, "Yea? Paranoid am I, attached? I think I have a right to be when some young, hot sounding female calls, apologizing for last week and organizing this weeks 'date' to discuss some 'details' and who calls you Douggie!"

Doug closed the proximity of them, speaking in cold, clipped tones, "Why can't you just keep your nose out of everyone's business. You always gotta know something. One day it's gonna get you into trouble."

Tom swallowed, he had a feeling today might be the day, "Anything that you're involved in, or with, is my business. What's yours is mine and mine is yours, you know?" he backed out of the apartment, Doug matching his every step.

"You just don't understand do you?"

The sadistic, leveled, unchanging tone of Doug was nerving Tom to great amounts. He found himself backed against the building wall, "No…I…" his voice shook, nerves of steel melting.

"Some things just gotta be left alone." Doug stopped moving, leaving a gap, "Cynthia is just a friend, okay?"

Tom knew he should have said okay back, should have nodded in agreement, but his idiotic mind would not rest, "You don't love me, do you? It's her, isn't? You love her."

"You don't know what you're on about Tommy," there was a false light air in his voice.

"I do!" he cried indignantly, still fearful of Doug, "You're going out with her! God! How could I have been such an idiot, you love her!"

"Tom-" he warned. "No! No, admit it Doug, you like her! You like her don't you?!" Doug made to reply but Tom beat him, "You god damn like her and you didn't tell me!" his back was no longer pressed against the wall in cower, "Christ! You like her! And I've just been a little toy for you, haven't I? I've just been there for your enjoyment, your fun, your pleasure, but not love. I'm just something you can-"

Doug had had enough, without thinking he released the pressure in his hand. Arm reaching out to his left shoulder, swinging back so that his palm met Tom's jaw. He watched Tom crumple from shock and pain. Watched as his partner, both in crime and love, placed a delicate hand to his bleeding mouth and swollen jaw. Watched as accusing, shocked, hurting eyes stared into his own. Turning away, unable to bare the guilt and shame he felt, Doug refused to continue the gaze.

Doug's breathing rose and fell heavily, an uneven pant, he stepped backwards, stumbling a little. "I'm…I…I'm-" he couldn't bring himself to apologies. He shook his head, "Why'd ya have to be so nosey? So damn curious and accusing? This isn't my fault."

Tom remained staring in a type of dazed trance, hand still lingering over his swollen lips. His pained chocolate orbs followed Doug's retreating figure into his apartment. He could only nod, lost for words, unable to recall Doug's.

"This isn't my fault," he repeated in reassurance for himself, "it's not my fault."

Tom nodded again, making only little comprehension of the words. He watched the door close, Doug disappear from sight, previous happiness gone. He couldn't believe what had just happened.

Doug had never hit him, Doug was his protector. His knight in rusted armor. He wasn't supposed to hit Tom, to get nastily physical. To daunt and scare him, evoke fear from him. And he never had, never in all the years Tom had known him, he had never evoked Tom to such fear as he had tonight. Never made lunges and grabs for him. Never punched him in the face without a legit reason.

His hand fell, as did his heart. What was happening to them? Was their relationship over, had it ever been there to begin with? Was he just something on the side for Doug? Tom didn't feel whole anymore, not like he had this morning. This morning, he had felt like nothing on earth mattered as much as that moment. That if he was to die then and there, he would be quite content to do so, knowing his life had meaning, that he had experienced something so rich and pure.

But now…

Tom picked himself up, heading down the stairs and out to his car, fumbling for the car keys. His face bleeding and bruised, stiff and numb.

Just like his heart.

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Poor Tom… XD
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