The enemy is inside of me

by Justfionn

Some days start so well and then progressively get worse. Pete is having one of these days. Steady drops hollow the stone, they say. The damn mansion, the constant presence of people around him, a cat from hell, and Vegas' barely veiled attempts to "fix him" are slowly driving him towards his breaking point. What is going to happen when he finally snaps? (SPOILERS for RRR)

Am I alone with the thoughts that I have?

I'm afraid that I'm scared of myself

"To lose patience is to lose the battle" and it seems as if Pete is slowly loosing the battle. It could have been such a lovely day; Vegas woke him up with a kiss and a cup of coffee, and for once it wasn't raining, just endless clear blue skies. Yes, it could have been such a lovely day, if only Vegas hadn't tricked him. Pete still isn't quite sure how it happened, Vegas is getting better and better at manipulating him it seems. It could have been a lovely day, but instead here he is, valiantly trying to stay calm even though Vegas is glaring at him.

What the hell is his boyfriend even irritated about now? Pete is trying, isn't he? He is sitting here just as Vegas wanted, in this stupid sunny room with its high ceiling, the stupid yellow walls and the stupid dark teak ornaments ("Stop damaging the ornaments, they are antiques, do you have any idea how much it costs to repair them?!"… Blah blah blah… ). He has better things to do, but hey, here he is, sitting on the most uncomfortable couch ever made. Of course that is also an antique.

This whole damn mansion is full of antiques. Why do they have to live here again? The house is too big, too old, and too crowded. There are people everywhere, all the time, and yes, it is starting to stress him out.

I'm waking up and I feel the strain

I'm feeling pushed again

He shouldn't have gotten rid of his own apartment, that was another stupid mistake he made. He has been making a lot of questionable decisions lately. Who would have thought when moving in with Vegas, that they would end up in this mansion? Certainly not Pete. No, he didn't sign up for this.

It is all his own damn fault. He is constantly glitching, the whole damn code is wrong, corrupted beyond repair, and the source of that corruption is currently sitting next to him on the couch, his mere presence making Pete's brain go all haywire. Even when he's irritated, Vegas looks so damn good that it kind of takes Pete's breath away. Just what the hell is happening to him?

Speaking of couches, it's so fucking unfair. Vegas throws a fit every time those damn ornaments get damaged, but does he even raise an eyebrow when the hells-pawn is using this antique couch as a scratching post? Oh no… he doesn't even blink. Or raise his voice at Venice. Not unlike he is doing with Pete right now.

"Not like this. You are doing it all wrong, are you even listening to me?" Vegas is making a frustrated sound at the back of his throat. He could do with some patience too, Pete ponders idly, so quick to loose his temper, allowing his growing irritation with Pete to bleed into his voice.

I'm feeling pushed again

… One. Two. Three. Four. Five…

Inhale. Exhale. Repeat. Who even came up with the idiotic idea that two slippery long metal sticks would be the ideal tools for wrestling a thread of yarn into submission, forcing it into interlacing hoops and knots? They are way too light as well, not at all neatly balanced, they just do not feel good when Pete is holding them. Maybe if they were made out of a different sort of metal, something heavier, maybe then those needles would feel more natural to him. To call them 'needles' is wrong as well. Needles should be sharp and pointy. As sharp as his knives, now those feel great in his hands. Pete sighs. Everything is wrong about these tools; the weight, the material, even the name. But here he is, sitting on the damn couch, he is trying and he really should get some brownie points for that, right?

Patience. I need to be patient. Pete takes a deep breath to calm himself. "I am listening. Why don't you back off and let me do this my way?" He tells Vegas gently. It was gently, right? Because Vegas is frowning at him as if he has been yelled at. Pete is pretty sure he didn't yell. Okay, so maybe he raised his voice a tiny little bit, but that shouldn't have been enough to make Vegas frown like this. He doesn't like it when Vegas frowns at him. And Pete also doesn't like it when Vegas tone gets all cold and hard with frustration, it puts him on edge.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Pete! Just follow the damn instructions already! You are not supposed to re-invent knitting by trying to do this your own way. I told you how to do it, now do as I say! This isn't like assembling a damn IKEA table where you can wing it." The way Vegas glares at him makes something deep inside of Pete go hard and sharp, cutting into him like a shard of glass, and he doesn't like that feeling at all either.

I'm feeling pushed again

… Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten…

Dealing with Vegas is like taking a stroll across a minefield. It can be exciting and thrilling, not knowing what step will set Vegas off, but since Pete has started glitching it can be incredibly stressful as well. He is constantly trying to anticipate how Vegas wants him to react, dodging his boyfriend's numerous triggers more or less successfully. It is perplexing that he is making such an effort, he doesn't understand himself, why does he even bother? He didn't use to care about these things before he started glitching.

"Vegas…" Pete slaps a dimpled smile on his face, hiding behind one of his masks once again and tries again. "How about you back off a bit and let me work this out on my own, okay?" He can feel how his fingers are clenching around the damn knitting needles, he needs to relax, go with the flow, not show how thin his patience is being stretched. Pete hates not being good at something, and knitting is turning out to be an unexpected challenge.

The yarn keeps slipping off the tip of the knitting needle when he tries to wrestle it through a hoop. Fuck, there should be an easier better way to do this! Pete just wants to take the whole damn knitting kit and throw it across the room, but he promised Vegas he'd give this a try, and that is the only reason he is still sitting on this couch right now. This sucks, and the annoyingly colourful yarn Vegas picked for this exercise isn't making the situation better at all. The yarn should be black, as pitch black as his mood.

"I have been holding back, allowing you to 'work it out' for the last 15 minutes." Irked, Vegas furrows his brows and then tosses his own knitting kit to the side. "You are driving me insane, let me show you one more time how it is done correctly…" And then he tries to place his hands over Pete's, to guide him through the process again.

Hell no! Pete yanks his hands to the side and out of reach, the friendly smile slipping off his face. "Back off, Vegas!" He growls warningly.

I'm feeling pushed again

There is an answering low growl from underneath the couch. Both Pete and Vegas freeze mid-motion and instinctively lift their feet off the floor, out of reach of the paws of death.

"I thought you locked him up!" Pete turns towards Vegas and glares accusingly at him.

"I tried, but he doesn't like being locked up!" Affronted and slightly embarrassed about his inability to handle his own cat, Vegas glares right back at Pete.

The growling has stopped, but Pete knows better than to feel safe. "I don't give a damn about what he likes or not. He just needs to get used to being locked up occasionally. I deserve to have some peace of mind now and then." He complaints heatedly. That damn cat is going to be the death of him.

"Watch your mouth!" Vegas hisses. "No swear words in front of Venice."

It is a miracle the knitting needles do not bend out of shape with how strongly Pete is gripping them right now. "You got to be kidding me! He's a damn cat, Vegas, not a human child!"

He probably shouldn't have said that because Vegas huffs in instant outrage and smacks Pete's shoulder, hard. "How many times do I have to tell you, you are hurting his feelings!"

Now it is Pete's turn to huff in outrage. He does not like being yelled at and he does not like being smacked either. Goodbye patience, you were not meant to be. "Feelings? What feelings? He's a pet, Vegas! He has no feelings other than rage!"

"Nonsense! Venice isn't angry all the time, he is just misunderstood." Vegas defends his pet while keeping his feet well off the floor and out of reach of said cat. It is rather remarkable how committed Vegas is to liking the fluff-ball from hell. No matter what the cat does, Vegas loves it unconditionally, and it is irritating Pete to no end. He doesn't like sharing Vegas's affection, not even with a cat.

"Misunderstood, my ass! This cat hates everyone. It was probably born angry, nothing is ever going to change that, no matter how much love you shower him with! For God's sake, he doesn't even like you!" Pete throws up his hands in frustration, nearly poking his own eyes out with the knitting needles. Oops.

Vegas clenches his jaws, a familiar stubborn expression settling on his handsome face. "Well, I don't care. He's my cat and I like him. He will like me too, eventually, just you wait. All it takes is time. Besides…" And irritatingly enough he smirks at Pete while pointing this out. " … he doesn't hate everyone, he really likes you."

This is an unfortunate fact that Pete would rather forget about. "I don't give a fuck since I do not like him at all. I do not like cats, have you forgotten about that? Do you even care? Oh no, you don't, you just came home with him one day! Not bothering to check with me if I even want a pet…"

"I don't need your permission for every little detail, Pete." Vegas points out calmly. "I already told you several times, I have always wanted a cat, I saw this one and even though it has some issues, I knew right away that this is my cat. I am not going to give up on him, one day he will love me as well."

Oh bloody hell, Vegas is doing it again. Pete really wants to give him a sharp reply but the words get stuck in his throat. This happens a lot when it comes to Vegas, he just cannot stand the look on Vegas' face when his feelings get hurt, and so Pete censors himself, swallowing his irritation one more time.

Feelings are so damn inconvenient. Most of the time Pete just wants to turn them off, but then Vegas smiles at him and calls him 'sunshine', and everything in Pete goes haywire and melts. He falls for it every single time, it is disgusting.

I don't like it when you get too close

Don't want to be under your thumb

I'm feeling pushed again

I'm feeling pushed again

Before Pete can continue this conversation, there is movement from underneath the couch and the true ruler of this household emerges. Vegas insists on calling him a kitten, but there is nothing cute and kitten-like about Venice as far as Pete is concerned. The hells-pawn is terrorising the whole household, someone really should put a stop to his reign of terror, but that someone is not going to be Pete. The latest scratch marks on his feet have just started to heal, and as soon as the fur ball from hell emerges from his lair, Pete pulls his feet up onto the couch. Just to be on the safe side.

"Venice, there you are. Such a good boy…" Vegas croons softly at the cat, but Venice isn't impressed and simply ignores his owner. He takes the time to stretch, and Pete rolls his eyes. Such a poser.

But Vegas seems to find this behavior charming. Of course he does. The big bad Mafia boss is making an ass out of himself over a cat. "Look how he has grown." He whispers excitedly while trying to catch Venice's attention, to no avail. "Rejoice, Pete. Soon he'll be too large to hide underneath the couches. Then he can no longer attack us from there, and our ankles will finally be safe."

Venice the menace turns his head and looks at Pete, blinking slowly at him. Pete snorts wryly. "I am not falling for that."

"Aww, so cute… See, he really like you, Pete." Vegas tells him enthusiastically. "I read that this is a cat's way to signal that their intentions aren't hostile. Blink back at him, quick!"

"Over my dead body." Pete mutters under his breath. "Why should I lie to him? My intentions are definitely hostile." As far as he is concerned, the hells-pawn can drop dead, no matter how much Vegas fawns over the kitten.

"Pete!" Vegas admonishes him sharply and damn, Pete really doesn't like it when his boyfriend uses that tone of voice when talking to him.

You're sending me down a rocky road

I get confused when you start to talk

I'm feeling pushed again

I'm feeling pushed again

… Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Sixteen…

Patience. Must have patience. He was supposed to be knitting, right? Pete is going to show Vegas that he will not be defeated, he will wrestle the yarn into submission, he will excel at this. But a moment later Venice reminds him why knitting is a bad idea when you have a bored kitten in the household.

One moment the cat is stretching as if it has no care in the world, but a second later Venice is already wiggling his butt, and then the huge black fluff-ball is flying through the air, pouncing on a forgotten ball of yarn that is lying on the floor. Pete's yarn. The one he is knitting with right now, it must have rolled off the couch at some point.

The yarn ball disappears beneath a mountain of fur. Growling aggressively, Venice rolls on the floor with it, digging his claws in, doing a bunny-kick motion with his hind legs to eviscerate his prey.

There is a sharp yank on the knitting kit Pete is holding, and then row after row unravels before his eyes, all his painstakingly knitted work being undone by Venice attacking the yarn ball. Pete blinks. And blinks again, the buzzing in his ears is getting louder. Patience? Patience is overrated.

"Venice!" He shouts at the top of his lungs, this really is the last straw. "I am going to fucking kill you!"

It's getting more than I can take

It's like a band tightening around my head

If you keep pushing, something's going to break

And of course Vegas intervenes, grabbing Pete before he can launch himself at the kitten. "Don't even think about it! The cat's off limit, we have a deal!"

"Let go of me…" The buzzing is getting worse. This isn't a good sign at all, some part of Pete is aware of that, but damn, he is so furious. He hates this cat, he hates knitting, he hates this house, he hates Vegas yelling at him, and he really hates it when someone tries to restrain him. "Back off, Vegas, I am warning you!"

"Oh no, not happening." The other man informs him grimly. "I'm your fucking boss, remember? The cat is off limit, that's an order, so reign it in again!"

I'm feeling pushed again.
I'm feeling pushed again
I'm. Feeling. Pushed. Again.

"Vegas…" Pete is surprised how strained his voice sounds. "… LET GO.…" He is still trying to break free from Vegas. This isn't about the damn cat anymore, this is about Vegas not backing off. Who the hell does he think he is, speaking to Pete like this? This whole Mafia boss bullshit must have really gotten to his head. All hail the King? In your dreams. Pete doesn't bow down to anyone. You want a crown? I am going to stuff it down your throat so that you can choke on it.

But Vegas doesn't let go. He is not listening, just pushing pushing pushing… pushing Pete right over the threshold, and into the Abyss.

"Fuckfuckfuck!"

Pete is spiraling into the Abyss, fallling falling… falling? No. Instead of falling, Pete blinks, and everything shifts into focus again.

Oh.

Vegas' pained curses echo through the room, but the words mean nothing to Pete, he is focused on one thing, and one thing only, and that is the metallic knitting needle pinning Vegas' hand palm down to the couch.

Oh.

There is blood, of course there is. Red rivulets streaming steadily over the skin, he must have hit a vein for it to bleed this much. Judging from the length of the needle sticking out of the wound, he probably used a bit too much force too, approximately half of the needle seems to be buried deep into the couch. Fascinating. Pete stares at the sight, and his mouth goes dry. Beautiful. Vegas' voice disappears, simply fades away amidst the buzzing taking over his mind.

Pete blinks again.

Such a mesmerizingly beautiful butterfly. It's just… Pete got the position all wrong, how irritating. Should have pinned the hand to the back of the couch instead, he thinks, increasingly dazed. The urge is almost overwhelming, Pete wants to fix this mistake, and then he wants to take the other knitting needle and use it to fixate Vegas' other hand against the back of the couch as well. He can see the image taking shape before his inner eye, Vegas pinned to the couch like the breathtaking butterfly he has turned into. Immobilised. Completely at his mercy. Pete swallows hard.

He will probably have to fixate the legs as well, can't have Vegas thrashing around too much for this. But that's no problem, there are more than enough knitting needles in close proximity, he just needs to reach out and grab them. Not through the thighs though, the calves will be better for this. If he uses the needles on the thighs they will get in the way.

Removing the trousers will be tricky with the legs fixated, but thankfully Pete has his knife. He carries it around just in case he might need it, like now. Cutting those pants off Vegas without marring the skin underneath will be a challenge; the knife is very sharp, hopefully there won't be any accidents. But even if there are… that sure would look good on Vegas too… red blood against tanned skin. Beautiful.

And I think to myself

What a wonderful world

Yes, I think to myself

What a wonderful world

Ooh, yes

Pete wants… needs… Vegas naked. Naked Vegas is glorious, Pete is addicted to the sight. He wants to crawl onto Vegas' lap, to dig his fingers into Vegas' hair and yank him in for one of their mind-boggling kisses. Pete wants to taste him, lick into his mouth and drown himself in all the frantic sounds that he images Vegas will be making at that point. Pete swallows hard, shuddering involuntarily at that thought.

Naturally Vegas will be struggling, but Pete is going to be in charge since Vegas won't be able to move much unless he pulls himself free from those needles, and that will be exceedingly painful and bloody. What a thrill, not knowing if Vegas will go for it, or if he will decide to endure.

Shit, this is going to be so hot. Pete is going to ride him. He is going to wrap his fists around the knitting needles pinning Vegas' hands to the couch, the needles that are slick with Vegas' blood, he is going to look deep into Vegas' eyes, and then he's going to fuck him. It is going to be deliciously painful for both of them, and it is going to be glorious. Pete's breath hitches in anticipation.

"What the fuck, Pete?! Have you lost your mind?!"

Rather rudely, Pete is pulled out of his fantasy and back into reality by Vegas shouting at him so loudly that his ears are ringing. The change is abrupt and jarring, leaving Pete confused for a moment. What is fantasy, what is reality? For a moment, everything gets blurred.

The metallic gleam of the knitting needle impaling Vegas' hand looks very real though. The liberal amount of blood soaking into the fabric of the couch as well.

Well shit.

Pete blinks, and everything resets. No more buzzing. No more glitching. This is real, and it dawns on him that he has fucked up, badly. Almost automatically he falls back into his default mode, his lips curving into a charming dimpled smile as he tries to find a way out of this mess.

He has physically hurt Vegas, and it doesn't matter if he did it on purpose or not. Vegas has the unfortunate tendency to react rather strongly and unpredictably to any acts of violence committed against him, it is unlikely that he will wait patiently for Pete to explain himself. Pete's thoughts are racing, going through all the different scenarios of what will happen next.

He has hurt Vegas, and the last time he did so, Vegas cut him off. Four months of absolutely no contact, complete radio silence. Pete can feel his breath hitching as the memories of that time sneak back and threaten to overwhelm him. No, he does not want to go through this again, but it is very likely that Vegas will impose the same kind of penalty for this new offence.

Well shit.

The smiling mask almost slides off Pete's face, he does not like how anxious he feels at the thought of yet another forced separation. His facial muscle are starting to hurt because he is smiling so hard. Tearing his eyes away from the bleeding wound, he glances up to Vegas' pale outraged face staring at him in shocked disbelief. Pain is written all over it, Pete's stomach drops, and he smiles even harder.

"Three weeks." Pete has to clear his throat, he notices that he sounds a bit strangled. "I think three weeks should be a reasonable amount of time to punish me for this mishap."

"What the hell are you even talking about?!" Grimacing, Vegas is trying to get a good grip on the knitting needle to pull it out of the couch, but not out of his hand, not just yet. A tricky operation. And obviously this is rather painful as well.

So clever, a sliver of pride flashes through Pete's mind. Doing it just the right way. But Vegas seems very upset, it might be better to adjust his offer. "Alright, four weeks then. That should be enough, right?" Despite his best efforts there is a noticeable tremor in his voice. As far as he is concerned, being separated from Vegas for anything longer than a week will be excruciating. Damn it all to hell, he hates himself for being so needy and dependent.

Vegas yelps in pain as the needle finally slides free of the couch. Cradling his injured hand in front of him, he glares darkly at the person responsible for all this. Yes, just as Pete expected, Vegas' isn't taking this mishap very well. "Go to hell, Pete!"

Pete swallows hard. "I suppose I could do five weeks…" This is as far as he's willing to compromise. He didn't do it on purpose after all, technically it was Vegas who pushed him into glitching. But it takes just a glance at Vegas' stormy face, and Pete's stomach drops even more. "Please… you cannot be serious…? More than five weeks?" He is feeling ill just thinking about it. "Aren't you overreacting slightly, Vegas? It is basically just a flesh wound. Not even close to the same level of damage I caused the last time. Shouldn't the punishment match the damage? I really think three weeks are more than suitable, but I will do five weeks if you insist on it." Pete can feel himself getting all tense with stress.

This is also Vegas' fault. His life was more or less uneventful before he met Vegas. Okay, it was a bit boring and not nearly as challenging as Pete would have liked, but he would rather be bored again than being subjected to the amount of stress this relationship is causing him to experience lately. Everything is out of control since he met Vegas, he is stressed, he has unpredictable emotions, his feelings are all over the place, and all this sucks big time. No, Pete does not like feeling this way. He does not like emotions, period.

Venice chooses this moment to make his presence known again. Bushy-tailed, he emerges from behind a coffee table where he has been hiding during the commotion, and cautiously stalks closer, the yarn ball already forgotten. His nose is twitching, and with trembling whiskers he hops up onto the couch, making a beeline for Vegas. This is an unprecedented move; before either of the men can react, the cat starts sniffing at Vegas' injured hand and then its rough tongue darts out to lick at the blood dripping off it.

Pete's mind goes blank, now this is really the ultimate provocation. Everything is conspiring against him today, what the hell is this, 'Let's trigger Pete - Day'? The fucking cat is encroaching on his territory, how dare it steal a taste of Vegas' blood?! Damn, he is glitching again, the possessive anger is hitting him really hard.

"Mine!" He hisses outraged, baring his teeth at Venice, who hisses right back at Pete while turning into an indignant fluff ball from being yelled at by his favourite person. The whole cat is now puffed up, its hair standing up straight, it is quite an impressive sight but Pete is completely unmoved. Enough is enough, he has reached his limit. He doesn't even ponder the potential risk of injury to his hands, Pete simply grabs the kitten resolutely and removes it from the couch. No one is allowed to lick Vegas' blood but himself!

Both Venice and Vegas are equally astonished by this turn of events, all humans in this household usually avoid touching the kitten. Especially Vegas and Pete. But they are not the only ones being surprised. "Goodness gracious!" A distinctively female voice intrudes, sounding rather faint and stunned.

Pete whips his head around, his whole body on instant alert. He is coiled to launch himself off the couch, and at the person who just made her presence known. The person he totally forgot about, and again, that is all Vegas' fault. Pete stops being cautious when Vegas is around, what a stupid mistake.

To be fair, Vegas apparently forgot about her presence too, he is equally startled. But he still has the good sense to recognise impending danger, and therefore moves as quickly as a rattlesnake. His uninjured hand snaps around Pete's wrist like a manacle, the grip so tight that there surely will be bruises the next day, forcing Pete to stay seated on the couch.

"Is this the normal everyday behaviour between the two of you?" Seated across from them on an antique armchair, Vegas' therapist looks over the rim of her reading glasses at the scene unfolding before her, no longer able to hide her astonishment. She has lowered her own knitting kit and even has the nerve to arch an eyebrow at them. The woman reminds Pete of an irritated grandmother. Not that he ever had one, but he watched many movies that featured grandparents staring disapprovingly at their unruly grandchildren, just like this woman is doing right now.

"Damn. I mean, no..." Vegas is the first one to find his voice again, he seems to be embarrassed to his very bones, and probably praying for the ground to open up and swallow him. The way he is blushing is rather cute, Pete thinks absently while trying to free himself from the death-grip his boyfriend has on him. Obviously Vegas hasn't learned his lesson yet, he should really stop trying to restrain Pete. Meanwhile Vegas is casting the woman a beseeching look, his pain momentarily forgotten. "Not at all! This incident here … this is an unfortunate exception."

"Oh please…" Pete just rolls his eyes in disbelief. "Stop lying to your therapist." Because this intruder is Vegas' therapist. Not Pete's. He does not need a therapist, he is just here because he made a promise to Vegas, a very reluctant promise. "We behave like this all the time, this was actually pretty mild." His lips curve once again into a charming smile as he twists his wrist, smacking the back of Vegas' hand, the one that is still holding on to him, pretty hard against his kneecap. Vegas' inhales sharply at the sudden pain, and is forced to let Pete go. Finally. "But I admit we usually stop before blood is drawn."

Speaking of blood… Vegas' other hand is bleeding rather badly, and Pete feels a pang of remorse. Damn glitch, he really overdid it this time. Then again… he finds himself staring at the blood dripping down onto the couch and the buzzing in his mind starts to increase in volume again. He could easily reach out to be able to catch a couple of those scarlet drops on his fingers. It'll be warm, and if he leans in further, he can then touch Vegas' forehead with those bloody fingers, drawing a line downwards, right between those expressive eyes, along the nose, dipping down to the lips and Vegas' chin. Warpaint. There is more than enough blood to make this look really impressive.

"I believe you should get this hand looked after, Khun Vegas."

Once again, the soft voice of the therapist intrudes on Pete's thoughts, it is irritating. He can feel his fingers twitching, the urge to act on the fantasy that just skipped through his mind is very strong. Pete cannot tear his eyes away from the injury, deep down it irks him that the hand is now free. He wants to ram that knitting needle back into the couch, just how it is supposed to be. Did he give Vegas' permission to free himself? He sure as hell didn't.

Vegas and the therapist are talking, but Pete has a difficult time making out the words due to the buzzing in his mind. His whole body is buzzing deliciously, he's recognising the signs and is doing his best to regain a measure of control over himself. Closing his eyes helps, he is hyper aware of the scent of the blood in the air but not seeing it does help. One less trigger. "Go and see a doctor, Vegas." He eventually manages to say softly, in a voice that sounds almost normal.

"The hell I will. I'm not leaving you alone here." Naturally Vegas refuses. He can be extremely headstrong, and from the sound of it he is preparing to stay glued to Pete's side, bleeding all over the couch until he perhaps passes out.

Bloody idiot. Pete opens his eyes again with a sigh. "Fuck off, Vegas. I know you mean well but you are only making it worse. You shouldn't have been here in the first place, this is supposed to be my meeting with your therapist."

Vegas stubbornly clenches his jaw while shaking his head. Pete knows him well enough by now to recognise all the small tells - Vegas is in considerable pain and even though Pete would like to give a fuck about it, he can't. Somehow he cares. Somehow, Vegas' wellbeing matters after all.

"For heavens sake, go. Leave. Stop being an idiot, Vegas. I signed your damn contract, didn't I? She is perfectly safe." Damn, this is so frustrating. "I am not going to touch her, alright? Now go and see a doctor." And then Pete reluctantly adds "…Please…"

Ironically, the therapist seems to agree with Pete, even though she is the person Vegas is trying to protect from Pete. "Please go and seek medical attention, Khun Vegas. I can assure you, there is no need to worry. Khun Pete and I are just going to have a little chat, that is all. No reason to worry."

Since everyone is ganging up on him, Vegas reluctantly gets to his feet, very careful not to step anywhere close to Venice, who is still sitting in front of the couch. The cat is faithfully staring at Pete, still blinking slowly, the tip of his tail flicking right and left from time to time. Vegas sighs, then half-turns to glance down at Pete, and the look in his eyes once again makes Pete feel as if a glass shard is shredding his insides. "Don't fuck this up, sunshine." Vegas quietly reminds his feral boyfriend one more time before leaving the room. "You know the consequences if you do."

Involuntary temporary exile. Yes, Pete knows very well what awaits him for hurting Vegas. And should he hurt the therapist, Vegas has threatened to break it off once and for all. Damn it all to hell!

The door clicks shut behind Vegas. Venice decides that he has been ignored long enough and hops up on the couch. That does get him the attention he craves, Pete turns his head and looks at the cat with narrowed eyes. "Don't even think about it." He warns him, and if Venice were a human being, he would understand that Pete means business. But Venice is a cat who firmly believes in his feline superiority. He sits down again, his tail swishing around, and then slowly blinks again at Pete. The cat is just as stubborn as Vegas. Whatever. Pete ignores it, he has better things to do. "So…" He says, and turns his attention back to the woman sitting in the armchair, giving her one of his charming 'I am so harmless' smiles. Let the games begin.

"So…" The therapist says as well, and then she picks up her knitting kit and calmly gets to work again, now and then glancing up at Pete.

They are playing that game, huh? Sure, Pete can do that. "Just what exactly has Vegas told you about me?" He inquires friendly while casually leaning against the back of the couch once more.

"Khun Vegas told me that you two are have issues about the pet you adopted." She informs Pete readily, and then casts him another look over the rim of her glasses. "But that wasn't the answer you wanted to hear, am I correct? Would you like to know what else he told me about you?"

"By all means." Pete signals for her to continue, he is genuinely curious.

"Khun Vegas also informed me that you have antisocial personality disorder." The woman tells him while knitting a few new rows.

Of course Vegas told her. And he probably told her a lot more, she is his therapist after all. "And yet here you are, talking to me, all on your own."

"Indeed, here I am." Completely unfazed, she just smiles at Pete.

"I am starting to see why Korn has hired you as his son's therapist." This talk is turning out to be slightly more interesting than Pete expected. He's still smiling, projecting openness through his body language. "Aren't you worried about a potential conflict of interest? Surely Korn must be upset about you working with his nephew. Aren't you worried he will terminate your contract, and you as well?"

"Let me assure you, I am perfectly safe as far as Khun Korn is concerned."

Pete files that information away for later use, perhaps it can come in handy. "And what about me then? Do you feel equally safe when it comes to me?"

The therapist pauses for a moment to collect her thoughts. "No, I don't think I do. I believe that you are posing a considerably higher risk than Khun Korn."

"There is no need to worry, I promised Vegas I wouldn't harm you." Pete assures her readily.

Now it is the woman's turn to smile wryly at him. "And you always keep the promises you make, don't you?"

Pete just smiles innocently at her, not bothering to answer. They sit in silence for a while, the clicking of her knitting needles a comfortable background noise. Meanwhile Venice is inching closer. He thinks he is clever about it, acting all innocent when Pete glances in his direction, but as soon as Pete pretends to look away, the cat creeps closer. So irritating. Pete wants nothing to do with him, but that doesn't deter this fur-monster.

"Vegas made me sign a contract too." Pete eventually volunteers. "I don't care much about the sanctions he is threatening to impose if you were to get harmed in even the slightest way, so I dare say you are reasonably safe for now. Just in case you are wondering."

"Thank you for telling me, that is very considerate of you." She switches to another color of yarn, the pattern she is knitting looks very complicated. "Oh, and Khun Pete? You can stop smiling if you want."

Interesting. Pete tenses minutely, but continues smiling, simply arching a questioning eyebrow at her, as if he has no clue what she is referring to.

Judging by the twinkle in her eyes, she doesn't fall for this act. "It is of course entirely up to you, I just wanted to give you the option of dropping the mask." She informs him gently. "There is just the two of us here, no need to keep up the pretense."

Very interesting. If Pete were a cat, he would start to purr. This conversation is taking a very refreshing turn. "Are you sure you would be able to handle that?"

"Aren't you tired of masking?" She counters calmly while giving him another of her pointed looks.

Very well. Pete shrugs, the smile sliding off his face. "Thank God…" He takes a deep breath and then chuckles softly, his whole body language changing all at once. Yes, he's so damn tired of masking, of flying under the radar, of pretending to be normal. The therapist has stopped knitting, she is watching him closely now. Pete is well versed in reading other people; she is doing well in hiding her initial alarm, but he can still sense the fear, and it is immensely satisfying.

Venice is taking this opportunity to make his move, and suddenly Pete has a very large kitten climbing into his lap. With a huff of satisfaction, Venice claims his throne and curls up. Pete is so surprised, he doesn't know how to react. His first instinct is to fling the cat off his lap, and off the couch, but Vegas loves this critter, so regretfully he cannot indulge himself. In the end all Pete does is to growl threateningly at Venice, hoping to scare the cat away. But Venice doesn't give a damn about some human Abyss, he simply closes his eyes and promptly starts to purr aggressively, his whole body vibrating hard. There is nothing left to do for Pete other than to blink in astonishment. Steamrolled again. By a cat.

"Cute." The therapist remarks, she has regained her composure and resumes to knit. "I know Khun Vegas believes you are here to chat about the cat, but that isn't what you want to talk about, am I right?"

There is a damn cat in his lap. Pete does not do cats. He does not do pets, period. And yet there is a purring cat in his lap, and he cannot even get rid of it. Bloody hell. And not only that, it is a damn distraction. What did the therapist ask again? Why would she say that? Damn cat.

Noticing his confusion, the woman points to something beside him.

Pete turns his head and goes very still. While he was distracted, apparently his subconscious has taken over. It seems he has been rubbing his fingers over the blood-soaked couch fabric, coating them with Vegas' blood. Well damn. Pete blinks, the buzzing is back. The urge to lift those bloody fingers to his own face, to paint himself with Vegas' blood, is so strong that Pete nearly doesn't stop himself in time. "Touché." He mumbles, growing more impressed with this therapist by the minute. This is really turning into a fun game.

The woman sighs softly. "Does Khun Vegas have any idea about the danger he is in?"

Pete swallows hard and resolutely wipes the blood off his fingers before curling the hand into a fist. "He's perfectly safe. I would never hurt him."

"That depends on your definition of 'hurting' someone, doesn't it? You drove a knitting needle into his hand before my very eyes. This most definitely falls into the 'hurting him' category, Khun Pete."

"That was an accident. He was pushing me a bit too hard and I snapped." To keep his hands occupied, Pete absently touches Venice. The kitten purrs even louder, the fur feels surprisingly nice.

"Semantics." The woman starts to knit again. "Stop masking around me, otherwise this is just a waste of our time. Judging from your reaction earlier on, you experienced a moment of remorse for injuring Khun Vegas, but there was more to it… what did you think about when you spaced out?"

Pete clicks his tongue. "Trust me, you don't want to know."

"I might not want to hear it, but you most definitely want to talk about this." She corrects him immediately. "I might be the only person you can tell, am I right? Otherwise you would never have agreed to talk to me under the ruse of chatting about the cat situation."

Damn, she really is one clever lady "If you mention any of this to Vegas, death will be the least of your problems." Pete warns her darkly.

"I do take confidentiality quite serious, Khun Pete. Let me ask you again: Does Khun Vegas have any idea about the danger he is in?"

Venice's fur is incredibly soft beneath his fingers, just like Vegas' hair. Something deep inside of Pete turns to ice. "No." He admits quietly. "He has no fucking clue."

Perhaps Pete flexed his fingers too hard, because Venice suddenly takes exception to being touched. The black furball abruptly sprouts very pointy teeth and claws, digging all of them deep into Pete's right hand.

"Fuc… Fudge!" Shit, this hurts. Pete's first instinct is to hurl the cat across the room, he growls and then clenches his jaw, breathing through the pain.

One. . Four. Five.

… Off limit…

Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.

Everything is fine. Pete is just going to pretend he doesn't have a feral cat attached to his hand that is enthusiastically mauling him. He can do this. But his smile is a wee bit tight around the edges now as he focusses on the therapist again. "Sorry about that. Where were we?"

The woman seems to find all of this very fascinating. "Why are you not throwing the cat off the couch, Khun Pete? From the dark look on your face I would have expected you to wring its neck."

"You heard Vegas, the damn cat is off limit." Seriously, can Venice let go already? Pete's hand feels like a pincushion. Yes, he would very much like to wring the cat's neck, but he can't, and this is so damn frustrating.

"I didn't take you for a man who lives by other people's rules, Khun Pete. This must be painful. And it must piss you off, please pardon my language. So why are you not lashing out?"

If only he could… "Because Vegas loves this damn cat, that's why!" Pete can feel the wetness of his own blood soaking into the fur of the hell's pawn; fucking great, now he will need to take antibiotics again for a week. Damn this cat! "Why are we even talking about the freaking cat now?"

"Because it is important to note that you are not hurting the cat even though you very much want to do so." The therapist explains patiently to him, and then changes the topic again. "What were you thinking about when you spaced out earlier on?"

Oh, to hell with the smile. It slips off Pete's face again. Good riddance, he doesn't feel like smiling anyways. He rarely does, but no one is aware of it. They all love his smiles. She wants to know what he was thinking about? Fine. Let's raise the stakes a bit to see what she can deal with. "I was thinking about using the rest of the knitting needles to pin Vegas to the couch, strip him and then fuck him." There, choke on that. "Would you like to hear the exact details of the fantasy too?"

Silence falls over the room. There is just the clicking of the knitting needles, but Pete does detect a certain loss of smoothness in the pattern. A tremor. For all her posturing, this is a hard pill to swallow even for this therapist. Pete isn't surprised the least; why should she be different from all the others.

"I think I'll have to decline. You would get a kick out of telling me those details, and I am not here for your amusement, Khun Pete." The woman eventually informs him cautiously. "This is the real reason for talking to me, isn't it? You said you would never hurt Khun Vegas, but you are thinking about it, and that bothers you."

Not exactly, but close enough. Pete makes an attempt to pull his hand out from underneath Venice, but as a result the cat clings to it even more tightly, refusing to let go of its prey. Fuuuuuuuuck! "I suppose it does." He admits because that is what she wants to hear, and then shrugs. "I am reasonably sure I wouldn't act on it, but then again, I shouldn't be thinking in these ways about him in the first place, no? We love each other and are in a relationship after all."

The therapist nods thoughtfully. "Let me ask you another question. You haven't actually harmed Khun Vegas, apart from today, right? I am sure you have formidable willpower, but what is your strategy for avoiding that these fantasies come true?"

Pete is unsure if Vegas mentioned how he shot him, so it might be best not to mention this. That was just a glitch anyways. A really bad one. "I simply do not put myself into situations where my control might be slipping."

"Which are?"

Now Pete hesitates for a second. What does she want to hear now? Just how honest should he be? Then he shrugs and decides just to test the waters. "In our relationship, Vegas is the one holding the reigns. And I am perfectly fine with it because that keeps him safe…"

Immediately, he is being interrupted. "Bullshit. Khun Pete, quite frankly I have never seen a man more unsuitable to playing second fiddle than you. You are a lone wolf, and you are most definitely not a man who is naturally submissive. I highly doubt that you are actually fine with Khun Vegas holding the reigns in your relationship. Want to try again?"

Pete can feel his hackles rising. "Venice, let the fuck go!" He hisses coldly at the cat, and then simply yanks hard on his hand, finally pulling it free. Deeply insulted, Venice hisses right back and then hops off the couch, disappearing from view. He is probably going to pee on Pete's shoes again. Irked, Pete massages his mangled hand which now has several lacerations and puncture marks that are oozing blood. "Fine. I don't like it, alright? It is a necessary evil. A much needed compromise. He can be the one in charge, if that is what it takes to keep him safe. I even enjoy it to a certain extend. He's damn sexy when he's bossy, and I don't mind being tied up during sex either." And that is actually true.

"Because that is safe? So what happens if Khun Vegas asks to be tied up one day?"

Pete's thoughts grind to a stop; he remembers Vegas hanging from the chain in Tawan's loft, his toes barely touching the floor. Completely helpless. That kiss was exquisite, it awakened something deep inside of him. Damn shame Vegas didn't feel the same. Pete clears his suddenly tight throat. "Vegas doesn't like being tied up, so this is never going to happen."

"I would not be so sure about that, Khun Pete. Khun Vegas is very perceptive, and very much infatuated with you. If he becomes aware that you would like to see him tied up, he is most likely willing to make this fantasy come true."

God, yes please. Pete swallows hard again. "That must never happen."

"Because…?" The therapist isn't letting this go.

"Because I don't want to hurt him." Pete points out calmly, feeding her another slice of truth. "I don't trust myself not to hurt him if I have him completely at my mercy."

And there is the silence again. A silence that stretches, heavy and dark and merciless. A silence that hides thoughts that shouldn't be thought in the first place. Because Pete loves Vegas, right? Of course he doesn't want him harmed in any way. He loves Vegas, right? He is pretty sure he does.

"You shouldn't lie to yourself, Khun Pete." The woman apparently has her doubts about what he is telling her, and rightfully so. "You are still masking, you have internalized your masks so very well in order to integrate seamlessly into society that they have become your second skin. But they are still a lie, Khun Pete."

You want the truth? You can't handle the truth. Yeah well, this is why Pete doesn't like therapists. Why this talk is a waste of time. Why he was an idiot for allowing Vegas to talk him into this in the first place. Why he would be better off doing…

"You not only want to hurt Khun Vegas, you also think about killing him, don't you?" She interrupts his thoughts once again.

Pete closes his eyes. Turning those words over and over again in his mind, examining them from all sides. Well well well… isn't that interesting? You really want to go there, you really want to play? Let's play then. And when the Abyss opens his eyes again, his lips curl into a genuinely amused smile. "Hell yeah… "

She obviously expected him to deny this, and his casual admission visibly rattles her composure. Like a shark, the Abyss senses even the faintest trace of fear, and automatically zeroes in on it. "Oh please, don't tell me you are shocked? This is what you wanted to hear after all. Vegas obviously has been holding back about me, you really have no idea who are you dealing with, do you? No wonder he made me sign that idiotic contract."

Pete chuckles darkly and then throws all caution into the wind. She did want him to drop the mask after all. "Listen very closely now…" And before he continues, he does what he's been dying to do for a while now, he brings his injured hand up to his face and then slowly licks some of the blood off, never taking his eyes from the increasingly dismayed therapist.

"Of course I think about hurting Vegas. I think about hurting you too. I think about hurting the maid cleaning our rooms. I want to hurt the bodyguards protecting us with their lives. The barista handing me the coffee I ordered? Yes, I want to hurt her as well. I look at people and I see opportunities. I see their potential to be molded into something truly amazing by me. Don't try to impose your reality and your morality upon me, they do not match. You think I am bothered because I do not want to hurt Vegas? What is bothering me is that I haven't figured out a way to do it without him kicking me out of his life afterwards."

The look on her face is priceless, Pete would love to take a picture of it. To add to his collection. Therapists always react like this when he drops the mask.

"Do you even know how much willpower it takes not to do the things I want to do to him?" He asks her, because of course she has no fucking clue. "To constantly be on guard? I cannot relax for a single second, not even during sex. Hell, I need to mask all the time around him; Vegas thinks he has seen my dark side and can handle it, but he has just scratched the surface. You know why I allow him to tie me up? Why I ask for the handcuffs? Why I allow him to be in charge?" Finally unleashed, Pete is on a roll now.

"You know what happens if I am not reigned in properly? He didn't tell you about Beam, did he? Probably not because he doesn't talk about his cases with civilians. Sweet little Beam, Vegas' little fucktoy, just one of his many one night stands. Do you know what happened to Beam when he allowed me to fuck him? I ripped his throat out, that's what happened to him. I fucked him while I was sinking my teeth into his throat, tearing it all open, and it was sublime. I always wondered if the relatively blunt human teeth would be able to deal significant damage and wow, it most certainly exceeded my every expectation." Pete absently licks his lips, recalling those fond memories. "So damn hot, I don't usually get turned on by killing someone but this was a rare exception. You should have seen the look in his dying eyes as I disemboweled him, I should have filmed it, it was so special…"

It seems he has succeeded into striking the therapist speechless. Fine with him, this was a waste of time anyways. Pete doesn't need therapy, there is nothing wrong with him, he does not need to be fixed. This interlude was amusing, just as he expected it to be, but his hand is hurting and he wants to go and have these wounds cleaned up before he gets an infection.

"Aren't you glad Vegas made me promise not to hurt you now? I am sure I could come up with the most marvelous way of incorporating your knitting to make your death truly spectacular." Yes, some very tempting options come to mind, Pete needs to force himself to shut down this line of thoughts before he gets carried away and the buzzing starts again.

"As much as I enjoyed this little game of ours, I think our time together has come to an end." Smoothly, Pete rises from the couch and stretches lazily. "Thank you for this little diversion, it was highly entertaining. I think we both agree that it would be better for us not to meet again. Please tell Vegas that I will no longer complain about the cat, that you have offered me some valuable insight and that you are sure I will be taking it to heart. Do have a lovely day, and don't forget to enjoy the beautiful weather today. Carpe Diem, you know? You never know what tomorrow might bring." He winks at her and then strolls towards the door, but before he can open it, the woman calls out to him one last time.

"Khun Pete… You know about the miners and their canaries, right? The cat is your canary. As long as you can keep yourself from harming it, Khun Vegas will be safe as well."

Pete's fingers tighten around the door handle. Gritting his teeth, he angrily yanks the door open and stalks outside, slamming it shut in his wake. Bloody hell, some people obviously do not know when it is best for them to shut the hell up. Maybe she needs to die after all.

●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●

Pete is sitting on the side of the large bed, lost in thoughts. This is the bedroom he is sharing with Vegas, but he hasn't seen his boyfriend since the debacle during the therapy session this morning.

What a clusterfuck, no wonder Vegas has been avoiding him since then, he cannot blame the man. Absently, Pete digs his fingernails into his freshly bandaged hand, welcoming the pain. The warm light of the afternoon sun falling through the window is painting ever-shifting shadows on the wall. There is an opened suitcase on the floor, Pete has carelessly thrown in a wide selection of his clothes. He should probably check if he has forgotten anything, but he doesn't feel like moving, it is almost as if he's paralyzed.

Three weeks really should be enough. He is going to call after three weeks, then Vegas has had time to calm down again. And if he's still angry, well… two more weeks then. But after 5 weeks Pete is really going to come home again, if Vegas likes it or not.

Home. Oh hell, when has this rotten mansion become his home? What the hell is going on? Pete doesn't understand himself anymore. Freak. Weirdo. Psycho. He's abnormal, he doesn't really belong here, so why is it so difficult to leave, even for a short time?

He probably shouldn't have scared Vegas' therapist, that was a stupid move, he shouldn't have indulged himself like that. It felt immensely good though. Just a few drops to tide him over, it has been far too long since he killed. Sure, Vegas allows him to deal with all the low life's that need to be disposed off, but it just isn't the same. Damn.

Well, he is going to have a lot of free time on his hands now in his exile, all he needs to do is to find a suitable victim and then he can play a bit. Blow off some steam. Keep himself occupied. Time will fly by fast this way. Right? Pete half-heartedly kicks the suitcase, there is this ache in his chest that he doesn't understand. This sucks.

He should just get it over with, close the suitcase and be gone.

"Just where do you think you are going, sunshine?" Pete has been so lost in thoughts that he didn't hear Vegas entering the bedroom. He sounds genuinely puzzled and when Pete turns his head to look at him, Vegas nods towards the opened suitcase, waiting for an explanation.

Oh damn, here we go again. Everything is fine when Vegas isn't around, everything is logical and makes sense, Pete is behaving normal, just as he is used to, just like it should be. But all it takes is one look at Vegas now, and all those ordered thoughts turn into colorful confetti, completely useless. All the things Pete told the therapist? Utter rubbish, what was he even thinking? Wanting to hurt Vegas? Just the sight of Vegas' bandaged hand turns Pete nauseous. He did that to Vegas, and it doesn't feel good at all.

"I'm sorry." Where did that lump in his throat come from? It feels as if he's being strangled from within. "I am sorry for everything." The remorse is hitting him hard, and he is unsure how to deal with this unfamiliar feeling. "I am almost done packing, and then I'll leave. Uhm… I will call after three weeks, if that is okay with you? And if you then feel that it hasn't been long enough, I guess we can extend the time…"

"You didn't answer my question, Pete. Where do you think you are going?" With a sigh, Vegas crosses the room and kicks the suitcase out of the way. "Seriously, what the fuck? First the mess this morning, then one of the casinos gets raided unexpectedly, and on top of that the Russians suddenly decide to renegotiate the weapons deal again, keeping me busy the whole day so that I don't even have time for lunch, and now I come home and you are moving out? What. The. Fuck? Care to explain this, sunshine?"

Pete blinks. Oh. So Vegas hasn't be avoiding him on purpose then? It is ridiculous how relieved he feels hearing this. Oh shit, everything is going haywire again. Damn emotions. "My punishment… " He tries to explain and points towards Vegas' injured hand.

"Oh…" Now it is Vegas' turn to be surprised. "Aren't you a bit overly dramatic, Pete?" He lifts his bandaged hand and wiggles it in front of Pete's face. "All stitched up, doesn't even hurt much, the doctor gave me some amazing painkillers. And if there is a scar, I can say I got shot through the palm, and people will be really impressed."

Unreal. Pete simply cannot wrap his mind around how unconcerned Vegas is about his injury. Isn't he holding a grudge? Isn't he bothered at all by what happened? "I don't understand." He eventually admits. "Aren't you angry at all?"

"I was spitting mad." Vegas announces cheerfully as he walks over to where Pete is sitting. "Then I got to yell at the doctor, at our police mole, and at the Russians, and now the anger is gone again." He reaches out and tilts Pete's face upwards to take a good look at him. "You look like hell, sunshine. Thanks for apologizing, now stop worrying. You are not going anywhere."

The sheer relief washing over Pete is enough to make him dizzy. It is exhausting to be pummeled by so many emotions all the time, how do normal people deal with this without going crazy? Vegas, and the feelings he is causing Pete to experience, is driving him insane. "I don't understand." He mumbles, leaning into Vegas' touch. "Why? Why are you not giving up on me? I hurt you. Why are you still here?"

Vegas chuckles softly, stroking Pete's cheek with his thumb. "I can't run off to anywhere. This is my house after all." He points out with a wink, smiling down at Pete.

It just doesn't make any sense. Pete has no idea how he is supposed to reply to this, he is utterly confused, completely overwhelmed by his runaway feelings for this man.

Vegas seems to sense what is going on, and takes mercy with him. "I just want to follow my heart, that is why I am still here, sunshine. Superglue, remember?"

This just makes it worse. Pete blinks because he can feel his eyes getting suspiciously wet. Oh no, he's such an emotional mess. Hastily, he slips his arms around Vegas' waist and pulls him close, burying his face against his stomach, and inhaling the familiar scent. This is a great way to hide any damn tears that might be welling up in his eyes. "Vegas… You are the most important person in my life. You know that, right?" He mumbles barely audibly.

"I love you too, sunshine." Vegas leans down and kisses the top of Pete's head. And then they just stand there for a very long time, simply holding each other in silence.