Chapter Seven~
If Mycroft had found it hard to breathe before, he didn't know the right words to explain what he was currently feeling.
He tried clearing his throat and adjusting his feet. His brain felt like it was falling over a cliff, tumbling thousands of feet. He wanted to hit the bottom already.
But there was no end to this torture, not until he gave Lestrade an answer.
"I told you before—"
He was cut off by Lestrade stepping closer to him. The taller man was now only a few feet away from him now.
"Cut the bullshit Myc."
It was probably the fact that it was 4am and Mycroft hadn't had any sleep after his long flight, but something in him snapped. "Excuse me?" Hard blue eyes challenged dark brown ones.
Greg stepped closer. "I want you to cut this fucking bullshit. Why'd you really leave?"
He couldn't do this. He couldn't. Something had alerted the panic alarm system in his brain and all of his emotions were in hyperdrive.
"I don't owe you anything," Mycroft said coolly. The iceman had returned.
Mycroft continued. "Why do I owe you an explanation of anything I do, Lestrade?" He could see the pain flash across his face. He was speechless, stunned. Mycroft had never addressed him by his last name before.
He'd crossed a line. The color rose up Lestrade's cheeks.
But Mycroft wasn't done. Mycroft was the iceman. Mycroft was heartless.
"You're not my father, Lestrade. It's not your responsibility to be in my damn business all the time. I can do whatever the hell I please, and I in no way owe you an answer for anything that I do."
Lestrade had lost it. Mycroft could firmly see the heat rising up his face. His eyes flashed with a roar as loud as thunder.
"Well, I guess what they always said was right!"
"And what exactly is that, please elaborate." His voice was dripping with a malice that only fueled Greg's fire.
"That you're not even human! It's no wonder your brother has always been such a dick to you and that you hardly see your mother! Why would they ever love you WHEN YOU CLEARLY ARE INCAPABLE OF FEELING HUMAN EMOTIONS."
The screaming was loud enough to make the room seem like it was shaking. The words rang through Mycroft's head, and they were the only things he could hear as he fell into hurt silence.
They were standing so close to each other that Mycroft could see Lestrade's chest rising and falling. He could see the anger swimming in his eyes, and all the pain and hurt that lay hidden below that. He could only imagine the pain that was swimming in his own right now.
"You really think that, don't you" Mycroft's voice was small and weak. It was a pathetic sound, a sound Lestrade hadn't heard since they both were boys. "You really think that's why I left. Because I don't care."
Lestrade began to calm down a bit, looking his old friend in the eyes. A sad expression passed over his face. He'd crossed the line. He didn't mean that. He shouldn't have said that. He wanted to retract, to take back his words, to do anything to stop the sinking feeling he felt in his stomach as he watched the man before him breaking.
But all he could say was, "What else am I supposed to think Myc? If you won't tell me the real reason?"
Mycroft looked up. "Don't you get it? The real reason is the exact opposite of not caring."
There was silence again, a complete and utter silence. Unlike the earlier silences, this one did not force the two men apart. Instead, it brought them closer. This silence was moving, it was alive. Lestrade studied Mycroft's face, eyes digging into his soul, trying to retrieve an answer. But Lestrade was not the one that was good at deductions.
There was, however, something deep in Myc's eyes. Lestrade had never seen anything like it. It was glimmering and sparkling and full of life and hope. It was warm and wonderful. And the more Lestrade stared into Mycroft's eyes, the more prominent whatever that emotion in them was grew.
Mycroft opened his mouth to speak, to tell him the exact reason he'd left.
"Gregory, I left because—"
A loud ringing interrupted the gentlemen.
"Shit," Greg cussed under his breath. He stood staring at Mycroft awkwardly, wondering if he should answer the phone or let Myc continue.
Mycroft turned away, his face flushing with color. He couldn't believe he'd almost told him. "Go. Answer it. It's probably important at this hour."
With slight reluctance, Lestrade nodded, going towards the ringing.
He answered it, and a rushed conversation followed. "Okay….. Right. I see….. How many? … Alright… When do you need me? … I'll be there. Yeah. I know…. Bye."
He hung up, giving Mycroft an apologetic look. Their eyes were locked, for seemingly the millionth time that day.
They didn't say much. "It was work," Lestrade said, and Mycroft probably asked what for, and Lestrade probably gave a reason, and Mycroft probably told him to go. But nothing can be said with absolute certainty. Because all that the men paid attention to was the silent things being said:
'I'm sorry,' said Lestrade.
'I'm sorry too,' said Myc.
And with that, Lestrade walked out the door.