[ ... hang on. if that's not a deflection, he doesn't know what is. he's also not going to bother pussyfooting around it: Freddie's stuck in a roof, there are more important things to worry about than whatever it is he doesn't want John to see, which it's now impressively obvious is something. ]
Whatever you've got secreted away in the attic, I can ignore it. Or if you really don't want me there I can get in contact with Jem. I'm not leaving you in a roof.
No- [A small flare of irritation, don't you call Jem.] Don't fuck up the Jem plan. I do have a phone, you might have noticed.
[He'll just detach his leg from the hole. Or possibly just detach his leg. One of these options is bound to work. Meanwhile, enjoy the sounds of tile confetti.]
And there are no secretions in my attic. You've seen it. It's too cold for that.
You're being strange about the attic— [ which is fine, John's not going to push it, the tone isn't indicative of a desire to know why it's just a statement that he's not completely stupid except then there's tile confetti and he's trying not to get nervous, he really is, but— ] Could you stay still? You're on a roof.
[ he knows he's on a roof, John. if he didn't before, you've mentioned the roof about nine times. he knows. ]
First you want me to get off... do make up your mind.
[A moment while he grumpily reaches for the wine and more grumpily realises there's none left in the bottle.]
I have to stay still, don't I. I've only got one leg. [Obviously. he slowly watches the wine bottle roll away down the roof until the motion makes him dizzy. Dizzier.] I suppose you've dealt with loads of them - amputees.
[This situation may sound more dramatic than it is.]
[ and John's fine, he's absolutely fine, there's not the slightest haste in him as he gets up, turns back to let himself in and take a calm, collected walk around his front room in search of shoes, keys, a light jacket. for now, the situation is entirely fine. nothing to worry about. it's all just in case. ]
I want you to stay still.
[ to clarify. that's the right instruction to follow. calm, completely calm. collected and calm. ]
—Well, so long as those are alright, eh? [ a slightly distracted pursuit of light conversation is just what the doctor ordered. ]
[To clarify. Even tipsy (drunk) he knows you, John. He knows your small noises and small desires to let things slide that your nobler instincts won't countenance. And really, he's got his foot through a ceiling but he's perfectly safe.]
I'm just wonky. And... [No, there's no word to pin down this precise lightness to his head. Just a soft laugh and a pause.] So you don't need to bring your toolkit. You can bring another bottle, though, if you're coming. Might as well spend the night.
[He couldn't make John's wish more solid with a seconding of his own. But, it's not too hard to make it come true.]
[ no he won't. not now, maybe later. wonky isn't reassuring. but Freddie's fine, that's good, and he does his level best to know that in a broader sense and listen to it: he's not hurt, he's just wonky. and he's going to stay still. all fine.
John will take time to appreciate it for what it is later, too. take the appropriate amount of time to be both fond and grateful. for now, he's scattering dry food into a bowl and pulling the door closed on his way out with more force than it needs and heading off into the evening ]
If I find out you've sacrificed a leg to the attic for the sake of fast-tracking operation Jem... [ it's a light threat, sans the threat. play, to realign his focus and keep Freddie's voice coming down the line. ]
You'll lecture me. Which is more terrifying since I can't run away. Anyway, it's my leg, I can do what I like with it. We agreed.
[What was agreed, technically, was that the heat of each other's mouths was a welcome distraction from snarling over whether Freddie had the right to make reckless decisions and, furthermore, whether John had the right to care.
Nothing was ever resolved, in any sense beyond the physical. And Freddie will always be someone with an instinct to walk out onto a roof without checking the structural support.
John will always be structural support. And willing to risk rooftops, too, even aware that they're dangerous.]
[ a laughing scoff-- well done, Freddie, that's one spontaneous reaction more than he thought himself capable of. ] Glad to know I can strike fear into the heart.
[ John doesn't feel much like support of any kind right now. too far away with too much time between them, a position he's been in before and never— never wanted to be in again. and it's different, wildly different. different because he already knows what this feels like, different because it isn't that, different because he didn't know what he was walking towards then but he knows exactly now and he knows, too, that it's fine. it's fine, Freddie's fine. nothing about this is anything like—
a heavy swallow opens into a small sound as he walks, strides really, night not moving fast enough around him. ]
Edited (fucks sake i always forget I have to hit a button) 2016-05-20 01:35 (UTC)
You, you're terrifying. I've heard you can break a man's spine.
[This position is, honestly, starting to get a little uncomfortable now. The tension just edges Freddie's voice, as he carefully tests for movement - whether it's possible to pull his leg out without the momentum tumbling him down the side of the roof.
He should, possibly, have chosen somewhere flatter for this adventure.]
Bit like a massive pissed off swan. In a cardi.
[No, he's wedged too tight, foot shoved through the roof of an attic that John's visited before - a sparse, dimly lit space empty of just about anything except steel girders and un-connected plumbing pipes.
It wasn't a workspace, before. There was no easel tugged into the middle of the room or walls plastered with sketches in progress. No signs that Freddie Baxter might be attempting to do anything with a purpose. No cluttered collection of lamps and random light strings which are going to be a little too exposed once there's a big fucking hole in the roof to contend with - something Freddie realises at roughly the same moment John should be approaching the building.]
[ ordinarily, he'd get something out of that. the energy of a compliment or the edge of being seen. warmth at the example, helplessly fond. as it is, he doesn't have the space for it. by the time John's pacing toward the warehouse, eyes raised and intent and searching, he hasn't got it in him to be anything other than fast.
Freddie's voice comes down the line and John's follows immediately after, short and clipped and close to harsh, desperation channelled with military precision into demand. ]
What? [ what is it, are you alright, don't you dare, I'm here now don't you dare ]
[Freddie misses the nuances, over a phoneline. Hears irritation.]
No, nothing. Just think I've made it worse.
[He drops back to his free knee and sends a few more tiles skittering. If he knew John was out there he'd warn him to duck. As it is, hopefully that military precision extends to dodging.]
And we got the door fixed when Jem moved in. You haven't got a key.
[ a sigh of relief, equally violent and quickly quashed by a small rain of tiles falling to shatter about him, deftly avoided but bringing along with them a new drive of motion.
he hisses, short breath pushed through teeth, underscored by the sound of things breaking on ground and underfoot picked up both by the receiver and the open air. ]
[ well, he doesn't have much choice but to take the risk. if he could manage it drunk, he's got at least a little hope now. there's an effort made, here, to sound halfway normal. ]
Keep your fingers crossed.
[ and, by the sounds of it, not too long later somebody's opening it up and giving the thing a go. ]
[Meanwhile Freddie's settled to a perch on the rooftop, free knee bent under him, keeping the pose from being too precarious. He'd easily be graceful enough to keep balance, sober. Drunk makes everything a little more questionable.
Although, speaking of questionable things, the lift decides to be reliable for once. John's disgourged with only some minor rattling and dubious shudders to show for the experience.]
Are you out? I don't know where I'd get a mechanic this time of night.
Yeah. [ and on his way, stalking through the main apartment (thank God Jem's out, a glance at him now definitely wouldn't be the best introduction), soon at the foot of the fire escape. it's not difficult to hear the echo of his footsteps from down here, they sound to him both like thunder and oddly absent, removed, but from up there the best radar Freddie's probably going to get on his position is whatever of the sound leaks through into the call ]
[He's quiet, then, mentally tracking John's path, working out timings, wondering what he'll notice first: the foot through the roof or the papers pinned to the wall - sketches and outlines, works in development. There's the catch of his breath and slow, steadying exhale.]
[ feet stamp stamp stamp on metal, lift him up into a space he stood in not that long ago which looked nothing like it does now and he barely notices that he's never seen it like this before, barely notices or just can't see, can't spend any mind on anything other than knowing Freddie's above his head and that he has to think, has to be calm, has to keep himself steady enough to get him down and not all the way down, not down there, not— ]
Not doing what again.
[ it's distracted, John having found Freddie's protruding foot and being suddenly unsure how to do anything about it. he's close enough now that his voice can probably be heard through the hole but he doesn't hang up, clutches the phone to his ear and just keeps talking ]
[This is into the phone. It's quiet enough that John will need to press his ear close just to hear it. In response to the other question, the foot above John's head twists and tugs. If he's not balanced, that point's about to be proven. But there's no crash from above. Even the remaining tiles seem to be fairly well set.]
[ there's a smart remark to be made. he doesn't. whether or not he's even heard goes unmarked. instead, shortly after the foot stills, there are fingers pressed around an ankle, firm, a wrap of them that doesn't tug (for all he wants to, pull him down through the roof, kill these last few minutes of uncertainty) but holds for just a few brief seconds until his hand skims up past to check at the edges of the hole Freddie's made. ]
Don't move anymore. If there's anything you can tell me about what things look like from up there, now's a good time.
[ there's an edge to his voice that's not the dangerous underslice of violence or the hardness of anger. it's too many words in too short a time. too little weight in them, conviction caught on something invisible and lacking. words that could be orders left tinted with plea. ]
[Sorry, John. He's a little drunk and his leg's a little sore where the broken tiles are scratching up against his calf and it's hard not to be flippant when he's a little (just a little, a fraction, a decimal point) scared.
John's unpressed pleading sinks in eventually.]
It looks... like a roof? Stars one direction, tiles the other. Slopes down toward the gutter. Come out, you can see. [A beat.] I won't let you fall.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[He's fine he can just work this hole a little bigger and fall through.]
It's fine. It's like I just installed a new shower.
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Have you made a hole in your roof? [ another..... sigh..... ] At least you don't need to worry about the deposit.
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[A sudden stop. A pause long enough to swallow a word.]
Things. Could use brightening up. Actually, Jem's probably on her way back by now, it's fine.
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Whatever you've got secreted away in the attic, I can ignore it. Or if you really don't want me there I can get in contact with Jem. I'm not leaving you in a roof.
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[He'll just detach his leg from the hole. Or possibly just detach his leg. One of these options is bound to work. Meanwhile, enjoy the sounds of tile confetti.]
And there are no secretions in my attic. You've seen it. It's too cold for that.
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[ he knows he's on a roof, John. if he didn't before, you've mentioned the roof about nine times. he knows. ]
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[A moment while he grumpily reaches for the wine and more grumpily realises there's none left in the bottle.]
I have to stay still, don't I. I've only got one leg. [Obviously. he slowly watches the wine bottle roll away down the roof until the motion makes him dizzy. Dizzier.] I suppose you've dealt with loads of them - amputees.
[This situation may sound more dramatic than it is.]
Still, my face and my cock are both fine.
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I want you to stay still.
[ to clarify. that's the right instruction to follow. calm, completely calm. collected and calm. ]
—Well, so long as those are alright, eh? [ a slightly distracted pursuit of light conversation is just what the doctor ordered. ]
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[To clarify. Even tipsy (drunk) he knows you, John. He knows your small noises and small desires to let things slide that your nobler instincts won't countenance. And really, he's got his foot through a ceiling but he's perfectly safe.]
I'm just wonky. And... [No, there's no word to pin down this precise lightness to his head. Just a soft laugh and a pause.] So you don't need to bring your toolkit. You can bring another bottle, though, if you're coming. Might as well spend the night.
[He couldn't make John's wish more solid with a seconding of his own. But, it's not too hard to make it come true.]
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[ no he won't. not now, maybe later. wonky isn't reassuring. but Freddie's fine, that's good, and he does his level best to know that in a broader sense and listen to it: he's not hurt, he's just wonky. and he's going to stay still. all fine.
John will take time to appreciate it for what it is later, too. take the appropriate amount of time to be both fond and grateful. for now, he's scattering dry food into a bowl and pulling the door closed on his way out with more force than it needs and heading off into the evening ]
If I find out you've sacrificed a leg to the attic for the sake of fast-tracking operation Jem... [ it's a light threat, sans the threat. play, to realign his focus and keep Freddie's voice coming down the line. ]
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[What was agreed, technically, was that the heat of each other's mouths was a welcome distraction from snarling over whether Freddie had the right to make reckless decisions and, furthermore, whether John had the right to care.
Nothing was ever resolved, in any sense beyond the physical. And Freddie will always be someone with an instinct to walk out onto a roof without checking the structural support.
John will always be structural support. And willing to risk rooftops, too, even aware that they're dangerous.]
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[ John doesn't feel much like support of any kind right now. too far away with too much time between them, a position he's been in before and never— never wanted to be in again. and it's different, wildly different. different because he already knows what this feels like, different because it isn't that, different because he didn't know what he was walking towards then but he knows exactly now and he knows, too, that it's fine. it's fine, Freddie's fine. nothing about this is anything like—
a heavy swallow opens into a small sound as he walks, strides really, night not moving fast enough around him. ]
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[This position is, honestly, starting to get a little uncomfortable now. The tension just edges Freddie's voice, as he carefully tests for movement - whether it's possible to pull his leg out without the momentum tumbling him down the side of the roof.
He should, possibly, have chosen somewhere flatter for this adventure.]
Bit like a massive pissed off swan. In a cardi.
[No, he's wedged too tight, foot shoved through the roof of an attic that John's visited before - a sparse, dimly lit space empty of just about anything except steel girders and un-connected plumbing pipes.
It wasn't a workspace, before. There was no easel tugged into the middle of the room or walls plastered with sketches in progress. No signs that Freddie Baxter might be attempting to do anything with a purpose. No cluttered collection of lamps and random light strings which are going to be a little too exposed once there's a big fucking hole in the roof to contend with - something Freddie realises at roughly the same moment John should be approaching the building.]
Fuck.
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Freddie's voice comes down the line and John's follows immediately after, short and clipped and close to harsh, desperation channelled with military precision into demand. ]
What? [ what is it, are you alright, don't you dare, I'm here now don't you dare ]
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No, nothing. Just think I've made it worse.
[He drops back to his free knee and sends a few more tiles skittering. If he knew John was out there he'd warn him to duck. As it is, hopefully that military precision extends to dodging.]
And we got the door fixed when Jem moved in. You haven't got a key.
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he hisses, short breath pushed through teeth, underscored by the sound of things breaking on ground and underfoot picked up both by the receiver and the open air. ]
Lift still working?
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[Even Freddie manages to sound apologetic at this point. But no one's been stuck in it for a few weeks, it's probably fine.]
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Keep your fingers crossed.
[ and, by the sounds of it, not too long later somebody's opening it up and giving the thing a go. ]
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Although, speaking of questionable things, the lift decides to be reliable for once. John's disgourged with only some minor rattling and dubious shudders to show for the experience.]
Are you out? I don't know where I'd get a mechanic this time of night.
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Assuming you'll be easy to find.
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[He's quiet, then, mentally tracking John's path, working out timings, wondering what he'll notice first: the foot through the roof or the papers pinned to the wall - sketches and outlines, works in development. There's the catch of his breath and slow, steadying exhale.]
We're not doing this again.
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Not doing what again.
[ it's distracted, John having found Freddie's protruding foot and being suddenly unsure how to do anything about it. he's close enough now that his voice can probably be heard through the hole but he doesn't hang up, clutches the phone to his ear and just keeps talking ]
Are you balanced?
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[This is into the phone. It's quiet enough that John will need to press his ear close just to hear it. In response to the other question, the foot above John's head twists and tugs. If he's not balanced, that point's about to be proven. But there's no crash from above. Even the remaining tiles seem to be fairly well set.]
Think so.
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Don't move anymore. If there's anything you can tell me about what things look like from up there, now's a good time.
[ there's an edge to his voice that's not the dangerous underslice of violence or the hardness of anger. it's too many words in too short a time. too little weight in them, conviction caught on something invisible and lacking. words that could be orders left tinted with plea. ]
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[Sorry, John. He's a little drunk and his leg's a little sore where the broken tiles are scratching up against his calf and it's hard not to be flippant when he's a little (just a little, a fraction, a decimal point) scared.
John's unpressed pleading sinks in eventually.]
It looks... like a roof? Stars one direction, tiles the other. Slopes down toward the gutter. Come out, you can see. [A beat.] I won't let you fall.
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