Chapter Text
2 Years Later:
“…What are you doing?” He had already heard the front door, the click of the clock, the creaking from a broken hinge he was supposed to have gotten fixed last week but forgot about, the quiet approaching footsteps, like the pitter-patters of wings, stopping at his back.
He had both hands grasped in a towel, knees digging painfully into the floor. He considered not speaking, maybe playing at a sore throat but when Grace shuffled closer, he panicked.
“Cleaning,” he replied, his voice rough like it were scrubbed by sandpaper. He continued dragging the towel back and forth.
“The house is a mess,” Grace mumbled, this time, he kept his mouth shut, rolling up his sleeved with a nod. I’ll clean it, he thought. I’ll clean it, just go. But he couldn’t kick someone out of their own house, even if he wanted to. “Can you stand up for a second?”
“Busy,” he replied shortly.
”I’m not asking.” Fuck. Tom slowly pushed himself up, arm pressing into the counter to steady himself.
Exhaustion was still hanging off of him, he’d been deep in a coma-like sleep before he heard the car pulling up, dashed to try and clean the home, that looked like a tornado had hit it, but there was nothing to be done in those ten seconds it took for Grace to appear.
”You’re home,” he still didn’t meet his eyes, but from the corner of his vision he could see Grace’s face falling.
Had his voice given something away? He knew it would. Or maybe it was the way his entire body was being held up by the counter. Grace nodded, like Tom had confirmed something for him.
”Colt was worried.”
“Fucking’Seavers,” trying to say his name had made it so much worse, the letters slurred together, clumping like dirt in his mouth. They tasted that way, too. He swallowed, dragging a hand over his face. “Involvinhimsef,”
fuckkkk.
Tom swallowed again, rubbing a hand across his face, digging his fingers into his eye.
“What did you drink?” Grace peaked at the towels with a frown. Drink. Yes! YES. Tom nodded quickly, “it’s okay,” Grace said. I can lie. He’s given you an out.
“Lotsabeersorry,” Grace sighed and shrugged off his coat, “sor…ry I'll… callsponsortomorrow,”
“Okay,” he whispered, “it’s okay, there’s nothing—“
”thanksagreattalk,” Tom stumbled up, shoulder half-smashing into Grace’s as he bullied his way past, “sorry…” he steadied Grace, both hands on his arms, “x’cuseme,”
“Tom.” Tom stopped and looked at him. Fuck. He quickly looked away but he’d already fucked it up. “Tom Ryder.” Grace gritted out, anger lacing his tone.
”Ohforfucksake,” Tom groaned, covering both his eyes.
”Your pupils look like moons, why?” Grace demanded, “did you just try to lie—“ he leaned forward and Tom flinched back, “you don’t smell like alcohol—“ Tom stumbled away.
New plan.
Fucking run.
Run.
He picked up speed, turning from a walk into a speed-walk through the house, Grace followed. “Tom!” He called, Tom sped up more and more until he was full-blown running to the front door.
Grace stared in total shock as he flung open the door and ran full speed. “Tom!” He yelled.
Good plan.
Great fucking plan.
Tom mentally patted himself on the back. Where should he lay low? Colt and Jody would obviously snitch, Iggy might snitch too, plus she’s not in Callie.
I need friends, he thought mournfully. He needs a group of yes-men like he used to have, people who encouraged the bad behaviour not jumped his ass for it all of the damn time.
‘Only wanting what’s best’ was starting to feel like a very tight leash.
“TOM!”
”What the fuck?” He half-stumbled up the road and turned around. No fucking way. His boyfriend was sprinting towards him. “I thought he’d give up,” Tom mumbled before he turned and started running again.
What the fuck is he on? is the real question.
How the fuck was he full blown-sprinting and almost out-running him?
Grace had never exercised a day in his life, he got a side-stitch bringing in the groceries.
I see how he initially got away from his kidnappers and they needed several guys and a fucking car to get him.
He shook his head, turned the corner and something smashed into his back.
They both sprawled onto the sidewalk, Tom’s head spinning as the clouds twisted into his vision. “You run…. and…I’m…” Grace panted, hand pressing over his chest, “calling…the…police…” he threatened.
”What?! On what grounds?”
”Mental Health.” Fuck. “I don’t want to play that card… don’t make me,” Tom would absolutely make him. “It’s okay!” Grace yelled, practically in his face. Tom froze. “It’s okay, why are you running, crazy?” He said it gently, not like it were mocking, or him but entirely loving, playful, gentle. Like he wasn’t crazy psycho but silly.
He pressed his fingers into Tom’s face, holding it. ”…Kay’.” Grace snorted at his reply, “…I don’t regret it.” Tom told him.
“We’ll see how you feel in a few hours,” Grace stood and held out his hands. Tom considered running again but took them, allowing Grace to pull him up.
Grace had to put him to bed like a fucking child, at least that’s how Tom felt. “Fuck off!” He slapped his hands away, “get the fuck away from me—“
”Let go of the pillows,” Grace replied, prying them from his hands. So, Tom took them and started ripping the feathers out, Grace watched in complete silence as the fluttered to the floor and he tossed the pillow aside. “We don’t need new—“
”I need new fucking pillows,” Tom interrupted. Grace covered his eyes, tilting his head back to look at the ceiling. “I want to move the bed, too.” Grace took a deep breath and stepped back, allowing him to get back out of bed. “I’m not a kid get the fuck away from me,” Grace took another step back, “I’m moving this fucking shitty bed.”
”Okay,” Grace agreed, Tom nodded and started pushing, it scratched loudly against the floor and Grace winced, eyes shooting down to watch the flooring and the large gashes in the wood, it left deeply imbedded drag marks. “Better?” He asked.
”I just feel like… the room needs…” Tom held out his hands, vaguely gesturing, “reorganised.”
”You reorganised it last week,” Grace said,
”I don’t fucking like it.”
“What did you take?” Tom waved a hand at the question and grabbed several books from the shelf, throwing them onto the bed. “Can you tell me in case I need to help you?”
“I don’t need your help. Unless you want to fix this shit hole.”
”Shit hole the famous rich celebrity says,” Grace joked, “you haven’t seen shit hole until you’re homeless and spending your last bit of money on a hash brown, that you split with your twin,” he smiled.
Tom pulled more books off of the shelf and Grace flinched as he yanked hard, and they both watched the shelf tumble to the floor.
“Perfect, now I can put it here,” Tom picked up the shelf and slammed it into the wall, holding it in place, “here?” Grace shrugged, “right here, it’s perfect,” Tom grasped around, “where’s my hammer, babe?”
”no hammers while high and manic,” Grace said, “last time, you broke your thumb.” He didn’t mention that he wasn’t high the last time he did that. “I’ll do it.”
So Grace did, Tom watched eagerly as he hammered the shelf into the new spot, he squeezed next to Grace to start putting the books back, Grace helped him with the few books that had tumbled onto the floor.
”What do you think about the living room TV wall placement?” Tom asked, “I don’t like it,”
”Can we sit down for a moment?” Grace grabbed his hand,
”you can sit if you’re tired. I’m on a roll, you’ll mess up my rhythm,” Grace pulled him onto the bed anyway, “…I didn’t take anything. I’m just in a really good mood and you don’t want me to be. You don’t want me happy.”
”Of course I want you happy,” Grace said, “this isn’t happy, you remember when you told me it kind of hurts?” Tom just smiled back, shaking his head. “Okay. So, I don’t believe you. I know how someone looks when they’re high.”
”Yep, right in the mirror,” Grace stiffened, “that’s how you know… looking… in a mirror,” Tom snorted, “fuckking hypocrite.”
”I never said anything bad about it. Just wanted to know what you took, that’s all.” Grace deadpanned. “I’ll just go to Colt’s if you don't want to talk to me—“
”Come on, we’re having fun,” Tom groaned, wrapping both arms around his waist, he dug his cheek into his shoulder, “okay okay,” he paused, “mdma…” he trailed off, Grace nodded. “And so much coke,” he whispered, like it were a funny secret.
“Did you remember your meds?” Grace asked, Tom stared back. “Okay. You can do whatever you want… just don’t hurt yourself,” Tom’s eyes glowed and he leapt up, heading for the living room.
Yeah, their house was going to be a mess tomorrow. Grace sighed and ran his hands through his hair.
He also knew trying to stop him would make it worse, and it would cause unnecessary distress.
Grace was woken at around 5am, when eventually, Tom collapsed into bed, arms wrapping around him. Grace closed his eyes again and when they reopened it was morning, he slowly climbed out of bed.
Tom was sober, moving around the kitchen, plating up a pile of bacon, several waffles, coffee, a spread Grace couldn’t eat and honestly, neither could Tom. “Morning, I’m making breakfast. How was the weird shitty alien stuff?”
”Rocky is fine,” Grace replied, tensely. “I walked in a little early and you were cleaning the floors,” Tom hummed in response, “then you ran down the street full speed without shoes on.” Tom laughed.
“You need to eat you’re too skinny,” Tom shoved the plate down, and snaked around him, “still…” he grinned, his hands finding his waist, “just the most beautiful, sexiest person ever,” he purred into his neck, “when you get out of bed and you’re in pyjamas and your hair is all messed up just mnn—“ he kissed his neck, “stunning.” He pulled away and threw himself down.
”You know I worry about you, right?” Grace asked, gentle, hesitant. Tom nodded. “I’m worried.”
”I’m so good,” Tom sent him a thumbs up.
He really wasn't good, not at all.
He didn’t remember being high or passing out on the sofa.
He didn’t remember trying to clean the floor.
He didn’t remember running away, or ripping the shelf down or even cooking breakfast.
”I fucked up,” he sobbed a week later, half-curled up on Grace, his face pressed to his knee, his hands gripping his waist, “I’m so so sorry—“
”It’s okay, I wasn’t angry I was never upset. Just worried,” he whispered back, running a hand through his hair. “I signed up for everything, difficult and easy.” Grace leaned down, gently planting his lips against his forehead. “Can I ask why?”
”…Everything just got to me…” Grace nodded, he had been tempted more than once to get drunk. Thinking unconscious oblivion would be better than dealing with his problems head-on. “I can’t believe I did this—“ he sobbed.
Grace scrambled to sit up, ”It’s okay,” he said, but it wasn’t calming him down.
”Two years down the fucking drain—“ he choked, shoving away from Grace. He curled up, face digging into his knees. “Two years. I’ve never gone two years sober, fuck.” His voice cracked.
He saw the response for what it was, pure rage at himself. Anger vicious enough to rip his own hair out. Grace grabbed his hands, and just sat. Let him sob and kick it out.
“You’re crashing,” Grace said, “it’s going to feel twice as bad but it’s okay,” he reassured, “okay, look,” Grace gently pulled him up, “what would you do if it was me?” He asked, “if the roles were reversed?”
”I’dunno…” Tom croaked,
”Yes you do,” Grace argued. “I’ve seen you low and I’ve seen you high, and literally high. I’ve seen you being an asshole, cruel, self-absorbed,” he listed off, “and I’m still here.”
“They call that stupidity,” Tom said, “or toxic.”
”It’s not toxic, and you’re not some chore to me,” Grace argued, “you’re a good partner.”
”a good partner’s not gonna’ make you run down the street,” Tom shook his head, “or fix the shitty shelf why did I put that there? it looks like shit—“ he ranted,
”please leave the shelf alone,” Grace begged, Tom snorted. “You’re beautiful and your problems deserve to be beautiful, too.”
“…Yeah… you’re crazy,” Tom shook his head, “absolutely batshit crazy.”
”I know. That’s why I’m an alien ambassador.” Grace slowly stood up, groaning as his knees cracked. “But getting too old to sprint after you down streets so, please contain the energy to… the shelving units,” he joked, holding out his hands.
Tom hesitantly took them, threading their fingers together and allowing himself to be pulled up.
“…Sorry,” Tom whispered. “Felt like a good idea at the time, I guess. I was super fucking high, too. You really need to reconsider—“
”No. Unless you want me to cut off my arm?” Grace mimicked cutting his arm off, “do you want me to cut off my arm, be honest, I’ll do it,” Tom’s eyes widened and Grace’s mouth twitched, “thats the only thing I could do…” he pointed out.
“No…”
“You’re one of the only things that gets me up in the morning.” Grace said it so suddenly that it startled Tom, “I’d take a million broken shelves, and a thousand hours with you crying on the floor. Okay?” Tom nodded silently. “I really want to watch that new movie, it’s on streaming today.” Tom nodded again, and they settled onto the sofa.
It wasn’t until halfway through the film, where Tom’s eyes had become heavily lidded, aching and stinging from crying.
His entire body feeling like he’d been chained to cement blocks and thrown into a river, where Grace peered at him and spoke. “I’m really proud of your progress,” Grace whispered to him.
Tom’s eyes started stinging. “It’s not enough,” he admitted. “I fucked my sobriety up…”
”It’s okay that you had a setback,” Tom pulled away slightly, just enough to really look at him, face twisting in confusion. “This does not mean you didn’t make that progress. You relapsed,” he gently grabbed his hand, thumb rubbing over his skin. “It was agony looking for reprieve.”
“Doesn’t mean I shouldn’t be ashamed. It’s just going to make things worse again.”
“You can feel however you want, guilty, ashamed, hateful, angry, relieved,” Grace said. “Was it a quick thing, just a switch? Or did it build up?” Tom looked away, “…why didn’t you call me?”
”I can’t keep dragging you into my shit, I’m a grown man.” Grace frowned, shaking his head at him. “It’s true, Grace. I don’t need a saviour running to me whenever I click my fingers.”
”I’ll always find you when you need help,” Grace’s voice warbled, “…I guess if we’re doing that, don’t expect a call from me when I’m in trouble,” Tom bristled, mouth opening, eyebrows falling down in irritation, he hesitated, swallowed back the reply and clenched his fists.
Grace stared, his own eyebrows raised in challenge.
“Point. Taken.” Tom gritted out.
”We’ve been dating for two years, over that if we count the beginning. You won’t even call me when you’re drowning? I thought we were being more open, leaning on each other. We have been for ages. What happened?” Grace asked, “did I make you feel like you—“
”you haven’t done anything wrong, it’s me,” Tom sighed, “it’s always me.”
”Not always. Clearly.” Grace cocked an eyebrow, “I don’t have to come running, but call me, at least. Or go to Colt’s,” Tom snorted, “Tom Ryder.” Grace gritted out, he looked a little scorned at the gaze, eyes sliding away to avoid it. “Is there any more in the house?”
”…I took it all,” Tom muttered, Grace tipped his chin, a finger pushing into his skin, “I’m telling the truth,” Grace nodded, looking into his eyes. In the gaze, he could see he wasn’t lying. He could tell at this point. “My meds aren’t working as good anymore. It’s like… they never fucking work,”
“They are somewhat,” Grace reassured, “I can see the difference, I know immediately when you haven’t taken them.” Usually, he crashed straight into a very intense manic episode. “If they’re not working good enough, we go back, we try again. We’re going to find something perfect, that works for more than a few months.” He promised.
”I can’t keep blaming shitty meds,” Tom dropped his head into his hands, “you’re wrong about me.”
”I’ve never been wrong about anything.” Grace said, with a smile. “And when I am… I just prove they’re wrong about me being wrong,” Tom huffed at him, “it’s been two years and you have yet to catch on?”
”catch on?”
”about how unbelievably fond I am,” Grace answered, “I know Colt jokes about how trained I’ve got you, but you have to know how much I adore you. You’re funny, and creative and smart,” he said, “you try so hard. You are the only person I have ever loved romantically. The only one I have ever wanted to have sex with. I want to spend all our time together. I just want to hear your voice, and your laugh.”
And he was, wasn’t he? His own worshipper for Tom.
Tom could see it in bright, glistening beautiful eyes. Every day he looked at him with pure adoration, even when Tom was being a dick.
Even when he was an embarrassment, a mess on the floor. Even when he disappointed him. He didn’t waver.
For the first time, he had someone’s love unconditionally.
“Next time, I’ll call,” Tom said, Grace beamed. “I felt like shit, I got in my own head.” Though Grace felt like it wasn’t the entire story, he just nodded. Knowing it wasn’t his place in that exact moment to pry. “I don’t know how you’re proud of this.”
”What do you mean, silly?” Grace huffed, “look how much effort you’re putting in. Two years sober is incredible. I'm proud of you when you're doing good, but I’m also proud of you at your lowest moments.”
“‘Feeling like a failure,” Tom sighed,
“No one who tries could ever be a failure, and failing once or even a hundred times doesn't make you one either. You're trying,” Grace smiled.
And he really did look at Tom with pure adoration. “—This month was bad, but tomorrow will be better.” Grace added.
”You don’t even know that,” Tom said.
”Just like the sun will rise, I do know that. I’m never wrong. But on the off chance a blue moon appears in the sky tonight, if tomorrow is bad, then I’ll wait until the next day, and the next and the next, and one day will be a good day. And that’s worth waiting for, isn’t it?” He smiled, “how does a good day sound?”
”…sounds fucking good,” Tom whispered.
”Then we’ll wait for the good day to come, it might take awhile, but I think about it like… maybe someone else is enjoying it. Maybe someone else needs it, and tomorrow, it’ll be our turn,” Grace smiled.