#planetsam is planetextra

[planetsam]

"Don't touch him!" Michael found himself yelling those words once again but it's not 2008, it's the present and his instinct to protect Alex hasn't wavered.

“Where’s Alex?” He asks, looking around.

He’s still a little dazed this deal with Jesse Manes worked. That everyone is back in one piece. Liz looks over from the circle of Max’s arms and then around. She shakes her head. Michael doesn’t fight the feeling of dread that he feels creeping up his spine. He doesn’t see Jesse either. He only fights not to broadcast his obvious concern because he wants the element of surprise. Being casual is impossible when you think this hard about it, but Michael has spent his entire life pretending to be casual when he feels anything but. He’s really fucking good at it. The first three rooms he manages to clear with a glance.

The fourth room, his room, he finds them.

It’s stunning how much and how little has changed in a decade. How they wind up in the same positions. Jesse has Alex up against the wall, both hands wrapped around his throat. The bottom of his leg is lifted off the ground, breaking the seal. Alex is as defiant as ever, both his hands locked around his father’s wrists. This time though Jesse’s eye is already swelling from a well landed blow. The second he appears at the doorway, both of them look over at him. He can see Jesse’s fingers press harder as Alex digs into his father’s wrists fighting to break the hold as his eyes go red and his lips tinge blue.

“Don’t touch him!” Michael says and throws himself at Jesse, tackling him to the ground.

So many things are the same but he sure as hell isn’t. He’s not a kid holding himself back anymore, desperate not to show what he is. But the thought of using his powers barely crosses his mind. He uses a language Jesse Manes understands. Unequivocally. This time it’s the hand that Jesse ruined that ruins his face. A decade of pain seems to come out as he strikes him, over and over again until Alex hauls him off. Jesse is wheezing and bloody and very much down for the count. Some part of him that’s the culmination of generations of selective alien breeding screams for more. More blood, until his heart stops beating. Until he can’t bleed. But Alex is in front of him, stopping him from getting what he wants.

“Hey, hey that’s enough. He’s down,” Alex croaks, “he’s out. It’s okay.”

“No it’s not!” Michael yells, “he should be dead!”

Alex nods in agreement.

“Not by you,” he says, flattening his hand on Michael’s chest, “come on.”

“We can’t just leave him here,” Michael protests.

“He’s not going anywhere,” Alex says.

Michael looks down and okay that might be fair. But he still uses his power to drag Jesse to the nearby desk and uses the zipties to bind his wrists behind him. They get out of the room and Michael throws every lock before he immediately turns to Alex. The color his back in his face but the bruising his already starting on his neck. Michael brings him into the kitchen and goes into the freezer drawer. He roots around and comes up with a pack of frozen peas. Grabbing the dishtowel, he wraps it around the pack and sits on the stool next to Alex, carefully putting it against his throat.

“Max is tapped out,” he says regretfully, “or I’d ask—“

“Bruising will fade faster,” Alex rasps with a wry smile.

He lets him hold the peas there and keeps his chin up. His eyes move to the side and he taps a finger on Michael’s hand, giving him a questioning look. Blood is on his hand, but it’s not his own. Michael smiles roughly and shakes his head.

“Come on, all those bar fights at the Pony and you think I can’t throw a punch?” Alex shrugs as much as he can, “you wound me,” Michael says with a dramatic sigh, “hold this,” he says.

He washes his hands quickly before he comes back and replaces Alex’s hand with his own. Alex tries to look anywhere else but eventually his eyes settle on his. Michael’s used to Alex having a million things to say and not speaking any of them. Throat or no throat. But he doesn’t want to let the awkwardness build. He doesn’t want Alex to go away or come up with a reason to leave. Michael would love to be the kind of person who has faith but in moments like these, he needs Alex there. More than usual. Despite everything.

“Thank you,” Alex says quietly.

“I should be saying that,” Michael says, “orange isn’t my color.”

“I mean for looking for me,” Alex says.

“Oh,” Michael looks down before meeting his eyes again, “I always look for you, Alex.”

Alex’s eyes shut briefly at the mention of his name. It’s been a long time since he’s said it where Alex can hear it. It’s another petty bullshit Alex didn’t deserve on top of everything else. Calling him ‘Manes’ was a low blow on his part, worse than Alex calling him Guerin. At least he had the luxury of never having met another Guerin. Any apology he makes right now isn’t going to be believed. Michael’s not sure any apology he ever makes will be enough for what he’s put them through. His head flies up as someone tries to come in for more ice or drinks and he flips them finger before sliding the door shut and throwing the lock.

“They’re fine,” he says, knowing full well Alex doesn’t want anyone to see him like this “how are the peas? Still cold?”

He moves the bag to inspect it when Alex is suddenly closer, taking it from his hands and grasping his. The emotion on his face is crippling and echoes something Michael was honestly planning to deal with later. Later or never. He fully wants to go back into the room and kill Jesse Manes for putting them in this position again. He’s hidden bodies before. No-one deserves it more. The only thing that keeps him sitting where he is, is the fact that here is where Alex is and he wants contact with him even more than he wants to kill Jesse.

“Shit, Alex—“

“Can you just—“ Alex cuts him off, leaning towards him. Michael presses his forehead to his, trying to steady his own emotions, “keep using my name?”

“Yeah of course,” Michael says, “of course I can,” he he feels Alex’s unsteady breath on his face, “I’m sorry I did that.”

“No,” Alex says with a wet sound, “I deserved—“

“No,” he cuts him off fiercely, “no you didn’t. Don’t say that. You didn’t deserve any of it. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I should have realized—“ he presses into Alex’s forehead, “I was so fucking stupid.”

Alex doesn’t correct him and he doesn’t leave. Michael lets that settle over him and root in his chest. Forgiveness is something neither of them have much experience with. Things that are truly unforgivable make up so much of their lives. It was hard to realize how badly he wanted to forgive Alex, but it was easy to do when he did it. He’s not prepared for how badly he wants his forgiveness in this moment. How much he wants each breath that comes across his face to be the one where he does it. He wants them to be on the same page. At the same time. For once. He doesn’t want this to go the way it did last time.

“I should—“ Alex goes to move back and Michael finds himself reaching for him.

“Stay?” He asks, “please just—“ Fuck, he can’t start crying too, “please.”

“I’m right here,” Alex says softly, taking his hand and settling it on his other while he swipes under his eyes with the back of his hand and then reaches for the peas.

“Oh, shit, right, hang on,” Michael scrambles over to the fridge and practically cracks his head open coming back with a bag of corn. He swaps out the towel and then gently pushes the bag against the bruises, “better?”

“Yes,” Alex says.

“No more talking,” Michael says, executively deciding for the sake of Alex’s bruised neck, “we can talk later. Right now just let’s do this,” he looks at him, “Sound good?”

Alex gives a slight nod.

They both turn at the sound of shoes coming towards them. Thankfully they are pumps and there is only one pair. Isobel rounds the corner and puts her hands on her hips, waiting for an explanation. First she gives Alex a once over and then fixes Michael with a look.

“Jesse Manes is unconscious in my room,” he says, “could you—“

“Only because it’s Jesse,” she says.

“Thank you!” He shouts after her, “love you! Also, could you get rid of everyone?”

Isobel has ranted at him for many hours how perfectly timed events are her ‘thing’. Parties have a time window. They definitely have not hit that with this one, but shortly after she stomps off, she appears outside with an airhorn and kicks everyone out. Then it’s just the two of them. Alone. Another thing they haven’t done in months. The handprints on Alex’s neck are bruises and ugly, but not as swollen as they should be since they’ve been iced.

“Guerin I’m okay,” he says and his voice is a lot less raspy.

“Are you sure?” Michael says, rooting through the bottom of the freezer, “we’ve got frozen raspberries, but Isobel might try to kill us if we ruin breakfast,” he says before turning around with the bag in his hand, “we could risk it,” he says holding it up.

“Seriously, the swelling’s down. Now the bruises just have to heal.”

Michael ditches the raspberries in the freezer and comes back, gently tipping up his chin to inspect his neck. Above his head he hears Alex make a huff of frustration, but he lets him do his inspection. Michael gently touches one of the bruises. The skin is still warm.

“I can call Max,” he offers.

“Thank you but it’s okay,” he says, “two sets of handprints is enough,” Michael sighs, not liking the sound of it. Alex lets out a laugh before wincing, “maybe don’t make me laugh right now,” he says.

Alex doesn’t jerk out of his grip. He’s letting him touch him. Michael’s got one hand on his chin and the other is on his thigh. He doesn’t know if he’s pushing things already. But moving slowly has never been something he’s been great at. When he moves closer, he can tell Alex feels something shift too. He sees his eyes track him and his throat works, but he doesn’t move away. Michael gives him all the time before he leans the rest of the way forward and brushes his lips to one of the bruises.

A soft breath escapes Alex’s lips and Michael does the same with another. He kisses each of the bruises he can on the side of Alex’s neck. Then he moves to the other. When he switches hands, Alex turns and leans into his palm. Michael kisses the bruises on the other side of his neck and curls his fingers into Alex’s hair before he straitens up. He gently reaches out with his other hand, cupping Alex’s cheeks in both of his palms.

It’s Alex who very carefully moves forward and kisses him.

In the back of his head he thinks about the last time they were here and how things ended. About the kid who scrambled into his car and lost every bit of hope. Now as Alex kisses him, sitting at the kitchen table of the house he shares with his sister, he wonders if that kid could have ever imagined having so much hope it felt like it would burst from his chest.

“Is this okay?” Alex whispers against his lips.

“Yeah, Alex,” he says, “this is perfect.”