Potential
Clarity Scifiroots
Regular disclaimers apply. Although this is completely AU. Title inspired by Elliott
Smith’s “Between the Bars”
Sequel?: Yes, continuation
of Separate from the Rest.
Summary: The
visions come.
May!fic 18 of 31
(wow it’s already late in the month!)
---
“Is it inappropriate to ask how you ended up here?” Johnny dares to ask during a late lunch on the fully furnished balcony of his suite.
Bruce gives him a teasing smile. “Hey, man, you’re the one who called.” Johnny rolls his eyes.
“Alright,” Bruce relents, tapping his fork against his plate as he leans back. “I studied pre-med and occupational therapy, went through extensive training for massage therapy...” He sighs. “I did work as an EMT and then physical therapy. Saw a lot of pain, watched some people die on the way to the ER. It was exhausting and I hated watching people hurt. So I decided pleasure was something I’d rather give.” He quirks a smile and glances at Johnny. “So I moved to Vegas and took up massage at one of the spas. Eventually met Heather, her company had a good rep, and the rest is history.” He returns to his food, gaze dropping.
Johnny considers it, sipping his water and watching Bruce with a straightforward stare. Interesting how waking up in someone’s arms after languorous sex makes you bold.
“Are you done stripping me with your eyes or should I really give you a show?” Bruce offers with a gentle smile after he’s finished eating. Johnny quickly looks away. Amusement colors Bruce’s words; “I’m not asking you to stop, John. I like you watching me.” He pushes his chair back and moves to stand behind Johnny. His hands caress the blonde’s shoulders and begin to soothe the tension knots.
With a quiet groan, Johnny leans back into the touch and closes his eyes. He’s still not quite sure what to think about himself for purchasing company. It’s his second day with the man and in the light of day he wonders about the other man’s sincerity, prompting these questions to find out more about Bruce as a person. As the hours pass he finds himself feeling more and more uncomfortable thinking about the man’s pleasure occupation. He feels a trickle jealousy at the thought of Bruce spending time with other “customers” and doing the things he’s done with Johnny.
“How’s the leg?” Bruce murmurs near his ear.
Johnny slowly opens his eyes and flexes his thigh muscles. “Much better than usual,” he admits, quietly amazed. He wonders why Bruce thinks he can’t help ease people’s pain with massage alone instead of including this sexual element.
Bruce hums softly and lets his hands slide lower over Johnny’s chest.
---
Bruce eventually convinces John that he needs to stop home for additional clothing. He offers teasingly that he could just wear one of the complimentary hotel robes around; the idea makes John pale. Bruce eases the situation by kissing his cheek and promising to be back in an hour.
During the taxi ride he considers John’s reaction. He has to admit that even he feels awkward about bringing up the exchange of money involved in their meeting. He senses something about the other man that changes the situation from his usual routine of brief connection and easy-to-forget engagements with other men and women. John has something more than the usual story. Bruce knows isn’t married, doesn’t have kids, and it certainly appears that the man has no business obligations like many of his clients do. This isn’t merely a vacation and he thinks getting laid is a very small factor in John’s original plans.
What are you running from? he wonders.
It doesn’t take long to grab a few things from his apartment. He stops by the kitchen to make sure no fruit or some diary product in the fridge will go bad in the next few days. He’s actually not sure when John’s leaving or when he’ll be kicked out. If he will. It’s strange to even think of that possibility.
On a whim he goes back to the bedroom and tucks a small velvet bag into his jacket pocket. He goes back to the waiting cab.
He’s looking for something. Not originally... but now he is. John’s a mystery he wants to solve. The pain he sees behind stiff motions and a shuttered gaze is something he wants to ease; and it’s more than his natural instinct to help, he has a desire to do so. A personal interest.
Ironically he hears his dad’s voice in the back of his mind, reminding him that “God works in mysterious ways.” Bruce shakes his head and pushes aside his thoughts.
---
Johnny feels restless after Bruce leaves. He finds himself pacing from room to room and the pain in his knee and thigh increases to the usual level. He limps into the bathroom and opens the cabinet reluctantly. He takes out the bottle of codeine but doesn’t open it. He sets it down with a sigh. With Bruce around, he hasn’t need to take more than a single dose at night. He guesses that there’s currently enough distractions from the pain playing a part in that; he also believes that the incredible lack of visions is helping significantly.
He looks at his reflection. There’s still bruises under his eyes from lack of sleep. His face has more lines than he should at thirty-five, thanks to the months of pain after the coma. Despite that, though, his face is amazingly clear in light of how had his accident had been. Most of the damage went to his lower body. When he woke up, Dr. Tam and his attending nurses had been shocked—they thought he’d never wake up. After that miracle they believed he’d be confined to a wheelchair. He’d proved them wrong. Through it all he was assaulted by visions he couldn’t explain. Dr. Tam and the nurses were the best about it; while fascinated and amazed by his abilities, they did their best to help... unlike many of the other people he knew.
Don’t think about it, he tells himself. He came to Vegas to forget for a while, and make some decisions.
Johnny rubs his forehead warily and glances down at the pill bottle. In the corner of his vision he catches sight of Bruce’s large, blue ring. Without thinking, he reaches for it and barely notices his hand trembling before he picks it up—
---
Bruce knocks before letting himself into the room. He lays the keycard on the entryway table.
“Hey, John!” he calls, walking into the bedroom. He sets aside his bag and shrugs out of his jacket. The bedroom’s empty and so is the balcony. Strange... and he doesn’t hear the water running in the bathroom. That still seems like the best bet, though, so he tries there next, guessing that John is drying off after a shower.
He finds the blond standing stock-still at the counter, eyes locked on something in his hand. Bruce’s pulse increases. “John...?” he starts carefully. The blond doesn’t blink. “Uh... John?” Shit. What the hell’s going on?
“John, come back to me, man.” Bruce grasps the blonde’s shoulder and gives him a shake. “John!”
With a sudden gasp, John closes his eyes and shudders out of his daze. The object in his hand drops into the sink. Bruce glances down and sees his ring. He ignores it for now. “Hey, you okay? What happened?” He rubs John’s back slowly.
“Bruce...?” John opens his eyes and looks at Bruce’s reflection in the mirror. “I...” Bruce steadies the blond as he wavers.
“Hold that thought, let’s sit you down.”
They move to the bed and John sits down with a relieved sigh. Bruce tries to get him to lie down but John refuses.
“Are you really okay?” Bruce asks. He’s still running his hands over John’s body as if he’ll be able to pick up on what’s wrong by touch alone.
John doesn’t meet his gaze. “There’s something I should tell you...” He stares at his hands, which are trembling minutely. Licking his lips, he continues. “I was in an accident years ago... I was in a coma until seven months ago.”
Bruce listens silently, occasionally rubbing John’s back encouragingly.
“... My fiancé married a man she met during the early months. But she was pregnant so—” He sighs.
“... No one knew what was happening. And no one can give me a diagnosis. There’s just this dead area in my brain lighting up when it shouldn’t.” He’s already explained how he woke up and the first two ‘visions’ he had from a nurse and his doctor. Bruce still doesn’t say anything.
“Eventually figured out that painkillers seem to decrease the frequency of the visions. They mute more than that, but there’s actually some relief.” He rubs his hands in a nervous gesture. “There’s no way to keep it quiet. It’s in the paper weekly, I’ve seen my face in the tabloids. I got involved with a couple police cases.”
When nothing follows after a couple minutes, Bruce moves his hand to John’s cheek and guides the blond to face him. He stares into clear blue eyes that now lack the earlier barriers; he’s a little startled at the vulnerability and whirlpool of emotions in their depths. “I believe you, John,” Bruce says quietly. It takes a moment for the blond to react.
In the blink of an eye, relief makes an appearance. Bruce moves his hand into John’s and squeezes. “A psychic, huh?”
John’s gaze flicks down to their joined hands. “Yeah...”
Bruce smiles. “Then why the hell aren’t you in the casinos raking in the big bucks?”
John pulls away and frowns. “It’s not like that,” he says,
expression tight. Bruce curses the return of John’s barriers. “I don’t choose
what to see. There’s too many people, crowds... Reporters are bad enough. Imagine
for a moment... you see reruns of a banker’s lurid sex life, a woman beating
her child, a bloody battle in the
A chill creeps up Bruce’s spine. He swallows thickly as he stares at John’s rigid form.
“You... saw something. About me,” he says.
John responds with a shallow nod. “First one,” he says quietly. “Well, I had one the first night... It’s not usually so long between visions.”
Bruce rubs the back of his neck. “So, what did you see?” He can’t look at John, too anxious about what the man might have seen. His childhood? Arguments with his father? That time in college when he’d gotten high with his roommate’s girlfriend? Or something more recent— meeting Heather or nights spent on the arm of various men and women purchasing his time?
The possibilities nearly overwhelm him. John’s hand on his arm allows him to refocus. He stares blankly at the pale hand and wonders if the blonde’s having another vision. He glances at John and sees the blond shake his head in negation.
“I saw...” John’s fingers tighten momentarily. “There was a man at the clinic complaining about the exercises; his doctor didn’t check the allergies.” Bruce closes his eyes. The next day he’d given his two week’s notice. “Your apartment here,” John says, watching his fingers slide along Bruce’s forearm. “Heard you take my call from Heather.” Hesitantly his gaze flickers up to meet Bruce’s.
Bruce doesn’t know what to say. John looks plenty nervous and a little regretful; and confused. With a sigh, Bruce covers John’s hand and nods. It’s okay.
---
Johnny lies on his side, staring out the balcony doors at the fading daylight. Bruce is dozing beside him, his arm wrapped loosely around Johnny’s waist.
Vegas comes to life with the approach of nightfall. It’s plenty active in the day, but the night holds the popular allure of all the slogans saying “what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.” He thinks about the dirty little secrets he’s unintentionally walked into because of bumping into people. He wonders if in a different life—where he’d married Sarah and they raised their kid together—he would be hear not because he was running away, but for a vacation. Would he still seek out the comfort of a stranger? Instead of being overwhelmed, could he be bored and want to vent his frustration in anonymous sex?
He’d seen more than he told Bruce. John knows about some of the others, how many married men and women held him and stroked his cock with fingers decorated by a wedding band; he felt the pleasure and the anxiety and the concern Bruce coped with at every call; he knows about the one who got too rough and how Bruce had to run for his cell and barricade himself in the bathroom.
Bruce’s memories haunt him. He can’t fall asleep right now. Even after the tender ministrations of a massage and sexual relief he managed to tense up moments after Bruce fell asleep.
There was something else he’d seen. More than the memories and echoes from the past. He doesn’t know what to think but the image keeps coming to the forefront of his mind—
Bruce is perched on a
stool at the kitchen island, head bent to read an open book laying
next to his elbow. A newspaper is open beside him and after a moment he marks
his place with a finger on a page and turns his gaze to the paper. He lifts his
head and looks a Johnny with a grim smile. “I believe you,” he says, tension making his words waver very slightly. “What do you
need me to do?”
Johnny leans on the
island. “This is dangerous,” he warns quietly. He doesn’t want Bruce to get
involved like this.
“You’re not ditching me that easily,” Bruce says, his smile a little more genuine. “Besides, doesn’t the hero always need a sidekick when saving the world?”
--- ---