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“Get up,” Phosphorus said, voice harsh. When Rick didn’t move, he continued. “No one will help you in the real world. Get up.”
He heard Rick sigh from the ground near the bars and attempt to move. It didn’t work. Phosphorus just watched him, waiting for him to get up and give up, sit back down, tell him to leave, tell him he never wanted to see him again.
“Get up,” he said again, looking over him, crumpled on the floor, hands under his head. Rick tried again, got significantly further, but fell again. This time, Phosphorus watched the man’s face as he tried a third time. The way he closed his eyes and breathed, thrice, before lifting his arm up to grab the lower rail, putting his knee under him and using it to support himself when he raised his other leg, his other arm grasping the opposite lower bar. He made it that time, and stood for a second before doing his best to make his way back to his chair. He stumbled along the way, twice, but made it eventually.
“A three-year-old could walk better and faster than you,” said Phosphorus, coming over to sit on the bed.
“Does degrading me make you feel better about yourself?” asked Rick, looking at Phosphorus, not mad. He should be mad, Phosphorus thought. There was no way he wasn’t mad by now. Phosphorus had been bracing himself for Rick to kick him out, curse him, and never see him again, for weeks now. It was better to get Rick to hate him now rather than get hurt or die the way they all did. This was for him.
Phosphorus said nothing.
“Do you know what I think?” asked Rick.
“I don’t care,” Phosphorus said, as matter-of-factly as he could.
“Right,” said Rick, looking back at the floor. “I think you’re self-sabotaging.”
Phosphorus again said nothing.
“You’re pulling away,” Rick continued. “Drawing back. You think if you’re cruel enough to everyone around you, they’ll begin to hate you, and then you’ll be alone like you were before.”
Phosphorus looked at the floor. He didn’t want to say anything, didn’t want to move, lest Rick guess just how right he had been.
“Alex,” said Rick softly, looking at him again.
“Don’t call me that,” Phosphorus said quickly, trying to hide the waver in his voice that invariably escaped.
Rick nodded. “Okay,” he said. “You can tell me. I’ve been there.”
Phosphorus sighed, biting back another utter scathing (and admittedly brilliant) critique. “Everyone I—” he stopped, debating once again if he should really tell the man. This would be drawing him in closer, making himself more vulnerable. This was crossing a threshold. He wouldn’t be able to go back now, keep Rick safe by cutting himself off anymore.
Despite all of his immediate instincts, Phosphorus found himself telling Rick. “Everyone I ever got close to died. Everyone I ever got close to died and it was my fault.” He said it fast, like ripping off a band-aid, trying to minimilize the pain.
“Yeah?” asked Rick.
“Yeah.”
“So you think I’ll die if you’re close to me?” Rick asked. “Or get hurt badly.”
Phosphorus looked him directly in the eyes, hoping that his nonexistent facial expression got his point across. “Nina died,” he said bluntly, even though the wound still stung as if it were only a minute old rather than several weeks. “And look at you. You can’t walk.”
“How is that your fault?”
Phosphorus looked at the floor again, the chair, the wall, anywhere but Rick’s face. “I don’t know,” he said quietly. “It just is.”
“I get that,” said Rick.
“You do?”
“Of course.” Rick sighed, wringing his hands. “I… I could’ve taken the mission to Corto Maltese. I turned it down. I should’ve taken it.” He looked at Alex. “And now my son is dead.” He gave a sad smile. “And I could’ve stopped it.”
Alex looked at him. “But you couldn’t know,” he said.
“Neither could you,” offered Rick.
Alex shook his head. “No,” he said. “I told her to go. It’s because of me.” He rested his forehead on his hand and let out a whispered, “fuck.”
“You couldn’t have known,” said Rick quietly, softly. Hate me, goddamnit, thinks Alex. What’s wrong with you?
“But I should have,” whispered Alex. “I should have known. I told her to do it. And now everyone’s broken.”
“That’s not your fault.”
Alex ignored him. “Bride isn’t talking to anybody. She barely eats. And GI practically believes Nina went to live on a farm upstate or something, Bride won’t even mention her name and I haven’t had the heart to tell him, fuck, even Weasel misses her. I don’t…” he shook his head. “Christ, I don’t know.”
“That’s normal, not knowing. You’re not supposed to.”
Alex looked at him, miserable. “But I feel like I should,” he said, feeling the sizzle of tears on flame at the corners of his eyes.
“I know,” whispered Rick. “It was like that for me.”
“Was it?”
Rick breathed deeply, remembering it all. “The divorce had been coming for a while. We both knew it, me and… Sharon. But it only came after he died.” He still didn’t feel like he could speak his son’s name, even two years after his death. “It was like drowning.”
Alex nodded, listening.
“Anyway. It’s just like that, I guess.” Rick looked at him.
Alex sighed. “I guess it’s worse ’cause she… she reminds— reminded,” he corrected, swallowing, “me, of someone.”
“Your wife?” asked Rick.
“My son,” replied Alex, grimacing. “He would be… about her age, now.”
Rick nodded. “Me too,” he admitted. “She also reminds me of my son, when he was younger. Optimistic.”
“Fuck,” Alex whispered again.
“Yeah,” said Rick, putting an arm on the other man’s shoulder.
“Fucking hell,” whispered Alex, and finally let himself cry.