Chapter Text
The clinic calls itself ‘Mental Health Center’, even though it’s pointless in Len’s eyes. A nicer name doesn't change what it is any more than calling the patients ‘residents’ makes them any less sick.
And no amount of euphemisms is going to change that Lisa tried to follow in her mother’s footsteps while Len was too busy getting drunk to celebrate his 21st birthday to be there to stop it.
The guilt weighs on him; it’s only the latest addition to the ever-growing pile on his shoulders.
“I’m going to figure out how to make it better,” he insists, gritting his teeth.
“It's fine, Lenny." The resignation is obvious in Lisa's eyes. You're an adult now. You should get out before dad decides you've been slacking.”
“You're not listening, sis,” Len tries again. “I'm handling it. I've been talking to a lawyer. I found a job.”
“Doing what?”
“At a butcher’s. I'm packing meat.”
“Meat.”
“It's cold. Could be worse.”
It took two weeks, but Len eventually signed a contract. His sixteen-year-old sister doesn’t need to know the details, though.
Lisa bites her bottom lip, a nervous habit she’s picked up a year or so earlier. “You really think you'll get custody?” she asks.
Her tone is so hopeful it hurts.
“I promise, Lis. Not gonna let anything else happen to you.”
He means it, which is why he keeps his nose clean, shows up for work on time, and doesn’t let the supervisor’s not-so-subtle glances bother him. His visits to Lisa are the highlight of his day – and he’s there every single one without fail, no matter how exhausted he is from logging heavy produce around for endless hours.
One day he notices a new patient. Usually he wouldn't pay attention to the other people unfortunate enough to need a shrink enough to willingly part with obscene amounts of cash for it, but usually patients are never given such a wide berth as is the case with this man.
“Word is he burnt down a farm,” Lisa volunteers.
Len hums, noting broad shoulders and suntanned skin. ‘Farm’ means manual labor. Surely his hands are calloused and would chafe deliciously... Len can concede the man is attractive, if only in the solitude of his mind.
Lisa prattles on about something they did in group that morning then, and once Len is back at their dingy apartment he's all but forgotten about the stranger. The state of ignorance continues for another few days, might even have become infinite as a matter of fact, if it weren't for Lisa's smoking habit.
He's running late that Friday; his boss asked him to stay until the job was done and Len needs to stay on the guy’s good side so he did without complaining. He expects Lisa to be sullen about it - after all this mess boils down to her believing he'd leave her once he's old enough to hold his own.
To his surprise, however, she's not only in a good mood but also not alone.
“This is Mick,” she says. “Mick, my brother Len.”
Mick is the same broad shouldered wall from a few days ago. His tan has faded a bit, probably due to the overcast weather.
“Hey.”
Mick remains silent and Lisa rolls her eyes.
“Don't take it personally, takes him a bit to, uh, warm up to people.”
Len isn't sure he finds the pun as funny as his sister does. “So how did you manage?”
Lisa smirks. “I have a lighter. Nicked it from one of the nurses so I can smoke whenever the hell I feel like it. He's been shadowing me ever since.”
The worry must have been written all over Len’s face - the guy’s here because he burnt down a farm, for fucks sake - since Lisa actually grabs his wrist.
Her eyes are softer that he's seen them in a while, the “it's fine” clear. It isn't until later when they part without prying ears in their vicinity that Len gets the full story, verbally this time.
His family's farm. Christ...
“He’s got scars, Lenny,” Lisa whispers. “Like yours, only… worse.”
Len feels his jaw clench. He’d like to hate his scars, but having them means Lisa’s skin remains smooth, so the hatred won’t come.
“The lighter calms him down. He likes fire.”
“Only takes a spark to ignite something that’s combustible, sis. Better be careful.”
She promises; Len kisses the crown of her head as they embrace. The worry doesn’t leave him any more than Mick Rory does, who’s become Lisa’s omnipresent shadow. She’s causing trouble with other residents; calls him her bodyguard. Mick never says a word, at least to Len.
The day that changes everything is the day the receptionist informs him his sister is in isolation for at least another twenty-four hours.
“What happened?”
“I'm not at liberty to say, sir.”
“Ma'am,” Len pleads even with his mind spinning as it tries to find a way around this so fast it almost makes him dizzy.
“I'm sorry, hon.”
“Well, I'd like to visit another resident then,” Len grinds out.
“Name?”
“Michael Rory.”
He finds the young man near the window with the best view, close enough to the radiator that Len would complain if he weren't about to pump the guy for information.
Apart from a quick glance, Mick Rory gives no indication that he noticed he has company.
“My sister’s in seclusion,” Len eventually states. “Got any idea why?”
A pause. Then, “You won't like it.”
“Unimportant.”
Sixteen seconds trickle by at a glacial pace before Rory speaks. “She stole some pills.”
The and got caught is implied. Rory doesn't seem to like stating the obvious.
“What pills?”
A shrug.
“Why would she – ?” Len feels his heart rate climb. “I mean... She was doing better.”
Rory huffs. “Maybe insurance.”
“Insurance.” Len tries to process this. Anger flares in his chest “So she’ll be able to try again.”
Rory’s silence is just as good as any confirmation.
“I’m taking to lawyers,” Len growls. “It’ll be fine.”
But Rory averts his gaze and then there’s a tinge of panic mixing with the anger in Len’s chest.
“It will,” he insists. “She doesn’t need to – fuck…”
He bites down on a strangled sound, rubbing a hand across his face. Why can’t Lisa just get better and stay that way, damn it?
Attempting to stifle the worry, Len inhales sharply and turns back to Rory. “Do you play poker?”
Rory’s brow creases. “What kind?”
“Texas hold ‘em.”
“Been a while.”
“Wanna play?” When Rory still looks bewildered, Len elaborates. “There's a tournament in two weeks. Lisa was supposed to help me practice.”
He doesn't mention the prize money and how desperately he needs it, but maybe his face wasn't as blank as he thought because Rory takes one look at him and nods. Or maybe the guy thought Len was joking at first – Rory doesn’t seem to get visitors, let alone have anyone apart from Lisa to offer to play a hand or two – yet Len could care less about Rory's motivations as long as he joins in.
Now, Len’s always been great at the likes of poker and blackjack – learned counting cards along with holding them - so one would think he'd wipe the floor with a heavily medicated farm hand with mental problems.
Only he doesn't.
“You're good,” he concedes.
All Rory does is hum.
“Who taught you how to play like this?”
Rory hesitates for a moment. “My brother.”
Len feels his nostrils flare at the memory of his talk with Lisa. Rory’s entire family died in the fire he caused, including his siblings. Across the table, the arsonist’s gaze has turned aggressively defiant, almost as if he’s expecting Len to realize whom he’s playing with and decide it’s better to get the hell out of dodge.
But all Len can think about is how Rory’s company seems to be helping Lisa in here, so he doesn’t leave.
“He taught you well,” he says instead.
Rory’s eyes widen in surprise. “He did,” he murmurs, almost too low for Len to hear.
They keep playing.
*
Two weeks later, Len sweeps Lisa into a hug in the middle of the facility’s common room, lifting her off her feet and spinning her once before setting her down again.
“You won?”
“You bet I did, sis,” Len confirms with the grin of a man who scored five grand the night before. Then he notices something’s missing. “Where’s Mick?”
Lisa arches an eyebrow. “Oh, it’s Mick now?”
Len glares. Lisa sobers quickly.
“Isolation. Tried to strangle the doctor.”
“He what?”
His sister’s hands come up immediately. “They changed his meds which screwed with his brain!”
“Of course, I feel so much better now,” Len scoffs, but even to his own ears it sounds off – almost concerned. And if he can tell…
“You like him.”
… then Lisa can, too. Damn.
“Maybe.”
He could’ve said Mick was nothing but a convenient practice partner, but Lisa can read him too well for flimsy excuses like that to work.
“Good; then you won’t say no.”
Len follows his sister to a pair of armchairs. “Say no to what?”
“Mick’s an adult. Once the Court makes him leave this hellhole –”
“This hellhole’s costing a pretty penny, sis.”
“Which is all the more reason they’ll be kicking him out pretty soon,” Lisa continues, not missing a beat. “And he doesn’t have a home to go back to.”
“What did he expect when he burnt it to the ground? For an arsonist he’s got an awfully weak idea of the properties of fire.”
“Shut up and let me talk,” Lisa snaps, in a tone Len knows better than to ignore. “Mick’s the one thing that’s keeping me sane in here, and I can’t just watch him go and end up on the streets!” She takes a deep breath and visibly forces herself to calm down. “So I want him to stay with us.”
“It’s too small even for two people, sis.”
“Still bigger than a cardboard box!”
“About as combustible, too!”
Other patients are beginning to stare, but Len still doesn’t expect Lisa to actively grab his wrist and drag him into a hallway like she does. He’s left rubbing his wrist as his sister fixes him with wide, imploring eyes.
“Mick won’t hurt us if we don’t hurt him, and we won’t do that,” she says. “He’s our kind of people.”
“Oh, please enlighten me what kind that is.”
It’s a shame the times when his sister was cowed by a stern tone seem to be a thing of the past. Back then the argument would’ve been over and done with; now it only seems to edge Lisa on.
“Right, we’re so much better than he is, aren’t we, Lenny?” she snarls. “How’s setting fire any different from lacing booze with sleeping pills?”
Len’s jaw snaps shut with a click. Lisa’s not supposed to know he did that.
He keeps his voice level. “I didn’t do it to kill my own family.”
“No, you did it so Dad wouldn’t see me come back late from the Homecoming dance ‘cause you’d be out on that job. You did it to protect me. I’m not saying that Mick’s sane, but he’s not a psychopath, Len.”
He could spend the next half hour shooting holes in his sister’s logic, tear apart her arguments like cotton candy and provide a three-page list – at least – on why Mick Rory crashing at their apartment is a horrible idea. He doesn’t, since no matter how bulletproof his reasons, the one point that never fails to tip the scale is Lisa’s thunderous conviction coupled with a soft, “Please, Lenny.”
So he caves.
When he arrives at the clinic the next day, Mick is out of solitary. Their eyes meet after Len hugged his sister, but Mick doesn’t say anything even though it’s clear from Lisa’s grin that she told him already.
“Damn, I forgot my jacket. Be right back, boys!”
“You’re the queen of subtlety,” Len calls after her.
His dry remark even gets a snort out of Mick, who stills when Len sighs. “Listen. My sister decided we’re helping you out, so we’re helping you out. But I’m trying to get custody of her, and if you do anything to jeopardize that…”
He trails off meaningfully – he trusts Rory to understand the implications.
“I won’t,” Mick promises with a nod and a resolute expression.
Len regards him for another moment, but he seems sincere.
“Good.”
*
A week later, Mick Rory is putting down his piteously small bag next to the pullout couch and Len wonders if this whole shebang counts as ‘tempting fate’ or ‘scoring karma points’.
Either way – an attractive arsonist living with him, with or without medication, is bound to complicate things.