Chapter Text
In 1, 2, 3… out 1, 2, 3… in… out…
John is trying very hard to keep his cool.
There had been too many hours in the day, and they had gone far too slowly and shittily and all he wanted was a drink with his friends, and to go home so he could curl into the world’s smallest ball, try to wish the world away.
At every corner it had been something else going wrong, whether that be jamming his foot against the dresser in a sleepy daze, so hard he swears he felt the impact jarr up through his hip Christ alive that fucking hurt, or arriving just late enough to work that he was faced with a frown and a “i’m not mad i’m dissapointed in you” stare from Dr. Franklin. For such a jovial old man, the senior marine biologist packed a wicked punch of guilt in a gaze when he wanted to.
It just kept going, and going and going until it was all he could do not to punch a hole in a wall or cry from frustration. Both might’ve been nice.
It all came to a terrible head when right before he was packing up to leave, to meet up with Alex and the others and just put the day behind him, one of the interns had put a stop to all that and had come skidding around the corner. The kid was breathless and panicked, Dr. Laurens! I-I need help-- , he’s babbling about something wrong with one of the dolphins, and John sets off running before he even finishes.
The dolphin in question was one of their youngest cows, a beautiful girl lovingly named Peony, who had recently given birth to a beautiful healthy calf successfully, but who was now bleeding out unexpectedly. It’s a haze of panic and worry and John’s crying because there’s nothing he can fucking do for her, and she’s dying , high pitched whines and cries echoing around him while she struggles in the isolated tank she’d been recuperating in after the birth.
The intern hovers anxiously while he cries, half submerged in the water with her, the water a filmy red. The kid looks sick, and John shoos him away, tells him to put the call through the proper channels, to leave him alone. She’s gone under his touch, before he can do anything to soothe her, and the way she just goes still so suddenly makes John’s heart lurch and his stomach curdle.
He’s late, he hadn’t had time to let anyone know he’d be late, and that’s going to bite him in the ass, but he doesn’t care. Can’t care. There’s blood on his hands, staining the sleeves of the shirt he hadn’t bothered to take off a diluted pink, and it’s sunk under his nail beds-- John is going to be sick.
Swallows it back, pressed on, removes her from the tank with gentle care. He owes the poor girl that much, since he couldn’t save her life.
He stumbles into a locker room shower, forces the water to burn hot as it can and lets it pelt hard and unforgiving on his back until he’s gasping, new tears prickling at sore eyes, washing out the grief for the moment with bodily pain instead of emotional.
Dr. Franklin finds him with dripping wet curls down pulled back tight against his head and he’s pulled himself together just as tense and tight, enough to hurt all over. Go home , he’s told. Go home Laurens, there was nothing you could have done. You were there for her, that’s what matters.
John nods, he must, or he says something convincing enough, because Franklin is gone and he’s left staring at his nails. There’s still blood under some and he curls his hands into tight fists just so he doesn’t have to look at them.
His phone says he’s got a stream of missed calls and texts, most from Alexander, all asking where he was, if he was coming out or not, why wasn’t he answering, John hello?! John closes his eyes, he doesn’t want to go out, he wants to go home. Considers saying as much to Alex… whose texts have gotten progressively more annoyed the longer they’ve gone unanswered and shit. With a sigh he shoots of a quick text, omw srry, dr.f needed me , and he leaves it at that.
It would be easy to tell them what happened, but the words won’t come and he can’t quite force them.
Nearly an hour late John pulls himself into the bar, heads directly for the booth they claim for their own. There’s a call of his name from the bartender, a cheerful smile and a question of if he wants the regular. John manages a wave and a tilt of his lips in an imitation of a smile before he’s sitting down next to Alexander on the bench.
Lafayette and Hercules greet him warmly, Alex pecks his cheek as a hello, but otherwise doesn’t engage, barely even looks at John. Sourness pokes hot and sharp in his belly, and he tries to drown that out with a long draught from the frosty pint that’s swiftly set in front of him. Fucking great, he’d pissed off Alex and that was just-- great.
The whirl of conversation is quick and rabbit paced and he’s barely following. Hercules notices first that he’s not quite all there, John tries to brush it away with a smile, just for the moment. Is it relief that washes over him when Herc seems to let it go with a sweep of his gaze, brushing it all under the rug so easily? He doesn’t know, but it’s a swoop of something that almost leaves him dizzy from how quick it settles.
John bites on his lower lip and risks reaching out to thread his fingers with Alexander’s under the table. He needs the contact right now, but he can’t vocalize it, can’t apologize enough for everything. Relief grows warm and floods through him like a storm when Alexander not only allows the contact, but gives his hand a squeeze.
It’s easier to talk with Alex’s hand in his, with his lover’s comforting touch being the only one that matters. Lafayette laughs, cackles at a quiet joke that passes his lips, and the tension eases. He was fine, he was absolutely and completely fine. Alexander was at his side, he loved him, his friends were happy, they were all together. He was fine.
“Well well, look what the cat dragged in.”
Fuck.
John resists the urge to just close his eyes and lower his head to the table. There could not be an absolute worse time for Thomas Jefferson to rear his head into the picture of what was already a spectacularly shit day.
Alexander goes tense at his side and John can physically see the seething hate settle over his boyfriend’s shoulders like a shroud. Alex’s fingers slip from his own, settling on the table as disdain curls at his lips. John tries not to be disappointed.
“Get out of here, Jefferson,” Alexander snaps, hackles raised. “No one needs your bullshit today.”
“Feisty,” Jefferson smirks, leaning oh so casually against the side of the booth. Hercules rolls his eyes, Lafayette looks up and greets his friend with a small smile, one he gets in return. John lets his fingers curl together in his lap. “Barely even say hello and you’re getting the claws out.”
“Because I hate you,” Alexander rolls his eyes. “Everyone hates you. Except Lafayette, and I still think we need to get his head checked ‘cause of that.” Lafayette doesn’t engage, merely takes a drink from his glass and tries to let the tension between his friends go unnoticed.
“Man you two gotta do this now?” Herc grumbles, arms crossing over his chest. John just sighs, tired. He wishes he was up for a fight, wishes he could feel the burn in his veins. Would be one just the distraction he needed. Tonight though… he just couldn’t.
It never took much from Jefferson or Alexander to get the either riled up on a good day, they were pretty much always at each other’s throats.There was a running joke among their friends and the general staff that Alex and Thomas hated each other on principle because of the animals they worked with, cats and birds had never been friends after all. But the bad blood ran much deeper than that.
“You know,” Jefferson drawls, southern twang out in full force, and that meant he’d been drinking whiskey. So not only was tonight ‘deal with Jefferson bullshit’ it was also ‘deal with tipsy Jefferson’. Fun. “I wasn’t coming over to start shit, Hamilton, really wasn’t.”
“You always start shit,” Alex sneers, lip curling unattractively. John blinks away that thought. He can’t let his feelings manifest against Alex just because he’s having a bad day. “Not hard, you’re a sack of shit after all. What do you want?”
“Alex, come on,” John interjects, too soft to be heard. He doesn’t want to do this right now, he’s not in the mood for a fight. Alexander doesn’t notice, or maybe he doesn’t care. Either way, the dismissal of his attention stings.
“Listen to your boy toy,” Jefferson laughs, the sound cruel and sharp. “Calm down, Hamilton, I just wanted to hear if you heard about the re-budgeting.” Hercules sucks in a breath and oh. Oh that can’t be good.
“Thomas that is the definition of trying to start things,” Lafayette sighs shaking his head. “Please don’t, mon ami.” John frowns and looks between them all. Alexander’s gone red in the face, his fists curled tight and angry on the table top. He’s almost vibrating with rage.
“What am I missing?” John asks slowly, almost afraid to ask.
“They’re moving funding around,” Hercules supplies with a sigh. “There’s a memo out about it to the areas of the park that could be affected. Top two under threat of losing funding are the aviary and the big cats.”
John immediately looks to Alexander, surprised. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“It didn’t concern you,” Alexander doesn’t even look at him, eyes cut to Jefferson and an edge in his voice. John frowns and looks away.
“I think what Alexander means is that since the marina wasn’t on the list-” Lafayette tries to soothe, having caught the flicker of hurt in John’s eyes that Alexander missed ( disregarded , some nasty little voice in his head supplies. He saw it, he doesn’t care ). John takes a deep pull of his drink to drown the voice.
“You really think they’re gonna fund your stupid bird shows over my exhibits you’re insane, Jefferson,” Alex snaps, rising to his feet, fists boring into the table. The flash in Jefferson’s eyes is dangerous and sharp at that.
“You and that mange infested collection of rescues are hardly worth anyone’s time,” Jefferson leans on the table now, gets in Alexander’s space and John tries not to shirk back from his spot between them. Not like he can go far.
“We’re a zoo built on rescues,” Alex spits, pounding his fist on the table for emphasis. “Including your rats with wings!”
And so it continued. John closes his eyes and tries his hardest to stay calm and collected. This was the absolute last way he wanted to spend the night. He wanted to go home, wrap himself in Alexander’s arms and swallow back the choke of tears he could feel even now, hours after having left the aquarium and the blood in the tanks.
Jefferson and Alexander’s voices trade in barbed quips, getting more and more heated as time goes on. Sighs from Hercules punctured the conversation, went unnoticed, sounded uninterested, and Lafayette was strangely quiet. John pinches the bridge of his nose, tries to stave off a headache, the urge to down something stronger than beer, tries to breathe deep ( in 1,2,3, out 1,2,3 ) and that almost works, almost calms him, when Alex gives a sudden loud squawk at Jefferson’s insults and makes an abrupt move closer to the taller man, slamming himself up against John’s side in the process.
The movement isn’t much, but it’s startling enough that John can’t quite anticipate the way it knocks him back in the booth, can’t quite prepare himself for the sharp way his head cracks against the wood behind him because of it.
Stars bloom behind his eyes and that’s the last straw. The cherry on top of his terrible fucking day, the ache in his chest punctuated by a throb in his head. His friends are talking all at once, asking if he’s okay, damn that was loud shit John, did he need some ice. Alexander’s hands flutter at his shoulder, anxious and apologetic and Jefferson’s laugh is sharp in the background.
And John doesn’t care about any of it.
Without a single word he pushes himself out of the booth and to his feet, shoves past Jefferson with enough force to send the man stumbling and works his way out of the bar. There’s a fair enough crowd, a mix of regulars and nobodies and he doesn’t care, doesn’t care, he needs to get out. His head gives a poignant throb of pain as he gets to the door and throws himself outside.
The wash of cool nighttime air is insanely refreshing, and for a moment he can breathe easy.
Alexander didn’t mean to knock into him, probably didn’t realize he’d gotten that close in the moment, too focused on getting leverage on Jefferson. John didn’t blame him, he really didn’t. But fuck if it didn’t sting to think that he had slipped his Alexander’s mind so easily.
“John!” He sucks in a breath, too fast, too deep when he hears the door to the bar open behind him. The sound of music and chatter flares from the inside for a moment before it’s shut again. Alexander sets himself next to John on the sidewalk, reaches for his shoulder. “Hey, why’d you get up and leave like that?” His eyes flicker worriedly over him. “Is your head okay?”
“Needed some air. I’m fine,” John tries to flash a smile, but it must come off weak, because Alexander was staring at him with his brow furrowed, his dark eyes critical. “Alex seriously, go back inside I’m-”
“You’ve been weird all night,” Alexander cuts him off sharply, frowning deeply. He pulls on John’s shoulder, makes him turn to face him head on. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” John tries to insist while ignoring the nasty voice again oh so he did notice. funny. wasn’t sure he knew what it looked like when you’re upset. Alexander stares at him and he’s not buying it, actually looks hurt that John’s not spilling the truth. Doesn’t he understand that the words won’t come? “Seriously, Alex, I promise it’s nothing.”
“So now we’re just lying to each other?” Alexander crosses his arms over his chest, suddenly on the defensive. “Is that it?”
“What?” It’s John’s turn to frown. “What are you talking about?”
“First you show up over an hour late, after not answering your phone mind you, and now you’re lying to me, telling me things are fine?” Alexander has his hackles raised, his shoulders tense. “What the fuck, John?” John lets his eyes sweep over him and he’s so fucking confused. Where was this coming from?
“I’m sorry I was late… I needed to take care of things in the aquarium, I couldn’t just leave,” John frowns, tries to swallow back his own defenses. All he wanted was to go home... “Alex, you of all people aren’t allowed to get snippy because I got held up at work.” The words fall from his lips before he can stop them and he knows, he fucking knows the reaction it’s gonna spark. Alexander goes tight all over, his eyes flash and narrow, yeah there it was. Fuck.
“You didn’t call,” Alexander snaps, completely on the defensive. “I always fucking call. And then you got here and didn’t even say anything!”
“Do you really want to do this right now?” John asks, frowning at him. He glances around, they were alone, for the moment, but they were completely exposed, standing on the street in front of the bar. Alexander makes a scathing noise that stabs John somewhere in the ribs. That’s the noise he makes at Burr when the other man is being particularly annoying.
See? He’s annoyed by you. He doesn’t care, doesn’t even know you’re this upset. Stupid fucking little voice was getting louder, harder to ignore. John takes a deep breath, lets the cold pierce his lungs, hopes it’ll grant him the clarity he so desperately needs to cling to.
“Might as well, we’re already here,” Alex regards him warily and John swallows back a scream of frustration. He couldn’t handle this. Why couldn’t Alexander see that he wasn’t okay? Was that so much to ask? To want his boyfriend, the person who knows him best in the world to see that he just couldn’t handle this right now? It bothered him more than it should, but Alex standing here trying to pick a fight was doing nothing to help.
“Alexander,” John is clinging to the last shreds of his calm, angry frustration battling for dominance with crushing sadness within him. His voice wavers, just barely, imperceptible, and he tries to swallow it back. It goes down rough around the lump in his throat. “Please. I’m asking you to let it go right now. For me. We can talk about it at home, let’s just go home, please.” He’s begging, pleading, hoping Alexander will listen.
“What if I don’t want to talk about it at home?” The question, the crack of his voice, hits John like a whip and that’s it .
“Do you think I care what you want right now?” John snaps, patience long gone, frustration and anger, fuck he’s angry, overwhelming all else. It certainly surprised Alex, he can see it in his eyes as they widen just a bit. The surprise quickly melts away, is replaced by indignant annoyance. Another flare of hurt in his belly makes John want to turn tail and run but no, this was the sour cherry to top off his day and the words were coming before he could stop them.
“Real nice, John,” Alexander scoffs, actually scoffs and John wants to hit him. Wants to smack the remnants of the sound off his lips. His fists clench tight instead, his shoulders hackled high. “You really know how to make a guy feel loved.”
“Like you’re any fucking better,”John glares to stop the burn of tears. “You barely looked at me when I got here tonight!”
“You didn’t call-”
“You didn’t even ask why I was late!” John’s on the cusp of yelling now, too loud for public, and he’s too tired to care. “Not a single fucking question about where I was or why I hadn’t picked up my phone. All you did was assume it was because I was careless or whatever the fuck you thought, when you know, you goddamn know I wouldn’t have been late like this without a damn good fucking reason!”
“What’s the reason then?” Alexander demands, eyes bright with his own anger. He’s risen and responded to everything John is giving him and he’s ready to return it tenfold. As always. It only makes him madder. “Enlighten me, John.”
Again the words halt in his throat, he can’t work around his guilt and shame and grief, can’t tell him that he lost one of the beautiful creatures he’s charged to take care of and protect, can’t admit aloud that he’s a failure and a disgrace. Can’t tell his fiery Alexander, who’s been through hell and back more times than he can count, that he’s too weak to keep himself together and that he’s unraveling, barely strung together in the dull wash of the streetlights before them.
“Why didn’t you tell me about the budget cuts?” John asks instead, because those are the words available to him at the moment. Alexander winds himself tighter, his arms crossing defensively over his chest.
“It wasn’t your business,” he drops his gaze for the moment. John heaves a sigh and that brings dark eyes back to his own. “It wasn’t! Don’t look at me like that, your department isn’t gonna be affected, it’s not your problem John!”
“I’m your boyfriend,” John reminds him, reaching for Alexander’s hand. He half expects the other man to pull away, but Alexander just lets the contact happen, let’s John uncurl his fingers even in his anger. “Your partner. It may not affect me, but it affects you and that’s what matters. I want to help, Alex!”
“What could you have done?” Alex’s frown deepens. “Unless you’re going to be the one to convince George and Martha that-”
“Even if I can’t do anything I can still be there for you! Why-” John tightens his grip on Alexander’s hand, a reflex. “Why won’t you let me in?”
“Don’t get dramatic,” Alexander rolls his eyes, yanks his hand from John’s grasp now. “Christ, you act like I’m icing you out or something. Okay, so I didn’t tell you about something that absolutely will not affect you in any way and now you’re trying to use that as a distraction from the fact that you’re being an ass! There is nothing comparable between the two situations. I don’t even know why you brought it up.”
“You still don’t get it,” John shakes his head, anger bubbling again, arms winding over his chest. “After all these years together you still don’t get it Alex. I’m here for you! I love you! We’re supposed to share this kind of shit with each other.”
“You’re not in a place to lecture me right now, Laurens,” Alexander’s eyes narrow sharply. “Get off your sanctimonious bullshit and practice what you preach if you want me to listen.” He shakes his head. “Fuck, if you had just told me what was wrong…”
It’s the use of his surname that truly stops him, fizzles the burn of his anger in an instant and John feels as though he’s falling back a step, even before the rest of Alexander’s words hit him. The fight leaves his body as quickly as it’s come and he’s tired. He’s so so tired and his Alexander is still blind to it.
“I’m not doing this,” John shakes his head, steps back, hands falling limp at his sides. “I’m-- Go fight with Jefferson or something. I’m not doing this Alexander.”
“Oh I’m sorry, is this not what you want right now?” Alexander mocks him, still being cruel, still hasn’t seen what’s right in front of him. And that’s hurts more than his words, surges over him like a full body ache. He bites at the inside of his cheek.
“I’m going home,” John swallows past the lump in his throat, it’s gotten larger as the night progresses, a hot mix of shame and anger and frustration. He just needed to go. “I’m not gonna stand here and fight with you Alex, I-- We’ll talk later okay?”
“Whatever,” Alexander rolls his eyes and he turns sharply on his heel, heading back to the car. “Do whatever you want. I don’t fucking care.” The door flies open and Alexander disappears inside.
“Yeah,” John mutters to himself, the little voice from his head coating his tongue with bitterness. “I noticed.” He swallows it back, practically chokes on it as he forces himself to move. The air is no longer refreshing, it’s just cold, unforgiving. It seeps through his clothes and fills John with a chill that numbs him inside and out.
That numbness weighs heavy over him as he gets in his car to make his way home, almost cracks when he realizes that he’s driving to Alexander’s apartment, what was soon to officially be his too (but not yet). That was home. Alexander was home. John wanted so desperately to park the car, go upstairs and wait for Alex to come home. He wouldn’t be long, would have had his mood too soured by the fight and by Jefferson to want to stay out much longer. He’d come home and they’d ignore each other until someone caved (it’d be John, fuck, he knows it), and then they’d come together, with words, hearts and souls combining once more and it would be good again. So good. John wants it. But.
He keeps driving.
John chokes on the lump in his throat as he pulls into the parking garage of his apartment complex alone for the first time in weeks. It was rare that he was ever here anymore, let alone here without Alexander at his side. With only a few weeks left until his lease ran out, and them all but moved in together there was no point in making the trip between both places.
He moves on autopilot, pulling into a spot and dragging himself up the stairs. He was tired, so very tired, and all he wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep what little was left to this terrible day away.
The door to the apartment swings open with a neglected creak, and John is greeted by the heavy sense of must inside his apartment. He wrinkles his nose, but doesn’t hesitate to enter. John skirts his way through scattered boxes packed full of his things, patiently waiting until he and Alex had time to actually move them all home. John sighs at the sight of them and lets the door click shut behind him. If he were the more dramatic sort he’d probably be wondering if that move was ever gonna happen after their fight… but no.
This was a shitty fight, and it sucked, but it wasn’t breakup worthy. He was just hurt, Alex was frustrated (and annoyed, can’t forget that, shitty voice reminded him) but they’d be fine. John loved that man more than words could express. It just made the hurt sting all the more.
John stops his path through the maze of boxes, halfway between the door and the bedroom, and he just- just lets himself take it in. The last thing he wanted to do was wade through the packed away pieces of life before Alex, to sleep alone in a bed he would usually share with the one he loved more than anything in the world and it was just-
He sits down, shaky, finding an unsteady seat atop one taped up box and lets go. The tears come easy, hot as they stream over his cheeks. John sinks into the whirl of emotions that have been ripping his insides to ribbons all night and he’s crying with grief for Peony, regret and frustration for his fight with Alex and he’s crying for himself because God he can’t believe he’s this much of a fucking mess.
John sinks his fingers into his hair, pulls it roughly from the ponytail and just curls in on himself on the box in the middle of his half packed living room, and tries to count.
In 1, 2, 3… out 1, 2, 3…
...in… out…