[C] looking for a good time

One came and went, as so did Ian's patience.

And he just hoisted Doc up over one shoulder, adjusting him and walking out.

He was utterly silent as he walked.

Deacon's eyes narrowed as Ian stepped forward, before he knew it he was over the man's shoulder.

"Seriously?!"

He growled, struggling in the man's grasp.

Ian was bigger, stronger and more stubborn than he was and soon enough he was too tired to fight it, sagging in the man's grasp as he was carried grumpily.

He didn't make it back to Doc's place.

When he set the man down, they were outside a small off licence. He stepped in and within minutes was out again with a bottle of whiskey in hand.

"Walk, or you're going to end up right back on my shoulder," he ordered as he began walking in the direction of Doc's apartment again.

Deacon dusted himself off when he was set down, his body was still aching, as if he was bruised all over his torso.

It wasn't often that Ian actually ordered him around, nagging yes, ordering no.

The Warlock relented with a sigh and started following behind him with his hands stuffed in his pockets.

"You don't need to be so worried about me you know?"
It wasn't like they were dating or anything

He didn't dignify that with a response.

Didn't need to be worried about him, my ass. Doc was everything that needed worrying about. Self destructive and lonely. The worst combination.

He pushed into the stairwell, knowing that the broken lock of the lower door was still broken, and dodged the questionable stain on the stairwell.

When they got to the top of the stairs, he just plunged his hand into Dock's pant pocket and retrieved the key, tucking it into his own back pocket as he let himself into the apartment.

His hand twitched, but didn't reach for the old cats perch this time.

Then he groaned and stretched and made his way to the living room, sprawling out over the couch. "Bring munch when you bring the glasses."

Deacon rolled his eyes as Ian made himself at home, making his way into the kitchen to grab the glasses after rummaging through the pantry to find food.

He grabbed some packets of chips and a box of pretzels and dumped it all onto the coffee table before dumping himself into a couch with a groan.

He was tender but this was far more comfortable. Within the safety of his apartment he kicked off his boots and tugged off his jacket and shirt, hissing as he inspected the angry red marks down his side.

By the time Doc returned to the living room, Ian had the TV on. An ancient rerun of Calimero was playing. He found that when he sat and watched TV now, it was surrounded by nieces and nephews. Cartoons were a staple for him.

He reached out to pour them both a generous helping of whiskey, then settled back into the couch with his glass in hand.

"That happens when you let a tiger with only half a brain near you."

"He's such an asshole."

This wasn't the first time that Demir had left him injured, at least last time the had some fun before he was in pain.

The man gave a groan and laid across the couch.

"You didn't have to bring me home, you just missed half your shift."

"Missed half my shit? I was told not to come back if I skipped out right then."

He took a sip, letting it sit on his tongue for a moment before swallowing and reached for the bowl of pretzels. He deposited a handful in his mouth then threw one at Doc.

After chewing, he said: "you needed company, and you weren't staying at the club." Then he swallowed.

Deacon rolled over until he was facing Ian.

"You just lost your job because of me? What the hell Ian!"
He had been fine...he would have been fine.

Ian needed to work, he'd been working at Zo for a long while now, it was a good place to work, not that it overly suited him.

"You should worry more about yourself and less about me."

"Shut up your screeching. That job was never a permanent thing anyway. I knew it was going to end soon. I was getting bored of it."

That and he was veering towards an actual relationship. He didn't want to be stripping while he was in a relationship with someone. At least, not for the general public.

"Somehow, I think I'll manage without a second job. You on the other hand, need someone around tonight, and I doubt you've got someone you trust to stick around and chill just waiting on the sidelines?" It was a clear challenge there, designed to make Doc fall quiet.

Would it work? Probably not, but it was issued nevertheless.

It didn't make Doc fall quiet, it sparked something in him, it hit a nerve.

He didn't have anyone he could trust not any more.

"That's bullshit! I don't need anyone, I've been coping just fine on my own. You think today was the first time something like that has happened since you left? It wasn't and I've always managed to take care of myself."

Doc sat up, he was getting tired of being treated like a child.

"I know who I can trust, myself, that's it. So stop trying to ease your own guilt by trying to help me now."

He didn't need Ian making him feel like shit because he thought Doc couldn't care for himself, getting himself in trouble for no good reason.

"No, I don't think that. I'm not stupid enough to believe that you haven't been throwing your ass on a destructive cycle of alcohol, drugs and sex since the moment I walked out."

He set down his glass and leaned forwards, elbows resting on his knees. "And I regret every minute I let you step further and further into that quagmire of shit."

His blue eyes were dark, but any anger in them was directed internally. "You think you can only trust yourself? I'm sorry I pushed you to that. And you think I'm here for...what? To try and assuage my guilt over abandoning my druggie ex that's just come back into my life, more pathetic than ever?" His word were harsh, but his tone wasn't.

"I deserve that your opinion of me has dropped low enough to think that, but what you believe and what's going on here are two very different things. So sit down, eat your pretzels and watch fucking cartoons with me, because I'm staying here for the same reason I've ever sat on your couch with you, and if you don't want to believe it, then don't."

Drugs, sex and alcohol. It was the vicious cycle he had thrown himself into to fill the hole that Ian had left. It was how he drowned the fact that he had pushed the one person he care about so far, that they would run away from him.

All the progress he had made in his business, all the money he had acquired, it all seemed so shallow.

Ian thought he was being pathetic. He thought that of himself, but he buried it, with everything else because if he gave into it, if he lost that small bit of pride he had left, he would fall into despair.

"Do what ever the fuck you want, but don't expect me to."
Doc poured himself a shot and downed in before standing up, he wasn't in the mood for this.

"When have I ever expected you to do anything, Dea?"

He sighed and watched the man stand. He felt so tired.

"If you go into another room, I'm going to follow you. It's easier for us both if you sit down and stew here. Maybe even hurl some abuse at me. Might help chill you out some.

"Like I said, do whatever the fuck you want."
Ian could follow him around for days if he wanted, it wouldn't stop Doc from doing as he pleased.

As such he stepped around the man and headed toward his bedroom, moving pass his bed and toward the bedroom.

He felt gross and on edge after what happened at the club, he needed a hot shower.

Doc kicked off his remaining clothing before turning on the water and stepping into it with a hiss as the water ran over his aching chest.

His head tipped back in exasperated defeat as Doc walked past him, and he stood, ambling after him.

Ian took purchase on the closed toilet seat when Doc stepped into the shower.

"Are you angry with me now because you're afraid I'm not telling the truth, or because you took something from what I said that you didn't like hearing?"

"I don't like hearing half the shit you say to me but that's never stopped you."

Ian had a bad habit of knowing exactly what Doc was thinking and disarming him before he even stood a chance.

"I'm angry because you keep acting like you know what's good for me when you don't know shit. Stop picking apart who I am because you don't like how I ended up."

Ian had lost the rite to dictate what Doc should and shouldn't do the moment he walked out that door.

"Yeah, I suppose waltzing back in here and deciding you'd be okay with me helping out was a bit presumptuous," he allowed, resting his chin on the sink.

It wasn't an apology, just an observation.

He wasn't sorry for trying to help right now.

Deacon sighed and rested against the cold tiled wall as the steaming water best against his body.

"I don't need you reminding me how much of a fuck up I am every 10 minutes, I've painfully aware of it, thank you."

The amount of times he had hear 'How did you survive without me?' was pissing him off, he barely had survived and didn't need reminding of it, least of all by Ian himself.

"Go get your job back and leave me alone."

"I'm aiming for closer to fifteen minutes," came the dry response before he could stop it.

Not the best of things he had said to try and insert humour into a situation. He knew humour wasn't appropriate all the time, but his go-to, even before he could engage his brain was always humour, generally quite dark.

"Nope." His reply to that was pretty quick and simple.

Deacon didn't quite appreciate the humorous, opting the finish the rest of his shower in silence.

Once his muscles had relaxed he climbed out, wrapping a towel around himself and padding back into the bedroom.

He was tired, of everything.

Once he was somewhat dry he pulled on a pair of underwear before sliding into bed. He hoped that if he was boring enough the man would leave.

Ian sat silently for a moment, before following Doc out of the room.

The cold shoulder was painful, but he knew he deserved it.

He frowned slightly when his gaze settled on the man laying in bed. He bent down to pick up the crumpled towel cast onto the floor and moved to sit on the bed.

"You'll catch your death of cold," he scolded gently, towelling Doc's wet hair carefully.

Deacon let out a sigh as Ian sat down on the bed and began to dry his hair.

It was as if the man was programmed to continuously show him how incapable he was of looking after himself.

This time instead of immediately flaring into anger he relented, sitting up so Ian could dry him more easily.

Being mad at him was exhausting.

He worked slowly, with an unhurried pace borne of someone that was intentionally drawing out an act.

"I always loved your hair," he muttered conversationally.

He dropped the towel, satisfied that it was mostly dry, and began running his fingers gently through the bright locks.