Building a Life

My home is not a place, it is people. -Lois McMaster Bujold



The nurse was in the kitchen, making herself a cup of coffee. Bette was on the bed next to him, her head on his hip while he pet her. His eyes were closed, the only thing moving his hand on his dog's head.

He knew Simon would be there soon, knew the peace he was almost feeling would be shattered. Under normal circumstances, Bobby would feel it was an easily paid price for the chance to be home. These were far from normal.

He hit the button on the PCA and gave himself another jolt of morphine. His eyes fluttered a little before he sighed softly. Bette lifted her head and looked at him, then scooted up a little more and nuzzled her head under his hand again. Her low whine filtered up through the cloud Bobby was in and he scratched her ears a little more.

The next few hours were a haze, the sounds of the nurse checking on him and taking the dog out reaching him as though he were underwater. His breathing went shallow as the opiate started repressing his nervous system. He thought maybe his eyes were open for some of it, but there was no way to know, everything was an unidentifiable blur. The bed under him disappeared, his body floating in space.

When things started to solidify, reality reasserting itself, he hit the button again. He didn't come fully up. With the dog back in the bed, the feeling of floating wasn't as pronounced, but it was still there. His hand moved at a glacial pace as he pet her. He heard Simon arrive and the nurse leave. Another would be there in a couple of hours, Simon watching him until then.

Bobby heard his ex at the side of the bed, soft words that he didn't understand floating down to him. He heard Bette whine again, then everything went dark. He couldn't open his eyes, couldn't force any part of his body to move. Not that he was paralyzed, his hand still pet his dog, like a reflex action, just that he had no desire to do anything.

As his breathing shallowed further, he felt a mask go over his face, cool, clean oxygen filling his mouth and nose. The darkness behind his eyelids softened, lightening a little. And the floating came back in full. Under the mask, he smiled faintly before slipping away.

~~

When the new nurse came on to relieve Simon, Bobby was still out. Simon reassured her that he would be fine, that he'd just been given something to help him sleep. When her concern didn't dissipate, he pointed to Bobby's hand, still moving slowly, petting Bette. That seemed to settle her and she walked Simon to the elevator.

Just as she'd been instructed, a few hours later, the nurse gave Bobby another shot. His body twitched once as the drugs hit his system, then he settled again. In the dim light, she didn't notice that his hand stopped moving. Bette gave a soft whine, then moved and licked his face before laying down again.

She might have been a dog, but she remembered. She knew Bobby wouldn't be back for a while. She knew he'd gone to the only home he really knew and that Simon had driven him there.

When the truth is,
I miss you.
Yeah the truth is,
That I miss you so.

And I'm tired,
I should not have let you go.

[555 words]

[ooc: With this post, Rabbit is on hiatus. Need to figure out what to do with him. Open RPs for him will be finished, but don't expect anything new for a little while.]

[ooc: Backdated 36 hours]

Dreams were funny things these days, especially for Bobby. Sharing the connections he did with people made anything that happened in his sleep seem almost more real than reality. Still, it wasn't as if he often did things in his dreams that he had not done, or would not do, when he was awake.

He jerked and looked around quickly, trying to figure out where he was. That was always more important than who he was. He never dreamed of the villa, even if he was away. So, if he looked around and that was where he was, he was awake. If he wasn't, then it became a question of which reality he was in. This time, he was clearly dreaming.

He was at Eros's estate. He recognized the landmarks that he had seen from the window the one time he knew he'd been there. Alone in the bed, he felt around him to see if that was a recent thing. Finding no evidence of warmth but his own, he decided that he was awaiting the return of the lord of the house. So be it, he was good at waiting.

But he would not do it in bed. He got up and started snooping. As he approached the dresser, he started to question the reality of the situation again. He had not explored Eros's room, at all, when he'd been there. So, in opening the dresser, would it be what he wished was there, what Eros thought was there, or what actually resided in the dresser.

There was only one way to find out.

He pulled the heavy wooden drawer open and looked inside. In almost military straight rows were underwear, undershirts, and socks. Not at all what Bobby would have pictured. He started pushing things aside, wondering if everything was like that.

While he looked a breeze moved through the window, chilling him and bringing goosebumps. Without any thought, he pulled out a pair of soft, shiny silk boxers. Bobby held them up and laughed. He remembered Eros telling him that he did not own boxers with hearts on them. These, however, had little Cupids.

He looked around quickly, then pulled them, hoping to draw some warm from the covering. He pulled out an undershirt next and slipped it over his head. Eros might be taller than Bobby, but Bobby's chest was broader, the shirt fitting skin tight and stretching. Socks came next and these did have hearts on them, dark burgundy against black.

From the dresser, Bobby wandered to the closet. He was not surprised by what he found in there. Suits, casual shirts, and jeans, all in immpecable rows, just like the dresser. He saw that the suit he most liked seeing Eros in hung almost by itself. He looked behind him before approaching it.

Sure that he was still alone, he took it from the hanger and slowly dressed himself in it. He even went to far as to select and put on his favorite tie. The suit hung long and fit snug, so Bobby bypassed shoes.

Wandering back out into the bedroom, he stood in front of the mirror and looked at himself. The suit was clear cut to fit the taller man, but that didn't bother Bobby too much. It was the thought that counted.

He closed his eyes and ran his hands over his arms, hugging himself. He stayed that way for a long time, oblivious to the world. And to the God watching him. Just as he started to drift back toward the bed, he heard a sound behind him.

Blushing bright red, he turned around to face Eros, opening his eyes just in time to hear his lover and the lord of the house speak.

"Bobby, you've been a naughty boy. I'm going to have to punish you now."

He jerked awake and looked around, finding himself in the villa, between his husband and his wife. He shuddered hard, then grinned before starting the enjoyable task of waking Leo up. He might as well share his residual excitement.

680 words

The bar fight was easily five minutes in when Bobby got his first chance to pick his target, the four minutes before that had been blind flailing. The way Bobby's hand felt told him he'd been landing punches. But that wasn't quite the same as fighting with a purpose.

He still had no clue what had started the fight. He'd wonder about it later, to be honest. But there was no time for that now. Now he was just trying to protect his face. Another broken jaw, no matter how temporary, was just not going to cut it. Neither would another trip to the dentist for some more work. He really just wanted to get clear.

Then he got hit in the back of the neck. The pain shot through his whole body and he snarled, spinning on his attacker. The fact that he didn't want to get arrested fled his mind. Now the only thing he cared about was destroying the thing responsible for the pain and the spots he was seeing.

His blows were random, not hitting the same person in the melee twice in a row. He was still swinging when he felt arms around him, dragging him out of the fight. All reason left and he started to fight the person trying to help him. Jerking and pulling, trying to get turned around, he was surprised to hear a voice he recognized in his ear.

"Bobby, stop fighting. It's me." Duo was still dragging him away from the fight, toward the back door of the bar.

Once he was clear of the immediate noise of the brawl, he could hear sirens. Someone, probably the bartender, had called the cops. And Duo had come to his rescue. He stopped fighting the man helping him and got his feet under himself.

Scanning quickly, Bobby grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the service exit. Just as they hit the door to get outside, the cops could be heard coming in the front. They ran down the alley, adrenaline keeping the pain at bay long enough for them to get away.

Three blocks later, Bobby sank down against a building front and groaned, his entire back wrapped in pain. Duo sat down next to him and patted his leg, laughing softly. "You know, you might want to learn to duck when I tell you to. I won't accidental hit you, then."

Bobby turned to look at him and shook his head. "Tomorrow, I'm gonna kill ya. When I can feel my ass again."

"Promises, promises. Just relax. It'll stop hurting. Eventually."

Bobby closed his eyes and leaned back against the brick. "Next time, ya get to call that guy an asshole. Ya'd've hit him like ya hit me, we'd be enjoying our drinks inside right now."

They both sat there, laughing for a while longer before Bobby could easily walk again. He was going to have to take Duo out more often. He was good in a fight. Very good.

[501 words]

It had been a while since Bobby'd been able to dress. Things had just been so busy at home, what with his coma, his immortality, his marriage and honeymoon, and that time as a dog. But, damnit, he was determined.

Sadly, most of his drag clothes were still in New York, something he would have to correct soon. Not that he was terribly opposed to going shopping. He wasn't looking to build anything elaborate. Just a little something he could use to surprise people with. When he got the family back to the Big Apple, then he would dress up properly.

He took a car and driver, and headed off to fashion heaven, Milan. He knew that he was not as likely as he wanted to be to be able to buy Couture, but that was not going to stop him from looking. With no audience, no one who expected him to be the butch construction worker and sculptor that he was, he was free to wander around like the swishy fag he could be.

He trolled shops, buying up accessories that struck his fancy. Big hats, belts, handbags, even shoes, if it looked good on him, if it was something he could build an outfit on, he bought it. It didn't take too long before he'd filled a fair bit of the trunk and earned more than one eye roll from his driver. He and that man would be having a little chat before they returned to the villa, a chat that would end with the driver being soundly fucked, Bobby was sure.

Just when Bobby was about to give up on finding an actually outfit, he stumbled across a small boutique that catered to the perfect clientele for his needs - plus sized women and expectant mothers. Bobby couldn't believe his luck. He was nearly squealing with glee when he walked in.

The look he got from the owner was on of confusion, until he started talking. Not one to be embarrassed, having no shame, he got immediately to the point. The matron was more than happy to get Bobby started, recommending dresses that would compliment his build, with or without his falsies.

As he took an armful of dresses into the dressing room, he had decided the day couldn't really get any more perfect. So he hadn't been paying attention when he heard another patron come in. If he'd been listening, even a little, he would have recognized the voice. As it stood, all he guessed was that it was probably a woman.

He walked out of the dressing room in a deep maroon dress. The sleeves were slit at the upper arms and fully enclosed at the forearm, so some of his ink showed through. The bodice was a deep vee that hugged his chest and was form-fitting though the hips. The hem fell at mid-thigh, with a slit up the right side. The entire dress was popcorn material, with just enough give that Bobby could add his smallest falsies without any alterations.

He stood in front of the mirror and slowly turned, taking in how the dress showed off his lines. As he completed the turn, he heard a wolf whistle from behind him. He turned toward the sound with a smirk.

A smirk that turned into a smile when he saw who his admirer was. He winked at Mab, then walked over to her and gave her a big hug. Her laughter made him smile and it was fairly easy to talk her into staying and commenting on his choices.

By the time they left the boutique, Bobby had several new dresses and so did Mab. He'd walked out dressed in the maroon and, despite her protests, dragged her off to coffee. The entire time, all she could do was shake her head and laugh.

When they parted way, she kissed each of his cheeks and whispered in his ear. "Thank you, Bobby. But I expect you to dress properly for me again. Very soon."

[672 words]

Drinking alone was his goal. A rather easily reached goal, but Bobby would take what he could get. Staring into the half empty glass of whiskey, he exhaled slowly. He honestly didn't think it was possible for him to sink lower, then Breacan had come to his hotel room.

In Greece.

Bobby was just too mentally exhausted to ask how he'd been found. It didn't matter. He wouldn't like or trust the answer anyway. And his own head had done a marvelous job of getting in his way. He had not slept the night with another man since Finny'd gone home, and to do so without sex was unheard of. Yet he had.

Now, back in the States, he found that he still had Breacan as a tag along. Only the man clearly had an agenda, one that only involved Bobby because it had to. He could tell, every time he looked at Breacan, that he would have rather been around another else. Fin, Eothian, Mel, some random homeless person on the street, anyone but Bobby. A man could only take that look for so long before he snapped.

That snap was what had landed Bobby in the hole in the wall he was drinking in. He planned to drink until he was cut off, then stumble as far as he could before passing out. If he was lucky, the cops would pick him up and dump him in the tank. If he wasn't, he'd get rolled. Either way, at least he could go an evening without seeing that look.

He was well on his way to being cut off, the bartender eyeing him carefully as he drank. He gave the man a faint nod, acknowledging the line he was toeing. Then he looked toward the door, just as a boy, barely old enough to drink, came in. Bobby watched him, trying to get a read using his liquor dulled senses. But, by the time the boy had taken a seat next to Bobby, he knew what the story was.

His bar mate was a rent boy, a fine piece of probably expensive ass. And Bobby didn't care. All that mattered was that he got laid, and that it be fast and hard. And dirty. They negotiated the boy's rate, then left the bar together. All the bartender could do was shake his head, the large tip he'd gotten enough to keep him quiet.

Bobby and the boy made it to the alley two blocks away. By then, Bobby'd had enough. In the dark of the alley, a pair of homeless people sleeping less than ten yards away, Bobby put the boy against the wall and fucked him senseless. While Bobby was almost completely silent, the pro cried out loudly, setting the stray dogs in the area to howling by the time Bobby was finished.

After his clothes were fixed, Bobby paid the boy and sent him on his way. Then he went over to the now awake alley dwellers and bought their last bottle of rot gut from them. He and the bottle made it another block before he gave up and ducked into the pack at the corner. He found an empty bench and sat down.

As the sun came up, he was still sitting there, the bottle empty and his eyes flat. Everything he did had become an exercise in futility. Even drinking and fucking. What was the point of even bothering to go home, if none of it mattered anymore.

[584 words]