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perpetual_motionTitle: A Boy from Nowhere (6/?)
Author: Perpetual Motion
Fandom: Green Lantern Corps [DC Comics]
Pairing: Guy/Kyle
Rating: PG-13 (Language)
Summary: Guy, his caseworker, and a therapist.
Dis: Lies and bullshit, as always.
Author's Notes: I meant for "Boy from Nowhere" to be a single, 1500 word story, but it grew, so I let it, and it fits in with other prompts for my![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
dcu_freeforall table, so it's grown. The prompt for this bit is "public safety." And a quick bit of love to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lasergirl, who read the first draft and told me to do better.
Previous Parts: Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five
A Boy from Nowhere (6/?)
By Perpetual Motion
Guy spends the rest of the day in a painkiller haze, not quite certain when he wakes up and when he's dreaming. He has vague, fuzzy images of his mother and Mace by his bedside. Sometimes they're alone and sometimes there is a man in a tie and glasses. Guy tries to focus on his face, but it makes his head hurt, so he falls back asleep.
When he wakes up properly, there's a nurse checking his pulse, and the man in the tie and glasses is sitting in a chair next to a man in a black sweater. The man in the tie and glasses smiles at him. "Hello, Guy. I'm Clark. Do you remember me?"
Guy squints at him. His head doesn’t hurt when he does it, but something hot and angry rushes through him, something sharp like when he accidentally cut open his thumb with a steak knife. "No," he says, and draws it out while he tries to place the feeling. His jaw doesn't hurt at all, he realizes. "Should I know you?" It comes out sharper than he means, and Guy catches the nurse raising an eyebrow at his attitude. He tries to shift away from her, but her fingers stay on his pulse point.
"Be out of your way in a minute," the nurse tells him, giving him a smile. "I'm required to check your vitals."
"Then why am I hooked up to all this crap?"
"Because it double-checks me." The nurse lets go of Guy's wrist and picks up his chart, looking over the machines and taking notes. "It's good to hear you talking," she tells him. "It means your jaw is starting to heal."
Guy doesn't reply. He looks away from her, but doing that makes him look at Clark and the other man. The anger rush up again, and he stares at the ceiling until the nurse leaves the room.
Clark and the other man move their chairs closer to the bed, but Guy doesn't look. "Your mother and brother wanted to be here when you woke up, but they both had to get back to work," Clark tells him. Guy continues to stare at the ceiling. "They asked me and Dr. Saarek to stay with you."
Guy looks over at that, avoiding looking at Clark and concentrating on the man sitting next to him. The anger rush fades slightly. Guy wonders what it means. "Doctor?" he asks.
"I'm a psychologist," Dr. Saarek tells him. He has light brown skin and a bald head. "I work with people who have been in abusive situations like yours."
"Okay," Guy replies, because he doesn’t know what else to say. He looks at Clark again. "Who are you?" It comes out suspicious.
"I'm…" Clark trails off, adjusts his glasses. When he looks Guy in the eyes, he looks embarrassed. "I'm your case worker, Guy."
Guy blinks at him a few times. Some piece of information scratches at the back of his mind. Something his mother said. "You were at the house," Guy says, "when I got home from practice."
"Yes," Clark tells him. "I came to speak to you about your father."
"Because Coach called you."
"Social services received numerous calls," Clark informs him. "It just took awhile to get someone to your house."
That information makes Guy pause. He tries to take in a deep breath, but it's hard to breathe in around the wires in his mouth. He heart starts to hammer. "Why?" he snaps.
Clark looks embarrassed again. He scratches under his chin. "Because sometimes we slip up." He reaches out like he's going to touch Guy, but he curls his hand around the bedrail instead. "I'm sorry, Guy." He sounds like he means it. "I'm sorry it took so long to get someone to check on you, and I'm sorry I was part of the reason you're here right now."
Guy doesn't know what to say. Clark smiles at him, and Guy wants to punch him in the mouth. There's something about him that's so clean, so perfect, and Guy's willing to bet he doesn't come from a background of world-class assholes. "You're the only reason I'm here," he hisses. "If you hadn't shown up, my fucking jaw wouldn't be broken." He wants Clark to reel back, look shocked. Clark just blinks. "Fuck you."
"I'll leave you to talk with Dr. Saarek," Clark says like he's not ruffled. It makes Guy's shoulder blades itch. The urge to punch rises higher. "I'll be back in a little while."
He's out the door so fast Guy doesn't have time to yell something at his back. He glares at the closed door, then at Dr. Sarrek, who sits in his chair, hands in his lap, and looks like he's not affected at all. "Go away," Guy orders. "Fuck off."
Dr. Sarrek reaches into his suit jacket and pulls out a digital recorder. He holds it up so Guy can see it clearly. "I'm actually required to talk to you at least this once." He, like Clark, sounds completely unaffected. Guy wants to punch him, too. "You want to record me?" Guy asks.
"If you wouldn't mind. I like to be able to review sessions, and I'm a terrible note-taker."
"I don't want to talk to you."
Dr. Sarrek sets the digital recorder on the bed table. "It will only take a few minutes, and it's mandatory. I have to be able to tell my superiors that you're in a safe place mentally."
"Why?"
"Because other people in your situation have killed themselves." Dr. Sarrek says it as a fact, the way Mr. Jordan rattles off dates in History class. The anger in Guy drops away and is replaced by something cold, something numbing.
"I'm not a fucking suicide," Guy says. He tries to sound mad, but it comes out too soft. "I'm not some asshole."
"I didn't think you were." Dr. Sarrek smiles at Guy, and it makes his blood spike again. "But I need a little more information."
"Why?"
"Because they require it."
"This is stupid."
"I'll be quick."
Guy wants to tell him to go away, to fuck off and die. He watches Dr. Sarrek press a button on the digital recorder.
"Are you suicidal, Guy?"
"I already told you I'm not." Guy snaps. "I don't want to fucking kill myself. I just don't want you asking me stupid questions."
"Bear with me a few more minutes, and I won't," Dr. Sarrek promises. He waits for Guy to roll his eyes in agreement. "Wonderful."
"Whatever," Guy grumbles.
Dr. Sarrek leans back in his chair and folds his hands over his stomach. "How old are you, Guy?"
"Sixteen."
"What do you do for fun?"
"Play football."
"Football's a good game."
Guy forces himself not to roll his eyes again. "Yeah."
"How long has your dad been hitting you?"
Guy can't breathe for a second. No one's ever asked him that question. People have hinted, and people have looked at him, but no one's just asked. "I dunno," he answers, looking away, the anger making his hands shake. It's not his business, he thinks. It's nobody's business. "A while."
"Do you remember a time when he didn't hit you?"
"I don't want to talk about it."
"Why not?"
"It's not your business."
Dr. Sarrek is quiet for a moment. "I need certain information before I can leave you alone," he says. "I'm required to get some basic facts down for your file."
Guy tries to grit his teeth, and it makes his jaw ache. He curses under his breath. Dr. Sarrek watches him, face blank. Guy wants to spit in his face. "Before Mace moved out."
"When did Mace move out?"
Guy counts back in his head, trying to calm down as he does it. "Five years ago."
"So you were eleven, then?"
"Yeah. I guess. Whatever."
Dr. Sarrek nods. "Okay." He smoothes a hand down his sweater. Guy wants to throw the recorder against the wall, jump out of bed, grab the doctor by his sweater, and toss him after it. "How long has he hit your mom?"
"When Mace left," Guy answers, the numbness coming back like he's being covered with a blanket. He wonder if it's the drugs. "He never hit anyone until Mace left." Tears prick at the corner of his eyes, and Guy blinks them back, looks away from Dr. Sarrek.
"Do you get along with Mace?"
Guy shrugs. "I dunno. I guess." The numbness gets deeper, and Guy wants to fall into it and fall back asleep for awhile.
Dr. Sarrek doesn't say anything, and when Guy faces him again, he's picking up the digital recorder and hitting a button again. "You seem tired," Dr. Sarrek says. "We can pick this up later."
Guy starts to agree with him, but there's suddenly something clawing at his stomach, deep down, and he reaches for the recorder. "No. I want...He's an asshole, and he hits me, and he hits Mom, and he never hit Mace because Mace was always fucking perfect, and I wish he was dead." The words reverberate through Guy's head, through his healing jaw, and he realizes he's tried to yell the last part. He sags back onto the pillow, the numbness clashing against the anger, and Guy wishes he knew what the hell was going on.
Dr. Sarrek watches him for a moment. "Who do you wish were dead?"
"My dad." Guy spits out. "Who else would I want dead?"
"What about Mace?"
Guy shakes his head, so hard it causes pain at the base of his skull. "No."
"You're not mad at him for leaving you there?"
"Not his fault. Dad wasn't whaling on us when he was home. He didn't know. Not really." Guy hears himself say it, but he feels far away, like he's listening from the other room.
"Not really?"
"He said he took some classes or something. Learned about the cycle of violence."
Dr. Sarrek nods. "So, he knew about what could happen, but he didn't know it had happened?"
Guy thinks about it for a minute. "I don’t know. He says he didn't know."
"And you believe him?"
When he was younger, Guy remembers, Mace used to hide him in the bedroom closet when their dad got extra loud. He'd cover Guy in a blanket and give him a pillow and tell him to shut up. "Maybe," Guy says. "Maybe he just didn't want to bother."
"Why wouldn't he want to bother?"
"Who wants to bother with this shit?" Guy spits out. "I don't like bothering with this shit."
Dr. Sarrek crosses his hands over his stomach again. He cocks his head at Guy. "You're a very astute young man, Guy."
Guy blinks at him. Confused at the sudden change. "Huh?"
"You're smart. You're sharp."
Guy shrugs. "Okay."
"It's good," Dr. Sarrek assures him. "But it might cause you some problems."
"Pretty used to that." It's out before he can hold it in, and Guy has to fight not to cringe. He doesn't need sympathy. He doesn't need a therapist. He wants to go home. He wants to be left alone. He was fine before.
Dr. Sarrek breaks a smile. "I suppose so." The door to Guy's room opens, and Clark walks in, giving a hopeful look to Dr. Sarrek and Guy.
"Am I interrupting?"
"I think we're finished," Dr. Sarrek says. "Unless you'd like to say more, Guy."
"No."
"I'll see you again," Dr. Sarrek promises, and he waves goodbye as he walks out of the room, stopping to shake hands with Clark and murmur something that Guy suspects is his theory on what's going on. Guy wants to growl or shout or call them names, but his energy is gone, and the anger is down to a simmer, settled behind the pain at the base of his skull.
Clark takes his seat next to Guy's bed and grabs the bed rail again. "I called your mother while you talked with Dr. Sarrek. She wants you to know that she'll be here after work."
"Okay,"
"School's out for the day," Clark tells him. "Can I call a friend to keep you company? Someone to talk to?"
"Who are you?" Guy snaps. "Why do you give a shit?"
Clark blinks. He takes off his glasses and cleans them on his tie, puts them back on. "I was adopted when I was a toddler," he says and leans on the bed rail more fully. "I think I was two. My parents aren't sure because they found me in the barn, and there wasn't a note."
Guy waits for more. "So?" he asks when Clark doesn't say anything.
"I have really good parents," Clark tells him. "Really excellent parents, and I got them by accident. I want to help other kids get their parents on purpose."
Guy stares at him. "You are not for real."
"Excuse me?"
"Oh, the poor little beaten-up kids," Guy mocks. "We all need a fucking rescuer to swoop down and save us."
Clark works his jaw back and forth. "No," he says, voice quiet and determined like Coach getting ready to bark orders. "I'm here to help you rescue yourself."
"I don't want to talk to you anymore."
"Guy—"
"I already talked to the guy who thinks I'm crazy. I don't want to talk to you."
Clark presses his lips together and stands up. He smoothes his tie and puts his hands on his hips. "All right," he says. He buttons his jacket. "I'll let you get some rest."
"Fine." Guy turns away until he hears Clark walk out again. He doesn't sleep, although he tries. His stomach is in a knot, his hands are still shaking, and even hitting the button for the painkillers doesn't relieve the low burn and ache at the back of his head.
Author: Perpetual Motion
Fandom: Green Lantern Corps [DC Comics]
Pairing: Guy/Kyle
Rating: PG-13 (Language)
Summary: Guy, his caseworker, and a therapist.
Dis: Lies and bullshit, as always.
Author's Notes: I meant for "Boy from Nowhere" to be a single, 1500 word story, but it grew, so I let it, and it fits in with other prompts for my
dcu_freeforall table, so it's grown. The prompt for this bit is "public safety." And a quick bit of love to lasergirl, who read the first draft and told me to do better.Previous Parts: Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five
A Boy from Nowhere (6/?)
By Perpetual Motion
Guy spends the rest of the day in a painkiller haze, not quite certain when he wakes up and when he's dreaming. He has vague, fuzzy images of his mother and Mace by his bedside. Sometimes they're alone and sometimes there is a man in a tie and glasses. Guy tries to focus on his face, but it makes his head hurt, so he falls back asleep.
When he wakes up properly, there's a nurse checking his pulse, and the man in the tie and glasses is sitting in a chair next to a man in a black sweater. The man in the tie and glasses smiles at him. "Hello, Guy. I'm Clark. Do you remember me?"
Guy squints at him. His head doesn’t hurt when he does it, but something hot and angry rushes through him, something sharp like when he accidentally cut open his thumb with a steak knife. "No," he says, and draws it out while he tries to place the feeling. His jaw doesn't hurt at all, he realizes. "Should I know you?" It comes out sharper than he means, and Guy catches the nurse raising an eyebrow at his attitude. He tries to shift away from her, but her fingers stay on his pulse point.
"Be out of your way in a minute," the nurse tells him, giving him a smile. "I'm required to check your vitals."
"Then why am I hooked up to all this crap?"
"Because it double-checks me." The nurse lets go of Guy's wrist and picks up his chart, looking over the machines and taking notes. "It's good to hear you talking," she tells him. "It means your jaw is starting to heal."
Guy doesn't reply. He looks away from her, but doing that makes him look at Clark and the other man. The anger rush up again, and he stares at the ceiling until the nurse leaves the room.
Clark and the other man move their chairs closer to the bed, but Guy doesn't look. "Your mother and brother wanted to be here when you woke up, but they both had to get back to work," Clark tells him. Guy continues to stare at the ceiling. "They asked me and Dr. Saarek to stay with you."
Guy looks over at that, avoiding looking at Clark and concentrating on the man sitting next to him. The anger rush fades slightly. Guy wonders what it means. "Doctor?" he asks.
"I'm a psychologist," Dr. Saarek tells him. He has light brown skin and a bald head. "I work with people who have been in abusive situations like yours."
"Okay," Guy replies, because he doesn’t know what else to say. He looks at Clark again. "Who are you?" It comes out suspicious.
"I'm…" Clark trails off, adjusts his glasses. When he looks Guy in the eyes, he looks embarrassed. "I'm your case worker, Guy."
Guy blinks at him a few times. Some piece of information scratches at the back of his mind. Something his mother said. "You were at the house," Guy says, "when I got home from practice."
"Yes," Clark tells him. "I came to speak to you about your father."
"Because Coach called you."
"Social services received numerous calls," Clark informs him. "It just took awhile to get someone to your house."
That information makes Guy pause. He tries to take in a deep breath, but it's hard to breathe in around the wires in his mouth. He heart starts to hammer. "Why?" he snaps.
Clark looks embarrassed again. He scratches under his chin. "Because sometimes we slip up." He reaches out like he's going to touch Guy, but he curls his hand around the bedrail instead. "I'm sorry, Guy." He sounds like he means it. "I'm sorry it took so long to get someone to check on you, and I'm sorry I was part of the reason you're here right now."
Guy doesn't know what to say. Clark smiles at him, and Guy wants to punch him in the mouth. There's something about him that's so clean, so perfect, and Guy's willing to bet he doesn't come from a background of world-class assholes. "You're the only reason I'm here," he hisses. "If you hadn't shown up, my fucking jaw wouldn't be broken." He wants Clark to reel back, look shocked. Clark just blinks. "Fuck you."
"I'll leave you to talk with Dr. Saarek," Clark says like he's not ruffled. It makes Guy's shoulder blades itch. The urge to punch rises higher. "I'll be back in a little while."
He's out the door so fast Guy doesn't have time to yell something at his back. He glares at the closed door, then at Dr. Sarrek, who sits in his chair, hands in his lap, and looks like he's not affected at all. "Go away," Guy orders. "Fuck off."
Dr. Sarrek reaches into his suit jacket and pulls out a digital recorder. He holds it up so Guy can see it clearly. "I'm actually required to talk to you at least this once." He, like Clark, sounds completely unaffected. Guy wants to punch him, too. "You want to record me?" Guy asks.
"If you wouldn't mind. I like to be able to review sessions, and I'm a terrible note-taker."
"I don't want to talk to you."
Dr. Sarrek sets the digital recorder on the bed table. "It will only take a few minutes, and it's mandatory. I have to be able to tell my superiors that you're in a safe place mentally."
"Why?"
"Because other people in your situation have killed themselves." Dr. Sarrek says it as a fact, the way Mr. Jordan rattles off dates in History class. The anger in Guy drops away and is replaced by something cold, something numbing.
"I'm not a fucking suicide," Guy says. He tries to sound mad, but it comes out too soft. "I'm not some asshole."
"I didn't think you were." Dr. Sarrek smiles at Guy, and it makes his blood spike again. "But I need a little more information."
"Why?"
"Because they require it."
"This is stupid."
"I'll be quick."
Guy wants to tell him to go away, to fuck off and die. He watches Dr. Sarrek press a button on the digital recorder.
"Are you suicidal, Guy?"
"I already told you I'm not." Guy snaps. "I don't want to fucking kill myself. I just don't want you asking me stupid questions."
"Bear with me a few more minutes, and I won't," Dr. Sarrek promises. He waits for Guy to roll his eyes in agreement. "Wonderful."
"Whatever," Guy grumbles.
Dr. Sarrek leans back in his chair and folds his hands over his stomach. "How old are you, Guy?"
"Sixteen."
"What do you do for fun?"
"Play football."
"Football's a good game."
Guy forces himself not to roll his eyes again. "Yeah."
"How long has your dad been hitting you?"
Guy can't breathe for a second. No one's ever asked him that question. People have hinted, and people have looked at him, but no one's just asked. "I dunno," he answers, looking away, the anger making his hands shake. It's not his business, he thinks. It's nobody's business. "A while."
"Do you remember a time when he didn't hit you?"
"I don't want to talk about it."
"Why not?"
"It's not your business."
Dr. Sarrek is quiet for a moment. "I need certain information before I can leave you alone," he says. "I'm required to get some basic facts down for your file."
Guy tries to grit his teeth, and it makes his jaw ache. He curses under his breath. Dr. Sarrek watches him, face blank. Guy wants to spit in his face. "Before Mace moved out."
"When did Mace move out?"
Guy counts back in his head, trying to calm down as he does it. "Five years ago."
"So you were eleven, then?"
"Yeah. I guess. Whatever."
Dr. Sarrek nods. "Okay." He smoothes a hand down his sweater. Guy wants to throw the recorder against the wall, jump out of bed, grab the doctor by his sweater, and toss him after it. "How long has he hit your mom?"
"When Mace left," Guy answers, the numbness coming back like he's being covered with a blanket. He wonder if it's the drugs. "He never hit anyone until Mace left." Tears prick at the corner of his eyes, and Guy blinks them back, looks away from Dr. Sarrek.
"Do you get along with Mace?"
Guy shrugs. "I dunno. I guess." The numbness gets deeper, and Guy wants to fall into it and fall back asleep for awhile.
Dr. Sarrek doesn't say anything, and when Guy faces him again, he's picking up the digital recorder and hitting a button again. "You seem tired," Dr. Sarrek says. "We can pick this up later."
Guy starts to agree with him, but there's suddenly something clawing at his stomach, deep down, and he reaches for the recorder. "No. I want...He's an asshole, and he hits me, and he hits Mom, and he never hit Mace because Mace was always fucking perfect, and I wish he was dead." The words reverberate through Guy's head, through his healing jaw, and he realizes he's tried to yell the last part. He sags back onto the pillow, the numbness clashing against the anger, and Guy wishes he knew what the hell was going on.
Dr. Sarrek watches him for a moment. "Who do you wish were dead?"
"My dad." Guy spits out. "Who else would I want dead?"
"What about Mace?"
Guy shakes his head, so hard it causes pain at the base of his skull. "No."
"You're not mad at him for leaving you there?"
"Not his fault. Dad wasn't whaling on us when he was home. He didn't know. Not really." Guy hears himself say it, but he feels far away, like he's listening from the other room.
"Not really?"
"He said he took some classes or something. Learned about the cycle of violence."
Dr. Sarrek nods. "So, he knew about what could happen, but he didn't know it had happened?"
Guy thinks about it for a minute. "I don’t know. He says he didn't know."
"And you believe him?"
When he was younger, Guy remembers, Mace used to hide him in the bedroom closet when their dad got extra loud. He'd cover Guy in a blanket and give him a pillow and tell him to shut up. "Maybe," Guy says. "Maybe he just didn't want to bother."
"Why wouldn't he want to bother?"
"Who wants to bother with this shit?" Guy spits out. "I don't like bothering with this shit."
Dr. Sarrek crosses his hands over his stomach again. He cocks his head at Guy. "You're a very astute young man, Guy."
Guy blinks at him. Confused at the sudden change. "Huh?"
"You're smart. You're sharp."
Guy shrugs. "Okay."
"It's good," Dr. Sarrek assures him. "But it might cause you some problems."
"Pretty used to that." It's out before he can hold it in, and Guy has to fight not to cringe. He doesn't need sympathy. He doesn't need a therapist. He wants to go home. He wants to be left alone. He was fine before.
Dr. Sarrek breaks a smile. "I suppose so." The door to Guy's room opens, and Clark walks in, giving a hopeful look to Dr. Sarrek and Guy.
"Am I interrupting?"
"I think we're finished," Dr. Sarrek says. "Unless you'd like to say more, Guy."
"No."
"I'll see you again," Dr. Sarrek promises, and he waves goodbye as he walks out of the room, stopping to shake hands with Clark and murmur something that Guy suspects is his theory on what's going on. Guy wants to growl or shout or call them names, but his energy is gone, and the anger is down to a simmer, settled behind the pain at the base of his skull.
Clark takes his seat next to Guy's bed and grabs the bed rail again. "I called your mother while you talked with Dr. Sarrek. She wants you to know that she'll be here after work."
"Okay,"
"School's out for the day," Clark tells him. "Can I call a friend to keep you company? Someone to talk to?"
"Who are you?" Guy snaps. "Why do you give a shit?"
Clark blinks. He takes off his glasses and cleans them on his tie, puts them back on. "I was adopted when I was a toddler," he says and leans on the bed rail more fully. "I think I was two. My parents aren't sure because they found me in the barn, and there wasn't a note."
Guy waits for more. "So?" he asks when Clark doesn't say anything.
"I have really good parents," Clark tells him. "Really excellent parents, and I got them by accident. I want to help other kids get their parents on purpose."
Guy stares at him. "You are not for real."
"Excuse me?"
"Oh, the poor little beaten-up kids," Guy mocks. "We all need a fucking rescuer to swoop down and save us."
Clark works his jaw back and forth. "No," he says, voice quiet and determined like Coach getting ready to bark orders. "I'm here to help you rescue yourself."
"I don't want to talk to you anymore."
"Guy—"
"I already talked to the guy who thinks I'm crazy. I don't want to talk to you."
Clark presses his lips together and stands up. He smoothes his tie and puts his hands on his hips. "All right," he says. He buttons his jacket. "I'll let you get some rest."
"Fine." Guy turns away until he hears Clark walk out again. He doesn't sleep, although he tries. His stomach is in a knot, his hands are still shaking, and even hitting the button for the painkillers doesn't relieve the low burn and ache at the back of his head.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
on 2010-05-23 07:57 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2010-05-24 03:51 am (UTC)no subject
on 2010-05-23 09:09 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2010-05-24 03:57 am (UTC)no subject
on 2010-05-23 10:16 pm (UTC)"Sarrek" is spelled three different ways; which one's the right one?
no subject
on 2010-05-24 04:01 am (UTC)no subject
on 2010-05-23 10:52 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2010-05-24 04:02 am (UTC)no subject
on 2010-05-23 11:03 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2010-05-24 04:04 am (UTC)no subject
on 2010-05-24 02:11 am (UTC)no subject
on 2010-05-24 04:04 am (UTC)no subject
on 2010-05-24 07:07 am (UTC)no subject
on 2010-05-25 03:58 am (UTC)And Kyle will be back. Very, very soon. Cue my evil laugh. :)
no subject
on 2010-05-25 10:12 pm (UTC)But it was so, so good. I really love how you're showing Guy dealing with everything, step by step. I mean, you could've glossed over all that stuff but you didn't, and that's awesome.
That being said, I am really missing Kyle & I hope he's back soon! :D
no subject
on 2010-05-25 10:36 pm (UTC)I'm glad you're enjoying it, and I'll take the smiley faces!
no subject
on 2010-05-26 12:35 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2010-05-27 01:49 am (UTC)