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Reagan couldn’t believe it.
It had been—what, three years? Since he had last seen him. The last time had been the break up, and then Reagan hadn’t even been by himself. Charlie was with him then, hurling obscenities over her shoulder as she led Reagan out, leaving behind the miserable apartment where Reagan had given away his entire self-worth and hadn’t been quite able to find it again since.
Now he was in this apartment. Where Reagan lived with his sister ever he started to redo his life again from scratch. This was Reagan’s territory.
Except it didn’t quite feel like it at the moment.
“Zach.”
He smirked, that quirk of his lips that used to make Reagan’s heart stutter in his chest, leaning against the doorframe like he knew he could step in if he wanted to.
“Long time no see.”
Reagan frowned, trying to look like he wasn’t gripping the doorknob so hard it was threatening to completely give way. He could do it. He could slam the door in his disgusting, smug face; Zach wasn’t even over the threshold, Reagan could very well shut the door on him and lock it and tell him to fuck off.
But he didn’t. And Zach must have seen the hesitation in his face – he read Reagan so easily, a trait that Reagan thought had meant it was for real, that he could find himself in someone who knew him – because the next thing he said was: “Not going to invite me in?”
And Reagan just let him in through the door. It felt so easy. It was easier to just comply with him, wasn’t it? Even after three God damn years, when Reagan’s very job was to keep Gym City from collapsing in on itself for Christ’s sakes.
The thing was, Reagan wasn’t even sure what he should do. Zach Rogers had made no attempts to contact him in the last three years, and he had done nothing that actually hurt Reagan in suddenly showing up at his doorstep. If anything, despite his disheveled appearance, he looked as good-looking as ever. Casual, unobtrusive, recognizable.
It made Reagan want to hurl.
“What are you doing here?”
Zach glanced over his shoulder like he was surprised by the question. “Looking for you.”
Reagan shut the door behind him, walking past Zach to the hallway and shutting the other doors that had been left ajar.
He wasn’t supposed to be doing this. It didn’t feel right, trying to secure his own living space in his own home. Trying to set boundaries when he should’ve have to.
As Reagan came back out, Zach was still standing there. “Are you going to be looking at me anytime soon?”
Deep breathes. Think straight. No matter what he says, he is going to go straight back out of the door once you’re done.
Reagan raised his head to look at Zach squarely in the face. He was smirking again, and it occurred to Reagan he had never been able to tell when Zach smirked and smiled, when he was looking genuine. It had always made Reagan feel inadequate, with his scowls and deadpan faces, like he wasn’t doing enough to smile back or crack some kind of expression back at him, or that his frowns were funny.
Why had it taken three years?
“Why are you looking for me?”
Zach shrugged, taking a cautious step forward. “Well, we hadn’t spoken for a while. I thought we could talk. I think we need that.”
Charlie wasn’t here now. Reagan wished she were: it was just bad timing that Charlie had to go out to the next city on some recon mission or another. He knew all about it, he compiled all the information and details himself. She wasn’t due to return in another two days.
If she were here, she’d have already kicked Zach Rogers face into the next century. She’d spare Reagan of any confrontations and see Zach Rogers out herself, telling him to “fuck off” and “don’t let me see your sorry, despicable excuse for a face near my brother again or I’ll—“
Well Charlie isn’t here now. Reagan swallowed and crossed his arms. Somehow the memory helped him relax a little, like she was giving him strength from beyond the present time and location, but it wasn’t much, because the next thing he found himself saying was: “Do you want a drink?”
A smile spread across the other man’s face. “Well, sure. I was hoping for one.”
As the kettle hissed and hot steam billowed out of the spout, Reagan was grateful for the private respite in the kitchen. He wanted to cry. Or maybe laugh. He wasn’t quite sure which. Part of him wanted to throw himself into Zach’s arms, because his broad shoulders seemed all-too familiar and Reagan could still remember how it felt to have someone to lean on. But that wasn’t security, that was possession.
The second part just felt small. It was what threw Reagan completely off. He had stopped thinking about Zach Rogers for a long time, being with people who actually made him feel worthwhile and didn’t sap his entire being out of his very soul. Who never asked anything from him and inspired him, each and everyday, to find pieces of himself within his own being. So this sudden…reappearance…it made Reagan think if he had ever actually moved on from that shadow of himself.
He felt weak and worthless all over again just by being in this person’s presence.
Reagan spilled his introspection into the two cups of hot tea as if they would give him an answer.
“How’s living with your sister?” Zach said as the cup was placed in front of him. “She’s not here, is she?”
“No.” Reagan barbed his words. “Why, what would you have done if she was here?”
Zach looked at him in surprise. “Nothing different. Do you think I would’ve?”
Reagan swallowed the next rush of words. He watched as Zach blew on the tea and took a slow sip, before lowering the cup to look at him again. Reagan saw his smile falter and something flicker in his eyes, and Reagan wondered if it would be over before he needed to do anything.
“Do you not want me here?”
What?
Zach took his hesitation as a cue to keep going. “You keep frowning at me like that, I just figured that if it’s better for me to come another day…”
Something inside of Reagan went cold. What was he supposed to say to that? Zach was backing down, not looking at Reagan, yet Reagan’s first instinct was to say no, you can stay, don’t worry about it, I’m sorry if I hurt you…
“Get out.”
Zach’s head snapped up. “What?”
Reagan was already on his feet, pushing back his chair so suddenly that the legs screeched against the floor. Screw the tea, screw Zach Rogers, screw himself, screw this fucking apartment—he didn’t care if Zach even left Reagan just wanted to be as far away from as possible at the moment. He would’ve ran out of the apartment himself if he had to.
“Hey, Rae, don’t be like that—“
“Zach Rogers,” Reagan spat, his hands clenched in fists against the table. “You have absolutely—no fucking right to saunter into my home and act like you didn’t treat me right in the three fucking years that we were together.”
Zach was on his feet now too, and he raised his hands up defensively. He looked dismayed, but all Reagan could see was that he was twisting his expression into a petulant pout. “Babe, come on—“
“DO NOT CALL ME THAT.” It set Reagan off—Good. He needed that fire. “You took everything from me. Stop acting like I’m hurting you because you took me into your arms and tore me open. You broke my heart and somehow—“ Reagan inhaled. His eyes stung and he desperately hoped that he wasn’t going to start crying. “—somehow you acted like I brought it on myself! And I don’t care what you say, maybe I did, maybe some of it was my fault, but you made me feel so worthless and small and yet I was convinced I needed you, and that toxic, poisonous thing we had between us!”
He hadn’t even realized he had stepped away from the table and was facing Zach squarely. There was still some distance between them – he wasn’t sure if it was because Zach Rogers was backing away from him or it was his own sub-conscious wariness, but frankly he didn’t care. The Hawke twins were notorious for ability to make use of anything within their surroundings to defend themselves, and it was like Reagan was suddenly realizing it. That he was tough and strong and intelligent, and if push came to shove he didn’t need Charlie to kick Zach Rogers into the next century.
It was a little heartbreaking, the fact that he could only realize that now –he knew it all along and yet was too afraid to think he was worth even an iota of strength, too busy thinking that maybe he was the one who is wrong maybe he should back down for a second.
Zach was staring at him, mouth opening and closing like he was still searching for the words to reply. Reagan was strong, but in that brief moment he also knew he wasn’t ready to listen to whatever plea or twist of words this man was going to come up with.
It was fine, because Zach was already backing off towards the front door.
“I don’t know what the hell was that…”
“Get out before I call the police.” God, it was liberating to finally say that out loud. To say, I will hold you accountable for your actions because you are wrong, and yes, I dare.
Reagan watched as Zach fumble at the door, and he allowed himself to walk closer, to take back control of the space around him. People shouldn’t be allowed to have the power to take other people’s sense of safety from them.
In truth, his hands were shaking. And Reagan’s heart thudded wildly, part of him fearing that Zach was going to decide to challenge this newfound strength, because he very well could. Zach Rogers could find new ways to abuse and manipulate Reagan again, and both of them knew it.
But he didn’t.
And, an afterthought, it wouldn’t work.
The door slammed shut and Reagan heard the sound of footsteps skittering away. It was only after it had faded away completely – and even then, Reagan counted to ten – before he let himself completely relax and drop down onto his knees.
“Shit.” Reagan breathed. Even though his heart was hammering against his ribs, and his muscles were still ringing with tension from before, he had never felt so liberated in his life. It wasn’t closure – it was the freedom from pining for closure and resolution.
Three years. Three bloody years, and Reagan had felt like his life was already over, as if he had nowhere else to go.
Reagan leaned back, tilting his head back to look up at the ceiling. He was okay. For once in his life, he felt like he was truly, genuinely okay. And that he had found another part of himself that he thought had lost forever. It was battered and bruised and a little chipped, but it was there.
He couldn’t believe it but maybe, just maybe, he was finding his own sense of self again.