He'd gone in once and Petey had thrown a bunch of rings at him, so he left Peter in there. They really weren't good together in a snit.
Really.
Still...
It was almost time to go home.
He took off his headphones and walked over to the door. "Petey? Time to go home."
"N...n...no. G...g...go away."
"Oh, come on. I'll order fruit for you."
"No!"
Okay, then. "Fine. Starve. Moody bitch."
The door flew open, a box of gauze bouncing off his head. "F...f...fuck you!"
Yep. Testy.
"Well, for once you're not the one pulling the tantrum." Bowie's voice was dry.
He stuck his tongue out at Bowie and rolled his eyes. "He's in a bad mood. How're you?"
Come on, Bowie. He'd been good all day. Really good. Even-tempered. Not involved. Good.
"I was good until I had a comm conversation with Mal. Said something about taming my boys or he'd do it for me. I might have been rude to him in reply -- he got my back up. You boys are mine."
Bowie went and sat on the inking chair. "You want to tell me what's going on?"
Paul went and sat on his stool. "He's pissy, mainly. Some top -- a new guy, I don't know him -- brought a wee bottom in and the kid was freaking. Petey wouldn't pierce him, even though the wee one didn't safeword. They -- Petey and the top -- started screaming. Security came. Then Mal came. Then more screaming and the throwing of things." Paul shrugged. "Sometimes Petey just... doesn't cope so good. I'd've taken him home but I had appointments all day. Working, you know? Good stuff, too."
Bowie got up and came over to give him a soft kiss. "All right then, let's go see if he's willing to come home with us, shall we?"
Bowie didn't wait for his reply, just went to the door and knocked softly. "It's Bowie. Time to come out now, Peter."
"N...n...no."
Paul sighed. "Don't open the door, he's running out of soft stuff to throw..."
"Peter, come home with us -- I don't like the thought of leaving you here overnight. You can sulk at home." Bowie turned and grinned at him. "Or at least try to."
Paul grinned back, wincing as the door slammed open.
"N...n....n...n...n...not sulking!"
Bowie's eyebrows shot up, but he answered Peter calmly. "No? Then what are you doing?"
"B...b...b...b...b...b...b...b..." Petey screamed, frustration clear. "Being mad!"
"And what are you taking your anger out on?" Bowie asked, trying to peer beyond Peter's shoulder into the room.
Peter screamed again, stomping his feet. Paul felt himself tense, the urge to yell back, to scream back and tell Peter to stop, huge.
"I see. Yourself." Bowie shook his head. "We're going home where we can deal with this properly. Come along now, Peter."
"No. No. No. No. No!" Peter was red-faced, crying, shaking.
"Petey! Stop!" He went over, shook his twin. He hated this part. "Stop!"
"Stop, Paul. Stop." Bowie came over and wrapped an arm around Peter, pulling his brother in against the solid chest. "Okay, Peter, okay. It's time to calm down now."
Peter struggled for a minute or two, crying hard, sobbing against Bowie's chest. Paul paced, fretting. "He won't calm down. He won't." And why did he get punished for a tantrum while Peter got hugs?
"All right, enough. Paul, go see if the hall is empty."
Paul looked over and nodded. "Okay, Bowie." It felt good to let Bowie take control, to trust in that sure voice.
He checked the hallway, the space quiet and empty, everyone gone home. "It's empty. Clear. You want me to get the lift?"
"Please, I'll bring Peter out." Kicking and screaming if I have to. The words hung in the air between them all, unspoken.
"Okay. Lock up, please?" He hurried out, letting Bowie do... whatever Bowie needed to do. He pressed the button for the lift, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He wasn't in trouble. He wasn't.
Bowie came out, arm wrapped firmly around Peter, bringing his twin along whether Peter wanted to come or not. Bowie only stopped to take Peter's palm and place it on the doorlock and then they walked over to the elevator.
He met Bowie's eyes as the lift dinged, worried.
Bowie smiled at him, hand coming out to stroke his cheek. "Thank you, Paul."
The touch relaxed him, eased him and he smiled back. "You're welcome. Home, yes?"
"Yes, home." Bowie tilted his head. "I think we'll let Peter spend some time in my rooms, on his own. A bit of soothing music, a quiet environment. Peter, you can be mad -- it's healthy. But acting like a five year old? Is not."
"I...I...I...I...I...I...I...I...I'm not!" Man, Petey's voice echoed.
"No? It seems like it to me." Bowie was still hugging Peter, but his voice was cool, calm, unemotional.
Paul watched, bouncing, nerves firing from Peter's upset. The lift moved quickly, opening onto their floor. Bowie led them all to his plain apartment.
"We'll all sit for a bit and talk, see if we can't sort this out."
Paul nodded, Peter sniffling against Bowie's shoulder. Bowie led them to the sitting room, the cream walls and tan furniture quiet, as Bowie had called them. He curled up in one of the soft tan chairs, leaving the sofa for Peter and Bowie. See? He wasn't always selfish.
"Why are you so mad, Peter?" Bowie's voice was still calm, but there was a tone that said Bowie wasn't going to brook anymore hysterics.
"I...I...I...I..." Peter slammed his fist into the couch. "I hate this!" The scream was loud, but clear. Peter hardly ever stuttered when he was really mad.
"What do you hate?" Bowie asked.
"N...not b...b...being able to talk and that m...man was mean to me! And M...mal yelled at m...me!" The words were furious, hurting his head.
"Bowie, make him stop!"
"He needs to get it out, Paul. At the moment the only way both of you do that is by yelling."
He groaned, sliding deeper in the chair, surprised when Peter turned on him.
"And y...you! You d...didn't help me. Y...you didn't s...say anything! Y...you let Mal yell at me!"
Paul sat up, glaring. "I was working!"
"S...s...s...so?"
"So? You started out being bitchy!"
"I did not!"
He frowned and nodded. "You did. You were mad this morning at breakfast. You were mad that I ordered the wrong juice."
"You kn...n...now I hate that fl...flavor! You d...d...d...did it on purpose!"
"Stop yelling at me!"
"No!"
"Yes." Bowie's voice was quiet but sharp.
Peter turned to Bowie, shaking with anger, entire body trembling.
"Tell us why you're so angry. Don't yell, and don't blame your brother for the wrong juice. Tell us what's wrong."
"I... I... I d...d...don't want to m...m...make anyone get p...pierced. I.... I'm t...t...t...tired of n....no o...o...one listening to m...me! It m...m...made me m...m...m...mad that M...mal used y...you against me."
Bowie nodded. "Yes, that upset me as well and I am going to have a talk with Mal."
Peter blinked. "I...it d...d...d...did?"
"Absolutely. He has no business in our private lives, as long as they don't interfere with club business." Bowie shifted, turned to look right at Peter. "Whether or not you pierce anyone is up to you. And any argument you have with management is between them and you. I will stand behind you, but you and Mal need to deal with each other."
Peter nodded and then pointed over at him. "M...m...me and Pauly."
That eyebrow of Bowie's went up. It wasn't nearly so annoying when it wasn't raised at him. "I didn't realize Paul had anything to do with the piercing side of things -- I thought that was your bailiwick."
Peter frowned, looked at him. "Th...th...th... It's ours."
Paul looked down. Bowie'd said that he didn't have to protect Peter all the time. Bowie'd said he didn't have to do it all the time.
"Does Paul do piercing?"
> "N...no."
"So if you won't pierce someone it's got nothing to do with Paul, so it would be between you and management."
Peter shook his head, visibly pouting. "N...no. Me and P...paul."
"But Peter..." He looked over to Bowie for assistance.
"No." Peter moved across the room, grabbing his hands. "Y...you and m...m...m...m...m...m..."
"You can't stand in his shadow forever, Peter. Paul loves you and will always support you just as I do, in fact probably more, but you need to start facing people on your own."
Peter's eyes caught his, completely blocking out Bowie, staring at him. Needing him. Breaking his heart.
"Peter. I know you think you need Paul to fight all your battles but you're forgetting one thing. Your fight with Malachi this morning? You stood up to him on your own. You didn't even back down when he threatened to bring me in. You did that, Peter. You. It's very impressive."
Peter blinked and Paul nodded. "You were amazing. I didn't help 'cause you were fine." He winked. "Almost mean."
Peter blinked again, blushing dark. "M...m...m...m..."
He nodded. "Almost."
Bowie chuckled. "And Malachi isn't exactly known as a pushover."
Peter's eyes went wide, fury fading and shame taking its place -- just like always. "O...o...o...oh. P...p...pauly. S...s...s...s...s..."
He pulled Peter into his arms and gave him a hard kiss. "You're okay. We're okay. Breathe."
Bowie came to kneel behind Peter, pressing them all together. "Everyone's okay, yes? You did a good, strong thing today, Peter. And Paul stood back and let it happen. I am very proud of both of you."
Peter curled up against him, holding on tight and he just hugged his twin tight, meeting Bowie's eyes over Peter's shoulder.
Bowie smiled at him, green eyes full of pride and pleasure and it was directed at him.
At him.
He blushed and grinned, burying his face in Peter's shoulder, stomach fluttering.
Bowie's purr was soft, hand warm through his hair, on his neck. "I think you deserve a reward, Paul. What would you like?"
"Me?" He blinked up, surprised. "Really?"
"Yes, Paul, you. You've been very mature today." Bowie grinned and winked. "I'd like to encourage this behavior."
He stuck his tongue out, rolling his eyes and laughing along with Peter.
"I'll take whatever you think I deserve, Bowie." He met Bowie's eyes again, suddenly shy. It was easier to be bad, almost. Less... open.
Bowie's eyebrow went up. "A chance to choose your own reward and you give it up? Are you sure you're feeling all right, Paul?"
He recoiled a little inside, stung. He sucked at being good anyway. "Yeah. Let's go dancing or swimming or something. Something less boring than sitting and bitching."
"You see -- it's a good thing you chose for yourself. I would have picked something more private."
He nodded and shrugged, sliding out from under Peter. "I'm going to go get a shower. I smell like work."
Bowie frowned and stood, arms going across his chest, legs planted firmly on the ground. "All right, what's wrong?"
He arched his eyebrows -- what was good for the twins was good for the top. "Wrong with who?"
"With you. You're not acting like yourself."
"What do you mean? I am, too. I'm being a brat. Just like me. I'll see you at latemeal." He tossed his head, wishing for a minute that he hadn't cut his hair. It worked so much better with hair.
Bowie sighed and shook his head. "You know what, Paul? That's fine. Just go. You can both just go. I need some time to meditate."
He nodded and slipped out the door, damned no matter what. He stopped at their flat for a heartbeat, then headed to the lift. Fuck it. He was going to play. He went to the main floor and waved to the doorman on his way out, the night sky lit up and sparkling, the whole city waiting for someone who wasn't any fucking good at being good.
Chapter Eight
Weeks. Paul had been gone for weeks -- only two comms from him the whole time. One that first night, saying not to worry, that he had Bowie now, that Paul wasn't good at being good and wasn't going to try anymore. One a ten-day later, the little head shaved bald, Paul shivering on a public comm, wishing him love and a happy birthday. Then a huge silence -- weeks and weeks of nothing where his heart hurt and his belly hurt and he worried.
Then, finally, today, another comm, Paul looking thin and messy, black circles under his eyes. "Hey, Petey. Been missing you. How's it going with Bowie?"
He shook his head, fingers frantically paging Bowie to come. "We m...m...miss you. Where are you? Come h...h...home."
"I miss you, too. I'm around. Don't really have a permanent spot yet. Been working here and there. What did you do for your birthday?"
"M...missed you. C...c...cried. Pauly. Pauly please. I w...w...want to see you."
"You are seeing me, love." Paul looked at the unit. "Don't cry, love. You're okay."
Bowie came around the corner from the kitchen. "Peter, is everything -- Paul!"
Paul nodded, hand sliding over his shaved head, then gave Bowie a little wave. He could see a long bruise covering Paul's arm, leading up into the dark shirt. "Hey. I was just calling to see how you both were."
Bowie growled low when the bruise came into sight. "Worried out of our minds. Come home, Paul."
"No reason to worry. I'm cool. Playing around. Trying to find a spot of my own, you know?" Someone yelled and Paul's eyes closed for a second, before that bright, horrible, fake smile appeared. "I'm going to have to go soon. My... ride's waiting for me. Miss you both, though. Lots."
He shuddered, tears filling his eyes. "Oh, d...don't g...go y...y...yet. N...not y...y...yet. You j...j...hust c...called."
"I have to turn the stove off in the kitchen," Bowie said. "Please stay on the line while I do that. I'll be right back. Please Paul, we've missed you so much." Bowie stepped away from the vid, pulling out his personal commlink and speaking quickly and quietly into it.
"Oooh, what's for dinner, love? Fruit or noodles?"
Peter grinned and shrugged. "B...b...bowie's cooking. W...w...what d...did you h...have?"
"Oh, they've got all sorts of nutribars and stuff you can get. They're sort of gross, but they fill you up for a couple of days." Paul gave him a smile, this one real. "You look tired, Petey. You should sleep more. Tell Bowie to take better care of you."
"I w...w...want you to c...c...come and help, P...p...paul." More than anything.
"I was screwing shit up, love, you know it. I couldn't be good worth a damn and being bad just pissed everyone off. It's better like this. Nobody cares if I'm a bitch out here."
"The only way you screwed shit up was by leaving, Paul." Bowie stepped up next to him, hand reaching for his, holding it tightly. Bowie hadn't slept much since Paul had gone missing, had spent most of his spare time looking for Paul. Bowie'd even hired a private investigator. "You can't run away from things just because they aren't easy, Paul. The things worth having aren't easy. Please. I promised you I had no intention of coming between you and Peter. Don't turn me into a liar, Paul. Come home."
Another yell sounded and Paul looked worried. "I can't. I have to work. I owe somebody money from last night. Wanna have coffee later? Maybe?"
"You have a job here. Come home tonight and I'll loan you the money. You can pay me back." Bowie was growling, face fierce with the dark bags under his eyes and the tight lines around his mouth. "Peter needs you. I need you."
"Do I still have a job there?" Peter could hear how badly Paul wanted to come home.
"I made arrangements with Malachi to bring in a trial replacement. If you're here and ready to start working again before the man's three months are up, then yes, you can have your job back." Peter noticed Bowie left out the fact that Paul was going to have to apologize to Mal and promise it wouldn't happen again.
Bowie cleared his throat. "Paul. Come home. Please."
Another scream, this one clos
er and Paul nodded, quick and scared, skin paling. "As soon as I can. Promise. I gotta go. I miss you both. So much."
"Paul! Bring them here -- we'll be waiting at the side entrance with money." Bowie barked the order out, voice urgent.
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