Fic: Alone Together

[amedia]

Title: Alone Together
Characters: Glitch, Cain
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Imagiquest Entertainment. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Rating: G
Warnings: Pre-slash, alcohol
Word Count: 1138
Summary: Cain and Glitch insist they're not drunk
Author's Note: Response to prompt #38 from magic4mula: "flit ... scissors ... calculate ... spring."



"I. Am. Not. Drunk," Glitch said, enunciating each word with far too much precision. "I am flit as a fiddle. Sharp as ... " he trailed off, trying to think of the right simile.

"A tack?" suggested Cain, who was swaying slightly on his barstool. "Tacks are sharp." He took another sip of his drink. "So I've heard."

"No ... " said Glitch. "That would be too cliche'd. I am sharp as--scissors!" He pronounced the word with great care and nodded, proud of his success. "Yes. Sharp as ..." Unsure whether he could pronounce "scissors" correctly twice in a row, he took refuge in periphrasis. "Sharp as those sharp things you cut with."

"That's very sharp," Cain said, nodding his approval.

"So you see," Glitch continued, hiccuping slightly. "Flit. Sharp. Not drunk."

"Shouldn't that be 'fit'?" Cain said, his slow skepticism deciphering Glitch's earlier speech at last. "Fit as a fiddle?"

Glitch waved the suggestion away so dramatically that he nearly lost his balance and clung to the bar with both hands to regain it. "That would be too ... common." He didn't have quite enough confidence to try to pronounce "bourgeois." He wriggled a bit on his precarious perch and the world became steadier. "I must say, Cain," he added, "this was an excellent place to celebrate Raw's promotion." Their friend's ambassadorship, suggested by the Queen, had been confirmed by Raw's people, and Raw was now entering on the delicate business of negotiating restitution for the Sorceress' crimes against the Viewers who had fallen into her hands.

Cain looked around. "Where is Raw? Wasn't he just here?" Then he saw the clock on the wall behind the bar, and remembered. "That's right. He has to get up tomorrow."

"Poor soul," said Glitch. "Or maybe he had a reason to duck out and leave us alone together. Hey, that's an oxymoron. Cool."

Cain was going to ask what Glitch meant by Raw having a reason to duck out and leave them, and then he was going to ask what an oxymoron was (he was reasonably sure it didn't refer to himself), but the racks of bottles behind the bar caught his eye. He looked at the well-stocked shelves and felt suddenly smug.

"You know what they don't have here?" he asked, slurring only slightly.

"They don't have Raw," said Glitch.

"Besides Raw," said Cain, with exaggerated patience.

"No," said Glitch, "I don't know. Pray enlighten me."

"They don't have a brand-new bottle of Winkie Wodka here!"

Glitch scanned the shelves. "They don't even have a half-empty one! Or a quarter-empty! Or an eighth empty! Or a sixteenth--"

Cain held up a hand to stop Glitch lest he spend the entire night halving fractions. "But I do."

"A sixteenth-empty one?"

"A brand-new, completely full one. Never opened."

"What are we waiting for?" Glitch asked, and jumped down from his barstool, skidding only slightly as he landed.

******

Two glasses each of Winkie Wodka later, Glitch had to admit he had reached his limit. "I would help you finish the bottle, Cain," he managed to stammer out, "but I can't keep my eyes open, and I can't drink with my eyes closed." He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them. "Although, come to think of it, I can't think why not."

Cain put the top back on the bottle, checked that it was properly closed, and checked it again. "Me neither. I mean, I can't think of a reason either, but I can't drink any more." He looked around the generously-sized suite of rooms he had been given as head of palace security. "It's a really long way to the door," he said.

"And I would calculate that back to my rooms it's approximately ... " Glitch screwed up his face in concentration for a moment. "Three hundred and forty-seven miles."

"That's too far," Cain said solemnly. "Especially when there's a couch right here."

"Where?" Glitch asked, startled, looking around.

Cain laughed. It was hard to stop. Finally he sputtered out, "Under your butt!"

Glitch looked down. "Great Ozma, you're right!"

He leaned down and began untying his shoes. It was a very difficult and delicate operation. Cain watched him for a few minutes, then bent down, bumping Glitch's head with his own, and pulled the shoes off by force. "Thank you," said Glitch, solemnly. He put his feet up on the couch and laid his head at the other end.

Cain stared at him for a moment, trying to figure out what was missing. "Wait a minute," he said. He staggered into the bedroom and returned a few minutes later with a spare blanket and pillow. He tucked the pillow under Glitch's head and covered him with the blanket.

"Thanks, Mom," came a muffled voice, followed by a chuckle.

Cain thwapped Glitch lightly on the arm and stumbled to his own bed.


******


Hours later, Cain was startled awake by a soft sound, barely audible. He went out into the larger room and turned on the light.

Glitch was sitting up on the couch, staring around him in fear and trying to stifle a small, whimpering noise. Cain realized that in all Glitch's years of wandering, he must have learned not to yell out lest he bring danger upon himself.

Cain walked over to the couch, trying to make a lot of noise so as not to startle his friend with a sudden silent appearance; Glitch looked ready to spring up at any moment. Sitting down beside him, Cain asked quietly, "Glitch? Do you know where you are?"

Glitch turned wide, sleep-clouded eyes to him. "No, I don't. I don't recognize any of this." Then his eyes seemed to focus and he relaxed visibly. "But it doesn't matter now."

"Why not?" Cain asked.

Glitch reached out with one hand and took hold of Cain's shoulder, squeezing it as if to verify that it was real. Finally satisfied, he said, "Because you're here."

The wholehearted trust in that simple statement made Cain feel as if someone had been chipping away at the ice around his heart with an icepick for months, and had finally had the sense to use a blowtorch. For a moment he didn't know what to say.

Finally he said, "Why don't you come sleep in my room tonight. Then if you wake up, you'll know it's okay."

He realized, almost as soon as he said it, that he could have volunteered to walk Glitch back to his own familiar room instead. What possessed him to invite Glitch into his bedroom? I must still be drunk, he thought, helping pull Glitch to his feet, feeling the pleasant warmth of Glitch's body leaning against him on the way to the other room and the brush of Glitch's curls against his cheek. Yeah. That's it.

Comments

Re: Needing stitches now....

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Thanks so much! *holds out needle and thread*