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Anson starts at the sound of the phone. There's no doubt as to who's on the other end, not at this hour. Anson jumps up and stumbles around the room, quickly tidying up, hiding the empty bottle and glass behind the couch. He straightens his clothes and runs his hands through his hair, then drops down on the couch and hits the button.

"Hey, Bobby."

"Good morning, sunshine." Bobby hasn't the faintest idea what time it is, where he is or in New York. He just thinks it might be Monday there. "How ya doing?"

"Okay."

Anson sits up straighter and smiles.

"How are you? How's Sicily?"

He speaks a little more slowly than usual, being careful not to slur. That last word's a bitch, especially after a bottle of scotch. Fuck. Maybe next time they'll go to Dubai.

"Sicily's full of uptight British assholes. It's great." He smirks, then narrows his eyes a little to look at Anson. "Ya look like shit."

Edited 2008-08-05 02:29 (UTC)

"Huh? Oh, well, it's real late here. Or real early, depending on how you look at it." He laughs, perhaps a little too loudly. "I haven't been to bed yet."

"Where's Arthur?" He leans back and grins, reaching for a cigarette and his glass of wine.

"He's got the late shift at the club tonight. He'll be home in an hour or two."

Bobby sits back with a cigarette and a glass of wine, clearly settling in for a nice long chat. Anson swallows nervously.

"Um, so what have you and Leo been up to?"

"Lots of sex. Lots of dirty looks from bigoted assholes. Lots of counting the days until we go the rest of the way home." He lights his cigarette and inhales deeply. "And yeah, 'fore ya say it, she told us not to cut it short."

Edited 2008-08-05 02:45 (UTC)

"Wasn't gonna say anything," Anson mumbles. He slouches a little, moving just slightly out of camera range. Not enough that he appears to be avoiding its red eye, but enough so that Bobby will hopefully not notice his. "You should enjoy yourselves, sure. You only get one first honeymoon, right?"

He watches Anson for a moment, then leans forward some. "True. But, 'nough 'bout me. Whatcha up to, son? How's ya classes going?"

"Okay." Anson shrugs. "You know. The usual. I don't like 'em but..." He shrugs. "I go and I do what they tell me."

Edited 2008-08-05 03:08 (UTC)

"And what'd they tell ya at ya last class?"

Anson lights a cigarette, trying to act casual.

"Which one?"

Stalling for time? Never.

"The last one." Bobby's got an eyebrow raised and his eyes have narrowed slightly as he watches the younger man.

Anson fidgets, avoiding Bobby's eyes.

"Um..." He frowns, as if deep in thought. "They said, um, they talked about..." He runs a hand through his hair. Fuck's sake, Anson. THINK. "Uh, they said it's confidential. And everybody had to say their name. And they said a bunch of sta...sta-tis-tics. And that, um, substance abuse is, like, one of those things where sometimes you don't realize it's a problem, and then when you do, you have to ask for help cause it's too big to fix it all on your own."

"And what are ya doing right now?" He's pretty sure he knows the answer, but he wants to see if Anson's going to lie to him or not.

Wha? says that innocent look.

"Talking to you."

His eyebrow creeped higher. "What else? Ya don't get that slightly guilty look from talkin' to me."

Anson swallows hard and looks away. After a moment, he stands up. He looks at Bobby, his eyes sad and empty.

"I was thinking of going to bed," he says, his voice oddly hollow. "You should enjoy your honeymoon, Bobby. Be happy. Don't worry about me."

He pushes the button and the screen goes black.

In that moment, when the screen goes dark, Bobby's eyes narrow dangerously. For a brief moment, he is livid. Then he picks up his wine, takes another drink, and calls back.

Anson is about to reach for the bottle again when the phone rings. He turns around, hesitating and biting his lip. Finally, on the fourth ring, he takes a deep breath and pushes the button.

Edited 2008-08-06 03:27 (UTC)

"I just wanted to say that when ya feel like actually talking, ya got my number." He sighs softly. "Now ya can do back to going to bed."

Anson sinks down on the couch.

"I'm sorry." He can't meet Bobby's eyes. "You didn't deserve that." He scrubs a hand over his face, finally looking up at the image on the screen. "Maybe we could talk now? If you still want to."

Edited 2008-08-06 03:43 (UTC)

"Why don't ya tell me what ya want? Ya wanna talk, we'll talk. Ya wanna go to bed, go to bed."

"I wasn't really going to bed," Anson admits softly. "I was drinking. A lot."

"Why? Why are ya drinking? Jesus, Anson."

Anson runs a shaking hand through his hair.

"I just..."

I'm just falling apart.

"I just had a really shitty day, that's all."

"Mind if I make a suggestion, son?" He rubs his eyes and sighs softly, wondering how well what he's going to say will be received, given that he has a glass of wine at his elbow.

Anson shakes his head.

"No, sir." He laughs softly, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "I could use one right about now."

"Get a gym membership. Ya in the city that don't sleep, 24 hour gyms all over the damn place. Better to work out then get drunk."

Anson looks down at his belly, then looks up sheepishly.

"We've got one here in the building. I just don't use it."

He leaned back and pat his own belly, for the most part rock solid although the honeymoon's made him just a little soft when he slouches. "Maybe ya should. Helluva lot better for ya. Get those endorphins going."

Anson's softer than he was when he was in the Marines, but there's still not much belly to speak of. This is not, of course, due to any love of a healthy diet or exercise. It's merely genetic good fortune, nature having gifted him with a metabolism capable of handling vast amounts of junk food and alcohol.

He notices the wine, but doesn't say anything. He slumps down a little, fingers tugging at the frayed white strings that surround the hole in the knee of his jeans.

"Okay. I'll try it."

Sometime.

He watches him for another moment, then shrugs. "Yeah ya will. Maybe." He reached for his wine and finishes off the glass, then sets it out of sight and shrugs. "Maybe ya should just go back to whatever ya was doing. Ain't nothing I say gonna stick right now, I don't think."

Anson looks up at him. He opens his mouth to say good night, but what comes out is, "I fucked up."

He narrows his eyes slightly, then relaxes when he parses what Anson just said. "Do ya wanna talk 'bout it, son?"

"I broke a promise to my little brother." He looks down, ashamed. "He's hurt and he's mad as hell and I'm not sure he's ever gonna talk to me again."