WHO: Martin Boot & Nicole Bardera
WHERE: Nick's flat
WHEN: December '78
WHAT: Self-pitying Martin, Fed-up Nick. Not a good combo.

The numerous fights that had blown up via his journal had left Martin reeling. A number of emotions were tearing through him all at once: anger, frustration, depression... just to name a few. His blow-up with his brother had been completely unexpected and was perhaps what had damaged him the most (though Nick's interference with her brother and the consequential blow to his ego didn't go lightly, either). It was Christmas. He'd been a fucking idiot to assume that that fact might give his siblings and him a reason to actually interact with one another for a change. As time went on, Martin was coming to realize more and more that the loss of his parents had left him without a family. He was alone. Well... maybe not completely alone. He had a certain tough-as-nails blonde to call his, but he'd even managed to fuck that up tonight too. And so the night found him in his apartment by himself, pouring himself another stiff one when the scratch of talons against his window alerted him to the presense of an owl outside. Muttering, he stood and let it in, taking the official Ministry evelope from the winged animal before turning it loose once more. He must have read it a hundred times. Two hundred, maybe. He knew it by heart by the time he finally apperated to Nick's house, pounding urgently on the door, not caring how late it was or how mad she was at him. He couldn't be alone. He just couldn't. When she opened the door he was standing there, the paper bunched in his other fist, his hair disheveled and hanging into his eyes, the only part of him that was emitting any kind of emotion. THe rest of him seemed made of stone... tense, hard, stoic. But those eyes betrayed what a mess he truly was.

She couldn't sleep. She hadn't been able to get any peace of mind since she had slammed her journal down on the coffee table after her last comment to Martin, and she was stupid to even bother to get into her pajamas and lay in bed because there was no way she'd be getting sleep any time soon. Nicole made a sound of frustration and rubbed her palms into her eyelids and was about to stand up and look to see if there weren't some sort of drugs around for her to take when she heard a frantic pounding at her front door.

What the hell, if it was another reporter asking about the match she was going to kill them, or you know, if it was anyone barring a small child or her mother she'd probably kill them--and even her mother wasn't a sure bet, because she'd produced the brother that she currently wanted to bash the head in of and she threw the door open roughly, anger renewed, only to go stiff at finding a very, very distressed Martin standing there.

She would have screamed and slammed the door shut on him, but for the look on his face--or rather, in his eyes--that was telltale of something very, very bad. The way he looked made her falter, and she couldn't help it, because okay, this couldn't just be the fight, or the thing with her brother, or whatever, this was something else. She was almost scared to ask. "... What are you doing here?"
OriginaI Moment (2:30:31 AM): A muscle in his jaw viseably jumped when she appeared there, looking for all the world like she wanted to just slam the door in his face without a word. But she didn't. That was part of what Martin liked about her... she put on a frigid front, but she wasn't so bad. Not as tough as she made herself out to be, anyway.

But he wasn't here to think about that. He stared at her for a moment longer after she had voiced her question, swallowing harshly; his mouth had gone dry some time before but he hadn't noticed until now. He shifted slightly, adjusting his fingers around the rumpled letter and holding it up in a vague gesture of indication. "This came tonight." His voice sounded hoarse, choked with emotion and the effect of the liquor he'd consumed. "It's from the Ministry. They... they found them." His eyes darted down and to the side, his jaw jutting forward as he grappled with his own reaction. "The ones who robbed my house. The ones who..."

He looked up at her then, dark orbs blazing beneath a lowered brow. He looked about ready to punch someone, something, anyone, and then... it left him, draining from his features to leave a bewildered sort of sadness in its place, like a boy who'd been lost in a crowded market.

"I didn't have anywhere else to go," he mumbled. "I didn't know who else to go to."

The was a lot of information to process here. First, the letter, which she knew immediately once he explained it was far from good. Of course, it was good that they'd found the people that'd done the crime so that there could be closure, there could be justice, but--well, it was still obviously hard on him. Then there was the sudden anger, which scared her just a little bit to be honest, because he looked livid, not to mention there was definite alcohol on his breath.

But the biggest thing of all, was when he crashed. He just died, all his anger, and she was left with the face that she'd become so familiar with between the time his parents had died and now. It was her least favorite face of Martin's, because it made her hurt, it was like being stabbed in the chest because the pure agony behind it was something that she never wanted to see coming from him, something he didn't deserve, and--it made her want to cry for him, really, and that was something coming from the only woman on earth that wasn't prone to tears.

Wordlessly, she stepped out of the doorway, forgetting any ounce of anger she'd harbored for him just moments before, and let him inside. Nick shut the door slowly and leaned back against it as she turned the lock. "Do you want to stay the night?"

The closure was what scared him. This was it. In his hand he held the printed document that marked the end of it. His parents' deaths would be avenged. Those bastards would rot in Azkaban for the rest of their miserably lives, fodder for the demeantors. But surprisingly, these thoughts didn't comfort him the way they thought he would. For Martin Boot, there was never going to be an end to it, because nothing was going to bring his parents back and strip away the trauma of their deaths.

He moved past her wordlessly, lips pressed into a thin line as he jammed the letter into his pocket. Once inside he stood uncertainly in the entranceway, his back to her until he heard the faint click of the door closing behind them. He tilted his head to acknowlege her over one broad shoulder, her offer taking him by surprise. Stay here? He would have wanted nothing more. Falling asleep with her night after night was something that he'd grown accustomed to, something he'd grown extremely fond of.

He swiveled around to face her completely, regarding her with those lost-boy orbs before sheepishly nodding his head. "Yea. Yea, that'd be... Thanks." He cleared his throat. "I mean, I know that... that we're kinda sorta... fighting and all, but I..." He gestured clumsily with his hands, then finally stepped towards her, closing the distance between them and resting his forehead against hers.

"You probably think I'm a nancy, don't you."

"I don't think I can manage to be mad enough to yell at you right now," she muttered, closing her eyes when she felt his forehead touch hers. It was true, even if she was mad enough at him, she couldn't fight with him when he was like this. Their stupid little argument was nothing when something like this came up, and despite what people thought, Nicole Bardera did know how to get over her anger when it was really important. She knew that he needed her to be there for him because he had no one else--parents gone, sister had her own family, and brother apparently hadn't shown his face to the world in forever... It wasn't pity, it was understanding. And it wasn't obligation, it was want. She wanted to be there for him because no one else was, and she cared about him and--and it wasn't just important, it was the most important.

She sighed, breathing out quietly, and opened her eyes again at his question. "I have no room to call you a nancy," Nick answered seriously, being sure to hold his gaze. Her hands went to his arms, running up and down once before coming to rest on his shoulders. "You've been through a lot more shit than most people... But that still doesn't make me happy that you're drinking it away again--and don't argue, I smell it on you."

He shuddered under the smoothing gesture of her palms, the muscles in his arms rippling beneath her touch as they wrapped around her slender waist, tugging her with gentle insistance from the doorframe to lean against him. He lowered his face and inhaled deeply against the side of her neck, just above the shallow dip of her collar bone. Nick would never be able to comprehend the gratitude he felt for her at that moment... she made no attempts at claiming to know what he was going through, didn't use sugary, flowery metaphors to try and comfort him. She was simply there. And he couldn't have asked for anything more.

He made a noncommittal grunting noise against her pale skin in response to her accusation. He wouldn't bother to deny it. "I know. It's just... after the fight..." He slumped, frustrated, one hand absently playing with the tips of her hair. "I didn't like the way I was feeling. And I didn't have anyone to talk to." It wasn't a good excuse, and even in his drunken state he knew that. But he couldn't express the loneliness he'd been feeling in words. Martin had never been very good with words. That was Noah and Noel's thing. Not his.

""I haven't even told them yet. The twins. They hate me."

She felt a small surge of guilt rush through her at his blaming his intoxication on the fight, but fought it down. She wasn't sorry that she'd told him what she had because he'd deserved it, and he'd had no place to tell her to stay out of a fight that was about her, but she was guilty that she'd... left him alone? Not that she knew this was going to happen, but it was guilt nonetheless. "I'm not apoligizing for the fight," she told him, even though she didn't believe he was trying to coax an apology out of her. It wasn't exactly of any importance right now, their fight. "But I'm sorry I wasn't there. And that still doesn't excuse the drinking--I told you to stop, alright? I meant it, Martin, alcohol isn't helping you, and it hurts me to watch you do that to yourself, so... cut it out, or we'll have a real fight for you to get drunk over."

Nicole's right hand went into his hair to smooth it back gently, but her tone was stern insistence because as nice as she was being about it, she really did mean it. The drinking was the worst--a sad Martin she could deal with as long as he wasn't throwing back bottles of firewhiskey on top of it. "Now, why in the hell are you crazy enough to think your brother and sister hate you?"

"Because they do," he insisted, lifting his head from her shoulder. "Noel's all busy with her husband, who, by the way, is a complete wanker, and Noah..." He released his hold on her and brought both hands to his hair, instantly messing up the strands she had tried to smooth down just moments before. The mere idea of his younger brother made him tense and frustrated; he had no idea how to communicate with him, not even the vaguest clue as to why he was even on his shit-list right now.

"Noah just... we never got along, I guess. He just thinks I'm some stupid fuckhead, you know?" He crossed over to her couch and sank onto it, pressing his elbows into his knees and digging the heels of his palms against his eyelids. "And I am, I guess. I'm not smart like them. And they're all twinsy and stuff so they always had each other so..." He shrugged and blinked at her blearily. He really didn't know how many more emotional ass-kickings he could take. He felt bruised and exhausted and drained, and he just wanted it to stop.

"And you shouldn't have to deal with it, I know," he snapped, suddenly angry but not at her. He was angry at himself. He didn't like having this baggage, and he didn't like dumping it all on her and he didn't like her seeing him like this all the fucking time.

Her eyes rolled back in her head for a moment--just to herself, she made sure he wasn't looking--before Nick followed him over to the couch. She didn't join him in sitting, rather stood over him with crossed arms and a stern look on her face--this was ridiculous, he was being ridiculous, and she'd had about enough of it. You could only support a person for so long before they started rambling off nonesense, which was exactly what he was doing.

"Shut up, Martin, seriously," she snapped at him. "If you're talking like this all the time, then I can see why Noah would think you're stupid--which you aren't, and I very much doubt he really thinks you are. I doubt even more that he or your sister hate you. I've got siblings, okay, I'm not completely oblivious to the way relationships work in a family---I argue with Tristan all the fucking time over lots of shit, but I don't sit around and mope that he hates me. Jonathan? I never got along with him until we both grew up and learned to appreciate that we had each other... Noah is the stupid one, not you. He's young, he doesn't unerstand, and he will some day, but until then you've got to let him know you'll be there to be his brother when he comes around."

Nicole shook her head and looked him up and down for a moment, turning around and walking off into the kitchen as if she couldn't stare at him anymore. "You're not being a good example as a brother being so pissed off your arse, though. I'm getting you a bloody sobering potion."

His eyes hardened as he stared up at her. Great. She thought he was just being self-pitying. Which... he was. But still! There was definite truth in his evaluation of his relationship with his siblings. "You don't even know them!" he snapped, but she was already walking away from him, muttering something about a sobering potion. Rising abruptly to his feet, he followed after her, stalking into the kitchen on her heels and finally grabbing her by the elbow, spinning her around to face him. He wasn't being rough with her, he would never do something like that, but it was quite obvious that he was magnificently pissed by the way he was using his slight height advantage to stare down at her with stormy eyes.

Maybe she was right. Maybe he was just being ridiculous and, perhaps, just a tad emo. But acknowleging these things only served to enhance his feelings of inadequacy and helplessness. Martin's temper wasn't something that was very widely known, but he was quite capable of completely blowing his lid if pressed hard enough and, right now, he was teetering dangerously on the edge of an explosion. It wasn't her fault, not really... it was just a lot of things piled together, and her condescension was just a cherry on top. "If I wanted to be sober, I would be! And don't just walk away from me like that, for fuck's sake!"

"Then stop acting like a goddamn baby!" she yelled back at him, seemingly unintimidated by his height. Nick stared up into his face with hard eyes. "Your parents are dead? Fine, get depressed over that. They found the killers? Fine, I'll even give you that. But for the love of God, Martin Boot, don't you start whining like a little bitch and spouting off self-pitying garbage about how your siblings hate you and think you're stupid!"

Okay, so she was pissed off now, seriously. Nick knew she didn't have the best track record with patience in the world, but she'd been patient enough with him, and she wasn't going to sit here and listen to him pity himself and spout off nonsense. "And don't grab me like that." She pulled her arm roughly from his grasp, but didn't turn around to walk away again. Nick stared straight at him still, serious as before, but her tone dropped dangerously.

"I don't have to be nice to you tonight, I don't have to help you tonight, and I don't have to let you sleep here tonight, but I am, so the least you could do is show me some fucking respect and not get pissy with me when I'm trying to help you. I should fucking shove you out the door and you can really have no one, so stop acting like a goddamn child."

His jaw tensed dangerously, his teeth audibly grinding as he unflinchingly stood in the face of her verbal attacks. He released her arm without reluctance, letting her pry herself from his grasp with only a sharp intake of breath to indicate that the lack of contact bothered him. He narrowed his eyes at her, his nostrils flared, and while her tone dropped to a dangerous pitch his only increased in volume. "Well fucking bully for you, Nick! You don't know my family! How the fuck can you even talk and write off everythign I say when you don't fucking know anything about it?!"

Instead of closing the distance between them as he usually did when he was upset, he stepped away from her, his face flushing as his inability to handle his emotions once again would become blaringly obvious to her. "You call this being nice?! You call this helping me?! Fuck it, Nick, I don't want to be here if you don't want me here. I'll save you the trouble and show myself to the damn door, if that's what you want!" His eyes darted to the floor then, and he was looking anywhere but at her. He was hoping, praying that she wouldn't kick him out, and he seemed almost scared that she would call his bluff, breathing heavily and clenching and unclenching his fists.

"No, I don't know them, but I sure as hell know what it's like to have siblings you think hate you. Never mind, though, sue me for trying to make you feel better--I almost forgot for a second that you seem to want to make your life look worse and worse, my mistake."

As she watched him make a distance between them, Nicole could almost smell the trick he was trying to play. It was even more evident in the way that he avoided looking at her--he didn't mean a single fucking thing he was saying and he definitely didn't want her to tell him to get out. Something said to Nick that she should take pity, tell him she didn't want him to leave...
but goddamnit, she was so mad at him right now, especially now that he'd gone and totally forgotten about the fact that she'd stood here and hugged him and listened to him and--fuck him, if he wanted to keep being an idiot about this and leave when whatever.

"Well then don't just stand there, go," she answered harshly. "I don't need to listen to you be an ungrateful jackass any more." She turned and walked out of the kitchen this time, down the hall, wondering what he was going to do. At the moment, she really didn't fucking care.

This time he actually did wince, his face contorting briefly as his gaze snapped up just in time to watch her walk away. Again. He felt like the wind was knocked out of him, and for a long moment he just stood there in the kitchen by himself, staring at the spot she'd been standing in just minutes before. How the hell had this turned so bad? He groaned and rubbed his hands over his face, his emotional whirlwind dying down abruptly as it always did. Too abruptly. It left him feeling cold and lightheaded and with the strong desire to vomit. He thumped his head against the wall, sighed, then made his way to the door, fulfilling his promise and showing himself out. He didn't slam the door, instead he tried to make as little noise as was humanly possible.

He was, he thought admittedly, the biggest idiot in the world.