Title: Call Waiting (3 A.M. Eternal Remix)
Author: Charles (junpei@garbersoft.net)
Summary: Holden. Always Holden.
Pairing: Banky/Holden
Rating: R
Notes: Remix of Kelandris's Call Waiting.
Spoilers: Yes, for Chasing Amy
Disclaimer: Not mine in any way, shape or form.

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I don't know how it started. One too many drinks, probably. I've held the phone so long my hand is curled in its shape. I've dialed the number again and again, always disconnecting before it can actually ring. This time, I don't press that button and the call goes through.

I hold my breath as the phone rings on the other end. Christ, this is insane. I should just hang up. Then the phone's picked up and I know he's there. I try to keep my breathing low.

Then he speaks.

"Whozere? Is it--?"

It takes him a moment, but he knows it's me. Because he says, "...Bank? Is that you?"

And sweet fucking Christ, it HURTS. It hurts worse than the time that nun kicked me in the balls in seventh grade. It hurts more than that time with Brandi Svenning when her dad walked in. That knife twists in my heart again and I gasp. A little.

It all comes back to me, even as he says, "Banky, say something."

That fateful night with Alyssa Jones. When I'd said yes to his question, because I wanted Holden, even if it meant sharing with her. The awkwardness as we'd messenger'd the remaining issues on our contract back and forth. God, the lonely nights, the drinking. The pain.

I wipe away a tear as I stare at the phone. I want to say something. I can't.

Holden's voice comes over the reciever again. "Listen," and I can hear his voice catching, trembling. "We need to talk. I need to talk. I..."

I can't. I can't talk to him yet. My silence doesn't stop him from continuing. "You call me, Bank, okay? When you're ready to talk. When you're ready to talk...I'm ready to listen. I...I need to talk to you, okay?"

A sob starts to escape from me as I place my hand over the bottom of the handset. I'll be damned if I'm going to let him hear me cry. I feel a twinge of regret as I click the phone off and set it down. Instead of throwing it across the room like I want to.

The tears roll down my face, tickling as they reach my beard. I wipe them away with one hand curled into a fist as I sit down at the drafting table. I clear away my current project and put my arms down on my head. I know my neck will hurt in the morning. I don't care.

I close my eyes and the tears continue to flow. Behind my eyes I see him. Holden. Holden. Always Holden.