Fic: Aggression
Trying without much success to keep from blinking, Sam pulled the ice trays out from the freezer. He leaned into the cool air that rushed out to greet him as it provided him with some relief from the heat that was still pounding in his face. This momentary reprieve, however, was interrupted by the sound of Eric at the door.
Crap. He was early.
“Sam? What are you doing home? I didn’t know you were going to be off this after-- What the hell?”
Unable to hide in the freezer any longer, Sam had turned to look at Eric, displaying his newly acquired black eye.
“What happened?” Eric was at him in an instant, cupping his face gently. “How in the hell did you manage this?”
“Hold on, just getting some ice,” Sam said, smiling and then wincing when the movement of his cheek pinched the sensitive bruise forming around his eye.
“Use this,” Eric said, reaching past him and grabbing a bag of frozen peas. He placed it up against Sam’s face carefully, grimacing in empathy as Sam drew in a sharp, pained breath. “So what happened?”
“I got punched in the face. I guess that’s the normal way people get black eyes.”
Eric’s concerned expression immediately hardened. “Someone hit you? Who?”
“My client. John Fazier . . . he’s getting suspended pending an investigation into steroid use . . . and I can tell you I’ve pretty much drawn my own conclusions on that front.”
“Are you fucking kidding me? Why did he punch you?”
“I think it was a shoot-the-messenger thing. And probably a little roid rage.”
Eric was still frowning. “Did you hit him back?”
Sam rolled his eyes in response, which also hurt. “Yeah, I got up and punched an athlete hopped up on steroids.”
“Got up? He knocked you down?”
Despite the frozen peas pressed against his face, Sam felt his cheeks flush. “Well, he caught me off guard. And he hits pretty hard.”
“I didn’t mean it like that, Sam. Jesus . . .” Eric removed the peas to run his fingertips over the spot. “It’s already kind of swollen. What an asshole . . . what are they going to do about him?”
“They? Which they?”
“I dunno . . . your firm. I mean, he could be charged with assault, couldn’t he?”
“We don’t usually have our clients charged with assault, Eric. And I haven’t told them yet.”
“What? Why the hell not?”
“I wanted to get cleaned up first.”
“Why? So they wouldn’t see how badly he hurt you? That’s bullshit, Sam. I don’t care if he is your client. I don’t think he fucking deserves representation.”
“Look, I’m going to go back to the office now . . . I’ll let you know how it goes.” Sam pressed forward, brushing his lips against Eric’s quickly.
“Let me drive,” Eric said, surprising him. “You need to keep holding those peas.”
*
The surprises kept coming as they pulled into the parking lot and Eric hopped out of the car before Sam did. He’d had a seriously deep scowl on his face the entire drive over, and now Eric’s sour look was magnified as he stalked into the building, striding a few steps in front of Sam.
Eric barreled through the hallways before coming upon Eleanor, who froze abruptly with a stack of binders in her arms. “Eric? What are you doing here? Haven’t seen you since . . . Sam! What happened?”
Sam blushed, beginning to tire of the concern on everyone’s faces when they saw him. “Hey, is Sampson busy? I need to talk to him.”
“Um, no, I don’t think so . . .” She flitted worried glances between him and Eric.
Trying to take the lead then, Sam brushed past Eric, but as soon as they neared the lush corner office where his boss currently sat, Eric was somehow in front of him again.
“McNally?” Fred Sampson said, standing and buttoning his jacket over his rounded middle. “Been a long time. What can we do for you today?”
“What you can do is quit representing scum,” Eric snapped. “I’m not saying I was a peach to work with, but I never hit anyone off the ice.”
Sampson crinkled his face in confusion until he spotted Sam hovering behind Eric’s shoulder. “Miller? What’s going on? What happened to your face?”
Placing a hand on Eric’s arm, which was tightened in agitation, Sam pushed his way forward. “Could we speak for a moment in your office?” he asked. Sampson nodded, and when Eric tried to advance into the space as well, Sam added, “Alone.”
Eleanor had at some point arrived on the scene and she smoothly stepped in to take Eric’s arm. “Come, chat with me for a little while. I haven’t seen you in ages,” she smiled, dragging a reluctant Eric away.
Fred Sampson didn’t close the door or step very far into his office before he crossed his arms, obviously perturbed at having such a strange situation going on under his nose that he knew nothing about.
“Alright Miller. What on earth is going on? And what is McNally doing here?”
“I went to tell Fazier about the suspension. He didn’t take the news very well.” Sam shrugged, pointing to his eye.
“Damn.” Sampson whistled softly. “Well, you’re certainly within your rights to file charges against him . . .”
Sam didn’t have to ask to know that definitely wasn’t what Sampson preferred.
“I guess I’m willing to let it slide," he said eventually. “But I’m not sure I want to represent him anymore.”
“Of course not, of course not.” Sampson nodded, clearly relieved. “We’ll find someone else to handle him, and it’d probably be a good idea if we send a pair. Yeah, the guy definitely has some problems. Sorry about the eye.”
“It’s alright.” Sam shrugged again.
Eleanor tapped on the open door before sliding in. “Eric’s waiting in the car,” she said to Sam quietly. “I think two minutes was probably his fill of small-talk for the year.”
“McNally,” Sampson grunted, suddenly reminded of him. “What was he doing here? What does he have to do with any of this?”
Sam felt the flush crawling up his cheeks, and his lips twitched uselessly while Eleanor used her considerably less nervous ones to answer for him. “He’s a friend of Sam’s.”
Sampson nodded for a moment in acceptance before folding his brows into a puzzled expression once again. “Friends? I thought they didn’t get along. Isn’t that why you took over last year?”
That last comment was directed at Eleanor, who for once didn’t seem to have a quick response. Instead she turned to Sam with questioning eyes while Sam shrugged helplessly.
Eleanor sighed. “Actually, they get along quite well. That’s why I took over.”
Sampson just shook his head, uncomprehending, as Eleanor arched her eyebrows meaningfully. Sam hung his head to avoid eye contact.
“They get along?” Sampson said slowly, continuing to shake his head for a few more seconds and then stopping the movement abruptly. “Oh. Oh. McNally is . . . oh. I just never thought . . . he didn’t seem like the type . . .”
“The type?” Eleanor asked, leaning into the words and using her inflection to communicate this wasn’t really something Sampson should be saying.
“Uh, right, sorry. Well, in any case, you should take the rest of the day off, Miller. I’ll follow up with Fazier today and let him know his behavior was unacceptable, and that we won’t be able to continue to work with him unless he changes his attitude.”
“Right, thanks,” Sam said, counting down the seconds before he could make a socially acceptable exit.
“Better go now,” Eleanor said, “Before Eric gets annoyed enough to come back and give everyone another piece of his mind.”
Sam smiled gratefully with one more awkward nod at his boss before making his way out.
*
Back home, Eric pulled Sam down on the couch, taking over the job of holding a bag of mixed frozen vegetables, which had now replaced the peas, to Sam’s eye.
“I just outed myself to your entire office, didn’t I,” Eric said with a groan.
“Nah, not the entire office. Just my boss. And I wouldn’t worry too much. Us lawyers can be a pretty discreet bunch.”
Eric sighed and lifted the frozen vegetables to re-examine Sam’s eye. “We should have better first-aid stuff here. If I were still playing . . . well we’d have something other than peas and carrots to put on your eye. Although I’m not sure there’s much to be done about it in this case.”
“I guess I should be kind of proud,” Sam chuckled softly. “My first ever black eye.”
“First ever?” Eric laughed. “Didn’t you ever get in any fights as a kid?”
“Yes, I did,” Sam said defensively, although he wasn’t sure why he should be proud of that admission. “Plenty, in fact. I told you, I was out in high school, thanks to Billy. I guess those guys were just kind enough not to hit in the face.” He grinned at thinking of his childhood tormentors as “kind” in any way, but Eric frowned, his playful mood evidently dispelled.
“I wish I’d been there for you,” he said softly. “I wouldn’t have had a problem hitting them in the face.”
“Yeah, right,” Sam teased. “You were a closeted jock. You probably would have been right there with them.”
Eric’s gaze hardened even more, prompting Sam to reach out and stroke his cheek. “I’m just kidding,” he said reassuringly.
Eric backed up from where he’d been letting Sam rest against him. “Yeah, well you have a point. Not one I’m proud of, though.”
“Well, high school is over, thank god,” Sam said, trying to lighten the mood. “Or at least it is for some people. Fazier might still be stuck there. He even had to yell ‘fag’ while he blamed everything on me.” He laughed.
Eric did not join in. Instead, he pulled back even farther, causing Sam to fall over on the couch before he was able to right himself. “What? You didn’t tell me he said that.”
His voice was cold, and the way his blue eyes were shooting sparks of repressed anger had Sam attempting to select his next words very carefully.
“I didn’t think of it. It’s not like he was attacking me because I’m gay, or like I haven’t heard that word before . . . although that was mostly back in high school . . . but I don’t really let it bother me. It’s just a word.”
“Yeah, but what if he hadn’t stopped after one hit? What if his stupid homophobia caused him to hit you again? Look at what he did with one punch. A guy like that could have killed you!” Eric was standing now, hardening his hands into fists. “Where does he live?”
“Eric, calm down,” Sam said, using a voice he would employ to relax an agitated animal. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Like hell it isn’t,” Eric snapped. He strode towards the hallway leading to the front door. “Nevermind, don’t bother telling me. It’ll be in your stupid GPS.”
Eric snatched Sam’s keys from where he’d tossed them by the entranceway and was out the door within a few seconds.
Sam stumbled to follow, but stopped short as he heard a car peal out of the driveway. It was his car leaving, with his GPS that he had indeed used to get to his client’s house as he found it more reliable than having to focus on directions. And Eric still had his own keys in his pocket, leaving Sam effectively stranded.
Closing his eyes in a feeble attempt to ward off the headache pounding behind his eyes, Sam backtracked to the living room and picked up the phone.
“Hey, Eleanor? I need your help.”
*
It was a full hour of anxious waiting before Sam heard an engine stopping in front of the house. Eric trailed in soon after, his head down, looking every bit like a child waiting to be reprimanded by his parents for blatant misbehavior.
Sam folded his arms and took just that tone with him. “Did you hit him?”
“Yes,” Eric said quietly, staring at his shoes.
“In the face?”
“Yes.”
“How many times?”
“Just the once. Eleanor was there and she stopped me . . . but I guess you knew that.”
“He didn’t try to hit you back?”
“Eleanor got between us . . . she’s got some serious smooth-talking skills. She basically told him he had to leave it at that unless he wanted charges pressed against him . . . as in hate crime charges.”
Sam nodded slowly. He’d been reluctant to let Eleanor in on what had aggravated Eric so much, but he knew she’d probably need the information.
“I think she spoke to Sampson, too, because she said your firm was not going to be working with him anymore.”
Sam winced slightly, even more unsettled by that news, though he knew it was probably for the best. “You know what you just did was incredibly stupid, right?”
“Yeah,” Eric said, running a hand through his hair. “I know.”
Half of Sam wanted to run to him and throw his arms around him, but the more mature side knew he had to make sure Eric understood his behavior was not acceptable.
“I don’t need you to fight my battles for me. Maybe that’s how you settled things on the ice, but not out here in the real world. I don’t want you dragging your aggression issues into my profession.”
“I know, you’re right. I won’t do it again, Sammy. I just couldn’t stand the thought of anyone hurting you because of . . . you know. But I swear I won’t do it again.”
“You’re going to have to learn to let things go,” Sam said, taking a few steps towards him and lifting Eric’s head with a hand under his chin.
Eric nodded, blue eyes filled with remorse, and Sam finally wrapped his arms around him. “But thanks for the sentiment,” he whispered into Eric’s ear.
Eric grinned sheepishly and walked them both over to the couch. When they were both sitting he surprised Sam by lifting his legs and pulling Sam between them, wrapping his arms around Sam’s chest comfortingly. Sam closed his eyes and leaned back into the embrace, taking full advantage of Eric’s unusually affectionate mood.
“Sam?” Eric said softly. “Didn’t you say you were considering switching to a new firm . . . doing something different?”
“Yeah.”
“Maybe you should consider that a little more seriously. Maybe do something less . . . dangerous.”
Sam chuckled, twisting around to brush his lips against Eric’s. “Yeah, working with athletes certainly turned out to be more than I bargained for.”
At least Eric had the decency to blush at that.