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Hamartia
by Sarah
There are moments when a chill settles in the pit of his stomach.
It has nothing to do with torture, or with enemies, or with the dangers of their job. It happens when he's watching Kelly in action socially, usually at a cocktail party. There he is, with his lazy playboy cover, smiling and laughing for the crowd, to all outward appearances having a good time.
Then he retreats into the corner, and the effervescent charm fades into dark cynicism in seconds. And before Scotty's eyes, his boredom becomes accidie in the time it takes the ripples from the olive to reach the edge of the martini glass.
And it twists Scotty's gut, because he can see, like a Greek tragedy, the road Kelly Robinson is traveling. They walk side-by-side now, but ultimately Kelly is treading his own path alone, towards the end to a chain of events that was set in motion long before he first shook hands with Alexander Scott.
In the field is the closest he ever gets to seeing the essence of the man - will the real Kelly Robinson please stand up? - but Scotty has a sinking feeling that if so much of Kelly's time was not spent actively fighting death, a comparable portion of his time might have been spent seeking it. He's seen the addiction to danger, seen the dark spiral into depression, seen the alcohol binges, even, Heaven help him, the suicide attempts. He would take a bullet for Kelly--has, more than once, and it's never given him anything but relief, relief at having protected him from harm. But the way Kel throws himself into harm's way, recklessly, without fear for himself or the consequences--"My legs fell asleep", indeed--as though only Scotty's life was worth anything, is starting to leave Scotty terrified.
The cover as trainer is some help. Through it, he's able to insist that Kel take at least minimal care of himself, eat right, sleep right; it allows him to give him the tormented soul the care Scotty strongly suspects he's never had. When he gives Kelly a massage, Scotty tries, so hard, to give his partner the peace the man's own self denies him, as though he could somehow soak it into his friend's body through the pink, scarred skin. When he gives Kelly a massage, Scotty treasures the opportunity, treasures the moments he can take care of this friend he loves with all his heart. When he gives Kelly a massage, Scott offers him a haven if he'll only reach out and take it; with kind touches, he heals, he soothes, he nurtures, he tries to ease the pain, telling him wordlessly You are loved. You are valued. You are irreplaceable.
When he gives Kelly a massage, Scotty holds on desperately, because he can feel the man slipping from his grasp.
He watches as Kel looks up from his martini, dulled gaze already showing the effects of too many cocktails, and catches his eye.
Kel's bleak gaze meets Scotty's. He raises a sardonic eyebrow and raises his glass in a silent, cynical toast.
The despair in his partner's eyes makes Scotty's skin prickle, and a chill runs through him. He's going to get himself killed, he knows with sudden certainty. He's going to get himself killed and there won't be a damn thing I can do about it.
He shakes his head, slack-jawed, at the realization. Scotty loves Kelly Robinson with all his heart. He would give his life to save Kel's, and do it without thinking. He's saved him from terrible tortures, locked rooms, and bad guys.
But he wonders if all the love in the world can save the man from himself.
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