[He admits, as he finally pours the tea. Carefully filling both cups with hot water.]
I wondered, 'if I become a warden, will Omar forgive me?' I wondered, would you forgive me for doing it to save Irina's brains being spattered all over a Moscow wall, just for the crime of falling for me? Would you forgive me if you suspected the real reason was just taking another year or two to stay near to you?
[He lets out a breath, and brings him over his cup of tea. Thinking the better of it, he sets it down on the dresser, along with his own, and sits on the bed next to him, taking his hand, trailing a fingertip over the palm of Omar's hand.]
Two days, right?
[Drawing a slow, steady circle with his thumb.]
Well, spend one day with me. Then spend it again tomorrow, and if you want, spend it again the day after. I'm here. I'm not so reformed as all that, Omar Little.
[He misstepped, he realizes. He hadn't meant that this is his problem, that they're on different clocks; he'd meant that's what had made him assume it would never get to this point at all. It's worked for him like that before. It had worked like that just about every time he'd taken a sojourn down to Jessup.
But he'd never met anyone like Ricki in Jessup, had he?
He takes a breath and tries again:]
That's what I thought I was doing. That's how it be for me in most things, anyway: day at a time, real simple. But you start asking me to change my ways, darlin', and... truth be told, if that's still all we was doing, I'd have taken my leave last night and let that have been the end of it. Easy like that.
It's been a real long while since I had anybody make me wanna try staying anyway.
[Omar doesn't touch his mug. He stays still and looks down at his hands, at the spot where the warmth of Ricki's hand still lingers, and swallows hard on nothing but history.]
I had this boy. Been gone four, maybe coming on five years now, but he was beautiful, and he--
[He presses his lips tight together and shakes his head, lacing his fingers together.]
You wanted to know what Avon Barksdale's people did to bring me down on them like that.
We hit one of they stash houses. Me, Brandon, this muscle my brother handed off to me when he got locked up. No particular reason for it to be them -- it was just they time to be hit. That's what I do, know what I mean?
[Ricki's done his studying; he knows how the stick-up crew works now, even if it's been a while since Omar had any sticking up to do up here.]
And you expect a little blowback when that happen, no doubt. Wasn't no surprise when I heard Avon put out a ticket on me. They iced Bailey -- I didn't know it was them at the time, but that wouldn't have been no surprise, either. That's all in the game, you feel me? My rules ain't only mine.
But the money he put out there on us, on me, and the kind of peoples he had working under him, they didn't care about no rules for that much green. They picked Brandon up off the street one night, right out this place he liked, and...
[He falters, his voice fracturing a little, going hoarse. He bows his head over his hands as if in prayer.]
Tried to get him to give me up, but my boy had heart. They tore him apart trying to get it out of him.
[He agrees, and shifts closer, resting his hand on Omar's, lowering his head, too.]
He sounds like a very good, very brave young man. [He has seen this before; lost colleagues, lost agents, lost friends. It's worse when it's someone who you feel responsible for. It's worst, when they love you and they die on your behalf.] You must have loved him very much.
[And there is the heart of the problem. Leslie had implied once, and Omar is just self-aware enough to have wondered at times since, if the strength of Brandon's sacrifice might not have turned him into something larger than life entirely in Omar's memory. That maybe he's become the kind of mythical figure for Omar that Omar wants to be for other people; that the love Omar had for him when he was alive has become something unapproachable in his grief.
Really, it hadn't mattered much one way or the other before. He'd honestly tried with Dante at first, but that had been flawed from the start, and he hasn't put any real effort into anything since then. Not Renaldo. Definitely not any of the short-term comforts he's found in various ports of call.
He hadn't been planning to with Ricki, but suddenly Ricki is asking him to, and he hadn't expected that he wouldn't be able to say no. It's a tough thing to realize how hard he's fallen when falling for anyone at all feels a little like a sin.]
I brought down the wrath of God Himself against every man that ruined that beautiful boy, but it still ain't feel like enough, some days. And you coming along, shaking me up like this...
[He sighs.]
I dunno. I need you to know that ain't easy on me.
So. If I'm hearing you right, it's- hard for you. That when we're just passing a little time together, that's what you do, but when things come up, where you learn that I'm wild about you, where you've got to admit, a little, that you're making some exceptions to rules for me that you wouldn't make for an companionable lay- then you end up looking some things in the eye that aren't the simplest to face.
[Sipping his tea, watching Omar's expression, wanting to be sure that he's close, that he has it.]
[Despite himself, his lingering grief, his terrible confusion, he almost smiles at that neat little summary.]
That'd be about the shape of it.
[With at least one notable exception he'll let lie for now. To the second part, he hesitates, then gives a guilty nod, finally reaching for the tea even though he suspects it's gone cold.]
After McNulty came around, 'cause he was all wrapped up in them Barksdales. Last night.
[He thinks, in retrospect, that's how Ricki slipped past his defenses and under his skin. He's almost nothing like Brandon; he's never been an attempt at replacing him.
Which really makes this whole thing just a little more ironic. He sips his tea, grimaces -- he was right -- and sets it aside again, finally turning to look at him again.]
'ayo, lemme be real clear, though -- I woulda done what I did no matter what. That ain't had nothing to do with what happened to Brandon. I wasn't even thinking on that until my warden started talking around it.
[He doesn't answer for a moment, honestly thinking it over, but in the end he shakes his head. No, he doesn't know, not at all. He knows it's not entirely true that the three times he mentioned were the only times he's thought about Brandon lately, or that he hadn't at least started to notice how close Ricki was getting before, but he still truly hadn't seen last night coming. That he could be in so deep that he would take an ultimatum like that and stay -- even living it right now, it's hard to imagine it being true.
God, he wishes Butchie was around. Not for the first time, but now more than ever. He sighs again and rubs a hand over his face, along the path of his scar.]
I just-- I need you to know what this mean for me, a'ight? It's a lot to be going on. And a lotta new tricks you asking this old dog for, too. I mean-- shit, man, even Brandon was still crew.
I thought about that. I'm probably- [pause, not fucking, pick a new word] throwing you for a loop, the ways this is like that. I let you have your way an awful lot, and in some pretty- explicit ways.
[And maybe control is like insomnia, he thinks, in that you need some pretty clear healthy boundaries in terms of what goes on in and out of bed. No more lying around in the thing together chatting, he imagines penning in a self-help post, and isn't that a thought.]
But when I'm not under you, I'm a highly trained spy, and probably ten years of age on you besides. I can make something useful out of many and most household chemicals, and I have tortured, and been tortured. I can get a man's eye at ten paces when I throw knives, or his throat open in one sweep, up close. There are three such blades hidden in this bed right now. But when, these days, am I that man around you?
You know, we're back in the conversation we started yesterday. What makes a man a man, a gangster a gangster, or a king a king.
[His tea is finished, so he reaches over to trade it for Omar's, before settling down with his back against the side wall, so they can both lean up, but still see one another, with Omar against the headboard.]
What part of what I said made you feel you were giving up your crown?
A, I get enough of that from my warden. And B, it be like... seven in the morning, and I already had more than enough hold-a-mirror-up-to-yourself moments for one day, a'ight?
[He leans back against the headboard and rubs his eyes tiredly.]
[He reasons, but leans over, to set it back on the dresser, and then slinks down, curling half draped over Omar's lap, distinctly acquiescing. The upshot to philosophy in bed is that when it's time for a topic change or to back off, he has an easy excuse to show a comforting and distinct amount of throat.]
Then you'd be as ready and raring to go as I am, tackling all the problems in the universe at once. Think you could sleep a little more?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[He admits, as he finally pours the tea. Carefully filling both cups with hot water.]
I wondered, 'if I become a warden, will Omar forgive me?' I wondered, would you forgive me for doing it to save Irina's brains being spattered all over a Moscow wall, just for the crime of falling for me? Would you forgive me if you suspected the real reason was just taking another year or two to stay near to you?
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You got me all mixed up, Ricki.
[It's pulled out of him like a confession. It sounds like it hurts.]
You got me so mixed up I don't even know what to do no more.
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Two days, right?
[Drawing a slow, steady circle with his thumb.]
Well, spend one day with me. Then spend it again tomorrow, and if you want, spend it again the day after. I'm here. I'm not so reformed as all that, Omar Little.
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[He misstepped, he realizes. He hadn't meant that this is his problem, that they're on different clocks; he'd meant that's what had made him assume it would never get to this point at all. It's worked for him like that before. It had worked like that just about every time he'd taken a sojourn down to Jessup.
But he'd never met anyone like Ricki in Jessup, had he?
He takes a breath and tries again:]
That's what I thought I was doing. That's how it be for me in most things, anyway: day at a time, real simple. But you start asking me to change my ways, darlin', and... truth be told, if that's still all we was doing, I'd have taken my leave last night and let that have been the end of it. Easy like that.
It's been a real long while since I had anybody make me wanna try staying anyway.
[He sniffs a little, admits:]
But maybe not long enough.
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He composes himself, and looks him over again.]
So what's going to make this all right?
[Reaching over for his tea, which will, at least, help him through it.]
Why's it too soon?
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I had this boy. Been gone four, maybe coming on five years now, but he was beautiful, and he--
[He presses his lips tight together and shakes his head, lacing his fingers together.]
You wanted to know what Avon Barksdale's people did to bring me down on them like that.
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Already, he begins to see the shape of it.]
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[Ricki's done his studying; he knows how the stick-up crew works now, even if it's been a while since Omar had any sticking up to do up here.]
And you expect a little blowback when that happen, no doubt. Wasn't no surprise when I heard Avon put out a ticket on me. They iced Bailey -- I didn't know it was them at the time, but that wouldn't have been no surprise, either. That's all in the game, you feel me? My rules ain't only mine.
But the money he put out there on us, on me, and the kind of peoples he had working under him, they didn't care about no rules for that much green. They picked Brandon up off the street one night, right out this place he liked, and...
[He falters, his voice fracturing a little, going hoarse. He bows his head over his hands as if in prayer.]
Tried to get him to give me up, but my boy had heart. They tore him apart trying to get it out of him.
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[He agrees, and shifts closer, resting his hand on Omar's, lowering his head, too.]
He sounds like a very good, very brave young man. [He has seen this before; lost colleagues, lost agents, lost friends. It's worse when it's someone who you feel responsible for. It's worst, when they love you and they die on your behalf.] You must have loved him very much.
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[And there is the heart of the problem. Leslie had implied once, and Omar is just self-aware enough to have wondered at times since, if the strength of Brandon's sacrifice might not have turned him into something larger than life entirely in Omar's memory. That maybe he's become the kind of mythical figure for Omar that Omar wants to be for other people; that the love Omar had for him when he was alive has become something unapproachable in his grief.
Really, it hadn't mattered much one way or the other before. He'd honestly tried with Dante at first, but that had been flawed from the start, and he hasn't put any real effort into anything since then. Not Renaldo. Definitely not any of the short-term comforts he's found in various ports of call.
He hadn't been planning to with Ricki, but suddenly Ricki is asking him to, and he hadn't expected that he wouldn't be able to say no. It's a tough thing to realize how hard he's fallen when falling for anyone at all feels a little like a sin.]
I brought down the wrath of God Himself against every man that ruined that beautiful boy, but it still ain't feel like enough, some days. And you coming along, shaking me up like this...
[He sighs.]
I dunno. I need you to know that ain't easy on me.
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[Sipping his tea, watching Omar's expression, wanting to be sure that he's close, that he has it.]
You remember him often, these days.
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That'd be about the shape of it.
[With at least one notable exception he'll let lie for now. To the second part, he hesitates, then gives a guilty nod, finally reaching for the tea even though he suspects it's gone cold.]
After McNulty came around, 'cause he was all wrapped up in them Barksdales. Last night.
[He pauses.]
After that business with the Maximoff boy.
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[Thinking this over, he wonders about the right thing to do. In the end, admits;]
I am different from him, Omar. I didn't get the chance to know him, but I know that's true.
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[He thinks, in retrospect, that's how Ricki slipped past his defenses and under his skin. He's almost nothing like Brandon; he's never been an attempt at replacing him.
Which really makes this whole thing just a little more ironic. He sips his tea, grimaces -- he was right -- and sets it aside again, finally turning to look at him again.]
'ayo, lemme be real clear, though -- I woulda done what I did no matter what. That ain't had nothing to do with what happened to Brandon. I wasn't even thinking on that until my warden started talking around it.
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[He promises, sipping his own tea, and reaching out to squeeze his knee again.
He takes in a deep breath, lets it out, and decides, quietly;]
You're going to feel that for a while. I don't think it means we do anything drastic, necessarily, unless you know something I could do to help?
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God, he wishes Butchie was around. Not for the first time, but now more than ever. He sighs again and rubs a hand over his face, along the path of his scar.]
I just-- I need you to know what this mean for me, a'ight? It's a lot to be going on. And a lotta new tricks you asking this old dog for, too. I mean-- shit, man, even Brandon was still crew.
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[And maybe control is like insomnia, he thinks, in that you need some pretty clear healthy boundaries in terms of what goes on in and out of bed. No more lying around in the thing together chatting, he imagines penning in a self-help post, and isn't that a thought.]
But when I'm not under you, I'm a highly trained spy, and probably ten years of age on you besides. I can make something useful out of many and most household chemicals, and I have tortured, and been tortured. I can get a man's eye at ten paces when I throw knives, or his throat open in one sweep, up close. There are three such blades hidden in this bed right now. But when, these days, am I that man around you?
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[Although to be fair, he hadn't known about that knife-throwing thing, which sounds worryingly specific. But still, the point remains.
...Under the bed, apparently.]
The king just don't give up his crown all that easy.
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[His tea is finished, so he reaches over to trade it for Omar's, before settling down with his back against the side wall, so they can both lean up, but still see one another, with Omar against the headboard.]
What part of what I said made you feel you were giving up your crown?
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Don't go on 'bout how smart you are and then play dumb with me, boy.
[Pause.]
Ricki. Point is, you don't need me to tell you that.
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Come on, throw me a little rope here, what can it hurt?
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A, I get enough of that from my warden. And B, it be like... seven in the morning, and I already had more than enough hold-a-mirror-up-to-yourself moments for one day, a'ight?
[He leans back against the headboard and rubs his eyes tiredly.]
Let it be some, Ricki.
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[He reasons, but leans over, to set it back on the dresser, and then slinks down, curling half draped over Omar's lap, distinctly acquiescing. The upshot to philosophy in bed is that when it's time for a topic change or to back off, he has an easy excuse to show a comforting and distinct amount of throat.]
Then you'd be as ready and raring to go as I am, tackling all the problems in the universe at once. Think you could sleep a little more?
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Need to get out this bed, really. Go for a bowl of Honey Nut -- or something more substantial than some weak tea and a pack of sugar, anyway.
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[He says, so very fondly. Let this never be a relationship where eithr of them is punished for needing space.]
I'll see you soon.
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