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Psychotically, irrationally, erotically codependent

AMBIGUOUS SIBLINGS

There's nothing wrong about loving your brother or sister; in fact, a deep bond between siblings is healthy and ideal. But when does closeness stop being a wonderful thing and start being...off?

Most people would say your and your brother or sister are just very, very close, perhaps a little co-dependent, yet that's understandable, perhaps, if the two of you have been through the wringer. Still, there a whispers that your relationship is more blurry than properly familial.

Is that just a misunderstanding, because you've only had each other for for so long others wouldn't understand how you've lived, or is their some truth to their suspicion?

Comment with your character, preferences, info, etc.
Assumed relatives AU will probably work best for ease of use.
Reply to others.
Thread. The nature of relationships are up to you.

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[ The storm's been a long time coming. Danny's lived with the cloud on his shoulders, a sliver of bad weather in the incessant sunshine of the Keys, the most obvious Rayburn family fuck-up. As far as he's concerned, it's been raining ever since Sarah died.

(He lies about his last conversation with their father. He lies because he thinks it might be his chance to really come home, to actually be a part of the family and move past the lack of any closure with his father. But then Lenny fucking Potts shows up to the service, sends him a set of cassette tapes, and he comes face to face with what he's suspected all along—

—no matter what he might have hoped, he's never had a place in the family. Funny, right? The things people do for love.) ]

Still working on your sea legs, mister?

[ Danny appears, like he always does, practically out of nowhere. It's how he tends to manifest in Meg's life, after a certain point. He drifts in and out of the house, sometimes drunk, sometimes sober, usually around the holidays or at family events. Her high school graduation, for one; Janey's first birthday, for another. He doesn't acquit himself particularly well on either occasion, though it's not for lack of trying. At any rate, it's not different (or so they all tell themselves) now, his easy stride across the lawn broken only once as he stubs out his cigarette before getting too close to the liquor.

He doesn't ask if she needs his help, doesn't ask if she wants it. Instead, he flags Manny down as he makes his way over, instructing for a broom, a trash bag, and a hose. Whatever his ulterior motives are, he does a good job around the house. Or, at least, he knows how to take care of this kind of superficial mess. Their family history demonstrates how poorly they deal with anything worse.

Once he's closer, the teasing edge gone from his voice: ] You alright?

[ Danny practically materializes at her side before she finishes brushing her hair out of her eyes, and she doesn't start too noticeably - although there's a small shift in her gaze as it travels the distance from the pungent liquid seeping into the deck to the shape of Danny's mouth, and the way he often speaks volumes without it moving very much at all. Silence has always been his way, ever since -

She jars herself out of a self-induced reverie when Manny breaks her line of sight, ducking in between them to start sweeping up. She'd been seemingly mesmerized for a moment, but it doesn't take much to bring her back to herself again. The chuckle that follows Danny's question is almost hollow, and there's a second where she thinks it's possible she may start crying, as ridiculous as that sounds. Her lips form a tight line as she turns her head away, blinks rapidly to clear her vision - and by the time she finally glances back again, there's no sign whatsoever that she'd nearly come close to falling apart. ]

Fine. I'm fine. [ There's a look she gives then, when she's certain he doesn't believe what she's saying, convinced she may not entirely believe it herself. She takes a step back to avoid any small pieces of broken glass, her gaze idly sweeping their surroundings for any sign of their mother. She'd really like it if Mom didn't have to deal with any of this, even the quickly evaporating evidence. ]

No use crying over spilled alcohol, right?

[ He doesn't look away from her once.

He looks at people the way their father used to, sometimes, like he can see right through them, and the more time that passes, the more evident that it becomes that it's not just a pretense. (You don't have to marry Marco, he says, and it's the only thing he says in that entire conversation that he means with complete kindness, everything that comes before it loaded with the possibility of being disowned and everything that comes after it a reiteration of what they've both known their whole lives, living in Sarah's shadow in a way that John and Kevin never will.)

If he doesn't believe her, he doesn't make any indication of it — he doesn't have to — instead watching her a moment longer before nodding his head and letting it pass. It's a concession that manifests in the slope of his shoulders, the way his mouth twists as he glances away, the concern in his expression shifting back into a mild sort of amusement again. His hand finds the small of her back, steering her gently into the house. ]

The crying usually waits until you've had enough alcohol to start spillin' it, anyway. C'mon, baby, don't want you to step on any glass.

[ The scent of alcohol fades as they make their way to the kitchen, the fans in the house spinning lazily in the summer heat. Whatever Danny's original task had been, it's apparently been forgotten in favor of shepherding his sister, his hand dropping back to his side as he moves across to the sink, picking up a couple of empty glasses as he goes.

The sound of the tap cuts under his voice, though it isn't — never has been — enough to drown it out completely. ]

You need me to grab anything else? Don't want you to commit another party foul.

Edited 2015-05-15 17:33 (UTC)

[ If only she'd known. If only she'd been pulled aside once, just once in her life and been told - you don't have to do something simply because that's what everyone expects. So much could have changed as a result, and the reason she tries not to look back on the past is she doesn't want to dwell on what might have been. She was the little girl in the glasses sitting at the kitchen table with the detective answering questions. She was the young woman out of law school who knew Marco was the man their father approved of.

Even now, New York feels like a distant pipe dream, a selfish desire. Not that that's stopped her from giving in to spontaneity, but her moments of daring have always been punctuated with the guilt that feels like a hard sock in the gut.

She allows herself to be moved, gingerly stepping around the mess in her wedges even though a part of her wavers, wonders if it's even fair for Manny to have to take care of this himself. The interior of the house isn't much cooler at midday, though the open windows and doors and circulating ceiling fans give the illusion of relief. She's half-tempted to go and stand in front of the fridge, to let the chilled air ghost across the sheen of sweat on her clavicle. Instead, she settles for fishing around for a hair clip, twisting dark strands up off the back of her neck - though a few wisps manage to escape, curling defiantly in the heat. ]

No, that was the last of it. [ She leans forward over the island, resting on her forearms, eyes lifting to rest on Danny's back even as her head hangs low. ] You think Mom heard that?

Edited 2015-05-15 18:16 (UTC)

[ There are still five Rayburn children when he first starts calling her mister. She's the only one of his siblings for whom he bothers making up a nickname. He's no longer that young — no longer that boy with narrow shoulders, scrawny and rail-thin, his voice reedy and his eyes exactly like their mother's, wide and blue and poor at masking surprise or hurt — but he still calls her that. To be fair, none of them are that young anymore.

He's shaking his head as he turns around, setting down one glass — pushing it across the little kitchen island to her — and then the other, sitting down with a groan. ]

Don't think so, [ he says, pushing his hair back from his forehead. ] Maybe. Every window in the fuckin' house is open, but— she hasn't come down yet, so.

[ The shrug he offers is exaggerated, the kind he'd use when they were younger to downplay petty grievances and smaller troubles. (Big brother responsibilities, arguably, everything's gonna be alright, except it always sounded better coming from John.) Silence follows, Danny's gaze tracking up the length of Meg's arm, to her shoulder, to the curve of her neck, loose hair stuck to her skin. Meg Rayburn, prettiest girl in her class, family lawyer, and yet never good enough for their father. Danny considers telling her, just for a split second, what Dad's last words to him had been, but the moment is there and then gone.

He cocks his head to look at her, playful in a way that'd better suit someone younger but still sits well on him, like a part of him hasn't really aged after that shoulder fracture. ]

What's on your mind, mister?

[ None of them might be young, but they all have their moments - Kevin most of all, who often leaves Meg wondering if he'll ever stop and take responsibility. Sooner or later, he's not going to be able to skate by on being the life of the party. He's always been a ball of energy, though, and sometimes it's difficult to have patience when his energy starts to sour, to take on a negative cast. But that's Kevin, for better or worse, just like John has always been the one who assumes the leadership role. And Danny - well, when he's actually in town for a change, is anything but predictable. She can't pinpoint the exact moment when he became such a mystery to her. She doesn't think she wants to try. ]

Maybe I should go up there. I should go up there, right? I should check on her.

[ Although there's a part of her that holds back, that little girl inside remembering that their parents' bedroom has never really been open to them. She remembers waiting outside the door to talk to them, and even now she looks over her shoulder toward the staircase with a conflicted expression. When she turns back it's just in time to witness Danny's smile, that smile that's more of a wry quirk of his mouth, lips twitching without showing teeth. She pushes out a slow breath and reaches for her own glass - but doesn't pick it up right away, index finger tapping against the side. ]

It's stupid. Really, it's - not important.

[ Even as she says the words, she's anticipating his calling bullshit. And she knows that he knows she's anticipating. She takes a sip from her glass first. ]

I guess, after everything that's happened - it puts things into perspective. As clichéd as that sounds.

[ Mercurial is the best way of putting it. There's no one in the family — nor outside of it — who seems to be able to get a read on him. To the guests, he's congenial, easy to talk to and easy to get along with. To a certain degree, he's the same to his family (like the way he loves — loved — Meg), but he can turn on a dime, possessed, as both of his brothers are, too, of his father's temper, though in a crueler, colder form. He'll say, later on, that he's never felt safe in this house. The face he wears then is unrecognizable to any of them, finally fully the nightmare they've been telling themselves that he is because it's the only role that they've left for him, because it's his birthright, because he has nothing left to lose.

(You're all liars. It's a truth he wields like a knife.)

Whatever advice he has on the subject of guiding their mother through the wake of their father's death, he keeps to himself. Meg stays put, which is what he wants; his answer becomes irrelevant as soon as she moves on in the conversation. ]

You're startin' to sound like Mom.

[ He downs what seems like half of his glass in a single gulp. Though he puts it down, after, his hand doesn't stay on the countertop, drifting idly to the rise of his shoulder instead. He doesn't know whether to be jealous of her or not. Maybe now that Dad's gone, she'll stop trying to please him, but that's a strong maybe. Theirs isn't a family that's ever accommodated that kind of change. Still, she has a chance at being free. ]

So— [ he settles back in his seat, opens his hands in a beckoning gesture ] —perspective. The sappy kind or the serious kind?

[ It might be the best word for it, but it doesn't put her at ease. Even now she feels tense, on edge, like she's walking a fairly thin line with nothing but a steep drop on either side, and one wrong step -

There was a time, she thinks, when she used to be able to rely on all her brothers. They all looked after her, in their own ways. But the things she considers bringing up now - she's held onto them inside for too long to consider opening up. There are secrets that are simply her own to bear, regardless of whether or not talking about it would ease the burden of silence. And maybe, she thinks, maybe she doesn't truly deserve to have these weights lifted from her. Not when she hasn't been entirely good. ]

Somehow that doesn't sound like a compliment.

[ There's a bit of the old affection in her gaze as she glances at him then, but to see him reach for his shoulder, to try and alleviate the long-suffering injury - it all goes as suddenly as it had come. She pauses and listens - to the slow buzz of a nearby oscillating fan and then, further out, the sound of distant waves. ]

It's just - you have priorities, you have ideas, and then - it all seems a little...

[ She trails off, inevitably landing on the word as she stares towards some far-off point. ]

Selfish.

[ Despite the guests, the house seems dead silent in the lulls in their conversation. It reminds him of their childhood, when the world had just been this house and each other, reductive but still everything they knew. It's good and bad; hazy, considering how short-lived it was, to the point that he wonders, from time to time, if he's just making it up. It's a gut feeling, like he knows what his life should have been like, though he never really got to have it. Like it's someone else's life he's looking back on. He'd barely been old enough to understand what was happening when he'd realized that their parents weren't going to look out for them, that that responsibility fell to him as the oldest son.

How things have changed, since then.

The laugh that catches in his throat at her first comment fades as she continues on. He's slow to straighten up, shifting to lean over the kitchen island instead of leaning back, stretching out an arm so that his fingers just barely brush hers. ]

Where'd you go, Meg?

[ There's no judgment in his gaze — never has been. He looks tired, if anything, his gaze heavy as he looks at her, that single point of contact still shared between them. He waits to continue on until she's looking back.

He is quick, ruthless, and methodical in tearing their family apart. This is as close as he will get to telling his sister to leave before he sinks it all. ]

You don't think you've been trying to live someone else's life for long enough?

[ It reminds her of the evening of the party, the moment it seemed everyone had collectively held their breath when Danny had gotten up to give a toast. Anticipating, almost dreading. Not knowing what was brewing within, and for how long. And then the instant flooding of relief, when the moment had passed. Everything's going to be different this time, Mom had said. How she wishes she could believe that, wishes she could hold out hope.

Wishes she didn't have the track record of disappearing acts, and destruction left in the wake of another spontaneous visit. Wishes -

His touch draws her back, and she swallows quietly. ]

If it's not mine, then - whose is it?

[ The toast — that folded-up wad of paper — still sits amongst his things. He'd stood up with it in his hand, ready to say to his family god-only-knows-what (to cut the foot off to save the leg), and all it had taken was a split second for him to change his mind. Despite all of the vitriol he's been capable of, he's always, always wanted to come back home.

The line of his mouth pinches, like he's disappointed she had to ask. ]

Who you think Dad wanted you to be.

[ In a single beat, his attitude changes, the way it had at the party. His voice is bright again, quick instead of drawn out. ]

You know, I thought, I really thought—

[ He shifts into his usual, recalcitrant ease, leaning back again as he taps a finger to his mouth in mock consideration. ]

When you went to law school, I thought you were gonna get outta here. Still think you should've.

[ She bristles visibly at the first part of that - not because she's offended, but because he's so dead on that it makes her wish she'd never asked the question to begin with. He's always been a man of few words, careful and calculating, and when he actually does say something it usually hits closer to home than any of them are prepared to deal with.

She shifts her weight, slides over to sit in front of the island, hooking her heel against a rung. ]

Well, I think everyone was surprised when I came back.

[ Her voice drops lower, gets quiet. For a second, she allows it to happen. ]

I can't leave now. She needs us. All of us.

[ It takes him a moment to answer. When he does, his voice is— clear, somehow. ]

What about you?

[ A pause, and then, ] You need me to stay?

[ There are other things he could have said, other things on his mind. What do you need, for one; she's not gonna need us forever, for another. He chooses that, instead. Not that he'll leave if she says no, not that they haven't talked about his habit of leaving them behind only to crop up again later on down the line. But the way he asks it — the way he looks at her, like he's willing, just this once, to let his guard down — makes it clear he's not asking after their mother's sake.

He asks John the same thing, when he drives him to the bus station. Similarly, then, it's not about the dedication. It's about his place in his brother's life. The answer — silence — makes his answer clear enough. (It's almost not a surprise when, later on, he discovers that the decision not to let him stay had been his siblings'.) ]

I -

[ She starts to say something and then realizes - it's not about trying to make things go back to the way they were, because there's never been a way that things were. There's just a way that things always have been, and she can't expect that a simple word from her is going to suddenly be enough.

She shifts, and in that movement the contact between them, the faint touch of fingers, is broken. The glass sitting in front of her is starting to sweat in the heat, condensation forming on the surface. She watches one droplet grow heavy and then fall, slowly. ]

Look, all I know is that Mom - she can't stop talking about how glad she is that you're back.

[ He laughs.

It's just an exhale, a huff of breath as he turns away, just for an instant, to glance out at the lawn. There's nothing mean-spirited in it — just exhaustion, maybe. (He ought to have expected that answer, the same way he ought to have expected John's.) He's quick to turn back, and though his gaze remains bright, there's a warmth in his smile that doesn't quite mirror itself there. ]

It's good to be back.

[ A rote response to a rote answer. He doesn't sound insincere, not quite, but the words sound acted, for lack of a better term. ]

Feels like it's been a long fucking time since I've been back in this house.

And how do you feel? About being back?

[ It's a loaded question, sure, but somehow she can't help but ask. Chalk it up to curiosity, or a lawyer's line of questioning. She's not directly trying to fish answers out of him, but she's also convinced there's some ulterior motive at work here. It's tough not to ignore her instincts when what they're telling her to do is find out more.

She takes another sip of water in the interim. ]

Anything changed much?

Yeah— yeah.

[ The laugh he offers up is more obvious this time, almost a bark as he settles his weight on his arm, braced against the counter. The noise sticks in the air, suspended in the heat. ]

I mean, Dad's dead. That's a big change, isn't it?

[ It's facetious conversation. He knows straight off the bat that that's not what she's asking; he just enjoys the lead-up. He dismisses whatever reproach she has with a wave of his hand, bulldozing on before there's any silence to have to fill. That's his way, after all. Too blunt and to the point, sometimes, where the rest of the family can be too careful tiptoeing around the truth. A useless trait, though, when they're conditioned to believe that he's more likely to just tell lies. ]

Didn't think I'd ever see the day — Rayburn House without Papa Ray. Big shoes to fill for all of us.

[ When she stops to consider the potential gap left in the wake of their father's passing, there's no doubt in her mind as to who the most likely candidate would be to fill the role. John's been the unofficial caretaker, even if his duties have largely fallen to protecting more people than just his immediate family. (Dad had said as much in his toast a while back.)

But in terms of change - big change - she just doesn't see it happening with Danny. It's been a long road of disappointments and struggle. Most of it she hasn't had to deal with directly but it's easy to see how much something like that wears on their mother. It's also impossible to ignore the way Mama Rayburn lights up when Danny's around, so full of hope that Meg can't bear to do or say anything that would crush her spirit.

She wouldn't dream of doing it now. ]

So you're serious, then. About staying.

[ It both is and isn't a question, and Danny takes his time in responding, like he's weighing his options (like he'd laugh, if he thought he could get away with it). For a long moment, he just chews his lip, his head at an angle as he looks at his sister. They've had an iteration of this conversation before, and if he feels any differently about being confronted on the topic, there's no indication of it on his features.

He moves all at once, as he always seems to. His hand drops the countertop and his weight shifts from shoulder to shoulder. (Treat me like family — who is he fucking kidding. It's not an approach he tries again, at least not yet.) ]

Unless you guys've changed your minds about lettin' me.

No. No, of course not.

[ But there's also the way she answers a little too fast, too hastily, her gaze darting over and then away. For a lawyer, she often curses herself for being too easy to read sometimes. Then again, she's never really handling any conflicts of interest during her day job - except, of course, when it comes to Alec.

Her mouth goes dry. She takes another gulp of water. What she wouldn't give for this to suddenly be easy. ]

We want you here. I - it's good that you're here.

[ It's a sidestep, but one easily caught. ]

[ In that respect, she hasn't changed all that much from the little Meg he remembers. A little awkward, a little nervous, even though she's long outgrown the ugly duckling shadow that their sister had cast (or, well, maybe not). It endears her to him, stirring up the closest thing to sympathy he has in him despite the context.

Again, he takes his time in saying anything in return, hooded gaze slipping out of focus for a heartbeat before re-focusing. Sheepish, almost, in a way that seems at odds with how he's behaved during the conversation thus far. ]

Close, but no cigar, huh?

[ (He's never been above feigning vulnerability in order to get a reaction. That doesn't mean he's not actually capable of that soft kind of sentiment.) ]

I've missed seein' you around, sweetheart.

[ It's interesting now, when she looks at old family photos. There she is - the smallest, with glasses constantly slipping down the bridge of her nose because she had been deemed too young for contacts until she was practically in college.

She brushes a piece of hair back from her face and that same hand lands to rest on his knee, fingers curling in a barely perceptible squeeze. In that moment, however fleeting it may be, there's a sincerity in her voice, in her words. ]

I missed you too.

[ There's an unhappy irony to Danny's long journey home. He's yearned, all this time, for a place in the family to call his own, for the love he doesn't remember ever having, but when confronted with even the faintest glimmer of it, he doesn't know what to do. It's too foreign (and arguably too late). The furrow in his brow suggests confusion or hurt — it makes him look young, for once, his grasp on things tenuous instead of weighed down.

In fairness, that doesn't mean he wants it any less. ]

Yeah?

[ It's not a prodding question, for once. His hand finds hers on his knee, over the rise of her knuckles. With his other, he reaches out, brushes a few loose strands of hair back from her face the way he'd used to, from time to time, when they'd been children. Careful, slow, making her the center of his attention in a way that their father had failed to (in a way he'd never been, either, save as an object of hatred).

The corners of his eyes wrinkle as he smiles. ]

Well, shame on me for worryin', then.

[ There's an uncertainty within the brief smile that follows, as she wonders if this perhaps is too little too late. There's the reminder of the will sitting on her computer, the cursor blinking next to a list of names. And there's also the tenderness in such a simple gesture, which fosters a feeling the likes of which she can't recall experiencing in a long time.

When was the last time any one of them reached out to each other in affection, even in seemingly insignificant ways? It's not that she's starved for touch - by her own initiative, she's been able to satisfy that unconscious need - but the emotions it's attached to have been lacking. At least for her.

Maybe it's easier for her to shut it all off. That way no one can get in and tear her apart.

She finds herself leaning into his hand before she completely realizes what she's doing - and then a sound from the back porch (Manny) makes her start. ]

Thanks - for the water. I should probably get back out there.

Nah, nah, let me take care of it.

[ Danny's shaking his head even before he speaks, keeping her hand in his as he gets up. (The transformation is uncanny — open to closed off. All of them are too good at it; maybe that's why he underestimates John, later on. Why he ends up facedown in the water. Or maybe he hadn't underestimated his brother at all. What has he got to lose, after all?) ]

Let big brother take care of it. Go check on Mom, get some rest.

[ He keeps moving, keeps talking, to the point that he's too close too soon, leaning in to press a kiss to her cheek. The moment stretches out in the second that it lasts, again a reflection of intimacy that they've never found easy to share and yet feels so innate. Blood, thicker than water.

And then, as quickly as he'd drawn close, he pulls back, sloping away towards the door, back towards the mess. He turns just once, the grin on his features close-lipped but obvious. ]

Later, mister.

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