Warnings: Yes, this story includes rape. The authors of this story want it to be known that it is just that: a story, nothing but pure fiction. We also want it to be known that rape is definitely NOT okay, nor is it condoned or even remotely tolerable. If you can't stomach that, then don't read this. It should also be said that this will undoubtedly be a Hank/Evan slash fic. So, if you have issues with homosexuality or incest, than this story just isn't for you, love.
Disclaimer: The authors of this story are in no way, shape, or form, receiving any profit off of it. It is purely for the entertainment, enjoyment, and pleasure of the readers.
It's been two days. Somewhere roughly around fifty odd hours, but who's counting? Certainly not Evan. No, he's been busy with HankMed's reports, files, expenses, and those goddamned spreadsheets to fill out. And that's all just from the previous week! The thought of doing enough paperwork to actually catch up to the current day is more than just a bit daunting to Evan. He's been doing nothing but fiddling with computers, getting hand cramps, and smacking the keyboard. Shit, anything, really, to keep his mind off the wait until his appointment with Jill.
It had been more than awkward and uncomfortable while on the phone with Hank's maybe girlfriend; having to explain to her exactly what tests he needed and how it just had to be her. Which, now that Evan thinks about it, took a lot of convincing. Jill knew just how much Hank worried over his little brother, so she didn't seem to understand why no one – god, especially Hank! – couldn't know about these tests. Yes, the Hamptons were notorious for their gossip and easily accessed knowledge of residents, but it wasn't as if any of them hadn't had a one night stand before. So, sure, Evan forgot to use a condom during one particularly intoxicated night – plenty of people do. Why couldn't Hank, Evan's easily accessible physician brother handle it?
Yeah, that was a fun one to explain, Evan nearly smacks himself on the fore-head. Oh, wouldn't you know it; the one person he managed to hook up with – while extremely drunk, mind you – happened to be a former patient of Hank's, who, in fact, ended up toying with the idea of having a relationship with his older brother during their first week in the Hamptons? Yeah, it was a terrible, horrible discovery, but, telle est la vie, right?
Honestly, it was a pretty decent lie that came from Evan's mouth while being put on the spot. True, he winced for putting his brother out there like that, but, well, it had the desired effect; Jill got uncomfortable, and when people get uncomfortable, they tend to drop certain subjects. Well... not before she brought up a "new blonde, panther physician who Hank seems to be stuck on." Her words, not his.
The reasons for this nerve-wracking, pencil chewing, toe-cringing wait? Even in the most basic of infections, it takes a couple days for it to ravish a person's body enough to appear in a screening. That, and, well, Jill was busy with board meetings and creating her clinic and other doctor crap like that. Whatever, the reasons didn't really mean anything to Evan; the waiting did.
With him currently in a silent war with Hank and holing himself in the guest house, Evan's had all the fucking time in the world to think every possible outcome over. What if he has herpes or HIV? What if he doesn't have anything? What if there's a chance the tests come back positive, but with something that could be treated and cured with an antibiotic? Rightfully so, Evan's hoping for the tests to come back negative. Who wouldn't? But there's this underlying fear – this nagging, whisper-like voice echoing his every thought, saying that he will, in fact, have contracted something... something bad. The worst of all STD's, maybe. If that does happen, which Evan hopes to all Christ that it doesn't, he's going to have to tell Hank, right? Logically thinking, it would be best for his brother to become his full-time, personal doctor should the occurrence of some body snatching disease claim him. But that would mean explaining just how he contracted aforementioned body snatching disease, which just doesn't seem like the right thing to do. And, well... shit!
Evan's already going to have to start explaining some things by lying his ass off... again! Yeah, his staying indoors for a near constant three days is starting to raise some unasked questions, but so what? Evan has a phone for a reason; if someone needed him that urgently, they'd call. He's the accountant, not the doctor. Evan doesn't need to be anywhere but in front of these papers, really. But, still! Ever since that little tiff with Hank, he's been declining to see patients and check on them for payment issues, opting to use the phone instead, which is just so unlike him.
The chance of having a sexually transmitted disease and people questioning him on his recent antisocial behavior are both on Evan's Top Five list of things to give a shit about, but, honestly – what he's concerned with the most? The reason for not leaving his house. Just why is that happening? Evan's been a social butterfly since birth; it's not something he has to try and do, he's just an unusually sociable person. Whether people like him or not, Evan's chatting them up, regardless of topic or reason. So, really, it is starting to bug him. He thinks it started with the weird twitch his body gave when Hank went to touch him during The Argument, but, well, that doesn't really help to explain much, if anything at all.
It's not that he's scared of people. No way. It's just this thing going on with his gut. Any and every time Evan comes to the decision to walk through the front door, something akin to steel wool starts scraping at his stomach-lining, ripping through and grinding at his insides. Doesn't matter what he's doing, once the steel-wool feeling comes his body freezes – mid-step or hand raised to open the door; it doesn't matter. And it's not a flutter, it doesn't feel like an ache nor a pulsating pain, but more like a flower blooming. It starts in the corner of Evan's stomach, and spreads until it reaches every nerve-ending and orifice in his torso. And it sucks and just...Ugh!
Evan thinks his mind is just fucking with him, you know? Making his body act and react oddly to certain situations for shits and giggles. He's not amused. If it were just the steel-wool in his gut bothering him, then Evan wouldn't mind so much; he could get over that, eventually. But there's more things. Little things. Odd occurrences that, during any other time in his life, wouldn't have bothered him nearly as much as they are currently – things that wouldn't have even registered into his head.
Sometimes – and it happens out of nowhere, really – Evan swears he can pick up this smell of sweet, alcoholic drinks and cigarettes. At first, the CFO thought it could have been his shampoo, or even lotion, because well, yeah, he likes to smell good, and he likes sweet things; why not mix the two? And even though that thought didn't – still doesn't – explain the cigarettes, it made sense at the time. A reasonable explanation without over-thinking. After Evan kept smelling it, though, that option and possible explanation just shot down the proverbial shitter.
And it's not like he can really do anything about that particular scent. No amount of Febreeze or Glade or anything, really, could get rid of it; it just made the room heavy with some weird, fresh-linen, flowery smell. It took him a good while, but Evan did manage to open up some not-so-quite-huge windows, and attempt to air the place out, but it was to no avail. It's like that goddamned aroma hung around him as if he were some forty-year old bar, taxi, or car.
Even stranger (as if things couldn't be even more odd) was that those two combined smells didn't really bother him; they were more irritating than anything, really. When Evan's nose would sniff those scents out, they sort of comforted him... in some weird, Freud-like way. It wasn't like the younger Lawson was opposed to drinks; he welcomed them, actually, so that wasn't anything new. But the cigarettes... that was the weird one. He'd spent most of his childhood surrounded by the filmy haze of a parent who liked to chain smoke, which, at the time, didn't bother him. It wasn't until Evan and Hank's dad removed himself from their lives that Evan started to notice the differences of nicotine-caked clothes compared to fresh, aired out rooms. Once his dad left, no one around him smoked; Hank made sure to that, because even the slightest whiff of tobacco sent his stomach roiling. Now, though, with the constant, sporadic moments of phantom smells, Evan sort of welcomes them – craves them, even; not the alcohol, but the cigarettes. He wants to go out and actually buy a pack, maybe not to actually smoke himself, but to at least allow them to burn and fill his room with that smell, because it is actually becoming that common.
With Evan's body's refusal to leave the house, though, it's making things quite difficult.
The random smells and cravings for them might be the most odd, but the dreams he's been having are the most irritating. They're not nightmares, at least, he doesn't think they are. Evan can't really remember anything about them when we awakes, but he knows it's something important. He hasn't thrown up since that first morning, but that weird, half gasp, half moan-like, muffled scream always happens. He doesn't know why he keeps having to stifle them while barely just on the cusp of full consciousness, but Evan's more than fucking sure that they're what's muffing up his usual eight plus hours of sleep. Sometimes – more like most times, really- Evan wakes to the sound of his own voice, mumbling something or other in that weird, slurred speech that comes with waking up.
It's fucked up. It's creepy. It's driving Evan nuts and making him lose sleep. Yeah, he's been known to talk in his sleep; Hank, Divya, and even some of the few people he's had one-night stands with have said so, but they all said that it was incoherent, probably pointless babbling.
These don't seem like his usual sleep-talks, though. They seem important, kind of like it's something Evan should be writing down to remember, but forgets to, regardless. He's almost tempted to audibly record himself while sleeping. Almost.
The feel of vibrations coming from his pocket pulls Evan out of his head-space. He blinks, sluggishly digging through the pockets of his sweat shorts to find the source of the rumbling.
Ahh, of course, it's the celly.
Evan feels slow and lethargic; caught between hyperactive thoughts and too little sleep, so it takes him a few moments to open his cell phone and figure out why it's deciding to have a seizure.
It reads that he has "2 New Message," and would like to know if he wants to "Read" them now or "Dismiss" until later. Just as he's about to open the messages, Evan's phone begins to vibrate again, indicating that he has an incoming call.
"Evan R. Lawson, CFO of HankMed. How can I make you feel better today?" Evan speaks into the phone without pause, having those lines sort of ingrained into his memory.
"..Right. Evan?" A female voice sounds through the speaker, light and slightly accented with an Indian undertone.
"Why, Divs, I knew you secretly loved the sound of my voice," Evan's voice rang with mock astonishment, all teasing grins and friendly banter.
Divya had somewhat anticipated this reaction from the CFO given his normal behavior, and was quick to snap back with a retort. "Why, Evan, did you know that it is, in fact, a medical ailment to not be able to tell the difference between fantasy and reality?"
Evan crossed his left arm over his chest, reclining into the chair he had been sitting in for hours, trying to keep his snickers silent. "Well, ouch! You wound me, Divya."
He could practically see the grin on the PA's face when she replied with, "Oh, walk it off, you baby."
"I know you love me and all, but I really hate terms of endearment and pet names."
"Evan, sometimes I really wonder what world you live in, and what frequency you function on."
Evan let out a small laugh that time. "Again; ouch."
"As much as I'm enjoying this conversation," Divya began with full sarcasm, which was unneeded, really, because Evan knew she did enjoy their banter, "I called for reasons outside of the pointless variety."
"Oh? Do tell, please."
"Well," and Divya paused, an awkward, half-breath. She wasn't expecting to get this far. "I haven't seen you in a while. Care for a late lunch?"
A/N: Ahh sooo sorry this took so long, loves. And we also apologize for the size of it.
Alyx had a bit of a scare with infection and fevers, and he's just finally begun to recover.
Rest assured that all of our stories are currently being written for the next few chapters, and that updates will be occurring regularly now.