Liam had spent the day on the sofa. Sitting as straight as a tree. There was no way to sit without pain shooting up his side. He had been watching coronation street on his laptop all day long when he realized that it was seven, and the house looked a bit messy. Or rather, the living room did. He forced himself off the couch and began to tidy up, realizing this was a very painful chore he threw away what he could of the cracker packages, and tea bags. He forced himself into the shower, and washed off the drunk smell that he was sure was still hanging onto him. That was the one thing he didn’t want. For Ben to arrive over at his house and see that he hadn’t bathed himself. Though, the washing part was actually rather difficult, and he had almost slipped for a moment. He had caught himself, which made his side hurt more. He got out of the shower, and got dressed. Again with much difficulty. He thought about calling Montague and asking him to stay over for a few nights to help him with a few things, or Sav. Sav had offered to help him out if he needed it, and even though Liam had always wanted to be independent, and be able to take care of himself, this was the type of scenario where you required assistance. He walked out into the living room, and selected one of his favorite albums - U2’s Greatest Hits. He put the CD in, (figuring trying to work a needle on his record player might be too much work) and put it on. He pulled at his cardigan sleeves, and began tidying up the kitchen. Trying to wash things as best he could. He finally gave up, and cleaned the counters. Liam was a clean man, always had been. John had always bugged him about his over cleanliness. Liam wasn’t overly clean, he wasn’t Monica from Friends, but he liked things to be tidy. He could never work when there was a mess. That being said, when he did work, he usually created a mess of papers on the desk or table. And when he was drinking, which was a lot as of late, he was known not to clean up after himself. He sang along to Bono’s voice in With or Without You. It was a bit louder than he had intended, but he didn’t mind. He lost himself in the music, and finally forced himself to sit down after cleaning the kitchen and dining room. He sat down at the table, and looked out over The Bronx from his window. He smiled to himself. He was a little nervous, though he knew he had no reason to be. The chances that this man, this Benedict, would be gay was slim. He had seemed rather flirty over the text messages, but Liam was old and he didn’t quite trust technology as younger people did. He most certainly didn’t trust the emotions that could be or couldn’t be conveyed over text message. This was tea. That was all. He was going to thank Benedict for what he did the previous night, give him back his wallet, badge, jacket, and probably never see him again. Though, he had felt a sort of connection over the texting. He had no idea why he had been so flirtatious. As he thought more about it, and when he was in the shower, he had thought about John and what John would think about him flirting with a new man. Was this a good step to take? Was ten months too long or too short? Was it the perfect amount of time to take to get over someone and start flirting with somebody else? Liam felt conflicted. He knew that John wouldn’t care, because well, he was dead, but there was a part of him that wanted John to be okay with what he was doing, with who he would start to see. He knew that John would have loved Monty. That was why Liam could justify his crush, or whatever it was, on Monty. He knew that John and Monty would get along. They were of similar personalities, and career choices. Though John didn’t teach at a University, but he wrote an award winning novel, and had begun working on his second when he was killed; Liam knew that the two would have gotten along. He knew that John would have approved of Monty, if he had been an ex, a proper ex that you felt nervous about running into. Not an ex that didn’t feel like an ex, because your love was cut short by a drunk driver.He wiped a tear from his eye and cleared his throat. He couldn’t believe he had started crying, this was usually when he pulled out the bottle and began drinking. He didn’t do that. He didn’t do that because of two reasons. The first being, the night before had scared him. He had done something careless (drink himself into a stupor) and because of that carelessness he had been forced to take a cab home, which had been hit. The second was because the buzzer rang. He got up, with the help of the table and chair, and walked over to the intercom system. “Hello?” He asked despite knowing the fact that it would probably be Benedict. He smiled a little at the voice and nodded “come on up.” He buzzed Benedict up and walked over to the kitchen. Picking up the kettle and filling it with water, he put it back down on the pad and clicked the button to start the boiling. He looked in the mirror briefly and nodded to himself. He looked rough. There was a large bruise on the side of his face, and his head was a little bumpy, but you couldn’t tell that unless you looked carefully or ran your hand through his hair. He also was standing a little hunched over, because that was the only way that it was comfortable to stand. He heard the knock on the door and walked over. Smiling as he opened it. “Detective.” He greeted, he wasn’t about to let that slide. The way Benedict had told him that he was a detective had made Liam smile a little, and it only begged for a bit of mocking. “Come in. Come in.” He opened the door and ushered the detective in. He felt a bit small compared to Benedict, though that was something he was used to. Grabbing his side he walked back into the kitchen. “You can put your jacket wherever.” He called into the living room, as he tried to reach the teacups. Wincing a little as he pulled down the first one. “Fuck.” He whispered, and grabbed his side. He really hated this, he hated what his body was going through. He hated feeling so useless. He reached up and grabbed the second one, wincing again, and this time pausing as he took a deep breath (which also hurt), and gripped the counter top. He turned around, cups in his hand and put them down on the table. “I hope you enjoyed the coffees this afternoon.” He said with a somewhat forced smile. Though he meant what he said, it was hard to smile when he could barely move. He walked to the kettle as the button popped and he pulled his tea pot out from the back of the counter and filled it with water, sighing as he gripped his ribs and lifted the heavy kettle. He was going to have to ask a friend to help him, if it continued like this. He had tried to bandage himself up, after the shower, but couldn’t manage. The bandage, instead, was laying across his bathroom counter because he had thrown it there in a fit of frustration. charlie