Varus/Annette

filler

The black haired General looked almost like he was going to call them back, even going so far as to open his mouth to call then back, before there was a quiet, "They're not going anywhere Oli, leave them be for now, please?" After that, he decided his mouth had better things to be doing than yell at them, but not before ordering the pair to lock the office door behind them, and assuring them that the talk was not over.

The door practically slammed shut, drowning out a loud gasp from Varus, swatting the dark haired man away from his neck and shooting him a look. "What was all that, I know 'Post paperwork' Oli, and that's not what that was, not at all, I deserve an explanation." The sheepish look and the claims that it was a long story did not sway the blonde, "I got the heat off you, but if you don't tell me I can go, there's no one forcing me to be here Oliver."

At his words, Oliver's grip on the man in his lap tightened, if there was anything Oliver didn't do, it was lose. "She likes you, Varus, you know that, right?" He idly traced circles on the freckled skin of the blonde's hip, trying to distract himself from the conversation he was having.

"Of course she likes me you idiot, one tends to become friends after a near death experience." Was the American's indignant reply, looking up at his superior with a furrowed brow, "I'd think it'd be obvious."

Oliver Sol bloody near bit through his own lip at that, before flipping their position, pressing the Pilot against the back of the couch they'd been sitting on, eyes on fire, rage in his veins, grip too tight. "No- not that way, she wants you the way I do, given a chance, I'm sure she'd try this herself, do you understand me Varus, she /likes/ you." He pressed his mouth hard and possessive, to Varus, before the Frenchman pulled back, scanning his face for a response.

He didn't meet the General's eyes, "What did you do, when you figured this out, Oliver?"

"What would you expect me to do, I set her straight, you're mine, I don't share, Varus."

The shaking of the blonde in his arms was definitely not what he was expecting as a reaction, hands balling in his shirt and pulling closer. "Hey- Varus, I-"

"Oliver." The shaking slowed to a stop and he looked up at the Frenchman through his bangs, "Oliver look at me."

He did.

His face stung for minutes before he realized what had happened. "I'm /yours/? You don't share? What the fuck does that mean, Oliver? She's my friend!" The broken voice, clogged with tears and wet brown-green eyes sent a pang through his chest, he did this, he caused this. "Am I not allowed to have friends? Do you not trust me or something, like I'd dump you for something better?" A pale fist hit the center of his chest, "God damn you Oliver Sol, god damn you! I crashed a ship for you, I left my country, things I've created, for you, have killed so fucking many people, and you can't fucking trust me to stay with you the instant someone else comes along?"

The ground blurred, Oliver couldn't tell how long Varus had sat there, face buried in his chest, crying, screaming, hitting him with weak fists until he couldn't even keep up that much composure, until he somehow cried himself out and pulled himself, numb and empty out of the room, the oak door ajar behind him, not even stopping to register that he'd likely never again see the inside of that office.

The fact that the only one he'd thought of as family, the place that was his home.

Was no longer his.

His head was pounding, he wanted to go back, but the very thought made him almost laugh, he was /not/ going back, he gave up so much for that bastard, and he still didn't trust him, he loved him. /loved/ him.

He stumbled, catching himself against a wall, choking on a mixture of sobs and laughter, sounding like some kind of disturbed carnival and wishing he could melt into the ground, to stop having feelings to stop the sensation of having been shattered and left behind. He curled himself around his legs, blinking in the darkness of the hallway.

He'd loved him.

God he had.

Oliver stared at the letter opener in his hands for a few moments, breathing, before flinging it, as hard as he could, into the wall beside the door, feeling the vibration from the sheer force, before picking up something else, and throwing, object after object into the sheetrock, hearing glass shatter and walls tear and feeling the building try to stand up to the assault it was not built to withstand

An off-pitch laugh was her only response, he tilted his head back and grinned, face red and tear stained, scratches marred his arms and he definitely had not slept in the last few nights. "Annette, do me a favor, won't you? There's a gun in my boot, take it, and shoot me, straight in the head, please."