what's your vice? you know that mine's the illusion

[gotodogheaven]

His vision blurred, the world around him canted at an unnatural angle, he can't remember having left work; Montgomery leans against the door (not his -- hates home; this is home) and breathes deep, hears barking and realizes he's already knocked halfway through the motion of doing it again. He can't remember what he's taken or how much, but it's simultaneously too much and not enough -- he closes his eyes and waits for the wild urge to let loose a wordless, agonized howl to pass -- his thoughts are acrid and oily and unwelcome, and he'd give anything to dash what little coherency remains to pieces. Only an hour ago he'd killed a man (let him die, watched him die, it's all the same, it'd been under his knife and he'd watched it happen, let it happen, felt a dull pang of fascination and wondered for a brilliant, endless moment who would stop him if he disassembled the man on the operating table piece by piece to find the flaw that'd bled him dry even as it happened). He hadn't felt such a thrill as he had in that moment in almost a decade, the desire to explore the furthest reaches of medical science thrumming through his veins as the patient's tenuous condition worsened, the magnitude of it rattling him so severely that the nurses mistook it for shock as they led him from the operating theater. He'd burned the letters in a fit of pique, years ago, but Moreau's invitation still weighs heavy on his mind in times like these. If only he'd-- "Will," he beats a flat palm against the door: two hard, solid thumps. "Will, honey, puppy dog. I need you."

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[pendulumofmind]

A flick of his wrist, a twist of the tool, and the motor came apart. It had taken a while, and a lot of patience, but it was finally accomplished. That still left the actual fixing still to do. But one step at a time. The dogs were around him, an attentive and yawning audience. Now, some hours later, most were asleep. Lost in his work, and the surrounding slumber offering a trance-like effect, Will would've continued on with his odd hobby until exhaustion claimed him.

He doesn't need to see the dogs' reaction, he can feel it in the air, how they all come to attention. At once alert and awake, noses in the air, all looking pointedly towards the door. The knocks arrive, and that's all it takes for the multitude to go bounding forwards, leaping from the bed and over Will, to loudly announce a visitor.

Will finds his glasses, puts them on. He groans and gets to his feet, limbs feeling like lead after being in one position for so long. As he approaches, the dogs settle on their haunches, and look from the door to their owner and back. Winston nudges the back of his legs. Will stumbles, catches himself on the door.

"Alright, alright, calm down, I'm-" He pauses, listens, and finally catches on to what the dogs already knew. Its a delayed response, but now he's just as alert as they, and quickly opens the door.

"Jesus, Monty! What the hell happened?" He's moving aside the screen door with his foot as he speaks, and immediately moving forward. Arms wind around his lover, offering support of at least three kinds, and helping him inside.

[gotodogheaven]

He very nearly just goes limp in Will's arms to let him do all the work of supporting his weight, but somehow Montgomery remains on his feet through the threshold of the door. He presses his face into Will's neck, feverish with whatever he's done to himself this time, and simply relishes the contact for a moment before the whisper of a laugh escapes unchecked.

"They'll fire me for real this time," Montgomery chuckles, speaking as though he's informing Winston of this fact without moving his head from where he's come to rest against Will. He hums a noncommittal sound, a verbal shrug, and finally reaches up to return some measure of the embrace. "A patient died today," he murmurs, the words sliding off sideways from his tongue. "I took his meds for him. He didn't need them anymore."

That's all there is to it, but he doesn't let go, wanting Will to understand that this was after-- he hadn't worked like this. Not since so long ago, when it'd nearly cost him everything. Nearly gained him everything. How he wished he hadn't burned those damned letters. He leans heavier into the man he's come to think of as being the only human being capable of understanding him, and wills his intrigue into hard-won obedience. "Some… aberration. I'll never know."