Chapter Text
It’s strange, when you're asked to talk about someone you love.
What do you even say? Do you talk about how they managed to light up the entire world with a smile? Do you describe how their eyes always twinkled with some kind of mischief and how you spent your life on your toes? Do you tell them of how they spoke with their entire body, so their hands gesticulated around their head with their passionate words and sucked you into whatever they were saying like it was the goddamn gospel?
How those large hands felt when they landed on you, when they squeezed your shoulders or gently held your chin as they turned your face to look at him. How when he spoke so ardently of his hopes and dreams and his ideas and thoughts, how his eyes blazed with a fire that ignited the edge of your soul. How what he was saying was the gospel because God wasn’t guaranteed but he was, so real and warm and always by your side.
Can you manage to put into words what he meant to you? Can you choke out how much you loved him? The type of burning, searing, unnameable love that you were always so scared to put voice to, were even nervous to look at head on?
How your face flushed when his tired eyes found your face in the early mornings and brightened like you were the only thing he wanted to see. How that tired visage that two seconds ago showed every day of these last 42 years melted to reveal the young, excited face that always smiled, just like this, at the very sight of you. How you saw him yesterday, and the day before, and the day before and he’s never not just as thrilled to see you slouch into the office.
Can you say how there was nothing, absolutely nothing, that you could have been without him? Can you speak about how he shaped you your entire life? How you grew up not only with him, but for him? How he was the sun that you revolved around, that he was the source of approval you always found yourself seeking? That his smile was the reason yours even existed?
How when he said he would die for you, that you knew, in the very marrow of your bones, that you would do the same. In half a heartbeat, you’d gladly leave the world forever if it meant that it wouldn’t take him.
It’s strange, because when you’re asked to speak about someone you love, there’s nothing specific you can say or think of.
Link certainly can’t. There’s nothing he can say about Rhett that doesn’t border on dangerous, that doesn’t make the ends of his fingers numb with the same deranged anxiety that has plagued him his entire life.
He’s breathing too loudly.
It’s an ugly juxtaposition, the overwhelming desire to do nothing but talk about Rhett, what he said that day or his opinion on whatever was going on, and the need to clutch that burning, soul consuming love close to his heart and threaten to cut off the hand that dared to reach for it.
But even now, there isn’t anything he can do. His hands are a sweaty mess, staining the legs of his charcoal grey suit when he rubs his hands over his thighs methodically, like the feeling can ground him somehow.
Like his feet can magically reattach to the earth and things will begin to feel solid again.
The music is too loud, and the sound of it sets Link’s teeth on edge and he wants to fidget, wants to squirm with the over-stimulation of it all because he’s nervous, goddammit. And he doesn’t deal with nerves in the best of times and now he has to go up there and talk about Rhett and Rhett isn’t here and only Rhett would have been able to calm this mess, would have leaned over to whisper something outlandish and ridiculous that would drag Link back down to earth and hold him there with steady hands, would have been able to say something to make it stop-
People always looked at him like the half of their duo that could talk to people, that Rhett was the one who needed him to push him into being social. But without Rhett to carry the other half of the conversation, to finish his sentences for him, words completely failed him.
His throat closes up again and that certainly puts a damper on the whole breathing right situation. As the air thins around him his head wildly spins around, his wife next to him is staring up at the casket with the same flat, blank expression as everybody else. He wants to call out to her to reach over for her hand, but her hands are clasped tightly in her lap. Her white knuckles stand out in Link’s sparkly vision and he just knows that she’s not in the mood for him and all of his nonsense.
For some reason, Christy’s expressionless face drags up more of the rage that’s burning deep inside his gut. He wants to tug at her arm, force her to look at him and scream, cry and sob and ask how is she not devastated by this the way he is.
She isn’t dying the way Link is because she didn’t love Rhett the way he did, no one did, no one in this earth held Rhett the same, fierce and gentle way that Link cradled Rhett close to his heart.
She lost a friend, Link has lost his heartbeat.
He can’t look at Christy anymore, and instead he swallows whatever is trying to claw up his throat and looks back forward, back to the overwhelming abundance of flowers and banners, of overly bright colors and scents that threaten to overwhelm Link where he sits.
And it’s all suddenly too much. His suit is too restrictive, he and his wife are sitting too many inches apart, the room is too bright and the air is just a fraction too warm. The smell of flowers is slightly overwhelming and there’s a migraine flirting with the back of Link’s temples.
Rhett is dead.
And it seems like everyone else’s world has continued to spin.
Except Link’s.
Jessie stands tall at the podium beside the box where her husband sleeps, head held high and straight, speaking words that Link can’t hear, being spoken in her melodic voice like recited poetry. Her face is controlled, her lipstick compliments her hair perfectly, her dress is sharp and smart, and her gaze flat, carefully leveled a few inches over the heads of the crowd gathered in her husband's name.
It’s wrong, it’s all different flavors of wrong, and yet Link wants nothing more on this earth to make her stop talking, to stop with her "my husband this" and and "my husband that," because to Link’s ears it sounds like nothing but the same monotonous drone of every funeral he’s ever been to. And this isn’t just another funeral. It’s Rhett, for fucks sake.
The world opened up and swallowed Rhett whole. And his wife, of all people in the world, is up there in front of his casket speaking as calmly as though it was just your average Wednesday.
The rage is back, a sick feeling that makes the coffee Link sipped this morning burn an acidic trail as it makes a valiant effort to re-emerge in his esophagus.
Nothing can ground him now, he knows this deep in his soul. Nothing is right anymore, nothing will ever be right again. The world stopped spinning that horrid, ugly morning and everything went flying by his head a million miles an hour, and nothing will ever be okay again, and nothing will ever feel normal because, because Rhett is, Rhett is-
“Rhett is sorry, but that’s all the time we have,” Link says, leaning over the passenger seat to cut Rhett off physically with his arm, effectively shutting him up in the middle of whatever dirty innuendo he was in the middle of. “We’ll see you guys soon.”
Rhett laughs easily, letting Link cut off the video and even letting his fingers drift along the sides ridge of Link’s wrists as he pulls his hand back into his own personal space.
Link watches that long fingered hand retreat and rest back on his lap as he places his palm back along the bottom of the steering wheel. He misses their warmth immediately, but makes no move to reach out for them.
Because that’s their dynamic, isn’t it? Locked and trapped in a thirty plus years long game of chicken that neither of them wants or is willing to lose.
Losing would mean admitting that there was something there to lose. Would mean admitting that Rhett was something more to him than just a best friend. Would mean admitting to that nagging feeling that Link had gotten so good at ignoring these last few years, something delicate and wild that Link wasn’t even sure he wanted to look at himself yet.
“I wasn’t done,” Rhett says under his breath, the chuckle belying the annoying tone he gives the statement.
“Yes you were,” Link says, playing along as the put upon grump, but letting the grin tug up the side of his face as he switches lanes.
“Oh I’m sorry you’re above my dirty jokes.” Rhett raises his hands in surrender, eyes rolling exaggeratedly.
“I’m not, I’m just-“
“A good Christian boy-“
“Shaddup!” Someone beside them honks loudly and Link swears a blue streak as he rights the steering wheel, completely unaware he had been drifting. He scowls as he straightens the wheel. “Quit distracting me man.”
“No one told you to do the vlog driving.” Rhett says, easy smile still in place and eyes watching Link fondly.
“Actually they did, you did," Link counters, sending a glare to his best friend. “Ya know I can’t drive if I’m distracted.”
Rhett seems to let him have this, sitting straight in the passenger seat and shoving his hands between his thighs, looking every inch an obedient schoolboy causing no trouble whatsoever, no sir.
“You’re the worst,” Link grumbles, eyes still caught on Rhett’s long thighs in his tight black jeans. He flicks his gaze up to the mirror, then forces them straight ahead. “Who even let me drive?”
“You always get to drive, I wanna this time,” Rhett parrots his earlier words back to him, voice pitched high and nasally.
“Meh meh meh meh meh,” Link snaps back, ears burning and grin splitting his face as Rhett let’s out a bark of uproarious laughter.
“Oh Link,” Rhett clasps a hand around Link’s thigh, his hand circling the circumference of his leg entirely and Link swallows heavily as it squeezes. “See this is why I hang out with you man, where else am I gonna get this level of entertainment.”
“Well I’m glad you’ve got an answer, cause I ain’t any closer to figuring out why I deal with you.” Link let’s his hand drift down to pat Rhett’s once, resisting the urge to let his fingers curl around it. His knuckles turn white on the steering wheel.
"Mmhmm." Rhett lets it slide easily enough, letting his hand linger on Link's thigh as he scrolls absently through his phone, content and ease oozing out of him. Link finds it difficult to focus on the road, every iota of his being laser focused on the heat of Rhett's hand, just ever so casually resting on his thigh like he owned it. He wants to say something, to shake it off or call attention to it because how dare Rhett let him sit there and be the only one uncomfortable.
It's rude, honestly.
He hates that he's even uncomfortable, that something as innocuous as Rhett letting his palm rest on his leg was enough to make the back of his teeth itch with anxiety. Link think's back to the days, year ago, when Rhett existed behind a Plexiglas wall, completely transparent but totally inaccessible, and Link would orbit him with something that tasted like desperation, living and breathing for a shred of affection from his best friend to confirm that this friendship wasn't as painfully one sided as it felt sometimes.
Therapy had done wonders for Rhett. Years of painful growth and self reflection transformed Rhett before his very eyes. He was softer now, sweeter, more open in his words and affection.
And something had started, something that Link had no idea how to handle.
Rhett started looking at him. Really looking at him, almost like he was staring right through him with such honest, and open affection in his wide green eyes. Started touching him with careful hands, soft touches that he would vehemently avoid for years and years. It shook Link to his very core, and were he ten years younger he would have soaked up Rhett's attention like a sponge.
But now, after years and years of training himself out of wanting it, of avoiding the closeness for the sake of Rhett's comfort, now it just sends a roll of anxiety through his belly.
And he was trying, really he was. He was trying to unlearn all the fear and trepidation that had been instilled in them both by the lingering shadow of their upbringing. He was trying to learn to love Rhett the way he wanted, the way he needed.
He chews on the inside of his cheek and presses his foot a little harder on the gas, eyes darting back up to the rear view mirror. He passes the car on his right, and nearly veers into the next lane when Rhett lets out a soft giggle to his right. He was so damn worked up he'd gone and completely managed to tune out the fact that Rhett was still there.
"Whatchu laughin' at?" he asks, risking a look over at Rhett. Rhett doesn't look up, just keeps scrolling.
"Nonsense on the internet," he says softly, his fingertips picking up a gentle drumming on the inside of Link's thigh. Link's heartbeat picks up to match Rhett's cadence. "Nothin' we know anything about."
Link snorts loudly, shoving up his glasses. "Oh no, of course not. We're both sane, sensible adults."
Rhett laughs at that, full and hearty and the hand still holding Link's thigh captive squeezes again and Link looks, and keeps looking.
The late afternoon sun is low and orange and it bathes the golden curls spilling on to Rhett's shoulders in an ethereal light, his eyes scrunched with mirth and his freckles standing out against the pink flush of his skin. He looks so young, so happy and free that Link's just stuck, stuck like he always is on every laugh line, every wrinkle blooming on his face and the way his laugh makes Link feel like he's weightless, floating along next to him, caught in orbit.
Rhett stops laughing and sends a smile across the console and Link sends it back, one hand releasing the steering wheel to reach down for Rhett's hand to hold it-
-And then...nothing.
Dark, empty, nothing.
And then-
"Hey, this one's okay! Hey buddy, you alright?"
The words swim through the fog surrounding Link's head and he's suddenly very aware that he's in a lot of pain. He cracks one blurry eye open to see a faceless paramedic over him. His tongue feels swollen, his throat is raw, and there's something that tastes like blood in his mouth.
Sunlight, laughter, Rhett-
Where's Rhett-
"Where's Rhett?" It sounds like he's drunk, the words coming out sloppy and slurred together.
The faceless paramedic ignores him. More people fall from the sky to appear around Link, blocking his vision so all he can see is the sky. His head is spinning. There's panic building up in him now, suffocating and thick and all he wants is Rhett-
He starts struggling when the paramedics start to lift him. Lifting means they're taking him away, and away means away from Rhett and he can't, he needs him where is he-
He gets away from them long enough to just turn his head, to see the wreckage of their SUV that he'd been pulled out of. There isn't much left of it, the entirety of the front crumpled in on itself and smoking lightly.
A flash of color catches Link's eyes, and his blurry vision lands on the sight of Rhett's arm, dangling almost carelessly out of the passenger side window, blood dripping delicately off the fingertips that not minutes ago were resting on Link's thigh.
There's a sound, a siren maybe? It's loud and harsh and ugly and it takes Link a beat to realize that it's coming from his own throat; he's screaming. He's screaming and writhing in the arms of the paramedic and the pain in his limbs is gone now, completely forgotten because Rhett is still in the car and Rhett is hurt and why aren't they helping him? He's fine! He's fine and Rhett needs to get out of the car because he's bleeding and please, go help him-
He's still screaming when his vision blacks out.
Jessie's done speaking. As grating as her voice has been on Link's ears this entire time he's suddenly devastated all over again that Jessie has said her piece, because now it's his turn to go up in front of everyone who ever knew Rhett and open his mouth.
The fact that they decided his place in Rhett's life was directly behind his wife isn't lost on Link. He knows that it's true, and it's right, but he can't shake the voice deep in his head, the one that was the loudest on Rhett's wedding day. That he and Rhett had pledged themselves to each other years before he had even met Jessie.
Not like it mattered anymore.
The walk to the podium fades from Link's memory the second he reaches the podium. He stares out into the sea of blank faces and closes his eyes, tilting his head back as he breathes in deeply, sending a distress cry to the heavens to please, don't make him do this-
His eyes fall from the ceiling where his fruitless prayers went unheard to land on the second row, where his and Rhett’s children are seated alongside one another, a blur of red eyes and swollen noses. His children watch him with the same expressions they use to watch him do anything, the mild curiosity combined with the slight wariness that their clumsy father was going to do something to injure or embarrass himself.
He doesn’t blame them. He’s not doing too well.
Then his gaze drifts past Lily’s down turned gaze to Rhett’s children directly beside her. Shepherd is curled into her side and his head tilted and the breath catches in Link’s throat when he lifts his head up to meet Link’s eyes.
And then the world ends all over again because all he can see is Rhett at 14 years old, his youngest son and dead ringer with his bright eyes and blonde curls. Locke sits beside him, his face just as blank and carefully composed as everyone else’s, his sharp jawline and sunken eyes hearkening back to Rhett’s tired expressions during their all-nighters in college.
Link chokes, the words he had dying fast and bloody in the face of Rhett’s children, living monuments to the fact that Rhett existed and doesn’t anymore.
He turns around, hiding his face in his shoulder as the organ music swells, eyes casting behind him, looking for the support he’s always had when the world was too much and Rhett was there with an encouraging grin.
He catches sight of the casket, shiny and bright in the light and he knows now why he’s been avoiding looking at it closely and the sight of it makes his head spin.
It’s normal sized, normal looking. Just your average casket.
It’s closed, of course. Whatever Link doesn’t remember about the accident, he does remember that his friend is in no shape to show his face for the last time.
But the problem is that Rhett… Rhett’s isn’t average sized. He was larger than life, tall and towering and there is no way on earth that Rhett is in there comfortable. The overly logical part of Link’s brain goes into overdrive and the only thing he can think of is that either there isn’t enough left of Rhett to fill the casket, or he’s bent and broken and twisted in the box and he can’t handle either one.
Words never make it out of his mouth. Grief and panic and the last glimpse of Rhett’s blood soaked hand dangling out of the window snatch them from his throat the Link spins away from the podium, doing everything he can to not look back at the casket as he throws up all over his shoes.