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He sees Jared approaching but Richard is very engrossed in his game of Super Hexagon so he waits until Jared taps him on the shoulder (Interrupting his thirty second streak, it took him all damn day to get to that point.) before he pulls off his headphones.
“Richard? Could I talk to you about work for a moment? I know you’re taking a break but I feel this is important.”
“Sure Jared,” he sits up and starts up a game of solitaire, “go for it.”
“Well, it’s about the blog. See, I often update with the comings and goings of Pied Piper, to keep our supporters in the know, and it’s come to my attention that Dinesh and Gilfoyle are putting some negative comments on my entries. I understand their opinions are important to them, but I feel they may be taking things a bit too far.” Jared shrugs. “Do you think you could talk to them about it?”
Richard makes a face when he has to restart his game. “Uh, sure- um… What do you want me to say?”
“Perhaps you could ask them to tone it down? It’s just that I find these entries somewhat cathartic in nature and their comments are a bit distracting.”
“Alright, sure, Jared.” He smiles as he finds another ace. “After I finish.”
“Thank you Richard.” Jared nods and smiles. Richard gives him a small nod as he leaves the room.
He dicks around playing solitaire for another minute, then pauses, sits back, and opens up a tab on his web browser. Richard finds the Pied Piper website and chuckles at the condorcam video. Richard’s written for the blog before but he’d been a mess at the time. He only remembers seeing the text box and a photo Jared gave him to put with the blog entry. The blog is sparse and Richard decides to start from the beginning of the entries.
He wasn’t really sure what to expect.
But it wasn’t this.
He wonders if Jared was so supportive of his “night sweats” because of the “incidents” at Hooli. He shifts uncomfortably and cracks his neck. Richard thinks back to their first day working together, back when Jared (Should he call him Donald? Would he like that?) went at least ten hours with no sleep and no bathroom breaks. It’s uncomfortable to think he could’ve made Jared go through that humiliation all over again.
It’s scary to think the screaming German was Jared on a good night. Does Jared feel unsafe where he’s sleeping now? Should he have let him stay in his room? His headphones cancel out sound, he could just wear those.
He about closes the tab when he sees a post about the arbitration. He’d rather not think about that day ever again.
But the word tattoo catches his eye and he skims through the entry.
Richard rubs a hand over his mouth. He calmly sets down his laptop, walks over to the kitchen, and vomits into the sink.
He just as calmly returns to his laptop and reads the entry more carefully, certain he missed something. A joke, exaggeration, something that isn’t collapsing windpipes and abuse and Jared could have died how is he this cheerful?
His stomach is roiling and he rushes to the nearest trash can.
-
What the hell does he say?
He’s been staring at Jared for twenty minutes and he can’t even manage to say hello and how does he ask Jared about the arbitration entry?
Richard knows he looks like a giant creeper because Dinesh keeps looking up at him and it reminds Richard of TechCrunch when Jared was sleep deprived and everyone thought Jared was going to wander into traffic and die.
And he was only sleep deprived because he got kidnapped by a robot driven car and had to sit on an island alone for four days. Without food. In the middle of the ocean.
He keeps thinking he can’t be more horrified by the shit that’s happened to Jared and then he falls into a spiral all over again.
“Seriously Richard, you’re kind of freaking us out.”
“Yeah I could freak you out…” Richard rubs his hands over his face. “Jesus Christ.”
“What the hell are you whining about now?” Gilfoyle reclines in his chair. “You look like shit.”
Richard takes a deep breath and covers his mouth. He’d hoped he was done throwing up today.
“I gotta-” he gulps and rushes off to the bathroom. He can’t even manage to stand up once he’s finished.
“Richard?” No no no not him anyone else he’ll even take Erlich and his bitching just not Jared. He’ll never keep it together if he looks at Jared with ‘our last sight being the racist tattoos on the needle-scarred forearms of our foster-mother’s boyfriend du jour, flexing as our windpipe collapsed’ floating around in his head. “Are you alright?”
“I-” he gets up long enough to lock the door before slumping against the side of the tub and turning on the shower. “Just, you know…”
‘No running-the-shower-to-cover-the-sounds-of-bathroom-crying for this fellow!’
He curls up next to the bathroom door and sobs.
--
He hasn’t cried this much in a long time.
Richard isn’t sure how long he’s been in the bathroom. His phone is… somewhere, the water in the shower is freezing, and when he stumbles over to the tiny window he finds out it’s dark.
It’s kind of embarrassing to realize he’s been crying in the bathroom for hours.
As he opens the bathroom door, intent on crawling up into bed and never coming back out, something heavy leaning against the door slumps into the bathroom. It’s Jared, of course he waited, and he’s blinking away sleep. Richard could step around him, he could slip away to his room and pretend Jared didn’t wait for him to come out of the bathroom, but he’s going to have to ask Jared about this sooner or later.
“Hey, um, Jared?” He crouches while Jared pushes himself up to a seated position. “So uh… I read your blog entries.”
“Oh, right, yes. I didn’t mean to bother you with my grievances, Richard. Honestly as long as I can continue posting the entries I’ll be fine. You don’t have to speak to them on my account.”
“No, it’s… it’s okay. I’ll say something but… Jared um, we’re like- friends, right?”
Jared smiles. “I’d like to think so, Richard. I feel like I can tell you my problems. You’re a very good boss.”
“I don’t… I mean like, friends. Like, you share things with them and… and they help you and stuff.”
“Oh!” Jared nods. “I’d like that Richard.”
“Right, me too.” This is probably the weirdest way he’s ever made a friend. “Um…” How does he say this how do you ask someone about child abuse? “I uh… read the bios?”
“Ah, I see.”
“I don’t… fuck don’t get upset I just…” Please don’t cry please please don’t start crying. “What… what the fuck happened to you?”
“Well…” Jared closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “You have to understand, Richard, I can’t say much, legally or… emotionally.”
“Okay, yeah.” Richard leans against the door frame. He’s glad they’re right next to the toilet because he wants Jared to be open but he also knows he cannot handle any of this right now.
“You see… the foster care system is not without its problems. There is a high rate of abuse, and neglect,” he immediately looks frightened, “not that all families are bad! It’s quite the opposite. See, many of the families are very loving and helpful, but… sometimes they cannot afford to continue providing a foster home.”
Jared’s breath hitches and Richard freezes. It’s like the old rumor that a T-rex couldn’t see you if you didn’t move, then he feels terrible for comparing Jared to a T-rex, and trying to hide when he sounds like he’s about to cry.
“I aged out of the system.”
It’s the first thing Jared’s said that actually feels like it’s directly related to his experiences. His voice is cracking.
If Richard hadn’t cried before he’s pretty sure that would’ve been the tipping point. He reaches out a hand and Jared snatches it up before he can place it on his knee. Jared’s other hand is rubbing up and down his upper right arm.
“I can’t say anymore, I’m sorry.” Jared’s eyes are wet and shining and when he blinks tears roll down his cheeks. He feels the bottom of his eyes and looks genuinely shocked to find his fingers wet. He tries to take a deep breath, but it catches and more tears start to fall. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I’m sorry Richard I just-”
Richard feels like every deer in front of every set of headlights. He gives Jared’s hand a light squeeze; he legitimately can’t think of anything remotely helpful or comforting to say. Jared clings to him, uncomfortably wedged in the bathroom doorway, squeezing Richard’s ribs in a tight hug.
--
The bathroom floor is not the most uncomfortable place he’s ever slept.
Jared sits up and rubs at his eyes. It’s just beginning to get light out and when he leans out of the bathroom he can’t see anyone at the work spaces. Richard is still asleep on the bathmat and Jared lies back down beside him.
He barely said anything to Richard but it already feels like too much to handle.
Nothing about the scars, or his broken arm. He rubs at the spot where the pins were, the spot that still gets stiff when he doesn’t stretch properly. Or the weeks in PT trying to regain the use of his writing arm. Or the bruises on his neck, his chest, everywhere.
Nothing about losing the few families that showed him support and love.
Not a word about his mother. Or his estranged uncle. He’s not fond of him.
Nothing about working for Gavin and having to hide out in supply closets when things got a bit too familiar.
Or trying to open up to a therapist only to have a panic attack and run from the room.
Still, he feels just a bit lighter, just a bit more in control. And that has to count for something.
Richard snorts in his sleep and rolls towards Jared, flopping an arm over his shoulders.
And yes, sleeping on the bathroom floor is going to make his back sore but he can’t just leave Richard here alone.
As he starts to fall back to sleep, Jared swears he’ll tell Richard more, bit by bit.
‘I felt so tiny and safe in that womb of innovation that I cannot describe the feeling.’
He can only hope this one lasts.