The Darkest Shades of Forgotten Gray

Disclaimer: I just own the fanfiction. The characters all belong to Ryan Murphy and Co. About three months after the second season finale aired for Nip/Tuck, I'd formulated my own little take on a possible scenario that could have transpired from the consequences (i.e. Christian's run-in with the big bad). I also had a very good friend in mind when I wrote it, because of her love for Christian as a character. While it is a bit dark, I think the outcome will leave you with a sense of closure regarding the storyline.

Christian Troy abruptly edged his wheelchair away from the undoubtedly bleak view that was currently transpiring through the cramped window, his gorgeous visage immediately wincing as he felt the sudden spread of bruises over his right hand, lightly gritting his teeth from the small sparks of pain that had eagerly drawn themselves up to greet him. The room was as equally small and compact as the window, housing only a single bed with hospital prescribed plain in terms of sheets, and a short, stubby wooden table assortment that was supposed to hold flowers, food, and a whole bunch of other shit he couldn't quite remember right now. The television above him, which clung to cables that drifted in and out of the ceiling tiles, was drawling out a rerun of Miami Vice in the beauty of syndication in all its glory, and a part of him desperately yearned to cling to the life he assumed he no longer had. Fresh droplets of rain streamed down the glass, sliding down in deep puddles of water, as a group of nurses huddled together in the hallway, mumbling incoherent verses out of his reach. Both sides of his face bore the scar and aftermath of having been classified as Miami's latest victim in yet another massacre from the apparently unstoppable Carver, who believed that beauty must secretly be shrouded in a vast state of ugliness to deem itself precious art. He knew he should have been happy he'd survived, but the cost had clearly been too much to handle, even for someone of the nonchalant frame of mind he'd often found himself in throughout his existence. And what more was existence he asked himself, than a mere passport to shove you in and to shove you out of a Godforsaken poor excuse for a world. He'd certainly never reaped its benefits, and his childhood now haunted him more than ever.

His encounter with the carver had left him broken with more than just a tattered face. It had left him broken inside, and had sought to question the very depths of the manhood he'd risen from to become somebody- somebody he thought had mattered. But through it all, maybe he really was that arrogant, selfish good-for-nothing bastard woman after woman had told him he was. Hell, maybe he'd earned it...maybe Christian Troy really didn't have a heart, underneath all of that vanity he chose to embrace so fondly in such a ripe age. He hesitantly lifted his good hand to calmly frame the cuts that had since been stitched up tight, his fingers brushing the light stubble he'd acquired since his stay at a place where the service was half ass, and he couldn't even move around without bumping into some piece of crap that always threw itself out of a vacant corner and into his oncoming path.

He'd been raped. And naturally, as disturbing an image as it was, it had felt like every inch of him was being poked and prodded- being wrongly invaded while his body refused to respond to anything but the helpless reaction he professed against the struggle he'd suffered. He'd been entirely numb, and entirely too caught up on the drug's state to do any Goddamn thing to fight back. The only thing he could see was Mr. Troy, envisioning a time when he was bribed for acts of sexuality that had come to cloud his overall development, erasing the boy he was most likely meant to be, and saving him for a man that ultimately was. The doctors assured him the damage was nowhere near as bad as the male model he and Sean had operated on not all that long ago, and he wanted to believe it. He really did. But the memories had roughly resurfaced, and there was nothing he could do to stop them from penetrating his train of thought anymore. They were everywhere, if only to reiterate the fact that he seemed to fail at everything he'd ever tried to see through and accomplish.

Wilbur had been taken from him- James had seen to that, and he often wondered if that baby could have restored the sanity he knew he'd already lost, preserving his soul for all that it was worth. But it wasn't meant to be- it hadn't been meant to be, no matter how badly he wanted it to. He literally felt like those unforgotten pieces had taken up residence in his subconscious to flood him with the realization of what would always remain incapable and much too far away for him to truly grasp.

"If want a professional opinion, you're not exactly looking your best," a familiar voice proclaimed from the doorway, her slender hand lightly gripping the knob, as she propped a hand up against one hip. "A first for you, I'd imagine, but I digress."

He caught the tone with just enough bite to piss him off, her thin frame clad in a short sleeve white blouse, and a skirt that rose to just above her knee, her brown hair stuck in a wavy mess of deep coiled curls. He barely offered her a steady glance, as his blue eyes lended themselves to a spot on the floor and chose to concentrate on it. "If you're just here to tell me what a son of a bitch I am for-"

"Sean told me you were here," Grace Santiago pressed, her voice kept soft and light, as she descended into the room, her heels clicking randomly over the tiled floor. "I heard what happened, and I'm here to-"

"Send me your damn condolences?" he finished quickly, gently shaking his head. "Save it, alright? You're too late, and it's long past. So you can just scoot right on out of here, sweetheart, and let that door hit you on your pretty ass."

"Look, I understand how you must be feeling right now, and it's only common after you've experienced the trauma firsthand to act out on what's going on inside you. You're waging a war inside your head, Christian, and it's not healthy."

"Sorry doc, but I'm broke."

"And I came here as a concerned friend. In case you haven't realized it yet, people do care about you," she retorted plainly, struggling not to let her temper get the better of her, as she took a seat in the single chair perched against the wall, calmly fitting herself into it, one leg crossing itself firmly over the other. "You haven't even touched your jello."

"Do you really think I give a shit about the jello when I can hardly move my damn jaw?"

"Like I said-"

"You haven't said anything I'm interested in hearing, Dr. Santiago. Your presence here is useless. Just as useless as it was when you still worked at McNamara/Troy. So with all due respect, please go before I find a stroke on top of the fact that another man shoved a rather private part of his anatomy into my ass."

"Christian, listen to me-"

"You accused my partner of cheating," he added, regaining his composure.

"Yes, and as you found out for yourself, he was," she fired back. "It didn't take a Goddamn genius to figure it out. I was only doing you a favor."

"Like the favor you did me that night we left the bar?"

"Oh, get over yourself."

"I'd like to say you were the best I ever had, but then again, we'd both know I'd be lying through my teeth."

"I didn't know Julia and Sean split," she commented, easily evading his sarcasm. "And it's funny, because I used to tell Sean that Matt didn't look a thing like him. Guess I wasn't too far off in that assumption, either."

He stopped for a moment; his blues fading slightly, as he carefully folded his hands in front of him, pursing his lips. "It really doesn't matter, because the world has already informed me that I suck at being a father. It's screwed me every way it possibly can."

"You don't know that."

"Oh, I do," he insisted. "Just like how I know you only came here today so you could tell me to my face that I finally got what I deserved."

"They've been trying to catch this guy for-"

"Too long," he added, "and to be quite frank, Dr. Santiago, it's never going to happen. He hides behind who he is, which means he could be right there in front of you, and you'd never see it coming until he was...well, let's just say I've probably paid for all the sins I've ever committed in my entire lifetime. God's probably having a field day up there, looking down on me with a smug smile on his face."

"Does Sean-"

"Sean's got his own problems to think about right now, and he already regrets the fact that the son of a bitch didn't come after him."

"And I'd like to come back," she pressed quietly.

"What?"

"I want to come back," she emphasized.

He nearly smiled, just to spite her. "We're not accepting applications."

"Is that a joke?"

"Do I look like I'm joking? Contrary to what you've believed my opinion was of you prior to your leaving-"

"Firing," she cut him off.

"Excuse me?"

"You took great pleasure in firing me, Christian-"

"Listen, I...beg to differ on that. Especially-"

"Oh, really?"

"Dr. Santiago, you failed to handle one of our patients appropriately, and did so rather inappropriately, namely after it was discovered that she had quite a few personalities on the table, on top of the one she walked in with. Given her current standing, your behavior was uncalled for."

"So that's what you're telling yourself now in order to prove the circumstances just?"

"That's the truth," he retorted.

"Yeah, and if you ever make it back to the office, you're going to need the same second chance I'm offering to you now."

"And I'm in no position to accept that offer. Look at me. Take a good, long look. I'm a Goddamn joke, and I've been cooped up in this piece of garbage for God knows how- I'm a mess. What's more, no one in their right mind wants to come in here, because they act like I have some kind of a disease that's practically incurable, given my outcome. I threw out women, and now they're throwing out me. How's that for payback?"

"I didn't come here intending to pay you back," she protested.

"The answer is no. End of story."

She shook her head, as the curls continued to frame her pretty face, her brown eyes deep and intense as she shot him another hard look, her expression entirely composed of seriousness. "You never told me why the Devon Greco case affected you so much."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"The woman whose-"

"I know who she was," he snapped, interrupting her. "I just don't see how she has anything to do with me. I went to see her once...to...apologize, but it doesn't even begin to constitute the fact that I had any other dealings with her after that. I felt bad about the way I treated her, and I-"

"And you could relate," she told him flatly, the tone of her voice suddenly void of all emotion.

"You're crossing a very thin line, Dr. Santiago. I suggest you watch your step."

"You could relate to what she was telling us, because it happened to you," she concluded.

"I don't know what-"

"That's why you feel the way you do about your run-in with some man in a mask who took away the only innocence you had left, and why you refuse to let anyone show you any sympathy. You know what you were forced into against your will, and it's literally killing you now, because you can't find a way out. You're trapped, Christian."

"I don't have to listen to this."

"You don't, but you will," she countered.

"You know nothing about my-"

"No, but I know he was a man you clearly despised more than life itself. It occurred to me that your actions towards women weren't necessarily derived from the fact that you just happened to be an asshole in general. They come from a place you want to leave untouched, because you're sorry for what you've done, and what it's done to you."

"I hated him with everything I had left," he whispered then, his voice providing just the slightest crack, as he fumbled for his balance, silently feeling it slip away from him. "I told myself I would never let anything like that- you know, you think you can walk among them, and you think your title will speak for itself. But at the same time, underneath it all, you're still sitting there wondering why you can never be like everybody else. And it's simple, Dr. Santiago. You can't. While every inch of your being wants to, you can't. Because their pasts don't revolve around them running from a man who was so controlling and so...selfish, craving the least possible appealing aspect of life. He was my foster father, and sometimes I wish to God I'd stayed an orphan."

"And you can't suffer for the crimes others have-"

"They shouldn't have to suffer."

"Why didn't you just tell her?"

"Tell her what?"

"What he-"

"Sean didn't even know until I confronted Father Shannon."

"Christian-"

"It just hit too close to home. I was- I knew what he did to those little boys, and I just couldn't live with myself unless I..."

"And you're not alone in this."

"Maybe being here is better than being out there," he reasoned. I bitched like hell about the room, but maybe it's better than being out there and having yourself used for a purpose that prides itself in ripping apart everything you thought you were."

"Sean said the doctors were thinking about releasing you," she started then. "He said you might feel more at ease if you stayed with him for awhile."

"I'm not going to live in constant fear," he added, his eyes latching onto hers, "and I don't need Sean to take care of me."

"You need someone," she pressed. "You can't go this alone."

"And I don't think I'm alone," he objected.

"Maybe I recommended the wrong group."

"Wrong group?" he repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"For support," she filled in.

"Yeah, and speaking of that, the last one you sent me to, had Gina saying I was carrying her child and wanted me to be tested for HIV- but you already know about the HIV, from the lovely little message I left on your damn machine."

"And just when you thought your life couldn't get any worse-"

"I was then brutally forced to endure the work of a monster in my own home," he cut her off.

"And I'll work for a smaller fee."

He didn't flinch as she hesitantly put a hand over his, the warmth of it softening him with just the briefest brush across his skin. He gazed upon the gesture for a good five minutes, before he let his eyes grace her visage. "I don't want your pity, Dr. Santiago."

"I'm not try-"

"But I could use a friend," he finished. The corners of his mouth almost reached the smile he wanted to profess earlier, but he discovered his injuries still prevented it, leaving only a sliver of space to give her what could only be construed as one. Though he was still weak, he managed to link their fingers together, giving hers a small squeeze with his remaining strength. He hadn't remembered being nearly so gentle with her before, and he couldn't quite get past the guilt that had begun to overtake his mind, recalling another not so distant past where he used her ruthlessly in the break room to satisfy what were then obvious urges of pleasure. Now he sat, regarding her with an entirely different perspective, as she stared back at him, her eyes seemingly alive with probable hope and the emotion she'd fought to hide and refused to disclose. For the first time, he was seeing the woman, and not what she'd provided for him. He was seeing someone who actually deemed him worthy of someone who quite possibly possessed the capability to love and to respond with that capability where he needed it most.

Or maybe he just needed her.

The End