It was a vicious cycle. A pill, the reprieve, the awakening, the craving, the waiting and the trying not to think-- the pill, the reprieve, the awakening, the craving, the waiting and the trying not to think.... It just went on and on.

Once he'd given in once, there was nothing he could do. The wall of will-power and self-respect he'd built up over the past three years-- over the past two years; there hadn't been enough to stand up to temptation before... before then-- that wall was gone was gone. It was like those three years since he'd gone through those horrible days of detox simply hadn't happened: all that mattered was the next little green pill. It wasn't safe to take them more than twice a day, not after so long being clean, but by the end of those twelve hours he was in agony of impatience, and he hated himself all the more.

Because, of course, those three years had happened. That's what made the cycle so much worse. He gave in, took a Butterfly pill, drifted in bliss for a few hours, and then when he came to again, the guilt and self-loathing was almost worse than the cravings. Almost. The only escape was the coward's escape: another pill.

The first bag had lasted a week and a half. He'd stumbled out to meet the dealer again, and hardly noticed that the price was already starting to creep up. It was the same as always. The third supply had crept up even farther. Within the past two months since he'd fallen, the price had gone up more than half-again, and by the next supply, it would have doubled from the original price. He couldn't afford prices like that-- then again, no one could. The worst part was that no one cared. He certainly didn't: the need took over, and prices didn't matter. Nothing mattered to a druggie, except that he got that next refill of little green pills, because otherwise he'd not only have to face withdrawl, he'd have to face the mess he'd made of his life. Again.

It was a vicious cycle, all right-- one which never should have started again, in the first place. This time was much, much worse. Hooked on Butterfly for the first time, nothing mattered except the next fix. If he lost his job, he didn't care; he hadn't been paying much attention to it, anyway. If he defaulted on his mortgage and got booted out into a cheap, cockroach-infested apartment, he didn't care; he didn't notice, when he was comfortably high, and he was too distracted by his desire to be high, when he wasn't. If he'd been shot in the street, he wouldn't have cared, as long as he was high at the time. He certainly hadn't cared that his dealer was his only friend, and that his brother was the only one who could even look at him anymore.

Hooked on Butterfly for the second time, everything mattered, and the next fix was the only way to forget about it for a while.

He hadn't seen Wiro in days. He probably couldn't have faced her, even if she'd come by. The last he'd seen her, he'd been too high to really pay much attention to her, but he thought she'd said she was moving to the hatching bays to clutch. Since she'd been gone ever since, he thought that's what she must have done.

Should've been there... what kind of a man lets his dragon do something like that alone?

His kind, apparently, and whatever horrible connotations came with that. What mattered was that he hadn't been there. At the rate he was going, he'd miss the hatching, too, whenever that would be.

Who am I kidding? At the rate I'm going, I'll be in jail before the hatching. His eyes drifted to the little bag. Or dead from overdose.

He still had another hour to go. He had to wait.

Have to wait. Where would that leave Wiro, if I died? --Probably better off, who knows... she probably hates me by now, and she'd be right to do so.

... :How can you think that...?:

Zale hadn't moved so fast in... he couldn't remember when. He was on his feet and plastered to the wall with shock before he knew it.

"What, who, what--"

:Oh, Zale....:

Wiro had come home. And he wasn't holed up in his room, but had been sitting, curled up, on the couch in the living room, where all she had to do was bow her head to see inside-- and see him. He stared back up at her, speechless-- well, that, at least, wasn't a surprise. And she stared back, and what expression a dragonic face could make was, at that moment, some humiliating mix of disgust and pity.

:Zale... look at you....:

All he could do was shrug and look away, resting his hands against the wall to keep them from shaking. He hadn't left the apartment since she'd left, not for work, not for groceries, certainly not to see his rehabilitation officer, not even for another supply of Butterfly-- the last only because he hadn't needed one yet. But, alone, even without the dog-- Ian had picked him up... sometime, Zale couldn't remember when-- he hadn't really had any reason to comb his hair, shower, shave... change his clothes....

I must look disgusting.

At least he cared, a little bit, that someone would see him look disgusting. Or, rather, that Wiro would see him look disgusting.

:I don't care what you look like,: Wiro said firmly. :I want you to come with me.:

"Come...." His voice failed, and he coughed, trying again. "Come with you?"

:To the hatching bay.: He stared at her again, and she added simply, mind-voice wavering with all the emotion that would have been in the spoken words, :I'm lonely.:

"So--"

She interrupted him before he could suggest she invite her mate or one of her friends to keep her company. :I want you.:

"But--"

:You're my bond and I love you, and I want you with me.:

"But...."

But there was no "but". She ducked her head into the room, and let him lean on her neck, an arm flung across her muzzle, shutting his eyes and letting a sigh shudder out of him. You have every right to never want to see me again, he thought at her.

:I don't think I could live if I never saw you again,: was her clear response.

He had to smile a bit. "Let me get cleaned up...."

:Good, because you stink,: she answered, a thin veil of humor covering relief and love. He stroked her muzzle once more and forced himself to support his own weight, turning towards the hall and the bathroom.

Wiro growled, a threatening sound he'd never heard from her before-- and only then did he realize he'd pause to pick up the too-familiar little parcel of pills, without even noticing it. Glancing behind him, he saw her shake her head. :Not those,: she said.

"But...."

And they both knew there was no "but".

The Hatching

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