[t]alk to me.

[&Ismirshalen]

Ismirshalen's own hand stung just from the force he had used to hit the other man. All of the color flooded out of his face as he stared back at the therapist in horror. What had he done? He never seemed to be able to ask himself this question enough. There was always a new reason for it the moment he ditched the old one.

But maybe this time he'd gone too far. His hands trembled and he held his breath as he stared detachedly at the other. He felt like he'd just kicked a wounded dog. Except he couldn’t kick things. But it was the same concept. When Dr. DeVrais suddenly turned and ran, Ismirshalen couldn’t find his voice in time to stop him. The speed at which the Frenchman was running was enough to make him feel incredibly weak.

"… SHIT!" he yelled angrily, slamming his fists on the wall opposite the cell and leaning his pounding head against the cool surface. "FUCK THIS SHIT! I CAN'T DO ANYTHING BLOODY RIGHT." No longer able to express himself in words, he let out a frustrated scream. And made the mistake of slamming his head against the wall. Pain lashed through his already suffering skull. His vision clouded for a moment and he had to lean on his cane to keep from listing to the side. His cane. His bloody cane and bloody disabled leg that was keeping him from running after Vincent..

"Really, mate, you're goin' too hard on yourself!" the arsonist piped up from his cell. "Happens all the time to me with the ladies. One little slap and they've got their panties in a twist."

Ismirshalen turned slowly to look at the redhead with a disgusted look on his face. "You're bloody sick," he growled. Before he got another smartass reply, he started limping after the therapist as quickly as possible.

By the time he got to the therapist's room his bad leg was screaming in protest. He had to lean against the open doorway for a few minutes to catch his breath. Huh. The door was open… As Ismirshalen let himself the rest of the way in he closed it.

"Vincent?" he called as he made his way through the small apartment. "Vincent, are you t'here?" He got no reply. But there was a strange buzzing noise coming from the direction of the bathroom. The door was hanging ajar. Ismirshalen limped towards it, the noise growing louder as he approached.

"Vincent, I'm so--" His voice trailed off abruptly as the man came into view. Half of his hair was being shaved off his head. The secretary moved up behind the other and closed his hand over the shaving device to keep Dr. DeVrais from further raping his scalp. "W'hat are you doing?!" he pleaded in a shocked whisper. When he looked into the mirror he could see the tortured expression on his lover's face. "Vincent, talk to me, please."

[VinnNAY]

Vincent was really digging at his scalp. Or at least the half he could see of it. There were still tuffs of hair protruding out from his half shaven head so he dug even deeper and more violently. Then something grasped his shaver.

Vincent fought against the arm briefly but the humming from the shaving instrument was murdering his fake concentration so he let go. The limb that stopped him from continuing to hoe his hair was attached to none other than Ismirshalen and the hand that had previously just struck him was gripping his electric shaver. What was he going to do with it? Shave his face off? Beat him with it? But then he realized that Ismirshalen was just as scared as he was when he glanced into the mirror. He tried not to look at himself.

«It was bothering me» Vincent wailed, realizing what he was just doing and turning quickly to dig his wet face into Ismirshalen’s long torso. He started shaking along with each sob. He was a therapist, he should know better! Or at least that’s what he kept telling himself. He’d been doing everything wrong since he had met Ismirshalen.

[&Ismirshalen]

Ismirshalen was starting to become worried that the therapist wouldn’t let go of the shaver. Places on Dr. DeVrais's scalp looked tender from where the guy had dug into it. He was afraid the Frenchman would accidentally shave out another hole in his head. He didn’t know what he'd do if that happened. But luckily it didn’t come to that, because the other hand finally released its grip.

The secretary almost felt like bawling himself when the other pressed his face into his chest and wept. But instead of turning into a very soggy support system himself he reached around the therapist to unplug the shaver and set it on the counter. He wrapped his arms around Vincent's shaking back and stroked a few stray locks of remaining hair from his face as he held him close. Inside he was beating himself up with a rusty spiked club. How could he let the other get like this? He screwed everything up. He needed to do something right for once.

"Shh," he murmured softly, letting his cane slide to the floor so he could attend to the damaged man with both arms. "You don’t like your hair in your face?" he asked, pressing his lips gently on Dr. DeVrais's bare scalp. "If you want I can help you shave off the rest… you only got half…" His voice broke off as he fought to choke up a sob forming in his throat. He'd gotten the guy shot, and now he'd slapped him. What sort of horror would he wreck upon the poor man, next?

"I'm so sorry. I didn’t mean to slap you… I just… I'm sorry."

[VinnNAY]

«Michel…» Vincent said quietly as he wiped his tears off his face with one shaky, gaunt hand. «Please… finish…» He felt unbalanced with his hair like that even if it may not bother him personally. He would have gone to work with his head like it was right now if it wasn’t for Ismirshalen. Who knows what people would have thought.

Thank goodness Izzy was there for him. He reluctantly stepped away from Ismirshalen and turned with even less desire to the mirror. He felt his face crinkle in horror at his reflection. His hair was shorter than short and that didn’t do well with his strong features. At all.

«I look ridiculous» Vincent stated with immense sorrow, wondering how much more awful it looked in full view.

[&Ismirshalen]

Ismirshalen bit his lip as he plugged the shaving device back into the wall. He really didn’t want to shave the therapist at all but he couldn’t let him just walk around like he was now. That really wouldn’t do. He could tell from the look on the half-shaven man's face that the guy wouldn’t be able to bring himself to mow off the rest of it himself. He squeezed Dr. DeVrais's shoulder reassuringly as he readied the hair-eater.

"Shh, don’t say t'hat," Ismirshalen pleaded softly, not speaking loud in consideration for the fact that any harsh sounds were harmful to the other. He wanted to strangle himself for being such a bastard before but that could wait until later when he was magnetized back to the toilet bowl. "You look fine, really. It'll just take some getting used to." No fucking way. He turned the device on and started to gently mow the lawn-- er, shave the therapist's head. But it was so much nicer on his conscious to think of it as mowing a lawn. Even though he'd never mowed a lawn in his life. Or shaved a head, for that matter. But he was careful to do a good and painless job.

"Just curious, how fast does your hair grow?" he asked after a few minutes. His eyes were starting to twitch from the agony of seeing all that beautiful hair fall to the floor.

When he finally finished he turned Vincent around so he didn’t have to look at himself and gave him a make-up kiss. It was so much easier than begging the guy for forgiveness.

[VinnNAY]

Having your hair shaved off actually felt really nice. Now he knew why so many men did it each week. He used to just laugh silently at those morons who chose to do such a thing to themselves. Now he was one of them. He saw parts of his face he hadn’t seen for millions of years. The contrast between him and the person shaving him was drastic. He used to feel jealous of Ismirshalen’s hair. Now he was very jealous. It would only increase in time as it grew back into that terrible shade of black that haunted his roots.

“It grows.” Vincent said miserably, and mentally tossing the question over his shoulder. It actually grew very fast. He took time nearly every week to keep it somewhat kempt.

He found himself still staring into the mirror confused. “Do I feel a draft?” Vincent tried to joke. But when he turned to look at the real Izzy instead of the mirror-Michel, he met lips. Wonderful lips that he couldn’t get enough of. He also couldn’t get enough of what was around Izzy’s lips. He was so close to him that he felt the other gently hit the bathroom wall. It was very nice indeed. In that moment he gave up. It just wasn’t worth it to keep himself away from his Ismirshalen.

“Get me a cigarette,” Vincent gasped.

[&Ismirshalen]

Ismirshalen wrapped his arms around the other as he was pressed back into the bathroom wall, stroking the therapist's shaved head with his nimble fingers. Who cared if it was shaved, right now? The man before him was still the same man as he was before he'd lost all his hair, which was now littering the floor in large clumps. He was still the same man, with the same face, and the same delicious lips that he couldn’t bring himself to stop pressing his own against. He was his Vincent. Hair or no hair.

But that didn’t stop him from feeling incredibly guilty about having pushed the guy so far in the first place. And that guilt only escalated when their lips parted and he heard the magical words that announced him the winner of the bet. Suddenly he didn’t know if he even wanted to win. His head was pounding too hard for him to think. If Dr. DeVrais had won, they would have gotten married…

"I'll be right back," he whispered.

Ismirshalen parted himself from the other and left the bathroom to get the other man a cigarette. Feeling downright terrible. And not just because his own addiction wasn’t being satisfied. Marriage. They could have been married… That might actually be a good thing for them. He wasn’t sure he wanted to have Vincent before things like marriage underwent themselves in the first place. It'd happened once before in his life, and he'd felt dirty. He didn’t want to feel dirty. Not with this man whom he loved so much.

He returned to the bathroom with a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, pulling out one and lighting it before passing it to the other. He then did the same for himself. The guilt he was feeling was making him feel nauseated.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked, running a hand through his hair in distress. The other guy could always make a last minute decision. Actually, that was a joke. Like he would make a last minute decision not to drink a mug of caffeine if it was placed in front of his face? It was the same concept with Vincent and nicotine.

[VinnNAY]

He leaned on the wall dazed as Ismirshalen left him to go fetch him a death stick. Vincent felt rather relieved that the bet was going to end tonight. He tried to ignore the down of this situation. He could be miserable later.

Once Ismirshalen came back there was an obvious look of doubt on his gorgeous face. Vincent just tried to smile. What was he going to give to his Michel if he didn’t want his original prize?

“You don’t like bald smokers?” Vincent laughed nervously, relieving Izzy’s hand of the cigarette. He took one deep official inhale of the noxious fumes and blew them out slowly while he gazed down at the white stick with a very pompous look. He glanced up at the other who was about to take a breath full of the same deadly fumes. Being Vincent, he plucked the cigarette out from Ismirshalen’s hand and kissed his cheek.

“No smoking in the Quattrocchi Site,” He said, letting the cigarette out on the wall directly behind him and Izzy.

[&Ismirshalen]

"Nothing to do with t'hat," he replied, about to raise his hand to put the chemical-filled stick in his mouth. But just as he started to, it was whisked right out of his grasp. Ismirshalen shuddered in pain as he leaned back against the wall, the smoky lips against his cheek bittersweet. He tried to inhale as much residue fumes from the air as he could. But that hardly did anything for his vicious headache.

"T'hat's not fair," he gasped, wondering at his chances of managing to pull out and light another cigarette before it was taken from him once more. He carefully slid down the wall and pulled his good leg up to his chest so he could rest his seething forehead against it. It amazed him how the other could still manage to be such a bastard when situation called for it. Seeing the look of relief that had overcome Dr. DeVrais's face as he'd puffed on the cigarette made his craving for caffeine increase tenfold. How he'd love to wrap his trembling hands around a mug of the dark black liquid right now.

"I wouldn’t be able to enjoy my prize like this," he explained, although that wasn’t the reason he had such sudden doubts. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to tell the other what he was really thinking. Of course, the excuse he'd voiced was still quite valid. Right now he was more in the mood for emptying his stomach into a toilet than getting it on with the therapist.

"Can I have coffee in the Quattrocchi Site?" he begged, voice a bit muffled from the position in which he was sitting.

[VinnNAY]

The magic always happens in the bathroom.

Vincent didn’t like it when people put him down. It rarely ever happened. He was finally ready to ‘give himself’ up to Ismirshalen and the man did just that. Put him down. Of course he immediately thought it was his new terrible transformation. The other guy clearly liked his hair. It would be a very bad thing if it was the only thing he liked about him. What else did Izzy seem to like? Coffee? Maybe he should dress up as a big coffee mug and then he’ll have sex with him.

He was even falling to the floor. A common antisex move. He wasn’t going to quit this easily, though. Vincent kneeled next to Ismirshalen on the oddly colored tile floor and uncrossed his upset arms to hold the wallowing lump.

“I love you, Michel,” Vincent said while he was stroking the other’s silky hair and sleepily leaning his head against him. The other looked like he was about to throw up but if anyone was going to throw up on Vincent it might as well have been Izzy.