Work Text:
James honestly doesn't expect the reaction he gets when the cameras go off. As soon as they're out of sight of the audience, Jeremy's hand comes up and grips James' elbow, hard.
"Oi!" says James. "D'you mind?" He looks to Richard for help, but Richard's face is taut and pale beneath whatever glop the makeup lady has foisted on him this week, and he just shakes his head.
"Not here," Richard says, and Jeremy tugs on James' arm again. James gives up and lets them drag him out of the hangar and across the tarmac into the portakabin. He would feel rather bemused about the whole thing, like he always does when there are strange plots afoot, except that neither Richard nor Jeremy looks like they're having any fun at all.
Eventually they get inside and Richard locks the door firmly, which is when James really starts to feel perturbed.
"Look here, chaps, what do you mean by all of this? I'm not going to help you set the Liana on fire, no matter how many times you ask."
"Were you serious out there?" Jeremy asks, letting go of James' arm but not stepping back. James furrows his brow.
"As serious as I could be, what with Hammond making bumsex jokes all day. What are you on about? You're not usually worried about seriousness." He looks over at Richard again but Richard just looks back, eyes intent in a way that James finds distinctly unnerving.
"I'm not talking about that," Jeremy says dismissively. He isn't shouting, which tells James that he's really, properly angry instead of entertainment show angry. "I'm talking about were you serious that you would have sodding shot yourself?"
James feels at once hot and cold all over. He hadn't thought twice about that little exchange during the news, hadn't really considered that anyone might actually be paying attention. It was just cocking about, just being ridiculous, and if it also happened to be a bit true then that's nobody's business but his own.
He opens his mouth to say just that. Except... Jeremy hasn't moved out of James' personal space, and this close he can see the grooves forming between Jeremy's eyebrows. James' eyes flick over to Richard again, who's biting his lip but not saying anything. Suddenly they're both too close, the presence of two bodies in the room besides his own flickering like static across his skin. He pushes Jeremy away and, turning, walks to the window, making himself put his hands on the sill so that they won't shake. I can't do this if I know they're watching. Of course they're watching, but now that he can't see either of them it's like he doesn't have to know that they're watching.
Slowly, James says, "Yes, I was being serious. Not intentionally, but. It's true."
Right now he can remember exactly what it felt like, the smooth barrel of the shotgun under his fingers somehow soothing the whirl of thoughts that had been going around in his head. He remembers wondering how long it would take before someone found him, and what it would be like for them. He remembers briefly considering putting down the shotgun and going to get some rat poison or pills instead, but then discarding the idea as not manly enough. If I'm going to die then I intend to do it properly, he'd thought.
"Why?" says Richard, his voice shaking a little.
James laughs, and even he doesn't know if there's bitterness there or genuine amusement. "Why? Why not? Face it, Hammond, I am a spanner, and a cock, and a little map of Tasmania. I'm forty six years old and I live alone with my cat."
But then he remembers that the phone had rung, and that when he'd answered it Richard's squeal of "We got the approval to go to Vietnam!" had startled him up out of the blackness. When they'd finished talking and he'd hung up, the shotgun just hadn't seemed very appealing anymore.
"But—" says Jeremy, and James turns, somehow feeling less ill-at-ease now that he's admitted to something he hardly even lets himself think about. Now that it isn't threatening to burst out he can look at them again.
"It's fine, Jez, Hammond," he says. "I'm fine. I'm not even unhappy. It's just that black dog, sometimes it just... takes you. Sometimes it comes in and lies on your chest when you're trying to sleep and you can't breathe, and then it licks your face with its foul dog breath and okay, that's a bit of a shit metaphor actually. But you know what I mean."
"James, if you ever," says Jeremy. "I mean if you fucking ever—"
James finds himself doing something he hardly ever does. He takes a step closer, and then another, and then he reaches out and slides his hand around the back of Jeremy's neck, pulling him close until Jeremy's white, terrified face is pressed into his shoulder. He holds out his other hand and Richard comes, too, curling into the space between James' left arm and Jeremy's right. The three of them fit together like a particularly well-made jigsaw puzzle of the kind James had as a boy, hand-cut from a single piece of wood with each piece worn smooth by both craftsmanship and time.
They stand for a moment, just breathing together in the silence of the office. Outside there's a crash as something falls over, or gets run into, and Jeremy snorts against James' neck. This makes Richard giggle, and then James is laughing, too, a helpless guffaw that feels like it's dragging all the tension in his body out through his mouth. Jeremy lifts his head, and the part of James that isn't caught up with laughing notes the softening lines around his eyes, the easing of the tightness at the corners of his mouth.
Then Jeremy kisses him. James is mid-laugh so his mouth is already hanging open, but Jeremy doesn't press the advantage. Instead he just sets their lips together, soft and sweet, and James finds himself kissing back like it's the most natural thing in the world. He tightens his fingers in the hair at the nape of Jeremy's neck.
Beside them Richard makes a little huffing noise, and James has to break the kiss to make sure that Richard isn't freaking out. But Richard is smiling up at him, pouting a little but in the way that he does when he's using his face to his advantage.
"Bloody Jeremy always gets to go first," Richard whines. Then he sobers. "That is, if I get a go at all."
"Richard," says James, half-exasperated, and pulls him closer. Richard's kiss is more active than Jeremy's, not like he can't control himself but more like he just doesn't see the point. It's just as sweet, though, and as Jeremy trails a line of kisses down his jaw, James feels something click inside him, like a puzzle piece falling into place.
"Don't ever let things get that bad for you again," says Jeremy.
"Promise you won't," says Richard, his voice muffled against James' lips.
"I promise," says James, and as long as they don't move away he knows it'll be an easy promise to keep.