Title: Competitive Pairing: Ryan/Colin Rating: PG-13, R-ish Summary: Sometimes it's just not worth the fight. An answer to the fanfic100 #26. "Teammates." My best friend's a competitive bastard. I don't mean that he posesses a healthy desire to be good at things, nor a natural urge to win. I mean he has an obsessive drive to be best in everything, to always have the last word. It physically pains him to fail at anything. Normally I find this tendency amusing, one of the quirks that makes him who he is. I even indulge him, a little, with an encouraging smile or admission of defeat. But then sometimes...sometimes he goes too far for even my practiced patience. When he quits rather than lose it pisses me off like nothing else. He hangs up the phone, walks out of the room, rather than finish a conversation he perceives himself to be in a corner of. He lives life like a game, and keeps score in his head - only to him, the points do matter, more than anything. And his worthy opponents? Why, they're us mere mortals, his friends. Every new endeavor is a new game where only he knows the rules. Sometimes you get lucky, though, and he'll decide you're on his team, for whatever reason. Then it's you and him against the world. He used to always assume I was on his team, when we were young and obscure and poor. Those moments of "RynCol" are getting fewer as we get older, and I miss them. Oh, we're still attached at the ass, but our friendship isn't what it was. Our repartee has always flown fast and furious, and the barbs have always been tipped. In recent years, they've started to sting. I don't like the way we're headed. No one else can see - how could they know we're falling apart when they never knew how close we were to begin with? - and Ryan won't see. He's playing with fire. I can't be understanding forever. I love him; I knew he was like this when we met, and I knew what I was getting into. So I'll do my damnedest to save us. But he's killing me, one pinprick at a time, and I will eventually snap. I know myself well enough to know I'll play his game, and I'll play to win - rough and dirty. I'll hurt him. I can, more than anyone, because I know him. He's been my best fried, partner, lover for too long. He's set up his game all wrong; he's on the offense wth no defensive structure, assuming I'll never strike back. And someday, inevitably, he's going to push me and I'm going to lash out and we're going to shatter and no one's every going to notice... And that's my own damn fault, isn't it? If I hadn't been so afraid of having a real relationship with him, of walking away from Hollywood and burying myself in his arms forever, then we might still be together the way we should have been and he wouldn't be treating me like I'm someone else. Everyone's noticed that things are awkward; Brad always asks me why Ryan never talks to me while we're out touring. Greg's getting hopeful again; I see it in his eyes when we reunite for All-Stars. Drew's staying out of it, not wanting to hurt either of us and knowing better than the rest how Ryan is. I'm not sure I can fix it, this time. Not sure I can make it so we're best friends again, not so long as he's acting like I'm the opposition. I've got to try, though. Which is why I'm standing here on Ryan's doorstep at eleven o'clock at night, thankful his family is out of town at the same time I'm filming this stupid commercial, holding a six-pack of beer as my peace offering. He lets me into the house, looking confused but gratified at my presence, and I smile awkwardly at him. "Imported," I say, hoping he'll get it. He snorts, taking the beer and walking back to the kitchen. "Thank god. I'm so sick of watered down American-" "If you came to visit sometime..." Suddenly all the friendliness is gone, and I slap myself mentally. I was planning on being a little drunk before we started this. "If you weren't so busy touring with Brad all the time," and that's a low blow. I know how Brad feels about me, and Ryan has no right to mock him for it. Brad's a great guy. "Sorry if I have a career outside ABC," I snipe, because now he's pissed me off. "I could call Greg for some tips on how to handle Brad, though." He turns, honest pain in his eyes, and I almost smile. Two points for me, in quick succession. "Fuck you," he snarls, and that proves he's off-kilter; Ryan only has to resort to cursing when he can't come up with anything better. This isn't the way I wanted to handle this. "I miss you," I tell him, and watch his eyes go all soft on me. I've surrendered the game, though, and that's the only reason I'm forgiven. Screw this. "I miss you and I'm tired of arguing with you, Ryan. If everything I do is an attack on you, then maybe I'm better off not talking to you at all." He walks stiffly into the kitchen, not bothering to answer me. Four of the beers go in the fridge and he passes me one of the remaining two, while I hope to God he comes to his senses. "Colin..." "I mean it." He's looking at me while he takes a long drink, and I'm captivated for a moment by the long line of his throat as he swallows. Beautiful, my Ryan. Always that, even when I'm as scared and furious as I am now. I take a drink too, hoping to calm my nerves, but I skipped dinner and instead my stomach rebels, churning as I realize this could very well end everything I've ever had with Ryan. "Pat and I are splitting up." I choke, a little, and lean back against the spotless counter. "What?" "We've been talking about it for a few years now; we were waiting for the kids to grow up, a little. We both think it's better this way." He's calm, but I can see smugness in his eyes - shocking news must count double in his head, or something. "Why haven't you -" I stop, because it's a dumb question. "-said anything?" He smirks, and I want to hit him. "Because you didn't want to hear it, Colin." He's right, and I think that pisses me off more than anything. "What are you going to do?" He shrugs. "She gets this place, but I'm taking the ranch, so..." I nod. Logical. "Why?" "Officially? Just not in love anymore. Really? Because she," and he smiles mirthlessly, "thinks I'm in love with you." "Are you?" The words are out before I can stop them, and he grins triumphantly. That was the equivalent of a touchdown, making me lose control of myself. He's so far ahead I'll never catch up. "Probably." And then he's kissing me, rough and nothing like the first time or any of the subsequent incidents. One of his hands is gripping my hip, grinding me against him and I'm stunned to realize we're both hard. This is absurd; he can't just expect me to let him shove everything away and use me like this - I don't stop him, though. I never do, after all. He's going to fuck me tonight, and we're going to fight some more, and tomorrow he'll snark over breakfast and I'll get angry and walk away. Our friendship...relationship...romance...whatever the hell it is....is going to break like it never was and I'm going to let it happen, because Ryan wants me to. He always wins for a reason. ~Fin.