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fellowshippers2006-01-27 07:44 am
smutcutter.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2006-01-27 07:44 am
Don't Ask, Don't Tell (7/8)
Title: Don't Ask, Don't Tell (7/8)
Author:![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
smutcutter
Pairing: SB/OC (Harris)
Rating: NC-17 (for this chapter and scattered throughout)
Warning: This contains an original character... don't hate the playa...
Disclaimer: This is totally fake! Beyond fake! Never happened, never will - hell, some of the main characters are out my own demented mind.
Summary: Sean falls for a man, Harris - it was the best of times - it was the worst of times - it's told in many flashbacks - this is not a work in progress, it's done - I will be posting a chapter every few days. I want to thanktiggothy for her super fast and amazing beta work, hippediva for her constant support, and frahulettaes for everything....
********************
Sean's boots clicked loudly on the wet pavement of the darkened sidewalk under the twilight sky. He barely seemed to notice the people he was rushing past as he quickly made his way towards Nigel's apartment. Hands stuffed in his pockets, eyes cold and narrow. He tried to stay focused as his mind replayed the scene he had just left.
"You're a bloody liar!" Sean cursed at Jonathan, his acting partner, whom was cringing at the sound.
"I tell ya its true! You think I wanted to tell you!?!" Jonathan puffed heavily on a cigarette and watched Sean pace the room, eyes dark and downcast and simply stayed out of harms way.
"Look, I saw them, Nigel and Daniel. They were together, and not just having lunch." He blew out a plume of smoke and flopped down on the sofa.
"But he - he gave me this right after the filming." Sean stammered and and pulled the round silver medallion from under his shirt. It was inscribed with an intricate 'S' on one side and 'all my love, Nigel' on the other. Sean's hand gripped it tight and Jonathan saw he was shaking, he shook his head in disbelief.
"You really are naive, aren't you?" Sadly, he looked up at Sean. Sean's face flashed into an expression of pure rage. Jon sighed wearily and fished something from his shirt pocket. He pulled out an identical silver medallion with his own initial, 'J', on it.
"I told you; I did not want be the one to tell you." He muttered and held it out for Sean who tucked his own back into his shirt feeling the cold metal burn his chest. He grabbed the chain from Jon's hand and examined it, frozen for a second, then carefully sat in a nearby chair, afraid his legs would no longer hold him.
"Man, I'm sorry." Jon whispered. "And I saw him give something to Daniel. I swear he buys them buy the dozen." Jon chuckled sarcastically and stubbed out his cigarette quickly lighting another. Without a word, Sean shoved Jon's gift into his jacket pocket and stormed out of the apartment,
slamming the door behind him. Jon jumped as a glass vase shattered to the floor. He let out a long slow breath, leaning back in the couch.
"In love much, Sean?" He smirked.
Sean absently bumped into someone and shut out the man's curse. He did not wait for the elevator, instead he ran up the 4 flights of stairs in an attempt to wear the anger out of him. It didn't work. He arrived at Nigel's door and pulled out his keys with shaking hands, finally dropping them. With gritted teeth he took a large step back and gave the door a great kick above the knob. The door buckled but remained closed. He took another try, hitting the frame instead. Grunting and growling with all his anger flaring, all he had accomplished as a sore ankle. The door opened in a flourish and Nigel appeared before him, his expression of anger changed to amusement.
"The bell does work - and besides - " He smiled and reached out to twist the knob. "It is unlocked." His voice was coddling as if reprimanding a schoolboy.
Sean was too enraged to speak and he pushed past Nigel to enter the apartment. Nigel moved slowly and closed the door, running a hand through his dark curls then scratching his graying beard and mustache, keeping his eyes on Sean's back. Suddenly, he remembered the phone was in his hand and a voice called his name. He quickly raised the phone to his ear.
"Yes sorry - I'm going to have to call you back - yes, 6 o'clock - see you then. Good bye, love."
He put the receiver back in the cradle and set the phone on the hall table. He took a deep breath before going to Sean.
"Well, then, to what do I owe this pleasure. I didn't think I was seeing you until tomorrow night?" Nigel’s voice was light. Sean slowly turned and Nigel's mouth fell open when he saw the white rage of his face.
"Good god, my boy - what is it?" He went to Sean's side quickly. "Anything I can do?" His hand gently caressed his arm.
Sean felt the growl grow inside him and he angrily pushed Nigel away, dug into his pocket and took out the necklace. He carelessly tossed it on the glass table. Nigel looked a the jewelry and swallowed hard. Sean ripped his own chain from his throat and threw it with the other. Nigel simply stared at them.
"Well, and?" Nigel finally managed to say, his cultured English accent sounding perfectly aloof.
"You're using me." Sean finally croaked out.
"Not at all, my love -"
"I am not ‘your love’."
Nigel sighed. "Sean, you know you are the only one - now." He moved gracefully to position the chair between them.
"Daniel - what about Daniel? And Jonathan - and how many bloody others?" Sean began his slow advance.
"Now now - do stop." Nigel's slight smile only seemed to make Sean's eyes darker.
"You knew how hard this was for me - you know I had a hard time handling this in the first place - now this?!" His words hissed between his teeth and his eyes never left the target of his anger.
"Now Sean, so you couldn't handle being with a man. You seemed to do alright last weekend - on our little vacation." Nigel winked, then his face fell as a glass ashtray flew from the table and crashed on the floor with Sean still getting closer; his hands clenching into fists.
"I bloody trusted you! I thought I fucking loved you! I risked everything for you!" Sean's voice rose louder and angrier.
"Oh my dear boy must you be so melodramatic? It was only a love affair which seems to have come to an end. Although I wish it hadn't, I do love you so." Nigel managed to say then ducked as a lead statue, presented to him for acting achievement, whizzed past his head and he realized he was starting to run around his own apartment, suddenly afraid for his life. This sweet blond boy whom he had shown the other side was as mad as bull staring at a red flag and Nigel was the flag. Alright the fag then, he laughed nervously to himself.
"Sean, please - " Nigel heard himself plead.
"I am not on to be added to your list! I bloody trusted you!" His voice hurt Nigel's ears and he ran into the kitchen to try the fire escape.
His sweating hands tugged at the old painted latches and the windows would not budge. He heard Sean's boots behind him and spun to watch him approach like a tiger stalking his next meal. He looked terrible in the brighter light, ashen, frightening.
"I bloody trusted you!" He yelled and grabbed something which Nigel could not see from the sink, but he knew all too soon what it was. He heard the words again and felt the knife sink into his stomach, his mouth and eyes wide, too stunned to make a sound.
He pitched forward and grabbed Sean's shoulder and Sean instinctively held him up, helped him slide to the floor. Nigel's eyes were frozen in horror as Sean began to cry silently and caress Nigel's cooling cheek with his bloody hand. He caught sight of the blood and was suddenly slammed into reality.
Like lightening, he ran to the phone and dialed for help as calmly as he could, giving the address and the basic nature of the accident. He slowly went back to see Nigel sitting in a pool of blood and trying to pull the knife out.
"Sean, I'm sorry." He whispered and held his hand out weakly to Sean as he slumped over into unconsciousness.
********************
"That was about ten years ago - He lived - obviously. And thankfully never filed charges." Sean mumbled, wiping his sweating hands on the comforter making the coins clink against each other.
Harris blinked, eyes wide. "Wow." He breathed, shaking his head. “Of all the people this world, how in the blue fuck did WE end up together?”
Sean laughed lightly. “Just lucky I guess.” He dumped the coins back in the drawer.
“So, you think he sent them, or rather know he sent them. Why?” Harris crawled into bed.
Sean sneered and licked his lips.
‘He does this every year.” He looked at Harris. “Anniversary.” He snuggled down into the pillows and clicked off the light. “I’ll send them back tomorrow.”
Harris just stared at him, before he turned off his light and slid down to curl up next to Sean.
“Jesus, and you got all mad at me.” Harris teased as they drifted off.
Sean lay wide awake, remembering the rest of the story
********************
Sean watched with the rest of the onlookers as Nigel's limp body was carted away on the stretcher from outside the apartment. His face was the color of ash and he had one of those oxygen breathing things over his mouth. That was it, he thought, I've killed him.
Sean's mind watched the dark puddle seep into the white kitchen floor and his stomach convulsed. He turned away abruptly and walked quickly away up the street. With blind eyes, he managed to purchase two bottles of whiskey and find his way back to the broken down flat he had rented on a meager actors salary in a bad section of town.
Once inside, he clicked on a low light and sat in an overstuffed ratty chair, and stared into the dark night taking a solid swallow from the bottle every five minutes on the dot. He was not even thinking. His mind had shut down all operations and no thought attempted to enter his conscience. The liquid blackness of the night sky was all he could see and all his mind would let him register. I've killed him I've killed him, he thought, I've really killed him, he's dead, he's dead. He took a deep shaky breath before he emptied the bottle and tossed it across the room like a child loosing interest in a favorite toy.
He blinked and tried to focus on the dark television, the wall, anything and found he could only see double. Suddenly his eyes landed on his sword collection, particularly the saber, his prize possession and the one thing he would not sell to make the rent. Trying to stand on wobbly legs,
he made his way shakily to the weapon and instantly knew what he meant to do.
You've killed him, his mind told him again, yes, you have killed him, and we can't live with this now can we?
The blade felt icy as he slowly pulled it from its protective casing. It would do fine, but it needed to be worked. He carefully brought the necessary honing tools back to the chair and methodically set them out. Finally flopping his tired body down, he stared at the sword and carelessly opened the second bottle of whiskey. The harsh liquid hit the back of his throat, eyes widening as the alcohol seemed to swirl around his brain before rushing down to add to the fire in his stomach. It began to eat away at his insides since there was no food to speak of down there, but he took no real notice. I've killed him - I've killed him. . .
With each swipe of sharpening the blade, he took a healthy draught of the whiskey, by this time barely tasting it. He took a piece of newspaper from the floor and dropped it over the blade slicing it soundlessly in two. Satisfied with his work, he rose again and staggered and lurched towards the desk. He awkwardly pulled out the chair and fell into it, gently placing the bottle under the tiny desk lamp. Taking out a simple ball point pen and two sheets of white paper, he wrote two letters in the best handwriting he could manage. The first to his sister. It confessed to his evil deed and prayed she would understand, and also that he would miss her greatly. The second to someone who would never read it. To Nigel, not a blubbering or pleading cry, just three words, I'm sorry, too.
He looked over at the saber as it called out his name. He dragged the bottle off the desk struggling to move his drunken limbs and the pen rolled soundlessly off the desk and onto the worn gold carpet. Sean never saw the odd Rorschach pattern his boot heel had made when he
smashed the thin plastic and the blue ink soaked into the floor.
With the bottle in one hand, drinking like a programmed machine, and the saber handle gripped in the other, he peered around for just the right place to do the job. While he searched, he tripped over his own feet and his back slammed into the door frame that lead into the bedroom. An insane giggle rose from his throat that sounded more like a dull hiccup when he spotted the night stand which wedged against the tiny bed and pinned the blanket to itself.
With much fumbling and several cuts, he jammed the hilt of the sword on the floor and stood back to stare at the dangerously positioned upright blade. His own blood already ran along it in places and the silvery light of the moon danced carelessly over it. He touched his index finger gently to the point and drew back sharply as it easily cut him. He drank a few mouthfuls, chugging the whiskey down like water. I can't live with it - and Nigel's dead, he thought. It was the right thing to do, he reasoned with the shake of his head.
A small tear fell over his cheek as he thought of his sister then pushed the thought away with the back of his hand and a ghostly expression of impassivity came over his face. His eyes locked with the point of the saber, he felt his body take deep breaths and he gently pushed it forward.
The six am church bells cut thorough his drunken fog and snapped his eyes open. He squinted against the rising sun and his head cleared. Stomach clenched, he began to breath heavily as if God himself looked down on him with a disapproving gaze. And the bells, sang to his ears. He felt the tears before he knew he was crying and began to topple forward running a hand over his unshaven, unfamiliar face. The blade found its mark and began its journey through his belly and Sean jumped back and howled.
"Ouch! Damn!" His hands came away sticky with blood and the room began to spin faster and rise above him as he landed on the floor with a great thud.
His eyes ran over the dripping blade then to his bleeding finger, then to the empty bottle. "Oh my god." was all he managed to utter before the bells lulled him into a dreamless sleep.
********************
Sean quietly entered the darkened house, clicked on the low hall light, and walked into the den. He stopped short and saw Harris fast asleep on the couch, boxes stacked all over. He took another breath, a shaky one and stared down at his lover’s face, soft in a deep sleep. He slipped off his leather jacket and knelt beside him, carefully he pushed the hair from Harris' eyes and kissed the top of his head. Harris barely stirred but a smile fell across his lips. Sean stood and grabbed the beer off the table and took a long drink, then sat in the chair across from him to watch him dream.
********************
"How do I look?" Harris appeared in the doorway of the dressing trailer all smiles. Sean looked up and a smirk spread across his lips as he took inventory of him. Harris was decked out in period costume for the current series Sean was shooting for the BBC. He saw before him the tall man, long hair tucked up into a hat, the slender body wrapped in a green and pink waistcoat of Napoleons' Imperial Guard and his powerful legs clad in tight white breeches, the leather boots stopped just below his knees with the brace on the left knee barely visible. Harris reached down to brush a bit of dirt from the knee, his hat fell to the floor as he did so and his face was lost in a veil of shiny blond hair. With a flip, he whipped his hair over his shoulders.
"Oops." Harris said and laughed and held his hat at his side, resting it on his hip. Sean sat back in his makeup chair.
"So, you're the enemy today?" His smile faded quickly. "You're not - "
Harris held up his hand. "Don't worry - I am only there to supervise - no falls." Then his eyes went to his buttons and his chin fell to his chest. "Just one little fall backwards." he muttered into his jacket.
"What?!" Harris, no - " Sean's back went rigid and he gripped the arms of his seat.
"Hey, it’s only one fall. There is no one else to do it, Harlan is sick. It is only one fall onto a huge patch of soft hay over a thick mat. I won't even feel it." Harris leaned forward and let his lips graze Sean's cheek.
"Besides, if I get hurt, you can nurse me back to health." He purred into Sean's ear and let his tongue snake out to lick his neck and he felt Sean shiver. Sean playfully but forcefully pushed Harris away and his worried eyes traveled to Harris' knee. Harris sighed heavily.
"I'm gonna be fine, okay?" His eyes searched for some glimmer of acceptance but found none. "Look, you are not my damned mother and I am going to do this whether you fucking 'approve' or not!" He punched the word 'approve' with quotes made with his fingers.
"I do not like it." Sean said with very calculated tones.
"Well, I don't fucking care!"
"I know." Sean spat out.
"Look," Harris said after what seemed a long silence. "I'm gonna be okay - you just gotta trust me." He said hurriedly and left the trailer without meeting Sean's eyes and closed the door loudly behind him. It was too late when Sean found his voice.
"Please, be careful." he whispered to the emptiness.
The sun was blazing down on the battlefield of soldiers, canons and cameras. Sean arrived and buttoned up his uniform jacket while the assistant makeup woman struggled to keep up with his long strides, smudging his face properly with black powder. He stopped short.
"Are you not done yet?" He barked, his thick English accent making his voice darker. The small woman froze, glasses pinching her nose, pudgy fingers gripping the puff and black powder. She stared up at him , eyes wide and threatening to well over with tears. He was instantly
sorry but she just ran away sobbing.
"Bloody hell." He mumbled to no one.
"I see your off to a good start." Daragh appeared and slapped him hard on the shoulder making him stumble in his step. "She's only the assistant." He whispered to Sean's annoyed ears working his Irish drawl into every word. "So, what the hell bit you today?" Daragh's face beamed with the usual broad and bright smile.
"Nothin." Sean grumbled and felt an arm creep around his shoulders and grip him too tight as they walked.
"I don't think ya heard me right. I said, what's the matter?" Daragh's grip tightened. Sean's eyes met with Daragh's in an uncertain gaze. He turned away as they slowed their pace to the set.
"Harris. . . that stunt. . ." he muttered.
"Ah, I see." Daragh released his grip and pulled out his prop canteen, loosening the top.
"Seems to me he's a bit reckless, but doesn't strike me as stupid." Without a glance, he handed Sean the flask.
"Not funny Harper." Sean complained with Daragh's character name and flashed a weak smile, pushing the canteen away. Daragh silently insisted and Sean felt the cold metal slip into his fingers. As he raised it to his lips, the sharp smell of whiskey caught his nose and he felt a laugh
rise in his throat that he gladly let out. He took a long drink and felt his shoulders drop and the tension began to melt. He handed it back to Daragh who took his own healthy draught.
"Daragh, you're a proper bastard." Sean smiled.
"Thank you, sir, same to you." and he laughed.
Harris made the last minute checks before the run through. The flash powder was loaded into the prop cannon and the fire to light it was struck on the end of his torch. Everyone took their positions.
"Wait!" Harris yelled at the last minute and ran back to re-recheck the mat and it position. He noticed Sean and Daragh standing just out of the camera's eye as they passed a flask back and forth.
"Jonny, check me again!" Harris yelled. The tall dark haired man ran to Harris’ side with his measuring tape and telescope-like sight. He fussed for a minute, put Harris into position and judged all to be well.
They reset up the launch board that would throw Harris off his feet backwards and they were ready for the run through.
"Harris, we are going to roll film on this so do something with that hair!" The director laughed. Harris turned his head sharply.
"We gotta do at least one test!" He stood defiantly with his hands on his hips as the assistant makeup woman was instantly at his side clutching a handful of bobby pins.
"I understand, this is only run through - but humor me, yes?" The director smiled, Jonny shrugged, and Harris dropped to one knee for the little woman to pin his hair into his hat. The director addressed the crew.
"This is a take!"
Harris made a face as bobby pin scraped his scalp. He angrily shoved on the hat and took his place on the springboard.
The torch was lit and the director yelled for quiet - then action. A voice yelled in french and Harris took his cue and put the flame to the flash powder. He bent his knees slightly at the count of three and prepared. The count of four and the cannon exploded in a blinding light. The
board released and he was thrown into the air ten feet and backwards. He let out a painful yell and his arms and legs tried to grab the air. He felt weightlessness for a moment; then his stomach dropped as he plummeted down. With a thud and a flurry of hay, he hit the mark dead center, his hat flying off his head. He lay silent. The place fell to a deadly quite - no one breathed.
"Cut!" The director bellowed.
"Yes!!!" Harris punched the air with his fist, Jonny rushed over to grab it and help Harris to his feet, the two men hugged each other with laugher and smiles. Sean took another long drink from the flask.
"See?" Daragh nudged his side. "He's fine."
Sean's eyes were glued to Harris as he reset for the real shot. He blinked and looked down to the ground, remembering to breathe. Silently a chair appeared and he sat. Daragh was instantly at his ear.
"I don't really want to say this " He whispered so quietly, Sean had to strain to hear, “but If you don't want the whole crew to know your intentions towards Harris - "
"Shhh!" Sean hissed. Daragh pressed his lips together and shook his head.
"Just act natural, you're doing fine." Daragh stood and crossed his arms, one eye on Sean as he casually crossed his legs and leaned back.
"Good." Daragh breathed and patted his shoulder. "Maybe we shouldn't be here at all?" He looked back down into Sean's eyes as they grew darker and he didn't have to answer. Daragh sighed.
"Just asking is all."
Sean's eyes were intent on the scene but his body was concentrating on being nonchalant. He accepted a cup of coffee from an unknown hand and rested his script on his lap, pretending to read it. He could see Harris hurry around to reset things, his body obviously pumped full of
adrenaline, as if he just downed 4 double espressos. Sean tried to reason with himself. Sure, it had just worked fine, he'll be fine, he'll be fine, he’ll be fine was his new mantra. He took a shaky breath. Why the hell am I sitting here!?!?, he yelled at himself but he had no time to answer as the director once again called quiet on the set. Sean casually sipped his too hot coffee and scalded his tongue, but never flinched.
Harris' eyes spun and every nerve in his body was on fire and vibrated. He had to re-pin his hair hurriedly for he had no patience for that woman to do it again. After several unsuccessful attempts he cursed and tore out the remaining bobby pins. Shaking his head forward, he bent over and pooled his hair into the top of the hat, then slid it onto his head and stood up.
"Perfect!" Jonny said and slapped his back on the way to his position. No one paid attention to the makeup woman's she frantically tried to collect the bobby pins from the dirt and awkwardly scurried away.
Harris took his place on the launching pad and took several deep breaths, checked his pocket for the ceramic angel. It was there. He watched the black and white slate click in front of his eyes and vaguely read the scene number. His torch was lit and all fell quiet.
"Action!" The director yelled and the actors complied.
Sean felt his muscles tighten of their own volition but he did not move.
Harris moved the flame to the powder and watched it spark and crackle - 4 - 3 - 2 - he bent his knees slightly and prepared, his grip already loose on the extinguished torch to toss it aside quickly. Sean’s eyes widened and he struggled to blink.
1 - NOW! Harris felt the board release and he heard the explosion as he flew through the air trying not to smile but remembering to yell in pain. He twisted his body as before to make sure he hit the mat in the same place.
Sean stopped breathing again as his lover's body was hurled through the air - he'll be fine - he'll be fine - he'll be - Thud! Harris' body hit the mat and his hat took off in another direction.
The instant he hit, Harris knew something was wrong and his mind screamed 'its been moved! the mat’s out of position’! He heard the crack of the exposed rock against his skull before the pain ripped through his head and the blackness poured in.
"Cut! Perfect!" The director climbed off his chair and was suddenly descended upon by his personal crew to see what was next.
Everyone cheered and Jonny cast an eye to Harris. Sean went pale and his body broke out in a cold sweat. Harris had not gotten up. Before he willed it, Sean was up and ran blind to Harris' side, the chair overturned and the coffee making a new mud puddle in the dirt.
"Harris!" He heard himself yell as he grabbed Jonny by the shoulder to rip him out of the way. He knelt beside Harris, his body shaking uncontrollably. Harris' mouth had gone slack and his head was at an odd angle. Sean slipped a hand under his head gently in an attempt to help him up; when something wet and sticky met his fingers. He pulled his hand away to see it covered with fresh blood - real blood. The panic flooded Sean's brain and his eyes searched for Daragh.
"Hey! We need a doctor fast! Hurry! He's hurt!" He yelled so loud his throat was raw. Gentle but firm hands pulled on his shoulders to make him stand. The stretcher arrived quickly and Harris' body eased onto it and lead away. Daragh held Sean firm.
"No you don't - he'll be fine - stay right here." Daragh hissed.
Sean pushed his hands roughly away and looked at the ground. There was the rock, about the size of a large fist, covered in blood, making the surrounding dirt darker and wet, just beyond the edge of the mat which had indeed been moved. Then, his eyes caught the handful of bobby pins sinking into the dark fluid. His eyes snapped to the trembling form of the inept makeup woman, fingernail stuck between her teeth with hay still clinging to her chubby thighs. Sean only had to make one step towards her and she ran off out of sight.
"Now, be getting a hold of yourself!" Daragh spat with gritted teeth.
"Let me go." He heard his own voice break unexpectedly and he shook free of Daragh's grip.
“Cool and composed." Daragh sighed.
Sean alternately paced and tried to sit in the waiting room of the local hospital, still dressed in his military costume and smudged with dirt. Hours later, a timid man in a white coat appeared behind him, carefully tapping him on the shoulder.
"Mr. Bean?"
"Huh?!" Sean spun too fast and nearly knocked man over.
"Um, well - he is asking for you."
Sean bolted into the small hospital room and saw Harris lying in the second bed by the window. He crept closer, his eyes not leaving the bandage that encircled his head. He silently pulled up a metal chair that made a scraping noise on the tile floor and slowly sat, one hand out
to touch Harris' cheek. Harris turned and sleepily opened his eyes, a slight smile coming across his lips. Sean let out a ragged sigh.
"You bloody scared me." Sean whispered and Harris' hand gently closed over his.
"Did we get the shot?" Harris asked quietly as Sean smiled wide and chuckled.
"You bloody fool."
"Hey, its only a few stitches. Another battle wound to show off at the union meeting." His voice was hoarse and he wet his lips. "How did it happen anyway? I must have checked that thing at least - "
"Shhh - don't talk. It was that stupid little make-up bitch - tripped over the mat after picking up the damn pins." Sean sighed. "She's gone now."
"Good." Harris' face grew grim. "My hair - did they - ?"
Sean responded by lifting a handful from his shoulders and smirked at the man’s vanity at a time like this. "All still there, love." Then he looked at the back. "Although I think you lost a small patch of it."
"Fuck."
Silent pause.
"You scared me. " Sean whispered.
"I'm sorry - I really am." He held Sean's hand tighter. "Hey, look at it this way - my knee's okay."
He began to laugh then winced, taking a sharp intake of breath. "Oh god - that hurts" One hand went to the bandages.
"You rest. I'll be right here." Sean leaned forward to gently kiss Harris' lips.
Harris noted the salty taste of black powder and tears and smiled into a restless dream.
TBC
Author:
smutcutterPairing: SB/OC (Harris)
Rating: NC-17 (for this chapter and scattered throughout)
Warning: This contains an original character... don't hate the playa...
Disclaimer: This is totally fake! Beyond fake! Never happened, never will - hell, some of the main characters are out my own demented mind.
Summary: Sean falls for a man, Harris - it was the best of times - it was the worst of times - it's told in many flashbacks - this is not a work in progress, it's done - I will be posting a chapter every few days. I want to thank
tiggothy for her super fast and amazing beta work, hippediva for her constant support, and frahulettaes for everything....********************
Sean's boots clicked loudly on the wet pavement of the darkened sidewalk under the twilight sky. He barely seemed to notice the people he was rushing past as he quickly made his way towards Nigel's apartment. Hands stuffed in his pockets, eyes cold and narrow. He tried to stay focused as his mind replayed the scene he had just left.
"You're a bloody liar!" Sean cursed at Jonathan, his acting partner, whom was cringing at the sound.
"I tell ya its true! You think I wanted to tell you!?!" Jonathan puffed heavily on a cigarette and watched Sean pace the room, eyes dark and downcast and simply stayed out of harms way.
"Look, I saw them, Nigel and Daniel. They were together, and not just having lunch." He blew out a plume of smoke and flopped down on the sofa.
"But he - he gave me this right after the filming." Sean stammered and and pulled the round silver medallion from under his shirt. It was inscribed with an intricate 'S' on one side and 'all my love, Nigel' on the other. Sean's hand gripped it tight and Jonathan saw he was shaking, he shook his head in disbelief.
"You really are naive, aren't you?" Sadly, he looked up at Sean. Sean's face flashed into an expression of pure rage. Jon sighed wearily and fished something from his shirt pocket. He pulled out an identical silver medallion with his own initial, 'J', on it.
"I told you; I did not want be the one to tell you." He muttered and held it out for Sean who tucked his own back into his shirt feeling the cold metal burn his chest. He grabbed the chain from Jon's hand and examined it, frozen for a second, then carefully sat in a nearby chair, afraid his legs would no longer hold him.
"Man, I'm sorry." Jon whispered. "And I saw him give something to Daniel. I swear he buys them buy the dozen." Jon chuckled sarcastically and stubbed out his cigarette quickly lighting another. Without a word, Sean shoved Jon's gift into his jacket pocket and stormed out of the apartment,
slamming the door behind him. Jon jumped as a glass vase shattered to the floor. He let out a long slow breath, leaning back in the couch.
"In love much, Sean?" He smirked.
Sean absently bumped into someone and shut out the man's curse. He did not wait for the elevator, instead he ran up the 4 flights of stairs in an attempt to wear the anger out of him. It didn't work. He arrived at Nigel's door and pulled out his keys with shaking hands, finally dropping them. With gritted teeth he took a large step back and gave the door a great kick above the knob. The door buckled but remained closed. He took another try, hitting the frame instead. Grunting and growling with all his anger flaring, all he had accomplished as a sore ankle. The door opened in a flourish and Nigel appeared before him, his expression of anger changed to amusement.
"The bell does work - and besides - " He smiled and reached out to twist the knob. "It is unlocked." His voice was coddling as if reprimanding a schoolboy.
Sean was too enraged to speak and he pushed past Nigel to enter the apartment. Nigel moved slowly and closed the door, running a hand through his dark curls then scratching his graying beard and mustache, keeping his eyes on Sean's back. Suddenly, he remembered the phone was in his hand and a voice called his name. He quickly raised the phone to his ear.
"Yes sorry - I'm going to have to call you back - yes, 6 o'clock - see you then. Good bye, love."
He put the receiver back in the cradle and set the phone on the hall table. He took a deep breath before going to Sean.
"Well, then, to what do I owe this pleasure. I didn't think I was seeing you until tomorrow night?" Nigel’s voice was light. Sean slowly turned and Nigel's mouth fell open when he saw the white rage of his face.
"Good god, my boy - what is it?" He went to Sean's side quickly. "Anything I can do?" His hand gently caressed his arm.
Sean felt the growl grow inside him and he angrily pushed Nigel away, dug into his pocket and took out the necklace. He carelessly tossed it on the glass table. Nigel looked a the jewelry and swallowed hard. Sean ripped his own chain from his throat and threw it with the other. Nigel simply stared at them.
"Well, and?" Nigel finally managed to say, his cultured English accent sounding perfectly aloof.
"You're using me." Sean finally croaked out.
"Not at all, my love -"
"I am not ‘your love’."
Nigel sighed. "Sean, you know you are the only one - now." He moved gracefully to position the chair between them.
"Daniel - what about Daniel? And Jonathan - and how many bloody others?" Sean began his slow advance.
"Now now - do stop." Nigel's slight smile only seemed to make Sean's eyes darker.
"You knew how hard this was for me - you know I had a hard time handling this in the first place - now this?!" His words hissed between his teeth and his eyes never left the target of his anger.
"Now Sean, so you couldn't handle being with a man. You seemed to do alright last weekend - on our little vacation." Nigel winked, then his face fell as a glass ashtray flew from the table and crashed on the floor with Sean still getting closer; his hands clenching into fists.
"I bloody trusted you! I thought I fucking loved you! I risked everything for you!" Sean's voice rose louder and angrier.
"Oh my dear boy must you be so melodramatic? It was only a love affair which seems to have come to an end. Although I wish it hadn't, I do love you so." Nigel managed to say then ducked as a lead statue, presented to him for acting achievement, whizzed past his head and he realized he was starting to run around his own apartment, suddenly afraid for his life. This sweet blond boy whom he had shown the other side was as mad as bull staring at a red flag and Nigel was the flag. Alright the fag then, he laughed nervously to himself.
"Sean, please - " Nigel heard himself plead.
"I am not on to be added to your list! I bloody trusted you!" His voice hurt Nigel's ears and he ran into the kitchen to try the fire escape.
His sweating hands tugged at the old painted latches and the windows would not budge. He heard Sean's boots behind him and spun to watch him approach like a tiger stalking his next meal. He looked terrible in the brighter light, ashen, frightening.
"I bloody trusted you!" He yelled and grabbed something which Nigel could not see from the sink, but he knew all too soon what it was. He heard the words again and felt the knife sink into his stomach, his mouth and eyes wide, too stunned to make a sound.
He pitched forward and grabbed Sean's shoulder and Sean instinctively held him up, helped him slide to the floor. Nigel's eyes were frozen in horror as Sean began to cry silently and caress Nigel's cooling cheek with his bloody hand. He caught sight of the blood and was suddenly slammed into reality.
Like lightening, he ran to the phone and dialed for help as calmly as he could, giving the address and the basic nature of the accident. He slowly went back to see Nigel sitting in a pool of blood and trying to pull the knife out.
"Sean, I'm sorry." He whispered and held his hand out weakly to Sean as he slumped over into unconsciousness.
********************
"That was about ten years ago - He lived - obviously. And thankfully never filed charges." Sean mumbled, wiping his sweating hands on the comforter making the coins clink against each other.
Harris blinked, eyes wide. "Wow." He breathed, shaking his head. “Of all the people this world, how in the blue fuck did WE end up together?”
Sean laughed lightly. “Just lucky I guess.” He dumped the coins back in the drawer.
“So, you think he sent them, or rather know he sent them. Why?” Harris crawled into bed.
Sean sneered and licked his lips.
‘He does this every year.” He looked at Harris. “Anniversary.” He snuggled down into the pillows and clicked off the light. “I’ll send them back tomorrow.”
Harris just stared at him, before he turned off his light and slid down to curl up next to Sean.
“Jesus, and you got all mad at me.” Harris teased as they drifted off.
Sean lay wide awake, remembering the rest of the story
********************
Sean watched with the rest of the onlookers as Nigel's limp body was carted away on the stretcher from outside the apartment. His face was the color of ash and he had one of those oxygen breathing things over his mouth. That was it, he thought, I've killed him.
Sean's mind watched the dark puddle seep into the white kitchen floor and his stomach convulsed. He turned away abruptly and walked quickly away up the street. With blind eyes, he managed to purchase two bottles of whiskey and find his way back to the broken down flat he had rented on a meager actors salary in a bad section of town.
Once inside, he clicked on a low light and sat in an overstuffed ratty chair, and stared into the dark night taking a solid swallow from the bottle every five minutes on the dot. He was not even thinking. His mind had shut down all operations and no thought attempted to enter his conscience. The liquid blackness of the night sky was all he could see and all his mind would let him register. I've killed him I've killed him, he thought, I've really killed him, he's dead, he's dead. He took a deep shaky breath before he emptied the bottle and tossed it across the room like a child loosing interest in a favorite toy.
He blinked and tried to focus on the dark television, the wall, anything and found he could only see double. Suddenly his eyes landed on his sword collection, particularly the saber, his prize possession and the one thing he would not sell to make the rent. Trying to stand on wobbly legs,
he made his way shakily to the weapon and instantly knew what he meant to do.
You've killed him, his mind told him again, yes, you have killed him, and we can't live with this now can we?
The blade felt icy as he slowly pulled it from its protective casing. It would do fine, but it needed to be worked. He carefully brought the necessary honing tools back to the chair and methodically set them out. Finally flopping his tired body down, he stared at the sword and carelessly opened the second bottle of whiskey. The harsh liquid hit the back of his throat, eyes widening as the alcohol seemed to swirl around his brain before rushing down to add to the fire in his stomach. It began to eat away at his insides since there was no food to speak of down there, but he took no real notice. I've killed him - I've killed him. . .
With each swipe of sharpening the blade, he took a healthy draught of the whiskey, by this time barely tasting it. He took a piece of newspaper from the floor and dropped it over the blade slicing it soundlessly in two. Satisfied with his work, he rose again and staggered and lurched towards the desk. He awkwardly pulled out the chair and fell into it, gently placing the bottle under the tiny desk lamp. Taking out a simple ball point pen and two sheets of white paper, he wrote two letters in the best handwriting he could manage. The first to his sister. It confessed to his evil deed and prayed she would understand, and also that he would miss her greatly. The second to someone who would never read it. To Nigel, not a blubbering or pleading cry, just three words, I'm sorry, too.
He looked over at the saber as it called out his name. He dragged the bottle off the desk struggling to move his drunken limbs and the pen rolled soundlessly off the desk and onto the worn gold carpet. Sean never saw the odd Rorschach pattern his boot heel had made when he
smashed the thin plastic and the blue ink soaked into the floor.
With the bottle in one hand, drinking like a programmed machine, and the saber handle gripped in the other, he peered around for just the right place to do the job. While he searched, he tripped over his own feet and his back slammed into the door frame that lead into the bedroom. An insane giggle rose from his throat that sounded more like a dull hiccup when he spotted the night stand which wedged against the tiny bed and pinned the blanket to itself.
With much fumbling and several cuts, he jammed the hilt of the sword on the floor and stood back to stare at the dangerously positioned upright blade. His own blood already ran along it in places and the silvery light of the moon danced carelessly over it. He touched his index finger gently to the point and drew back sharply as it easily cut him. He drank a few mouthfuls, chugging the whiskey down like water. I can't live with it - and Nigel's dead, he thought. It was the right thing to do, he reasoned with the shake of his head.
A small tear fell over his cheek as he thought of his sister then pushed the thought away with the back of his hand and a ghostly expression of impassivity came over his face. His eyes locked with the point of the saber, he felt his body take deep breaths and he gently pushed it forward.
The six am church bells cut thorough his drunken fog and snapped his eyes open. He squinted against the rising sun and his head cleared. Stomach clenched, he began to breath heavily as if God himself looked down on him with a disapproving gaze. And the bells, sang to his ears. He felt the tears before he knew he was crying and began to topple forward running a hand over his unshaven, unfamiliar face. The blade found its mark and began its journey through his belly and Sean jumped back and howled.
"Ouch! Damn!" His hands came away sticky with blood and the room began to spin faster and rise above him as he landed on the floor with a great thud.
His eyes ran over the dripping blade then to his bleeding finger, then to the empty bottle. "Oh my god." was all he managed to utter before the bells lulled him into a dreamless sleep.
********************
Sean quietly entered the darkened house, clicked on the low hall light, and walked into the den. He stopped short and saw Harris fast asleep on the couch, boxes stacked all over. He took another breath, a shaky one and stared down at his lover’s face, soft in a deep sleep. He slipped off his leather jacket and knelt beside him, carefully he pushed the hair from Harris' eyes and kissed the top of his head. Harris barely stirred but a smile fell across his lips. Sean stood and grabbed the beer off the table and took a long drink, then sat in the chair across from him to watch him dream.
********************
"How do I look?" Harris appeared in the doorway of the dressing trailer all smiles. Sean looked up and a smirk spread across his lips as he took inventory of him. Harris was decked out in period costume for the current series Sean was shooting for the BBC. He saw before him the tall man, long hair tucked up into a hat, the slender body wrapped in a green and pink waistcoat of Napoleons' Imperial Guard and his powerful legs clad in tight white breeches, the leather boots stopped just below his knees with the brace on the left knee barely visible. Harris reached down to brush a bit of dirt from the knee, his hat fell to the floor as he did so and his face was lost in a veil of shiny blond hair. With a flip, he whipped his hair over his shoulders.
"Oops." Harris said and laughed and held his hat at his side, resting it on his hip. Sean sat back in his makeup chair.
"So, you're the enemy today?" His smile faded quickly. "You're not - "
Harris held up his hand. "Don't worry - I am only there to supervise - no falls." Then his eyes went to his buttons and his chin fell to his chest. "Just one little fall backwards." he muttered into his jacket.
"What?!" Harris, no - " Sean's back went rigid and he gripped the arms of his seat.
"Hey, it’s only one fall. There is no one else to do it, Harlan is sick. It is only one fall onto a huge patch of soft hay over a thick mat. I won't even feel it." Harris leaned forward and let his lips graze Sean's cheek.
"Besides, if I get hurt, you can nurse me back to health." He purred into Sean's ear and let his tongue snake out to lick his neck and he felt Sean shiver. Sean playfully but forcefully pushed Harris away and his worried eyes traveled to Harris' knee. Harris sighed heavily.
"I'm gonna be fine, okay?" His eyes searched for some glimmer of acceptance but found none. "Look, you are not my damned mother and I am going to do this whether you fucking 'approve' or not!" He punched the word 'approve' with quotes made with his fingers.
"I do not like it." Sean said with very calculated tones.
"Well, I don't fucking care!"
"I know." Sean spat out.
"Look," Harris said after what seemed a long silence. "I'm gonna be okay - you just gotta trust me." He said hurriedly and left the trailer without meeting Sean's eyes and closed the door loudly behind him. It was too late when Sean found his voice.
"Please, be careful." he whispered to the emptiness.
The sun was blazing down on the battlefield of soldiers, canons and cameras. Sean arrived and buttoned up his uniform jacket while the assistant makeup woman struggled to keep up with his long strides, smudging his face properly with black powder. He stopped short.
"Are you not done yet?" He barked, his thick English accent making his voice darker. The small woman froze, glasses pinching her nose, pudgy fingers gripping the puff and black powder. She stared up at him , eyes wide and threatening to well over with tears. He was instantly
sorry but she just ran away sobbing.
"Bloody hell." He mumbled to no one.
"I see your off to a good start." Daragh appeared and slapped him hard on the shoulder making him stumble in his step. "She's only the assistant." He whispered to Sean's annoyed ears working his Irish drawl into every word. "So, what the hell bit you today?" Daragh's face beamed with the usual broad and bright smile.
"Nothin." Sean grumbled and felt an arm creep around his shoulders and grip him too tight as they walked.
"I don't think ya heard me right. I said, what's the matter?" Daragh's grip tightened. Sean's eyes met with Daragh's in an uncertain gaze. He turned away as they slowed their pace to the set.
"Harris. . . that stunt. . ." he muttered.
"Ah, I see." Daragh released his grip and pulled out his prop canteen, loosening the top.
"Seems to me he's a bit reckless, but doesn't strike me as stupid." Without a glance, he handed Sean the flask.
"Not funny Harper." Sean complained with Daragh's character name and flashed a weak smile, pushing the canteen away. Daragh silently insisted and Sean felt the cold metal slip into his fingers. As he raised it to his lips, the sharp smell of whiskey caught his nose and he felt a laugh
rise in his throat that he gladly let out. He took a long drink and felt his shoulders drop and the tension began to melt. He handed it back to Daragh who took his own healthy draught.
"Daragh, you're a proper bastard." Sean smiled.
"Thank you, sir, same to you." and he laughed.
Harris made the last minute checks before the run through. The flash powder was loaded into the prop cannon and the fire to light it was struck on the end of his torch. Everyone took their positions.
"Wait!" Harris yelled at the last minute and ran back to re-recheck the mat and it position. He noticed Sean and Daragh standing just out of the camera's eye as they passed a flask back and forth.
"Jonny, check me again!" Harris yelled. The tall dark haired man ran to Harris’ side with his measuring tape and telescope-like sight. He fussed for a minute, put Harris into position and judged all to be well.
They reset up the launch board that would throw Harris off his feet backwards and they were ready for the run through.
"Harris, we are going to roll film on this so do something with that hair!" The director laughed. Harris turned his head sharply.
"We gotta do at least one test!" He stood defiantly with his hands on his hips as the assistant makeup woman was instantly at his side clutching a handful of bobby pins.
"I understand, this is only run through - but humor me, yes?" The director smiled, Jonny shrugged, and Harris dropped to one knee for the little woman to pin his hair into his hat. The director addressed the crew.
"This is a take!"
Harris made a face as bobby pin scraped his scalp. He angrily shoved on the hat and took his place on the springboard.
The torch was lit and the director yelled for quiet - then action. A voice yelled in french and Harris took his cue and put the flame to the flash powder. He bent his knees slightly at the count of three and prepared. The count of four and the cannon exploded in a blinding light. The
board released and he was thrown into the air ten feet and backwards. He let out a painful yell and his arms and legs tried to grab the air. He felt weightlessness for a moment; then his stomach dropped as he plummeted down. With a thud and a flurry of hay, he hit the mark dead center, his hat flying off his head. He lay silent. The place fell to a deadly quite - no one breathed.
"Cut!" The director bellowed.
"Yes!!!" Harris punched the air with his fist, Jonny rushed over to grab it and help Harris to his feet, the two men hugged each other with laugher and smiles. Sean took another long drink from the flask.
"See?" Daragh nudged his side. "He's fine."
Sean's eyes were glued to Harris as he reset for the real shot. He blinked and looked down to the ground, remembering to breathe. Silently a chair appeared and he sat. Daragh was instantly at his ear.
"I don't really want to say this " He whispered so quietly, Sean had to strain to hear, “but If you don't want the whole crew to know your intentions towards Harris - "
"Shhh!" Sean hissed. Daragh pressed his lips together and shook his head.
"Just act natural, you're doing fine." Daragh stood and crossed his arms, one eye on Sean as he casually crossed his legs and leaned back.
"Good." Daragh breathed and patted his shoulder. "Maybe we shouldn't be here at all?" He looked back down into Sean's eyes as they grew darker and he didn't have to answer. Daragh sighed.
"Just asking is all."
Sean's eyes were intent on the scene but his body was concentrating on being nonchalant. He accepted a cup of coffee from an unknown hand and rested his script on his lap, pretending to read it. He could see Harris hurry around to reset things, his body obviously pumped full of
adrenaline, as if he just downed 4 double espressos. Sean tried to reason with himself. Sure, it had just worked fine, he'll be fine, he'll be fine, he’ll be fine was his new mantra. He took a shaky breath. Why the hell am I sitting here!?!?, he yelled at himself but he had no time to answer as the director once again called quiet on the set. Sean casually sipped his too hot coffee and scalded his tongue, but never flinched.
Harris' eyes spun and every nerve in his body was on fire and vibrated. He had to re-pin his hair hurriedly for he had no patience for that woman to do it again. After several unsuccessful attempts he cursed and tore out the remaining bobby pins. Shaking his head forward, he bent over and pooled his hair into the top of the hat, then slid it onto his head and stood up.
"Perfect!" Jonny said and slapped his back on the way to his position. No one paid attention to the makeup woman's she frantically tried to collect the bobby pins from the dirt and awkwardly scurried away.
Harris took his place on the launching pad and took several deep breaths, checked his pocket for the ceramic angel. It was there. He watched the black and white slate click in front of his eyes and vaguely read the scene number. His torch was lit and all fell quiet.
"Action!" The director yelled and the actors complied.
Sean felt his muscles tighten of their own volition but he did not move.
Harris moved the flame to the powder and watched it spark and crackle - 4 - 3 - 2 - he bent his knees slightly and prepared, his grip already loose on the extinguished torch to toss it aside quickly. Sean’s eyes widened and he struggled to blink.
1 - NOW! Harris felt the board release and he heard the explosion as he flew through the air trying not to smile but remembering to yell in pain. He twisted his body as before to make sure he hit the mat in the same place.
Sean stopped breathing again as his lover's body was hurled through the air - he'll be fine - he'll be fine - he'll be - Thud! Harris' body hit the mat and his hat took off in another direction.
The instant he hit, Harris knew something was wrong and his mind screamed 'its been moved! the mat’s out of position’! He heard the crack of the exposed rock against his skull before the pain ripped through his head and the blackness poured in.
"Cut! Perfect!" The director climbed off his chair and was suddenly descended upon by his personal crew to see what was next.
Everyone cheered and Jonny cast an eye to Harris. Sean went pale and his body broke out in a cold sweat. Harris had not gotten up. Before he willed it, Sean was up and ran blind to Harris' side, the chair overturned and the coffee making a new mud puddle in the dirt.
"Harris!" He heard himself yell as he grabbed Jonny by the shoulder to rip him out of the way. He knelt beside Harris, his body shaking uncontrollably. Harris' mouth had gone slack and his head was at an odd angle. Sean slipped a hand under his head gently in an attempt to help him up; when something wet and sticky met his fingers. He pulled his hand away to see it covered with fresh blood - real blood. The panic flooded Sean's brain and his eyes searched for Daragh.
"Hey! We need a doctor fast! Hurry! He's hurt!" He yelled so loud his throat was raw. Gentle but firm hands pulled on his shoulders to make him stand. The stretcher arrived quickly and Harris' body eased onto it and lead away. Daragh held Sean firm.
"No you don't - he'll be fine - stay right here." Daragh hissed.
Sean pushed his hands roughly away and looked at the ground. There was the rock, about the size of a large fist, covered in blood, making the surrounding dirt darker and wet, just beyond the edge of the mat which had indeed been moved. Then, his eyes caught the handful of bobby pins sinking into the dark fluid. His eyes snapped to the trembling form of the inept makeup woman, fingernail stuck between her teeth with hay still clinging to her chubby thighs. Sean only had to make one step towards her and she ran off out of sight.
"Now, be getting a hold of yourself!" Daragh spat with gritted teeth.
"Let me go." He heard his own voice break unexpectedly and he shook free of Daragh's grip.
“Cool and composed." Daragh sighed.
Sean alternately paced and tried to sit in the waiting room of the local hospital, still dressed in his military costume and smudged with dirt. Hours later, a timid man in a white coat appeared behind him, carefully tapping him on the shoulder.
"Mr. Bean?"
"Huh?!" Sean spun too fast and nearly knocked man over.
"Um, well - he is asking for you."
Sean bolted into the small hospital room and saw Harris lying in the second bed by the window. He crept closer, his eyes not leaving the bandage that encircled his head. He silently pulled up a metal chair that made a scraping noise on the tile floor and slowly sat, one hand out
to touch Harris' cheek. Harris turned and sleepily opened his eyes, a slight smile coming across his lips. Sean let out a ragged sigh.
"You bloody scared me." Sean whispered and Harris' hand gently closed over his.
"Did we get the shot?" Harris asked quietly as Sean smiled wide and chuckled.
"You bloody fool."
"Hey, its only a few stitches. Another battle wound to show off at the union meeting." His voice was hoarse and he wet his lips. "How did it happen anyway? I must have checked that thing at least - "
"Shhh - don't talk. It was that stupid little make-up bitch - tripped over the mat after picking up the damn pins." Sean sighed. "She's gone now."
"Good." Harris' face grew grim. "My hair - did they - ?"
Sean responded by lifting a handful from his shoulders and smirked at the man’s vanity at a time like this. "All still there, love." Then he looked at the back. "Although I think you lost a small patch of it."
"Fuck."
Silent pause.
"You scared me. " Sean whispered.
"I'm sorry - I really am." He held Sean's hand tighter. "Hey, look at it this way - my knee's okay."
He began to laugh then winced, taking a sharp intake of breath. "Oh god - that hurts" One hand went to the bandages.
"You rest. I'll be right here." Sean leaned forward to gently kiss Harris' lips.
Harris noted the salty taste of black powder and tears and smiled into a restless dream.
TBC