wl_fanfiction | concerning joy and healing (2/2)

Summary: They'd lived with the unspoken, unacknowledged secret for decades, and somehow they thought it would be okay. Yet the truth turned inwards, suppressed, becomes a seeping, aching poison, and eventually what brought them together was what forced them apart. But their friends can only watch this slow slide into failure for so long. Somebody ought to do something...

Title: (if you think of a good one, let me know; I've got nothing...)

Pairing: Col/Ry. (You can read Brad/Colin and Greg/Ryan into it if doing so makes you happy.)

Disclaimer: I made it all up. Reality is usually less interesting, anyway. Any character resemblance to real people is purely coincidental. I can't help it if reality likes to mirror the landscape of my imagination sometimes...

A/N: I have no idea what this is. The idea of Greg sitting in a dark room giving a mysterious interview just popped into my head and stayed there, so... I ran with it. I made up every interview (and the hotels) though I borrowed some of Colin's bit from stuff he's actually said.

"At a certain point, we forgive because we decide to forgive. Healing occurs in the present, not the past. We are not held back by the love we didn't receive in the past, but by the love we're not extending in the present." - Marianne Williamson

-

Gradually, Ryan became aware of the silence; that it was over. That he was seeing only his own pale, tense reflection in the dark television screen. That he was hunched over, hands gripping the bedspread, with an awful feeling in his gut he usually associated with hard vomiting.

His back hurt... he needed to sit up. Smooth the bedcovers. Breathe. Ryan could feel dampness around his hairline, drying sweat, and he shivered. He touched his face, and was distantly surprised to find it wet. He was crying. When had he started crying?

Why wasn't he screaming? He knew he ought to be furious. This went so far beyond a mere invasion of privacy there probably wasn't even a law about it. He ought to be offended. His co-workers, his friends, they'd obviously done this willingly. Betrayed confidences. Betrayed him. And he ought to be scared. There must be more than one copy. What about his family... his kids... what if someone saw...

And yet...

Wait. Sent...

Colin must have one too. He must have watched it right after his own show was over. And he must have... must have...

He thought I was behind it?!

"I know you, Ryan..." Colin's words echoed bitterly in his mind. And yet he thought... if he actually thought...

He was shaking. Ryan stared at his trembling hands as though they belonged to someone else, entirely foreign. The darkness of the room seemed to breathe with him as he struggled to find some kind of equilibrium. Somewhere else in the building, voices raised for a moment, arguing heatedly, then dwindled. There was a faint drip, drip from the bathroom faucet. His watch was ticking, just of sync with his thudding heart.

And then, between one slow blink and the next, it dawned on him. Colin had seen it too.

It was as if someone had flipped a switch. He didn't stop to pick up his key or a jacket; he was still tugging his shirt on awkwardly with one hand, the other clutching the tape in a death grip, as he charged out the door, the door bouncing wildly off the back of his shoe and failing to shut. He didn't notice; he was already halfway down the hall.

This was no time for slow elevator descents and tinny music. His long legs flew down the stairs four at a time, nearly giving him vertigo as he wobbled again and again off balance, but he didn't care. He couldn't go fast enough...

He crossed the street at a dead sprint. The front door of the other hotel crashed open when he shoved it with far too much force, startling the desk clerk. He was nearly panting as raced towards her, but he didn't have time for that, either.

"WhatroomisColinMochriein?" he gasped out, somehow making it a demand even with no air behind it.

"I--uh--he--sir, please---"

"WHATROOMDAMNIT?"

"F-four seventeen, sir!" she spluttered. "But--"

He was gone before she could do more than raise a beseeching hand. Halfway up the stairs, a blinding stitch building in his side, he almost wondered if he might have had time for the elevator, but then he was there, the fourth floor, 411, 413, 415, this was it--

Ryan flung the door open with all the force he could muster, both arms flung wide, mouth opening wide and furiously only he had no idea what was going to come out which if he'd stopped to think about it might have had him panicking but there were more important things and---

--and he stopped short, nearly tripping over his own feet.

Drew was sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning forward, as if he'd been listening intently. Head turned awkwardly toward the door, he stared at Ryan. Greg stood in the corner by the lamp, a hand in his pocket, the other holding a still-smoking cigarette, one eyebrow climbing so high it was nearly on level with his hairline. Brad was leaning his tall frame against the armrest of a chair, face loose with surprise, one arm around Colin... Colin, who was frozen mid-gesture, a weary expression on his face, mouth open a little as if he'd been explaining something... Colin, who looked so much older and tired and sad...

For an unbearably long instant, they hung suspended in shocked silence. Unable to tear his gaze from Colin's open mouth, Ryan could think only, bizarrely, of that stupid old "act of cod" pun, how he looked like a fish with his jaw stuck open like that...

"Well come on fucking in then," Greg drawled, stubbing out his cigarette on the end of the desk, and the moment was broken.

Ryan retreated instantly into himself, bringing his arms in stiff by his sides and doing his best to shrink a few inches. Nonsensically, he tucked one arm up behind his back, hiding the tape he was still gripping with white knuckles. He could feel the flush fading from his cheeks, and he wished desperately for something to say. Improv star my ass...

"Colin." The word came out strangled.

Was that his voice?

"Ryan." His eyes were blank, his voice even. Like talking to a stranger. And he still hadn't looked Ryan in the eyes.

Ryan found himself staring desperately over Colin's head at the long, dark drape covering the window, fighting the odd sensation of drowning without water. "Colin. I need to talk to Colin."

Drew, Greg, and Brad all looked back at Colin, who folded his hands in his lap and looked at them instead.

Eventually, he answered, in that same strange, distant, measured tone. "Sure, Ryan. We can talk."

They hesitated a moment longer. Drew was the first up. He passed Ryan without looking at him, a guilty flush creeping up his neck. Greg, already fishing out another cigarette, eyeballed Ryan as he passed. Whatever the message was, its significance was lost on him. Brad, not looking at Ryan, leaned low to murmur something in Colin's ear, hand tightening on his shoulder, and something hot and tight flashed through Ryan's chest. But Colin shook his head, murmuring something in return, and Brad slowly stood.

He stopped in front of Ryan, who had trouble returning his stare. His face was calm, maybe a little sad. He opened his mouth, as if he wanted to say something, but at the last minute he just took a deep breath and shook his head, passing on. His hand almost brushed Ryan's shoulder, but fell back to his side. And then they were alone.

And still Ryan didn't know what he'd come rushing over here to say.

How long had it been? How many years? How many nights of looking at the phone before he crawled into bed, wondering if maybe tonight was the night he'd have enough energy, enough will, enough strength to be the first to call? How many dreams of their younger selves, together in Toronto, together against the world, free and green and together and so goddamn happy? How many empty, gut-wrenching near-misses every time he turned on stage to say something only Colin would fully understand, only Colin would know how to play off, only to find Greg there instead?

How many silent, deep-night hours lying awake next to his peacefully sleeping wife looking for a way to take it all back, to beg forgiveness from whatever god with a twisted sense of humor watched over struggling improv artists, to ask for just one chance to make it all right, to reach out and heal the silence that day when he'd closed his eyes and forced himself not to open them, not even when he'd heard Colin's footsteps walking away, the door open and shut, and the silence, the irrevocable silence, seeping in from everywhere, triumphantly...

Standing in the middle of the warmly lit room, Ryan felt the weight of that silence settle in his chest, and found he still had no words to give.

He spoke anyway, voice brittle and false to his own ears, even though he knew it was the truth. "It wasn't me."

Colin was still staring at his hands. He nodded once, slowly, and Ryan swallowed hard. When Colin finally spoke, his voice was soft, but at least it was Colin and not the tone of a stranger. "It was always you."

Something painful opened like a wound in Ryan's chest. Colin always had been two steps ahead, knowing, somehow, where Ryan was going before he knew himself.

"I never..." He took a halting step forward. "Never, ever..."

Colin's hands tightened in his lap, and Ryan froze.

He cleared his throat. Something else, anything else...

The obvious would do. "When... how.. did they do it?"

"I don't know." Colin raised his eyes to study the drapes. "I don't want to know."

Ryan nodded jerkily. Maybe he didn't, either.

"What..." He trailed off, tried again. "When did you..."

"They must have been planning it a long time," Colin said mildly, still gazing at the drapes. "Same city. Same street. Same night. Same time. The coup de grace in the conquest of love and friendship. We know best. Trust us. We're your friends..."

The constriction in his chest was still growing, nearly unbearable now. What was he supposed to say? They'd made their choices. It was all said and done years ago. Decades ago. And he had never once picked up the phone...

"I never expected you to call," Colin continued, almost as if he was following Ryan's weaving thoughts. Isn't that what they'd always said? Like mind readers... "I knew you never would. I didn't know if you knew, though. You don't know how badly I wanted to tell you... I wanted to say it was okay, everything was going to be fine..."

Ryan fleetingly thought of sitting down, but didn't think his legs would cooperate long enough to make it to the bed.

"We gave each other the worst possible ultimatum, do you realize that? We tried to make it pure and all we did was break it. We pushed in all the wrong places, and all the wrong things gave..."

He sighed, and his shoulders slumped, and Ryan's heart beat faster. Then at last, Colin turned to face him, and the raw agony in his face was too much to bear.

"I never wanted to do this without you, Ryan."

Suddenly, his legs were working again. He stumbled over to the desk and dropped the tape on it. Colin's sat there too, identical and innocent looking. Colin just looked up at him, and their eyes met.

And for once, nothing mattered. Nothing but Colin, and the old, familiar hurt in those eyes. The same feeling Ryan felt every time he looked guiltily at the phone, after one of those dreams of the past when he couldn't meet his own gaze in the mirror. He bent down, wanting to say something, anything, to make sure Colin understood...

Colin's hand brushed his face, and neither of them knew who leant in first, but then their lips were together, his thin and dry and Colin's soft and wet, and he could feel a sob building in him he didn't know if he could hold back--

Colin's arms were around him, and he leaned on Colin's neck, dimly aware his shirt was wet where Colin's face pressed into his shoulder, and he shuddered all over with the effort of staying quiet.

They stood like that, unmoving, for a long time.

Eventually, physics stepped in, and they broke apart, not meeting each other's eyes. Ryan's back ached, and he knew Colin's neck would be twinging from the awkward position.

Wordlessly, Colin stood, and gestured Ryan to the bed. They hadn't done this in years, but tonight it was if all that passed, unchangeable time had stepped aside, just for a moment, and Ryan knew what he meant. He stretched out on his stomach, arms at his sides, and felt Colin's skilled, gentle hands begin massaging his stiff muscles.

He wanted to say something. 'Thank you,' maybe, or 'I promise...' But he couldn't quite bring himself to do it. Nothing he said would be good enough.

Above him, Colin closed his eyes and tried to think of nothing.

Eventually, just as Colin's hands were beginning to cramp up, Ryan stirred. He sat up, slowly, and Colin's hands fell away. They looked at each other. "Thanks," said Ryan softly. Colin just looked at him. "You're welcome."

It was like, Ryan reflected, after a good long cry. All your troubles are still there, but the knot of bad feeling has been smoothed away, and there's a kind of calmness. And space. Space to think...

He reached out, wrapping a hand around Colin's arm, and drew him down to the bed so they were sitting together, as they used to, shoulders and legs only just touching.

"I can't do this without you," Ryan said clearly, before he was even aware he knew what to say.

Colin nearly smiled. "I know."

Ryan put his arm around Colin's shoulders, turning slightly to face him, and Colin put an arm around his waist. "We have to talk about this, don't we," Ryan said seriously.

"Yes," Colin agreed. He looked at Ryan thoughtfully. "But not right now."

Ryan's relief was nearly palpable. And suddenly, completely out of place, Ryan was yawning, a jaw-cracking, lung-popping yawn that had Colin yawning too before it was over.

For a moment, they nearly grinned at each other.

"Come here," Ryan said softly, and leaned back on Colin's bed, pulling the other man down with him. Colin went willingly, and they on their sides with their arms wrapped tight around each other as if they never had to let go, Ryan's leg between Colins', and for the first time all night something like peace was almost in the air.

"Did you talk to them about it?" Ryan asked after a while, into Colin's neck.

"No," came the muffled reply, Colin's warm breath on his face.

"What did you talk about?"

"You."

"...Oh."

Colin's arms tightened around him, and they fell silent again.

At last, Colin sighed, and pulled back. Ryan tensed, but Colin placed a calming hand on his neck, a touch that said quite plainly, Don't panic; of course I'm not leaving now, and rolled over so his back was to Ryan. Ryan's arms wrapped around him again, and Colin hugged Ryan's arms to himself, and they settled more comfortably into the mattress.

Neither said anything, but for once, the silence wasn't so hard to bear.

Drew and Brad were stuffing the last of a ridiculously large pile of winter clothing into their suitcases when Greg stopped in. "How's it going?" he asked casually, as if they hadn't just turned two men's worlds completely upside down.

"Not bad," Brad said, pushing the lid of the suitcase down with all his might and tucking in a wayward scarf end.

"Been better," Drew grunted. He clambered up on the bed and sat on the uncooperative suitcase, bouncing up and down in a futile effort to get it to close.

"Do you think we did the right thing?" Brad said suddenly, abandoning his packing and turning to face the other two.

Greg and Drew looked at each other.

"I..."

"Don't say you don't know, Drew," Greg said sharply. "Don't fucking say it."

"Well what did we start, huh? What if..."

"It was started long before we got involved," Brad said.

They looked at each other.

"Maybe we should check on them?" Drew offered.

Brad gestured to the door with one long arm. "After you."

They filed silently down the hall. They hesitated the door, but... it wasn't shut all the way...

They peeked in.

The room was as they'd left it hours before. The chairs in the same place, the soft desk lamp till glowing. Only the bed was rumpled. Colin and Ryan, clearly fast asleep, lay tangled together across the pillows, breathing slow in easy sync with each other. Colin's face lay close to Ryan's neck, and with his lips parted it was if he'd only just leaned back from a kiss. Ryan's arm was flung protectively over Colin's side, fingers resting gently on his hip.

Grinning at each other, the three of them slowly backed out and shut the door.

Drew and Brad gave each other satisfied smirks and headed back to finish their packing. Greg lingered, gazing at the shut door with an almost wistful look on his face. His voice was soft and sad.

"Sweet, fucking joy."

fin.

concerning joy and healing (2/2)

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