"Nothing but stage lights" Part One

[indybaggins.livejournal.com]

Well, here it is... The story I've been talking about for weeks now... Hope you guys like it!

Nothing but stage lights.

Author: Indy Baggins

Pairing: Pat/Ryan, Ryan/Greg, Ryan/Colin and Pat/Deb. All on the non-explicit side, for those of you who worry.

Rating: R

Summary: This is Pat’s story. Her love for Ryan, her impression of his never-ending friendship with Colin, a flash of Greg, her fond memories of Deb, and most importantly, the circumstances that bound them all together.

Disclaimer: When you read this, please understand that this is fiction. While I did try to stick with the timeline of actual events, I am not portraying the authentic lives of these people.

Author’s comments: This is part one out of four. I always felt like this was a side of the story that still needed to be told. Never knew I would be the one telling it though. *smiles*

Many thanks to clayangel, the endlessly patient and enthusiastic beta-on-duty.






Pat had been young, attractive too, and she had definitely known it. But still there had always been a certain feeling of duplicity underlying it all. It was just a game when she carefully painted her lips in the beer-stained mirror behind the bar before she returned to bringing drinks to rowdy costumers, the rumble of the comedian on stage nothing but a background noise.

Just a game when she moved in between those that were very drunk, and those that were getting there, expertly avoiding the grabbing and prodding they all seemed to be so sure was included in the entrance-fee.

Just a farce when she laughed with a joke she had barely heard and found tasteless to begin with, flirted a bit for a tip, wasn’t afraid to swear when anyone got too touchy.

And when the customers started laughing, booing and yelling at a particularly dirty joke and stopped her to say “That guy is good!” she laughed, dutifully, and then glanced at the stage for a second before averting her eyes again.

She knew who he was, the comedian on the stage; she knew his name and the way his lanky body had felt against hers just a couple days ago. Now she put beers on the table closest to the stage and waited for the money without looking up towards his eyes that might or might not have been on her.

He’d been a catch, absolutely. He had been chatting up with the waitresses for months, and when she had bumped into him just outside the bar, and he’d leaned down to kiss her, gently, she’d been charmed. She had never thought it would have been more than one night, not really, but she’d been purposely cheeky and daring around him, and she’d liked it, in a way.

Her shift would be over soon and she felt the tiredness already settle in her back and feet as she walked towards the bar again. A couple minutes later he was sitting there too, the smell of aftershave on his clothes and a cigarette between his lips, and she felt her hand shake slightly as she handed him his scotch.

He held her gaze for a moment too long and whispered something about getting out of there. She’d agreed, not right away, not expecting too much.

Two months later they were sharing her apartment.



Looking back, she would always be amazed at the fact that they even made it through those first months. Ryan performed at the bar she worked, but at other bars too, sometimes staying out all night without ever even entertaining the notion that she would question it. When he came back in the mornings he had wrinkles in his clothes and riddles in his eyes she knew he would never make her part off, and she hated him for it.

So they fought, more often than not, long silences and angered remarks, pushing each other away, and in the end she didn’t know why she did so anymore, only maybe because he had come to expect her to. Every morning she woke up, sure he would have left. Sure his fascination for her would have ended, sure he would have found someone else he thought he understood but really didn’t.

But he didn’t leave, and as weeks turned into months she felt her doubts change into resignation. She never knew what he wanted from her, why he stayed, and why she felt both grateful and unbalanced with his presence, but she came to enjoy it, even felt a certain amount of pride in the fact that it was her he was with, her he came home to.

On early mornings in bed together, she desperately clung to the softness in his eyes only to realise he never told her he loved her. She never told him either, and she caught herself wondering how long they could live like this. How long she could live like this. Desperate to feel his touch, and when she did, certain again he would find some else’s better.

She often wondered if she held on too hard, or too little.

When she looked at Ryan she saw someone who was strikingly good-looking, thin and tall and tender and incredibly talented, with a hell of a temper but always capable of making up. He was distant too, she thought, never completely there, never a genuine smile, never everything all at once, just parts of him, slivers and shimmers but never his whole heart, and she wondered what had happened to the rest.

The only passion he had was the stage. Even she, who would never want to be up there in her life, could see that. He saw right through people, finding their weaknesses, what made them laugh.

She wondered if he ever saw through her.



Later on she would think it odd, that in the first years they lived together, she didn’t once hear him mention the day he met Colin.

When she actually met Colin for the first time it had been a late evening in April, and Colin had been nothing but a stranger with a shy smile and evident brown eyes she had opened the door to. She’d had no idea of the times in the future she would think of him and wonder. No idea how closely she’d start to associate him with Ryan, how she’d secretly start hating him for being the one who got the most genuine smiles, the gentlest touches.

All that was years from then. Right then, he had been nothing but a stranger at the door, and the chill of premonition that had run through her body was nothing but the cold of the evening.

He’d asked for Ryan in a soft voice, and before she had to yell Ryan had been there, passing her by completely and throwing his arms around the man, squishing him fondly before quickly grabbing his jacket and wallet. They’d been gone together, their laughter resonating in the hallway, before she’d even said goodbye.

That night Ryan hadn’t come home, and she hadn’t thought much about it.



As the seasons floated by she saw more of Colin. He’d come by together with large groups of Ryan’s improv friends and sit away from the rowdy circle of people that were drinking and smoking, more often that not with Ryan, smiling softly at his side.

She’d liked that about Colin at first; she’d thought he’d temper Ryan into something gentler, less profound maybe. But why they were even friends in the first place, she had never understood. Colin was timid, soft, shy, so different from all of Ryan’s friends, and she had had no idea what Ryan saw in him, why he treasured that side in Colin, when he had never even acknowledged it in her.

She’d tried asking him once, somewhere in the late hours of a Saturday evening. She’d waited until she had heard the door open and him sink on the bed next to her. He had just come home from a stand-up gig, the smell of smoke and beer still in his hair and clothes and a tiredness in his shoulders and voice.

She’d asked, trying to keep the tremor of accusation from her words, “Why do you really like Colin?”

He’d laughed and stroked a strand of her hair behind her ear, actually giving her question some thought. Finally he’d settled on “He doesn’t need to talk” and she’d momentarily wondered if that was a stab pointed at her before he had kissed her and they’d made love, slowly, gently, and he’d fallen asleep.



The first time she saw them on stage together, she’d understood.

As soon as he stepped on stage Colin seemed to turn on some switch that made him noticeable in a way; he was funny, fast, witty, but more than anything else she’d noticed Ryan and how good he was when he played off Colin, eyes lighting up in a way she’d never seen when he was doing stand-up alone. Even then she’d known that it would be improv for Ryan, improv and nothing else.



And before she ever really acknowledged it, their first years together had flown by in a fast whirl of stages and lights and combining stand-up with improv for Ryan, and avoiding questions and emotions for her. It left her feeling drained sometimes, and she wished she could see the future, know if it was all really worth it or not, know if she would ever really be happy, or if she already was but just didn’t feel it.

When Ryan made it to Second City, she’d been glad to move along with him, even if only to move away from everything that still seemed to keep them apart on a daily basis.

As she packed the last boxes from their apartment, she’d secretly told herself everything would change as soon as they would reach Toronto. Ryan would have a chance to start over, but so would she; she’d try to be more open to him, to understand him, everything she’d tried before would finally change things, and she had really believed it could.

Everything did.



She’d always remember that first night Ryan performed there and how she had worn her best dress and had styled her hair only to sit in the far side of the audience where she knew he wouldn’t see her.

The audience had been filled with energy, Ryan confident, nothing but a slight tremor in his voice giving away that he was nervous. As he towered over the other players, she couldn’t help but feel proud for him. His dreams were coming true, and she could see by the glow on his face as he performed there, by the slightly higher note in his laughter, that he was happy. At home.

When the show ended, they got an amazing applause, the audience mumbling and laughing still even as they filed out of the theatre, Ryan receiving pats and hugs from the other players, on his first day already one of their own.

Ryan had been wickedly funny, and she herself had laughed harder in those two hours than she had ever done before with a show. But what she had ended up noticing most on the stage were the women, rowdy, funny and self-assured, and she secretly wondered if they were the type Ryan thought she’d been when they first met. Maybe he still thought so.

Backstage, he’d draped his arm around her shoulders and introduced her to the cast, and she had suddenly felt as if she was nothing more than a prize he had won, an accessory he wanted to show them all, only to put her away again afterwards. Her feeling slowly ebbed though, as the company proved to be openly pleasant, all of the players genuinely interested in them, and after just a couple hours she was feeling more at home than she had done in a long time in a group of people. She was still allowing Ryan to tell the stories but laughing freely, unexpectedly feeling more comforted than restricted by being at his side.

Near the end of the evening he’d introduced her to a woman named Debra; she’d seen her on stage, and as she stood before her it was almost impossible to imagine this frail woman, smiling and buzzing with energy, had been the one up there, outwitting even Ryan. Debra’s hand was lingering at the lower back of a woman named Linda, but she’d only momentarily wondered at that before she had accepted Debra’s outreached hand and smiled.

Debra had spoken up in a voice that been both teasing and warm, “So, you’re the woman behind this man?”.

When she’d said “Yes I am” without the slightest trace of hesitation, Ryan had tightened his hold on her and had laughed, deeply, but it was only when she replayed the moment in her mind later on that she realised he had. Instead she had blushed just bit when her eyes met Debra’s again, and she had shyly admitted that she could never be so bold on stage.

Debra had laughed, melodiously, and had said it was just all about putting up a farce for the world. She had nodded, suddenly sure she understood.

When they finally made it to their bed, the first light was peeking through their window, and she secretly looked at Ryan when he fell asleep. For the first time since she met him, he seemed happy. Truly happy.




After that first night, their first months in Toronto had involved a kind of fond and slow settling down between Ryan and her she had neither expected nor assumed possible. She had felt content, a frail understanding between them growing, and for the first time she’d thought that she could possibly marry Ryan, if he would ever ask.

She had been making pasta, his favourite dinner, standing over the stove in their small apartment with the steam waving around her face, when he had suddenly came up from behind and had wrapped his long arms around her, lifting her off the ground. She had shrieked, completely surprised, and had asked him what was up.

He had told her, lights in his eyes and a smile in his voice, that Colin was coming to audition too.

She’d hugged him a little too hard, but he hadn’t noticed and had been out the door to tell the others before he had really looked at her.

When he didn’t come home that night, she found a certain pleasure in throwing the pasta in the garbage can without ever even tasting it, and she came to realise that for Ryan, happiness would never be complete if it included just her. He would never acknowledge her shyness, her need to be protected, because why would he want to see it in her when he had already found it so openly in Colin.

She’d thought about it all night, and then decided that she could stand it, that she liked Colin even, and that she was just silly to be jealous. Lots of men had best friends. She even secretly wished she would have someone like that, someone who would see right through her and recognise her for who she was.

The next morning she got an unexpected call from Debra, and they went out together, laughing over ice cream and buying shoes with money they didn’t have. She could almost forget that Colin was speeding towards the city as they spoke, dropping everything to be with Ryan. Of that she was sure, whether Ryan actually realized it to be so or not.





mood: relaxed
music: "The plan, it wasn't much of a plan..."