013 (All About Larry) [SVW]

With nothing else to do and fearing the wrath of the master of the house, Gowan crept upstairs, eventually locating the room of the five up there that his suitcase had been put in. By the looks of things, he was in there alone. After some further investigation, he spotted Chauncy's things in the room across the hall, feeling the stab of a knife in his chest when he saw that familiar platinum band with the Celtic knotwork sitting there along with a wristwatch that had a very obviously broken clasp. Discarded like trash. Feeling guilty, he backed out of the room, wishing he hadn't seen it.

He was still twisting his own matching ring when he arrived back in his own room, feeling sick with dread. He didn't even bother with the shower that he'd planned to take in the adjoining ensuite bathroom— he stripped off his jacket and tossed it on the floor and then crawled into bed. Grabbing the second pillow, he hugged it to his chest while burying his face against the first. Between the goosedown and the closed door, the sound of his sobbing was muffled completely— the last thing he wanted was to cause any further strife. 

It was perhaps an hour later when the familiar footfalls sounded outside of Larry's door: Chauncy finally having spent enough time with his guests for the sake of good manners, was now able to leave them and spend his evening as he pleased, alone or otherwise. His shoe squeaked on the floorboards and there was an answering whine of the opposite door, without the sound of it closing. Instead, another squeak. Was he just going to stand there in the hallway? Hell, was it even him? Without any visual cues, Larry would be at a loss. The squeak sounded again, right outside the door, and there was a subtle thud against the jamb: not a knock, but Chauncy slumping against the wood, head finally coming to rest last. He was neither shaking nor sobbing, just caught up in cold numbness allowing no decision at all.

Feeling like the world's biggest heel, Gowan sat up slowly— he wasn't a sound sleeper at the best of times and he'd been doing nothing more than fitful dozing before hearing the sounds in the hallway. Using the corner of the blanket to scrub his still-damp face, he finally got up and shuffled to the door. Easing it open, he came face to face with Chauncy and his heart immediately shattered all over again at the sight of him. "Oh, honey... you look..." he trailed off, unable to even find the right word to describe how awful he looked. Drained, maybe?

"All in?" Chauncy offered, his voice a little croaky from the efforts at playing host earlier. "I want to sleep but I know I won't. I keep listening out for her to call."

"You need to sleep though." Gowan reached out, resting his hand against Chauncy's chest even though he expected rejection. "I can tell that much just by looking at you."

There was no real rejection, just a huff of breath that might have been a laugh. Or intended to be, at least. "I don't know what I need. Neither do you."

"Actually," Gowan's voice came out soft, raspier than usual, "I have a pretty good idea. You need someone to lean on— someone reliable— and I know I've dropped the ball on that in the worst way imaginable. Let me make it up to you. Please?"

Instead of a more concrete answer, Chauncy slid almost bonelessly off the doorframe and into Larry's arms, collapsing against his chest. "I'm not even sure I can sleep," he mumbled.

"We'll give it a try," he murmured, giving Chauncy a tight squeeze as he took a few steps back from the doorway, dragging his partner along with him. "If nothing else, you can just lie down and rest a while." When they made it to the bed, he gently pushed Chauncy down on the mattress.

Shoes kicked off and under the edge of the bed, Chauncy shrugged out of jacket and tie before he let himself fall back, one hand dragging itself across his eyes before settling on his chest. He blinked slowly up at the ceiling with a sigh that sounded as though it had aspirations to be a full sob at some point in the immediate future.

Because he knew his partner's habits, he gathered up the discarded jacket, folding it gently before placing it on the blanket box under the window. For a few seconds, Gowan stood there, wringing his hands and looking indecisive. "Do you want me to get you anything? A glass of water? An aspirin?"

"Aspirin is hardly the best thing for anybody in our line of work," he answered, rolling onto his side, leaving empty territory on what would normally be Larry's side of the bed. "I'll take paracetamol later if I need to."

The invitation was there and unlike earlier on the bench, rather unmistakable. Not wanting to waste it, Gowan crawled into bed beside him, flipping over the unfortunately still-moist pillow before settling in. A thousand things were rushing through his mind, but his brain kept stuttering over seeing that ring on the dresser. Even now, he couldn't unsee that empty space on Chauncy's finger. "Do you want me to sing you a lullaby?" It was meant to be a silly joke, but it came out completely wrong and unbelievably awkward.

"No," came the mumbled answer, as one hand— the hand missing that all-important ring— reached behind himself to draw Larry's arm over him.

"Okay," he whispered, inching closer until he was almost snuggled up against Chauncy's back. Resting his forehead against his partner's shoulder, he let out a soft sigh. "Sleep well, sweet prince," Gowan murmured, his voice barely audible, "I love you."



The sun snuck around the edge of the curtain, hitting Larry Gowan square in the face, jolting him from sleep. Stretching lazily, he rolled over and found himself staring at the empty side of the bed and the tea rose floral pattern on the wall beyond it. Reaching out, he felt the mattress only to find it was stone cold. The smile faded from his face as he let out a soft groan, lifting that same hand up to rub the sleep from his eyes. Stumbling out of bed on aching legs, he shuffled towards the bathroom and brushed his teeth, using the facilities as quickly and efficiently as he could, resolving to take an hour long shower later. First he needed to find where Chauncy had gotten to.

He didn't have to go far in that quest. As soon as he eased the bedroom door open— he hadn't closed it the night before, he knew that— he heard the telltale creak of the floorboards in the room across the hall. Pausing in the doorway, he pushed open the door that was slightly ajar, finding himself looking at Chauncy pacing in front of the window that looked out over the back garden. 

One hand was raised to his mouth, and he bit down almost absently on the edge of his thumb, which was red enough to indicate that he'd been doing this for a while. The bed was perfectly-made, showing no sign that Chauncy had so much as rested on the edge of it, and he'd discarded yesterday's suit for a simple collared shirt and charcoal pants. When Larry entered, he let out a slow breath through his nose and turned his face away, avoiding eye contact.

That simple aversion was like a knife stabbing into his chest and he actually grabbed the door jamb for support. "Good morning," were the first words that he could dredge up that didn't sound stupid and he flung them out there with as much good cheer as he could muster.

"Mm. I do apologize for last night. I was somewhat out of sorts. Yesterday... well, suffice to say that it was not my best day."

"Apologize for last night?" Gowan echoed, looking confused. He had a bit of an idea why he was being apologized to, but simply didn't want to swallow that reality this early in the morning. "Why would you do that?"

"I feel rather that I took advantage of your good nature— not my best moment, I admit," he said with an apologetic wince. "It shan't happen again."

The words hit him like a slap and it took everything in him to remain upright. "Oh, of course." He nodded woodenly. Pulling his arm had been nothing more than— he recoiled from the thought, feeling nauseated, "I should've realized what you meant. I'm sorry. I'm still mentally on North American time— maybe I just need some coffee to wake up the rest of the way." He turned towards the hallway, unable to keep looking at this cold stranger wearing his partner's face. "I trust there's something with caffeine down in the kitchen?"

"Yes, but you ought to ask them for it. They'd likely become terribly offended if you just sorted yourself out in the kitchen. Ring down." He pointed to the phone. "I'm assuming you can make a decision regarding coffee or tea. Rather simpler than deciding between us and your career."

He closed his eyes, dragging in a deep breath and holding it for a few seconds in a desperate attempt to kill the pain. "That," he bit his lip, shaking his head, "was a tad uncalled for." Gowan turned around, his eyes narrowed slightly even as he tried to laugh off the slight, "you know I don't care for tea."

"Well, one does tend to choose the thing one wants," came the answer, Chauncy falling into the chair by the window: a carved wooden armchair upholstered in heavy tapestry, fingers beginning a restless tracing of flowers and leaves. He sighed. "I'll take tea. Prince of Wales, milk. Assuming you recall."

He refused to take the bait, instead walking over and picking up the phone's receiver. He stared at the buttons for a few seconds, trying to figure out how to make an internal call— he'd never actually done it before in the scant times he'd visited here in the past and now he felt completely out of his element. The entire morning up to this point had been rather surreal and a small part of him was hoping this was nothing more than a bad dream. The ache in his chest that was making it hard to breathe said otherwise.

His partner didn't seem to register the confusion, pausing to press his hands over his face, fingertips digging in just above his brows, jaw gritted. "She asked after you. I thought you should know. Convinced right up until the end that you'd show."

"And you told her some grandiose lie about what was keeping me?" He lowered the handset, giving up on ordering something from downstairs for the time being. "No, you probably didn't. You told her the truth about what a miserable, awful person I am." Gowan didn't bother to turn around, his fertile imagination filling in the gaps quite nicely simply by the tone of Chauncy's voice. "What do you want me to say to that? What can I possibly say to that— goddamnit." The expletive came out softly as he lifted his hand, running it over his burning eyes. 

"Well, if that's what you think I said... I can see why you wouldn't want to be here," he answered sadly, staring out of the window steadily, shoulders stiff. "I suppose you've written the last chapter to your little fiction, and I've already walked into the script. Am I playing it right? Will I win a Best Supporting Actor award to your hero of the story?" He didn't take his eyes off the glass for a moment.

Hero? No. Not anymore, that was clear. "I have half a mind to hit you right now," Gowan said, turning around slowly. "I'm not going to, despite how badly you want to push every last button of mine. Just tell me how the damned phone works and I'll order your tea... I can at least pretend I haven't fallen off into the sea of madness if I can pull off that one last thing." The words were accompanied by a bitter laugh and a shake of his head. "Actually, just forget it. I'll go down myself and bother them. Seems that I'm perfectly suited to do that, aren't I?"

"Press the nought, it opens the internal line, and then twelve for the kitchen," he answered tiredly. "I do apologize again. Here was me thinking that it might be about me for once. Never mind."

"It," his teeth audibly clicked together as he bit back the reply that almost came bursting forth. Instead he turned back towards the phone and grabbed the receiver, pressing it to his ear before angrily stabbing the buttons. When a voice on the other end answered, he forced the words out past clenched teeth, somehow managing to come off cheery and civil despite the ache in his jaw. "Could you put a pot of coffee on, please? And... a pot of tea as well. Prince of Wales." He listened for a moment, shaking his head, "no, that's not necessary. We'll be down shortly." He let it drop back into the cradle before turning towards the window. "It is about you," the words came out on the heels of a sigh, "I don't know what I have to do to drill that into your stubborn head."

Chauncy's voice came out muffled through the hands still over his face. "I needed you here. I virtually begged you to come. And you didn't. Even with the funeral looming, and all I had to do here on top of how I was feeling, you stood me up at the bloody airport. Tell me again it's actually about me, fine, but make sure you can reconcile the books when you do it, because they don't add up to me."

"You're right." He crossed the room on legs that felt as reliable as wet noodles, dropping to his knees in front of the chair. "I don't even have a good excuse for missing the flight— I wasn't on the plane because I slept through my alarm. Is that what you want to hear? That despite how badly I wanted to see you, that I couldn't be bothered to drag my sorry ass out of that lumpy hotel mattress on time and maybe subconsciously that was intentional. No matter how I spin doctor the truth, the fact remains that the damage is done— from the looks of it far worse than I suspected yesterday." He cradled his head in his hand for a moment before his fingers dug into his scalp, raking his hair back from his face. "So last night was a mistake— that's what you said— one not to be repeated. So I can assume that you mean we won't be..." he couldn't bring himself to even finish the sentence because his eyes were locked on that empty finger again.

"I don't know. This is not the kind of hurt you can just pop a plaster on and forget about," he answered, standing up slowly as though every muscle hurt. "I have no idea what I want beyond sleep and my mother, neither of which I shall get. I need time. Either I'll heal or I won't. Honesty is the best I can do for you right now."

He bowed his head, staring down at his own shaking hands before tugging at the ring on the left one. After a second, he was able to twist it past the divot in his skin and it slid past the knuckle with ease. Cupping it in his palm, he squeezed it for a second before holding it out to Chauncy. "Then take this. I can't stand to look at it right now," he swallowed hard, "you can give it back when... if... I ever deserve it again."

"Don't make it my responsibility to decide what you do or don't deserve. If you don't want to look at it, put it in a bloody box, or toss it into the sea, whatever suits you best." It was impossible to hide the hurt in his own. "I was going to get mine resized, but I suppose I ought to hold off on that. Or perhaps I ought to have just let it fall off my finger." He pushed past, going to the door. "I need to go. I'm going to start sorting her clothes for Oxfam." Arms folded tightly over his chest, he walked out slowly through the open doorway into the hall, shaking his head.

"Chauncy," his voice shook as he grabbed the arm of the chair, using it to pull himself upright. Fumbling with the ring, he pushed it back onto his finger, feeling like some sort of villain for assuming the worst. "When..." he took a few steps towards the door himself, "when she asked after me, what did you tell her?" Suddenly that missing piece of information seemed vitally important, as if it could be the key to fixing this whole mess he'd created.

He turned back, rubbing at his left eye with the heel of one hand. "I told her that I didn't know. But that I wished like hell I did."