The Turns You'll Take [The Prestige; Borden/Borden]
Title: The Turns You'll Take
Author: kiltsandlollies
Fandom: The Prestige
Pairing: Borden/Borden
Rating: PG-13
Notes: SPOILERS for the film and book. Written for almaviva, for the 2007 axial_tilt challenge.
Freddy’s still in shock three days after Julia’s death, still unable to respond to anything Alfred says by way of explanation but consoling him nonetheless, holding Alfred against his chest stiffly every night until Alfred’s harsh breaths slow and he sleeps. The night before her funeral, Freddy makes one of few decisions he’s had chance to consider alone, and laces Alfred’s drinks enough that he’ll never feel Freddy slip away from him in the morning.
The air around the mourners is cold with desolation, with anguish, but Angier’s fury at the presence of the man he thinks a murderer is white-hot. Freddy takes one step back from it, and then another, wanting desperately to tell what Alfred will not, but knowing that whatever apologies he makes will make no difference-that their lives will be spent carrying secrets heavier than the ones they bear now. Freddy takes a last look at Julia at rest before his fingers fold over the brim of his hat and he swallows, backing more out of the room as Angier demands answers Freddy cannot give.
You don’t know, Freddy reminds himself over and over again, and returns to Alfred’s side before he wakes. You never will.
----
Freddy’s tired tonight, exhausted from the charade and the work, too, and Alfred reacts the way he best can, taking the gentlest care in removing the mustache and beard from Freddy’s face and pushing the hair back from Freddy’s forehead. Not for the first time he offers to leave things as they were before the show tonight, to let Freddy return to Sarah’s bed and take some comfort there while Alfred goes alone to the flat.
Freddy considers it, but he feels like a thief beside Sarah and always has; he has never been able to speak and mean the words of love Alfred uses, and he sometimes thinks that is the one great failing of this Pact between them. He shakes his head now and catches Alfred’s hand in his own, their gnarled, mangled fingers threading together as Freddy imagines finding that comfort Alfred thinks he wants in the one place he absolutely cannot.
When he looks up, Alfred’s watching him with a fierce, curious interest, one that makes Freddy shake his head again before Alfred wonders aloud what’s left for them to share with each other now.
How can you not know? Freddy thinks, but does not say.
----
Angier’s tricked them both, but it’s only Freddy trapped in the box below thick inches of loose dirt and silence. He doesn’t fear the end the way Alfred does; if anything he’s expected it from Angier’s hand for years since Julia’s death. And inside this makeshift coffin, Freddy feels almost at peace, feels that for the first time in years he’s holding his own breath.
He’s only just closed his eyes and surrendered when he hears Alfred clawing at the box, his fists pounding, hands wrenching at the sides. Leave it, Freddy thinks, his heart and mind racing, leave it and live and let me go.
Later, after Alfred’s clutched and cursed at him and urged breath back into his lungs and warmed him under blankets and beside the fire at the flat, Freddy tells Afred that he’d said nothing-that he’d kept the terms of the Pact to what he’d believed was the end, even as Angier had threatened to kill Alfred, too.
You would have deserved it, Freddy says, and closes his eyes again on a laugh dusty and dry. Alfred holds him tighter and Freddy feels like he’s being buried again, a little less alive than before.
----
Sarah and Olivia are both gone, both missed in ways large and small. Freddy aches for them on levels Alfred has no time to contemplate, and thinks sometimes that he can feels their hands on him in his sleep. But the only touch he allows himself sober now is his own; it’s only when drunk that he can even bear Alfred’s.
They’re alone, more so than in the beginning; even Angier’s left them to chase the wrong secret. When Freddy imagines him begging Tesla for answers, it’s with a smile for Alfred’s cleverness, not out of any particular triumph. Alfred returns it with one much broader, leading Freddy back down to the workshop, back to the way things were before and will be well into what Freddy knows could be a better future if he could only let go of their hideous past.
When Alfred comes back to the shop one afternoon agitated, his fingers flexing in the air madly, Freddy knows that Angier has returned, that he’s finally won a game Alfred believed couldn’t be lost-that the future for which Alfred and Freddy have burnt themselves to nothing is disappearing faster than any transported man, new or old.
----
It’s the final turn they’ll take. Freddy holds Alfred against him for the last time and tells him that they’re both free now; that in the end Angier will be the only real prisoner among them.
Freddy goes to trial with an ease he knows frightens Alfred, goes to death even more calmly. From behind the bars he works to force a promise from Alfred that this mad feud will end here, and Alfred breaks down behind the mustache and beard and says without words that he can’t promise more than what he has already, to let Freddy do this for both of them.
When Freddy hangs, Alfred’s beneath Angier’s stage, looking for the man, not revenge. He thinks he knows Angier’s secret, and it’s uglier than any he and Freddy shared. Angier confirms this and other things, too, before Alfred leaves him and returns to Cutter and Jess and the new life of a better man.
Cutter begs Alfred’s pardon before he asks whether the trick was worth the many costs, whether the lives of Julia and Sarah and Freddy have all been avenged now.
I don’t know, Alfred says as he watches Jess sleep. I never will.
Author: kiltsandlollies
Fandom: The Prestige
Pairing: Borden/Borden
Rating: PG-13
Notes: SPOILERS for the film and book. Written for almaviva, for the 2007 axial_tilt challenge.
Freddy’s still in shock three days after Julia’s death, still unable to respond to anything Alfred says by way of explanation but consoling him nonetheless, holding Alfred against his chest stiffly every night until Alfred’s harsh breaths slow and he sleeps. The night before her funeral, Freddy makes one of few decisions he’s had chance to consider alone, and laces Alfred’s drinks enough that he’ll never feel Freddy slip away from him in the morning.
The air around the mourners is cold with desolation, with anguish, but Angier’s fury at the presence of the man he thinks a murderer is white-hot. Freddy takes one step back from it, and then another, wanting desperately to tell what Alfred will not, but knowing that whatever apologies he makes will make no difference-that their lives will be spent carrying secrets heavier than the ones they bear now. Freddy takes a last look at Julia at rest before his fingers fold over the brim of his hat and he swallows, backing more out of the room as Angier demands answers Freddy cannot give.
You don’t know, Freddy reminds himself over and over again, and returns to Alfred’s side before he wakes. You never will.
----
Freddy’s tired tonight, exhausted from the charade and the work, too, and Alfred reacts the way he best can, taking the gentlest care in removing the mustache and beard from Freddy’s face and pushing the hair back from Freddy’s forehead. Not for the first time he offers to leave things as they were before the show tonight, to let Freddy return to Sarah’s bed and take some comfort there while Alfred goes alone to the flat.
Freddy considers it, but he feels like a thief beside Sarah and always has; he has never been able to speak and mean the words of love Alfred uses, and he sometimes thinks that is the one great failing of this Pact between them. He shakes his head now and catches Alfred’s hand in his own, their gnarled, mangled fingers threading together as Freddy imagines finding that comfort Alfred thinks he wants in the one place he absolutely cannot.
When he looks up, Alfred’s watching him with a fierce, curious interest, one that makes Freddy shake his head again before Alfred wonders aloud what’s left for them to share with each other now.
How can you not know? Freddy thinks, but does not say.
----
Angier’s tricked them both, but it’s only Freddy trapped in the box below thick inches of loose dirt and silence. He doesn’t fear the end the way Alfred does; if anything he’s expected it from Angier’s hand for years since Julia’s death. And inside this makeshift coffin, Freddy feels almost at peace, feels that for the first time in years he’s holding his own breath.
He’s only just closed his eyes and surrendered when he hears Alfred clawing at the box, his fists pounding, hands wrenching at the sides. Leave it, Freddy thinks, his heart and mind racing, leave it and live and let me go.
Later, after Alfred’s clutched and cursed at him and urged breath back into his lungs and warmed him under blankets and beside the fire at the flat, Freddy tells Afred that he’d said nothing-that he’d kept the terms of the Pact to what he’d believed was the end, even as Angier had threatened to kill Alfred, too.
You would have deserved it, Freddy says, and closes his eyes again on a laugh dusty and dry. Alfred holds him tighter and Freddy feels like he’s being buried again, a little less alive than before.
----
Sarah and Olivia are both gone, both missed in ways large and small. Freddy aches for them on levels Alfred has no time to contemplate, and thinks sometimes that he can feels their hands on him in his sleep. But the only touch he allows himself sober now is his own; it’s only when drunk that he can even bear Alfred’s.
They’re alone, more so than in the beginning; even Angier’s left them to chase the wrong secret. When Freddy imagines him begging Tesla for answers, it’s with a smile for Alfred’s cleverness, not out of any particular triumph. Alfred returns it with one much broader, leading Freddy back down to the workshop, back to the way things were before and will be well into what Freddy knows could be a better future if he could only let go of their hideous past.
When Alfred comes back to the shop one afternoon agitated, his fingers flexing in the air madly, Freddy knows that Angier has returned, that he’s finally won a game Alfred believed couldn’t be lost-that the future for which Alfred and Freddy have burnt themselves to nothing is disappearing faster than any transported man, new or old.
----
It’s the final turn they’ll take. Freddy holds Alfred against him for the last time and tells him that they’re both free now; that in the end Angier will be the only real prisoner among them.
Freddy goes to trial with an ease he knows frightens Alfred, goes to death even more calmly. From behind the bars he works to force a promise from Alfred that this mad feud will end here, and Alfred breaks down behind the mustache and beard and says without words that he can’t promise more than what he has already, to let Freddy do this for both of them.
When Freddy hangs, Alfred’s beneath Angier’s stage, looking for the man, not revenge. He thinks he knows Angier’s secret, and it’s uglier than any he and Freddy shared. Angier confirms this and other things, too, before Alfred leaves him and returns to Cutter and Jess and the new life of a better man.
Cutter begs Alfred’s pardon before he asks whether the trick was worth the many costs, whether the lives of Julia and Sarah and Freddy have all been avenged now.
I don’t know, Alfred says as he watches Jess sleep. I never will.