JOHN BARROWMAN / SCOTT GILL RPS FIC - DAMN HIS EYES - Part 12
JOHN BARROWMAN / SCOTT GILL RPS FIC - DAMN HIS EYES - Part 12
Title: Damn His Eyes
Characters : John Barrowman and Scott Gill. Dan and Paul + others - fictional friends
Rating : PG
Disclaimer : I don't know or own JB or SG. All this is my imagination.
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Terry smiled.
“Now you begin to do as you are told.” He said to Scott.
“Let him go.” Scott looked furious, “John’s got nothing to do with any of this! I was . . . .”
“Scott, if it has som . . .” John started.
“Shut up!” Scott glared at him, “Just shut the fuck up for once!” he closed his eyes as a wave of nausea swept over him.
“Scotti . . .”
“John! Shut up!”
“I’m not doing anything until John is out of this room.” Scott said.
“I won’t go anywhere without you.” John was adamant.
“Put the gun away.” Scott said, “John can stay here if he must. But put the gun away.”
Andy tucked the gun in the back of his waistband.
Scott did his best to focus on the room. Terry had a leather wrapped bundle on the desk in front of him. Something wasn’t right. Scott moved towards the desk slightly, expecting the feeling to get worse. It didn’t.
Fighting the urge to throw up, Scott turned slowly to the stallholder.
“I can’t do it. I’m sorry.” he said.
The stallholder looked like he was going to cry.
“Please.” he said, “All this time I have waited. Only you can help me. Please, set me free.”
Terry got up and pulled a shallow drawer from a unit behind him. He lifted the board covering the contents and set it on the desk.
He began to reach into the drawer and pull out sections of polished stones bound together with gold wires. He carefully pushed the sections together.
“Gather round children.” he smiled, triumphantly gesturing for them all to approach the desk.
The cat’s face was finally together. All that was missing was the nose.
“Is that it?” John’s voice broke the hush.
“The Grunella.” Phil said, “Together at last.” He looked at Scott who stood pale and swaying slightly, “All yours, Twinkle, you know what to do.”
Scott turned to the stallholder and held out his hands.
The stallholder stepped forward and took Scott’s hands in his own.
Scott leaned his forehead against the stallholder’s and spoke softly.
“Mil bhat zemet ay cemit. Mas niril. Mil pakat hed mas adsi mil pieu. I ca mas cren sei mi ne. Ben pakat adsis pas hruc per moy.
“The curse cannot be broken. Not today. The bundle does not contain the nose. I do not know where it is. That bundle contains no pain for me.
Meh milre grom a bhat? Zeme noi kiril ben mire bene, bene ved mire aserig, met ay epasugh? Vas et pas enog se hym mil bhat mig tu. Vas bhatd mil artifact, mas tu.
Was there really a curse? Don’t you think that true love, love held true forever, would be enough? She had no right to lay the curse on you. She cursed the artifact, not you.
I get loce broyk. Ben man, milre, ni lo mire bene. Que I pa niril benes hob verigh. Que I meh in mil ago, fet ga I get abid u thni cors, kif bened omilrs, fez ga zen, ne mile kim, I bened tu. Lo maul hga rememayred que we et, e ben fec ve i woli benes tu. Ben fec ve i dal bene tu sed huy xanad.
I have moved forward. That man, there, is my true love. What I am today loves him exclusively. What I was in the past, even as I have lived in this body, has loved others, just as once, so long ago, I loved you. My soul has remembered what we had, and that part of me still loves you. That part of me will love you for all eternity.
Tuh ji tu mun, tif mil bene di ji I ih, e let ben fec ve tu foh. Mil bhat ni pga wek. Bene bat’ef kil’lik. Aylieve u it. tuh foh. Aycoi mil fort hob tu gi niril. I bene tu. Lo maul domhs dal. Foh u stil.”
Let who you were, take the love from who I was, and let that part of you go. The curse is no more. Love conquers everything. Believe in it. Let go. Become the great man you are today. I love you. My soul always will. Go in peace.”
Scott kissed the stallholder on the forehead and then both cheeks before releasing his hands.
John stared with his mouth open. Since when did Scott speak . . . what was that language? The stallholder had understood every word because there were tears running down his cheeks.
Scott looked unsteadily at the stallholder.
“Go.” he said, “Let him leave.” he said to Andy, who was blocking the door.
Scott felt a wave of nausea hit him as Phil stood next to him at the desk.
Terry untied the leather from around the bundle and began to peel back the layers of paper.
John also watched Phil, standing next to Scott. There was a sense of propriety about the way Phil appeared to guard Scott, and a sense of more than that as Phil ghosted his hand over Scott’s buttock.
John frowned at the gesture.
Scott swayed toward Phil for a second, then jerked himself away as if he’d been burned.
Scott gripped the edge of the desk as his vision darkened around the edges.
He was vaguely aware of John calling his name. Somehow he managed to focus his attention on the room.
As Terry pulled at the last piece of thick paper, the butterfly clattered onto the desktop.
The thing didn’t seem so bright in the dim light of Terry’s rooms.
“Pick it up!” he said to Scott.
John watched Scott’s hand twitch toward the blue stones.
tbc