Loyalty || Third Star || PG-13 || Davy/James (Unrequited)
Title: Loyalty
Author: _doodle
Film: Third Star
Pairing: Davy/James (Unrequited)
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Highlight for warnings, contains film spoilers: Terminal illness, suicide.
Word Count: 1,300
Beta: None, sorry!
Disclaimer: This is in no way affiliated with the truly wonderful film Third Star. No profit is being made (except possibly by kleenex on all those tissues) and no offense is intended.
Summary: It’s only a matter of time before Davy either says it or gives in. (Missing scene)
Notes: Third Star is a beautiful and heartbreaking film, if you can go and see it please do! Thanks to morelindo for reading through this and telling me I really should post it when I honestly thought I was the only person who was seeing this. ♥
It takes longer than usual for the morphine to kick in, but then James has never been in so much pain before.
Bill and Miles sit outside the tent, chests still heaving and shaking from the run back as James’ screams of agony slowly die down to whimpers. Davy stays wrapped around James, whispering empty words of comfort and assurance into his sweat soaked hair.
It’s brutal.
For them all, but at least James gets to drown himself in chemical oblivion as they all silently face James’ request. Realise they’ve been given a glimpse of what is to come if they deny him.
“Davy,” James slurs, “Davy can you-, I need you to-” His vowels and consonants roll together into almost indistinguishable words uttered in his once rich baritone, now harsh and rough from hours of agonised screams.
Outside the tent Miles stands and curses fuck, sharp and bitter under his breath as James’ pleas for Davy’s care are carried along by the wind. Bill meets his eyes and they both know James’ desire to die, to have them stand by and watch him end his life is back on the table. No matter how much they want to rally against it, their determined no’s no longer seem resolute.
“Miles,” Bill says to his retreating back as Miles heads towards the breaking water with long, angry strides, shoulders shaking in the moonlight. “Miles!”
Davy listens from inside the tent as Bill follows Miles, the sound of bare feet slapping against the wet sand retreating into the distance. Davy shuts his eyes and imagines their third star, where the choice isn’t between James dying a long and painful death over the next six months or tomorrow, in Barafundle Bay.
“Davy,” James croaks from where he’s tucked under Davy’s chin, wrapped in warm, strong arms that have carried him through the not so good and the bloody terrible.
“Shh,” Davy soothes and he knows what is coming, what James is going to say once the pain eases and the morphine starts to settle. When he’s as close to lucid as he can be on that much medication he’s going to ask Davy to do the impossible.
Ask him to let James go.
“Davy-,” James tries again, slowly starting to find the strength in his voice once more.
“Please don’t,” Davy chokes out, cutting James off.
Davy holds James tighter in the cocoon of sleeping bags they’ve created inside the tent that smells of them and tries to swallow down the lump in his throat and the tears in his eyes. James is barely trembling now, but it is all Davy can do to stop himself from shaking, clinging onto James and swearing that he’ll never let him go.
“Please don’t ask me to let you go,” Davy says though he has no idea how he manages to get the words out. Just thinking about what James wants from him is enough to break his heart, let alone go through with it.
“I thought you, of all people, would understand,” James says, breathing now only a little laboured as he turns into Davy’s embrace, lips moving deliberately against Davy’s throat, warm and soft. “It’s going to be like this, long before the end.”
“I know,” Davy confesses.
Davy’s known for a long time that it’s not going to be easy, for any of them.
He’s had to watch James slip away by pieces, falling prey to his illness bit by bit with the knowledge that nothing can make it better, that all that lies ahead is an even worse fate. Occasionally James takes a selfish comfort in the knowledge that at least when he’s dead it will be over, he won’t have to suffer being left behind.
Davy can’t let James go and his heart stops just thinking about the day in the not so distant future when James will be gone. The gaping hole in his heart James is going to leave, bleeding what ifs and maybes and if onlys.
James tries very hard not to see it when he looks at Davy, what he’s known for almost a year now. What Davy has never had the courage to say, had decided never to say when James announced in sombre tones that he wasn’t going to see thirty.
“Then let me go,” James requests. He doesn’t want to use the old cliché, but he will if it’s the only way.
As James starts to come back to himself as much as he is able he knows he can’t accept their refusal. Can’t allow them to make the walk to the emergency phone before the ocean accepts him, ends his suffering on his terms.
Davy has spent long enough with James to know what he is thinking, what he is planning and clings to his increasingly frail form all the tighter for it. The wind brings Miles not so dulcet tones to rattle around the tent, snatches of sound that make no sense other than pain and turmoil coming from the distance.
“You know I can’t,” Davy whispers into James’ skin, the scratch of his beard and the burn of his tears, hot and sharp against James’ forehead.
James clings back to Davy, twins their fingers together and just holds on. They’re both waiting. It’s only a matter of time before Davy either says it or gives in. Either way it’s all over.
“Yes you can,” James assures when nothing but silence comes, all his bitterness and self-righteousness lost somewhere in the sea, drifting away from Barafundle and waiting for him to follow.
Davy moves beside James, shifting under the sleeping bags until they’re laid face to face. Breathing each in each other’s air, noses touching and damp eyes unfocused James bumps his lips clumsily against Davy’s.
Davy doesn’t reciprocate. He blinks the tears out of his eyes and breathes, “You’re a bastard, James,” against his lips. “And I still fucking love you.”
James doesn’t love Davy. He never will, or would, even if he lived to ninety. He likes women, breasts and soft curves and even if he didn’t, Davy’s love is tangled up so tightly with his cancer that James couldn’t separate the two even if he wanted. The worse James has become, the more Davy has loved him and the more obvious it’s become.
“I know you do, and that’s why you have to convince them,” James says, untangling their fingers to brush away the tear tracks from Davy’s face with gentle touches.
Davy sniffs, drags the back of his free hand over his face before leaning back so he can meet James’ eyes. “Would it have mattered? If I’d told you, before?”
It hurts James to be honest with Davy, but nowhere near as much as it hurts to hear. “No, it wouldn’t. You’re a friend Davy, one of the best I could have asked for, but that’s all. That’s the only way I love you.”
“Could have lied to me, you horrible fucker,” he says with no malice, a broken chuckle cracking into a sob. “It’s the least you could do, asking me to watch you die.”
“I’m going to die, whether you like it or not,” James replies patiently, pulling Davy back in close, holding on and refusing to let go. Not when he is so very close to giving in. “All I’m asking is that you let me go, on my terms. No more pain.”
Davy is torn and then James closes the distance between them. “Please,” he whispers into Davy’s lips, “don’t make me say something so fucking clichéd.”
Davy doesn’t want to hear James say it so lets James kiss him instead. It’s short and chaste, everything and nothing like Davy wanted.
In that moment he gives in.
James can feel it, brushes his fingers through Davy’s hair and as Miles and Bill’s voices approach once more, he presses his lips to Davy’s forehead and whispers, “Thank you.”
End
I am so very sorry! This ate at my brain from the moment I got over sobbing at the end of the film and I finally gave in on Tuesday and wrote it. What I imagine to have happened in the tent on that last night. I really wish I could have given Davy a happier ending, or least some sort of reprieve. Now I'm going to go eat cake and drink tea in an attempt to comfort myself.
Author: _doodle
Film: Third Star
Pairing: Davy/James (Unrequited)
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Highlight for warnings, contains film spoilers: Terminal illness, suicide.
Word Count: 1,300
Beta: None, sorry!
Disclaimer: This is in no way affiliated with the truly wonderful film Third Star. No profit is being made (except possibly by kleenex on all those tissues) and no offense is intended.
Summary: It’s only a matter of time before Davy either says it or gives in. (Missing scene)
Notes: Third Star is a beautiful and heartbreaking film, if you can go and see it please do! Thanks to morelindo for reading through this and telling me I really should post it when I honestly thought I was the only person who was seeing this. ♥
It takes longer than usual for the morphine to kick in, but then James has never been in so much pain before.
Bill and Miles sit outside the tent, chests still heaving and shaking from the run back as James’ screams of agony slowly die down to whimpers. Davy stays wrapped around James, whispering empty words of comfort and assurance into his sweat soaked hair.
It’s brutal.
For them all, but at least James gets to drown himself in chemical oblivion as they all silently face James’ request. Realise they’ve been given a glimpse of what is to come if they deny him.
“Davy,” James slurs, “Davy can you-, I need you to-” His vowels and consonants roll together into almost indistinguishable words uttered in his once rich baritone, now harsh and rough from hours of agonised screams.
Outside the tent Miles stands and curses fuck, sharp and bitter under his breath as James’ pleas for Davy’s care are carried along by the wind. Bill meets his eyes and they both know James’ desire to die, to have them stand by and watch him end his life is back on the table. No matter how much they want to rally against it, their determined no’s no longer seem resolute.
“Miles,” Bill says to his retreating back as Miles heads towards the breaking water with long, angry strides, shoulders shaking in the moonlight. “Miles!”
Davy listens from inside the tent as Bill follows Miles, the sound of bare feet slapping against the wet sand retreating into the distance. Davy shuts his eyes and imagines their third star, where the choice isn’t between James dying a long and painful death over the next six months or tomorrow, in Barafundle Bay.
“Davy,” James croaks from where he’s tucked under Davy’s chin, wrapped in warm, strong arms that have carried him through the not so good and the bloody terrible.
“Shh,” Davy soothes and he knows what is coming, what James is going to say once the pain eases and the morphine starts to settle. When he’s as close to lucid as he can be on that much medication he’s going to ask Davy to do the impossible.
Ask him to let James go.
“Davy-,” James tries again, slowly starting to find the strength in his voice once more.
“Please don’t,” Davy chokes out, cutting James off.
Davy holds James tighter in the cocoon of sleeping bags they’ve created inside the tent that smells of them and tries to swallow down the lump in his throat and the tears in his eyes. James is barely trembling now, but it is all Davy can do to stop himself from shaking, clinging onto James and swearing that he’ll never let him go.
“Please don’t ask me to let you go,” Davy says though he has no idea how he manages to get the words out. Just thinking about what James wants from him is enough to break his heart, let alone go through with it.
“I thought you, of all people, would understand,” James says, breathing now only a little laboured as he turns into Davy’s embrace, lips moving deliberately against Davy’s throat, warm and soft. “It’s going to be like this, long before the end.”
“I know,” Davy confesses.
Davy’s known for a long time that it’s not going to be easy, for any of them.
He’s had to watch James slip away by pieces, falling prey to his illness bit by bit with the knowledge that nothing can make it better, that all that lies ahead is an even worse fate. Occasionally James takes a selfish comfort in the knowledge that at least when he’s dead it will be over, he won’t have to suffer being left behind.
Davy can’t let James go and his heart stops just thinking about the day in the not so distant future when James will be gone. The gaping hole in his heart James is going to leave, bleeding what ifs and maybes and if onlys.
James tries very hard not to see it when he looks at Davy, what he’s known for almost a year now. What Davy has never had the courage to say, had decided never to say when James announced in sombre tones that he wasn’t going to see thirty.
“Then let me go,” James requests. He doesn’t want to use the old cliché, but he will if it’s the only way.
As James starts to come back to himself as much as he is able he knows he can’t accept their refusal. Can’t allow them to make the walk to the emergency phone before the ocean accepts him, ends his suffering on his terms.
Davy has spent long enough with James to know what he is thinking, what he is planning and clings to his increasingly frail form all the tighter for it. The wind brings Miles not so dulcet tones to rattle around the tent, snatches of sound that make no sense other than pain and turmoil coming from the distance.
“You know I can’t,” Davy whispers into James’ skin, the scratch of his beard and the burn of his tears, hot and sharp against James’ forehead.
James clings back to Davy, twins their fingers together and just holds on. They’re both waiting. It’s only a matter of time before Davy either says it or gives in. Either way it’s all over.
“Yes you can,” James assures when nothing but silence comes, all his bitterness and self-righteousness lost somewhere in the sea, drifting away from Barafundle and waiting for him to follow.
Davy moves beside James, shifting under the sleeping bags until they’re laid face to face. Breathing each in each other’s air, noses touching and damp eyes unfocused James bumps his lips clumsily against Davy’s.
Davy doesn’t reciprocate. He blinks the tears out of his eyes and breathes, “You’re a bastard, James,” against his lips. “And I still fucking love you.”
James doesn’t love Davy. He never will, or would, even if he lived to ninety. He likes women, breasts and soft curves and even if he didn’t, Davy’s love is tangled up so tightly with his cancer that James couldn’t separate the two even if he wanted. The worse James has become, the more Davy has loved him and the more obvious it’s become.
“I know you do, and that’s why you have to convince them,” James says, untangling their fingers to brush away the tear tracks from Davy’s face with gentle touches.
Davy sniffs, drags the back of his free hand over his face before leaning back so he can meet James’ eyes. “Would it have mattered? If I’d told you, before?”
It hurts James to be honest with Davy, but nowhere near as much as it hurts to hear. “No, it wouldn’t. You’re a friend Davy, one of the best I could have asked for, but that’s all. That’s the only way I love you.”
“Could have lied to me, you horrible fucker,” he says with no malice, a broken chuckle cracking into a sob. “It’s the least you could do, asking me to watch you die.”
“I’m going to die, whether you like it or not,” James replies patiently, pulling Davy back in close, holding on and refusing to let go. Not when he is so very close to giving in. “All I’m asking is that you let me go, on my terms. No more pain.”
Davy is torn and then James closes the distance between them. “Please,” he whispers into Davy’s lips, “don’t make me say something so fucking clichéd.”
Davy doesn’t want to hear James say it so lets James kiss him instead. It’s short and chaste, everything and nothing like Davy wanted.
In that moment he gives in.
James can feel it, brushes his fingers through Davy’s hair and as Miles and Bill’s voices approach once more, he presses his lips to Davy’s forehead and whispers, “Thank you.”
End
I am so very sorry! This ate at my brain from the moment I got over sobbing at the end of the film and I finally gave in on Tuesday and wrote it. What I imagine to have happened in the tent on that last night. I really wish I could have given Davy a happier ending, or least some sort of reprieve. Now I'm going to go eat cake and drink tea in an attempt to comfort myself.