Fic - The Fionavar Tapestry, Any Other Man, for indeliblefancy
Title: Any Other Man
Fandom: The Fionavar Tapestry
Requester: indeliblefancy, here
Rating: G
Warnings: Angst, unrequited Kevin/Paul
Summary: Just the way Paul said her name, and he knew.
Word count: 288
"Her name is Rachel," Paul had said. Just that. Just that, and Kevin knew. He didn't have to look at Paul's face to know. If he were any other man, he might have rebelled against the thought -- changed the subject, said something, admitted to the sudden crushing pain in his chest, the deep yearning that had started to haunt him. If he were any other man.
But Kevin Laine was Kevin Laine, and so he turned and he smiled, and he drank to Rachel, the girl who put a fire in Paul Schafer's eyes.
Abba knew. When he got home, Abba was sat there, as if he'd been expecting it. There were no words: just a bedtime drink, and the quiet permission to speak or be silent, tell or not, as he chose. Kevin didn't say anything, but it was a long time before he went to bed.
Paul lived and breathed Rachel. He didn't need her -- if he needed anyone, Kevin thought, it was him, and that was a faint comfort. But he thought of her all the time, and Kevin would turn to say something and see Rachel in Paul's eyes.
If he were any other man, he might have hated her. He might have been jealous. He might have let the hollow ache become something else. But instead he loved Rachel for Paul's sake, and then for her own, and there was balm for the soul in that.
He took his secret to the hospital with him on the night that Rachel died. He carried it through the crossing to Fionavar. He carried it to Dun Maura.
Dana put a little of it into the bright red of the first flowers of spring.
Fandom: The Fionavar Tapestry
Requester: indeliblefancy, here
Rating: G
Warnings: Angst, unrequited Kevin/Paul
Summary: Just the way Paul said her name, and he knew.
Word count: 288
"Her name is Rachel," Paul had said. Just that. Just that, and Kevin knew. He didn't have to look at Paul's face to know. If he were any other man, he might have rebelled against the thought -- changed the subject, said something, admitted to the sudden crushing pain in his chest, the deep yearning that had started to haunt him. If he were any other man.
But Kevin Laine was Kevin Laine, and so he turned and he smiled, and he drank to Rachel, the girl who put a fire in Paul Schafer's eyes.
Abba knew. When he got home, Abba was sat there, as if he'd been expecting it. There were no words: just a bedtime drink, and the quiet permission to speak or be silent, tell or not, as he chose. Kevin didn't say anything, but it was a long time before he went to bed.
Paul lived and breathed Rachel. He didn't need her -- if he needed anyone, Kevin thought, it was him, and that was a faint comfort. But he thought of her all the time, and Kevin would turn to say something and see Rachel in Paul's eyes.
If he were any other man, he might have hated her. He might have been jealous. He might have let the hollow ache become something else. But instead he loved Rachel for Paul's sake, and then for her own, and there was balm for the soul in that.
He took his secret to the hospital with him on the night that Rachel died. He carried it through the crossing to Fionavar. He carried it to Dun Maura.
Dana put a little of it into the bright red of the first flowers of spring.