Yes Sir: Alternate Ending
Title: Yes Sir Alternate Ending
Author: hannah_chapter
Pairing: Belldom
Rating: PG
Summary: AU. Victorian England. Matthew is the son of a lord, Dominic is a young and innocent servant: "The moment Matthew laid eyes on the boy, he knew he had to have him."
Feedback: Makes me do the dance of joy.
Disclaimer: Fake as fake could be.
NOTES: Okay, this is kinda important, I really want to make clear that this is NOT the latest chapter, or the real ending to this story. It's just an angsty little what if, what might have happened if Dominic had made a different decision a couple of chapters ago.
Dominic presents his card and, while he waits, takes in every detail of the hall he stands in. He lived, worked and came to manhood in this house. But that was over three decades ago and this place is a foreign country now. He may have left as a servant, but he returns as a gentleman and noted scholar and all those who would remember him as he once was have long since departed.
He is eventually relieved of his hat and overcoat and ushered into a small sitting room. Dominic remembers this place. Here it was that a young aristocrat was soundly beaten by a brother long since dead in a gutter and a servant taught to read. Dominic waves off an offer of refreshment and, when he is sure the servant has withdrawn completely, turns his attention to the chair by the window.
"Dominic," the occupant of the chair croaks, "such an unexpected joy your visit is! You look fine, yes, so very fine."
"Matthew. You look..."
Dominic tries to find something positive to say, but fails. The Matthew of old - slim, pale, elegant - is no more. Ravaged by disease, the figure in the chair resembles nothing so much as a freshly disinterred corpse, a skeleton to which some scraps of flesh and wisps of hair stubbornly cling. Matthew waves a claw-like hand, impatient.
"Please, Dominic, do not seek to shower me with empty words of praise. I am quite aware of how I look and flattery is wasted on the dying. Quite wasted."
Dominic does not challenge this assertion, they both know it to be true.
"How long?" Dominic ventures.
"A week, a day, an hour, who can say? It is of no consequence to me. I have put my affairs in order and made peace with my loved ones and fate has been kind enough to grant me a final audience with you. I feared you might arrive too late."
"But you knew I would come to you, when I was informed of this last illness."
"I did. There was no question in my mind. Our love may have waned over the years, but it never truly died."
"No, indeed it did not."
They fall silent, remembering times past. Their first separation, which had occured between the death of the old lord and Matthew's subsequent marriage, had been so very painful. Master and servant had clung to one another and wept - oh, how they had wept! All night they had wept. Then they dried their eyes and Dominic allowed Christopher to lead him away.
They missed each other terribly in those first years and wrote back and forth three, sometimes four, times a week, Dominic's crude scratchings steadily evolving into long, polished missives as he flourished under Christopher's tutelage. True to his word, the older man had restricted himself to the role of guide and mentor and Dominic could have wished for a better teacher.
Nine, almost ten, years had passed when affairs of business brought Matthew to Vienna. The flow of their letters had slowed to a trickle, no more than one every three months or so, and they truly thought they could meet as friends and equals. They thought their love, their hunger for each other, was dead.
They were wrong.
Their love was not dead, merely dormant. All it took was the slightest of touches, an innocent brush of hands as they sat in a coffee house, to wake it from its slumber.
It had taken immense strength of will to restrain themselves as they rode back to Dominic's lodgings. Once there, they had devoured one another, a frantic tumble on a sofa followed by hours in Dominic's bed, hours spent reacquainting themselves with the secrets of each other's flesh.
They were together whenever Dominic's studies and Matthew's business dealings permitted and these months were the happest times in both men's lives. Oh, it was light and laughter and love, sweet love...
...and then it was over.
Their first separation was painful, but it was a mere pinprick when compared to the agony of the second. Another night spent in each other's arms, weeping silently, and yet so much worse than the first, because they knew, knew how it could be.
All Dominic needed to do was utter one word: "stay."
And Matthew would say one word in return: "yes."
Yes, they would be together, they would have each other - but this prize would come at the expense of everything else. Their reputations would never recover, Dominic's budding academic career would be curtailed and Matthew's wife and children disgraced. In short, everything they had worked in the years since their first parting turned to ashes and dust, rendering that sacrifice utterly meaningless.
So Dominic had held his tongue and Matthew left Vienna, never to return. They ceased all communication, for even that was dangerous. Dominic's work began to attract the notice of other wealthy patrons and he no longer needed or wanted Matthew's financial support. During his brief visits to England upon the deaths of family members - father, mother, aunt, sister - Dominic had stayed far away from the Bellamys. All the Bellamys.
"I have followed your work over the years, Dominic," Matthew's harsh croak breaks the silence, "you have done so well. Christopher and I knew you would, but you have exceeded our expectations. Christopher would be proud. I know I am."
"All I am, I owe to you."
"No. I may have laid the foundations, but that is all. You did it, Dominic, only you. Be proud of what you have accomplished."
"I am, believe me," Dominic replies. He continues in a softer voice, "but I do think about you often, wonder how it would have played out if I had rejected Christopher's offer and remained your servant. Do you think we would have been happy, to live like that?"
Dominic waits for a reply, receives none.
"Matthew?"
But Matthew is gone, his life slipped away between breaths. The blue eyes Dominic still dreams about are dead and dull.
Dominic gets to his feet. A deep wound has opened inside of him and, once he is alone, he will weep, loud, painful sobs that will threaten to tear his body apart.
But that is later. Now, he bends over Matthew. He closes his former lover's eyes and kisses the cold clay of his cheek.
"Goodbye, Matthew," he whispers, "goodbye, my love."
He leaves the room and goes in search of someone to impart this dreadful news to.
Author: hannah_chapter
Pairing: Belldom
Rating: PG
Summary: AU. Victorian England. Matthew is the son of a lord, Dominic is a young and innocent servant: "The moment Matthew laid eyes on the boy, he knew he had to have him."
Feedback: Makes me do the dance of joy.
Disclaimer: Fake as fake could be.
NOTES: Okay, this is kinda important, I really want to make clear that this is NOT the latest chapter, or the real ending to this story. It's just an angsty little what if, what might have happened if Dominic had made a different decision a couple of chapters ago.
Dominic presents his card and, while he waits, takes in every detail of the hall he stands in. He lived, worked and came to manhood in this house. But that was over three decades ago and this place is a foreign country now. He may have left as a servant, but he returns as a gentleman and noted scholar and all those who would remember him as he once was have long since departed.
He is eventually relieved of his hat and overcoat and ushered into a small sitting room. Dominic remembers this place. Here it was that a young aristocrat was soundly beaten by a brother long since dead in a gutter and a servant taught to read. Dominic waves off an offer of refreshment and, when he is sure the servant has withdrawn completely, turns his attention to the chair by the window.
"Dominic," the occupant of the chair croaks, "such an unexpected joy your visit is! You look fine, yes, so very fine."
"Matthew. You look..."
Dominic tries to find something positive to say, but fails. The Matthew of old - slim, pale, elegant - is no more. Ravaged by disease, the figure in the chair resembles nothing so much as a freshly disinterred corpse, a skeleton to which some scraps of flesh and wisps of hair stubbornly cling. Matthew waves a claw-like hand, impatient.
"Please, Dominic, do not seek to shower me with empty words of praise. I am quite aware of how I look and flattery is wasted on the dying. Quite wasted."
Dominic does not challenge this assertion, they both know it to be true.
"How long?" Dominic ventures.
"A week, a day, an hour, who can say? It is of no consequence to me. I have put my affairs in order and made peace with my loved ones and fate has been kind enough to grant me a final audience with you. I feared you might arrive too late."
"But you knew I would come to you, when I was informed of this last illness."
"I did. There was no question in my mind. Our love may have waned over the years, but it never truly died."
"No, indeed it did not."
They fall silent, remembering times past. Their first separation, which had occured between the death of the old lord and Matthew's subsequent marriage, had been so very painful. Master and servant had clung to one another and wept - oh, how they had wept! All night they had wept. Then they dried their eyes and Dominic allowed Christopher to lead him away.
They missed each other terribly in those first years and wrote back and forth three, sometimes four, times a week, Dominic's crude scratchings steadily evolving into long, polished missives as he flourished under Christopher's tutelage. True to his word, the older man had restricted himself to the role of guide and mentor and Dominic could have wished for a better teacher.
Nine, almost ten, years had passed when affairs of business brought Matthew to Vienna. The flow of their letters had slowed to a trickle, no more than one every three months or so, and they truly thought they could meet as friends and equals. They thought their love, their hunger for each other, was dead.
They were wrong.
Their love was not dead, merely dormant. All it took was the slightest of touches, an innocent brush of hands as they sat in a coffee house, to wake it from its slumber.
It had taken immense strength of will to restrain themselves as they rode back to Dominic's lodgings. Once there, they had devoured one another, a frantic tumble on a sofa followed by hours in Dominic's bed, hours spent reacquainting themselves with the secrets of each other's flesh.
They were together whenever Dominic's studies and Matthew's business dealings permitted and these months were the happest times in both men's lives. Oh, it was light and laughter and love, sweet love...
...and then it was over.
Their first separation was painful, but it was a mere pinprick when compared to the agony of the second. Another night spent in each other's arms, weeping silently, and yet so much worse than the first, because they knew, knew how it could be.
All Dominic needed to do was utter one word: "stay."
And Matthew would say one word in return: "yes."
Yes, they would be together, they would have each other - but this prize would come at the expense of everything else. Their reputations would never recover, Dominic's budding academic career would be curtailed and Matthew's wife and children disgraced. In short, everything they had worked in the years since their first parting turned to ashes and dust, rendering that sacrifice utterly meaningless.
So Dominic had held his tongue and Matthew left Vienna, never to return. They ceased all communication, for even that was dangerous. Dominic's work began to attract the notice of other wealthy patrons and he no longer needed or wanted Matthew's financial support. During his brief visits to England upon the deaths of family members - father, mother, aunt, sister - Dominic had stayed far away from the Bellamys. All the Bellamys.
"I have followed your work over the years, Dominic," Matthew's harsh croak breaks the silence, "you have done so well. Christopher and I knew you would, but you have exceeded our expectations. Christopher would be proud. I know I am."
"All I am, I owe to you."
"No. I may have laid the foundations, but that is all. You did it, Dominic, only you. Be proud of what you have accomplished."
"I am, believe me," Dominic replies. He continues in a softer voice, "but I do think about you often, wonder how it would have played out if I had rejected Christopher's offer and remained your servant. Do you think we would have been happy, to live like that?"
Dominic waits for a reply, receives none.
"Matthew?"
But Matthew is gone, his life slipped away between breaths. The blue eyes Dominic still dreams about are dead and dull.
Dominic gets to his feet. A deep wound has opened inside of him and, once he is alone, he will weep, loud, painful sobs that will threaten to tear his body apart.
But that is later. Now, he bends over Matthew. He closes his former lover's eyes and kisses the cold clay of his cheek.
"Goodbye, Matthew," he whispers, "goodbye, my love."
He leaves the room and goes in search of someone to impart this dreadful news to.