An Altered Perception
Chapter 8: Weatherman
Author: riku_aura777
Pairing: (past) Mark/Tom
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don't own them.
Summary: A look at how When Your Heart Stops Beating really affected Mark and Tom's lives, and the regrets of their relationship.
Notes: I've been having this epic discussion with singbackxlouder on my journal, and she was telling me that there was this interview where Tom said his childhood dream was to be a weatherman when he grew up. Sadly, she told me after I wrote this, so I couldn't find a spot to fit that detail in, but I just wanted to share that with everyone :D
The only way he could’ve been clearer was to say, ‘I feel so fucked up, please help me.’ Despite the communication between them, there were some things he couldn’t say to Mark. Back when things were normal, back when Tom was sober, he wouldn’t have been able to say that. At least, not without diligent pestering from Mark.
Instead, he tried showing it through his actions. They spoke louder than words after all, and Tom wasn’t one to suffer in silence. Not yet, anyway. Originally, he didn’t plan to. His reckless behavior got the better of him and rather than reel it back in, he allowed the control to drift away. He wanted to see what Mark would do.
But he never saved him, and Tom couldn’t remember the path back to solid, stable ground. Now he was wandering through life, becoming tired of waiting for Mark.
That night, Tom had managed to stay away from any alcohol. It was difficult, but the conversation he needed to have with Mark required him to not be intoxicated. It would be easy for him if he was drunk, but Mark didn’t deserve that.
He didn’t have to wait for a long time. Minutes later, Mark stepped inside the bus. Tom tried to smile at him from his spot on the couch, but failed. Thankfully, it was dark, so Mark couldn’t see.
“Hey,” Tom greeted. “Can you come here? I need to talk to you about something.”
Mark sat down, leaving a few inches of space between them. “What is it?”
The words Tom had recited to himself over and over were fleeing. His planned speech escaped him, making him truly regret not having a drink or two. He was feeling more nervous than he thought was possible. “I… I can’t do this anymore.”
Honesty was the best way to go, but Tom surprised himself by saying it. Albeit vague, his confession was true. He was tired, tired of everything.
“Can’t do what?”
Although he was being honest, Tom wasn’t sure what everything referred to. Gesturing helplessly, he quickly said, “I don’t know. Just everything.”
“I need you to be more specific, Tom,” Mark sighed.
He wanted to demand why. Where was the Mark who automatically knew what he was thinking and could finish his sentences? That Mark was easier to talk to. That one didn’t scare Tom.
“I’m tired, Mark,” he admitted, letting a little more honesty slip through, hoping Mark would offer a little caring and compassion in return.
He smiled slightly. “I know, it’s been a long tour. But we’ll be home soon.”
Not the response he was hoping for. The small amount of optimism Tom had retained was starting to slip away. He nodded in agreement anyway, ignoring the tears he felt gathering in his eyes. He had been crying too much lately, he was determined not to.
“I’m sorry.”
In spite of everything, Tom could feel his hope rising again. “For what?”
Mark shrugged. “That the tour’s wearing you down already.”
“Oh,” Tom mumbled, the last remnants of hope finally leaving. The old Mark would’ve hugged him, or at least offered a genuine condolence. Then again, the old him probably would’ve laughed the whole thing off. They both had changed. Tom was tired, and Mark had never forgiven him.
Tom made no effort to reach out to Mark, even though that was what he desperately wanted. He wanted to see the old Mark, just be hugged by him again. Then maybe he could reconsider, take everything back. There would be some hope for them again. Tom worked well with hope. But when Mark did nothing, he sighed wistfully. All hope was gone. Tom realized that things weren’t going to return to normal. Feelings and trust weakened by insecurities weren’t going to fix themselves. It was too late.
Saying a quiet good night, Tom stood up and walked away from Mark, who was wearing an expectant expression. He ignored it, making his way to his bunk. Finding his bottle, he managed to dry swallow a pill, praying he would lose himself in the days were everything used to be fine, at the same time forming a plan for tomorrow. Tomorrow, he would call Rick. Maybe then he could eventually get his point across to somebody. He was tired of trying to get through to Mark. He couldn’t do it anymore.
--
“I never meant to say I’m sorry. And I’m not sad to see you go. We’re human shapes burned on concrete walls. These days the sun don’t shine here anymore….”
Blaming Mark was so easy, so simple. He didn’t feel weighed down, he could breathe. On some nights, he could even sleep. Sometimes, he could even experience the hope he always had, back when he was just some teenager with a skateboard and seemingly unobtainable dreams.
A moment when he wasn’t thinking about only himself, that’s what Tom needed. It could also be considered a rarity. Mark had lost his gift as a mind reader back then, but he wasn’t exempt. Tom had never been extremely articulate, but he had lost his ability to talk, to really communicate. It was almost like he, too, had faded. That could explain it; instead of being unable to listen, Mark simply couldn’t see him. Tom had become a ghost.
The sorrow in Mark’s voice was suffocating. Tom was oblivious to the outside world, hypnotized by the words he wanted to erase. He knew they were about him-there was no hesitation anymore, he knew-and Tom wanted to ignore them. Mark was singing from depression, and he was singing to him.
Utter sadness sang the words that stabbed Tom’s heart. ‘And I’m not sad to see you go…’ They made him want to call Mark, to beg and plead, something he had never really done before. Mark couldn’t be prepared to toss him aside, he couldn’t be that together. If he was, where was Tom’s stability? Better yet, why had his pills ceased to work? They were his form of comfort. What did Mark have? From his tone, it didn’t sound like he had found anything.
There was also that jab at Box Car Racer. Tom detected it, for that line had no other meaning. He couldn’t believe Mark still resented the side-project, the one that had lasted for a few short months. Why hadn’t he just admitted it? Instead of hiding behind supporting vocals and an open letter, why didn’t Mark just tell him that he had a problem with it? Apparently Tom had also lost his mind reading skill.
What was Mark feeling when he wrote this? Tom wondered, knowing that he would never receive an answer. Was it the feeling of helplessness he was now going through? He hoped not, because Mark should never feel this way, choked up and betrayed.
If he had, it would have been Tom’s fault. And he still couldn’t accept it, that it was all his fault that this was happening to the two of them.
The song was beginning to trail off. Hesitating, he breathlessly hit the skip button at the beginning of the next song. He knew what was next. If Weatherman had saddened him… then Tom knew he wouldn’t be able to handle the next one. He would procrastinate. He would be a coward. After all, it felt so natural.