[FIC] Possibilities
Title: Possibilities
Pairing: John Sessions/Tony Slattery
Rating: G
Summary: Mid-November, 2006. Tony gets a call from an old friend.
Notes: Un-beta'd, so potentially rubbish. A random bunny hopped up and demanded that I write. Comments are much appreciated - I know I haven't done a lot of commenting, but I've been on hiatus and this will be remedied!
***
His mobile rings, showing an unknown number, and he almost doesn't answer it before curiosity at who in London might be calling gets the better of him.
"Hello?"
There's a pause. He almost hangs up - maybe it's a prank call, silly teenagers pressing random digits and somehow getting his number. Just before he takes the phone away from his ear, a quiet voice speaks.
"Tony?"
It can't be. They haven't spoken in years - nearly a decade. Without realising it, he's pressing the mobile phone to his ear, half hoping that it's not him.
"John?"
There's a relieved sigh and a slight laugh on the other end.
"I hope you don't mind my calling you, I got your number from Stephen."
Of course - he remembers Stephen asking for his number on the third day of filming for Kingdom. Evidently he and John are still as thick as thieves, or Stephen's an interfering git. Maybe both.
"No. um...not at all." He does mind a bit - the implication that his life is being taken charge of, however minutely, is annoying. "How are you?" It's an neutral, automatic, safe question - the one everyone asks when thrust into a social situation with someone they haven't seen or spoken to in a while.
"I'm fine. Keeping busy. You?" He can hear the relieved tone in John's voice - relief that he hasn't just hung up or spouted abuse, perhaps.
"Not bad. Better than I was." He feels awkward, his answer hinting at the past far more than he intended. A sudden wild urge to say more rushes into him, making him want to say how much he missed the other man, how he still thinks of him from time to time. Instead he waits for a reply and avoids looking at his copy of the Radio Times and the large circle of black marker pen around BBC2's ten o'clock slot.
"I'm sorry. If I'd known where to find you, if I'd had your number- "
"I wasn't answering the phone and I didn't really open the door to anyone except debt-collectors." The interruption is almost necessary - he doesn't really want to hear apologies that are undeserved and not needed. "There wouldn't have been any point in you knowing how to get hold of me." He doesn't mean it to sound harsh, but it apparently does - he can hear John swallowing and thinks that the other man is about to hang up. The next answer is a surprise.
"I missed you." It sounds simple enough, really. He knows John, though, perhaps more well than Stephen or any of the other high-brow actors that were in his circle of friends and he knows that the other man doesn't say something like that without letting down several barriers. He stops resisting the urge to be truthful, foregoing the society-constructed idea of how people should act in this situation.
"Same. I mean, um, I missed you too. I wish we hadn't lost contact. It's...it's good to hear from you. I don't suppose you'd like to have some lunch some time?" It feels reckless to ask something that for the new him is so forward; there's also the history between him and John, long-buried memories of something beyond friendship already starting to surface.
"I'd love to. It'd be great to catch up - I've been wanting to talk to you about...things. Things that I- well, we can talk about them over lunch. I'm free on Monday, if you want to meet up then." It's almost a question, John's voice sounding warm and hopeful. Tony knows without looking at his Filofax that he doesn't have anything on until Wednesday, but he makes an attempt to sound like he's checking a diary, picking up the Radio Times and thumbing noisily through it. He silently counts to ten before replying.
"Yeah, Monday's fine. Where?" Should he have said he was busy on that day? Does he sound too available? Oh, God, does he sound too clingy, eager, nervous, enthusiastic, stupid?
"There's a good place in Shepherd's Bush - near that pub where you and I used to go, remember?" An unbidden memory flashes into his mind - John's fingers slowly covering his hand and a shy whisper, the stage persona stripped away to reveal something hidden from almost everyone.
"Mhmm. What's the place called?"
As he grabs a pen to write down the directions that John relays over the phone, he feels a tiny bolt of anticipation run through him and can't help wondering about why John has decided to get in touch now. He thinks that he knows what John means by 'things'; their relationship - he's not sure if it should (or can) be called that, but he can't think of a better description - was left hanging on a sour note. He does his best to quash thoughts of possibilites, not wanting to raise any hopes - for all he knows, John might just be calling him out a sense of duty. The thought that John might feel obliged to meet him is almost nauseating; he forces that thought down, too.
***
It's only on Monday, when only a half-empty bottle of Merlot and several plates stand between them and the conversations around them are soft enough for their own quiet talking, and John's hand reaches across the table to brush softly against his own, that Tony allows a small hope to resurface and permits himself to think of possibilites.