Enigma Variations, 3: Seeing Red
Title: Enigma Variations, 3/?
Summary: Vince gets the wrong impression
Rating: PG for language
Warnings: none
Spoilers: Somebody ends up in tears
Length: about 1000 words
Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters, I just borrow them to play with now and again (and again and again and again). For twisted love, not for profit
Notes: this is a short chapter but there will be more soon, and there is smut on the horizon…
Enigma Variations
3 Seeing Red
“What the fuck?”
Howard opens his eyes, with a vague feeling there was some reason he should have kept them shut.
Vince is standing in the doorway, hands on hips, glaring: not at Howard, but at Naboo, who is still peacefully asleep in Howard’s lap, with his head pillowed on Howard’s shoulder.
“Um, hello, Vince.” Howard tries to sound utterly casual, and fails utterly. He lets go of Naboo’s hand. “This… um… it isn’t what it looks like.”
Vince shrugs. “I don’t give a toss if it is. I just came to get my stuff.”
Naboo stirs, yawns, looks up at the ceiling. “Alright, Vince?” he says calmly, as though it were Bollo he’d been cuddled up to for a snooze, and not Howard.
The edges of Howard’s vision are still blurred and blue-tinted, but even so he can see Vince very clearly, and he doesn’t look alright at all. He looks downright furious. He sets his lips and marches off to their room without another word; there is the sound of the door slamming, and then of the wardrobe being violently flung open.
“Over to you, Howard,” Naboo murmurs. “Shout if you need a hand, yeah?” He slides off Howard and curls up among the sofa cushions, shutting his eyes again. “Good luck,” he mumbles, and is asleep again almost instantly.
Still bleary and headachey, and hampered by pins-and-needles in one foot, Howard stumbles down the passage and tries the bedroom door. Not locked; well, that’s a start.
He takes a deep breath, turns the handle and goes in.
“Vince…”
“Piss off,” Vince snarls, standing in front of the ransacked wardrobe with his back turned.
“Vince…”
“Which word of ‘piss off’ did you not understand?”
“Either of them. I’m not going anywhere, sir. We need to talk.”
“I don’t wanna talk to you. We’ve already said it all.” Vince throws a couple of random shirts into the suitcase on the floor. Then kicks it violently, leaving a dent in the side. “Fuck you, Howard, I’ve only been gone five minutes and you’re makin’ out with someone else. With a freakin’ alien, for fuck’s sake, and you do know he’s four hundred years old and asexual, don’t you? What the fuck are you playing at?”
“I thought you said you didn’t give a toss.”
Vince goes still for a brief instant, which to an outside observer would have passed unnoticed, but which tells Howard that his words have hit home. He presses his advantage. “Vince, look at me.”
Vince’s back remains stubbornly turned. “I don’t have time for this. I got outfits to pack. The lads’re outside in the car, waiting for me.”
“Look at me,” Howard persists. “Look at me, and tell me you don’t give a toss.”
Vince turns round slowly, looking down at his glittery boots. “Bugger it, that’s left a mark...” he mutters.
“It’s me,” Howard says, walking towards him, one hand outstretched as though to calm a nervous llama. “Look at me, and tell me. And if you can do that, then I’ll accept it, and I’ll let you go. I promise. I’ll help you carry your suitcases out of this house, and I’ll never bother you again.”
“Are you high?” Vince asks suspiciously.
“Maybe, a little. I am… under the influence of a magical substance.”
“Some shit of Naboo’s? You’re trying to bewitch me or something?”
“Naboo did give me something, yes. But only so you’d know I was telling you the truth.”
Vince raises his head, and meets Howard’s eyes. A shock runs through Howard’s body, like an electric spark, and for an instant, his whole vision turns that brilliant colour again.
“Peacock blue,” Vince whispers.
Howard stands stock-still, holding Vince’s gaze, willing him to see everything, all the things Howard can’t tell him: how sorry I am, how much I love you, how empty my life will be without you, how -
Vince turns away.
The disappointment is like a physical blow, sending Howard staggering backwards to lean against the wall, one arm still outstretched in supplication.
“Vince…”
“I gotta make a phone call,” Vince mutters, “shut up a minute.”
He pulls his sleek, scarlet mobile from a hip pocket - how the hell did he have room for it in such tight trousers? - and presses a button.
“Hello? DeeDee? ’S Vinney. Listen, mate, something’s come up…”
They’ve got as far as pet names? He’s only known the fucker for a week. Howard’s knees give way, and he slides down until he’s sitting on the carpet, all his hope and confidence draining away.
Dietrich. Impossibly thin, implausibly pale, undeniably pretty with his spiked, white-blond hair and piercing green eyes. How would Vince not fall for him? What on earth can Howard possibly have to offer, that would even come close?
“… so you’ll have to get somebody else. Yeah, that is what I said. If you’ve gotta problem with that, it’s your problem.”
It makes no sense, but Howard is past caring. He couldn’t get up even if he tried.
“No, you can’t. No. Well, you can sit there in the car all night if you want, but then you’ll miss the gig…”
Hang on. Did he really say that?
“No worries, keep the deposit, you’ll have no trouble lettin’ it to someone else, it’s a nice room.”
A tiny seed of hope begins to re-sprout in the desert of Howard’s soul.
“You know what? I don’t care. Throw ’em away, take ’em to Oxfam, you might get a few quid on eBay, or you can leave ’em on the doorstep next time you’re passing. They’re only clothes. I got more important things to worry about right now.”
He really did say that. The tiny seed of hope blossoms into a flower of cautious optimism.
“Listen, sometimes a guy’s just gotta do what he’s gotta do, y’know? I’m sorry it didn’t work out…”
The tinny buzzing on the other end of the phone rises to an indignant crescendo.
“Yeah? Well, I don’t speak German, but fuck you, too.” Vince hurls the phone across the room to shatter against the wall.
He takes two steps towards Howard.
Then crumples to the floor, and starts to cry helplessly.
Summary: Vince gets the wrong impression
Rating: PG for language
Warnings: none
Spoilers: Somebody ends up in tears
Length: about 1000 words
Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters, I just borrow them to play with now and again (and again and again and again). For twisted love, not for profit
Notes: this is a short chapter but there will be more soon, and there is smut on the horizon…
Enigma Variations
3 Seeing Red
“What the fuck?”
Howard opens his eyes, with a vague feeling there was some reason he should have kept them shut.
Vince is standing in the doorway, hands on hips, glaring: not at Howard, but at Naboo, who is still peacefully asleep in Howard’s lap, with his head pillowed on Howard’s shoulder.
“Um, hello, Vince.” Howard tries to sound utterly casual, and fails utterly. He lets go of Naboo’s hand. “This… um… it isn’t what it looks like.”
Vince shrugs. “I don’t give a toss if it is. I just came to get my stuff.”
Naboo stirs, yawns, looks up at the ceiling. “Alright, Vince?” he says calmly, as though it were Bollo he’d been cuddled up to for a snooze, and not Howard.
The edges of Howard’s vision are still blurred and blue-tinted, but even so he can see Vince very clearly, and he doesn’t look alright at all. He looks downright furious. He sets his lips and marches off to their room without another word; there is the sound of the door slamming, and then of the wardrobe being violently flung open.
“Over to you, Howard,” Naboo murmurs. “Shout if you need a hand, yeah?” He slides off Howard and curls up among the sofa cushions, shutting his eyes again. “Good luck,” he mumbles, and is asleep again almost instantly.
Still bleary and headachey, and hampered by pins-and-needles in one foot, Howard stumbles down the passage and tries the bedroom door. Not locked; well, that’s a start.
He takes a deep breath, turns the handle and goes in.
“Vince…”
“Piss off,” Vince snarls, standing in front of the ransacked wardrobe with his back turned.
“Vince…”
“Which word of ‘piss off’ did you not understand?”
“Either of them. I’m not going anywhere, sir. We need to talk.”
“I don’t wanna talk to you. We’ve already said it all.” Vince throws a couple of random shirts into the suitcase on the floor. Then kicks it violently, leaving a dent in the side. “Fuck you, Howard, I’ve only been gone five minutes and you’re makin’ out with someone else. With a freakin’ alien, for fuck’s sake, and you do know he’s four hundred years old and asexual, don’t you? What the fuck are you playing at?”
“I thought you said you didn’t give a toss.”
Vince goes still for a brief instant, which to an outside observer would have passed unnoticed, but which tells Howard that his words have hit home. He presses his advantage. “Vince, look at me.”
Vince’s back remains stubbornly turned. “I don’t have time for this. I got outfits to pack. The lads’re outside in the car, waiting for me.”
“Look at me,” Howard persists. “Look at me, and tell me you don’t give a toss.”
Vince turns round slowly, looking down at his glittery boots. “Bugger it, that’s left a mark...” he mutters.
“It’s me,” Howard says, walking towards him, one hand outstretched as though to calm a nervous llama. “Look at me, and tell me. And if you can do that, then I’ll accept it, and I’ll let you go. I promise. I’ll help you carry your suitcases out of this house, and I’ll never bother you again.”
“Are you high?” Vince asks suspiciously.
“Maybe, a little. I am… under the influence of a magical substance.”
“Some shit of Naboo’s? You’re trying to bewitch me or something?”
“Naboo did give me something, yes. But only so you’d know I was telling you the truth.”
Vince raises his head, and meets Howard’s eyes. A shock runs through Howard’s body, like an electric spark, and for an instant, his whole vision turns that brilliant colour again.
“Peacock blue,” Vince whispers.
Howard stands stock-still, holding Vince’s gaze, willing him to see everything, all the things Howard can’t tell him: how sorry I am, how much I love you, how empty my life will be without you, how -
Vince turns away.
The disappointment is like a physical blow, sending Howard staggering backwards to lean against the wall, one arm still outstretched in supplication.
“Vince…”
“I gotta make a phone call,” Vince mutters, “shut up a minute.”
He pulls his sleek, scarlet mobile from a hip pocket - how the hell did he have room for it in such tight trousers? - and presses a button.
“Hello? DeeDee? ’S Vinney. Listen, mate, something’s come up…”
They’ve got as far as pet names? He’s only known the fucker for a week. Howard’s knees give way, and he slides down until he’s sitting on the carpet, all his hope and confidence draining away.
Dietrich. Impossibly thin, implausibly pale, undeniably pretty with his spiked, white-blond hair and piercing green eyes. How would Vince not fall for him? What on earth can Howard possibly have to offer, that would even come close?
“… so you’ll have to get somebody else. Yeah, that is what I said. If you’ve gotta problem with that, it’s your problem.”
It makes no sense, but Howard is past caring. He couldn’t get up even if he tried.
“No, you can’t. No. Well, you can sit there in the car all night if you want, but then you’ll miss the gig…”
Hang on. Did he really say that?
“No worries, keep the deposit, you’ll have no trouble lettin’ it to someone else, it’s a nice room.”
A tiny seed of hope begins to re-sprout in the desert of Howard’s soul.
“You know what? I don’t care. Throw ’em away, take ’em to Oxfam, you might get a few quid on eBay, or you can leave ’em on the doorstep next time you’re passing. They’re only clothes. I got more important things to worry about right now.”
He really did say that. The tiny seed of hope blossoms into a flower of cautious optimism.
“Listen, sometimes a guy’s just gotta do what he’s gotta do, y’know? I’m sorry it didn’t work out…”
The tinny buzzing on the other end of the phone rises to an indignant crescendo.
“Yeah? Well, I don’t speak German, but fuck you, too.” Vince hurls the phone across the room to shatter against the wall.
He takes two steps towards Howard.
Then crumples to the floor, and starts to cry helplessly.