Strangers in the snow
This is for fengirl88, and was inspired by rewatching the film A Single Man.
There was obvious potential for crossovers between A Single Man and X-Men: First Class, as both feature Nicholas Hoult, who plays Kenny in ASM and Hank in XMFC, and both are primarily set in 1962, the year of the Cuban Missile Crisis. And fengirl88 introduced George, the eponymous single man, and Kenny into her XMFC AU Every Song I Know.
This is a much slighter piece, drawing on the synchronicity of the dates, and an image which had haunted me ever since I first saw A Single Man, of a small dog wandering on a snowy road. We never see the dog on the road; the idea is only suggested by the fact that, when George is told of the death of his lover in a car accident, he asks about Jim's two dogs and hears that only one was found at the scene. In fact, the dogs do not appear at all in Christopher Isherwood's novel, on which the film was based; in the book, Jim had a small menagerie of odd animals and birds, which George sold after his death, unable to bear having them around any more. Apparently the director, Tom Ford, decided to cast his own pet dogs, and very good they are, too.
It's a sad story, but I don't think it's without hope, even if that's not obvious to those in it.
A SINGLE MUTANT
A small dog was picking its way down the snowy road.
Erik steered slightly to the right to avoid it. He couldn't be far from the crash now. He'd felt it, a few minutes ago: the lurch of metal as the car skidded, the shock as it slammed into something solid, the thrumming as it came to rest. There it was, a small dark shape in the whiteness, growing bigger...
None of his business, but he pulled up and got out of his own car to inspect the wreck, his mind tugging open the driver's door. A man fell sideways into the snow. Older than Erik, but good-looking, even in death. A dog was visible inside, also dead.
The first dog was galloping back. It must have come from the car - climbed through that broken window, trying to find help. It stopped by Erik, expectant, obviously believing its job was done.
"I'm sorry," he said aloud. "It's too late. They're gone."
The dog looked up at him, whimpering. Smooth-haired, a fox terrier, he thought. There was blood on its coat, perhaps from its companions, or maybe a cut, squeezing through the broken glass.
Erik walked back to his car, and the dog followed.
"No," he said. "You don't want to come with me. I've nowhere to take you... I'm not even staying in America." He'd already found what he needed, the name of a banker.
The dog's dark eyes gazed sadly into his. What would happen if it stayed here in the snow?
Someone else would come. Someone with time for dogs, and reporting accidents. Someone not alone and rootless, not consumed by an endless manhunt.
He needed to go, before anyone else arrived and tried to involve him in this messy humanity. He opened his car door, and the dog jumped past him, on to the passenger seat.
Erik sighed, got in, and drove on towards Denver.
Many years ago, he had had a dog. Sisi, a terrier bitch, like this one, though black and tan not black and white. When his mother told him they must leave her, it seemed like the worst thing that had ever happened. At the time, it was.
"It's best for her, Erik," his mother had said. "Someone else will look after her - she'll be safe."
He tried not to think of Sisi afterwards, but when he did he clung to the hope that it was true - that she had found a new home, a new family. Perhaps. It should be possible for this American dog, at least. They had rescue homes for animals, didn't they?
He would find one in Denver. Tomorrow. He could see a motel coming up, as good a place as any to stop overnight.
Erik pulled off the road. The dog trotted after him as he went to check in. There was a burger stall nearby; he ordered two, then, looking at her twitching nose, made that three. He bore them back to the motel room and put two burgers down, eating the third as he watched her devour them.
He rinsed an ashtray and filled it with water for her, then wrung out a warm, damp cloth and called her to him. Immediately she jumped on to the bed, and allowed him to wash the dried blood off her back; it was a shallow cut, nothing serious. She was obedient under his hands, and thumped the bed with her tail when he finished.
"You're too trusting," he told her. "You shouldn't trust humans. Though I'm not, exactly..."
Schmidt had tested animals, too, looking for mutations among other species. He hadn't found any, but Erik remembered all too clearly his delight when he caught his principal subject surreptitiously patting a fellow experiment, and recognised a new way to rouse Erik's rage. They made a major breakthrough in lifting a crowbar that day, though unfortunately Erik lacked the control to bring it down on Schmidt's head. And the real lesson he learned then was never to show affection - or even to feel affection - for any living creature, because it was a weakness that would be turned against both of you.
"You can't stay with me," he explained again as he lay down and the dog snuggled up to him. "It's too dangerous. You'll have to take your chance with the humans."
Did the dead man have a family who would miss her? Too late; Erik couldn't get involved. Asking the police for help was the last thing he wanted; they'd have too many questions, who he was, what he was doing in Colorado, where he was going, had he seen the accident, did he know the victim... Anyway, if the man had had a family, the dogs would probably have been at home, not on the road with him.
He switched off the light, and under cover of darkness let his fingers run over her coat and scratch behind her ears. It was strange, finding something so responsive which wasn't metal. The sound of her breathing lulled him into sleep, sooner than he expected, and he woke later than usual with no memory of dreams.
After making enquiries, he drove the dog to the Dumb Friends League in Denver, and handed her to a sentimental blonde woman.
"What a sweetie!" she exclaimed. "How could anyone abandon you?"
"I found her on the road in the snow," he said.
"Poor little thing!" she said. "We'll see if anyone reports her missing, but if not it shouldn't be hard to fix up a new home."
"Good," said Erik. He let himself touch the dog's head once, then walked away, trying not to hear her whimpering. She was safe. She would find a new friend.
But for a moment, he was a little boy again, fighting back tears as he had to leave Sisi. And for weeks afterwards, as he lay in one bed after another waiting for sleep, he half-imagined a warm shape pressed against him, and heard that companionable breathing.
Also posted on Dreamwidth, with
comments.
There was obvious potential for crossovers between A Single Man and X-Men: First Class, as both feature Nicholas Hoult, who plays Kenny in ASM and Hank in XMFC, and both are primarily set in 1962, the year of the Cuban Missile Crisis. And fengirl88 introduced George, the eponymous single man, and Kenny into her XMFC AU Every Song I Know.
This is a much slighter piece, drawing on the synchronicity of the dates, and an image which had haunted me ever since I first saw A Single Man, of a small dog wandering on a snowy road. We never see the dog on the road; the idea is only suggested by the fact that, when George is told of the death of his lover in a car accident, he asks about Jim's two dogs and hears that only one was found at the scene. In fact, the dogs do not appear at all in Christopher Isherwood's novel, on which the film was based; in the book, Jim had a small menagerie of odd animals and birds, which George sold after his death, unable to bear having them around any more. Apparently the director, Tom Ford, decided to cast his own pet dogs, and very good they are, too.
It's a sad story, but I don't think it's without hope, even if that's not obvious to those in it.
A SINGLE MUTANT
A small dog was picking its way down the snowy road.
Erik steered slightly to the right to avoid it. He couldn't be far from the crash now. He'd felt it, a few minutes ago: the lurch of metal as the car skidded, the shock as it slammed into something solid, the thrumming as it came to rest. There it was, a small dark shape in the whiteness, growing bigger...
None of his business, but he pulled up and got out of his own car to inspect the wreck, his mind tugging open the driver's door. A man fell sideways into the snow. Older than Erik, but good-looking, even in death. A dog was visible inside, also dead.
The first dog was galloping back. It must have come from the car - climbed through that broken window, trying to find help. It stopped by Erik, expectant, obviously believing its job was done.
"I'm sorry," he said aloud. "It's too late. They're gone."
The dog looked up at him, whimpering. Smooth-haired, a fox terrier, he thought. There was blood on its coat, perhaps from its companions, or maybe a cut, squeezing through the broken glass.
Erik walked back to his car, and the dog followed.
"No," he said. "You don't want to come with me. I've nowhere to take you... I'm not even staying in America." He'd already found what he needed, the name of a banker.
The dog's dark eyes gazed sadly into his. What would happen if it stayed here in the snow?
Someone else would come. Someone with time for dogs, and reporting accidents. Someone not alone and rootless, not consumed by an endless manhunt.
He needed to go, before anyone else arrived and tried to involve him in this messy humanity. He opened his car door, and the dog jumped past him, on to the passenger seat.
Erik sighed, got in, and drove on towards Denver.
Many years ago, he had had a dog. Sisi, a terrier bitch, like this one, though black and tan not black and white. When his mother told him they must leave her, it seemed like the worst thing that had ever happened. At the time, it was.
"It's best for her, Erik," his mother had said. "Someone else will look after her - she'll be safe."
He tried not to think of Sisi afterwards, but when he did he clung to the hope that it was true - that she had found a new home, a new family. Perhaps. It should be possible for this American dog, at least. They had rescue homes for animals, didn't they?
He would find one in Denver. Tomorrow. He could see a motel coming up, as good a place as any to stop overnight.
Erik pulled off the road. The dog trotted after him as he went to check in. There was a burger stall nearby; he ordered two, then, looking at her twitching nose, made that three. He bore them back to the motel room and put two burgers down, eating the third as he watched her devour them.
He rinsed an ashtray and filled it with water for her, then wrung out a warm, damp cloth and called her to him. Immediately she jumped on to the bed, and allowed him to wash the dried blood off her back; it was a shallow cut, nothing serious. She was obedient under his hands, and thumped the bed with her tail when he finished.
"You're too trusting," he told her. "You shouldn't trust humans. Though I'm not, exactly..."
Schmidt had tested animals, too, looking for mutations among other species. He hadn't found any, but Erik remembered all too clearly his delight when he caught his principal subject surreptitiously patting a fellow experiment, and recognised a new way to rouse Erik's rage. They made a major breakthrough in lifting a crowbar that day, though unfortunately Erik lacked the control to bring it down on Schmidt's head. And the real lesson he learned then was never to show affection - or even to feel affection - for any living creature, because it was a weakness that would be turned against both of you.
"You can't stay with me," he explained again as he lay down and the dog snuggled up to him. "It's too dangerous. You'll have to take your chance with the humans."
Did the dead man have a family who would miss her? Too late; Erik couldn't get involved. Asking the police for help was the last thing he wanted; they'd have too many questions, who he was, what he was doing in Colorado, where he was going, had he seen the accident, did he know the victim... Anyway, if the man had had a family, the dogs would probably have been at home, not on the road with him.
He switched off the light, and under cover of darkness let his fingers run over her coat and scratch behind her ears. It was strange, finding something so responsive which wasn't metal. The sound of her breathing lulled him into sleep, sooner than he expected, and he woke later than usual with no memory of dreams.
After making enquiries, he drove the dog to the Dumb Friends League in Denver, and handed her to a sentimental blonde woman.
"What a sweetie!" she exclaimed. "How could anyone abandon you?"
"I found her on the road in the snow," he said.
"Poor little thing!" she said. "We'll see if anyone reports her missing, but if not it shouldn't be hard to fix up a new home."
"Good," said Erik. He let himself touch the dog's head once, then walked away, trying not to hear her whimpering. She was safe. She would find a new friend.
But for a moment, he was a little boy again, fighting back tears as he had to leave Sisi. And for weeks afterwards, as he lay in one bed after another waiting for sleep, he half-imagined a warm shape pressed against him, and heard that companionable breathing.
Also posted on Dreamwidth, with
comments.