Squeeze on the Trigger
Title: Squeeze on the Trigger
Fandom: Whose Line UK
Pairings: Tony/Paul, Caroline/Josie.
Rating: R
Summary: Paul comes home one day and suddenly he's in hell.
Disclaimer: This fic is in no way intended to portray a true representation of the people involved. As far as I know, this never happened.
Warning: Character death, references to suicide.
Note: Death!fic alert. Inspired by the haunting beauty that is Tony's singing and the wonder that is Shoot Somebody Famous.
Cross-posted to britline, whoselineslash and wl_fanfiction. Submitted to fanfic100 for prompt 030 - Death.
Squeeze on the Trigger
Paul was feeling rather positive. It had been too long since he had caught up with his fellow Whose Line alumni, not least because of how awkward things had been since the divorce and the confessions that ensued. There was nothing like time to heal old wounds, however, and reminiscing over the horrendous outfits they had been forced into and some of Clive's more barbed remarks had been an extremely entertaining way to spend an afternoon.
The others had stayed out, hoping to catch up with a couple of their American co-performers who happened to be in the country. Paul had every intention of catching up with them again, but first he'd had to come home. There was someone he had left behind, who had refused the invitation to join the gathering, and Paul couldn't help but feel a need to check in on him.
As he slid the key into the lock, he looked down and frowned. There was a card on the doorstep, something about a delivery or a meter reading that they'd been unable to carry out. It should have troubled Paul, knowing as he did that his partner had said he would be in all day, but he was more distracted by the incompetence of the person who had been unable to find the rather easy to spot letterbox.
He picked the card up, barely taking the words in as he skimmed over the poor handwriting. The time on the card read 11:30am, which led Paul to believe that his partner had been taking advantage of the peace and catching up on his sleep. After all, they'd both felt the effects of Tony's insomnia over the past week or so.
As he walked into the house, throwing the card onto the end table beside the door, Paul was immediately struck by how quiet it was. Paul checked his watch - it was coming up to half five. Surely Tony couldn't still be asleep - it wasn't in his nature to sleep for so many hours straight.
Concerned, Paul stood at the bottom of the stairs and yelled up. "Tony?"
The only response he got was continued silence. Paul sighed and headed over to the worn, nicotine-stained settee. He'd been meaning to buy a new one for some time now - somehow, he'd never redecorated since the divorce, not even when Tony had moved in for good. Tony didn't seem too concerned about the decor; Paul knew he had more pressing concerns on his mind. Still, maybe this year would be the year that they made it their home, replacing the worn furniture with something that was completely, utterly theirs.
As he collapsed onto the soft yet uncomfortable sofa, Paul's gaze fell onto the dark, scratched coffee table. A familiar notebook was the only thing sitting upon it, pen placed at a precise diagonal on top. So, Tony had been awake and downstairs for at least some of the time that Paul had been out. Why had he left the book out here, though? That was his outlet, his private means of venting his frustrations that even Paul wasn't privy to. It didn't seem right that the book should now be out here when Tony wasn't.
Paul sat up straight, ears still straining for any sound of his lover. The house was still deathly silent, and Paul shuddered at the sudden chill that shot through him. Suddenly, his mouth felt dry, heart thumping as a thousand worst-case scenarios flashed through his mind. He wouldn't. Not now, not after he's come so far.
Without thinking, he snatched up the notebook. He knew he shouldn't; he knew he had promised he never would. But he had to find out; he had to know what was going through his lover's mind. He flicked through the pages with trembling hands, pausing only when he found the last line to have been written.
He took one look before he raced upstairs.
~*~
If anyone were to ask how Paul got through the next couple of weeks, he wouldn't have been able to tell them. Fractured fragments of memory still lingered - the chaotic rush as his friends all tried to help at once; the final, heart-breaking goodbyes at the hospital and then the funeral; his inexplicable rage at the lawyer who'd expected him to be grateful that Tony had left everything to him. Paul had wanted to scream at him, to tell him that he would give all of it up to have Tony back, but Josie and Caroline had stopped him, taking charge and getting him away from the office as quickly as they reasonably could.
The rest of the time, however, had been caught up in the maelstrom of arrangement - telephone calls, paperwork, solicitors...Somehow, Paul had managed to perform his role as executor, even as every call he made, every form he signed, caused him to die that little bit more inside. It was all too final a reminder, a confirmation that Tony was truly gone.
Now, finally, things were beginning to calm down. People were beginning to get back to their lives, to move on from the tragic event. The calls and visits had dwindled and then stopped completely, leaving Paul to come to terms with his own grief. He hadn't allowed himself to submit before, knowing that he needed to remain somewhat level-headed, but now he was alone and no longer saw a need to be strong.
He'd lost count of how many days it had been since he'd last got out of bed. He just didn't see the point - his life had revolved so utterly around Tony and now his whole world had been snatched away. His memory taunted him, reminding him of all the times he had been frustrated at Tony, all the times he had wished - silently or otherwise - that Tony hadn't been so reliant on him. All the times he had failed to appreciate and worship what he had.
Tony's notebook lay on the bed beside him, a cruel reminder of who should have been there that Paul somehow couldn't bring himself to put away. So many times, he had contemplated reading it and finding out what had driven Tony to such drastic action, but he had never worked up the nerve. He knew exactly why - in his sparse, fitful sleep he dreamt of a hundred things he could have done differently that would have saved his lover. He already blamed himself; he couldn't bear to risk the confirmation that Tony blamed him, too.
Still, as days passed, the temptation grew stronger. The notebook inched closer and closer as he picked it up, considered reading, and then replaced it unopened. Then, it was practically in his lap, and he finally yielded. Hands trembling, he carefully flipped over the first page. He was greeted by precise, neat handwriting that indicated just how long Tony had spent on this. For all the chaos in his mind, Tony could be - had been - incredibly pedantic when it came to letting it escape.
At first, Paul simply leafed through the pages, not yet daring to break his pact and actually read any of the content. There was a very definite layout to every page, so uniform and precise that had he never seen the wastepaper basket, Paul would never have known about the pages torn out and discarded. He had never thought of Tony as being so much of a perfectionist, but now he understood - for some reason, this journal had to be perfect.
Everything was dated, down to the second that Tony had started and stopped writing each session. Beneath the stopping time, there was a single further line of writing that Paul couldn't quite comprehend. Some of them leapt out at him as seeming strangely familiar: Waiting for the hour I feel is right; Someday I swear I'll go, but not tonight; So many people to hate. He tried to piece them together, to make some sense of it all, but it was as futile as trying to herd cats. Frustrated, Paul slammed the book closed and would have thrown it at something - if it hadn't been the closest thing to Tony he had left.
He rolled over and stared at the ceiling, the fragmented sentences playing over and over in his mind. He'd heard them before, he knew he had, but he just couldn't work out where. He let out a scream of frustration - whatever it was, it had been important to Tony and he should know it.
Suddenly, he heard footsteps approaching. He rolled over onto his side, his back to the door - he knew Caroline and Josie had taken to coming in and checking on him, but he wasn't in the mood to face them. He held the notebook closely, staying motionless in the hope that they'd assume he was asleep and leave him alone.
He heard their voices in the doorway and had to fight not to react when they spoke of doctors and hospitals. He didn't need a doctor, he needed Tony back - but if he couldn't have that, he at least needed to be left alone to come to terms with it in his own time. Still, he remained motionless and eventually heard two pairs of footsteps walking away and fading as the women headed back downstairs.
He waited a few moments more, to be certain they wouldn't be coming back with some offering or other in an attempt to draw him out. He was utterly grateful to his ex-wife and her partner for everything they had done for him, but seeing them simply reminded him of how much he had lost. He'd thought of explaining this to them, but had brushed the idea aside when he realised that any attempt at talking would trigger his currently fragile temper.
When he was certain that he had been left alone, he turned back to the notebook. He still couldn't place the sentence fragments, but the sliver of insight into Tony's frame of mind had made him determined to find out what went wrong and how he could have fixed it.
This time, he started to read from the beginning. The first entry was dated almost a year ago - around the time his father had died, Paul realised. He recalled the countless hours spent at the hospital, Tony staying silent and utterly bewildered as his mother and siblings argued with doctors over the best course of action. Paul hadn't felt it his place to speak up, but he knew the whole situation had Tony teetering on the brink of breakdown again. Paul had been on high alert from that point, even several months after the inevitable death, but Tony seemed to have stabilised and Paul simply let his guard down.
Mistake number one, he thought to himself now. And I haven't even started.
The first entries soothed him a little. He knew how devastated Tony had been - in fact, that was how the journal idea came up in the first place. It had been a place for Tony to let out the feelings that he couldn't, or wouldn't, share with Paul. And so the first pages told of the misery, the feelings of utter helplessness that had haunted Tony from the start of the whole ordeal. The words were like tiny, blunt daggers - it hurt Paul to think of Tony in so much pain, but at least he knew there was nothing more he could have done.
As he turned to the next page, a flash of horrified clarity came to him. He carefully turned back to the previous page, hoping he'd imagined it - but no, there it was in plain sight, the subtle change that indicated the switch in Tony's mind. He hadn't noticed it while he'd been skimming, but there was a clear difference between the entry he had just read, dated four months ago, and the following entry dated two weeks later. It was here that the precision had started in earnest - the handwriting was neater, more controlled than the mildly chaotic scrawl of a grieving mind.
Paul could feel bile rising at the back of his throat and swallowed it back, bitter and painful as another thought occurred to him. Sure enough, the fragmented lines had started just as suddenly, cropping up just as the rest of the writing appeared to become more deliberate. He stared at the date - three months to the day that Tony had chosen to end it all.
This time, he didn't even attempt to hide the frustrated howl as he shoved the book to one side. He tried to flinch away from the arms that suddenly held him, but whoever had come in was not giving in so easily.
Josie looked up at Caroline as she pulled the broken man towards her. "Okay, now will you listen to me? I don't care how long you were married to him; this is not a man who is coping with things."
Caroline skirted around the bed so she could kneel in front of Paul. "I still don't think we need to call anyone in. Paul, sweetheart, if you need to talk..."
"Three months." Paul's voice trembled with barely-suppressed rage. "Three fucking months, and I didn't notice. I deserved to lose him for that."
"Darling, no, you can't think that." Josie shifted so that she could face him while still not letting go. "Tony loved you; he wouldn't want you to blame yourself."
Caroline's eyes fell on the discarded notebook. "What-?"
"Leave it!" Paul wrenched himself away from Josie, grabbing the book and holding it tightly to his chest. "It's not for you to see. It's not even for me to see, but I had to know..."
"Why? Why torture yourself? Already, it's caused more damage that it's healed." Josie gently squeezed his arm. "I know you don't want to, but you have to let go. Otherwise..." She trailed off.
Caroline shot a reassuring glance at her partner before picking up the sentence. "Otherwise, we're going to lose you too."
"And how, exactly, is that a bad thing?" Paul demanded. "I've lost the one thing that gave my life any purpose or meaning; would it really be that much of a waste?"
Caroline sighed defeatedly. "Come on, Josie. We're not going to get any sense out of him now. Doesn't mean we won't keep trying, though."
Reluctantly, Josie stood. "I suppose you're right, darling." Turning to Paul, she offered, "We'll be downstairs if you decide you're ready to join us."
The two women walked out of the room, leaving Paul back where he wanted to be - alone with Tony's thoughts. Josie had called it torture, but she just didn't understand. It wasn't about magically making things better, it was about closure. He was too far in now to stop - as much as he didn't want to, he needed to press on and dig deeper into the months before Tony's death.
He turned back to the entry that had shaken him, the entry that marked the beginning of the downward spiral. Along with the other changes, there was a definite change in style - previously, Tony had written in rambling first-person; suddenly, he had switched to a cold second-person stance that looked upon him disfavourably. The latter entries were written as though through the eyes of a judge, Paul decided, who was condemning Tony for his actions and sentencing him for his 'crimes'. The same words and phrases cropped up frequently, and all the while the frustratingly familiar words marked the gaps between entries, which had become more frequent as time had passed.
Paul faltered as he reached the final month. He knew, even without looking, that the entries had become a daily habit by this point; it had been part of Tony's routine that he would shut himself away and write, which Paul had learnt to work around without even trying. Finally, he gathered the courage to read on.
Thursday 1st June 2000 // 10.15:46
This is the last cycle. Make final your preparations, Mr Slattery, because when your song comes to an end this time, you will end with it. He has only one month more to endure you, which you will make as painless as possible, for you do not deserve to have him save you. You do not deserve for him to care for you as he has done; your rank arrogance and lack of gratitude are a disgraceful response to his care and compassion. You are less than nothing, and he shall have a life free of your whims. Make clear your feelings for him, but do not trust that they will change things - your end has been determined and there is no going back.
Thursday 1st June 2000 // 11.03:25
Sitting all alone on my bed, in my bed-sit
Again, Paul had to put the book aside - his teary vision prevented him from reading any further. That last chilling entry had assuaged his feelings of responsibility but it didn't make him feel any better. If anything, it made things worse - he would have read a hundred times over that it was his fault if it had meant that Tony never blamed himself.
He sat up with a start as a blast of sound cut through the silence of the flat. Suddenly, a phrase he had only just read was floating up from downstairs in the voice he cherished most. Before he knew what he was doing, he raced downstairs and stopped dead as he saw the vision on his TV screen.
He stared wordlessly as the young Tony on screen continued to sing, swallowing back the lump in his throat at the haunted look in the beautiful dark eyes he had spent countless hours staring into. The jumbled fragments of the journal suddenly began to make sense as the song continued, in a completely different context to the one originally intended.
As the clip drew to a close, Paul became aware of the eyes fixed upon him. He tore his gaze from the screen to see Caroline and Josie both watching him, awaiting his reaction. He opened his mouth to speak, but his mind had shut down and he could only stare helplessly at them as the connections began to make themselves clear far too easily for his liking.
Caroline risked a hopeful glance at Josie. "At least he's up."
Josie stood, carefully approaching Paul. "We didn't mean anything by it. We just found it and got curious. I never realised what a voice he had."
Paul just looked at her, his expression betraying that he hadn't heard what she had just said. Voice cracking, he managed to choke out, "I never wanted to be free from him."
In an instant, Josie had led him to the sofa, sitting so that he was between her and Caroline. The two women held him as he sobbed, finally allowing the pent-up grief to break free. Neither woman attempted to speak; both knew that there were no words they could say that would comfort him.
Eventually, the sobs subsided. Paul didn't attempt to move; he didn't think he had the energy to even if he'd wanted to pull away. His mind still screamed with unanswered questions - why had Tony blamed himself? What was it about that song from so long ago that had triggered the change in him?
Reluctantly, he moved to sit up - he still didn't want to, but his spine had begun to protest at the position it was being forced to maintain. He locked eyes with Josie, unwittingly looking as though he expected her to hold the answers. She shook her head sadly and he looked down, staring at his hands and wondering what he could - should - have done differently.
He barely moved for the rest of the evening. He vaguely remembered Caroline and Josie leaving him, but he couldn't have said when they'd gone. Now, in the lonely silence of the night, his gaze returned to the television screen. The tape was still in the machine; all he had to do was rewind it and there Tony would be.
Cautiously, he reached for the remote. He snatched it up quickly, as though afraid of being caught, and set the tape to rewind. Once back at the start, he hit the play button and sat forward, soaking up everything he could from the scant minutes of solace the song could provide. Before he knew it, he had rewound and rewatched more than once, the words burning themselves into his mind and throwing up countless contradictory thoughts.
It was then that he remembered the journal, still lying upstairs unfinished. He paused the tape, suddenly tearful again at the frozen image of his love. Part of him wanted to lose himself in that image forever, but something pushed him to return upstairs and press on with reading Tony's thoughts.
He switched off the television set, pausing to whisper a sorrowful goodbye to the recorded memory before he did so, then slowly made his way upstairs. The journal was exactly where he'd left it on the bed, beckoning him to find the courage he needed to continue.
As he picked the book up, Paul looked at the date and froze. Somehow, the journal was at its final page, the entry dated as the last day Tony would ever live to see. He could have sworn he'd left it exactly where he'd stopped reading - but then again, he hadn't exactly been thinking clearly when he'd left the room.
Suddenly, his mind pulled him back to that dreadful afternoon, to a book on a table, unattended for the first time since it had first been picked up. They'd never found a suicide note, but maybe it had been right in front of him the whole time...
~*~
He was up early the next morning. He'd briefly considered letting Caroline know what his plans were, but eventually decided against it - she'd only offer to go with him, and he needed to do this alone. He toyed with the idea of taking the car, but decided the walk would serve him better. After all, it had been a long time since he'd been outside.
Rain drizzled from the sky as Paul made his way through the graveyard. Instinct more than memory guided him to the spot he wanted, the nondescript headstone standing out like a beacon to his mind. As he walked, he couldn't help but scan the area around him - he was, after all, about to make an utter prat of himself, and he'd prefer as few witnesses as possible.
The grass in front of Tony's grave was damp, but Paul sat down regardless. As he did so, he felt something lift within him, his mind clearer than it had been since he had lost Tony. Smirking slightly, he quietly began, "Well, I see the flowers have lasted as long as any plant ever did with us."
He swallowed back the lump in his throat, the sudden calm dissipating as he allowed his true feelings to surface. "I miss you, Tony. You were my whole life."
A breeze picked up around him, somehow soothing him. It was as if the air was trying to hug him, as if - but no, that was ridiculous. Clearly, isolating himself for so long had begun to drive him mad.
Then he thought back to the previous evening. Too many small coincidences began to add up - what were the chances, after all, that Josie and Caroline would find such a well-hidden tape at precisely the moment that Paul started to grasp the significance?
He let out a short laugh, even as he felt the tears roll down his cheek. "Well, and you thought you didn't deserve me. You surely never expected me to just go 'oh well' and get on with it? I know I can be a cold bastard at times, but give me some credit."
Another slight breeze, and Paul swore he could hear Tony's laugh, faint but unmistakable to his mind. Definitely crazy, then, but somehow he didn't care. If that was what it took for him to keep hold of Tony...
The wind dropped as suddenly as it started. For a moment, Paul panicked - why was his love being snatched away from him? Then it dawned on him - he couldn't keep hold of Tony. The memory, yes, but nothing more. Softly, he whispered, "I understand. I still love you, I always will...but I understand."
"Paul?"
He looked up with a start to see Caroline watching him. She smiled a little at the confused expression on his face. "Where else would you be?"
Paul nodded, forcing himself to his feet. "Let's just say I had a revelation."
"You could have had a baby pterodactyl if it got you out of the house." Caroline looped her arm around his. "Not dragging you away, am I? We can stay if you'd rather."
Paul shook his head, eyes fixed on Tony's gravestone. "If it was down to me, I'd never leave...but it's not down to me."
Caroline looked confused, but knew better than to ask. As the pair walked away, Paul swore he heard soft words behind him. Smiling to himself, he murmured, "I'm not going to forget you, you daft git."
Caroline gave him a bemused expression. "What?"
"I wasn't talking to you." Paul smirked, offering no further explanation. Maybe someday, he'd tell her - but for now, he had to focus on getting his life back on track. The first step was always the hardest; now he felt confident he could return to normal. He had to - if he didn't, he'd have Tony to answer to, and the thought of facing his lover's scorn was certainly a strong incentive.
He declined the offer of a lift from Caroline and Josie, needing some time alone with his thoughts. As he walked, he found himself noticing little things again - the stupid woman who shouldn't have been allowed four kids when she couldn't take care of one; the kids who thought they looked cool because they were choking on cigarettes they'd likely had to beg someone to buy for them. All the while, commentary ran through his mind in Tony's voice, the scathing condemnation of situations he had no patience for.
As he reached his front door, Paul smirked. He could do this. He would do this. And Tony would be with him every step of the way.
Fandom: Whose Line UK
Pairings: Tony/Paul, Caroline/Josie.
Rating: R
Summary: Paul comes home one day and suddenly he's in hell.
Disclaimer: This fic is in no way intended to portray a true representation of the people involved. As far as I know, this never happened.
Warning: Character death, references to suicide.
Note: Death!fic alert. Inspired by the haunting beauty that is Tony's singing and the wonder that is Shoot Somebody Famous.
Cross-posted to britline, whoselineslash and wl_fanfiction. Submitted to fanfic100 for prompt 030 - Death.
Squeeze on the Trigger
Paul was feeling rather positive. It had been too long since he had caught up with his fellow Whose Line alumni, not least because of how awkward things had been since the divorce and the confessions that ensued. There was nothing like time to heal old wounds, however, and reminiscing over the horrendous outfits they had been forced into and some of Clive's more barbed remarks had been an extremely entertaining way to spend an afternoon.
The others had stayed out, hoping to catch up with a couple of their American co-performers who happened to be in the country. Paul had every intention of catching up with them again, but first he'd had to come home. There was someone he had left behind, who had refused the invitation to join the gathering, and Paul couldn't help but feel a need to check in on him.
As he slid the key into the lock, he looked down and frowned. There was a card on the doorstep, something about a delivery or a meter reading that they'd been unable to carry out. It should have troubled Paul, knowing as he did that his partner had said he would be in all day, but he was more distracted by the incompetence of the person who had been unable to find the rather easy to spot letterbox.
He picked the card up, barely taking the words in as he skimmed over the poor handwriting. The time on the card read 11:30am, which led Paul to believe that his partner had been taking advantage of the peace and catching up on his sleep. After all, they'd both felt the effects of Tony's insomnia over the past week or so.
As he walked into the house, throwing the card onto the end table beside the door, Paul was immediately struck by how quiet it was. Paul checked his watch - it was coming up to half five. Surely Tony couldn't still be asleep - it wasn't in his nature to sleep for so many hours straight.
Concerned, Paul stood at the bottom of the stairs and yelled up. "Tony?"
The only response he got was continued silence. Paul sighed and headed over to the worn, nicotine-stained settee. He'd been meaning to buy a new one for some time now - somehow, he'd never redecorated since the divorce, not even when Tony had moved in for good. Tony didn't seem too concerned about the decor; Paul knew he had more pressing concerns on his mind. Still, maybe this year would be the year that they made it their home, replacing the worn furniture with something that was completely, utterly theirs.
As he collapsed onto the soft yet uncomfortable sofa, Paul's gaze fell onto the dark, scratched coffee table. A familiar notebook was the only thing sitting upon it, pen placed at a precise diagonal on top. So, Tony had been awake and downstairs for at least some of the time that Paul had been out. Why had he left the book out here, though? That was his outlet, his private means of venting his frustrations that even Paul wasn't privy to. It didn't seem right that the book should now be out here when Tony wasn't.
Paul sat up straight, ears still straining for any sound of his lover. The house was still deathly silent, and Paul shuddered at the sudden chill that shot through him. Suddenly, his mouth felt dry, heart thumping as a thousand worst-case scenarios flashed through his mind. He wouldn't. Not now, not after he's come so far.
Without thinking, he snatched up the notebook. He knew he shouldn't; he knew he had promised he never would. But he had to find out; he had to know what was going through his lover's mind. He flicked through the pages with trembling hands, pausing only when he found the last line to have been written.
He took one look before he raced upstairs.
~*~
If anyone were to ask how Paul got through the next couple of weeks, he wouldn't have been able to tell them. Fractured fragments of memory still lingered - the chaotic rush as his friends all tried to help at once; the final, heart-breaking goodbyes at the hospital and then the funeral; his inexplicable rage at the lawyer who'd expected him to be grateful that Tony had left everything to him. Paul had wanted to scream at him, to tell him that he would give all of it up to have Tony back, but Josie and Caroline had stopped him, taking charge and getting him away from the office as quickly as they reasonably could.
The rest of the time, however, had been caught up in the maelstrom of arrangement - telephone calls, paperwork, solicitors...Somehow, Paul had managed to perform his role as executor, even as every call he made, every form he signed, caused him to die that little bit more inside. It was all too final a reminder, a confirmation that Tony was truly gone.
Now, finally, things were beginning to calm down. People were beginning to get back to their lives, to move on from the tragic event. The calls and visits had dwindled and then stopped completely, leaving Paul to come to terms with his own grief. He hadn't allowed himself to submit before, knowing that he needed to remain somewhat level-headed, but now he was alone and no longer saw a need to be strong.
He'd lost count of how many days it had been since he'd last got out of bed. He just didn't see the point - his life had revolved so utterly around Tony and now his whole world had been snatched away. His memory taunted him, reminding him of all the times he had been frustrated at Tony, all the times he had wished - silently or otherwise - that Tony hadn't been so reliant on him. All the times he had failed to appreciate and worship what he had.
Tony's notebook lay on the bed beside him, a cruel reminder of who should have been there that Paul somehow couldn't bring himself to put away. So many times, he had contemplated reading it and finding out what had driven Tony to such drastic action, but he had never worked up the nerve. He knew exactly why - in his sparse, fitful sleep he dreamt of a hundred things he could have done differently that would have saved his lover. He already blamed himself; he couldn't bear to risk the confirmation that Tony blamed him, too.
Still, as days passed, the temptation grew stronger. The notebook inched closer and closer as he picked it up, considered reading, and then replaced it unopened. Then, it was practically in his lap, and he finally yielded. Hands trembling, he carefully flipped over the first page. He was greeted by precise, neat handwriting that indicated just how long Tony had spent on this. For all the chaos in his mind, Tony could be - had been - incredibly pedantic when it came to letting it escape.
At first, Paul simply leafed through the pages, not yet daring to break his pact and actually read any of the content. There was a very definite layout to every page, so uniform and precise that had he never seen the wastepaper basket, Paul would never have known about the pages torn out and discarded. He had never thought of Tony as being so much of a perfectionist, but now he understood - for some reason, this journal had to be perfect.
Everything was dated, down to the second that Tony had started and stopped writing each session. Beneath the stopping time, there was a single further line of writing that Paul couldn't quite comprehend. Some of them leapt out at him as seeming strangely familiar: Waiting for the hour I feel is right; Someday I swear I'll go, but not tonight; So many people to hate. He tried to piece them together, to make some sense of it all, but it was as futile as trying to herd cats. Frustrated, Paul slammed the book closed and would have thrown it at something - if it hadn't been the closest thing to Tony he had left.
He rolled over and stared at the ceiling, the fragmented sentences playing over and over in his mind. He'd heard them before, he knew he had, but he just couldn't work out where. He let out a scream of frustration - whatever it was, it had been important to Tony and he should know it.
Suddenly, he heard footsteps approaching. He rolled over onto his side, his back to the door - he knew Caroline and Josie had taken to coming in and checking on him, but he wasn't in the mood to face them. He held the notebook closely, staying motionless in the hope that they'd assume he was asleep and leave him alone.
He heard their voices in the doorway and had to fight not to react when they spoke of doctors and hospitals. He didn't need a doctor, he needed Tony back - but if he couldn't have that, he at least needed to be left alone to come to terms with it in his own time. Still, he remained motionless and eventually heard two pairs of footsteps walking away and fading as the women headed back downstairs.
He waited a few moments more, to be certain they wouldn't be coming back with some offering or other in an attempt to draw him out. He was utterly grateful to his ex-wife and her partner for everything they had done for him, but seeing them simply reminded him of how much he had lost. He'd thought of explaining this to them, but had brushed the idea aside when he realised that any attempt at talking would trigger his currently fragile temper.
When he was certain that he had been left alone, he turned back to the notebook. He still couldn't place the sentence fragments, but the sliver of insight into Tony's frame of mind had made him determined to find out what went wrong and how he could have fixed it.
This time, he started to read from the beginning. The first entry was dated almost a year ago - around the time his father had died, Paul realised. He recalled the countless hours spent at the hospital, Tony staying silent and utterly bewildered as his mother and siblings argued with doctors over the best course of action. Paul hadn't felt it his place to speak up, but he knew the whole situation had Tony teetering on the brink of breakdown again. Paul had been on high alert from that point, even several months after the inevitable death, but Tony seemed to have stabilised and Paul simply let his guard down.
Mistake number one, he thought to himself now. And I haven't even started.
The first entries soothed him a little. He knew how devastated Tony had been - in fact, that was how the journal idea came up in the first place. It had been a place for Tony to let out the feelings that he couldn't, or wouldn't, share with Paul. And so the first pages told of the misery, the feelings of utter helplessness that had haunted Tony from the start of the whole ordeal. The words were like tiny, blunt daggers - it hurt Paul to think of Tony in so much pain, but at least he knew there was nothing more he could have done.
As he turned to the next page, a flash of horrified clarity came to him. He carefully turned back to the previous page, hoping he'd imagined it - but no, there it was in plain sight, the subtle change that indicated the switch in Tony's mind. He hadn't noticed it while he'd been skimming, but there was a clear difference between the entry he had just read, dated four months ago, and the following entry dated two weeks later. It was here that the precision had started in earnest - the handwriting was neater, more controlled than the mildly chaotic scrawl of a grieving mind.
Paul could feel bile rising at the back of his throat and swallowed it back, bitter and painful as another thought occurred to him. Sure enough, the fragmented lines had started just as suddenly, cropping up just as the rest of the writing appeared to become more deliberate. He stared at the date - three months to the day that Tony had chosen to end it all.
This time, he didn't even attempt to hide the frustrated howl as he shoved the book to one side. He tried to flinch away from the arms that suddenly held him, but whoever had come in was not giving in so easily.
Josie looked up at Caroline as she pulled the broken man towards her. "Okay, now will you listen to me? I don't care how long you were married to him; this is not a man who is coping with things."
Caroline skirted around the bed so she could kneel in front of Paul. "I still don't think we need to call anyone in. Paul, sweetheart, if you need to talk..."
"Three months." Paul's voice trembled with barely-suppressed rage. "Three fucking months, and I didn't notice. I deserved to lose him for that."
"Darling, no, you can't think that." Josie shifted so that she could face him while still not letting go. "Tony loved you; he wouldn't want you to blame yourself."
Caroline's eyes fell on the discarded notebook. "What-?"
"Leave it!" Paul wrenched himself away from Josie, grabbing the book and holding it tightly to his chest. "It's not for you to see. It's not even for me to see, but I had to know..."
"Why? Why torture yourself? Already, it's caused more damage that it's healed." Josie gently squeezed his arm. "I know you don't want to, but you have to let go. Otherwise..." She trailed off.
Caroline shot a reassuring glance at her partner before picking up the sentence. "Otherwise, we're going to lose you too."
"And how, exactly, is that a bad thing?" Paul demanded. "I've lost the one thing that gave my life any purpose or meaning; would it really be that much of a waste?"
Caroline sighed defeatedly. "Come on, Josie. We're not going to get any sense out of him now. Doesn't mean we won't keep trying, though."
Reluctantly, Josie stood. "I suppose you're right, darling." Turning to Paul, she offered, "We'll be downstairs if you decide you're ready to join us."
The two women walked out of the room, leaving Paul back where he wanted to be - alone with Tony's thoughts. Josie had called it torture, but she just didn't understand. It wasn't about magically making things better, it was about closure. He was too far in now to stop - as much as he didn't want to, he needed to press on and dig deeper into the months before Tony's death.
He turned back to the entry that had shaken him, the entry that marked the beginning of the downward spiral. Along with the other changes, there was a definite change in style - previously, Tony had written in rambling first-person; suddenly, he had switched to a cold second-person stance that looked upon him disfavourably. The latter entries were written as though through the eyes of a judge, Paul decided, who was condemning Tony for his actions and sentencing him for his 'crimes'. The same words and phrases cropped up frequently, and all the while the frustratingly familiar words marked the gaps between entries, which had become more frequent as time had passed.
Paul faltered as he reached the final month. He knew, even without looking, that the entries had become a daily habit by this point; it had been part of Tony's routine that he would shut himself away and write, which Paul had learnt to work around without even trying. Finally, he gathered the courage to read on.
Thursday 1st June 2000 // 10.15:46
This is the last cycle. Make final your preparations, Mr Slattery, because when your song comes to an end this time, you will end with it. He has only one month more to endure you, which you will make as painless as possible, for you do not deserve to have him save you. You do not deserve for him to care for you as he has done; your rank arrogance and lack of gratitude are a disgraceful response to his care and compassion. You are less than nothing, and he shall have a life free of your whims. Make clear your feelings for him, but do not trust that they will change things - your end has been determined and there is no going back.
Thursday 1st June 2000 // 11.03:25
Sitting all alone on my bed, in my bed-sit
Again, Paul had to put the book aside - his teary vision prevented him from reading any further. That last chilling entry had assuaged his feelings of responsibility but it didn't make him feel any better. If anything, it made things worse - he would have read a hundred times over that it was his fault if it had meant that Tony never blamed himself.
He sat up with a start as a blast of sound cut through the silence of the flat. Suddenly, a phrase he had only just read was floating up from downstairs in the voice he cherished most. Before he knew what he was doing, he raced downstairs and stopped dead as he saw the vision on his TV screen.
He stared wordlessly as the young Tony on screen continued to sing, swallowing back the lump in his throat at the haunted look in the beautiful dark eyes he had spent countless hours staring into. The jumbled fragments of the journal suddenly began to make sense as the song continued, in a completely different context to the one originally intended.
As the clip drew to a close, Paul became aware of the eyes fixed upon him. He tore his gaze from the screen to see Caroline and Josie both watching him, awaiting his reaction. He opened his mouth to speak, but his mind had shut down and he could only stare helplessly at them as the connections began to make themselves clear far too easily for his liking.
Caroline risked a hopeful glance at Josie. "At least he's up."
Josie stood, carefully approaching Paul. "We didn't mean anything by it. We just found it and got curious. I never realised what a voice he had."
Paul just looked at her, his expression betraying that he hadn't heard what she had just said. Voice cracking, he managed to choke out, "I never wanted to be free from him."
In an instant, Josie had led him to the sofa, sitting so that he was between her and Caroline. The two women held him as he sobbed, finally allowing the pent-up grief to break free. Neither woman attempted to speak; both knew that there were no words they could say that would comfort him.
Eventually, the sobs subsided. Paul didn't attempt to move; he didn't think he had the energy to even if he'd wanted to pull away. His mind still screamed with unanswered questions - why had Tony blamed himself? What was it about that song from so long ago that had triggered the change in him?
Reluctantly, he moved to sit up - he still didn't want to, but his spine had begun to protest at the position it was being forced to maintain. He locked eyes with Josie, unwittingly looking as though he expected her to hold the answers. She shook her head sadly and he looked down, staring at his hands and wondering what he could - should - have done differently.
He barely moved for the rest of the evening. He vaguely remembered Caroline and Josie leaving him, but he couldn't have said when they'd gone. Now, in the lonely silence of the night, his gaze returned to the television screen. The tape was still in the machine; all he had to do was rewind it and there Tony would be.
Cautiously, he reached for the remote. He snatched it up quickly, as though afraid of being caught, and set the tape to rewind. Once back at the start, he hit the play button and sat forward, soaking up everything he could from the scant minutes of solace the song could provide. Before he knew it, he had rewound and rewatched more than once, the words burning themselves into his mind and throwing up countless contradictory thoughts.
It was then that he remembered the journal, still lying upstairs unfinished. He paused the tape, suddenly tearful again at the frozen image of his love. Part of him wanted to lose himself in that image forever, but something pushed him to return upstairs and press on with reading Tony's thoughts.
He switched off the television set, pausing to whisper a sorrowful goodbye to the recorded memory before he did so, then slowly made his way upstairs. The journal was exactly where he'd left it on the bed, beckoning him to find the courage he needed to continue.
As he picked the book up, Paul looked at the date and froze. Somehow, the journal was at its final page, the entry dated as the last day Tony would ever live to see. He could have sworn he'd left it exactly where he'd stopped reading - but then again, he hadn't exactly been thinking clearly when he'd left the room.
Suddenly, his mind pulled him back to that dreadful afternoon, to a book on a table, unattended for the first time since it had first been picked up. They'd never found a suicide note, but maybe it had been right in front of him the whole time...
~*~
He was up early the next morning. He'd briefly considered letting Caroline know what his plans were, but eventually decided against it - she'd only offer to go with him, and he needed to do this alone. He toyed with the idea of taking the car, but decided the walk would serve him better. After all, it had been a long time since he'd been outside.
Rain drizzled from the sky as Paul made his way through the graveyard. Instinct more than memory guided him to the spot he wanted, the nondescript headstone standing out like a beacon to his mind. As he walked, he couldn't help but scan the area around him - he was, after all, about to make an utter prat of himself, and he'd prefer as few witnesses as possible.
The grass in front of Tony's grave was damp, but Paul sat down regardless. As he did so, he felt something lift within him, his mind clearer than it had been since he had lost Tony. Smirking slightly, he quietly began, "Well, I see the flowers have lasted as long as any plant ever did with us."
He swallowed back the lump in his throat, the sudden calm dissipating as he allowed his true feelings to surface. "I miss you, Tony. You were my whole life."
A breeze picked up around him, somehow soothing him. It was as if the air was trying to hug him, as if - but no, that was ridiculous. Clearly, isolating himself for so long had begun to drive him mad.
Then he thought back to the previous evening. Too many small coincidences began to add up - what were the chances, after all, that Josie and Caroline would find such a well-hidden tape at precisely the moment that Paul started to grasp the significance?
He let out a short laugh, even as he felt the tears roll down his cheek. "Well, and you thought you didn't deserve me. You surely never expected me to just go 'oh well' and get on with it? I know I can be a cold bastard at times, but give me some credit."
Another slight breeze, and Paul swore he could hear Tony's laugh, faint but unmistakable to his mind. Definitely crazy, then, but somehow he didn't care. If that was what it took for him to keep hold of Tony...
The wind dropped as suddenly as it started. For a moment, Paul panicked - why was his love being snatched away from him? Then it dawned on him - he couldn't keep hold of Tony. The memory, yes, but nothing more. Softly, he whispered, "I understand. I still love you, I always will...but I understand."
"Paul?"
He looked up with a start to see Caroline watching him. She smiled a little at the confused expression on his face. "Where else would you be?"
Paul nodded, forcing himself to his feet. "Let's just say I had a revelation."
"You could have had a baby pterodactyl if it got you out of the house." Caroline looped her arm around his. "Not dragging you away, am I? We can stay if you'd rather."
Paul shook his head, eyes fixed on Tony's gravestone. "If it was down to me, I'd never leave...but it's not down to me."
Caroline looked confused, but knew better than to ask. As the pair walked away, Paul swore he heard soft words behind him. Smiling to himself, he murmured, "I'm not going to forget you, you daft git."
Caroline gave him a bemused expression. "What?"
"I wasn't talking to you." Paul smirked, offering no further explanation. Maybe someday, he'd tell her - but for now, he had to focus on getting his life back on track. The first step was always the hardest; now he felt confident he could return to normal. He had to - if he didn't, he'd have Tony to answer to, and the thought of facing his lover's scorn was certainly a strong incentive.
He declined the offer of a lift from Caroline and Josie, needing some time alone with his thoughts. As he walked, he found himself noticing little things again - the stupid woman who shouldn't have been allowed four kids when she couldn't take care of one; the kids who thought they looked cool because they were choking on cigarettes they'd likely had to beg someone to buy for them. All the while, commentary ran through his mind in Tony's voice, the scathing condemnation of situations he had no patience for.
As he reached his front door, Paul smirked. He could do this. He would do this. And Tony would be with him every step of the way.