Fic: Break part 1, RPS HL/RSL, H/W
Fic: Break
Author: Nakanna Lee
Pairing: RPS HL/RSL, H/W
Rating: Mature overall
A/N: This follows “Surface,” which follows the storyline established in “Reasons.” It got a bit long, so I’ve broken it down into three parts. There is a link at the end of each segment. Also, there are some dream sequences here like in “Surface.” Italics are my pet-peeve though-I find it annoying to read in large chunks-so each one of these dreams starts off with an italicized sentence and then ends italicized…but the stuff in the middle is just regular text. Makes it easier on the eyes.
Whew. Now, if I didn’t bore you with the preliminary stuff:
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PART ONE
“You don’t have to, you know. Miss me.”
Hugh turned around in the parking lot, raising an eyebrow that looked all the more skeptical with House’s scruff. Shaved, the same motion became jocular or wry. But House was still along for the ride. Half of Hugh’s expressions were always his.
He waited until Robert was in stride with him, and the two wordlessly walked to wherever the younger man parked his car. Hugh hoped Robert was leading the way-not just following him in aimless indifference.
Disregarding the hinted proposition, Hugh glanced over. Filming had stretched until five-thirty, and the hints of autumn’s early dusk bruised the sky purple. “New York was pleasant?”
“It was busy.”
“So… unpleasant?”
“It was fine.”
The choppy responses were like cacophonous traffic screaming its way around a dead-end curve. If it was going to be this painful to speak to Robert, or that frigid to lie next to him in House/Wilson scenes, the remainder of the season looked particularly disconcerting.
Over the past year, Hugh had realized that he knew no one in the States, really. He didn’t have time to venture out and make friends, awkward as a transfer student. Every moment was dedicated to House, promoting the show, developing the latest calamities or love interests or twists in some crippled doctor’s life.
His strongest bonds were made with fellow cast members, and in that sense it felt a bit like Footlights had. They were a small group, growing tighter through their work together, and dependent upon one another for the success of the show as a unit. He’d had his share of dinner with everyone. He’d gone to the finale parties and red carpet events. Lisa had invited him to a birthday party mid-last season.
But Robert was the only one to whom he left no holds barred. If conversation hit a rut between them, he knew he’d be spending hours back at his own apartment, contemplating the calendar and bickering with the telephone’s incessant ringing.
He tried again, regretting the words as soon as they escaped-seemingly on their own accord. “How was Gaby?”
Robert kept his eyes focused straight ahead. It occurred to Hugh that he hadn’t really gazed into them since his return.
“She’s fine.”
“Bloody hell, is anything not fine?”
Robert managed to stop himself from turning too suddenly, surprised at the snappy tone he’d rarely heard Hugh use.
“Everything’s like you wanted, Hugh. What do you want me to say?” Robert cut between a Volvo and Mercedes and worked his way to his own Mazda. The keys jangled harshly from his pockets as he hit a button, unlocking the doors with a muddled beep. “You said to stop. I’m stopping, all right?”
“I didn’t say take three steps back every time I’m near you.”
Robert laughed, shaking his head. “Yeah, and that’s exactly what I’m doing.”
“Bobby-” Hugh put a hand on the car door and pulled it back before Robert could shut it. He’d crouched to slip into the driver’s seat, but immediately stood up again at Hugh’s confrontation.
“What?”
“I need things as they were.”
“Yeah, well.”
“Bobby.”
“Fine.” Robert stepped back out of the car, face drawn and solemn. He shut the door sharply. “Here are the ground rules, Hugh: No kissing, no touching, no inviting me over just to say you can’t. All right?”
Hugh faltered for a split second. Robert saw it, pointing a finger at him.
“And that’s why things can’t be,” he said, but smugness was only a shallow aspect of his tone. He went to leave again. Hugh grabbed the side of his shirt.
“Hugh, what?”
The older man stared down at the material clasped in his fist, as if he were astounded and wondering just how it had gotten there. He quickly released it, like freeing a frantic bird from his palm. Robert stared up at him. The cooling September breeze had left his tawny-brown hair disheveled, tapering across his forehead.
He was so young, Hugh thought from out of nowhere. And this thing… This whole thing was so ridiculous.
“Do you want to go for coffee?” Hugh asked quietly.
Robert blinked, his face unnervingly innocent. He was seamless; even Hugh had trouble sometimes reading his expressions, and that frightened him, beguiled him.
“No,” Robert said, then leaned across the seats to open up the passenger’s door.
Hugh figured he’d come back for the Triumph later.
* * *
There are certain times in a day, when sunlight hits a building just right, that England thrives on its own antiquity. Modern structures fade back into the preserved cobblestone, and churches with gray, somber steeples yearn for atmospheric blue. Narrow flats huddle up against one another, reminiscent of Tudor ages and Shakespearean halcyon days. Beyond town, the occasional road still digresses into a winding, unspecific dirt path, muddied by a recent summer rainstorm, while the moors roll in languid shades of green. Shadows speckle the fields as clouds stretch from one horizon to another like a giant tent cloth. Manure and earth and automobile gasoline keep the air company.
At least that was how Robert had always pictured it. He’d been there only on one other occasion, the scenery preserved in photos and postcards. Now he was in a New York apartment, cell phone pressed to his ear.
When Robert called Hugh during vacation, it was the first and last time they’d ravage the long distance paying plans during the four-day break.
The older man said he was sitting in the living room reading James Joyce.
“Why?” Robert asked with a grin.
“Because it’s my daughter’s summer assignment.”
Robert thought back for a moment. The only summer reading he could remember in high school was some Shakespeare and The Catcher in the Rye. He enjoyed the first but hated the second. Holden seemed too melodramatic to like.
“So then why are you reading it?”
“Because she’s bored with it and left it here. And I need a break from Wodehouse.” Hugh paused. “And what are you doing, Bobby?”
“Gaby, me, and Ethan are going to be heading out in about an hour. We’re meeting with some people about the theatre company. Business stuff.”
“Sounds terrifically exciting.”
Robert smiled at the lilting prod. “I’m actually looking forward to it. Stoppard’s supposed to drop by.”
“Your old directing friend,” Hugh acknowledged. “What was the play you did with him? It was the Tony-winning one, wasn’t it?”
“The Invention of Love, yeah.”
“I haven’t seen it,” Hugh admitted. “Or read the screenplay, actually.”
“It’s different. Not really much of a plot. The play is about the poet A. E. Housman. Basically, it focuses on his personal struggle with a love he had for his male roommate that the roommate didn’t share.”
There was a pause on the other end of the phone.
“Hugh?”
“Yes, I’m listening. Go on.”
Fifteen minutes later, the cell was quiet and their respective phone companies were tallying how expensive an hour call across the Atlantic would be. The apartment door opened, and clinking heels met Robert’s ears with surrealistic familiarity.
Gaby’s perfume wafted into the room. It was light, suspiciously suggestive with a flowery, feminine sweetness. Robert felt like he’d stepped back into an old childhood room that had been closed up for years. He knew it yet still felt out of place. Everything was distant and had that awkward, nostalgic sense of once-belonging.
And he thought how strange it was, leaning down to kiss someone.
* * *
PART TWO