In Between The Day And The Night
Title: In Between The Day And The Night
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Yusuf/Robert Fischer
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. Inception belongs to Nolan and Warner Brothers.
Author's Notes: For this prompt over at inception_kink: Rarepair, anyone? Some time after the events of the movie, Fischer has turned to pill-popping as a way to manage his stress. While looking for a doctor who will give him stronger drugs, he just so happens to find Yusuf -- but Yusuf feels guilty about the role the inception probably played in Robert's addiction. He offers to help him learn how to sleep without meds, and bittersweet fluff (is that even a thing) ensues.. I got everything but the fluff (sort of), sorry about that.
---
Yusuf has this recurring dream. He's sitting in a cafe in Paris, his cat perched on his knee, when he hears someone screaming his name. His cat vanishes and he's running, toward the screaming. He always gets there too late, the van's sinking into the water and there's nothing he can do. He wakes up in a sweat, his cat curled up next to him. He swears she looks worried, he can't disagree, he's worried too.
Before Cobb, before inception, when his only relationship with dreams was through his clients and Eames, he never had nightmares. He'd dream of wheat fields, of his grandparents' farm, of falling in love. But since he went under, for that job, he's never quite been the same. He remembers the fear he felt, glancing back at the team, the crew, whatever the fuck they were. How he had to drive and drive and sometimes he dreams of that, as well. Someone's always screaming his name and he's always late.
He doesn't talk to any of them, not anymore. At first he tried, creating custom drugs for Eames and Arthur, for Ariadne. Providing sleep for Cobb. But he stopped. No amount of money could erase the guilt. He watched Saito become richer, and though he didn't mean to care, it almost hurt to watch what Fischer had become. What he had helped create. Felt a bit like Shelley's Frankenstein. Not the monster, but the doctor. Creating something that was spiralling out of control, maybe not a true monster, but an idea.
His only news came from the 'net. He could afford cable, but he couldn't be bothered. He watched football matches on the computer while mixing compounds for his clients. He could have purchased a new building, a better house, but he hadn't bothered. He'd stuck his money in a bank account, what did he need it for, really. But late at night, when he couldn't sleep and considered taking sedatives usually reserved only for clients, he knew the real reason he couldn't bring himself to spend that money was guilt.
It's raining when Fischer shows up at the door of Yusuf's shop. The bell jingles when the door opens and he looks up, nearly dropping the drug he's working on when he sees Fischer shaking his umbrella off in the entrance. His cat jumps off the table, weaving her way through boxes and bottles until she can sniff at Fischer's feet. She glances at Yusuf, as if to say I approve. Unaware he's being observed, Fischer squats down, scratching her head. She purrs contently and that's when Yusuf clears his throat.
Fischer stands, looking more boy than man and Yusuf can barely quell the desire to apologize. He just stands, absently cleaning up the papers on the counter, his desk. "Can I help you, Mr. Fischer?"
Inside, Yusuf winces, realizing maybe he shouldn't have used Fischer's name, but the other man seems more resigned than confused.
"I suppose they know my name, even here." He says softly. Yusuf's cat winds her way around Fischer's ankles as he walks toward the counter. "I'm looking for ..." He stops, then starts again. "I was told you were the best chemist around."
Yusuf arches an eyebrow. "Around where?" He asks, stomach twisting.
"Anywhere." There's a pause, then he goes on. "I've been finding it hard to sleep."
After a moment Yusuf asks Fischer the same question he asks everyone who enters his shop. "To sleep or to dream?"
Fischer looks startled and that's when Yusuf notices the bags under his eyes, the tiredness in his face. "To sleep."
Suddenly Fischer's digging into a messenger bag Yusuf hadn't even noticed. He pulls out a small black bag, dumping the contents onto the counter. Yusuf picks up bottle after bottle, reading the contents. Sedatives, sleeping pills, even some drugs he's not sure he's ever heard of -- and he's heard of most. He looks up at Fischer, setting the last bottle on the counter.
"It seems like you've had plenty of help." He says, not unkindly.
Fischer gives him a wan smile. "Is it help if it doesn't work?"
Yusuf returns the smile softly and he feels horrible for this man. He looks at Fischer, so out of place in this city. He looks lost and almost scared. Yusuf wants to apologize, because he knows without any doubts that this is his fault. The drug, the job. Without them, Fischer would sleep at night without any help.
"Which of these worked the best?" He holds up on the bottles.
Fischer shrugs. "They all worked, for a time."
There's something Fischer's not telling him, something Yusuf can't quite identify. He studies Fischer's face, trying to figure out what it is, but to no avail. He turns away, glancing at the vials behind him. He knows what he should do, but he's not sure his drugs are the answer. He turns again.
"Come back tomorrow, I'll have something for you." He finally says.
Fischer nods, reaching down once more to scratch the cat's head before turning to leave. He stops and glances at the pile of pill bottles on the counter. He catches Yusuf's gaze and gives a slight shake of his head, and then he leaves.
Night falls and he still hasn't started on the drug for Fischer. There's a part of him that doesn't think he should be doing this at all. But there's an even bigger part of him who thinks he has to do this, he needs to make up for the mistakes he made. That the team made. He was greedy, too greedy and now he's saddled with a guilt he hasn't felt since he accidentally crashed his father's car when he was 16. And compared to the guilt he has now, that was like a walk at the beach.
Eventually he decides what to do. He and the cat slink upstairs to his flat above the store. He stares at the alarm clock on the night stand and then he's asleep. The dream comes back, he's running and running and this time he reaches the screamer. Just before he wakes, he realizes that it's Robert Fischer.
It's hot and dry out, the sun trying to work it's way into his store. He turns up the fans, every so often glancing at the door. It's still early morning when Fischer enters. Yusuf's bent over some boxes, a shipment of supplies he'd ordered that arrived the previous morning. He straightens up and turns toward Fischer. For a moment they don't move, don't say anything and then it's Fischer who breaks the silence.
"Do you have something for me?" He asks, there's a weary eagerness that Yusuf identifies with all too well.
He dusts the front of his shirt off and walks toward the counter, then stops. "When was the last time you tried to sleep without anything?"
Fischer opens his mouth, then stops. In some ways it's the answer Yusuf was expecting, in other ways it's incredibly disappointing. He looks at the bottle on the counter and then at Fischer.
"Is that for me?" He asks, walking toward Yusuf.
"It was." He replies, angling himself so he's between Fischer at the bottle.
"Was?" There's fear in Fischer's voice, it makes Yusuf sad.
He nods, running a hand through his hair. "We're going to try something different."
Fischer looks startled and almost as though he's going to reach for the bottle, but at the last second something stops him. He looks at Yusuf carefully, but says nothing.
"Where are you staying?" Yusuf asks, plans already formulating in his head.
Fischer names a hotel, cheap and nearby. Yusuf thinks they can do better. He's already getting his phone out, texting an old friend. The reply comes moments later.
Yusuf looks up at Fischer. "How do you feel about a house near the beach?"
For reasons Yusuf will never understand, Fischer agrees. After leaving the shop in the care of one of his proteges, he bundles the cat into her carrier and they're off. The drive takes an hour, if only because traffic is ridiculous at this time of day. It thins as they reach the outskirts of the city, and decreases again as they head toward the beach. Yusuf tries not to stare at Fischer, wondering if this man born of so much privilege has ever seen so much poverty. It is perhaps to Fischer's credit that he makes no remarks, in fact he does nothing but stare out the window.
The house is empty when they arrive. Yusuf parks near the door, locking the car before they carry their few belongings inside. It is two stories, but the bedrooms they're to stay in are on the first floor. Yusuf leads Fischer to his bedroom, then disappears into his own. He lets the cat out of the carrier. She's happy to be back home, her siblings must be wandering around outside. He walks to the kitchen and spots a few signs of life. His friend, a grateful and very rich client from Sweden who fell in love with Mombasa, has stocked the kitchen. They will be okay for a few days, which is how long Yusuf hopes it will take.
He leaves the kitchen, carrying two bottles of cold beer and finds Fischer standing on the porch, looking out over the surf. Yusuf hands one to Fischer, then settles himself in one of the chairs. His cat scrambles into the room, climbing onto his lap. He pets her absently, watching Fischer out of the corner of his eye. Eventually Fischer turns from the water and joins Yusuf, sitting down in the chair next to him. The cat abandons Yusuf's lap for Fischer's.
"Does she have a name?" Fischer asks, taking a long drink of the beer.
Yusuf shakes his head. "She was a barn cat, a lifetime ago. Her siblings around out there." He gestures outside.
Fischer follows Yusuf's hand, then glances at the cat. "She's home, then." It's not so much a
question as a statement and Yusuf only nods in return.
They descend into silence again, but there are too many things that Yusuf needs to know. He clears his throat, drinking a bit more of his beer before he can work up the courage to ask the questions he needs answers to.
"Do you dream, Mr. Fischer?" Yusuf's voice feels stale and rusty.
Fischer glances over at him. "Call me Robert." He replies, holding Yusuf's gaze. He closes his eyes and Yusuf is struck, not for the first time, with just how beautiful this man sitting next to him is. "And yes, I do dream."
Yusuf nods, his own dream swirling around in his brain. "Are you trying to hide from these dreams?"
The question seems to startle Fischer -- no, Robert. Yusuf hates that he has to ask, but he needs to know. In spite of his desire to not use drugs, there is a strong sedative in his bag, hidden away in a pocket no one bothers to check.
Robert answers eventually, looking out at the water again. "It seems that I am."
"What is it that you dream about?" It's a personal question, far too personal, but Yusuf thinks perhaps the only way around this is to talk about it.
"Kidnappings. Murders. I dream of dreaming. Of snow and hotel rooms. Men in dark suits." Robert's looking at him now and Yusuf has to school his features carefully, though he's cursing inwardly.
"Nightmares." He offers and Robert nods. It seems they have something else in common. "I have them, too." He suddenly says, surprising himself with his candor.
Robert's eyebrows raise and it's almost as though he's trying not to laugh. "Why don't you take something?"
Yusuf smiles and a tiny part of him wonders if this conversation would have even been possible with the old Fischer. He pushes that out of his mind as he answers. "I don't want to become addicted." He thinks of the people in his basement, the ones who come to live in their dreams. "There is nothing so beautiful as waking up in reality." He says, without really thinking.
Robert blinks, perhaps startled, perhaps amused, Yusuf can't really tell. The light's fading fast and the summer's sinking away too. But for now, they have dusk, the setting sun reflecting on the water.
"I ..." Robert stops and then he stands, displacing the cat. He paces the length of the porch, then back again. He stops right in front of Yusuf, standing at such an angle that Yusuf has to look up. "What is it you want to do to me?"
The venom mixed with fear in Robert's words startle him. Yusuf is unable to reply for a moment, but eventually he can. "I do not wish to harm you, Mr. Fischer. I only wish to help you sleep, without help."
Robert steps back, leaning against the screen and railing. Yusuf stands, deciding it'd be best to go to the kitchen, maybe sort out some sort of dinner. But then he feels Robert's hand on his arm. He stops, turning slightly. They're close, far too close. Yusuf can smell Robert's aftershave, his shampoo, the faint scent of the hotel. He is briefly overcome with the urge wrap Robert up in his arms, to hold him and protect him. But it's a preposterous idea and so he does nothing. Just waits for Robert to say whatever it is he wants to say.
"Yusuf, I ..." Robert stops, looking down at his hand on Yusuf's arm, then back up again. "Can I trust you?"
The question's like a gun going off and it's all Yusuf can do to keep himself together, to keep himself from flinching out of Robert's grasp. He can almost hear the rain, pouring down. He sees Robert, rain drenched and oblivious. Then scared, thrown into the back of a van. Driving and driving. He thinks he would do everything in his power to never hurt Robert again.
"Yes." It's a simple reply and it seems enough for Robert. He drops his hand and Yusuf escapes to the kitchen.
The dinner is simple enough; pasta with olive oil and a few herbs, a salad just big enough for the two of them, and a bottle of red wine. Yusuf finds that he enjoys Robert's company. They talk about their childhoods, exchanging stories about people they don't know, that they'll never know. It's easy banter, until Yusuf finishes his story about becoming a chemist. Because Robert begins to talk about his father, his father's legacy, the breaking up of the company. There's a moment when nearly Yusuf blurts everything out. He stops himself, just in time and all Robert gives him is an odd look.
They clean up together, not talking, but it's not a hostile silence. It's two people whose lives just happen to intersect without really knowing why. Eventually they're done, and they walk into the darkened living room. There's a TV, but Yusuf makes no move to turn it on. In fact he doesn't even sit down, just crosses his arms, suddenly second guessing himself. Robert, halfway into the room already, stops and turns, looking at him.
"Perhaps we should just sleep." It's Robert speaking. "Is there anything special I should do?"
Yusuf shakes his head, then manages to regain his voice. "Try to clear your mind. Don't take anything." Simple advice that's always hard to swallow, but Robert doesn't protest. He just nods and disappears into his room.
It takes Yusuf hours to fall asleep, though it feels like years. He cannot stop thinking; about the job, about the man sleeping in the other room, about his shop, about everything and anything. Eventually he manages to doze off, then sinks into a deeper sleep. The dream which engulfs him is always the same, he wonders why he ever thought a different bed would change things. This time he's woken up long before he reaches the screamer. His eyes snap open and he sees Robert, kneeling on the edge of the bed, shaking him.
"You were ..." Robert doesn't finish and his voice is shaky, scared. Yusuf sits up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Robert shifts, sitting on the edge of the bed now. Yusuf pretends to ignore that Robert's taken his hand.
"Nightmares." He says, very quietly. He could so easily tell the truth, but he's afraid. So very afraid.
Robert's thumb is rubbing along Yusuf's knuckles. He'd like to pretend it doesn't have any effect, but it does. It's more calming than he's willing to admit.
"We all have our secrets." Robert's voice is soft and Yusuf looks up, meeting his gaze.
"Was I yelling?" Yusuf asks after a moment.
Robert doesn't reply, just nods. His fingers tighten around Yusuf's hand. He can tell Robert, too, thinks they are more alike than not, if only below the surface. Yusuf glances at the clock, it's early, but not too early. He turns back to Robert, who wordlessly lets go of his hand. They spend the rest of the day not talking about dreams, or nightmares. Yusuf shows Robert around the house, the land. He explains without detail, how he knows the owner. They go fishing on a pier, then return later. Yusuf cooks the fish over a big grill while Robert sits on the porch, playing with the cat. Dinner is more salad and fresh fish, with a bottle of white wine this time.
Night comes too soon and Yusuf thinks it's clear neither of them want to sleep. Robert disappears into his room, but then knocks on the doorframe of Yusuf's. For a moment Yusuf doesn't turn, but then he does. Robert's looking at him, both worried and scared. For reasons Yusuf will never understand, he nods his head, acquiescing to whatever it is that Robert's asking. They crawl in bed together, but do not touch. The last Yusuf slept with a man, he was drunk and lonely. Only one of those is true now, and he hasn't been that drunk in years.
He does not know Robert's asleep until the morning. Yusuf's own sleep was free of nightmares, though not of dreams. He dreams of fields of sunflowers, of pirate ships flying through space. He dreams of Robert, his hands, his hair, his beautiful mouth. He wakes with a start, remembering everything as abruptly as his dream ended. He turns, Robert is curled against him, deeply asleep. Yusuf thinks he's accomplished something, he must have. But he's created so many problems, he cannot escape them.
He lets Robert sleep, making them breakfast and coffee. Eventually Robert stumbles into the kitchen. He looks contented, sleepy and pleased. He meets Yusuf's gaze and smiles. If Yusuf were a romantic, which he's not because he knows better, he'd say that Robert even blushed a little. Yusuf returns to the frying pan, finishing up their potatoes and then serves the both. The cat settles at her bowl, meowing softly until Yusuf gets up and feeds her as well.
They do not fish, but instead they swim. Yusuf feels inadequate next to Robert, but once they're in the water, it no longer matters. They swim for hours, only stopping for lunch before going back again. Robert says, an offhand comment that breaks Yusuf's heart, that he can't remember the last time he had so much fun. Yusuf is grateful that this, at least, is not a lie. Dinner is the last of the pasta and their final bottle of red. Tomorrow they will either have to shop or return home, Yusuf hopes for the former, but fears it's the latter.
Robert does not ask this time, he just finds his way into Yusuf's bed. He knows he'd be lying to himself if he did not admit he would like to kiss Robert. He'd like to hold him and touch him, to make him understand that he's sorry, so so fucking sorry for everything that happened. But he also knows that regardless of Robert's sexual orientation, there are lines he cannot cross. At least not first. But the line is never breached. They spend a week out at the house, much longer than Yusuf anticipated, but he does not -- will not or cannot -- complain.
It is over all too soon and yet not soon enough. Robert looks younger, he looks refreshed. He jokes that it is too bad he'll have to go back to sleeping without Yusuf. Again, Roberts words break Yusuf's heart and again he must school his expression. He gently bribes the cat back into her carrier, packing up the last of their things. He offers Robert a smile and then they're driving. Back into the city, into the life Yusuf could have so easily given up, if only Robert had asked.
"Drop me at the airport." Robert says. He is so carefree that Yusuf wants to worry all over again. But he cannot. What he meant to do, he did.
They pull up to the airport and Yusuf parks the car. They both get out, the cat whining in the carrier in the back seat. Yusuf makes a note to let her out, once they're on the road again. Robert holds out his hand, Yusuf takes it and he cannot help but think of that first night. Robert's grip is strong and warm, friendly.
"I'll wire you the money." He says, hauling his suitcase out of the trunk of Yusuf's car.
Yusuf shakes his head. "There'll be no need."
Robert's about to insist, but then thinks better of it. He turns to walk away, then stops. "If I find I can't sleep again?"
Yusuf has so many answers to that question, but he doesn't say any of them. He just smiles, hoping he can keep the sadness out of it. "Find someone you trust."
Robert nods, pushing his hand through his hair. For a moment their eyes meet and Yusuf hopes, wishes, that Robert could read his mind, to understand. But he knows he's asking for too much, for something he does not deserve. And then Robert is gone. Back on a plane to wherever it is his life will lead, and out of Yusuf's life.
Yusuf returns to his store, but he feels he has lost something. He finds that both he and the cat will periodically look toward the door, as if waiting for someone to walk through it. He scratches the cat's head and whispers softly to her. The bell jingles as the door opens and he turns, hoping. But it's just the boy delivering the morning paper.
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Yusuf/Robert Fischer
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. Inception belongs to Nolan and Warner Brothers.
Author's Notes: For this prompt over at inception_kink: Rarepair, anyone? Some time after the events of the movie, Fischer has turned to pill-popping as a way to manage his stress. While looking for a doctor who will give him stronger drugs, he just so happens to find Yusuf -- but Yusuf feels guilty about the role the inception probably played in Robert's addiction. He offers to help him learn how to sleep without meds, and bittersweet fluff (is that even a thing) ensues.. I got everything but the fluff (sort of), sorry about that.
---
Yusuf has this recurring dream. He's sitting in a cafe in Paris, his cat perched on his knee, when he hears someone screaming his name. His cat vanishes and he's running, toward the screaming. He always gets there too late, the van's sinking into the water and there's nothing he can do. He wakes up in a sweat, his cat curled up next to him. He swears she looks worried, he can't disagree, he's worried too.
Before Cobb, before inception, when his only relationship with dreams was through his clients and Eames, he never had nightmares. He'd dream of wheat fields, of his grandparents' farm, of falling in love. But since he went under, for that job, he's never quite been the same. He remembers the fear he felt, glancing back at the team, the crew, whatever the fuck they were. How he had to drive and drive and sometimes he dreams of that, as well. Someone's always screaming his name and he's always late.
He doesn't talk to any of them, not anymore. At first he tried, creating custom drugs for Eames and Arthur, for Ariadne. Providing sleep for Cobb. But he stopped. No amount of money could erase the guilt. He watched Saito become richer, and though he didn't mean to care, it almost hurt to watch what Fischer had become. What he had helped create. Felt a bit like Shelley's Frankenstein. Not the monster, but the doctor. Creating something that was spiralling out of control, maybe not a true monster, but an idea.
His only news came from the 'net. He could afford cable, but he couldn't be bothered. He watched football matches on the computer while mixing compounds for his clients. He could have purchased a new building, a better house, but he hadn't bothered. He'd stuck his money in a bank account, what did he need it for, really. But late at night, when he couldn't sleep and considered taking sedatives usually reserved only for clients, he knew the real reason he couldn't bring himself to spend that money was guilt.
It's raining when Fischer shows up at the door of Yusuf's shop. The bell jingles when the door opens and he looks up, nearly dropping the drug he's working on when he sees Fischer shaking his umbrella off in the entrance. His cat jumps off the table, weaving her way through boxes and bottles until she can sniff at Fischer's feet. She glances at Yusuf, as if to say I approve. Unaware he's being observed, Fischer squats down, scratching her head. She purrs contently and that's when Yusuf clears his throat.
Fischer stands, looking more boy than man and Yusuf can barely quell the desire to apologize. He just stands, absently cleaning up the papers on the counter, his desk. "Can I help you, Mr. Fischer?"
Inside, Yusuf winces, realizing maybe he shouldn't have used Fischer's name, but the other man seems more resigned than confused.
"I suppose they know my name, even here." He says softly. Yusuf's cat winds her way around Fischer's ankles as he walks toward the counter. "I'm looking for ..." He stops, then starts again. "I was told you were the best chemist around."
Yusuf arches an eyebrow. "Around where?" He asks, stomach twisting.
"Anywhere." There's a pause, then he goes on. "I've been finding it hard to sleep."
After a moment Yusuf asks Fischer the same question he asks everyone who enters his shop. "To sleep or to dream?"
Fischer looks startled and that's when Yusuf notices the bags under his eyes, the tiredness in his face. "To sleep."
Suddenly Fischer's digging into a messenger bag Yusuf hadn't even noticed. He pulls out a small black bag, dumping the contents onto the counter. Yusuf picks up bottle after bottle, reading the contents. Sedatives, sleeping pills, even some drugs he's not sure he's ever heard of -- and he's heard of most. He looks up at Fischer, setting the last bottle on the counter.
"It seems like you've had plenty of help." He says, not unkindly.
Fischer gives him a wan smile. "Is it help if it doesn't work?"
Yusuf returns the smile softly and he feels horrible for this man. He looks at Fischer, so out of place in this city. He looks lost and almost scared. Yusuf wants to apologize, because he knows without any doubts that this is his fault. The drug, the job. Without them, Fischer would sleep at night without any help.
"Which of these worked the best?" He holds up on the bottles.
Fischer shrugs. "They all worked, for a time."
There's something Fischer's not telling him, something Yusuf can't quite identify. He studies Fischer's face, trying to figure out what it is, but to no avail. He turns away, glancing at the vials behind him. He knows what he should do, but he's not sure his drugs are the answer. He turns again.
"Come back tomorrow, I'll have something for you." He finally says.
Fischer nods, reaching down once more to scratch the cat's head before turning to leave. He stops and glances at the pile of pill bottles on the counter. He catches Yusuf's gaze and gives a slight shake of his head, and then he leaves.
Night falls and he still hasn't started on the drug for Fischer. There's a part of him that doesn't think he should be doing this at all. But there's an even bigger part of him who thinks he has to do this, he needs to make up for the mistakes he made. That the team made. He was greedy, too greedy and now he's saddled with a guilt he hasn't felt since he accidentally crashed his father's car when he was 16. And compared to the guilt he has now, that was like a walk at the beach.
Eventually he decides what to do. He and the cat slink upstairs to his flat above the store. He stares at the alarm clock on the night stand and then he's asleep. The dream comes back, he's running and running and this time he reaches the screamer. Just before he wakes, he realizes that it's Robert Fischer.
It's hot and dry out, the sun trying to work it's way into his store. He turns up the fans, every so often glancing at the door. It's still early morning when Fischer enters. Yusuf's bent over some boxes, a shipment of supplies he'd ordered that arrived the previous morning. He straightens up and turns toward Fischer. For a moment they don't move, don't say anything and then it's Fischer who breaks the silence.
"Do you have something for me?" He asks, there's a weary eagerness that Yusuf identifies with all too well.
He dusts the front of his shirt off and walks toward the counter, then stops. "When was the last time you tried to sleep without anything?"
Fischer opens his mouth, then stops. In some ways it's the answer Yusuf was expecting, in other ways it's incredibly disappointing. He looks at the bottle on the counter and then at Fischer.
"Is that for me?" He asks, walking toward Yusuf.
"It was." He replies, angling himself so he's between Fischer at the bottle.
"Was?" There's fear in Fischer's voice, it makes Yusuf sad.
He nods, running a hand through his hair. "We're going to try something different."
Fischer looks startled and almost as though he's going to reach for the bottle, but at the last second something stops him. He looks at Yusuf carefully, but says nothing.
"Where are you staying?" Yusuf asks, plans already formulating in his head.
Fischer names a hotel, cheap and nearby. Yusuf thinks they can do better. He's already getting his phone out, texting an old friend. The reply comes moments later.
Yusuf looks up at Fischer. "How do you feel about a house near the beach?"
For reasons Yusuf will never understand, Fischer agrees. After leaving the shop in the care of one of his proteges, he bundles the cat into her carrier and they're off. The drive takes an hour, if only because traffic is ridiculous at this time of day. It thins as they reach the outskirts of the city, and decreases again as they head toward the beach. Yusuf tries not to stare at Fischer, wondering if this man born of so much privilege has ever seen so much poverty. It is perhaps to Fischer's credit that he makes no remarks, in fact he does nothing but stare out the window.
The house is empty when they arrive. Yusuf parks near the door, locking the car before they carry their few belongings inside. It is two stories, but the bedrooms they're to stay in are on the first floor. Yusuf leads Fischer to his bedroom, then disappears into his own. He lets the cat out of the carrier. She's happy to be back home, her siblings must be wandering around outside. He walks to the kitchen and spots a few signs of life. His friend, a grateful and very rich client from Sweden who fell in love with Mombasa, has stocked the kitchen. They will be okay for a few days, which is how long Yusuf hopes it will take.
He leaves the kitchen, carrying two bottles of cold beer and finds Fischer standing on the porch, looking out over the surf. Yusuf hands one to Fischer, then settles himself in one of the chairs. His cat scrambles into the room, climbing onto his lap. He pets her absently, watching Fischer out of the corner of his eye. Eventually Fischer turns from the water and joins Yusuf, sitting down in the chair next to him. The cat abandons Yusuf's lap for Fischer's.
"Does she have a name?" Fischer asks, taking a long drink of the beer.
Yusuf shakes his head. "She was a barn cat, a lifetime ago. Her siblings around out there." He gestures outside.
Fischer follows Yusuf's hand, then glances at the cat. "She's home, then." It's not so much a
question as a statement and Yusuf only nods in return.
They descend into silence again, but there are too many things that Yusuf needs to know. He clears his throat, drinking a bit more of his beer before he can work up the courage to ask the questions he needs answers to.
"Do you dream, Mr. Fischer?" Yusuf's voice feels stale and rusty.
Fischer glances over at him. "Call me Robert." He replies, holding Yusuf's gaze. He closes his eyes and Yusuf is struck, not for the first time, with just how beautiful this man sitting next to him is. "And yes, I do dream."
Yusuf nods, his own dream swirling around in his brain. "Are you trying to hide from these dreams?"
The question seems to startle Fischer -- no, Robert. Yusuf hates that he has to ask, but he needs to know. In spite of his desire to not use drugs, there is a strong sedative in his bag, hidden away in a pocket no one bothers to check.
Robert answers eventually, looking out at the water again. "It seems that I am."
"What is it that you dream about?" It's a personal question, far too personal, but Yusuf thinks perhaps the only way around this is to talk about it.
"Kidnappings. Murders. I dream of dreaming. Of snow and hotel rooms. Men in dark suits." Robert's looking at him now and Yusuf has to school his features carefully, though he's cursing inwardly.
"Nightmares." He offers and Robert nods. It seems they have something else in common. "I have them, too." He suddenly says, surprising himself with his candor.
Robert's eyebrows raise and it's almost as though he's trying not to laugh. "Why don't you take something?"
Yusuf smiles and a tiny part of him wonders if this conversation would have even been possible with the old Fischer. He pushes that out of his mind as he answers. "I don't want to become addicted." He thinks of the people in his basement, the ones who come to live in their dreams. "There is nothing so beautiful as waking up in reality." He says, without really thinking.
Robert blinks, perhaps startled, perhaps amused, Yusuf can't really tell. The light's fading fast and the summer's sinking away too. But for now, they have dusk, the setting sun reflecting on the water.
"I ..." Robert stops and then he stands, displacing the cat. He paces the length of the porch, then back again. He stops right in front of Yusuf, standing at such an angle that Yusuf has to look up. "What is it you want to do to me?"
The venom mixed with fear in Robert's words startle him. Yusuf is unable to reply for a moment, but eventually he can. "I do not wish to harm you, Mr. Fischer. I only wish to help you sleep, without help."
Robert steps back, leaning against the screen and railing. Yusuf stands, deciding it'd be best to go to the kitchen, maybe sort out some sort of dinner. But then he feels Robert's hand on his arm. He stops, turning slightly. They're close, far too close. Yusuf can smell Robert's aftershave, his shampoo, the faint scent of the hotel. He is briefly overcome with the urge wrap Robert up in his arms, to hold him and protect him. But it's a preposterous idea and so he does nothing. Just waits for Robert to say whatever it is he wants to say.
"Yusuf, I ..." Robert stops, looking down at his hand on Yusuf's arm, then back up again. "Can I trust you?"
The question's like a gun going off and it's all Yusuf can do to keep himself together, to keep himself from flinching out of Robert's grasp. He can almost hear the rain, pouring down. He sees Robert, rain drenched and oblivious. Then scared, thrown into the back of a van. Driving and driving. He thinks he would do everything in his power to never hurt Robert again.
"Yes." It's a simple reply and it seems enough for Robert. He drops his hand and Yusuf escapes to the kitchen.
The dinner is simple enough; pasta with olive oil and a few herbs, a salad just big enough for the two of them, and a bottle of red wine. Yusuf finds that he enjoys Robert's company. They talk about their childhoods, exchanging stories about people they don't know, that they'll never know. It's easy banter, until Yusuf finishes his story about becoming a chemist. Because Robert begins to talk about his father, his father's legacy, the breaking up of the company. There's a moment when nearly Yusuf blurts everything out. He stops himself, just in time and all Robert gives him is an odd look.
They clean up together, not talking, but it's not a hostile silence. It's two people whose lives just happen to intersect without really knowing why. Eventually they're done, and they walk into the darkened living room. There's a TV, but Yusuf makes no move to turn it on. In fact he doesn't even sit down, just crosses his arms, suddenly second guessing himself. Robert, halfway into the room already, stops and turns, looking at him.
"Perhaps we should just sleep." It's Robert speaking. "Is there anything special I should do?"
Yusuf shakes his head, then manages to regain his voice. "Try to clear your mind. Don't take anything." Simple advice that's always hard to swallow, but Robert doesn't protest. He just nods and disappears into his room.
It takes Yusuf hours to fall asleep, though it feels like years. He cannot stop thinking; about the job, about the man sleeping in the other room, about his shop, about everything and anything. Eventually he manages to doze off, then sinks into a deeper sleep. The dream which engulfs him is always the same, he wonders why he ever thought a different bed would change things. This time he's woken up long before he reaches the screamer. His eyes snap open and he sees Robert, kneeling on the edge of the bed, shaking him.
"You were ..." Robert doesn't finish and his voice is shaky, scared. Yusuf sits up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Robert shifts, sitting on the edge of the bed now. Yusuf pretends to ignore that Robert's taken his hand.
"Nightmares." He says, very quietly. He could so easily tell the truth, but he's afraid. So very afraid.
Robert's thumb is rubbing along Yusuf's knuckles. He'd like to pretend it doesn't have any effect, but it does. It's more calming than he's willing to admit.
"We all have our secrets." Robert's voice is soft and Yusuf looks up, meeting his gaze.
"Was I yelling?" Yusuf asks after a moment.
Robert doesn't reply, just nods. His fingers tighten around Yusuf's hand. He can tell Robert, too, thinks they are more alike than not, if only below the surface. Yusuf glances at the clock, it's early, but not too early. He turns back to Robert, who wordlessly lets go of his hand. They spend the rest of the day not talking about dreams, or nightmares. Yusuf shows Robert around the house, the land. He explains without detail, how he knows the owner. They go fishing on a pier, then return later. Yusuf cooks the fish over a big grill while Robert sits on the porch, playing with the cat. Dinner is more salad and fresh fish, with a bottle of white wine this time.
Night comes too soon and Yusuf thinks it's clear neither of them want to sleep. Robert disappears into his room, but then knocks on the doorframe of Yusuf's. For a moment Yusuf doesn't turn, but then he does. Robert's looking at him, both worried and scared. For reasons Yusuf will never understand, he nods his head, acquiescing to whatever it is that Robert's asking. They crawl in bed together, but do not touch. The last Yusuf slept with a man, he was drunk and lonely. Only one of those is true now, and he hasn't been that drunk in years.
He does not know Robert's asleep until the morning. Yusuf's own sleep was free of nightmares, though not of dreams. He dreams of fields of sunflowers, of pirate ships flying through space. He dreams of Robert, his hands, his hair, his beautiful mouth. He wakes with a start, remembering everything as abruptly as his dream ended. He turns, Robert is curled against him, deeply asleep. Yusuf thinks he's accomplished something, he must have. But he's created so many problems, he cannot escape them.
He lets Robert sleep, making them breakfast and coffee. Eventually Robert stumbles into the kitchen. He looks contented, sleepy and pleased. He meets Yusuf's gaze and smiles. If Yusuf were a romantic, which he's not because he knows better, he'd say that Robert even blushed a little. Yusuf returns to the frying pan, finishing up their potatoes and then serves the both. The cat settles at her bowl, meowing softly until Yusuf gets up and feeds her as well.
They do not fish, but instead they swim. Yusuf feels inadequate next to Robert, but once they're in the water, it no longer matters. They swim for hours, only stopping for lunch before going back again. Robert says, an offhand comment that breaks Yusuf's heart, that he can't remember the last time he had so much fun. Yusuf is grateful that this, at least, is not a lie. Dinner is the last of the pasta and their final bottle of red. Tomorrow they will either have to shop or return home, Yusuf hopes for the former, but fears it's the latter.
Robert does not ask this time, he just finds his way into Yusuf's bed. He knows he'd be lying to himself if he did not admit he would like to kiss Robert. He'd like to hold him and touch him, to make him understand that he's sorry, so so fucking sorry for everything that happened. But he also knows that regardless of Robert's sexual orientation, there are lines he cannot cross. At least not first. But the line is never breached. They spend a week out at the house, much longer than Yusuf anticipated, but he does not -- will not or cannot -- complain.
It is over all too soon and yet not soon enough. Robert looks younger, he looks refreshed. He jokes that it is too bad he'll have to go back to sleeping without Yusuf. Again, Roberts words break Yusuf's heart and again he must school his expression. He gently bribes the cat back into her carrier, packing up the last of their things. He offers Robert a smile and then they're driving. Back into the city, into the life Yusuf could have so easily given up, if only Robert had asked.
"Drop me at the airport." Robert says. He is so carefree that Yusuf wants to worry all over again. But he cannot. What he meant to do, he did.
They pull up to the airport and Yusuf parks the car. They both get out, the cat whining in the carrier in the back seat. Yusuf makes a note to let her out, once they're on the road again. Robert holds out his hand, Yusuf takes it and he cannot help but think of that first night. Robert's grip is strong and warm, friendly.
"I'll wire you the money." He says, hauling his suitcase out of the trunk of Yusuf's car.
Yusuf shakes his head. "There'll be no need."
Robert's about to insist, but then thinks better of it. He turns to walk away, then stops. "If I find I can't sleep again?"
Yusuf has so many answers to that question, but he doesn't say any of them. He just smiles, hoping he can keep the sadness out of it. "Find someone you trust."
Robert nods, pushing his hand through his hair. For a moment their eyes meet and Yusuf hopes, wishes, that Robert could read his mind, to understand. But he knows he's asking for too much, for something he does not deserve. And then Robert is gone. Back on a plane to wherever it is his life will lead, and out of Yusuf's life.
Yusuf returns to his store, but he feels he has lost something. He finds that both he and the cat will periodically look toward the door, as if waiting for someone to walk through it. He scratches the cat's head and whispers softly to her. The bell jingles as the door opens and he turns, hoping. But it's just the boy delivering the morning paper.