Because The Night Belongs To Us- The Necessary Death of Charlie Countryman- (M)

[TaurielRiver]

I have Garnet to thank for this recommendation! The Necessary Death of Charlie Countryman has to be one of the most gorgeous and romantic-heart-wrenching-but-don’t-let-it-stop films of my year. So, 72-ishmehh hours later, a fanfic to deal with my overwhelming emotion coupled with… really really wanting to see Mads Mikkelsen sneeze.

No spoilers, some bad language and allusions to trashy partying.

Because the night belongs to us

The Necessary Death of Charlie Countryman

Gabriella / Nigel

All her life she had worked in the dark. Stage blacks in the rehearsal studio, black gowns in the orchestra pit, and, in the intermittent pauses between seasons, black tights behind the slipshod counter of Darko’s club. Sliced among slurring cigarettes and the splatters of neon, it was the last place Gabi thought to see him. But then, Nigel was not the sort of man you could predict. Or expect. Nigel. The name licked around her fancy like expresso romano, his nightly vigil at Macca-Vilacrosse. It was one of the few things she knew about him. That, and the sound of her cello had kept him alive. But they were enough, those two small truths. One so modest and insignificant, the other weighted with the whole understanding that to him, she had been the light.

He walked in tall, even the bloodshot cliental seemed to notice. His gaze cut through the poles and platforms, instead lapping over the inner door without need for invitation. The hard negligence told her as much as anyone who’d seen behind. If Nigel had wanted to use discretion, there were other entrances, other meeting places. Instead, he loaded both barrels and didn’t care who knew it. He probably wanted them to. As he made his way, not even the paid men looked him in the eye, game only to stare at his shoulders parting the crowd. He was halfway across when he glanced at the bar. A flicker in the intoxicated overlights, his mouth half-cocked in acknowledgement, as if he’d known she were watching the whole time. Then the door winked ajar, and he was jogging up the stairs like it were all nothing more than a casual courtesy, no doubt he’d be back down. She believed him.

In a cash-grab that accelerated to every new taste and trend, the hour that passed after Nigel’s arrival was the slowest she had poured out yet. She only knew it was over when Darko came down himself, twitchy fingers pulling at the lapels of his suit, his mouth carved into that generous, hateful smile that told her he had either struck a trade or lost one. He eased behind the service rack, fixing himself a neat vodka. She knew he had better and more to spare in the office. Indulgent, he slid the first measure down the bar, turning a second for himself.

He raised the lip of the glass with an affectionate lilt. The gesture was cold, humming with an anticipation that told her he’d been saving it all night. But she’d play. It would go down quicker pretending there had been a choice.

“What are we drinking to?”

“Gabriella Ibanescu.” His words wrapped over each other, each syllable suffocating the next. “And her newly signed residency with the Bucharest Opera.”

The liquor did nothing to dilute the malice, his hand whirring with encouragement toward her own full glass. “Down, down, before the ink on your contract dries.”

She swallowed in one. Strange that she should see Nigel at her moonlight gig the night she planned to resign. Stranger still that Darko already knew about it. But somehow she doubted the two were connected, coincidence followed her like a second shadow, she had learned to dance between them.

“It means a lot to know you are happy for me.”

It was the same reserved warmth she used for the drunkards and the opportunists, sending them on their way without starting a brawl. Darko laughed; an empty, violent sound.

“Get out of here, you will enjoy your night more on the other side of the counter. And visit us some time. Don’t be a stranger.”

She felt his stare on her as she left by the same door Nigel had entered. She doubted she could be. He would see to it.

-

It might have been a long walk back to the Lipscani district, but she took a deliberate detour to make sure of it. She had no appetite for the crowd tonight, but neither did she want to be alone. It hardly mattered that she hadn’t visited the cathedral since holding her father’s hand, the stone stairs and lofty pillars were as familiar as the doorstep of her childhood. And, like that too, just as open.

Pushing into the chamber, the musky air filled her lungs, an age away from the crisp fog of the streetlights. A rich kind of dark, old as the city itself. She paused, letting her eyes tune to the candlelight. It didn’t feel right to storm the place, after so many years. Like her achievement, she wanted to take it in slowly. She wanted to earn it.

“The club and the church in the same hour. An evening of vices indeed.”

She blinked back to the present, and Nigel standing by the Manoualia. His upper lip curled into that half-smile that never quite looked quotidian, a near-flawless replica to rival the original.

“And you? If I were superstitious I’d think this held some message for me.”

He gave a low chuckle, never shifting his posture. “No message. Unless you need a sign to visit more often. I can recommend the quiet here, if nothing else.”

The remark had a finality about it, but he made no move to leave. He held still, entirely comfortable in his skin, in their silence. If there was a question in the intermission, he would allow her to ask, content if she chose not to. She drew her words together, dulling the white noise until she held all and everything, then let the thought out raw and unrehearsed.

“I’m not sure I like the quiet.”

He tilted his head to one side, the last dregs of the votives kindling an arc under his cheekbones. His eyes creased into a warmer set of shadows. Up-close, his features formed a mix of shapes that looked somehow counterfeit, but together entirely symmetrical. He seemed more reachable now. His chin had tucked a little lower to his sternum, his jaw relaxed into something less cruel.

Gently, she pulled herself into his torso, arms curving around his back till her fingertips found his spine. She guessed he did not anticipate the gesture, but accepted it easily, sharp lines softening toward her. His face barely a breath away, she imagined she heard a thin veil of wetness as he inhaled- such an unexpectedly human sound that she couldn’t quite trust her judgement. She peered beneath the sweep of his hair, the length obscuring the hollows under one eye, framing those at the other. There it was again. That hint of liquid, not at the edge of his sinus but deeper within, and his nostrils tremored in refusal of it. She doubted he was even aware.

Her own nose brushed against the thread of his shirt, the snug, expensive scent of cologne smudged against the black linen. Citrus and wood, tangled in some burning, shimmering ruin. His tattoo snaked out from the collar, a pinup girl laced around his artery. It was an uneasily affectionate image for the man she imagined he was. Sailors and smoky saloons, pianos and garters. The bygone romance might have once fit him- not a careless man who wore something he wasn’t, but a man who made sure he wouldn’t have to care.

His pupils moved with her. Usually shaded and severe, she glanced up to see him caught in a floodlight, eyelids biting over a scrape of tears. The moment receded before it turned its face, the ruck between his brows resonating back to static. His nostrils flickered at the sniff that followed, sending a twitch of discomfort along the fissures that wound to each pointed corner of his mouth. She felt his chest swell under her hold as he took a breath, faltered, then twisted himself painfully aside.

“Ehd’TSCHHHhh-ue!”

In the solemn emptiness of the space, it was a coarse and consuming sound, bending him at the waist and leaving him unbalanced as he came up for air. He frowned in regret, then closed his eyes, his throat punctured with a chaotic gasp as he obscured his nose with his wrist.

“EkhhSHHHhu!”

With no amount of gentleness, he pinched a thumb and forefinger to snatch the escaped tears before they could run any further. Agonised, his upper lip rounded to a vicious sneer, and he dipped his head across his shoulder, sneezing unabandoned to the ground.

“EHd’tszCHHHhhh!”

He looked up, dazed, the rim of his nostrils bit with the flush of the exertion, the fizz of the candles reflected in the slippery inner curve of his septum. Her pulse surged behind the crescendo, relenting as he suffocated the last of the urge with a drenched sniffle.

“Please excuse me for that. Darko’s club is clearly as filthy as it looks.”

She breathed out a laugh, shuffling a hand through her leather knapsack in a scant effort to distract herself. He waited with mild curiosity, sliding into a smirk as she pulled the half-finished bottle of vodka from amongst the pens and crumpled sheet-notes.

“I won't be seeing much of it from now on.”

Like a matchstick dropped in a jerry can, he came alight. She fancied she saw an afterglow of something close to pride.

“Anything less would have been a sacrilege.” He pressed against his mouth with the side of one hand, and it occurred to her she might have offered him a tissue too. “My congratulations.”

She clicked the pouring cap open with her teeth, not having bothered to replace it with a screw-top. “Shall we celebrate?”

His gaze narrowed on the measuring spout, the scuffed label and chipped base where she’d pulled it from the serving rack. Entirely guessing the answer, he raised a wry eyebrow.

“A parting gift from Darko?”

“He may not know he gave it to me.”

Amused, his long fingers tightened around the glass neck, inspecting the spirit like an exquisite weapon.

“Fucking Darko.” He rolled the name around on his tongue, caustic or sweet she couldn’t tell. Then, just as quickly, he was sincere. “To you, my darling.”

Had she asked him what his business there had been, she suspected he would have told her straight. But, like the wash of absolution, she wanted to savour the moment. She didn’t want to know.

-

The traffic had died, the empty road an engorged vein toward the Piata Unirii. She led the charge, boots bumping into the asphalt as if she had forgotten how to run. He kept pace, barely breaking a sweat as she raked her soaked fringe back into the mangle of bright blood and black roots.

"Hey, hey," he slowed her at the edge of the fountain. "Let's take a breath."

Laughing, she gulped down a lungful of air, her forehead stumbling against his chest. His pulse not a beat faster than when he stood in the cathedral, he burned hot against the thinning evening. He raised a palm to the back of her head, gently caging it through her hair.

Leaning still against him, she let her heartbeat slow to the rise and fall of his ribcage, the turbid rhythm of the water jets. It was her favourite place. Behind the sheets of spray and fluorescent uplights, the gothic flourishes on the tiers of the fountain had grown anarchic with age; angels and flowers knotted with blackened scum. Not even a pressure hose could gut it clean, the rot had discoloured the very seams of the structure itself. And so they remained in situ, the water gardens of the people in the shadow of Parliament.

“Etd’TISCHHh-ue!”

Without warning, he snapped his head to the side, sneezing hard against the chilled air. His lungs shivered in recovery, his hand still resting lightly at her scalp.

"Bless you."

He made a mutter of acknowledgement, nudging his face back into her cheek. The tip of his nose felt cold above her ear, a suggestion of fading dampness. From the corner of her eye, she watched his focus dilate over her shoulder. Staving off a shuddering breath, his frown gaped to menacing apprehension, and he raised his arm above her jacket in an effort to shelter her from the release.

"EkCSHHHihu! EH’tszCHHHh! …Fucking Christ."

He scoured his fist along the underside of his flaring nostrils, the words thickened with the leak of congestion. He returned for a second swipe, seemingly unable to shake the irritation and giving an indelicate sniff instead. Steering her palms up and over his torso, she interlaced her fingers behind his collar, throwing a nod over his shoulder.

He brought both arms to wrap over the small of her back, quietly lifting and lowering her to the lip of the fountain. The backsplash of droplets nipped at her jeans, sinking into her calves. As the water display roiled, the bend of the lights echoed on the uneasy turns of Nigel's features. Now a handspan taller than him, she let her face rest in his hair, the bitter scent of ash clinging amongst the caffeine. He scrunched his nose against her collarbone, pressing firmly enough to form a small wrinkle at each side of the bridge. The rough texture of the denim seemed to provide him momentary respite, his sniffling muffled against her chest.

She waited till he glanced up at her, then let her fingertips trickle down to mesh between his. Stretching his arms out in front of her, she took a deep step backwards, plunging her heel through the roaring hiss of the streams and finding her footing on the mosaic tiles below. The gritty froth surged around her knees as she pulled him to the brim, yelling over the churning pumps and slurp of the overspill drains.

He stepped over the ridge, bespoke suit drowned in the recycled mire of their city. She heard herself laughing, weaving under the curving scores of spray, the injections of artificial blue and green. Seized with feeling, she paired her hands at his shoulders as he braced himself on the smooth tiles. In a fluid kick, she vaulted and wrapped herself round his waist with her thighs. He caught her, clutching his hands into her drenched jacket as she arched her upper body over him.

Nigel steadied her, for once looking near heady and outdone as she held taut. The dredge of her hair fell loose around his jawline, his lips slightly parted as he exhaled. She trailed the tip of her nose down the concise bridge of his, the smooth hairline scar from some long-submerged injury. Slowly, she outlined the delicate rim of his nostril, surprised to feel it quiver at the light touch.

She held fast to the lingering second, until it swelled and burst as the fountain rolled to a new pattern, sluicing a cold ribbon across his shoulder blades. She gave a yelp as the edge of the stream lanced her cheek, jerking as he drew his arms around her with sudden tightness, as if she might fall. Her cheeks pinned back in a grin, she reared up, jamming her eyelid closed as the heavy droplets bled from her lashes, spinning over Nigel’s face in a gruesome black spatter.

His own shout came hazardously close to laughter, and he carefully drew his thumb to blot the slick of eyeshadow, managing to leak it down his wrist in the process. As he nestled his hand back into the crease of her jacket, his smile turned wary, and he directed his gaze toward her thigh instead. With an acute snarl, he plunged against her with a harshness that left her fingertips digging into his back.

“Hedh-dtSHSHHHue!”

His abdomen clenched with the exertion, the trembling force of it echoing through the grip of her legs. Nigel pulled her higher on his waist, trying to recover his posture whilst fiercely crumpling his nose against her collar. Finding the fountain-soaked material somewhat less relieving, he hugged his face into her sleeve instead. Grimacing in expectation, he sucked an audible breath, sneezing into her jacket with excruciating restraint.

“ht’dtzsshhh!–chtSHHh! …huhDZSHhhh-eu!”

“God bless” she murmured, catching herself rubbing a hand over his back. She stopped before he could notice. Thoroughly spent, he sniffled wetly in relief, nuzzling back into her neck with unexpected warmth.

With her chin resting on his shoulder, she let her focus blur on the Palatul Parlamentului. Stiffening, she saw a silhouette unfold in front of the looming concrete, cutting through the haze toward them. A far cry from the battered blue poliţişti-issue, the stranger wore a uniform of starched grey edged with gold, his hand reaching for the stout carve of his belt.

Feeling her embrace grow tense, Nigel slowly turned, and she sunk to her feet. He looked neither surprised nor alarmed, regarding the man with simmering curiosity. Chlorine dripped from every angle of Nigel's body, and yet the guard's composure seemed to dwindle on seeing him, as if he were the one caught red handed. His command strangled in his windpipe, his hand fumbled back into his pocket. Nigel observed this reaction with carnivorous attention, not one detail missed. He waited until the silence had stretched to a thin membrane, then snapped it with precise nonchalance.

"Bună seara! Would you care to join us?"

The guard lurched between a shake of his head and a step back, unable to decide what the right response would be.

"If you have something to say, please."

Searching for a way out, the pleading gaze caught Gabi instead, somewhat intrigued in the midst of the disquiet. Whether Nigel noticed she could not tell, but his stance shifted ever so slightly, coiling beneath the ease.

A final hesitation, and the guard gave a brusque tip of his cap, turning about face with the same jarring gait with which he arrived.

"Scuze, bună seara."

He had hardly skirted the radius of the surrounding street-lamps when Nigel turned back to face her. He looked somehow larger now, cloaked in a second shadow of his own, not quite retreated in the light. It was a fading guise she felt she had seen before, worn by another. His expression dissolved to something less certain, and the image slipped through her fingers before she could place it. He wiped his nose against his wrist, allowing himself an involuntary shiver in the breeze.

She saw a thought stir below his balance, some apology perhaps. Catching him on the cusp of the words, she reached, lashing his wet hair between her fingers and pulling him down. Her teeth grazed against his mouth, the heat an all-consuming whiplash from the cold of his face. His nose squeezed against the side of her own as she kissed him, vicious and breakneck.

She wondered if she might now know him better. But when they finally released, he stood far and alien as always. Only the touch of his stare lingered, breaching the void. She allowed herself the fantasy that, like him, she wasn’t so predictable. But it all felt too familiar.

-

Edited September 14, 2015 by TaurielRiver

[Garnet]

So, as was probably evident by my hounding you over Skype every five minutes for this fic, I am beyond delighted and over the moon and stuck in Saturn's orbit, somewhere, that you watched this movie! And are writing fic for it! And it's so good! I mean, no surprise there, but it's the perfect trifecta of tiny fandom, available fetish fic, and good writing that is so rare but delighting to find that you almost can't believe your good fortune.

Let's begin the caterwauling and effusive, messy feels!

So, initially but also also spattered throughout the fic, as always, it's all the tiny, characterizing details for Nigel, for Gabi, and for the city itself that infuse it with a sense of life and realism. I love knowing what kind of coffee he takes, and the hazy-frustrating in-between of her time working as a bartender.

Related, your descriptions of Darko are so on-point. Twitchy, cruel, and hateful. And oh, her sass in response! "It means a lot to know you are happy for me." You go, Gabi. Additionally, I love the sound of his laugh being "empty" and "violent".

Also, I appreciate all your efforts to interweave the sights and sounds of Bucharest with districts, landmarks, etc. It lends a sense of legitimacy and groundedness to the environment.

“The club and the church in the same hour. An evening of vices indeed.”

Oooh, such a Nigel turn of phrase! Very good voice, here.

He tilted his head to one side, the last dregs of the votives kindling an arc under his cheekbones.

Aaand this whole passage, really, but especially this verb choice. A very evocative image, to boot. Mads definitely has a face made to be candlelit, as romantic as it is strange. The later paragraph describing his tattoo, cologne, the fabric of his shirt, ugh all also so deliciously detailed.

Ah, the embrace! One thing I'm also intrigued about is that I can't tell where exactly they are in their relationship, here. Pre-marriage, I'm guessing, but maybe not? Clearly they're intimate, but we don't get too many hints from the film about how long their marriage lasted, nor the courting period beforehand. In a way this ambiguity makes it easier to write and read, I am just so curious!

AND THEN UGH the fetish material. Iii'd forgotten I was even waiting for it, but yes, so good! That they're in close contact, and he just turns away, and and... "the slippery inner curve of his septum". I don't know why that phrasing went STRAIGHT to my core but hunnghghglh. How words.

She clicked the pouring cap open with her teeth, not having bothered to replace it with a screw-top. “Shall we celebrate?”

Did she steal that bottle of vodka?

“A parting gift from Darko?”

“He may not know he gave it to me.”

SHE DID, I love her (and you for writing her so appropriately!)

The scene after, too, I love that they're running breakneck through the city together. I imagine she and Nigel must have had their own fun, goofy, dream-like times at one point, charming little cross-city adventures like she had in the film with Charlie. This perfectly matches my vision.

Also, good lord that fountain description. I want to frame that (the words, not the fountain, so much vileness and beauty in one!)

Also also, "sneezing hard against the chilled air", ughn such a great mental image and accompanying audio to boot! Speaking of, I'm smitten with how annoyed but unfussed he is about sneezing, going as far to turn away but otherwise making no effort to cover, sniffling and wrinkling his nose into her jacket. Be still, my beating heart. I'm amused that there's no clear cause, as well. Is he getting sick, is it just the filth of the city and hanging out in fountains at night? Who knows, who cares! There's snezz.

The gritty froth surged around her knees as she pulled him to the brim, yelling over the churning pumps and slurp of the overspill drains.

Gabi that's how you GET AN INFECTION D8<

The following scene, too, jeeeesus. I love "acute snarl" aaand then sneezing while not only embraced but holding her aloft on his waist, and muffling into her jacket (to the best of his ability)? Send a priest and a doctor, I'm gonna need both.

Oooh, such an unnerving conclusion, too! They're having such a good time, and even while being perfectly calm, Nigel is so full of quiet MENACE that it takes her right out of the moment. Like, did the security guard recognize him, or is he just that charismatically vicious? I'd accept either answer.

So yes. This is great and you are great BYE gotta plan my next one now! *CLIFFDIVE*

Edited September 4, 2015 by Garnet

[meepsy]

GOODNESS! I have not seen this movie, but that historically has not kept me from in enjoying your lovely writing in the past, so I thought I'd give this a shot AND I'M GLAD I DID! The atmosphere in this is totes my jam, and that Mads Mikkelsen just happens to be the main male character ain't a bad perk either! Additionally, I loooooved Gabi's POV -- I feel like I have a very clear picture of who she is from your writing, and I just kind of have a super huge crush on her now, okay? Okay.

Let me pick out some of my favorite quotes, because this is lovely writing and it deserves to be fawned over!

The name licked around her fancy like expresso romano, his nightly vigil at Macca-Vilacrosse.

The first part of this sentence licked around my fancy! Such a delightful and evocative turn of phrase!

It was one of the few things she knew about him. That, and the sound of her cello had kept him alive. But they were enough, those two small truths. One so modest and insignificant, the other weighted with the whole understanding that to him, she had been the light.

As a person who's never seen the film, I have a lot of appreciation for this description. Wonderfully worded and paced, it gives me exactly all I need to know of her relationship with him without revealing too much too soon -- and still speaks to so many unclear layers of emotion. Ahh! So good!!!

He walked in tall, even the bloodshot cliental seemed to notice.

In a cash-grab that accelerated to every new taste and trend, the hour that passed after Nigel’s arrival was the slowest she had poured out yet

The gesture was cold, humming with an anticipation that told her he’d been saving it all night. But she’d play. It would go down quicker pretending there had been a choice.

Ugh, all so great and perfect! I have to start pacing myself, I'm not even five paragraphs deep!

His upper lip curled into that half-smile that never quite looked quotidian, a near-flawless replica to rival the original.

Again, all I need to know about Nigel (for the time being) summed up in one artfully-described visual.

“Please excuse me for that. Darko’s club is clearly as filthy as it looks.”

Ahh, what a wonderful post-sneeze response. Clever enough to save face, defensive enough to imply embarrassment. You do his character (I'm assuming) great justice!!

The dredge of her hair fell loose around his jawline, his lips slightly parted as he exhaled.

"The dredge of her hair" OMG. How do you find the absolute perfect words for everything you want to convey?? I almost want to steal this it's so good. (I would never!!!)

Nigel observed this reaction with carnivorous attention, not one detail missed. He waited until the silence had stretched to a thin membrane, then snapped it with precise nonchalance.

Ohhhmmyyggoood you are going to kill me seriously!!! The more I read the more incoherent with awe and like "how???" I get! Your writing is soooooo indulgent -- like eating a cheesecake or something. I adore it!

She wondered if she might now know him better. But when they finally released, he stood far and alien as always. Only the touch of his stare lingered, breaching the void. She allowed herself the fantasy that, like him, she wasn’t so predictable. But it all felt too familiar.

Wow. What an end. His stare "breaching the void" (!!!) Her mixture of uncertainty and hope and reassignment. The questions in that last sentence. Just wow. I don't even know if I want to watch the movie now -- I feel like I've got everything I need right here.

(I probably will at some point though -- I mean, Mads Mikkelsen... )

Thank you so much for sharing this exquisite piece of writing!! This is me ---> I am absolutely smitten!

Edited September 10, 2015 by meepsy