The Vicious Circle - (The Necessary Death of Charlie Countryman, M)

[Garnet]

Sooo I wrote a fic for The Necessary Death of Charlie Countryman about a year ago, and it was great fun, and I really, really enjoy this messed up couple. But then TaurielRiver had to go and revive my lust for them by watching the movie and flipping out on Skype with me and ugh. UGH. Feelings.

So this is for her (and for me, not gonna lie). Also, it is set almost immediately after her story. It can be read as a stand-alone, but I recommend reading her fic first because she's great and it is great. Cheers, gorgeous <3

Additionally, some warnings for heavy mentions of drugs and sex (albeit no one actively partaking of either) as well as my nasty, nasty language. I tried to clean it up as best I could, but if mods want it in the Adult section, it's all good.

---

The Vicious Circle

(caps and edits by mikkelsense on tumblr because ech, I'm too lazy)

Enough of the vodka stood empty that Gabriella sent up a little cosmic prayer for the state of her liver, come morning. The thin level left ringing the base laid testament to the murky pleasure occluding her brain, along with her inability to give one single, solitary fuck in the world.

Well, nearly.

They lay tangled amid the sheets of her own bed, she and Nigel, her ankles tucked between his and the sweat of their efforts tacky on their skin. She needed a hot shower, a long nap, and then a cup of strong coffee. It was very, very difficult to motivate herself towards any of the above, however, when Nigel's large, calloused hand still lay against the side of her neck with possessive affection, and she could still feel the hot sigh of his breath in her hair. She mused, in fact, that she could stay like this forever -- filthy, wrung out, and loved so intensely she felt it bleed into the marrow of her bones.

Which was absolutely why she needed to kick his ass out, if she had any hopes of making it to the opera house in the morning. Stirring herself at last through pangs of regret and the first shadowed warnings of a hangover, Gabi peeled herself from his arm and rolled until she faced him. Her expression creased with a melange of pride and dismay.

"We're disgusting."

Without opening his eyes, Nigel's mouth hooked hard to one side, creasing up his features in a manner that she found roguish, rakish, and terrible. The gesture only cemented her resolve to get gone from this magnetic influence.

"Where is the fun, otherwise?" He shifted to press his mouth along the elegant scaffolding of her jaw, then to the warm spot just behind, the one that always made her toes scrunch. "You could slog through a mud pit and still be gorgeous on the other side."

More than his honeyed words, it didn't help that his voice came out gritted and soft from their post-coital doze. His accent, too, was beginning to creep in. Nigel spoke Romanian as fluently as any native, he'd pinned Bucharest by the throat and made it entirely his own, but she was ever-amused by the slur of his vowels when he'd been drinking. Too precious.

"You'd like that too much," Gabi returned, wry.

"Mmh, already fantasizing," he mumbled in agreement as he kissed a path down her throat. Her eyes slipped back beneath the flutter of lids in their smudged paint, arching involuntarily to the scrape of his stubble and the cool damp of his nose. He was still sniffling now and again, too, evidence of their impromptu plunge into the icy fountain. She gave it little thought; she knew hardly anyone with as much resilience as Nigel. Although life had left its marks on him, he always seemed to come out the other side with the grimmest and most enduring kind of resolve.

She ghosted a thoughtful hand over the knot of scar tissue on his side, where he'd once been flayed open from ribs to hip. She hadn't truly known him then, if she even knew him now. It seemed the wound of a man from another life, another time before her.

That was probably a little egotistical, but hell. Gabi was not a creature of virtue, either.

"I need to shower," she protested, as he worked down towards her collarbone, where she'd be done for if he got any purchase. Her fingers pressed into the rough texture of his chest hair, and tried not to let herself get caught up in appreciating it as she pushed him away. "And sleep."

He hesitated, just for a beat, but then the corner of his mouth pinched tighter, wry and knowing. "Are you giving me the boot?"

"I have rehearsal in the morning, it's not going to look good for a new contract if I'm late to that." Or miss it altogether, which was as likely a possibility when she was with Nigel. Time seemed a nebulous and foreign concept to her, then, a commodity that always felt somehow less important than stealing one more kiss, one more drink, one more smoke.

He really was absolutely terrible for her.

"You seem convinced I'll delay you."

"Because you always do," she hummed, as the support leeched out of his muscles and his head sank to her breast. She couldn't decide if it was calculated or compulsive, but her heart still ached either way. She turned her cheek into the ash-pale tangle of his hair and tried to rally her defenses.

He surprised her when, after many minutes of reluctant lounging between them, he shifted his weight against her and groaned. His nose twitched with another single, rabbitish sniffle. "I feel godawful."

Gabi glanced again to the mostly-empty vodka, the supposed culprit. He'd be ruing that in the morning, although she'd be ruing harder. "So delicate, all of a sudden," she offered with sardonic affection. When Nigel remained uncomfortably quiet, she tried again with her palm brushing his cheekbone. "I'm not surprised, all things considered."

His breath whuffed out with a sigh. "Nor am I. What was that about a shower?"

He talked her into that and more, beneath the scalding spray that scoured the night from their bodies. She ought to have tossed their clothes into the wash, she noted with some regret upon finding his shirt still damp and smelling of chlorine, once they were dry and bare. They orbited each other with both acclimating ease and crackling tension, the undercurrent of something she couldn't quite place. He'd fortunately left a pair of jeans or two at her place before, and tugged on them on while she was debating whether she wanted him wearing this wet, chill thing home.

"Tch, I don't think there's any saving -- oh! Wait." She ducked back into the bedroom to dress herself in something loose and lazy, for bed, and to rifle with sudden enthusiasm through the bags in her closet. She returned with a handful of regrettable print fabric clutched in both hands. "I keep forgetting to give you this one. I found it at one of the second-hand places down by Obor. Look," she declared, holding it out at length.

Nigel took the button-down from her and held it up for appraisal, inspecting the riotous assortment of illustrated mushrooms cluttered across every crease and fold. "God, it's hideous."

"I know," she simmered with pleasure.

"I love it," he said, already shrugging it on. It was a game they had started a few months ago, when she'd poked fun at his stark, intimidating wardrobe that showed off the hard lines of his muscles and his tattoos. She'd presented him with one of the ugliest and most non-threatening shirts she could find a week or two later -- both to see if he would humor her by wearing it, and if the ridiculous Dachshund print would soften his natural menace any. He did, and it didn't. She was privately delighted by both.

He was still sniveling softly as he thumbed the buttons closed, something she chalked up to the rapid fluctuation in temperatures. She darted her lily-pale hands in between his - bigger, warmer, meaner - to fix the last few in place. It was the little gestures like these that seemed to both surprise and undo him. His palms dropped to her hips, and head tipped forward to rest his brow against hers, as yielding to her as he was vicious to the rest of the world. It was tempting, so tempting to stay like this for another minute, another hour, another whole evening. She was halfway to leaning in for a kiss, the tip of her nose brushing against his, when he suddenly inhaled and backstepped out from her touch.

He sneezed to one side while she was still processing it, an urgent but satisfying-sounding "--eht'CHSSHHhh!" that left them both blinking.

"Bless you," she bid, with a brush of her hand along his jaw, but the spell was broken and she padded on ahead of him to the door, brooking no further distractions. Nigel lingered behind just a beat, as if with expectation for something more, but eventually he sloped into a sigh and trailed after her, recognizing her determination when she'd fixed to it.

"You sober enough to make it home, loverboy?"

"Yes," he said, shortly enough that she felt the sting of his irritation with surprise. Where had that come from? It certainly wasn't the first time they'd gone their separate ways, after having their fun. Cautiously, she leaned her shoulder to the doorjamb as he lingered out into the hall.

"Feeling alright?"

"Not really."

She could sympathize. The headache was already beginning to throb softly at the back of her skull. "I'm sorry, Nigel, I just really have to..."

"I know," he yielded, and let go some of his annoyance. In its place, the weight of exhaustion settled over his roughly-hewn features. "But you'll play beautifully -- you always do." Warmth diffused through her, and she leaned to accept his parting kiss. "Ring me tomorrow," he said, once they'd clicked apart.

"I will," she promised, "Get some water. Get some sleep."

"You, too."

Shortly after she'd shut and locked the door (she wasn't stupid, and her salary couldn't yet afford the nicer neighborhoods), she heard a muffled "--CHISSZHHhh!" at the far end of the hall. Her brain stalled on the sound of Nigel's sneeze for a moment, wary for some reason she couldn't place. Then she glanced to the clock, grimaced, and it went out from her mind. Shit, was that really the time? Bed. She'd deal with it all tomorrow.

---

She didn't deal with it at all. Oh, the rehearsal had gone off without a hitch, except for the slight pall of her hangover. But then, an orchestra pit had practically been her womb, the bower in which her father had raised her on Myaskovsky, calloused fingers and rosin. If Gabriella found confidence in anything, it was the draw of the bow across the strings. Bela was a very hard conductor to please, and yet the grim, brooding approval of his gaze was not lost upon her.

She still felt a strange twinge of sadness whenever the professional season started anew, and this was the most prestigious of them by far. Music had ever been her backbone and her tether, but Gabi's rebellious streak had showed itself very early and was sore to fade, even now. She wouldn't miss Darko, she wouldn't miss the club. She wouldn't miss drunk strangers making sloppy efforts to palm her ass, or offering her little stamps of LSD in exchange for favors with the management or entertainment. She had never been down for personally involving herself in any of that shit. Still and all, the thrumming vibe made her feel somehow dangerous, powerful in her own right for dipping her toes into Bucharest's filthy undertow and then learning to swim. It would be strange to go back to smart, sensible skirts and the polite discourse of the fine arts. Even now, long past the due of discovery, Gabi was still struggling to strike that balance with herself.

And then there were people like Nigel, who seemed to effortlessly own every situation that they found themselves in.

Shit, Nigel. The symphony broke around four o'clock, space enough for a early dinner. She might catch him before he roamed out into the city for the work she tried hardest to never think about. Gabi was eyeing her phone with consideration when one of the violins, Marta, approached her with her girlfriend.

"Gabi," she greeted warmly, holding out both hands. She tucked hers into them agreeably, and rose to accept the quick cheek-kiss. She'd played with them both in ensembles previous, as she had with several of the other musicians in present company, but it was still nice to be remembered. "We're going to head to the Modigliani with some of the others, say you'll come?"

It was in her best interests to foster social graces with her company, wasn't it? Besides, it might be nice to venture out on the town without an eye turned towards the next low-grade threat of an overly drunk, overly amorous tourist ranging into her periphery. It might be nice to take a breather from the intensity of Nigel and their respective moonlight gigs. Hers already felt a lifetime ago.

"Of course I will," she agreed, and so she did. Dinner was a long-form event that turned to wine and cocktails split, giggling, over tightly-ensconced bar tables. Shoulder to shoulder with the flautists and the brass. It was an engagement that slowly bled over into a bar crawl, her head light and buoyant-feeling, until all at once it was 11 PM and she was frowning anxiously down at her cell. One missed call, from Nigel. When had it gotten so late?

She pursed her phone and made her gentle excuses to the assembled symphonic company, before spilling out onto the patio. Marta came with her, for a smoke.

"You alright, little bird?" She hummed as she tapped out a filter from the pack stealthed into sleeve. Gabi creased her brow, uncertain whether she liked the impromptu pet name or not.

"Sure," she replied, and gestured loosely towards her mobile. "I just meant to call my..." Too many glasses of wine and then, cruder but more effective, a couple of whiskeys straight had muddied her judgement and her vernacular. "My..."

What did she even call Nigel? Boyfriend sounded too juvenile, lover too romance novel.

"Your man?" Marta guessed, and earned herself a small, reflexive smile. Yes.

"My man," he agreed, settling into a wrought-iron chair. Marta heaped herself into one nearby, drawing deep through paper and ash.

"Is he a good one?"

"Oh, no," she sighed, the corners of her lips wryly upturned. "He's a monster, through and through."

While Marta fixed her with an expression that begged for details, Gabi cradled the phone to her ear with one shoulder and listened to it ring. Just when she was sure it would turn over to voicemail, and she'd have to leave Nigel an awkwardly stilted and slightly inebriated apology, the receiver picked up.

"Hello, gorgeous," the purling voice on the other end greeted.

"I'm sorry it's late," she lamented through the line, leaning back in her chair and gazing up through the cigarette smoke and the light pollution to pick out the hazy dark of the sky far above. Marta was pecking away at her own phone with one fingertip, but making no secret of her eavesdropping.

"It's not late for me," Nigel reminded her. "Or you." There was a faint shuffling, clicking noise in the background, but she frowned first and foremost at how thick and ragged his tone sounded, not his usual fluid lilt. Before she could inquire about it, he cleared his throat and prompted, "How was your rehearsal?"

"Oh. Good? It was good. Unexciting, I suppose." She stretched her legs out on a chair adjacent and glanced muzzily down at her bare calves. "I've never cared where I played, but it is nice to be among the like-minded, you know? Although some of them have sticks up their asses." Catching the nearby violin's snort of flustered amusement, she grinned quickly. "Not you, Marta. I mean. Of course."

"You're drunk," Nigel observed from her other ear, amused.

"Shhh! Maybe a bit," she admitted, her features pinching and pricking at a reluctant grin. In the background of Nigel's line, there came another faint muffle of sound, as of someone talking. "... who are you with?"

"Mmm? A client. Just a second, darling." The phone retreated from his ear with a rustle, though she could still pick up dregs of their conversation:

What's this, then?

Please...'ve got...

Should... before...

While she was still struggling, inebriated, to make out the nature of the interaction, she heard an explosive "--CHSSZZH!" just before Nigel picked the phone back up.

"Bless. Are you still sneezing?" That was strange, wasn't it? She could scarcely recall him doing so more than a handful of times, since they'd met. Did he have allergies? Moreover, why did that very thought make her reflexively smile and feel warm from the inside out?

Nigel could barely respond, but for the verging, "--ah-CHSZSCHH!" of another sneeze, this one close enough that the feedback popped and blared in her ear. He sniffled deeply through the resultant static before at last responding. "It happens," he said, bemused and perhaps a touch uncertain, the rarest emotion she knew in his repertoire.

Not to you, she wanted to say, but held her tongue. "Gesundheit," she offered instead, and distantly watched Marta play Fruit Ninja on her phone. The voice in the background drifted up again, sounding plaintive this time, nearly begging. Her smile faded, and sobriety suddenly threatened the edges of her buzz with its cold, hard fingers. She squeezed her eyes shut. "Your client sounds..." She hesitated, listening to him sniffle through an otherwise expectant silence. "Nigel, you're not... hurting anyone, right?"

Gabriella had some idea that Nigel hadn't collected all of his scars and his bearing by a series of misfortunes, being in the wrong place at the wrong time. She was a bad man, she knew it and had known it, but he was a good man to her. She tried to keep the whole shape of the predator always in her blind spot, lest she shatter her illusion. The lies she told herself tasted less bitter than the ones he offered, and moments like these, forced to confront the very near reality of the situation, always hit her a little hard.

"Wouldn't dream of it, darling." Behind him, the tone turned quieter, nearly whimpering, and her stomach curdled. She doubted Nigel knew how much she could hear over the line. Or maybe he did, and didn't care. He was so fucking hard to read, sometimes, much less predict. "Listen, I've got to take care of something, but stop by mine when you're done, alright? I could really use the company."

"I'll be along," she offered, as neutrally as she could, while feeling wholly spooked. There was no way in hell she could see him tonight, with the images now running through her head.

After he'd hung up, she sucked a breath in through her nose and looked down at her blank homescreen, contemplating her life's choices. Worst of it was, perhaps, admitting her own stupidity to herself -- knowing full well that even if her man truly was a monster, it wouldn't send her running. She could tame a monster.

Just... not tonight. Maybe not for a few nights. She needed to remember how to be her own person, too.

When Marta looked up, sensing a shift in her mood, if not her plans, it was with a hesitant smile. "Do you need to go?"

"No," Gabi said after a beat, shaking her head. "No, let's do another round."

---

She didn't stop by his, not that night or the one following, despite how quiet and lonely the apartment felt without him. She'd already grown used to the shape of him in her life: sprawled on her sofa with his head in her lap while they sniped at talk shows, moving through her kitchen and putting it to better use than she had in months as he cooked her the only meal she'd remember to eat that day, his quiet and shut-eyed reverence whenever she played.

Fuck.

Clingy would never be a word she used to describe Nigel, but by the third day, she had three or four missed calls from his number stacked up in her phone. He never left voicemail, but she did get the rare gesture of a text shortly after having lunch with her father.

1:12 PM: If I didn't know better, I'd think you were avoiding me, darling.

She drew a breath and contemplated a reply, but balked at the last moment when Viktor fixed her with a long, measuring look, projecting parental judgment. She couldn't, not quite yet.

---

That evening, she finally broke down and tapped the familiar name in her contacts list, listening to it ring. She blinked when it went over to voicemail, then tried again to the same automated chorus. She glanced at the clock, considered whether he was ignoring her on purpose, then felt her heart clench at the possibility that he was already afield, doing his terrible work.

Then, to her surprise, she felt the tension in her chest release again. And so what? She had the evening free and the following day clear of any rehearsals or social obligations. He'd made her a copy of his key a couple weeks ago, a gesture of both trust and good faith. Now was as fair a time as any to test her mettle against him.

Just in case, however, she packed up her cello before headed to the metro station. Then, just in extra case, she took the stop for Nan Jing en route to pick up their usual takeaway orders. Soup with shrimp and bamboo shoots for him, loaded with enough chili to make her eyes water at the smell alone. Crispy duck for her.

Nigel owned a very handsome flat just around the corner from an independent cinema. She never might have guessed from the front door what kind of man went slithering or stalking out from it every night. It already felt familiar to her, and though she gave a cursory knock at his door, she was holding the paper bag of their dinner between her teeth as she flicked through her key ring. Her place, her father's home, her locker at the opera house, and at last, Nigel's....

Suddenly, a lock clicked and the door swept inward. Gabi glanced up, startled and still as a doe in the headlights as Nigel materialized from the gloom. At least he seemed equally surprised to see her, if hazily so.

"Gabi," he greeted, more frankly than his typical pet names tacked onto the end of a charismatic, leonine rumble.

With an awkward shuffle of limbs, she took the paper bag from out her mouth and pocketed the jingle of her keys. "Sorry," she bleated at once. "I know I've been... things have been so busy, but I really missed you."

It spilled out faster and harder than she'd meant, but it barely seemed to register on Nigel's face. Nigel who, in fact, looked glassy-eyed and disoriented, with a day's worth of salt-and-pepper beard shadow texturing his jaw. His expression held the haze of the woefully drunk or the recently high, with a sheen of unshed tears that threatened to spill. The raw redness beneath his nose was even more telling, sore as if under the assault of constant and knuckling abuse. She'd never seen him look so disheveled and vulnerable, especially as a shiver rolled through him. Especially as he leaned back from the door, expression crumpling, to sneeze an exhausted "--dtchsszhh-ue!" behind it. What the fuck, was he using?

Regret for visiting at all spiked hard through her, but fast on its tail was a spat of rage. What else didn't she know about this man who'd been eating up all her time and her heart? Letting her ire catch and kindle, Gabriella brushed roughly past him and into the flat. Nigel made no move to stop her, although he did linger there for a few wary seconds before easing the door shut and trailing after her.

"How long has this been going on?" She demanded coolly as she set her cello down by the dining room table, and the bag of food a little less gently.

"A few days," he guessed in a voice almost completely ruined, despite the recurring efforts to clear it.

Her hands twisted around the back of a chair as she glared down at his table and the mail accumulated on it, trying to choose her words. So, maybe a recent habit, or else a relapse. She knew so little of what kind of man he'd been, before they met, or maybe even the one he was still keeping hidden from her. "You need to tell me these things."

"Didn't think I needed to spell it out for you," he said, with just enough bite that she whirled on him with a scowl.

"You're not the center of my whole fucking universe," she lied, "and I've been more than a little distracted! God, you drive me so crazy, sometimes, Nigel..."

In the dim shadow of the dining room, he approached her, jaw down and shoulders broad. Even with glazed eyes and the shakes, she had the sudden, wild image of how he presented himself to other people, and why all the ugly shirts in the world couldn't hide it. She took a reflexive step back, then another, until he had her pinned to the wall with suggestion alone, hands still loose at his sides but leaning close. "Gabi, as beautiful as you are when you're angry, I am absolutely not in the fucking mood for this."

Despite his towering loom over her, how very small she suddenly felt in comparison, she held fast to her temper. She refused to let it melt into fear in his heat. His very real heat.

Wait.

Her venomous glare subsided into confusion as she crept a hand cautiously up between them, hitching towards the side of his neck. The moment his tattoo disappeared beneath her palm and she registered the scalding fever bare against her skin, she startled. "You're burning up!" Gabi exclaimed, before cross checking with the back of her hand to his brow. All of the implied danger slid out of Nigel's frame as he leaned shut-eyed into her touch, once more a tame and malleable thing. He shivered again, as though her observation had reminded him of how out of sorts his internal thermostat was.

"Come here," she soothed, anger extinguished and control plucked neatly, if accidentally back as she tugged him towards the sofa. "Get off your feet, what's this all about?"

He went willingly to her herding touches, and heaped down into a listless sprawl of muscle and hurt.. Before he could respond, however, his spent posture transitioned to one of wavering anticipation, shoulders tilted back and his big, terrible hands hovering towards his face. Gabriella settled down beside him and cinched her brows as she watched the sneeze weaken the edges of his features, flare the arch and reddened shapes of his nostrils. Ugh, this one was going to be...

"--udt'CHSSIZZCHH-ue!"

...impressive.

While Nigel sank back again with hands still steepled over his nose, sniffling himself back into some sort of presentable state, she took stock of the living room tableau. On the coffee table, there was no drug paraphernalia, but a box of heavily depleted tissues and a pack of decongestants with several pills missing from their blisters. The ash tray looked like it hadn't used for days, and the nearby trashcan was near to overflowing with a sea of crumpled white.

Realization struck so suddenly that she felt like the bottom had practically dropped out of her reality.

"Nigel," she cringed, already feeling the riptide of guilt beginning to surge in. "Do you have a cold?"

He squinted at her muzzily over his hands before lowering them at last. The edges of his nostrils were still flush and slick on their insides, flashing as he sniffled with effort. "What the fuck have we been talking about for the past five minutes?"

Gabi sank forward until her brow rested on his bicep with a groan. Suddenly, it all made too much sense. The heady daze wasn't from a comedown, but from the fever cooking away under his skin. The eruptive sneezing was not from plunging into a fountain with her, some unmasked allergy, or snorting anything he shouldn't be, but the fault of a constant, viral runniness scourging the insides of his poor sinuses. Fuck, he'd even told her as much a few nights ago, hadn't he? What she'd chalked up to the beginnings of a hangover was probably the first tickling inclination of this all settling in, and she had completely brushed it off. No small wonder he'd been phoning her so often, in sorer want of her attention than usual. How long had he been grouchily slogging through this on his own?

It all still felt an idea so surreal, so completely beyond the pale that it hadn't even blipped on her radar. Nigel didn't get sick. It just...didn't happen.

"I thought you were on something," she muffled into his arm. To her surprise, he choked out a croaky laugh.

"What?" He wrinkled his nose up with another massive sniffle as she righted herself and stretched for the tissue box. "I've been sneezing my fucking lungs out since Saturday, and you thought I was using?"

"It somehow seemed the more likely scenario," she admitted as she gathered several sheets in hand and offered them across. "You're... I don't know, loverboy. You're you. Completely bulletproof. If you weren't sitting right here looking like hell, I don't think I could even imagine you sick."

Nigel blew his nose strenuously for several seconds while he mulled that over, though it sounded as though the back of his nose was already inflamed enough to limit his success. "Bulletproof," he mused afterwards, and sighed. "If only."

She picked up one of his hands in both of hers, giving it a good squeeze before bringing his palm up to cradle her jaw. "I'm so sorry, Nigel. I would have taken care of you."

His brow wrinkled with the appearance of some surprise, as though the idea were a novelty. "Is that so?"

"Of course. I mean, I still will, I'm just angry at myself for blowing you off when..." She gestured helplessly.

He sighed again, but at length said, "Water under the bridge," and seemed to mean it. Not for the first time, she wondered if his mood was just that mercurial, or if she held that much sway over him. It was a thought both intimidating and, shame as she might have been to admit it, more than a little attractive.

"Let me make it up to you, at least," she bid, turning to nuzzle his palm as his thumb stroked the arch of her cheek.

"And what does that entail?" He prompted, though he seemed content enough to subsist entirely on her attention.

Gabi snorted softly, and let a smirk hook the corner of her mouth. "Well, nothing that you have the energy for, if that's what you're thinking." He chuckled, though it turned over into a cough that left him crushed into a free hand for several jagged seconds. Gabi wilted, feeling terrible all anew.

"Ah, the spirit is willing," he agreed when it had passed, now twice as hoarse and nearly unintelligible for the slur of his words. "But the flesh..."

"Rain check," she promised, then took his jaw in both hands and sealed a kiss to his brow, hating how hot it felt against her lips. "Stay here," she ordered, and rose. "I did have a bit of accidental foresight, at least."

Nigel complied, curious yet patient as she rounded through his flat, taking stock of what she had to work with. He seemed to be on his last or perhaps only box of tissues, but there was a tiny market around the corner that she was fairly certain stayed open at all hours. She was not opposed to making a supply run.

In a bit, though. She found a box of tea somewhere at the far back of one cabinet, and honey enough to get through a few cups. As she rattled out a kettle and set it to boiling, she went hunting down a spare blanket. Nigel watched her weave back and forth with something like wondering amusement. He followed her with little turns of his head, although he remained obediently in place. When she returned from the bedroom with a throw, he accepted it with a grunt.

"Do you own a thermometer?"

"I doubt it."

She added that to the mental list as she went mincing back into the kitchen. From behind her, she heard the sudden, loud curl of an inhale and winced in preparation.

"--CHSZISSCH!"

Nigel owned a sharp, wet sneeze by nature, somewhat animalistic in its flurrying sound, but it seemed twice as awful with the influence of his cold. She glanced back, sympathetic, to find him folding his nose into one hand and scrubbing through abject misery.

"Bless you," she offered, "You're breaking my heart over here."

He squinted his eyes open at her, damp and a little surprised at either her blessing or her comment. "And you're going to spoil me, talking like that."

"Hm," she said as she stirred a heavy dosage of honey into the bubbling steep of tea. She licked the spoon clean afterwards. "I think you could do with some spoiling."

She brought both mugs and the takeaway bag back to the couch with her at last, and did not miss his look of soul-deep appreciation when she cracked the lid of the plastic soup container.

"I take it back, spoil away."

Gabi smirked to herself, but leaned out from the waft of steam with a cough. "I don't know how you eat this stuff, I think the paint's going to peel off the walls for how much chili they put in."

"Good, maybe it will be the first thing I can taste in two days."

"I'm not sure I even want to ask the last time you ate," she frowned, but plucked up her container of duck and squirmed back up against his side, gathering them both under the blanket. He could be very cuddly, in the right mood, and this one seemed to have shifted for the better. This, she thought, was not bad. This was ugly-shirt and familiar-takeaway and inside-joke Nigel, and she could certainly love a man like that. If he was a very different creature in the world beyond, well.

She'd have to think on that. Put a pin in the whole thing. Just for now.

"I can hear your mind whirring away," Nigel observed.

"Shut up and eat," she scolded, and flicked the television on. "We'll talk later."

He seemed to accept the answer, and they ate through the comfortable lie for a while, until she at last admitted defeat and pushed her container away with one foot. He didn't fare much better, but the steam and the sting of chili did seem to have done their job of opening up his sinuses. As they readjusted their recline, her tucked up in the brace of his arms with her shoulderblades against his ribs, she listened to the constant, soft tickle of his sniffling and snuck a hand out for the tissue box.

It proved to be a fortunate bit of prudence, when his sniffles became shaking inhales instead.

"I'd be -- hh-hh! ... uhdt-chsshh!" He sneezed to one side and jostled her tightly in place, where she lay snuggled very contentedly against him. "I'd be conservative with those, gor-- hh!"

"Gesundheit. There isn't a finite amount of tissues in the world, I'll get more," she hummed, as she plucked one free.

"--ht'CHSSH-ue!"

"And again, bless you."

"You don't -- aht'CHSSHH!" The release glittered in the backglow of the television as he turned aside, and his arm clenched against her. "You don't have to say that every time, you'll wear yourself out," he said through a grimacing sniffle afterwards, though he grudgingly ducked towards the folded square of white she held up. He let her wipe his nose clean with far more care than he exacted on himself, blotting gingerly at the angled shape of either nostril.

"Not before you do. Also, get used to it. I'm not going anywhere."

It seemed to both quiet him and soften his humor considerably. Thereafter, he tucked into her neck and pressed to it languid, intermittent kisses in between sniffles that flickered wetly at bare skin. He turned away only to occasionally grit his nose into her blanket-covered shoulder, breath shuddering in relief each time. Her eyelids twitched, stark and painted-black like a mask he never had trouble seeing beneath, and her throat clicked with a swallow. Definitely, definitely not going anywhere.

"That sounds like it itches," she observed, gentle. He nodded blearily against her, and she felt rather than saw him wrinkle his upper lip with coming distress.

"hh...hh... hhHH...!" Her shoulders rose along with the spread of his chest. Just as her hands were tightening in his beneath the covers, however, bracing herself, it gusted back out of him in a well of frustration. He groaned against her, and it went right to her core. She gave his hand a sympathetic squeeze and stared blankly at the tv, trying not to process the sweet, sticky feeling inside her, or where that had come from.

It pooled like honey under her stomach when, a few moments later, he buried himself against one shoulder and she felt his inhales jagging in again, wild and wanting.

"Nigel," she lamented, when it left him again, to another throaty sound of frustration. "Killing me."

"Mm," he managed to laugh against her, through the tug of a hefty sniffle. "This is the way it goes, unfortunately."

"What, eventually they start running away from you?" She grinned back. "You're intimidating even to your sneeze."

He jostled her on purpose this time, chiding. "I'm not intimidating."

She laughed aloud this time. "Please, of course you are. Not to me, though," she hummed, sitting up and turning enough to face him, now more or less straddling his lap. Her fingertips twined at the nape of his neck, and she leaned to rest her brow against his. "I'm not afraid of you."

"Maybe you should be," he murmured, even as his nose gave a slight, crinkling twitch to the brush of hers against it.

"Probably, but we've established that I'm an insolent bitch and don't always make good life choices. Case in point," she added, as she reached a fingertip up to give his damp, sore septum a lazy prod, massaging it slightly in place.

His breath snarled in almost immediately, expression seized into a look of terrible desire with nostrils curved wide open and eyes creasing shut. Gabi coiled her arms tighter, fixing around as shoulders as his body lurched hard a moment later.

"--Uh! ... --hdt'CHFSSZHHHhh!" He muffled explosively into the spot between shoulder and breast. She rested her cheek against him and breathed out shakily to feel the dampness already wicking through cotton. Fuck, why was that so...

"HHH!" Nigel inhaled loudly, and gritted tighter into her still. "--UH'CHFSHH'ue!!

That one had been less drawn out, but still strong enough to make the sofa shake. The tension melted out of him afterwards, groaning as he scrubbed his nose into her.

"If nothing else," she observed with affection, "I am good as your personal tissue." He paused against her, debating, but she scruffed her nails against his scalp, undeterred. "I am the opposite of minding." He went back to itching through his relief. At last, though, he sat up to accept an actual handful of soft white, clearing the rest of his sluicing congestion out into it while she smoothed back his hair.

"That's almost the last of them," she observed when he finished, seeming enormously unburdened by both itches and stuffiness. "Think you can get some sleep while I make a supply run, gorgeous?" She turned his own nickname back on him, fond and playful.

"Hm, maybe. Play me something," he bargained, with a glance to where she'd abandoned her cello.

Edited September 12, 2015 by Garnet

[snuffles]

Please please pleeeease tell me there's a continuation??? Ugh my heart strings cannot take it! Feels!

I simply cannot comment anymore except for this:

"Nigel," she cringed, already feeling the riptide of guilt beginning to surge in. "Do you have a cold?"

He squinted at her muzzily over his hands before lowering them at last. The edges of his nostrils were still flush and slick on their insides, flashing as he sniffled with effort. "What the fuck have we been talking about for the past five minutes?"

Ahahaha!!

[TaurielRiver]

Can I just say how happy I am forever and always that I frolicked away with you into the sunset dragged you kicking and screaming back into this thing?! This is THE piece that this most infinitely surreal and star-crossed-tragic couple deserved, and I could not be more glad (or honoured, or eternally touched and overwhelmed!) that you wrote it.

My heart was seriously all together breaking and overjoyed at every turn of this (FILM, FILM, SOUND FAMILIAR!), your writing is the epitome of how to capture core concepts about each of these characters and their whole world in subtle nuances and ideas, never giving too much away and at the same time, always making me realise there is so much more to every moment.

Enough of the vodka stood empty that Gabriella sent up a little cosmic prayer for the state of her liver, come morning. The thin level left ringing the base laid testament to the murky pleasure occluding her brain, along with her inability to give one single, solitary fuck in the world.

So much beauty and violence in just the opening sentences, this hits on so many of my favourite Countryman-universe-muses, namely the centrality of the Cathedral in the heart of corruption, and Gabi’s being in that stage of life and love where it’s all hedonistic darkness and freefalling. I am there and here all over again! Also, the reference to Nigel’s possessive affection and their intimacy being filthy and wrung out is so appropriate given what is only the start of their all-consuming vortex, but yet gentle enough that I can totally believe how right it feels.

Nigel spoke Romanian as fluently as any native, he'd pinned Bucharest by the throat and made it entirely his own,

I am enjoying this both on the level of am TOTALLY hearing Mads’s Nigel’s voice right now, but also such a visceral allusion to his relentless, effortless hold over people and situations that just keeps me wholly uneasy and at the edge of my seat! Also, “ghosted” a hand… completely artful and lithe and exactly how she moves, but yet this keeps me in a semi-spooked state about the whole affair too? So many states of mind to indulge! And then his playful "Are you giving me the boot?" …such a sweet little expression for Mr. Don’tYouFuckingMessWithMe-Pants, and also awwwuhhh, he so doesn’t want his marching orders right now! :3

It was a game they had started a few months ago, when she'd poked fun at his stark, intimidating wardrobe that showed off the hard lines of his muscles and his tattoos. She'd presented him with one of the ugliest and most non-threatening shirts she could find a week or two later -- both to see if he would humor her by wearing it, and if the ridiculous Dachshund print would soften his natural menace any. He did, and it didn't. She was privately delighted by both.

One of my FAVOURITE things that can possibly be done in a fiction (now accelerated tenfold by the fact that it is YOU and THESE characters and THIS film!) is taking some odd and not-even mentioned quirk of the original source and creating the most moving and too-gorgeous-for-it-not-to-be-true backstory. You brought this to life in such a way that all of what happens in the real deal MAKES SO MUCH SENSE NOW. I cried like an idiot when I read this, it was horrible. :c

And Nigel being brought to heel by such an inconsequential gesture of fondness…(doooing-up of buttons nooo) is just one of those tiny details that make this whole thing unforgettable. So so small also, but I am completely smitten by the fact that they both blinked at each other after his sneeze! :x Such an adorable little hitch in the moment, and as well as me just melting over the fact Nigel was accidentally-induced, I cannot get over the visual of it, so precious!!

"Feeling alright?"

"Not really."

Ohhh Gabiiii. This is where I just want to come barging in with a French horn blasting the seventh symphony of misunderstandings because UGH BABIES, especially looking at you, will-not-say-it-but-can-you-just-please-know? NIGEL. I also love how he is legitimately nonplussed at realising he won’t get fussed-over, but obviously wants the best for her through all that too.

"Your man?" Marta guessed, and earned herself a small, reflexive smile. Yes.

"My man," he agreed, settling into a wrought-iron chair. Marta heaped herself into one nearby, drawing deep through paper and ash.

"Is he a good one?"

"Oh, no," she sighed, the corners of her lips wryly upturned. "He's a monster, through and through."

Getting introduced to Marta and this whole exchange was wonderful, you know I’m a sucker for the charismatic side-characters! Her beatnik (beeeen there done that) calm (I felt weirdly reassured in the midst of all this chaos too!) was so charming, aaaand GIRL TALK, GIRL TALK. 8DD

"It's not late for me," Nigel reminded her. "Or you."

Again, this is just one of these snatches of dialogue that is just so tantalising and evocative and HIM that I can just hear the syllables as we speak! And purling voice too, I have the shivers!

"Shhh! Maybe a bit," she admitted

Gabi, you are the cutest!!

distantly watched Marta play Fruit Ninja on her phone

HeeeHEEEE okay I won’t sink any deeper into my mushy-mush but eeeEEEe FRUIT NINJA!

“I could really use the company."

This because oh god, I can’t relist commemorating every moment where I was just holding-my-breath-in-feelings-agony-HELP, but I am also completely allured and disquieted by your mention of whether or not Nigel knows or cares how much she can hear on the other end of the phone. I could honestly see it working both ways, and I am so so drawn in to this whole plotline as a result.

Aaaand sooooo, everything that happens after Gabi arrives at his apartment is only JUST becoming not a blur of delirious emotions to me right now, so stuff that I haven’t already screamed to you about iiiiis:

NIGEL COVERING WITH BOTH HANDS OMG HE DIDN’T (and having a number of seconds in recovery hhhnnnghhhhhh)

Gabi asking if he has a cold (OKAY I HAVE NO EXPLANATION FOR WHY I WANT TO MARRY THIS ENQUIRY, JUST KNOW THAT I DO)

"What the fuck have we been talking about for the past five minutes?" Hahahahaha nooooothing? Your cold! Obvs!

"not from plunging into a fountain with her" …. Gabi, just letting you know you are not the only one feeling guilty here!!

"I've been sneezing my fucking lungs out since Saturday” >> Blatant acknowledgement of THING plus his harsh phrasing of this is so wildly, messily, destructively appealing so me, it’s slightly insane. Also, I am just so cryhappee over Nigel finding the humour in her running away with this (not totally left-field) intense assumption, it’s the “misunderstanding make-up” and it is my weakness! Every time, every time. T_T

"You're breaking my heart over here." The most lovely, the most wrenching, THE MOST.

Comfortable-with-you-sneeze-fit whilst tucked up on couch, and then she wipes his nose, and he acquiesces with hardly any reluctance (he SOoo liked the fuss, terrifying and terrible… bebe. ) I have already reread this part twenty times I could read this again and again!

"I'm not intimidating." The fact that he pretty much just teasingly acknowledged HE SO IS… the sweetest thing I have ever heard? You have such a handle on all their banter, it is delightful and more!

Forehead-to-forehead (whilst on lap at that!!), another of the most adorable visuals I will just never not think of with them now!!

Parts I and II combo-sound, aaaaaaa (and on that topic, this whole scenario and dampness, is basically me sealed and delivered straight to Valhalla, I’lllll SEE U THERE! 8D)

"Fuck. She loved him. She really, really loved him". And it is so beautifully, hauntingly clear exactly how this is so true. Such a breathtakingly ominous and significant ending, on the cusp of night, darkness, everything beyond. I am so inspired and completely speechless IN ALL BUT MY LOVERAVINGS ABOVE. In a line, this was amazing, you are amazing. <33

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

Sigh...I don't know anything about this couple or the movie or anything, except Garnet you write so beautifully. Thank you. I love the big, strong man felled by the common cold. I particularly enjoyed that Gabi thought more nefarious things were afoot than mere illness for her lover. Wonderful story, thank you again.

[Salamander]

Yeah, what scw said. I'm swooning.

[meepsy]

Soo coming off reading TaurielRiver's wonderful story, can you imagine how excited I was to see a Garnet fic days later for characters I now have an immense love for, despite never seeing the movie of their origin?? The answer is way more excited than is probably at all reasonable!!!!

Here are the parts I especially loved, because you -- like TaurielRiver -- use words just so cleverly that I have to fangirl about them at least a little bit!! :D

Stirring herself at last through pangs of regret and the first shadowed warnings of a hangover, Gabi peeled herself from his arm and rolled until she faced him. Her expression creased with a melange of pride and dismay.

"We're disgusting."

Without opening his eyes, Nigel's mouth hooked hard to one side, creasing up his features in a manner that she found roguish, rakish, and terrible. The gesture only cemented her resolve to get gone from this magnetic influence.

"Where is the fun, otherwise?" He shifted to press his mouth along the elegant scaffolding of her jaw, then to the warm spot just behind, the one that always made her toes scrunch. "You could slog through a mud pit and still be gorgeous on the other side."

This whole exchange was passage was really evocative of both Gabi and Nigel's moods and their respective feeling about recent, uh... activities In particular, I get a real kind of dangerous vibe from Nigel behind his smooth talk. Like I said, I have no idea what happens in the movie at all, but my impression is that this intrigued wariness I've developed for him is well warranted.

"Because you always do," she hummed, as the support leeched out of his muscles and his head sank to her breast. She couldn't decide if it was calculated or compulsive, but her heart still ached either way. She turned her cheek into the ash-pale tangle of his hair and tried to rally her defenses.

He surprised her when, after many minutes of reluctant lounging between them, he shifted his weight against her and groaned. His nose twitched with another single, rabbitish sniffle. "I feel godawful."

Ugh, I am done in by so many parts of this "support leeched out of her muscles" is just lovely, and his sniffle? And then that whine?? Ahh! Be still my heart!!

He did, and it didn't. She was privately delighted by both.

Ahhh I'm dying!!! You are SO good at tying up paragraphs in tight, witty little packages. Such finesse!

"Your man?" Marta guessed, and earned herself a small, reflexive smile. Yes.

"My man," he agreed, settling into a wrought-iron chair. Marta heaped herself into one nearby, drawing deep through paper and ash.

"Is he a good one?"

"Oh, no," she sighed, the corners of her lips wryly upturned. "He's a monster, through and through."

Did I meantion that you are really good at dialogue, too? Because you are reeeeaaallly good at dialogue. Especially Gabi's last, hinting comment -- it gave me shivers and makes me wonder what Nigel's whole deal is. Because obviously there's some kind of deal here. I should really just watch the movie, huh?

"Wouldn't dream of it, darling." Behind him, the tone turned quieter, nearly whimpering, and her stomach curdled. She doubted Nigel knew how much she could hear over the line. Or maybe he did, and didn't care. He was so fucking hard to read, sometimes, much less predict. "Listen, I've got to take care of something, but stop by mine when you're done, alright? I could really use the company."

Shivers again, but more like omg what is going ON??? Ahh, wow, these string of dialogue are just so perfectly unsettling. Wow. *shudders

Just in case, however, she packed up her cello before headed to the metro station. Then, just in extra case, she took the stop for Nan Jing en route to pick up their usual takeaway orders. Soup with shrimp and bamboo shoots for him, loaded with enough chili to make her eyes water at the smell alone. Crispy duck for her.

AHAHA YES. Your take-out food descriptions are a personal fave of mine

It spilled out faster and harder than she'd meant, but it barely seemed to register on Nigel's face. Nigel who, in fact, looked glassy-eyed and disoriented, with a day's worth of salt-and-pepper beard shadow texturing his jaw. His expression held the haze of the woefully drunk or the recently high, with a sheen of unshed tears that threatened to spill. The raw redness beneath his nose was even more telling, sore as if under the assault of constant and knuckling abuse. She'd never seen him look so disheveled and vulnerable, especially as a shiver rolled through him. Especially as he leaned back from the door, expression crumpling, to sneeze an exhausted "--dtchsszhh-ue!" behind it.

ahhhh omgggg. Dying dead gone goodbye. Wow that description hit SO many of my buttons. Nigel, you poor, sweet (still pretty creepy) baby!!!!! ^o^

And, then like EVERYTHING THAT FOLLOWS. Seriously this is like all I could ever ever want in a cold fic! Siiiiiigh!!!

While Nigel sank back again with hands still steepled over his nose, sniffling himself back into some sort of presentable state, she took stock of the living room tableau. On the coffee table, there was no drug paraphernalia, but a box of heavily depleted tissues and a pack of decongestants with several pills missing from their blisters. The ash tray looked like it hadn't used for days, and the nearby trashcan was near to overflowing with a sea of crumpled white.

Realization struck so suddenly that she felt like the bottom had practically dropped out of her reality.

"Nigel," she cringed, already feeling the riptide of guilt beginning to surge in. "Do you have a cold?"

!!

"Bless you," she offered, "You're breaking my heart over here."

He squinted his eyes open at her, damp and a little surprised at either her blessing or her comment. "And you're going to spoil me, talking like that."

"Hm," she said as she stirred a heavy dosage of honey into the bubbling steep of tea. She licked the spoon clean afterwards. "I think you could do with some spoiling."

She brought both mugs and the takeaway bag back to the couch with her at last, and did not miss his look of soul-deep appreciation when she cracked the lid of the plastic soup container.

"I take it back, spoil away."

!!

"You don't -- aht'CHSSHH!" The release glittered in the backglow of the television as he turned aside, and his arm clenched against her. "You don't have to say that every time, you'll wear yourself out," he said through a grimacing sniffle afterwards, though he grudgingly ducked towards the folded square of white she held up. He let her wipe his nose clean with far more care than he exacted on himself, blotting gingerly at the angled shape of either nostril.

"Not before you do. Also, get used to it. I'm not going anywhere."

x 1000!!!!

And then she plays him to sleep???!! Agh omg. Too much. Cannot even deal. The end was a lovely little backstep into creepyville too. I guess I did need reminding that Nigel isn't as harmless as his current state suggests!!

Ah I went way overboard, but I really did just love this so much!!! Thanks for sharing this. Ship NigelxGabi has a new member in its crew, that's for darn sure!!!

[Oolia]

My god, Garnet, I hope you know just how incredibly talented you are. I just can't believe our luck that you share our fetish and give us these AMAZING fics. There's really no word for it (since you'd probably say it a millionth times better anyway )

I just... this entire fic is so much swoon, my bones have turned to mush and I'm just floating in the wind.