Can't Put You to Sleep - (The Necessary Death of Charlie Countryman, M)

[TaurielRiver]

Two weeks ago, I scrambled to write a The Necessary Death of Charlie Countryman fic, and then Garnet wrote this most beautiful and poignant follow-on (which is an amazing piece in itself, and totally can and should be read as a stand-alone!) Soooo now it is my pleasure to (with all the love!) completely dishonour her with a sequel also. Thank you, darling, for all the wailing and flailing (mostly caused by your fic and those damn hideous shirts- STILL NOT OVER IT), this one’s for you.

No film spoilers, does contain language and drug references.

Can't put you to sleep

(it can all turn to blood in the blink of an eye)

The Necessary Death of Charlie Countryman

Gabriella / Nigel (M)

She jogged down the narrow street, sidestepping the buskers and single-origin aficionados. The line to the hole-in-the-wall espresso bar still dribbled round the gutter well past midnight, the kind of place you could pay double to drink from a repurposed jam jar. She wondered if she might one day coax Nigel into trying something of that order too. Froth and chocolate dusting at the very least. The incongruent image played out in her head, before she tucked it fondly back away. If she ever suggested such a thing, he’d probably start having them delivered night and noon.

The corner-store was barely more than a few blocks. It look her another couple before she realised she’d missed it completely. Strange. Turning heel, she powered back toward the cinema, her satchel bouncing against her knees as she skipped around the last-session chatter. It was the bottle-green awning that caught her eye, darker than she remembered though. Hadn’t this been the one? Like most of the storefront facades, the neoclassical scrapings of last century had been reworked to something lighter and brighter. Not tonight though. Instead, she was welcomed by a scrap of paper tacked to the inside of the glass.

înapoi în cinci!

She peered past the scrawl. Nothing about the musty dark looked five minutes to her- even the refrigerated goods display seemed to be on the blink. Frustrated, she wandered back into the road, weighing her options. She was familiar with the tourist commentary on the lack of Bucharest taxis. It just wasn’t something she’d agreed with until she needed one. Pulling out her purse, she scuffed through the mish-mash of business cards, thumbing Gabriel’s to the surface. It was hardly too late for a driver call-out, and, though she doubted he’d accept it, she was well prepared for a suitably generous tip. Snagging the card between her teeth, she dug out her failing Nokia, not far off a prayer for the battery as she flipped back the case.

1 New Message.

1:08am: So sorry darling. A bit of business to take care of. Encore when I get back?

Slowly, she clicked the plastic cover back in place. She felt unusually winded, and altogether more keyed-up than when the thought of driving halfway across town for a box of tissues seemed reasonable. When I get back was not a matter of course when it came to Nigel- it was as likely that he meant one hour as twelve. And yet it didn’t seem fair to expect him to take greater care of himself. She had, after all, done no better.

Her lackluster lasted the whole of a heartbeat, before she snapped open the phone a second time. Damned if she was going to sit around his apartment, waiting for him to finish up whatever nefarious activity had necessitated such an ill-timed departure. Damned if she was even going to ask what it was. And, the slimmer thought crept in, damned if I want to get back to see that table empty.

She punched-in Gabriel’s number, a little harder than necessary. She was going to need that lift after all.

-

“Aici, aici!” she fluttered a hand, shouting over the crackle of the off-peak newscast. “This is it!”

Gabriel slammed on the breaks with the usual gusto, not for the first time making her thankful he had finally installed seatbelts.

“They changed the sign” he mused, thrusting his head out the window.

“You are making a joke.” Gabi replied, not entirely unamused as she gathered up forty Leu. The bland metal paneling stared back, a remnant of one of many unfinished construction projects that fondled up to the heritage and high-rises. Like all that came to matter in her city, the Marco Polo Youth Hostel got by on reputation alone.

She stepped out, giving the cab door the obligatory slam to make sure it closed.

“I’m on until the breakfast talkie if you’re having an early one.” He raised a hand in farewell, an unshaven wink as the car tarried back to the main road, the young street urchins looking curiously on.

She turned into the lesser-seen alleyway, affectionately known as the Himalayas for the Tibetan prayer flags strung up amongst the naked bulbs. It had rained on the drive over, matted ride-share flyers now spattered between the bricks and bottle caps. It had been her home, once, for just a few months, and though she didn’t miss the midnight laughter circles and accidental room fires, there was something to be said for all-night conversations with your neighbours when they spoke not a word of English nor Romanian.

“Gabi! I knew you’d be joining us!” Bodgan’s voice backfired over the hubbub, the erratic mix of electronica and hand drumming that kept the place beating dawn and dark. He spread his arms wide as he made for her, fitting a quick salsa round various milk-crates along the way. Finding an enthusiastic grip at her shoulders, he kissed her on both cheeks. “It has been too long!”

She gave an affectionate scoff, nipping his arm as the greeting spilled into a shamelessly oversized embrace. “It has been two weeks. Still in time for a beer.”

Taking her hand, he dragged her toward the check-in nook, artfully weaving through the bare feet and dilated pupils.

“Still in time for many beers, you have much catching up-” he interrupted his train of thought halfway beneath the counter. “Wait, regular beer, or Slovenian import? Because, I can tell you, just one of-”

“Regular beer, regular beer” she waved him back down. “And the blinking light is showing on the cigarette machine, you need to re-stock.”

“Tomorrow, tomorrow!” came the muffled holler. When his head bounced back into view, a handful of bottles and a tobacco pouch followed close behind. She backseated herself next to the postcards and fishbowl of free condoms, popping the twist-tops whilst he rolled a pinch of leaf into a thin paper. With a conspiratorial grin, he kept hold of it with his teeth whilst getting to work on another. She glanced over the gauzy crowd, long enough to catch two suits cutting under the arch of the stairwell, slick as butter.

“You know them?” Bodgan mumbled over the smokes lined up on his lower lip. He struck a match, lighting all three in a single inhale, then looked at the spare in confusion and passed it to the closest backpacker.

“I know who they are” she said, her tone unintentionally sombre. “I do not know what they are doing here.”

Bodgan shrugged, his all-encompassing mi casa, su casa, then, seeing her darkening frown, made an effort to peek up to the mezzanine. “Maybe they came to party?”

“They do not party.”

In truth, it was not Petru or Paul she was worried about, and harbored legitimate doubts they could pick a pocket between them. But where his henchmen went, Darko followed, waiting for whatever guileless creature they flushed out. Darko was, if nothing else, a man who liked to get his hands dirty.

With a sympathetic stare, Bodgan reached a hand behind his stack of unkempt log-books. Waiting until her eyes had almost completely narrowed in suspicion, he paused for suspense, then leisurely drew out the most obnoxious neon-blue cowboy hat she had ever laid eyes on. Grinning, he thrust it on her head, fiddling with the hanging corks around the brim like he hadn’t quite figured out their purpose, and entirely happy to leave it that way.

“Gabi. Everybody parties.”

Her jaw had dropped at the sight of the swinging ornaments, and she whipped it off in disbelief.

“Bodgan.” She took a deep breath. “I absolutely love it.”

He beamed, raising his near-drained bottle and clinking it against her empty one. They sat in contemplative silence for at least a few minutes, mesmerized by the number of guests who failed to notice the cigarette machine was empty, and the few who still failed to notice when they came back for a second or third attempt.

Gabi shook her head in despair. “Seriously, what are you putting in the complimentary tea these days? That guy in the mountaineering shirt looks like he’s having a good time, but his friend looks ready to chew his lip right off.”

“Oh, that’s nothing to do with me, believe me.” Bodgan held his palms up in alarm, though she couldn’t help think it wasn’t the first time he’d noticed the development. Restless, he looked ready to elaborate, then just as suddenly became distracted by a group of overwhelmed faces disembarking beneath the blacklights. Raising a hand, he threw it drastically back and forth until they spotted him, wildly beckoning once he had their attention.

Gabi left him to the check-in, a fuss-free process, but time enough for some reconnaissance. Navigating the unwashed traffic, she cleared the stairs in a few tidy bounds. The balcony was a marketplace of guitarists and card-players, shop-sharing with the inevitable last-minute laundry lines. Petru and Paul did not hunt neatly, and there was no trail of disturbance to tell the story. Perhaps the debt was collected quietly then. It seemed unlikely, given the type of score that warranted a house-call, but you never knew who was staying where.

She wove back down the underpass, the peeling paint barely held together by a decade of graffiti. On a whim, she thought to look for the scrawl she had left some years ago, when Darko’s bar had been too close, her dreams too far. In the wrinkle of the skirting board, beneath a lewd leprechaun and a mojito recipe, she was surprised to see it was still there.

Love is everything anyone has ever said it is.

It wasn’t quite how she remembered phrasing it, but the sentiment gave her a self-conscious twinge of yearning nevertheless, and she found her phone open in her hand before knowing she had reached for it.

No missed calls, no messages.

But he’s fine, she prompted herself. He’s Nigel. Of course he’s fine.

She ran her finger over the faded marker before looking for Bodgan’s All I want for Christmas is Led Zeppelin.

The smile was still warm on her cheeks when she turned back into the foyer, and Darko smiling back at her.

-

She was used to seeing Darko under the red lights, the shattered disco glitter of his livelihood. Beneath the low voltage skylamp, he looked sharper and more disconnected somehow, out of his comfort zone and relishing every second of it. He hadn't bothered to dress down for the visit, cut from the same unwelcome starch as his cronies, all collars and cufflinks and fishhooks. Predictably, he was not alone.

Gabi gave a tight jerk of her chin, her bristle at the intrusion made none the better by the fact that Bodgan was no longer anywhere in sight. She made for him, steeling herself to a casually sardonic grimace. It was only when Darko’s companion turned that she felt the beer sink to the bottom of her stomach, the bubbles straight to her head.

"Hello, gorgeous."

Nigel spoke softly, grazed with hoarseness and apology both. His bloodshot eyes were hardly a standout in the 3am crowd. Her stare flatlined. If he were at all surprised to see her, he didn’t show it. When she could decide if she were furious or relieved, she would start not showing that too.

Darko gave her a thin slice of a smile, an indiscernible zest shaken with something tart. "Gabi, had I known you still frequented, I would have arranged a rendezvous much earlier."

She had never made her former employer aware she once stayed at the Marco Polo, and it was with unsparing friendliness that he let slip he knew anyway.

"Then, what other reason could possibly have made it worth your visit, Darko?” Her inflection was light, sociable, and entirely scathing.

"Unfortunately, tonight it's all work, work, work." The man clapped a hand on Nigel's shoulder, too firm to seem entirely genial. "But I'm sure some of us are here for pleasure."

Nigel looked not to have felt the touch, near salivating with that same contracted aggression. "It is all pleasure to me, Darko."

The man gave a caustic laugh, deeply amused. With a token nod, he slipped back between the pass of pipes. It wasn’t beyond him to consider putting such a sentiment to the test.

Nigel waited until Darko was lost in the milieu, his posture waning as the venom sucked back behind his teeth. With bodies lolling to the rhythm at his left and right, he caged a hand below his nose, coughing toward his chest with an effort that left him reeling.

If any annoyance over his lack of self-preservation lingered, it was abandoned by the time he leant into her for support. A kaftan-cloaked resident turned to Nigel in concern, offering him what looked like a jug of red cordial. Nigel gave him an unfiltered glare in answer, ever more perturbed as this elicited a thumbs up instead of a retreat. He cleared his throat, wincing with the effort, then leant down to kiss her cheek.

“As much as I’d rather be at home with you, this is a close second.”

His tone held a sincerity that caught her off-guard, a world away from the far more loaded exchange. As much as he was making a habit of turning up unannounced, and she was faster making a habit of enjoying it.

“My friend, meu tovarăş, amici mei!”

Nigel jerked beneath her as a spray of beer foam caught him on the arm, and she turned to see a guiltless Bodgan, three Ciucas in one hand, the other held outstretched. Keen to head-off and further impassioned greetings, Nigel relented to shaking Bodgan’s hand, his mouth twisted in his best dilution of a scowl.

“Nigel.”

“Oh, no, you are no stranger here, Nigel!” Bodgan clapped, throwing a frank elbow dangerously close to his side. “Gabi’s told me all about you. Binevenit!”

As much as her friend’s candour had set Nigel on edge, something in the comment seemed to trip him up just as surely, and he faded into that far rarer stillness on seeing her watching.

“I appreciate it. And this is… an excellent establishment.”

Bodgan made a theatrical shrug, flushed as if it were the first compliment his Hostel had ever received. In truth, Gabi knew the place was his paradise in bedlam. Hers too, though perhaps in reverse. It was ever more difficult to tell the difference.

As Nigel grudgingly accepted the local brew, Bodgan leaned into her, far less addled by hops and herbs than his effusiveness let on.

"I wouldn't stay too much longer, babe. Those men you saw before? I think you were right. They’re not here to party."

Craning her neck to the winding balconies above, she saw the swap of furtive glances between the regulars, the jostle of bedsheets off the lines and hurried last barters. Whilst Bodgan seemed to roll with trouble like guests in his sheets, the resident grapevine ran a more pragmatic ship, having often borne the brunt of it. The tourist turnover carried on oblivious, dancing to the gravel of the pinball wifi whilst a couple of shouts rebounded off the concrete.

The throb of silence that followed had several heads tipping toward the source, only to duck on instinct as a stinging clatter and slur of footsteps rang round the exposed landings.

"Time to go!" Bodgan was dodging into the communal kitchen, trying to catch her hand as the less-steady patrons pushed forward.

Unaffected, she let the voltage wash through her consciousness instead. The mania of Darko's club had taught her the difference between a cleanup and a shakedown. Though less dangerous than a police raid, this was boiling far too slow to be benign.

Nigel, meanwhile, had arched toward the commotion with lustful precision, tensing whilst the ricochet of voices charged him with intent. He sprang forward, pelting over the broken glass and swerving around the last unwitting onlookers with feral resolve. He broke over the mezzanine in only a few leaps, taking the corners head-on, running like a T-1000 until the passageway tapered toward a grate splintered with rust. Her pulse whirred hard at her windpipe, and she realised she was keeping pace with him.

He stopped, seizing the metal handle hung from above. The fire service stairs expanded as he pulled down, a relic of the building before its insurgency. Then, with white hot intensity, he strode back toward her. In a rift of a second, she considered whether he dared suggest she leave. Instead, he took her face with both hands, kissing her as if the spitting echoes of Darko’s men were no more than a serenade. She consumed him, senseless and hedonic, pulling until his breath rendered in shallow gasps, until she found herself fighting some exquisite destruction.

A ripple of shrapnel filtered down to the courtyard below, the spindrift of a bullet to the drywall. Nigel flinched, provoked and enticed by the sound, mounting the stairs with renewed urgency. The shaft was barely wide enough to fit one. She waited till he had cleared it, then moved to follow. He reached down, she thought at first to help her, until met with the acute determination in his stare. His hand found the flimsy handle, and he wrenched the grid back into the landing above, twisting the joint so she couldn’t follow. He sank into the fire, never saying a word.

-

She started the walk home angry. By the time she realised her phone battery was dead and her cello still at Nigel’s place, she was exhausted enough to admit she was disappointed. On kicking back the door to her apartment an hour later, all that was left was feeling completely foolish. What the hell had she been thinking, sprinting after Nigel like some bloodhound drawn to the scent?

Clumsily applying some bandaids to her blistered heels, she lay back on her bed, completely spent and just as sleepless. It felt like a comedown, sometimes, those moments just after Nigel. The paint peel on the ceiling blurred between snatches of their conversation, the savage press of his mouth, his last look before he left her behind.

It had near been long enough for her to start hoping he was alright, when the knock at the door brought her achingly back to her senses. Padding across the floorboards, she vaguely remembered agreeing to breakfast with one of her old girlfriends from the club. That wasn’t today though, surely? And it was far too early for any of the neighbours to be inviting her around for a matinee or a chat.

Flicking back the various locks, it wasn’t the first time she had to make do without a peep hole, opening the door on good faith alone.

Nigel answered her stony glare with a drained half-smile, leaning back against the stairwell bannister. He could almost have looked aloof, had he not been gripping so hard.

“I was passing by. Long time no see.”

As much as she wished he had run with her in the opposite direction, she didn’t have it in herself to feel much but heartache. One shaded cleft above his cheekbone was clearly from more than tiredness, and blood from a gash at his neck had already dried over the more garish pattern of his shirt.

“My place isn’t exactly on your way.” Doing her best to play along, her voice sounded more strangled than she intended, though nothing close to the ruin of his.

“Well.” He sniffled, releasing a hand to hover somewhere in front of his face, looking a good deal leakier by the time he let it fall back down. “I have this fucking awful cold, see, and my local corner-store is fucking closed, and I really needed some fucking tissues, and I really missed my fucking crazy girlfriend, and so-” he turned to scrub his nose fiercely against his upper arm. “-I made it on my way.”

With a bleary line of damp left at his sleeve, his knuckles white against the railing, and his best attempt to be coy whilst hardly able to suffer through the consonants, the tightness at her chest seemed like it might almost disappear if she just wrapped her arms around him. Instead, she stood inert, completely overwhelmed.

“Am I allowed to come in?”

She was nearly convinced she was nodding. He stepped carefully forward, hesitated, then turned back around, sneezing full from the waist as if he might not get another chance.

“ehdt’CHSSZCHHHh-ue!"

“Bless you” she said miserably.

He chafed the edge of his wrist sorely beneath his nostrils. He looked far more bruised and disheveled as he eased beneath the overhanging light, if not a little requited by the obvious relief.

“Is that a yes?”

She pressed herself into the doorway to invite him past. Not waiting for her to change her mind, he drooped happily toward her living room, making straight for the two seater couch and spreading himself face-down like it was made for five.

She slackened her head to one side, unable to stop a smile as he raised an arm and held it aloft, hoping she might crawl under.

“Let me just fix the locks.”

“Ngh” he mumbled thickly into the throw rug. “You don’t need the locks when I’m here.”

She let them be, swallowing a sarcastic comment about making sure he hadn’t been followed. Who knew. He did seem like the sort of person who’d have enemies. She just probably wouldn’t bet on their side.

He made an effort to squash up against the back of the couch as she climbed alongside, then promptly flopped his head into her neck. He nudged his nose into the brim of her shirt, no less sweat and smoke-ridden than his own, and she wondered why on earth she hadn’t changed into something more comfortable. She was just about to suggest it, when he reared his head sharply back, turning into the blanket beneath him.

“hdt’CTZHHHH-ue!”

He looked so discomforted on taking a few more unsuccessful gasps that she gently patted her shoulder, inviting him to rearrange. Plainly still sure he was going to sneeze, he wrinkled his nose, then doubtfully settled his ear against her collarbone regardless. Fitting one arm snugly around his back, she used her free hand to pinch lightly above his nostrils. Slowly, she drew her thumb and forefinger up to the bridge, then delicately back to the angular tip. His breath came in a shiver, and he quickly moved a hand to tap her elbow in warning.

“dt-CSZHHhhhhh! …ih…eht-tzSHHhh!”

“God bless” she murmured into his hair, feeling rather satisfied on his behalf. She hadn’t moved completely out of range in time, and though she was fast getting used to the uncompromising nature of Nigel’s sneeze, the harsh scrape of wetness across the back of her hand still came as a surprise. Like too much about him, the unbridled violence of it seemed to leave her strangely intoxicated, and a good deal more awake.

With a contented sniffle, he glanced cagily up at her. “I think your clothes are making me sneeze.”

She gave an indulgent snort, knowing all too well where such a suggestion was leading, and not far off encouraging it. “I think you’re doing a decent job of that all by yourself.”

“Still. You wouldn’t want it to get any worse.”

Grinning she shuffled upright, maneuvering him to sit up too, whilst he made every effort to remain unhelpfully yielding. “You never know” she toyed, her fingertips making short work of his buttons. “It’s pretty cute.”

He twitched an eyebrow, his tone deliberately even. “Like everything about me.”

She made her most withering expression, which evolved into her most ridiculous as he pulled an equally ugly face back, pinching half his mouth to a sneer and scrunching up his nose. He dropped it quick enough, his nostrils left flaring as a result.

“Hold on-” he half-closed his eyes, turning his head “-that wasn’t such a good idea… aht-CHISSZHHHhh!"

He sniffled regretfully down at the couch, then blinked and held his arms out for her to finish taking off his shirt. Gabi stared at him in disbelief, then gave a rather louder laugh than she thought herself capable.

“Gesundheit. So glad you’re right at home in my apartment. Really.” She said it with enough fondness to earn herself a last wipe of his nose at her shoulder, before he snatched off her loose tee and pinned her in the opposite direction. He looked like he was debating whether her lace-singlet was replaceable enough to tear straight off (heaven knows he had made the wrong decision once before), when she realised the cut at his neck in fact snaked all the way down the left of his spine.

“Jesus.” She sat sharply up, turning him around for a better view. “Nigel. What happened here?”

Nigel attempted a glance over his shoulder, giving a cautious shrug when it was clear he had no idea how bad it looked. “Nothing too exciting, darling. Petru and Paul and their fucking flailing is what happened. Fucking clowns.”

He seemed more antagonised by the thought of their idiocy than the smarting wound, which her removal of the stuck-cotton shirt had done nothing to help.

“Wait there a second” she untangled her legs from the mess of his own. “Let me get something to clean you up.”

Get the first aid kit had sounded excessive in her head, but he seemed prepared to accept the idea of being mopped like some spill, slouching back into the cushions with a groan of defeat. In the kitchen, she pulled the small red tin from beneath the cutlery drawer, unpacking sterile gauze and single-use saline. She wavered, then tucked the tube of Betadine into her pocket, hedging she’d be able to get away with some aftercare since he wouldn’t exactly be able to see what she was doing.

He seemed moderately more disgruntled by the time she popped back into the room, no doubt reflecting on the evening’s earlier events and whatever blundering had taken place. Positioning him so she could best squirt the saline down his back, she leaned in and gave him a quick kiss behind the ear before starting. He flinched, then softened the set of his jaw.

Holding one strip of gauze beneath the cut, she caught the excess liquid before it ran onto the couch. Now clean, she was pleased to see the laceration hadn’t reached his muscle. With the second strip, she added a light dab of the antiseptic for good measure.

“Not that stuff” Nigel slurred, holding still while she finished. “Makes a fucking mess everywhere.”

“Luckily for you” she stood back up, tugging him gently to his feet. “I’m taking you to bed, and the sheets are already in need of a wash.”

He snuffled in accord, allowing himself to be ushered into the bedroom, then curling into her sheets as if they were his own. “Mm” he paused, coughing all too vigorously whilst she peeled herself free of her spray-on jeans. She looked back in sympathy, and he managed a watery smile. “Sorry. I think was going to say something about forgetting that and coming over here.”

She gave him a tender glance back, glad for the poor bedside lighting so he wouldn’t quite see. Ducking out of the room, she came back with a mug of cooled tea, placing it on his side just in case. “I’m here. Do your worst.”

He folded into her, his body a little too warm for comfort, but she had meant it, and didn’t pull away.

“I didn’t realise you and Darko knew each other so well.” It wasn’t something she had planned to ask, but as soon as the words were out, she had no urge to reign them back. Whatever he said, she could hear it.

“Sometimes I wish we didn’t.” She felt his eyes on her, and directed her gaze ever more intently at the ceiling. Christ that ceiling needed repainting. “But it’s a small city. Same business. Same troubles.”

She gave a shadow of a nod, as if she understood. The worst part was, she almost felt like she did. Exhaling, she was well prepared to let it rest at that, were it not for his stare practically boring into her cheek. She turned to face him, raising a wry eyebrow.

“…Yes?”

He rubbed his nose into his wrist, far more casual than he looked. “And… how well did you know Darko?”

She managed to hold a straight face for at least a second, before clambering to lie on top of him, grinning from ear to ear.

“Nigel” she laughed, squeezing her arms affectionately around him. “Since when did you become the jealous type?”

He smirked back, not at all unhappy with the new sleeping arrangement. “Gabi” he wrapped both arms over her back, surprisingly gentle for all the scars and wear. “Since when did I give the impression I wasn’t the jealous type?”

Snuggling against his chest, she liked the crooked smile he gave when he had her all to himself, his face all bent and uneven. It reminded her he wasn’t perfect, but wholly thought she was. An impression she doubted she could ruin, however hard she tried. And there was something viciously reassuring about that.

“He’s just the asshole I used to report to.”

In truth, Darko had left no doubt in her mind that he wanted more, and she’d be lying if she told herself she hadn’t once considered it. But only once. There was an emptiness to Darko that all the love in the world couldn’t fill. And for someone who could love like love was the whole world; that was a dangerous thing.

Nigel muzzled into her neck, some murmur of appeasement. The rise and fall of his chest became unsteady, and she glanced across as his mouth trembled down at the corners. He took a wary gulp of air, shallower than she knew he was capable, then tilted his head as best he could over her shoulder.

"uh…eht'CHSSHHhh!"

“Bless you.”

"hh-CHFSSCHHh-h!"

[Garnet]

Bless your awful, wonderful heart for writing this. Especially as a sequel, especially as more fodder for one of my favorite and most fucked-up of on screen couples? I forget your phrasing, but I feel like it's Halloween, Christmas, and my Birthday all at once!

Also, also I am freshly blooded with feelings at the title alone, as it reminds me of that Weepy McSadsad song I linked you. Not sure if that was intentional or not, but ugh! Chest-clutch!

The incongruent image played out in her head, before she tucked it fondly back away. If she ever suggested such a thing, he’d probably start having them delivered night and noon.

Yeah, to no one's surprise? I already fucking love this. My headcanon (as additionally established by ugly shirts) is that 90% of their relationship is spent fucking with each other (and fucking each other) so little nods like these to his expansive but deceptive good humor are lovely.

Hadn’t this been the one? Like most of the storefront facades, the neoclassical scrapings of last century had been reworked to something lighter and brighter. Not tonight though.

This smallest of details lofts the description of Bucharest to something real and tangible. I can absolutely feel it, ugly-beautiful, new-and-old. You do a great homage through your writing!

And, now, back to all of your tactile little phrases like "scuffing through the mishmash" of business cards, it's like fingers up my spine but in a good way! Also, also, oooh Nigel, you nasty cad, abandoning your woman and her best intents to go do your terribad work! And oooh, I am so with you, Gabi, for being all, "Fuck it, I am not going to give in to being disappointed or angry... I'MA GO PARTY BY MYSELF "

SPEAKING OF. How much do I love her familiarity with the local taxi drivers and hostel emcee's? She knows this town at least as well as Nigel, if (uuusually) on the opposite end of the law.

“I’m on until the breakfast talkie if you’re having an early one.”

Again and again, all this casual slang makes the scene so much more real. (What the fuck is a breakfast talkie, a morning news show? WHO KNOWS, but let's run with it much as Charlie does!)

She turned into the lesser-seen alleyway, affectionately known as the Himalayas for the Tibetan prayer flags strung up amongst the naked bulbs.

Oh, that city-characterization! So beautiful.

And then aaaaaAAA, Bodgan! I love love your expanded headcanon of his and the hostel's relationship with Gabi. It's very sweet and brotherly and goes right to my heart. Like you, I am 100% here for interesting supporting characters.

Oh, and these additional details about the hostel:

artfully weaving through the bare feet and dilated pupils.

next to the postcards and fishbowl of free condoms

He struck a match, lighting all three in a single inhale, then looked at the spare in confusion and passed it to the closest backpacker.

Hooow are you so good? They're such poignant little things that I wouldn't have thought to include, but that illustrate the setting perfectly. Even if it hadn't been in the film, I would have a perfect mental image of where they are!

But where his henchmen went, Darko followed, waiting for whatever guileless creature they flushed out. Darko was, if nothing else, a man who liked to get his hands dirty.

Oh, I love this likeness so much! Both the bumbling henchman and then the much more serious menace of Darko. Who, by the way, you write beautifully both in this one and your previous fic. The cruel sadism is so, so apparent and I love it!

On a whim, she thought to look for the scrawl she had left some years ago, when Darko’s bar had been too close, her dreams too far. In the wrinkle of the skirting board, beneath a lewd leprechaun and a mojito recipe, she was surprised to see it was still there.

Love is everything anyone has ever said it is.

DETAIIILS. Also, argh how could you do this to me I feel for Gabi so, so much in this scene (and this fic in general) and I generally have a hard time relating to POV narrators so much as processing the events through their eyes. Definitely not here, though!

If he were at all surprised to see her, he didn’t show it. When she could decide if she were furious or relieved, she would start not showing that too.

I love this phrasing, that is all

And aaaand, the scene that follows? I am floored by how accurately it mimics the tone of the film -- so dreamy and surreal one moment, and then it kicks into breakneck, camera-shaking action! Aided not in some small part by your excellent word choices: pelting, swerving, feral resolve, etc. So good!

Oooh, that kiss, also! I have rarely been more into a well-timed makeout than at that moment!

It felt like a comedown, sometimes, those moments just after Nigel. The paint peel on the ceiling blurred between snatches of their conversation, the savage press of his mouth, his last look before he left her behind.

Uuuugh how are you doing this.

The fetish-filled reprise is a thing of my fantasies, also! If I commented on every little bit that pleased me, it would end up longer than the fic, but I adore their moment of stiff, simmering tension before her control weakens enough to let him back in. The faceplanting on the couch, too!

“Ngh” he mumbled thickly into the throw rug. “You don’t need the locks when I’m here.”

She let them be, swallowing a sarcastic comment about making sure he hadn’t been followed. Who knew. He did seem like the sort of person who’d have enemies. She just probably wouldn’t bet on their side.

*shiver*! Sooo not inaccurate, though! Nigel is best guard dog, even when he's sick as one.

All of the sneezing too, nnngh! I adore how careless he is about rerouting it into the couch, the blanket, her shirt... you know, whatever's handy! And Gabi being already accustomed to it (and yet surprised by each sneeze) is the most adorable and touching.

With a contented sniffle, he glanced cagily up at her. “I think your clothes are making me sneeze.”

OMG. Nigel!

I also love the phrasing of him being "mopped up" like a spill, because that's just about what he is at this point, isn't it? Messy, unbound, bloody, and sniffly, ugh.

He smirked back, not at all unhappy with the new sleeping arrangement. “Gabi” he wrapped both arms over her back, surprisingly gentle for all the scars and wear. “Since when did I give the impression I wasn’t the jealous type?”

I'll be in the corner, fanning myself.

This, and the fit that follows are riiiight about when I told you on Skype that I needed a cigarette, because GOD. DAMN.

All of it, along with the haunting coda of her conversation with Bodgan, is just so on point and if you're quite finished playing ping-pong with my feelings, I'm going to go take a cold shower. Seriously, though, this is wonderful and I am much pleased with the promised sequel! I'm gonna have to work double-time to whip up a good Adult scenario!

Edited September 22, 2015 by Garnet

[meepsy]

*sees a new Necessary Death of Charlie Countryman fic*

*STILL hasn't seen the movie*

*sweats*

*reads anyway*

I'm feeling pretty privileged/spoiled to be taking witness to this little back-and-forth you guys are having --it's sort of like watching a battle (or collaboration, rather) of the gods (and I mean that in the most reverent and least weird way possible haha). Don't mind this lowly mortal! I'll just be sittin' here, eatin' my popcorn, watchin' the show!!

I said it before, but I'll say it again: your writing is an absolute treat to read. So decadent it's going to spoil my appetite! Not that I think my appetite for reading about these two would ever be completely sated, but you know...

Here were my favorite little bits of this entirely lovely story: (I have a habit or going overboard with these, so I tried to rein myself in. Not that you made it easy for me!)

The bland metal paneling stared back, a remnant of one of many unfinished construction projects that fondled up to the heritage and high-rises. Like all that came to matter in her city, the Marco Polo Youth Hostel got by on reputation alone.

A masterly way to introduce a location. I can like totally see the place in my head, complete with artsy camera angle and moody lighting.

“Gabi! I knew you’d be joining us!” Bodgan’s voice backfired over the hubbub, the erratic mix of electronica and hand drumming that kept the place beating dawn and dark. He spread his arms wide as he made for her, fitting a quick salsa round various milk-crates along the way. Finding an enthusiastic grip at her shoulders, he kissed her on both cheeks. “It has been too long!”

...and holy cow, what a way to introduce a character! Are you teaching a writing class anytime soon? Can I sign up? I particularly like "backfired over the hubbub" ahhh it's like covered in chocolate it's so good!

Navigating the unwashed traffic, she cleared the stairs in a few tidy bounds. The balcony was a marketplace of guitarists and card-players, shop-sharing with the inevitable last-minute laundry lines.

OHH MY GOD kill me with these phrasings why don't you?! Perfect, perfect, perfect! Actually, let me single out a few more of these moments where you say absolutely everything there is to say about a thing or a place in possibly the most delectable way possible:

He hadn't bothered to dress down for the visit, cut from the same unwelcome starch as his cronies, all collars and cufflinks and fishhooks.

Darko gave her a thin slice of a smile, an indiscernible zest shaken with something tart. "Gabi, had I known you still frequented, I would have arranged a rendezvous much earlier."

Bodgan made a theatrical shrug, flushed as if it were the first compliment his Hostel had ever received. In truth, Gabi knew the place was his paradise in bedlam. Hers too, though perhaps in reverse. It was ever more difficult to tell the difference.

AND THEN UM HOLY SHIT?

He stopped, seizing the metal handle hung from above. The fire service stairs expanded as he pulled down, a relic of the building before its insurgency. Then, with white hot intensity, he strode back toward her. In a rift of a second, she considered whether he dared suggest she leave. Instead, he took her face with both hands, kissing her as if the spitting echoes of Darko’s men were no more than a serenade. She consumed him, senseless and hedonic, pulling until his breath rendered in shallow gasps, until she found herself fighting some exquisite destruction.

OMG like wooooooah i don't know if I've ever read a paragraph more pulpy or dramatic or passionate. Like hot damn jesus give me the strength over here for real I NEED IT

He sank into the fire, never saying a word.

AHHHHHH!

And, ugh this is all like still the appetizer stuff too! (yes i am sticking with the food metaphor, yes you are in fact a master chef of words, no I'm not sorry) but here we are at the main course:

She was nearly convinced she was nodding. He stepped carefully forward, hesitated, then turned back around, sneezing full from the waist as if he might not get another chance.

“ehdt’CHSSZCHHHh-ue!"

“Bless you” she said miserably.

omgomgomg

He looked like he was debating whether her lace-singlet was replaceable enough to tear straight off (heaven knows he had made the wrong decision once before), when she realised the cut at his neck in fact snaked all the way down the left of his spine.

AHAHA YES! And then awww noooooooo!!!

In truth, Darko had left no doubt in her mind that he wanted more, and she’d be lying if she told herself she hadn’t once considered it. But only once. There was an emptiness to Darko that all the love in the world couldn’t fill. And for someone who could love like love was the whole world; that was a dangerous thing.

OMG Gabiiiiiiii!

Every muscle in his body had tensed with the release, and he melted into the mattress on recovery, sniffing just as wearily. His hair, damp from fever, had been thrown over his eyes, and she chased her fingers over his forehead to sweep it back. An afterthought, she brushed her thumb gently at the fine mist that had settled at the peak of his upper lip. He parted his mouth a fraction, still too congested to breathe properly in the aftermath.

NIGEL!!!!! omg the poor muffin!

Everything that follows is wonderful too (I love that last little exchange with Bodgan in particular) Wow, I really can't believe this is just one movie. It feels more like you and Garnet are writing from a multi-season television show -- all the characters just seem so full and realized. But such is the power of good writing, I suppose

Thank you so much for sharing this and killing me in the process. *waves Gabi/Nigel flag from the stands* GO TEAM GO!

Edited September 23, 2015 by meepsy