Fake Fan Fiction ❯ Delicate ❯ Suddenly Alone ( Chapter 3 )

Disclaimer: Lyn and Andrew and their beautiful family are mine, must have expressed written consent to use, fanfic or whatever. Dee and Ryo etc. are not mine. Don't sue, I'm poor ^_^;

Delicate

Chapter Three:

Suddenly Alone

Dee sat on Ryo's bed untying his shoes as Ryo loosened his tie, leaning back against the wall. "Did you have a good time, baby?"

"Yes. That was the most fun I've had in long time. I can't believe Bikky was so well behaved. Seriously, I've never seen him like that." Ryo replied with a smile as he carefully curled his tie around his hand.

"Amazing. Lyn seems to really get Bikky…"

"I don't think its just Bikky. I think he has an understanding of human nature, in a good way. You know what I mean?" Ryo's brow furrowed a bit in thought as he hung his tie in his wardrobe and started to work on his shirt.

"Yeah. I think he sees the best in people and knows how to bring it out… but, baby…" Dee trailed off, looking down in full concentration at his own shirt buttons as he worked them, feeling tense and insecure.

"Hmmm?'' Ryo asked, a bit oblivious as he removed his belt and hung that in his wardrobe as well.

"Can we talk…?"

"Of course. About what?" Ryo still hadn't seemed to catch the tone in Dee's voice. Dee tossed his shirt into the corner. He rolled off his socks and tossed them after before flopping back on the bed. His hand rubbed over his chest in an essentially masculine way, but it was a self-comforting, self-touching behavior.

"I…. I don't know. I mean, I know, but… I'm not sure how to say it.'' Dee sighed. Ryo had shucked his pants and now crawled onto the bed, over Dee's legs, so that he was on all fours over him.

"Just say it, baby. How bad can it be?"

"I can't. If I do you'll stop listening. You don't want to hear anything about what's bothering me."

"Dee, how can you say that? I do want to hear what's bothering you, koi. I care for you. How can you say that?" Ryo frowned deeply; hurt that Dee was implying he didn't care.

"You've made it very clear this subject is off limits."

"About me being gay, you mean." Ryo's tone had shifted; his concern and hurt, the gentleness in his voice, deadened into a hard aural boundary.

"Point and case. I haven't even said what is on my mind and you've already made it clear by your voice and body language that you aren't open to what I have to say. When you see me Ryo, you see me. True. But you have this blind spot, this huge blind spot that lay's just over my heart. You see everything about me but what relates to you."

Ryo shifted and sat down on the mattress, sliding back until he was leaning on the headboard, long, bare legs crossed at the ankles. "Well, then, say your piece, Dee."

"Ryo…. You aren't listening…. I'm not doing this to be confrontational or tell you how you should be. You asked what's wrong, and I am…" Dee paused struggling a bit. He had a hard time putting words to his emotions, feelings and impulses. "I am… having emotions, feelings, negative ones around the situation."

"Because you don't like what I have to say." Ryo shot back crossing his arms over his chest.

"No! Damn it, Ryo… its not like I care what words you use to describe yourself. It's not just you refusing to be labeled. I could deal with that… it's other things you say…. You say 'I love you' but then turn around and say things like 'I want to be married, and have children.'" Dee's hands covered his face in hurt and frustration, and not a little anger.

"That's what I want, Dee! I want to be married, have children, and live in a home with a picket fence and a dog, damn it! That's what I want!" Ryo shouted under his breath.

"So, where the hell does that leave me, Ryo? Where does it leave me? Who can't bear your children? Who can't legally marry you? What does that mean for me?"

Ryo stopped, frozen, his mouth half open. He hadn't thought about it… what that meant for Dee, if he wanted a traditional family. "Dee… I don't know." He said softly, swallowing a little.

"I know you don't. I know you don't know. Do you understand why that hurts me? Ryo… I love you. Do you understand that you are only the third person in my life I have loved? Only the second to whom I have ever, ever said that? I am devoted to you, one hundred percent, forever. Do you get that?" Dee didn't dare take his hands from his face. He wasn't crying yet, but it was close.

"Don't lay that on me, Dee. I'm sorry that this isn't what you want, but I'm not responsible for that. I'm not responsible for your happiness." Ryo's voice was steady, stoic.

"Don't lie to yourself, Ryo. You knew exactly the depth of my feeling for you. That's why you couldn't look me in the eyes. Why you still can't."

"What the hell do you want me to do about it?"

"Don't break my heart.''

"Dee…" Ryo's voice was pleading, but Dee could find no sympathy. "I love you…. do you believe that?"

"Yeah, Ryo, I believe it. I know you love me but … I'm not sure that you're in love with me." Dee's voice was muffled behind his hands. Ryo slowly crawled over to him, lying down along side of him, so that his lips were against Dee's ear, a hand sprawled over his chest.

"Dee…. baby, I'm sorry. I don't know what to say. I love you. I don't know how to deal with this… I just don't. I know I love you. I know I desire you. I love when we make love. You make me feel good; you make me hot. But… part of me… part of me hurts, too, because… this isn't what I expected. I want children, so badly, Dee."

Dee was silent for a long time, his hands not moving even as his flesh quivered from the warm breath on his neck and ear, the whisper of Ryo's lips there. "Ryo…because I love you, more than my own happiness…. I'll stay with you… stand at your side…love you in the way you need, and take what little crumbs you'll give me." He finally whispered. "Now, please… don't say anything else. I can't hear any more, because it won't be the words I want."

"Alright, handsome. I do love you. Come here." Ryo's fingers pried gently at Dee's hands, pulling them from his face slowly, before gathering him close. After a moment of resistance, Dee went into his lover's arms, pressing his face at the junction of his neck and shoulder. His arms came around Ryo and held him tightly, almost so tightly Ryo couldn't breath.

"I love you, Ryo. I love your son and I want to have children with you. I know that's not what you want…. but… just keep it in mind."

"I will. Come on; let's get under the covers. It'll be better in the morning."

With a tired nod, Dee shimmied from his pants and crawled to the top of the bed and under the covers. He turned his face to the wall, trying to relax as Ryo's arms came around him, and steeled himself for the future.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Ryo sat on his 'balcony' over looking the street. His balcony, like most in New York, was an old, rusting fire escape. It was mid October and the sun set around five in the afternoon. He would have to start dinner soon, but for the moment the sun hung over the city painting it fire. The air had a bite to it. He wasn't entirely warm even in a turtleneck and a sweater. He had drug a floor pillow outside to protect his ass from the bite of the wrought iron. He sat on the pillow, with his back against the slender poles that formed the safety rail. He had one double-socked foot tucked under him. The other foot propped up his knee, which served as a podium for a leather-bound journal that looked worn enough to have belonged to Hemmingway.

On the left hand page he had etched out the small tree that stood bravely on the sidewalk, including the fence around it meant to protect it from vandals. Under it he had scrawled the only think he could think of: 'A Tree Grows In Brooklyn'. He had no idea what the story was about, but he seemed to recall that it started with a little girl, sitting on her fire escape… or was that another 20th century classic?

Without the benefit of the plotline, Ryo had drawn a few conclusions about what it could mean, and why it came to mind. Brooklyn wasn't exactly a tree friendly area… and this brave tree stood proudly anyway.

The pen had not stopped after it's drawing and labeling. It had moved over to the right page and continued, as the sun slowly took the city in relief, turning it into a silhouette, a shadowbox.

When my parents died…I came back to religion. I was raised a Methodist (don't ask me what that is or how that differs from any other protestant religion…all I can tell you is that it is a reaction to Calvinism) and taught some odd combination of Christian mythos and Buddhist practice. After my parents died, I turned to the New Testament god again. I wanted him to take it back; take back what he did to my parents, say it was all some glitch in paper work and that my parents would be mailed back to me in six to eight weeks. There was this desperation in me…as though my world would literally end if they were not returned to me. I remember this: I wrote about it. I prayed about it. I gave the eulogy at my parent's funeral. Weeks slowly slid by… with me in this haze… this painful black-red haze…as I had to keep moving, keep going on with my life. I still had to go to school, had to pay bills, had to eat and do homework. I realized that God didn't really care about my pain, or if he did… he had no answer for it. 'If my son had to suffer, why should I spare you?' That fever-blaze of faith, like tissue paper tossed into a fire, burned itself out (then again, I'm not sure how you can be a fiery Methodist…. It's a pretty bland sect). As my fervor died, so did my belief. If Jesus loved me, where the hell were my parents…?

But it's that feeling, that desperation of wanting god or whatever, to take it back, to make it stop, to just change things, now, for my benefit that I feel again.

I love Dee. I love him deeply. I want God to take it back, damn it. And I don't. I want god to make Dee a woman. Why did I have to fall in love with man… and why do I have to want him so damn bad? Because I DO want him… and I want that part of his anatomy that makes him a man.

No, no being subtle. I love having sex with Dee. I love it when he puts his dick in me. I love sucking on him. I love when he rubs himself against me. It feels so damn good… so much better than anything I had ever had with a woman. The last woman I was with… we fooled around a little… I feel bad now; I don't think I ever really pleased her sexually. I didn't like feeling her down there…all that hair and wetness. We made love once. I broke up with her the next day. I've never had good sex with a woman. I've had sex a grand total of five times before Dee. Never once did it feel like it does with him.

But I'm NOT gay. I'm not. I want children… a wife…. What the hell is wrong with me? Why am I being like this? Damn it! I want God to take it back!

What Dee said last night… that he loves me enough to put his own happiness aside… it almost made me cry. I love him… but I don't want to… god, he doesn't deserve this… but I can't change who I am… how I feel… why doesn't he understand that? I'm not gay… I just… love him.

Ryo wiped a tear from his eye, feeling it cold on the knuckle of his hand. He realized his jaw was clenched tightly against tears that he had been unaware of until this moment. He closed the leather bound book and hugged it to his chest, bowing his head as he tried to regain control.

"Dad?" Bikky asked softly. He was hungry, and had gone to ask Ryo about dinner. He had been standing just to Ryo's left for several minutes now, watching his dad's expression change from anger, to tears, to anger and back again.

"Christ!" Ryo jumped, and then dropped his head again, hiding his tears behind his hair. "Bikky, I'll come inside in a moment."

"Dad… what's wrong?" there was a metallic thunk as Bikky dropped to his knees besides Ryo. He crawled over to sit next to his dad on the floor pillow and put an arm around his foster fathers shoulders.

"Bikky, its nothing, sport. Okay?"

"No, not okay. Was it Dee? Did that asshole hurt you? I'll kill him!" Bikky said furiously.

"No, Bikky, it's nothing like that. Hey, kiddo." Ryo set his journal aside, with a sniffle, wiping at his eyes before looking at his son. "Have I told you lately what a good kid you are and how happy I am to be your guardian?"

"Aw, crap, Ryo. Don't say shi-stuff like that. You're getting all weepy, and it's disgusting." Bikky muttered.

"Sorry, Bikky. You're stuck with me." Ryo reached out and hugged the boy close to him. Bikky, not one for physical affection stiffened a moment, before hugging Ryo back.

"Listen…Ryo… since we're being sappy, and you seem to want that or something… I'm glad you are my guardian. I took more care of my dad than he took care of me. Its good to… be a kid."

Slowly Ryo released the boy. He sat back, leaning into the corner of the railing and offered Bikky a small smile. "Anything on your mind, sport? How did you feel about what Lyn said to you last night?"

"Damn it, not these stupid 'feeling' questions." Bikky grumbled as he turned to face Ryo, crossing his legs. Ryo had no idea why the boy wasn't cold in only his shorts and tee shirt. "Fine… it was really weird, to be talked to that way… You don't talk to me like that, and Dee sure as hell doesn't… and he called me Mr. Goldman the whole night. What the hell was that about?"

"Well…" Ryo chuckled a little. Bikky had such a way with words… "I think it's called respect Bikky. He was making you call him by his last name, and he did you the honor of treating you as an equal by addressing you formally as well."

"Ryo…can I tell you the truth?"

"Always, Bikky. You can always tell me the truth, no matter what, and I won't be angry."

"I've never wanted to be good like that before. I mean, I want to keep you from getting mad at me…. but… it's more like not wanting to get caught. With Lyn I wanted to be on my best behavior, not because I would get in trouble but… I don't know." Bikky trailed off, looking everywhere but Ryo.

"How do you feel about it today?" Ryo asked gently, watching the boy who, no matter what the documentation said, was his son.

"I don't know. I feel different. What he said… about me always being a street punk… and not being taken seriously… is that true?"

"Well… I suppose. Did you know it actually took me less time then Dee to get promoted to Detective? And I'm looking at another promotion in a year…tops. Dee will be lucky to ever make it past Detective… because people don't take him seriously." Ryo said slowly, watching Bikky carefully.

"Really? But Dee is really tough… and dad… you're kind of a cream puff."

"I'm not a cream puff on the job… and yes… Dee is tough… but he is also very rough around the edges. I would imagine, that without conscious effort on your part, you would be just like Dee when you grow up. Which is not at all a bad thing. Dee is a very good man with very strong morals. But, yes, it might mean you wouldn't be taken seriously. You are also black-"

"Half."

"Half or whole, you aren't white, Bik, and in this world… that means you're going to have to fight harder for people's respect." Ryo said softly.

"You aren't white. You do fine.'' Bikky said with a frown.

"I look white. That's all that matters. I know it really sucks. I hate to have to say any of this but it's the truth. One on one… people are beautiful, wonderful, ingenious creatures. En mass… they are-"

"Dumb panicky animals?" Bikky offered helpfully, having seen MiB the other day.

"Precisely. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah, dad… it does. So what Mr. Doren told me last night, and what you are telling me right now… is that I need to work harder, and be conscious of my actions and words… to be taken seriously, so I can do what I want when I'm an adult… and don't get held back and overlooked." Bikky said slowly, watching Ryo's face carefully, to make sure he hadn't missed anything.

"That's exactly it, Bikky." Ryo reached out and ruffled Bikky's hair. "What do you want for dinner?"

"Pizza?"

"Ennhh!" Ryo made a sound like a game show buzzer. "Thanks for playing! Try again."

"Nachos?" Bikky asked with a smile, teasing his dad.

"Ennhh! Try again. You can still win the consolation toaster oven."

Spaghetti with meat sauce and garlic bread?"

"Bing! Bing! Bing! Now, for the bonus question. You will have to eat one full serving of this food. What is it?"

"Cookies?"

"Ennhh!"

"Salad?"

"And the crowd goes wild! Bikky wins the toaster oven and a serving of dessert!" Ryo announced grabbing Bikky's hand and holding it in the air.

"Oh, cut it out, Ryo! You are so nuts."

"Randy 'Nuts' MacLean. That's me."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Dee stood in a panel of orange fire that flooded in through window, an easel in front of him. Under his bare feet the rough texture of the canvas drop cloth protected his hardwood floor. Dido played throughout his apartment as he kept the beat with his foot and the occasional dance step. He sang along, his soothing baritone blending with Dido's midrange soprano.

"With one light on, in one room, I know you're up, when I get home, with one small step, upon the stair… if you are a king up there on your throne would you be wise enough to let me go…" he sung softly, right hand cradling his palette, left moving the brush over the canvas. His dark hair was hidden under a red bandana, which kept the hair from his eyes and the paint from his hair. The jeans he wore were probably five years old at least, and showed their age. A back pocket barely hung on. There were holes over each knee, a ragged slit on his thigh from a box cutter incident… not to mention the layers and layers of paint. He wore no shirt.

Making up some excuse, he had gone home this morning from Ryo's, not even waiting for breakfast. He needed time to cope, to shore up his walls; to repair those wounded places with duct tape and caulking. The sinking feeling that started yesterday had not gone away. Ryo would leave him. Not today…probably not tomorrow… but unless Ryo dealt with who he was and who he loved…he would leave and take the precocious boy that was nearly a son to Dee with him.

'This is why you don't put your heart out there, Laytner.' A voice inside him said. 'You should have learned your lesson from Jess. If you let yourself love and be loved, it's just a weak spot for someone to jab a knife into… and jab it deep.'

Dee shook his head, mixing two colors on his palette before applying the brush to the canvas. Blue and blue.

"Laytner's Blue Period." He muttered. "Hell if I'm cutting off my ear though." He switched brushes, dropping the first in an inky jar of water. The background of the picture was a deep blue and black, one color melding into the next to form a seamless sky. The front door and steps could only be that of a church. The wooden door was arched with heavy stonework holding it in place. He could have made it real… but his choice of colors made it surreal. He picked up a smaller and more delicate brush… brown with a little blue… and started the spidery lines of a leafless tree.

He had been on his feet for almost three hours now as he worked. The same five disks turned over and over on his stereo. It put him in another place… a different 'head space'. Time had died quietly.

Dee barely noticed as his bare foot landed in a splotch of dripped paint, painting the sole of his foot blue. The tree formed itself in front and slightly to the right of the church… alone. Another mix of colors and in the heavy night the door of the church stood open a crack. A new paintbrush, a new color stood out on his palate. Yellow light flooded from the door in a wedge of brave color… that didn't quite reach the lone, bare tree. Dee stepped back, with a sigh. It was done. One more stroke, one less, and it would have been lost, but years of practice had taught him when to stop. His emotions now trapped on the canvas. A still frame in time of his life was coated in paint and left to dry

With a plink, the last brush was dropped into the water. Dee stood with hands on his hips for a moment, just watching the paint dry. A new song came on and he sung along softly. He took a step off the drop cloth, hips swaying to the beat… scuff step, scuff. He moved across his bedroom, shoulders and hips giving the sound a visual. He stood on the braided rug in the bathroom and pulled the can of paint thinner from under the sink. He turned on the faucet before pouring a small amount of the chemical into his palm. The chemical odor was almost over powering. He scrubbed his hands together, picking at the paint. Blue and Blue. Laytner's Blue Period.

The paint faded as he rinsed his hands under the aching cold water, washing off the thinner. Once clean he dried his hands carefully which were red and raw from the cold and scrubbing. Scuff step step, scuff step step… he danced out from the bathroom, hips swaying. He unbuttoned his jeans, the zipper's rasp lost to Dido. He let them drop from his hips, standing naked a moment. He then ran his hands over his chest, scratching absently, before bending and draping the jeans over the back of a chair.

He opened a drawer in his bureau, dragging out a pair of what Ryo called 'yoga pants'. The sweat pants, that were tight in some places, loose in others, allowed the freedom of movement needed for yoga. He drew them on over his nakedness, before pulling out a white undershirt and donned that as well. He sauntered in a slow dreamy way, his body not lifted from the timeless headspace he had occupied as he painted. Clumsy red hands and tired eyes found his guitar. He lifted it from its cradle, carrying it out to the living room, which would soon be entirely lost to shadow. He sat on the rug, folding his legs pretzel style with the curvy wooden body cradled on his lap. He didn't make any motion to play. His hands stroked the guitars curves as he held it in his arms.

Dido crooned to him and he let her, his fingers not ready to take up the strings. He had no idea what to sing. So he sat, quiet and alone, except for Dido.

The stereo system next to him clicked and whirred as it started to change CD's. Dee leaned over and flicked it off, suddenly sick of the crooning of hormonal women. The hum of the electronic silenced, he felt suddenly deaf. He plucked a string lightly, listening to it reverberate. He plucked another, then a third. The tones sounded true. He sighed, shifting a little again. The guitar was a familiar weight in his hands. He let the tune come to him first, playing the refrain of the song through … once…twice… the third time he felt ready to add his voice to the melody.

"We might kiss… when we're alone. Nobodies watching, I might take you home…we might make out, when nobodies there… Its not there we're scared, it's just that it's delicate." Dee's voice filled the apartment, in his mind, this had been their song unbeknownst to Ryo.

"So why do you fill my sorrow, with the words you've borrowed from the only place you've known? And why do you sing hallelujah if it means nothing to you? Why do you sing with me at all…" He took a deep breath before launching into the next verse as he felt the sting of tears in his eyes.

"We might live…like never before. There's nothing to give, but how can we ask for more. We might make love… in some sacred place. The look on your face… its delicate." His voice broke; he swallowed again, managing to continue.

"So why do you fill my sorrow with the words you've borrowed. From the only place that you've known. And why do you sing hallelujah if it means nothing to you. Why do you sing with me at all?" Another deep breathe, his voice crescendo, his pain flooding out in his voice, cracking over the louder notes.

"Why do you fill my sorrow, with the words you've borrowed, from the only place you've known? And why do you sing hallelujah if it means nothing to you…" His words trailed off, tears muting his voice to a whisper as he hit the last line.

"Why do you sing with me at all?" He stopped, not playing the last few cords. He bowed his head over the guitar, inhaling deeply and slowly, trying to regain his control. He hated to cry. He hated to let anyone see him weak and vulnerable. There was something so pathetic, so heart wrenching, about crying alone, no one to know or see, no witness to his pain and humanity. Mother Mary Lane had never once seen him cry; but he had. He had cried alone in the silent dead night. Just like now. Alone in the dark, just him and God.

Authors note: Maybe I should just buy stock in Perkins. The Song Dee sings is the title track of the story 'Delicate' by Damien Rice. The Dido album is 'No Angel'. If any of you want the scores, just let me know, I would be happy to provide. Uber thanks to Jexia, my sounding board and intellectual conversation, and DJBrown, for betaing my sorry ass, and all the support and excitement to see my new work. You two rock my world!