Title: Hurt
Summary: After McKenna's death, Chartrand is left to suffer his emotional pain in silence. Chartrand/McKenna slash.
Disclaimer: I do not own and never will.
Warning: Slash; don't like don't read.
A/N: I'm supposedly doing my A-levels. I shouldn't be watching movies – despite the fact they are really really good movies! Good job my mum has taken this DVD off me. If she hadn't I would get no work done.
On another note – is it normal for me to be slashing characters together as often as I am? Shrugs shoulders. Come to think about it I don't care. Makes my life interesting. LOL.
**
Chartrand sat with his head bowed, trying to compose himself before he made a complete fool of himself for the entire Vatican to see. He was finding it hard to believe that a man of such faith could commit such acts. He found it hard to accept how easily they had all been led by that manipulative man of whom they had all trusted without hesitation.
He was hurt at how easily he himself had been led.
Chartrand blamed this on his love for the dead Camerlengo.
Chartrand blinked back tears. The bitter idea of betrayal sprang to his mind and sent a fresh pang of hurt surging threw him. He didn't want to think about this now; he had a job to do and he couldn't do it if his mind was some where else.
He had the sudden and almost laughable urge to have several cigarettes. Why? He did not know, but could only suppose and speculate on the matter.
He was grateful when he was given the all clear to disappear of home. He hadn't stood out amongst any one who had been involved in the days events; they were all weary, tired and upset and he just blended in as a grey man, but it didn't stop the paranoia that he looked just a little more upset than everyone else and this was a silent public confession that he was in love with Camerlengo McKenna. To get away from everyone was a huge relief to him. He had never been surrounded by so many people but felt so lonely before.
His apartment felt unusually cold to him as he walked in and locked the door behind him but he supposed that was because he was physically and emotionally worn out; the events only a few hours previous draining all of his energy.
He didn't need to turn the lights on as he moved silently threw his apartment. The night was already giving way to the day. He could see light seeping over the horizon, beating the darkness into submission once again. He had spent many a time sat watching the light chase the darkness away when his mind was on something other than sleep. He had found that such a trivial act helped him relax and to clear his mind so he could think clearly. Not today though; his entire body screamed for sleep.
He walked into his bedroom and closed the door behind him. He felt relieved to be behind closed doors because it meant no one could see him break down and weep. If no one saw him, then no one knew and that meant no one could judge him.
Closing the door behind him, Chartrand kicked his shoes off and absent minded discarded his jacket and tie. His fingers fumbled several times with the top button of his shirt and eventually managed to undo it with his mind still absent from the task at hand.
Thoughts and memories saturated his mind and he felt overwhelmed by them. He slid down the door and started to cry into his hands, not able to contain himself any longer. His entire body shook. All he found that he could do was to lay on the floor and cry his heart out. He had nothing else to do, no one to go to who he could confide in, nothing that he could be doing to take him mind of it even if it was only for a short time.
Chartrand felt completely and utterly alone.
He remained on the floor for several minutes, not able to bring himself to move from his uncomfortable position. In a way he wanted to punish himself for being so stupid as well as not being good enough to save the one he loved. He wanted to be physically hurt because he truly thought that he deserved it.
Picking himself up off the floor, he climbed onto his bed and pulled the covers over him, desperate for some time to think and to be on his own while he tried to make sense over what had happened and where he should go from where he now was. He knew he was heart broken, he knew he was in pain, his only question was what to do about it.
Tears glided down his unblemished skin before dropping silently onto his pillow. He made no attempt at wiping them away or to rub his eyes with his hands. He simply didn't care. He had accepted when he first fell in love with Patrick McKenna that he could do nothing. He could not express or tell him about how he felt. He knew and accepted that if he wanted to keep his job and to do what he loved, he had to kept quiet about how he felt; if he had said anything he would have lost his job, ridiculed and told repeatedly that he would go to hell for his sins. He didn't want to lose his job; he knew that his job was what he was born to do and he loved every minute of it. To lose his job now when it was the only thing he had left would be the final blow.
He snuffled and pulled the sheets tighter over him, bringing his knees up to his chest. A highlight to his job was the fact that he was close to the man he loved. He settled for being close; everything went on normally that way and no one was any the wiser. No one knew how or what he felt; he didn't have anyone close to him that he thought could keep it a secret and would treat him the same after. He had learned, over time, to keep things to himself and not to implode with them. Talking for many people was an outlet; but talking to someone in confidentiality was a luxury that he didn't have.
He began to wonder what would have happened if he had acted differently. If he had not be led by his heart and instead allowed himself to suspect McKenna without emotions getting in the way. Would have he been able to see threw his plan if he hadn't been controlled by his affections towards the other man? He also wondered if things might have been different if he had told McKenna about how he felt towards him. Chartrand dared to entertain the idea for only a few moments that McKenna may have felt something back for him, and that if he had told McKenna about how he truly felt then that would have been enough to make the Camerlengo reconsider what he had planned to do because of the hurt it would have inflicted upon him.
A fresh wave of tears travelled down Chartrand's cheeks silently. These dreams, wishes and fantasies were not helping him get some closure in the slightest. All they seemed to be doing was reminding him of everything he could have done to have stopped McKenna. If he had thought everything threw ... if he had run faster … if he had not allowed his emotions to blind him to what was going on around him … if he had said something about how he felt … too many 'ifs' and 'buts'!
He had always imagined since falling for the Camerlengo that his touch on his bare skin would be like fire. Chartrand didn't know. He had always thought it was for the best, restricting as much physical contact with McKenna as possible, and the one thing he avoided at all costs was bare skin touching bare skin. He did not trust himself not to throw in the towel and kiss McKenna into submission where they stood. It had taken super human restraint to get where he had been only hours before, now it all seemed a waste and the only constant was the deep agonizing pain.
He didn't know for certain, but maybe the pain would fade over time.
He felt sleep tugging at his eyes and his entire body ached. Sleep seemed like a good idea. He hoped that he would not dream though. Sleep, for some time to come, might be the only escape he would have from the torture and agony he was to experience when he was conscious. Every time he would go to work he would be forced to face the harsh reality that Camerlengo Patrick McKenna would not be there spouting words of wisdom and smiling what Chartrand considered to be a thousand watt smile.
As his eyes became heavier, Chartrand decided that despite what McKenna had done, he would remember the Camerlengo in the best possible light. He would remember the man who helped save people, he would remember the man who would listen to anybody about anything that concerned them, no matter how trivial. He would remember the Patrick McKenna that he had fallen in love with and would always love.
Finally his eyes closed as he lost the battle to keep them open and drifted off into sleep. He would not dream about the events that had happened only hours before, and he would not dream of Patrick McKenna. He would dream of nothing as his tears dried on his cheeks and as his breathing evened out. In a few months time he would look back with hind sight and consider himself fortunate for such a blessed gift of peace and tell himself not to feel guilty over not dreaming of stopping or preventing Mckenna from committing the crimes that he had done which cost him his life. Sleep was to be his one true friend till the day the wound on his heart had healed, but the scar would never fade.
End.