A/N: I am on a writing spree, so thought I'd write a little Black Swan piece too.
I don't own Black Swan, though. Also, this happens after Nina falls.
This is my legacy
Thomas sighed, pushing the palms of his hands into his eyes, pushing out a breath he'd been keeping in.
Fuck it all.
Nina had been rushed into surgery and he was waiting to hear what had happened and if she would recover.
He saw the blood soaking the White Swan costume in his mind's eye again, and cursed himself for not seeing it earlier, and the excuse that she had been wearing a black costume formerly was bollocks.
He was the director, it was his responsibility to look after his star.
He needed to stop being such a dick. Nina was a nice girl: innocent, sweet and not to mention adorable. She didn't deserve to be lead on.
A man in a pressed white coat carrying a clipboard approached him, and Thomas stood.
Someone else was beside him, he realised, and looked around. It was Mrs Sayers, Nina's mother, and her eyes were swollen and red, her hands twisting the pamphlet from Swan Lake.
"The surgery was a success," The doctor said, and Thomas closed his eyes as he sighed in relief, "But we strongly advise committing Miss Sayers to a rehabilitation centre for a month or so."
"What happened?" Mrs Sayers asked, her voice thick. Thomas wanted to do something to comfort her, but with his rep, he didn't dare.
"Madness," Thomas said before the doctor could, before he turned and shoved his hands into his pockets.
The great Thomas would never walk around with his hands in his pockets; he was too dignified for such things.
But he wasn't 'the great Thomas', was he? He was just Thomas. Just Thomas. And his legacy wasn't exactly something he was proud of.
Nina wasn't the first person driven to insanity by Swan Lake, nor, he guessed, would she be the last.
Ballet was a risky thing - any form of art was. Look at Van Gogh - driven to cut off his own ear and later snip the line of his own life.
Art was a curse, Thomas decided, because art made the genius people of society see the horror of reality, see the horror of what was truly going on in life and around them, and made them want to quit.
Art was death. Creativity was a burden. Ignorance truly was bliss.
Nina would, he thought, be the last genius driven to insanity because of him. Perhaps she would allow him back into her life. Perhaps he could get to know her for more than just the Swan Queen.
Beth had had a similar stint in the beginning of her career, but Beth was a stronger individual than Nina could ever hope to be.
Nina was still a child, for crying out loud! How could he have thought... How could he have driven her to access the darkness within, especially when she was one of the few with a mass of darkness in her soul? He had no idea what would happen; he'd assumed she was mostly light.
No, he wasn't going to tempt fate. Three times? No. Not another one.
Swan Lake had cursed him. As had been decided: art was a curse. And he was done with this art.
Thomas came to a standstill. He hadn't realised that the sun was setting or that he had walked for about three hours straight.
Thomas didn't feel his muscles ache in his calves and thighs. His brain didn't allow the pain to seep through to his distracted mind.
Thomas didn't feel his chest rising and falling rapidly. His lungs were screaming for a deep breath, but he kept it shallow, in through the nose and out through the mouth, as he always taught his dancers.
Thomas didn't feel the sweat that was trickling down his back and staining his ridiculously expensive shirt.
Thomas didn't feel his legs, straining and complaining, move forward once more. He didn't feel his arms strain under the pressure of lifting his entire bodyweigth to a next level.
Thomas just saw blue. Blue and clear and inviting him with promises of problems becoming the past, of a new beginning and no memory of this beginning.
Thomas heard the water call his name. He didn't know that water could talk, but not just that, they could sing. It was a siren song: beautiful and mystical. A clear, blue and crystal-like eternity was calling to him.
Wait... That was actually his name. And... And did the water sound like... like... who was that... he - he knew that voice! It was a dancer, Nina's understudy...
Lily.
Hands wrapped around his slender arms and yanked him off the bridge, causing him to crash onto the ground.
"Thomas?" Lily asked again, pulling him to his feet. He shook his head and looked up.
Her eyes were drawn together in concern, "What were you thinking?" She asked, her voice shaking beyond belief, "Thomas, what happened?"
He just shook his head again, as if returning to his senses. Honestly, an ocean speaking to him?
"Thomas!" Lily clamped both hands over his cheeks, forcing her brown eyes into meeting his.
"What is it?" He heard himself speak, but having no memory of giving his mouth the order.
"You were about to jump," She lifted an eyebrow, "Is it Nina? Is she gone?"
He saw something. Hope. Flickering in those hazel eyes. What was she hoping for?
He pushed her away, "You're fired." He turned and walked back the way he came. He has just gotten his phone out to call a taxi when Lily's small frame attempted to smash him downwards, but his broad frame only caused it to be a stumble before he yanked her around to face him, his hands on her wrists. He could easily break them, that was how frail she was in his grip.
"She was right about you," He spat at her, "Get out of my sight before I call the police."
"And what would they charge me with?" She sneered back, revealing her true nature, "Being competitive?"
"No, attempted murder. Nina's dressing room has security cameras, you know?" Thomas lifted an eye, and Lily's pale complexion turned even lighter. His suspicion had been confirmed.
"Then what will you do?" Lily asked, a dark brow raised, "You had a thing for her. I'm sure many of my fellow dancers would agree."
Thomas laughed - she was honestly threatening him!
"And you're whoring ways will be exposed too. I'm much more powerful than you are, Lily, think and choose wisely."
He strode away from her, leaving a brunette dancer in his wake. She could mean trouble, but it wasn't anything he couldn't handle.
. . .
A/N: Thus far this is just a one-shot. I might add to it later, if I get the request. But for now I'm gonna leave it here.