Rating: PG-13
Category: drama, some angst, general
Setting: er... anytime after Tom and Peter meet, before the last scene
Summary: Facing demons in the night.
Warnings: mild language, slash
Spoilers: none, not counting the state of Tom's mind
Feedback: It's a beautiful thing... sleeperdown@yahoo.com
Website: http://www.dreamwater.net/pottedcactus/erjika
Archive: Are there archives for TMR?
Disclaimer: They're not mine, even though I could take better care of Peter
than Tom :( No money has changed hands across the Atlantic.
Plot bunny: =:`( <-- angst bunny
AN: First non Star Wars fan fic! Originally written as an anonymous m/m story, but it works better here. Poem is "The Two Trees," by WB Yeats.
There, through the broken branches, go
The ravens of unresting thought;
Peering and flying to and fro,
To see men's souls bartered and bought.
When they are heard upon the wind,
And when they shake their wings; alas!
Thy tender eyes grow all unkind:
Gaze no more in the bitter glass.
Running, always running. He never knew terror until now, not like this... All the trees were dead, lining the cracked pavement, casting silhouettes against the steel grey sky. One long, winding path set before him, and he wanted to escape, he wanted to hide, he wanted to be brave and face his pursuer... but he couldn't.
It was so inexplicable, so irrational, but he wasn't just running to avoid getting caught, he was running because he didn't want to see who was chasing him. Fear froze him, even as it kept his arms and legs pumping. Fight or flight, he wanted the former, could only do the latter, running and fear became the only things he ever knew in life. If that thing would stop chasing him, if he could only find out this was just a sick joke, if he could only just hide...
Automatic steps. The air was cold, colder than he ever remembered anything being, even colder than that last night in San Remo, but something kept him from remembering what happened there, he must not think about things like that, only concentrate on survival.
The only sounds were his harsh breathing and the slap of his footfalls. Shoes, he wasn't wearing any shoes. But he was past any pain, even as he ran through broken glass. Something more primal than violence or sex was pushing him. And the enemy was getting closer. It would never stop, it would just keep going...
He couldn't hear the thing behind him. God, he didn't even know if the pursuer was human. But he knew if he just took one look behind... no, must not think that, too tempting, remember Eve, remember Pandora and her damn box, fulfilling curiosity would only make things worse. But it was so close... just one look.
He gazed off to the distance. The pavement, cold and hot, kept going straight forward. Nothing harmful. Just one look, and maybe that would scare him into running faster. Or maybe it would stop this running, this endless mindless running.
He glanced cautiously out of the corner of his eye behind his shoulder. A pair of feet, human feet, were about a yard or two behind him. Sweet Jesus, it had been that close to him the entire time. The feet ran in step with him, silent where his own drilled into the pavement. Human, that was all he really needed to know, but he was so close...
His eyes moved upward. Male, definitely male. Up past the legs, the torso, the pale arms that looked far too familiar, the face...
Shit.
Tom woke with a start. Just a dream... nothing like he had ever experienced before. He took a few deep breaths to calm his frightened heart. The warmth of the blanket had been thrown off sometime during the night, and chills ran up his arms.
Beside him, his lover stirred slightly. His lover, his life, his everything. Peter muttered softly, then rose up on his forearms. His hair was deliciously tousled, his face soft with sleep. Noting the state of his beloved, the sleepy look left his eyes and he instantly became alert.
"Are you alright? What happened?"
He started to say, yes, he was fine, just a bad dream, but something made him stop. Better to be honest. Suddenly nervous, Tom got out of bed and picked up the blanket. Tossing it over the sheets, he got back under the covers. He immersed himself in the fresh-chilled warmth. What to say?
"It... it was a nightmare, but it was something... I don't know, something so real about it..."
Peter wrapped his arms around him in a tight hug. Long fingers, an artist's fingers, soothingly stroked his hair. Tom felt tears forming in his eyes.
"I...I don't think I can really explain..."
"Shhh... It's alright. Don't feel obligated to tell me about it." Always so generous. The tears spilled over. For the longest time, he was simply held. At last, his sobs began receding, and his tears were carefully brushed away. A gentle kiss.
"Now promise me you won't have anymore nightmares."
He grinned. "Yes, Master."
A pair of eyebrows waggled at him. "Hmmm, I like the sound of that." Tom laughed.
Peter leaned against him, heads touching. "G'night." He was soon fast asleep.
Tom looked up at his dozing beloved. Safe in the night, in the silence. "Oh Peter, it was my face, it was me... but it wasn't me. And that's what scared me most of all," he whispered. He settled back down and tried to enjoy the warmth of the blankets and his lover. No more nightmares. That was one promise he was afraid he would have to break.
~finis~