Title: The Hard Part (or How I Let The Boys Boil Over Now In Order To Simmer Down Later)
Chapter: 1/5 (ish)
Fandom: EastEnders
Characters: Christian Clarke, Syed Masood, Tamwar Masood, Jane Beale.
Pairings: Christian/Syed
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Up until Thursday 27th January '11
Summary: The true challenge in any relationship comes not in times of peace, but in times of conflict. Can Christian and Syed rebuild from the rubble of their first major fall out? Or has the baby issue just taken them too far?
A/N: I wrote this because I don't trust writers. Anywhere. My time in various fandoms (Torchwood and Phantom of the Opera specifically) has taught me that writers are more likely to screw you over when it comes to concluding a particular story thread rather than actually doing it well. And, seeing as Christian and Syed were just about willing to boil over about the whole baby issue, I didn't think it could be left simmering for another week and a half (or however long until they're actually in the show again). So this is me trying to depict, realistically, what I think happened on the night of that episode. Those of you who've read my Torchwood stuff will know that I thrive on angst as long as it is resolved well - fluff and domestic fun never got anyone any screen time, unfortunately. I'm blowing them up in order to rebuild them stronger.
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The Hard Part
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"Conflict is the gadfly of thought. It stirs us to observation and memory. It instigates to invention. It shocks us out of sheeplike passivity, and sets us at noting and contriving."
~
John Dewey
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Christian hated this.
He hated the silence; the tension that crackled between them. It fizzed and hissed, spitting flames and burning skin and yet, unlike the tension that had been forever present in those months before, it was so, so cold. A deep freeze that permeated the air with such ferocity that Christian had to suppress a shiver, his fingers and toes tingling with what he hoped wasn't the onset of frostbite.
They'd been at it all day. Faces tensed, arms crossed, shielding themselves from one another as if they were the worst of enemies; standing at opposite ends of a battlefield with only brief, sharp, painful shots cutting into the silence. It was worse than an argument. At least then tempers could be set free, emotions could be released and then…well...then they could work beyond it. Then they could breathe and begin to think about things as logically as possible. At least, he thought they could.
But not when it was like this. They couldn't go forward when they were being so evasive, so stoic - but neither of them was willing to break. Christian was waiting for Syed to crumble, and Syed was waiting for him to back down. As if they both believed that if they continued with the gradual stream of water then, eventually, one of their defences was sure to be eroded away. Only, it was more than a stream of water – it was a trickle of acid, dripping and burning so slowly that neither of them would notice until it was too late…
It was evening when Christian finally decided that he'd had enough. To hell with holding out, he thought bitterly as he twisted yet another glass around in his fingers. His wall was crumbling and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
If it was going to fall, he was going to make damned sure that Syed got caught in the rubble.
"Are we just going to do this all night?"
Syed glanced up from the magazine he was reading over at the table.
"Do what?" he took another sip of his orange juice, his voice cold and clipped.
"This."
There was a brief silence before Syed returned to his magazine, the paper fluttering as he turned the page roughly.
"I wasn't aware that we were doing anything."
Christian could feel his fingers tightening around the glass, the last remnants of the alcohol sizzling slightly in his stomach as he refrained from shattering the crystal.
"That's what I mean," he muttered, his eyes focused on the light refracting from the glass. "We can't just do nothing all night."
The crackle of moving paper stopped for a brief second, silence permeating the room before the gentle flip-flip-flip continued at a frantic pace.
"Yeah, well, if you want to go out why don't you just call Roxy and…"
The sound of the glass slamming onto the floor cut him short.
"That's not fair," Christian bolted to this feet, the sofa creaking as he hurled his hand down onto the arm and turned to face Syed. "That's not fair."
"Why not?"
"Because you know what I mean," Christian squared himself, his shoulders tensed as his fingernails dug into the sofa. "This has nothing to do with Roxy; this is about you and me."
Syed refused to lift his eyes from the magazine, his jaw clenching as his fingers crumpled the edge of the page.
"How can this have nothing to do with Roxy?" he spoke through gritted teeth, his whole face pulled tight. "If this goes through, it'll never be 'you and me' ever again; she'll always be a part of it. But you didn't think about that, did you, before you went storming in?"
Christian swallowed hard, a lump that felt like brimstone smarting against his throat. He clenched his fist against the wool of the sofa, the threads ripping slightly beneath his fingers as he took a deep, calming breath.
"I thought that…"
"No, Christian, you didn't think. I think we've firmly established that," Syed glanced upwards. "And we've discussed this as much as we're going to, so just stop."
"No," Christian's voice caught Syed as he moved to look down, as if a hand had reached out and pulled his gaze back upwards. "You're not just going to sit there and pretend that there's nothing wrong."
"Just because I don't want a shouting match with you doesn't mean that…"
"That you're avoiding it? Of course it does. It's your speciality, after all – ignoring the blindingly bloody obvious. We gonna go through this again, Syed? Dancing 'round the issue, refusing to look it square in the eye? Because that's worked so well for us in the past. Or do you need me to remind you how successfully the whole avoidance thing went for you last time?"
Syed jerked up, the paper ripping beneath his grasp as the chair slid away from him.
"Bringing that up is low even for you."
"Even for me? And what do you mean by that?" Christian crossed his arms. "Come on, what does that mean?"
Syed straightened, his whole posture spewing venom as he mirrored Christian exactly.
"Well, you're not exactly the classiest of people, are you?" every word was designed to hurt and Christian knew that – wasn't that the point? "I mean, look at the genes you were willing to give your child. Mitchell genes, really? Because they have such a reputation for being good stock, don't they?"
Something seemed to flash in Christian's eyes as Syed spoke, his jaw setting so firmly that the bone seemed ready to break from the skin. His fingers clenched and unclenched, the veins popping at the knuckles as he bit down hard enough on his tongue to draw blood.
"Well," he stretched every single word, each syllable like a cobra spitting poison. "I might not be up to your standards, but at least I've always been honest."
The words had barely left his mouth before Syed had stepped forward, his hands now curled into fists at his sides as he pushed his face into Christian's.
"We were over that," he hissed, his voice trembling. "You have no right to bring that up."
"Why not?" Christian drew himself up to his full height, his bulky weight casting a dark, tense shadow over Syed's much lither frame. "How can we be over it when you're still not telling me the truth? You're still hiding. How can I ever do anything right if you don't have the balls to tell me when I'm doing something wrong?"
"So it's my fault?"
"Well, if the cap fits."
"It doesn't," their faces were so close that Christian could feel the words vibrating through the air and onto his lips. "This isn't my fault. You made the decisions. You went ahead with it. Just like before, you didn't even stop to think what I wanted, what I needed. I had a chance and now you've blown it and…"
"Hang on," Christian held up a hand, his eyes flashing dangerously as he planted his palm on Syed's chest and roughly pushed him backwards. "What chance? What aren't you telling me? Why are you still hiding and...and thinking that that's not going to bother me? I hate when you're like this because there's nothing I can do to make you happy. You're impossible. What do you want from me?"
"To back off!" Syed push back against Christian's hand, his finger coming up to jab painfully against his sternum. "To stop acting like this is normal! To stop thinking that we can raise a kid together – are you insane? There was the slimmest of chances that my parents might have accepted us, but you think that's going to happen now? They'll think that I'm…"
Christian's hand shot up, catching hold of Syed's wrist and holding it tightly in place.
"What, Sy? What'll they think?"
Brown eyes bore intently into his, the fire in them smarting him painfully.
"That I'm complicit in this."
A frown creased Christian's features, his anger and confusion combining as his brow knitted tightly together.
"In what?"
"Don't be dense."
Something dawned in Christian's eyes, his whole face falling slack as he took a step back – as if Syed had lashed out and caught him across the face.
"You don't think…"
"That two gay guys can raise a kid? Why would you think for even a second that I would? It goes against everything I believe in."
"But…" some of the anger had fallen away from Christian's voice, a quiet tightness gathering in the back of his throat. "I thought that…"
"I'm still a Muslim, Christian. I guess you forgot that when you realised it wouldn't suit what you wanted from me. I never stopped being a Muslim just because I was too weak to not love you. I gave up enough already to be with you; I won't go against my faith anymore. I think I've done enough flouting of my own moral code for one life-time without adding anything else."
Christian's mouth opened and closed a few times, the air hissing from his throat as he struggled to mould the sound coherently. His whole face crumpled, a mixture of anger and despair dancing across his eyes painfully. Eventually, the fire of anger overcame the more placid emotions swirling in his mind; the flames of sudden, furious understanding destroying anything else.
"You still blame me," he hissed, a hint of disbelief permeating his voice as his eyes bore into Syed's with an intensity he had not felt for months. "You still think it's my fault. After everything, I'm still the desperate old queen who tore you away from your family, from your faith. I can't believe you still…"
Syed's hand hovered between them, wavering in Christian's loosening grip as if contemplating whether to push Christian away or pull him closer. Eventually he settled for sweeping it back and gripping at his own hair, tugging the dark locks until Christian was convinced they were going to come away at the root – and an increasingly large part of him willed that to happen.
"You think it's that simple? Christian, you have no idea. How could you possibly understand? You can't know what it's been like for me."
"Can't I? So I didn't lose anything when I came out? I don't know what it's like to have my family shun me because of that? I'm the one who's still got the scars because I had the balls to be who I was rather than what other people wanted me to be. Don't you forget that."
"Aren't you even listening to me?" Syed was shouting now – really shouting - and Christian couldn't help but feel a small stirring of smugness amongst the anger that had been simmering for days. "That's not the point! It's not the same. I don't care about that."
"'Course you don't. Coz it's all about you, Sy. It always was. You wanted to be with me; you didn't want to be with me; you wanted me to help you; you want me to understand. It's always been about you. Y'know, I stupidly thought we were past all this – but obviously I was wrong."
A gush of air hit Christian's face as Syed laughed, his nostrils flaring as he refused to break the fiery gaze that seemed to link them together.
"But Christian Clarke is never wrong, is he?" he muttered, each word punctuated with bitterness. "He's always right, about everything, and to hell with what anyone else thinks."
Syed tried to turn away, a look of abject disgust descending on his face as he averted his gaze. But Christian anticipated the movement, his hand jerking up to catch Syed's chin and forcing him around to face him.
"Tell me you hate me, Sy," his voice was low; he could hear it trembling against his vocal chords, every single breath so low in his throat that he could barely hear them. "Go on. Tell me that you hate me."
There was a beat - a brief moment in which the silence was absolute - and then the bomb exploded.
"I hate you," the words sounded as if they had been ripped from Syed's lips, each syllable ricocheting around the room. "I hate you."
Time seemed to stand still for a few seconds, the words hanging heavily in the air as if they couldn't quite settle. And when they finally did, both men reacted simultaneously.
Syed pulled out from Christian's grasp just as the older man pushed him in the opposite direction, the force of the movement sending them hurtling away from one another. Christian stumbled against the sofa, bracing his weight on the arm as the back of Syed's legs caught the table behind him. He watched him hang in the air, his hand grasping at the wooden struts in slow motion as he struggled to keep himself upright.
For a brief moment Christian felt the sudden urge to go and help him, to catch him just as he'd once promised he always would. But that feeling didn't last for very long as the words that he'd heard – no, made – Syed say began to ring through his brain. He snatched his hand away as Syed managed to right himself; it was like they were the same pole of different magnets, identical and yet pushing each other away.
They stood for a few moments, the sound of heavy breathing filling the air as they stared. Their eyes were locked together, each one tense as they waited for the other to make his move. That word – hatehatehatehate - echoed around the room, ricocheting off walls and hitting them both with a force. Christian could still feel its impact, but he wasn't quite ready to register just how much it had hurt. There was still too much adrenaline pumping through his veins to notice the sting.
That is, until Syed suddenly made a break for the door, shattering their angry connection in one swift movement as he slammed it shut behind him. With the focus of Christian's anger ebbing away with the vibrations of the doorframe, the adrenaline began to quickly recede…
Then it hurt. Then it really hurt.
It hurt enough to push him down so that he was sat on the floor, back propped against the sofa with his head in his hands.
What have I done?
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*insert 'duff duff' here*
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Thank you for reading!
Any comments or suggestions on how I can continue to find my feet in this fandom would be most appreciated and warmly welcomed. The next chapter should be up tomorrow - unless I'm being held hostage by a university assignment.