Part Two: Also, Angels

Julian Larson, Clark Sawyer, and the Daltonverse plotline are from CP Coulter's "Dalton"

Let it be known henceforth that Julian Larson was a guy who enjoyed sleeping in. He couldn't understand why toddlers and little kids would howl and whine about being put down to a nap time during the afternoons—he would kill to be given the chance to just pass out at any given occasion, mainly because he was so tired either from a shoot, a full schedule, or whatever else the punishing Hollywood regime has decreed.

But in this case, Julian was not planning on getting up until it was at least noon due to his colossal hangover. His headache was monumental and hangovers are seldom worth the opportunity to lose yourself and forget everything prior to alcohol mist. He was just running through the fact that his fog-ridden brain could, as of the moment, inform him that last night was a successful blur of light and voices.

…and…warmth…?

The sun blazing through a crack in the curtains was shining into his eyes, and made him wince. Shit. Not again.Mother Nature was the worst alarm call for another day.

He thought he heard a flutter that could've almost been wings, but it was likely the sound of the curtains being pulled shut and the offending ray of sun was blocked out into comfortable darkness. Julian sighed and sank his head into his pillow further. "Thanks…" was his sleepy mindless murmur.

Clark Sawyer smiled down at him and very carefully sat down on the bed, aware that his weight on the bed would be obvious and might wake the slumbering primadonna. Hung over or not, Julian remained exactly as his wild fangirls described him: gorgeous. And as Clark did twice last night, he carefully brushed the hair out of Julian's eyes.

I have no idea how anyone could not look at you, he admitted to himself, pulling his hand away as though he was afraid the contact would desecrate him if he left it there any longer. Clark rose with a sigh, picking up a towel and the clothes that he'd texted his handler last night to send over, and departed into the bathroom.

The warm touch of the hand in his hair was not lost on Julian, and it permeated his drowsy thoughts to trigger images of last night that were quite unlike the rest. It was the feeling of being against a strong body whose arms held him with great care, an alien notion to him, and a pair of eyes that, for the first time since he'd started envisioning desires, were blue instead of green.

Green had never been kind, and had never touched, and when he dreamed of them he could feel venom that stung him still. But the blue eyes remained gentle all the while, pushed beyond his walls, and did so far too kindly for it to have come from the same cold, glimmering, silver world he was used to living in.

And then the remembrance of lips being so close…

—a peal of laughter—

—"Shutup, Sawyer!"—

It came slamming back as though a dam had broken. He was drunk. And talking. And hysterical. And he was brought home by—

Julian gasped and jerked up in the covers, bolt upright in bed in moments. "Clark!"

The bathroom door opened and the popstar emerged, hair still damp, hand still holding a towel, but already clothed in his pants and shirt, and he looked concerned as he moved to the bed. "What? What's wrong?"

Julian stared up at him, a little disoriented and startled. Clark continued to gaze in concern, waiting for an answer, and did it so unwaveringly that Julian tore his gaze away as heat threatened to rise to his cheeks and make a fool out of him. "Sorry—I just…thought you left…"

Clark seemed to relax, and even smirked a little as he sat back down onto the covers, blond hair dripping. "I leave the room to get cleaned up and you start to miss me already?"

"Fuck you, Sawyer."

But Clark just grinned. Julian yawned irritably, looking around. "What time is it?"

"Around eleven-thirty. We both slept through breakfast." Clark rose and continued to dry his hair, walking back to the bathroom.

Of course Clark had slept over. He could remember that, at least. But the bed smelled like Clark's cologne. He had fallen asleep next to him. Julian vaguely remembering him urging him to sleep (well he had been pretty drunk) and finally giving into the older boy's quiet insistence. Clark had lain next to him, eyes lowered and staring at nothing, but rubbing Julian's hands gently until Julian finally gave into the intoxication and fell unconscious. He last remembered the blanket being pulled over them both.

It was the most disgustingly domestic thing that had ever been done to Julian in his entire life and he couldn't remember the last time he was that horribly spoiled by someone who he hadn't even actually slept with prior. What the hell was wrong with Clark anyway? There's no way anyone on earth could actually be that nice.

"Alicia and Iris are shooting their scenes today," Clark said as he emerged again from the bathroom and looking neater than previously. "We don't have scenes, but we do have to go to MTV for an interview."

"Why you and me?"

"Movie's storyline. You're the groom, I'm the best man, we're best friends…" Clark shrugged and stretched luxuriously. "Maybe they just want to see us together even if we're not the headliners."

"Well my name's on the billing." Julian cast a glance over his co-star. All right, maybe no one on earth could be that nice, but Clark Sawyer was definitely…definitely thathot. He tore his eyes away with a nonchalant expression that was, in itself, a testament to his acting skills. "When's that happening?"

"Just after lunch," Clark responded. He sat at the bed and smiled. "I hope you don't mind, I used the shampoo I found in the cabinet."

Fucking hell, is that why he smells like that? One of Julian's fans had sent that shampoo in as a present and he hadn't used it—sponsors and endorsers threw products at him like they were going out of style—but the scent of white heather that enveloped Clark and the rest of the room was, for lack of a better word, intoxicating. "I don't mind."

"You have time to get dressed—let's go out to lunch or something. You haven't eaten anything since last night, and not much then either."

Incidentally, Julian's stomach chose that time to growl, causing the actor to turn crimson in humiliation. Clark was trying very hard not to grin, but it failed dramatically. "You're such a pain!" Julian snapped, glaring at him as he got off the bed and headed to his closet. It was a little dark, and he heard Clark pull open the curtains, sending in a flood of California sun. Julian wondered if Clark really had good timing or if he was actually anticipating his wants. He'd make someone a good butler, Julian snorted in amusement.

He had just pulled out some things to wear when he felt a hand grab his wrist. He stopped immediately and glanced back. Clark was standing behind him, a silhouette, skin edged by sunlight gilding. "What?" Julian asked irritably.

The older actor seemed to stare at Julian for a moment, shifting slightly closer, his dark lashes painted gold by the morning, and even Julian had to hold his breath just momentarily as the blue eyes looked at him through them.

Clark wondered if Julian remembered anything. He said he would, but he really wasn't holding his breath on that one. But god, did Julian look wonderful in the light, lips curved into that irritated frown. What did that say about how messed up Clark's psyche was that he thought Julian was attractive even when he was pissed off?

Stop staring at his lips…Clark willed himself to let go of the wrist. "Nothing, I…" He stepped back. "Nothing." He walked to the door. "I'll wait for you out there."

Julian stared at his wake. What was that all about? Did he make a habit of just stunning people by coming close and letting his presence overpower them by sight? Even Julian didn't put that much stock in his own outward appearance (though he was completely aware that he's able to make several fangirls swoon if he wanted to).

As Julian turned back to his closet, wondering, Clark sank into one of the armchairs in the den outside and felt utterly embarrassed. He ran a hand through his still slightly damp hair. What am I doing…? Of course he doesn't remember.

Shouldn't he be at least grateful for the moment when he had it? That in some distant alcohol-ridden fog, Julian had, at some point, been quite willing to kiss him? And yeah, that made things horribly awkward in Clark's head (and pants) now that they were both supposedly "sane" again, and it'll take quite a bit of work to convince himself to not press the matter.

Besides, it'd be dangerous to Julian's career if he did. And his own.

That's right, Clark. Rationalize. Because that's totally worked all this time, hasn't it?

He became vaguely aware of a sound that had been in the living room for a while, but it sounded as though it were whittled away somewhere. He realized that it was a ringtone, and seeing as how "Broken Strings" isn't his own ringtone, he assumed it must be Julian's. But why was it in here? Maybe Julian had dropped it when Clark hauled him in last night?

He got up and hunted around the living room, retracing the steps they took last night and searching the floor. He finally located it, under one of the hall tables, just as it stopped ringing. He picked up Julian's phone, dusted it off and turned it over.

"Forty-five missed calls…?" Clark frowned. Was something wrong? He was certain he'd informed both their handlers where they were last night, were they that worried?

A closer inspection said something else:

Two missed calls and a voicemail from Julian's publicist.

One voicemail from his manager.

Two voicemails (likely drunken ones) from Zoe L.

One (also likely drunken) voicemail from Alicia.

And what looked to be two dozen missed calls and messages from one Derek S.

And a less, but present, amount of the same from a Logan W.

Most of the calls and mail from the last two were old by some days, some over a week old. Whoever these two were, Julian was not responding to them, but he wasn't deleting their names either.

Logan… Clark, who had walked back into the den, slowly sat down onto the couch, staring at the name. It was the one Julian had called him last night. It was the guy that Julian told him about, in his inebriated mess, about how he'd loved him for a long time but he had never once looked at him. Clark swallowed a little, seeing that Logan was trying to call Julian.

A slick of evil began to attempt penetrating him, and its origins were from some places deep in Clark that he wasn't prepared to acknowledge. A place that told him theories that if Logan so much as hinted wanting Julian back for certain reasons, Julian would evaporate just like that. And Clark would lose him.

But it made no sense, that side of him, as he couldn't lose something he never had. And Julian's life was none of his business. As far as Julian was concerned, he didn't remember what he said much, and maybe he didn't remember things Clark told him about how he felt, strange as it was. Maybe his mind just realigned to the fact that Clark was straight, and because of that, the confession was forgotten.

Clark knew he was straight…but he kept looking at Julian anyway.

He stared at the phone. What was Logan even calling him for?

There was a moment of stressed deliberation, and Clark was found at the end as no angel—but human. The latest message was opened on the screen, for him to see.

Julian, what the hell? Answer your damn phone! When are you coming back to Dalton?

Clark closed the message and put the phone on the table next to the couch. His hand shook a little as he ran a hand through his hair.

Julian's life was calling to him. A real one, with friends and school.

One Clark was never going to be a part of.

Julian emerged from the bedroom to see Clark casually flipping through channels in the massive flatscreen television in the den. Julian was sure this is just the hangover talking, but the sun was too bright as it poured in through the curtains, and the way it hit Clark made him look like he'd catch fire. And those blue eyes were amplified to devastating effect—one he only ever saw before in green ones at their most furious—when he glanced to him with a slight smile. "Hey."

"Hey yourself," Julian grumbled as he pushed his sunglasses up and glowered at the sun. "What's the deal with you and sunlight?"

"I like sunny days," Clark responded with a grin. "You, on the other hand, are a famous night owl, so I don't expect you to understand…" He turned to the TV and laughed. "Hey, look."

It was the first trailer for South of Heaven, flashing across the screen. Both he and Clark appear in it—Julian taking up more screen time as the young groom in a family who was forced to accept a pregnant daughter marrying at the age of eighteen, based off the book series, Of Heaven. Clark, as his best friend, appears with him in certain clips, as the best man, and the friend who is slowly getting tired of helping.

Julian snorted at the sight of himself, face creased in contorted contemplation. "Don't watch that thing." He grabbed the remote from Clark and turned it off—his friend burst out laughing, protesting, "But we haven't even gotten to the part where you say your vows!"

"I don't want to." Julian snapped. "Hell, I'll get shot when I do."

Clark's expression changed suddenly. He rose from the couch. "Hang on a minute. Those letters and presents—"

Julian looked petulant again. "They're still coming. And the sender is angry. Now that the trailer is out."

Clark was at his side in a moment, face dark, incredibly distressed. "Julian, shit—have you told Everly?" Ned Everly was the Director of this hyped film and Julian would rather slug it out with whoever the freak threatening him was than tell Ned Everly that someone was threatening his life for being in the film. Everly had principles. He'd actually give serious consideration to taking Julian out "because he had his whole life to live" or something like that.

Screw that. "What do you think, Sawyer?"

Clark looked stunned but didn't say anything further. He looked tense as he looked around the crushingly empty residence that usually had no one but Julian and the occasional cleaning lady in it. "Look at least…at least increase your people, your…security. You live alone in here, Julian—"

"Here's an idea…" Julian said as he casually picked up his coat from the rack in the hall. "Stay over a couple of nights. You'll see that an English moor is pretty much more deadly than this place."

Maybe he was just teasing. Maybe he was hung over to death and wasn't thinking straight. Maybe he liked the idea of having tall, blond and gorgeous over there staying in his house.

"Okay."

Julian choked and stared at Clark with wide eyes. The other boy stared at him in return with no real expression other than acquiescence. "What…?"

Clark shrugged a little. "I don't see why I can't. This place is closer to the lot than my apartment." He blinked. "Oh…you were joking?"

Mostly. Okay half. Oh hell, who gives a shit, he said yes."It's fine by me," Julian replied nonchalantly as he slipped on his coat. "But you're paying for your share of the food, freeloader."

"That's 'guest'," Clark smirked. "You invited, so I'm a guest. And you'll have to be nice to me as etiquette dictates."

"Do I look etiquette to you, Sawyer?"

"You're in no condition to drive, so I will," Clark said casually as he took his own coat where it was left by the door. "Should I let Jessica know I'm staying with you?"

"That'll thrill her. She'll unload all responsibilities on you." Julian tossed him the keys to his Bentley.

Clark was unruffled. "Fantastic. I'm officially your babysitter."

"Good luck with that." Julian snorted as he walked out into the sunlight, coat pulled, shades up, and ready to face the world.

Lunch was easy. Julian couldn't remember the last time he'd actually eaten out with someone who he wasn't interested in getting in their pants—all right, if he was going to be all technicalabout it, he hadwondered what it would be like getting into Clark's, but had never really acted on it—but somehow the idea didn't surface throughout the meal.

They simply talked about everything. Clark was the rational, calm buffer to Julian's snippy comments and even when Julian was crass and moody due to the hangover, Clark acted like one of the classic male moviestars of years long past, in some lounge, all classy and elegant and letting him let it out.

And Julian had to admit that it mellowed him some, and had him speaking a little less venomously when it appeared that Clark's end of the conversation wasn't going to go in equals to his tone.

Clark was rather glad to find Julian back to normal today; the drunken Julian had incredible mood swings that rather made him wonder if he should be preparing for a round two or three in the duration of his stay in Julian's condo, which they still hadn't actually talked about. How long was he staying, or where—but the fact was he was just startled that Julian offered at all.

Clark knew Julian enjoyed his time to himself; in sets and locations when he was with him, he would stay in his trailer or sit on his chair texting other people, and almost seemed to get annoyed when his co-stars ask him to join them. So when he asked him to stay in his condo with him, he saw that as some kind of invitation that, while it sounded like a challenge, meant that he might distantly want to stay with someone.

And that phone… He stared at it during lunch, on the table. Julian hadn't touched it. He hadn't been texting like mad or calling either. Just answering the few from his people. And the messages that Clark had seen must have been building up.

This was why, during the drive to MTV, he said, "You're not going back to your school, are you."

It was a statement. Julian glanced at him, a little surprised. Clark kept his eyes on the road. "I just noticed that you weren't attached to your phone anymore," he said, sounding a little hesitant. "And…you used to talk about school all the time."

"School is a pain in the ass, one that I need like a need a hole in the head," Julian grumbled. "Stifling uniforms, stifling people, stifling teachers…"

"You smile when you text your friends from there."

Julian swallowed and glared at him with a force that penetrated his sunglasses. His face flushed hot and it wasn't because of the sun. "Why the hell do you care? And what the hell would you know about school, you haven't been in one since…since…!"

"Middle school," Clark nodded without expression. "You're right, I'm sorry. I wouldn't know. I was just…I was worried that you were being forced into the movie."

Julian clenched his fists, knuckles white. It was hard to get worked up with Clark. It was still alien to him, snapping and sniping at someone who just refused to be pulled into the heat of a fight. Clark always diffused him, whether he liked it or not. In Dalton, Derek and Logan would always be ready, swords up, to clash with him verbally, but Clark just wasn't that.

"Well I'm not," Julian finally hissed, glaring out the window. "I wanted to do it so I ditched school and I did it."

"All right," Clark nodded.

"Are you bullshitting me?" Julian finally demanded.

Clark looked surprised now, turning to him. "Why would I do that?"

"You're agreeing to everything I say!"

Clark backed a little, startled by his vehemence. "Am I not supposed to?"

Julian set his jaw and just glared as he turned to the window again, fuming. There was just no arguing with Clark! He was incorrigible! And his words had taken effect, striking home.

At this moment, Julian felt the car slow before coming to a stop at the side of the empty road they were on. "What the hell…?" Julian looked around.

Clark pulled the brake and turned to him, his face now intent. "Julian, is there something you need to tell me here?"

"I don't need to fucking tell you anything," Julian muttered.

"But you didn't answer my question earlier. Am I not supposed to agree with you? I mean, do you want to go back to school? Is that why you're picking this fight? You want someone to tell you to go back?"

"There is nothing for me back at Dalton," Julian said, tearing off his glasses and looking at Clark, eyes blazing. "Nothing." Dalton was the pain in his side, that dull throb, that tearing pain and that poison he was trying to get away from. Cruel green wrapped in blue and red colors.

Clark searched his face, expression gentle. "…then why do you get so angry when I take your words for face value?"

Cold clamped around heavily in Julian's chest. He looked away.

Clark took a deep breath and decided to throw caution to the wind. If this was hurting Julian, he had to know. "…is this about the guy you mentioned last night…? The one you mistook me for…?"

"I don't want to talk about this."

"Julian, last night—"

"Clark!" Julian glared at him, but that glare begged. It begged for an end, and for the talk to stop. And it was by far the most honest thing given to Clark all day. "Please. I don't want to do this right now. I don't want to remember anything."

And then it was Clark's turn to feel chilled.

I want to remember. I want to remember you in the morning.

Julian stared at Clark, wondering why he suddenly looked so…hurt. As an open book, Clark's expressions told far too much. And this expression on his face lasted for what must've been a second before he just smiled a little again. "All right." And Clark leaned back into his seat.

Julian stared at him. What did I say? Why…why did he look like that?

Clark turned the key in the ignition and started up the Bentley again. He gave Julian a glance as though to reassure him that it was all right, he would no longer press the matter.

"Clark," Julian prompted, frowning. But the older boy just shook his head. "It's all right," Clark answered with a small smile. They were on the road again, heading for another day on the job where everyone had to pretend.

Julian tore his eyes away from him and stared moodily out the window. For once, getting exactly what he wanted didn't turn out the way he expected it to. What the hell was wrong with Clark anyway? First, he presses the school questions and then suddenly…

Julian, last night—

And what did happen last night…? Julian laid his fingertips on his lips, trying to remember. What did he say? Did he say something else about Logan, is that what this was all about?

In the back of his mind, something terribly heavy nagged incessantly. Something was desperate in there, trying to get him to remember. He was forgetting something. Forgetting something far too important to let go. Everything in him, the more he tried to look back at last night, past the drunken fog, the more insistent it became, and kept begging him to remember, as it had tried to all morning since he saw Clark in the sun.

Something about Julian and Logan, something about the problem. He had clearly told Clark something about that… And yet everything wasn't exactly right. There was something else…

… and Clark.

He looked to his companion, who was driving silently.

It was Clark, wasn't it?