2: Guilty Conscience

"I never meant for it to happen ... " Max's voice rose mockingly to an unpleasant whiny falsetto.

"I don't talk like that," Roger began, crossly, but Max carried on regardless.

"Every bloody time, Roger, every bloody time. You should put that on your tombstone - Here lies Roger DeBris: He never meant it, honest! I never thought I'd ever hear myself say this, but - poor Carmen. Poor kid. Jeez, Roger!"

Leo, hovering behind Max like a shadow, bit his lip nervously. He hated confrontation in any case, and when it was a confrontation between his closest friend and their director - who still scared Leo half to death, to tell the truth - well, that just made it worse. Max was getting very red in the face, stomping around the office, and Leo was having a hard time keeping up with him. Roger simply sat on the couch, a dazed expression on his face. He looked like he hadn't slept for a week. Which was pretty much exactly the case.

"So," Max demanded, coming to a halt so abruptly that Leo crashed into the back of him, "where does this leave us, Roger, hey? We've already lost that damn dancer because apparently you keep your brain in your pants! So will we need to start looking for another director any time soon, do you think, or can you pull yourself together by, say, three days ago?!"

"Three - ?"

"We are seriously behind schedule, Roger. We need to get the rehearsals back on track - listen, Roger, I'm sorry about Carmen, okay? But it's been nearly a whole damn month and ... hey, you'll sort it out in the end, right? I mean, you two ... this isn't exactly the first time this has happened, is it? And you've always been fine. I'm sure you'll be fine this time too ... "

"I don't think so," Roger mumbled. "I don't think we're going to be fine, this time, Max darling. I don't even know where he is."

"You what?" Max stopped his incessant pacing and stared at Roger. Leo decided now might be a good time to sit down, before anyone noticed him; hiding behind a desk had always worked fairly well back at Whitehall & Marks ...

"I don't know where he is," repeated Roger, sulkily. "He's not staying with any of his friends, he doesn't have any family - "

"Does he not?" Max asked, interestedly, distracted for the moment from the problem at hand. Roger shook his head. "No, there's nobody now. There was a ... grandma, or a great-aunt or something, but she died a couple of years ago, and he never ever mentions his parents so I always thought they must be dead too, but I guess they might still be around someplace, although I really don't think he keeps in touch with them, there's never a birthday card or Christmas card or anything, I wouldn't even - "

"Roger?"

Roger screeched to a halt mid-sentence. "What, Max? What?"

"Shut up, Roger. Please. Before I have to kill you."

Roger scowled at Max down the length of his nose and carried on, exactly as though Max hadn't spoken " - know where they live. Lived. You see, Max? I don't even know that! My goodness, oh, for heaven's sake - " Roger exclaimed suddenly, leaping to his feet and storming around the office, taking up where Max had left off " - how ridiculous is this? How utterly, utterly silly, darlings, is my life?"

Leo glanced at Max to see whether he was actually expected to answer that one - he didn't think it would be a very good idea, but sometimes Roger's rhetorical questions turned out not to be, and somehow Leo always seemed to get it the wrong way round. Luckily, Max, catching Leo's eye, simply shook his head and pressed his lips together in a very definite "no".

"Ten years we've been together," Roger was wailing now, gesturing somewhat wildly as he did so, "ten years, and I don't even know the first thing about him, do I?! I don't even know his blasted NAME ... "

"You don't - ? " Leo blurted, incredulously, but Max thwacked him hard in the shoulder, and he subsided with a muttered "Ow!" Shooting his partner a "Shut up or else" sort of look, Max grabbed Roger's arm and steered the taller man carefully back to the couch before he damaged any of the furnishings. He looked a little bit like a fat tugboat trying to guide an elegant yacht; albeit one that had lost all the air from its sails.

Having apparently used up today's dramatic energy, Roger flopped back down onto the couch, picking up one of the pillows and hugging it like a lost child. Max sank down beside him, pulling out his handkerchief to mop at his face; he extended the other hand as if he were about to pat Roger comfortingly on the leg, but thought better of it and patted him on the shoulder instead. Nobody said anything. Leo, as uncomfortable with the silence as he had been with all the shouting, began chewing on his lip again; he picked up a fountain pen, pulled off the top, clicked it back on again, put it down beside Max's in-tray, then moved it a few inches, lining it up so it made a perfect right-angle with the telephone. There were several old scripts in a pile by the lamp on the other side of the desk, all higgledy-piggledy, and Leo, who found it impossible to stop tidying once he'd started, began shuffling them together, neatening them up, making sure all the edges matched ...

After several minutes, he judged it safe enough to risk a glance up at the others, and found, to his intense relief, that Max seemed to have the situation back under control. At least, his face had returned to its normal colour again, which was probably a good sign. And Roger was no longer drama-queening around the office, which was definitely a good sign.

"Okay, Roger, here's the deal," Max said, having apparently reached a decision, "You go home, have a shower, have something to eat, get some sleep, right? We'll head over to the rehearsal and see what we can do for today; and tomorrow, things get back to normal. They're good, your team, they've been doing a grand job keeping things going, but - I never thought I'd ever say this, either - but they're just not you, Roger. I know - " he added hastily, for Roger showed signs of wanting to interrupt again " - I know it'll be strange, without Carmen, but like they say, the show must go on, right? Isn't that ... why we all do what we do?"

"Well, yes, but - " Roger began, but his heart clearly wasn't in the argument, and his voice tailed off.

"But nothing," said Max briskly, heaving himself to his feet and reaching down to pull Roger up, too. "That's it. Therapy session is over. Off you go, there's a good fellow."

Leo kept his head down, sorting out the files and folders, not looking up. He heard the office door close, heard a huge sigh of relief, heard the creaking of the couch as Max sat down again, a little too heavily.

"Leeeeeeeo ... "

Max's voice held a definite note of wheedling. Like he wanted something. Leo didn't look up.

"Leo, Leo, Leo ... " Now he sounded half-amused, half-exasperated. "Do you really think, my dear Bloom, that after all this time I can't tell when you have a guilty conscience?"

"Ah ... guilty - ?" Leo risked the merest of glances, and regretted it instantly. Max was grinning all over his face. "Let me see, now," he said, ticking points off on his fingers, "you've been skulking behind that desk all afternoon, you're not meeting anyone's eyes - not that you ever really do - you're going red, you're faffing about with all my stuff - "

"I'm what?"

"Faffing."

"What's faffing?"

"You are. Leo, my boy, you're hiding something."

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"Am - "

"Leo, you know you'll never beat me at this game. Why don't you just save us both a lot of time and effort and just tell me what it is you've done this time?"

Leo blushed furiously, tried to think of some clever reply, failed miserably, and settled for poking his tongue out at Max and blowing a raspberry.

"Oh, very mature," Max smirked. "Now come on, out with it! What are you hiding?"

"I'm not hiding anything," Leo began, but Max, going wide-eyed and with a sudden gasp of realisation, leapt off the couch and came over to lean on the desk, looming over the younger man. "Or should I say ... " he said slowly, " ... who?"

Leo started to sink down in his chair.

"How long?" Max demanded, jabbing a finger at Leo's chest.

"How long ... what?"

"How long," Max repeated, as though he was talking to a very stupid six-year-old, "has Carmen ... been staying ... with you?!"

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