A/N: So, here it is - the long awaited opening night. A longer chapter this time; hopefully none of you mind :)) Sit comfortably and enjoy! x

Perfect lines of hundreds of people kept forming at the doors of the Shubert theatre, excited chatter sounding through all of Shubert Alley. In the swarm of bodies, beautiful ladies clung onto the arms of their charming gentlemen, each of them dressed up to the nines. Some of them already sipped on champagne, while the men stood more to the side, smoking cigarettes, almost blocking the stage door as the last latecomer actors desperately tried to push through them. That was no different from any other performance night - the people, the exciting chaos - but tonight was no ordinary occasion. Tonight was the only chance they had to impress the audience's expectations, however unreasonable or ambitious they might be.

Anticipation hung in the air, its electrifying intensity making it harder to breathe, harder to concentrate on anything but the beating of his own heart. It was near impossible to tell excitement apart from nervousness; both were omnipresent, taking hold in varying situations and at varying degrees.

For example, it had been sheer nervousness when Max pulled him through the crowd and into the lobby, nodding politely at everyone they passed. Being courteous with everyone was important, for you could never be sure which of them were critics and which were ordinary theatregoers, though some of them made it rather blatant, whispering among themselves so loudly that they were hardly whispers anymore. Sometimes their gazes would wander over to him and Max, pointing at them rather shamelessly, and he would try giving them an acknowledging smile, but what he would always get in return were dirty looks. The real nervousness, though, came only when two of those men walked right past them, timing their comment just right so that it would reach them all the while pretending to address the other.

"What do you think, Howie, another hit or failure of the year?"

The man in question - who he would later recognize to be one of the most influential critics of the New York Times, Howard Taubman - only scoffed.

"Failure," he replied definitely.

It was in that moment that he felt the floor sway under his feet ever-so-slightly.

"Don't mind them, Leo." Max brushed it off with an encouraging pat on the shoulder. "It's a mind game. They love to see you shaking."

"Well, if that's what they are doing, they are succeeding. Look-" he held up his hand to show its tremor- " just like they wanted. Oh, Max, I just don't get it… Can't they show a little respect? We all worked so hard for this - literal sweat and blood and God knows what else went into the show. And besides, they can't judge what they haven't seen yet."

"Respect?" Max barked out a laugh. "My naive friend… Don't you know by now? If you wanted respect, you should have pursued any other career. You're never gonna get it from these animals."

"Maybe you're right." He had to laugh himself, relaxing just a bit at witnessing Max's self-assured demeanor. How did the confidence never leave him? "But, still. Right now, I would rather hide behind the seats and only emerge when all of this is over."

"Now, that's a wish that can be granted. Twenty minutes and you can stop all the worrying. It's the point of no return once the overture starts playing."

He looked down at his watch. Ten minutes past nineteen. In all of twenty minutes - twenty five if he added the customary 5 minutes - and their fate would be sealed. No more wondering about what could have been done differently; what could have been improved. Max's phrasing was accurate; it was the point of no return and there was no escaping it.

Max, seeing his inner struggle, only smirked and offered him his arm.

"Ready to take them by the storm?" he asked.

No, his mind replied, but his mouth said otherwise, and he smiled back at his partner warmly.

"When haven't I ever been ready?"

It is a different story in the auditorium. With the lights dimmed, the tension in the room increases as the audience begins to quiet down, the silence almost loud in comparison to the noise that buzzed through the theatre just seconds ago.

And yet, it is in that moment that he can feel his body starting to settle as well, nervousness replaced by genuine exhilaration about what they had created. He imagines what must be going on inside all of the actors right now. He can almost see Roger, pacing backstage as he tries so hard to appear calm for the sake of the cast - can almost hear their final proclamations of "break a leg" as they join hands in a silent homage to the show. Nobody knows what to expect; not the audience, not the cast, not himself. But it is better to not expect anything, he had learnt, and instead let oneself be taken in by the matchless atmosphere.

On Broadway, where the theatre is lit up with a thousand brilliant beams, it truly is the broadest way of mankind. Yet the brightest lights of all are inside, awaiting the curtain rise. It is there where people come together in music and dance and show the world that dreaming is something that can happen upon a stage.

Then, in a blink, music fills the air without effort; the sound rushing in and around every person in the room. Some react to the beat, others continue in chatter, but it always speaks to them in some manner. A lively tempo can lift them, elevate the spirit, whilst a slow one can relax the mood. Before the first notes filled the air every person was filled with prejudice and expectations; with it they all feel the same tidal flows and the beginnings of togetherness feels warm.

"What do you think, Leo," he hears Max speak next to him, and he leans in towards him, "is it too late to change everything yet?"

And then the curtain goes up.

The feeling came before the performance was even over.

This could be the one, a little hopeful voice kept repeating. After all this waiting, it could work.

Though he wasn't sure what made him so confident. But when the applause broke through the auditorium - when the house was brought down by a standing ovation - he felt something in him shift from doubt to naive hopefulness akin to what he sometimes experienced in his early years of producing. So could this show really beat their expectations, after all the set-backs and inconveniences? Could he have been wrong, could all of them? He didn't dare to make the bet.

Because even though the audience seemed satisfied, leaving the theatre in lively bunches of chatter, it was impossible to miss the smaller groups, loitering after the crowds. Those were composed of men whose faces he mostly recognized, sparing him not-so-subtle looks of judgement and not even making any effort to hide their little notebooks. He didn't want to imagine what kinds of notes they had in there, but he'd been around long enough to predict its nature. It seemed to him, sometimes, that critics became critics just out of spite towards the theatre. Who, after all, could really want to spend all their life criticising an art they would otherwise love?

But critics risk nothing at all, while simultaneously making them risk everything they've worked for. Himself. Leo. Roger and his team. Their cast and crew. All of these people dedicated months of their life to a single piece of art that they have agreed on to be worth the effort. Had it been really, though? They'd have to see about that still.

And yet, he couldn't help but find satisfaction in the process; in everything that came with it, the good and bad. Putting on a show had never been easy, or as poetic as people imagined it, or as thrilling, or as noble. But it wasn't tedious either - it was what it should be and nothing else. The fights, the disappointments, the pressure; those were all a fundamental part of it. But so was love, so was passion, so was union. And he wasn't going to give that up because of several bitter critics who grew to dislike him over the years for one petty reason or another.

At least they tried. At least they weren't afraid to take their chances and just put all their cards on the table. It had been a depleting journey, especially those last weeks, but in the end, he was proud of the result.

Whether the public would share his views, though, was a question of the near future.

"Can you see them?" Leo hissed into his ear, already looking in dire need of his blanket. "They're about to pounce on us like vultures. Just look at their faces… They'd write the reviews in our blood if they could."

"No doubt of it," he replied, "but when has it ever been different? It's probably an act to keep us on edge til the newspapers come out. It's always the same story - pretend they don't like it and then call me a theatrical genius. Lately, anyway. And if the public likes it; well, that's half the victory."

"If they like it." Leo protested, hugging his torso. "You can hardly judge the show's success based on what an opening night audience thinks. At least a half of them were the cast's family."

"Jesus, Leo." He tried not to sound too exasperated, though he was only half listening at this point. "Have you ever tried considering the positive outcome? Those happen too, you know."

Leo didn't react to this - and if he did, it was probably an eye roll - but Max didn't bother to look. His gaze was already fixated elsewhere.

He watched as crowds of people flooded into all the nearby restaurants and buildings, but one place in particular had the most attention. It had a sign hung above its entrance, which simply read "Double Cross - Opening Night Party Tonight". It was meant to prevent regular passersby from bothering, but he suspected it had the opposite effect - anyone who saw it attempted to get in, and when they would be denied, they'd peek in through the windows. What were they trying to spot? Him and Leo, probably.

Ideal moment to join the hassle.

"You coming along or not?" He barely spared his partner a look over his shoulder before stepping forward, more than ready to dive into that world of glory again.

Unlike most of the things that had anything to do with putting on a show, this never failed to impress him. The thrill of being the centre of attention; of being honoured and looked up to by people he used to idolize when he was younger. The pleasure of getting to witness Leo in one of his less guarded states, when the reviews would be released and his relief would be so great that he'd clap his hands in uncontained excitement. You couldn't experience those moments sitting at home, contemplating whether to take the risk or not.

He was proved right the moment he stepped in, Leo trailing behind him, and the guests turned in a unison that seemed almost rehearsed. In an instant, they started clapping, some cheering them on, some raising up their glasses to them. Oh, how he missed this.

He turned back to look at Leo who, though smiling shyly, looked as uneasy as before. If not more so. But he had expected this, knowing his patterns by now. That long hour or two before the newspapers arrived, he'd be on edge, laughing along with others only to fit in, but he knew better. Because even though Leo apparently thought he was being subtle by keeping his hands constantly in his pockets - mainly the left one - anyone who knew him even slightly was able to pin it down to more than a simple attempt to seem casual. He had to smirk to himself when he noticed him doing it even now.

But, to his credit, he'd always loosen up once the critics made their verdict and be able to enjoy the night - as long as the floor wasn't too cramped. Which was partly the reason why the celebration took place in one of the Hotel Astor's restaurants tonight, as opposed to the Sardi's like he had been used to most of his career. Firstly, Leo had insisted on it after a little incident a few years ago, when the Sardi's had been a little too small to comfortably fit a little too many people. And secondly, all about the building was much more luxurious, which was enough to convince him to change locations.

And it had been worth it.

The grand spaces of the hotel invited the lungs to expand, to truly absorb the restaurants' aromas and enter the moment. The walls were adorned with gold and crystal chandeliers hung from the ceilings, making little specks of light dance around the room.

"Now, that's better, isn't it, Leo?"

He half expected his question to fall on deaf ears, as on these events it was nearly impossible to keep track of the other at all times. Usually, it took about two minutes before someone would separate them, so he'd been almost startled when he turned and Leo was still right behind him, sticking to him closer than was necessary.

Seeing his surprise, Leo smiled his goofy smile and stepped back, nodding in agreement to his question.

"Remind me of this next time you complain about me being too close," he grumbled but didn't make a move to make more distance between them either.

Instead, he took him by the arm, moving through the crowd at an impossibly slow pace, since someone stopped them every few steps. Most of them had the same thing to say; praises about the show, remarks on the talented actors, offers of future collaboration. But there had also been some less pleasant encounters. One man had somehow managed to be intoxicated already, and felt the need to tell them that the lead actress was, in his words, "too much of a tease." Whatever that meant. One stopped them only to confess that they had fallen asleep during the 2nd act's entr'acte. Another woman thought it a good idea to blatantly flirt with Leo while her husband was right there at her side. Such interactions dragged on through all of the evening, but as the time progressed, they gradually became less irritating and more entertaining.

Two things could have been responsible for this change in spirits: his own beginning intoxication or the first reviews finally coming in. Those were opinions from minor newspapers, ones that no one really cared about, but opinions nonetheless. While unimportant, they were positive, which was the main reason for their heightened hopes. Still, everyone was waiting for the resolve of the two most influential papers, ones that could mean the life or death of their show; The New York Times and The Wall Street Journal. Personally, his hopes were on the Journal. He had seen the Times' critic before the show, and although he had told Leo otherwise, he didn't expect anything great from him. The reason for his doubts reached well into his past which, being frank, he would rather leave in the past where it belonged. Taubman had a good reason to not be in his favor, but his relationship with the Journal was still relatively untainted. But of course, it could very well be the other way around. It didn't pay to take guesses in this business.

Roger, however, seemed to be in a much more confident frame of mind. He could hear him before he addressed them; could see him before he danced over to them.

"Look who we have here, the Kings of Broadway themselves!" he greeted them in his sing-song manner, extending both hands towards them.

He rolled his eyes, but more out of habit than spite.

"So it's in plural now?" he scoffed, giving Roger a small hug anyway. "Oh, how the mighty have fallen."

"Fallen?" Roger exclaimed. "Max, please. This is as high as you'll ever be."

"Doesn't that flatter me…" he jeered again, though Roger was right, he supposed; he'd never been this lucky in life.

Roger just waved his hand at him, as he often did when he had no more arguments in stock, turning his attention to Leo.

"And besides, who else would be more fit to take over your legacy than young Mr Bloom here?" He gave Leo a suggestive wink, at which he blushed, his smile sheepish.

"Heavens, give me a few more years, will you?" he said but had to smirk at Leo's bashfulness, who was already attempting to subtly move on to the bar. "If I were in your place, I'd worry more about your replacement. I do hope that Carmen picked up enough directing skills over the years; because I might kill you one day."

Roger burst out laughing at that, the tequila in his hand probably contributing to his easily amused mood, but what caught his attention that moment was Carmen's reaction. Or the lack of it, for that matter.

"Oh, don't you worry," he addressed Carmen, realizing that he hadn't heard a word from him all evening. "He'll get a heart attack on one of the rehearsals before I can get my hands on him."

Carmen only shook his head at both of them, though.

"Might if I borrow him for a second?" he finally said and pointed to Leo, who stopped, a hint of alarm creeping into his expression.

"No," he answered, frowning. "For once I've managed to not lose sight of him for longer than five minutes; let us enjoy the occasion." He nodded to Roger. "Stick to your own man."

Carmen raised his eyebrows at that, looking between him and Leo.

Max knew his looks. Normally, they would be meant for him, judgemental and disapproving of practically every move he made. But that was an unspoken game between the two of them, both enjoying the rivalry more than they'd admit. So seeing that same look on his face - the same look he'd given him after learning about his Springtime swindle - being directed at Leo sparked curiosity in him.

He'd have to ask him about that later.

Still, everyone waited for Carmen's response. A snide remark, a protestation - anything that was expected of him when he was denied something. But none came, and instead, he gave them a curt nod, before leaving with Roger without further explanation.

He looked to Leo, confused.

"What's it with him? Have you two fought or what?"

"No." Leo, who blanched visibly, shook his head. "No, we haven't."

He studied him for a moment, searching for clarity; trying to make sense of all of their behaviors these days. But he could find nothing, could remember nothing that he could put his finger on and say: "This. This is what you've been hiding. You can stop now, because I know; I know and I can fix it." Still, he wanted to trust him. Still, he was convinced of Leo not being the one to lie for nothing. He had never done anything to convince him otherwise. He almost let that reassure him, but then he remembered their fight. And the outbursts at the theatre. And the strange late-night visit to the DeBris household. And finally, he remembered the lie; the dismissed phone call that he avoided confronting Leo about up till now.

That was when he knew; he was being left out of something. Out of something that apparently had nothing to do with him, but was starting to disrupt everyone else. But how could he have missed such a thing? How could anything that concerned Leo not concern him? How could it escape his attention in the first place? He didn't know, which bothered him for the simplest reasons; he wasn't used to not knowing. All his life, he could see through people's intentions even before they saw it themselves, could accuse and condemn a person for their actions and never be wrong in his judgement. That was the way it worked in the business; you either noticed an issue before it could become one or fell short.

And Max Bialystock never fell short.

"Leo, listen-" he pulled him towards the wall where less people could hear them- "I don't know if you realize this, but it's getting quite obvious that-"

He couldn't finish his sentence as the door to the restaurant flew open and a man with a stack of newspapers entered. And despite telling himself - as well all the others - that the critics didn't bother him, he felt his stomach drop as others broke out in expectant chatter, reaching for the papers hungrily. Forgetting about his frustration with Leo, he pushed his way through the swarm of bodies, getting his hands on the Journal's review before anyone else could read it.

With one fortifying breath, he made himself look down at the words before him.

"Living up to its title, Bialystock and Bloom's brand new musical "Double Cross" leaves you feeling, for lack of a better word, double-crossed. The phenomenal score by Frank Loesser and a surprising vocal performance of Alfie Husmann clashes with the bleak plot, creating a massive contrast with this famous duo's previous collaborations. After the success of "High Button Jews", a source of ridiculous slap-happiness for the spectators, this woefully tired story will throw you straight into a middle-age crisis. Combined with its length of more than two and half hours, sitting through it - and leaving unaffected - is a true test of courage.

We are introduced to a Great Depression stricken New York by a captivating opening number, where we meet the show's protagonist. This struggling press agent is eager to make a big name for himself, drawing us into the plot with a long soliloquy about his hopes. However, this optimism fades as the second lead enters - the agent's wife who's against his crooked methods - and only falls deeper down that hole as the show advances. Both heroes get increasingly more melodramatic, coming to a climax right before the intermission, at which point the wife is swaying on the edge of lunacy. We get a new bout of hope at the beginning of the 2nd act, only to be cheated anew. I think it is no spoiler to say that this story is a tragedy from overture to curtain call.

Unsurprisingly, the staging is as cold as the rest of the production, with only minimal set design, up to the point that it's almost unbelievable that this performance was staged by the same Brian Collins that worked on the duo's debut mega-hit "Springtime for Hitler". However, the lighting was a pleasant surprise, keeping the flashiness and glamour that we're used to seeing from these well-known producers, with a new, darker twist.

Although this kind of entertainment might appeal to some, it is extremely off-putting for those who seek a pleasant evening in these gloomy months of autumn. So if a good time in the theatre is what you're after, cross seeing this musical out of your planners; preferably with a double line."

Todd Egan, The Wallstreet Journal

He lowered the newspaper, every part of his body coming to a halt while his thoughts caught up. After a wash of cold he looked up, noticing how hushed everything became for the first time. They haven't stopped talking, no. But they were no longer loud and boisterous in their conversations, choosing to whisper and mutter among themselves instead. He didn't even have to read the Times' review to know its nature.

So, the Journal had failed them. So had the Times, as well as all the people who were starting to leave, wanting nothing to do with a failed show. Even though the majority stayed, he supposed it was more for the alcohol than support.

He realized that Leo was standing next to him only when he heard a sharp exhale, but when he turned to look at him, he was already pushing past people, disappearing from his sight before he could gather himself.

He sighed, suddenly too weary to follow him.

Maybe this was really the end of their lucky streak. Maybe this would really be the one mistake he had to make to be thrown back into old patterns. And if it were to be the truth…

What were they going to do?

If anyone had the right to be more devastated than the producer of the show, it was the director.

Carmen looked on, dismayed, as his partner raved, reading and rereading what they had written about their performance, pointing out all that was, in his words, "a completely bigoted judgement of a work of art that was apparently too complex for the corrupt half-wits to grasp."

Not that he didn't share his view.

He had been suspicious about the show at first, as they all had been, but had grown to be fond of its depth after just a few rehearsals. But then, that same depth also turned out to be its downfall.

He sighed, swirling the champagne around in the glass without ever really sipping it, his eyes scanning the room. An advantage of the new, larger space was that he had a better outlook on everyone's faces, as the people tended to stand in groups that weren't too crammed together. The disadvantage was that there were twice as many faces to look at.

"Looking for someone?"

He turned to find Scott standing next to him, watching the hundreds of little interactions between the guests with the same solemn expression. Everyone had grown so grim all of sudden, he thought as he observed him. The night's magic spark went out with a flicker.

"Not at all," he answered after a moment of silence, tearing his gaze away, "just thinking."

"Well-" Scott gave him a side eye, pointing somewhere in front of him- "I think that I've found you your target anyway."

He frowned, following his finger. It led him to the centre of the room, where some commotion seemed to be building up. He squinted, trying to make out what was happening, until he was able to pinpoint what it had been that Scott wanted to direct him towards.

A small circle had formed around two men, one of which was tall and well-built, making noisy complaints while rubbing on his shirt furiously. The other was one he recognized immediately, and he made his way towards him as swiftly as he could.

"Excuse me," he called at the duo before he even reached them, making their heads whip around towards him. "Is there a problem?"

Under such close inspection, he could see the source of the conflict; Leo must have been stumbling through the crowd and accidentally made someone spill their wine - red wine, to make it worse - all over their white shirt. He looked to Leo with a raised eyebrow, who gave him a shrug in return, his expression more frightened than apologetic.

As the man raved on about how Leo walked around like a bull in a china shop, not looking where he was going whatsoever, Carmen just stared at him, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. When he at last finished, Leo stuttered out an apology, even offering to pay for the cleaning - to which the man only responded with a vague gesture, already turning his back to them.

He saw that as a chance to make their exit.

Taking Leo by the elbow, he led them back to where Roger and the team still lamented the show's failure. Leo said nothing besides a muttered "thank you", and he had to smirk. It wasn't the first time he's had to save him from a social interaction gone wrong on one of those events, and he knew that Leo was aware of and embarrassed by it. But he never had minded, taking pleasure in the fact that some things never changed.

"You've read it, haven't you?" He heard Leo speak next to him at last, but didn't turn to face him.

"Yes, Leo, I have. Everyone within these walls and beyond has read it; don't try to steer the conversation this way."

"Which way?"

He gave him an unimpressed look. "Away from why I want to speak to you."

That made Leo stop, his expression the same as it had been just moments ago while dealing with the enraged man. But at least he didn't say anything else, giving him a chance to gather his thoughts.

But even then, he didn't know how to begin. Even then, it felt like some sort of a betrayal. Truth was that he didn't want to bring it up at first - at least not with Leo - but Shirley had convinced him otherwise. He wasn't even aware she knew - Roger must have told her - but in the end he took her advice. If Leo really were to be in some kind of trouble, it was better to nip it in the bud.

He took a breath.

"Where were you last Saturday?" He started out simple; hoping it will trick Leo into telling him more than he otherwise would.

"Last Saturday?" Leo frowned. "I don't remember. At the office?"

"Is that a question?"

"What?" He could see that Leo was growing steadily more uneasy, but he wasn't going to give up now. So he waited, and at least Leo answered. "I - no. I mean yes. Yes, I think I was at the office."

"No, you weren't." He crossed his arms. "You visited us, remember?"

"Oh." Leo's eyes seemed to brighten and grow dim at the same time. "Yes, I remember that. You didn't want me to be there."

"What are you saying?" It was his turn to frown. "Of course I wanted you to be there. I just said-"

"You said I should be at the office," Leo shot at him before he could finish, "so I went." He suddenly didn't look so unassuming anymore; his gaze sharp and posture rigid.

Carmen could feel himself getting defensive, too.

"Did you, Leo?" He took a step closer, returning his stare. "Did you really?"

"Darling, what's the fuss?" Leo didn't have the chance to answer as Roger approached them - Scott, Shirley, Kevin and Brian trailing closely behind. "It's not because of the reviews, is it?"

"No, it isn't," he said without taking his eyes off of Leo. "I was just asking Leo about his Saturday night."

"Oh, right!" Roger clasped his hands together as if he'd just told him they were discussing the latest Broadway gossip. Everyone turned to Leo expectantly. "Where have you been, dear?"

Leo let out something he supposed was meant to be a scoff, but it sounded more like he was choking on air; a telltale sign that he was nervous, which, in turn, made Carmen all the more suspicious.

"What the hell is this about?" he exclaimed in that same strained tone. "Why do my whereabouts concern you so much? Don't you trust me?"

All eyes were on Roger now, awaiting his verdict. But he didn't seem to realize that it was a question meant for him, and he looked to Carmen instead.

The focus shifted on him. Did he trust Leo? Normally, yes, without a second thought. Did he trust him now? Of course not.

"Exactly, Leo. We don't trust you. Because we know where your office is; and it sure isn't anywhere near the Brooklyn Bridge." It felt wrong on all levels to be speaking to him in such a manner, but he left him no other choice. Sometimes, the only way to really get through to Leo was by intimidation. He didn't know where he had gotten the mindset that every serious question directed at him was some sort of a personal attack; that behind their every effort to get something out of him was an intention to humiliate him in some way. He didn't want to know, but that didn't erase the fact that Leo still guarded his privacy like his life depended on it.

"How do you know?" Leo asked, his breathing becoming somewhat disordered.

"Alright, listen." He tried a gentler tone, sensing his distress. "First of all, settle down. No one's trying to pounce on you, we're just-"

"How do you know?" he repeated, his voice getting louder. Carmen leaned back a little astounded, but kept his ground. "Did you follow me?"

He took a while to answer that one. "Let's say I happened to know the address."

For several long moments Leo simply looked at him without saying anything; looked at him with those big, imploring eyes. He was almost ready to give in and let him have his secrets to himself, but then something in Leo's face changed. He no longer looked scared or confused. Just deceived. "You took it," he simply said then.

The plainness of the statement made him somehow uneasy. "Took what?"

"Don't act like you don't know," he almost spat. "The paper with the address. You took something that was mine just like that. And yet I'm the bad one? What if it was something important?"

"I'll do you one better: Why don't you want Max to know about it?" Carmen paused. "About him?"

It seemed to be that question that sent Leo over the edge. Visibly blanching, he took him by the arm with more force than he'd expected from the ever-gentle man, pulling him off to the side.

"Could you keep your voice down?" he hissed, his demeanor back to panicked. "Why are you like this, anyway? You're acting as if I'd killed someone!"

Carmen scoffed, twisting his arm free. "No, Leo, you're acting as if you'd killed someone. And quite frankly, I'm starting to think you have."

He knew he was getting prickly, but he couldn't help it. He wasn't the subtlest of people, so this speaking in riddles and endless hinting at things was enough to drive him up the wall.

Leo, on the other hand, looked like he was about to cry.

"What do you want from me?" he asked, his voice much quieter now; much more like Leo. His persistence, too, seemed to be waning.

"I want-" he stepped closer, placing both hands on his shoulders to relax him- "I want to know who that man is and why are you keeping him a secret. If it really is nothing as you say - and I do want to believe you - then just tell me. Tell me honestly, and I swear I'll leave you alone."

"He's a friend," Leo answered after some deliberation, still somewhat irresolute. "Well - he's someone I know. I have for years."

"You have?" He let his hands fall from Leo's shoulders. The man had told him the same story that night - just a friend. Could it be true, after all?. "Oh. I just - I never noticed. I mean, I didn't know you had-"

"Friends?" Leo filled in for him, slight sarcasm lining his words. "I know. I can't believe it either."

"Leo-" he began, but Leo held up a hand.

"I've had a life before meeting Max too, you know? I just want to know someone who doesn't only talk about the theatre. Is it so bad of me to want company? Haven't I been alone enough?"

Carmen shook his head, his resolve crumbling. "You do have company; you have us."

"Yes, but you are-" he didn't finish, making a vague, flustered gesture with his hands.

"We are what, Leo?" he prompted, frustration flaring once more. He clenched his fists. "Too gay? Not fun anymore? Is that what you wanted to say?"

"What?" Leo exclaimed, the offense evident in his voice. "Why would I-"

He suddenly yelped, halting in his protestation. It took Carmen a moment or two to gather what happened, but once he did, he felt his stomach drop, filling up with cold unease.

Two arms encircled Leo from behind as he flinched sharply at the unexpected contact, but Carmen didn't dare to say or do anything. He just watched the scene unfold before him. Slowly, Leo turned, meeting the person's eyes. Alarm spread on his face then, but in that moment, the arms squeezed a fraction tighter and Leo had no choice but to ease into the embrace, reluctantly returning it.

When they finally let go of each other, for an instant, no one spoke. The team stood a step behind them, looking at Carmen, who was looking at Leo, who had his eyes on- "Perry?" he asked at last.

"Leo!" The man in question exclaimed without missing a beat, flashing him a bright smile. "You getting along? I've read the reviews; Taubman didn't disappoint, did he? Though I've expected more from Egan, I have to admit. Didn't you? Well, either way. Wanna talk about it over a drink?"

Leo stared at him the whole time, thunderstruck, not moving an inch. When he finally came to his senses, he glanced at Carmen only for a second before answering. "Oh, right. I mean, of course; to everything you said."

"Excellent," he continued in that same jovial tone, already taking hold of Leo's shoulder. He seemed to notice the team for the first time that moment, giving them a courteous smile. "Unless I'm interrupting something?"

"Not at all," Leo cut in. "We've discussed everything we needed to. Shall we?"

"Gentlemen," Perry - as Leo had called him - gave them a nod, his look lingering on Carmen for a second too long.

He felt the urge to say something then, but all words seemed to have left him.

Perry? Who the hell was Perry? He had introduced himself as Oliver.

What was going on?

Bur before he could react, they were already departing, leaving them more confused than before.

"I apologize for that entrance," Perry began as soon as they were seated at the bar. "I just wanted to save you from them. It looked like you were under attack."

"Oh, I was..." Leo laughed humorlessly, passing a hand down his face. "I think you know why."

"That I do," Perry nodded, already taking out a cigarette, "but I swear I had nothing to do with that. He found me himself. But you didn't tell them, did you?"

"About Marks?" He propped his chin up on his palm, staring ahead. "No, of course not. I don't need them giving me a thousand reasons as to why it is a bad idea - I can list them myself."

Perry snickered, waving a waiter over. "Don't you worry about that. Nothing good comes out of expecting the worst, anyway."

"Oh no, worrying works." Leo smiled weakly, watching the bourbon fill up his glass. "Most of the things I worry about never happen. That has to mean something, huh?"

"Now, that's fair," Perry chuckled once more and blew out a gust of smoke which twisted in its artistic way, forming curls in the gloom, illuminated only by the age-speckled bar lights. Along the wall was every hue of amber liquid in their inverted bottles; every vice that Leo avoided all his life. But why should he avoid it now? Who was there to tell him no? The situation practically begged for a drink or two.

So, hesitating only a moment, he accepted the glass from Perry, holding it up with little ceremony.

Perry did the same, clicking their glasses together.

"To the night you'll never remember," he said.

"Let's hope so," Leo replied, coughing lightly as he took a sip. "Tell me, though. How did you get in here?"

"Well-" Perry gulped half the liquor down in one go- "that makes for quite an entertaining story."

"Lucky for you, I've got all night," he said smirking, for Perry's energy was infectious.

So he went on talking, never staying on one topic for too long, and soon, every word that came out of Perry's mouth sounded like the peak of comedy to him. But even though his glass kept refilling, he didn't feel much different, except for the few times that he found himself tipping in one direction through no fault of his own, so he compensated, but overcompensated and was tipping in the other direction instead. Perry kept laughing at that, and he laughed with him, for once not feeling self-conscious in the presence of so many people.

He also kept looking around, trying to spot someone, but who? Oh, Max! Maybe he should find him and tell him that he was doing fine. That the reviews didn't affect him as much as he probably thinks they have. Who cared about the critics, anyway? It wasn't as if the show had to close because of them, no? Yes, he should definitely tell Max that. Thinking of which-

"Never have I ever?"

He turned his head to Perry who spoke, and a split second later his vision followed. Funny. He turned his head once more, giggling when his surroundings lagged again.

"What?" He was finally able to focus on Perry, who looked at him quite amused.

"Never have I ever," he repeated, wiggling his eyebrows. "One of us lists things we have never done and if you have, you drink."

"Oh." All concentration seemed to have left him, but he nodded. "Wanna start?"

"Okay, let's see. Never have I ever.." he rubbed his chin, "swindled the books? Besides Springtime, that is?"

He had to think hard for a second, willing his thoughts to organize enough to come to a conclusion, but finally he smirked, taking a deliberate sip from his drink.

"Oh, you lawbreaker," Perry laughed but kept his own drink where it was. "Was that at the firm still?"

"Mmhm," he affirmed, "for Max, the first day I met him. 2000 bucks or so. Just overlooked a decimal point, you know?"

"So the classic… got it." He winked at him. "Ah, and before I forget - can I sign the contract later?"

"Huh?"

"The accounting contract." He smiled at him. "Remember? Our arrangement? It's just that I still have some paperwork and legal things to sort out with Marks before I can officially look for other jobs, so-"

"Oh, sure." Leo waved his hand dismissively, fascinated anew by how the motion seemed to leave a trail in the air. "He's a prick."

"Word, my friend," Perry agreed, patting him on the back. He nodded towards the bar. "Another one?"

Leo, feeling confident in his newfound sense of lightness, saw no reason to pass the offer up. There was almost a faint buzzing feeling in his core body as he finished something he assumed was scotch; not that he could tell the difference between that and plain whiskey. By that point he was somewhat able to acknowledge that he should probably stop there, but his mouth felt so dry. A small glass of wine to flush down the harsh burn of strong alcohol couldn't make much of a difference, especially as he was never able to get past tipsy.

But apparently, he could.

Maybe it was that one more drink, or perhaps just enough time for him to metabolize that last one, but from that point on, everything seemed to spiral rapidly out of control. His limbs all felt very loose; his head heavier than normal. The careless mood started wearing off as well, his thoughts shifting back to reality, no matter how altered it felt.

He felt the need to get up. He needed to find Max.

"Hey, I don't think you should-" Perry started a second too late.

As soon as he stood, the entire universe seemed to spin around him in a decidedly malicious manner, and it took about all the mental concentration he could muster to focus on a single object in front of him. Or a person. A person?

He saw a flash of silver glimmer in the crowd. Silver. Chains.

"Carmen?" he muttered at what he believed to be a low volume, but apparently was enough to make everyone turn towards him. Including Carmen.

He could see - or guess - that he was moving towards him, though it was quite hard to tell which direction was down. Not that he needed to worry; he'd probably be going that direction soon.

"Leo, what the..." He grabbed him by the shoulders the moment he reached him. He could see him struggling to keep his balance, and he knew he was struggling to keep it. "Jesus Christ, are you hammered?"

"'Am not…" He shook his head, which just made the spinning worse.

"Oh yes, you are," Carmen almost laughed, "you're completely and utterly wasted."

He didn't know what to say to that, so he just frowned, holding onto Carmen.

"Wait." Carmen suddenly stopped looking amused, glancing over his shoulder. "Is that his fault? How much did you have, you moron?"

Again, he didn't know how to answer, but someone did for him.

"Hey, I didn't know he'd get drunk that fast."

"You didn't know?" Carmen exclaimed, his pitch climbing with each word. "You've known him 'for years' and you didn't know that Leo doesn't drink?"

He heard a snicker behind him. "Apparently he does, buddy."

At that, Carmen lunged forward, fuming, but he was somehow able to hold him back.

"Stop," he managed to say, "It isn't… I mean, he didn't…"

"Really, Leo?" he interrupted. "Is that who you spend time with? I'm telling you, this is gonna backfire. Whatever you're doing; it's gonna backfire and there will be no one to help you."

"You don't like Max either!" he protested, pushing him back, though his hands didn't work quite as he told them to.

"That's beside the point," Carmen snapped. "I admit that I think you could do better, but-"

"Better?" he asked, appalled. "What better? This… that's as good as it gets, Carmen!"

"I'm not gonna argue with you when you can barely stand," he said coldly. "But let me tell you this: Keep doing what you're doing and you're gonna ruin the only good thing that's ever happened to you."

He felt his frustration flare at that notion. The only good thing? Was that all his life was worth? Screw him. He knew nothing. Stemming his body against Carmen with all his might, he stumbled backwards, prepared to fall.

But instead of a hard impact with the ground, his back made contact with someone's chest. He instinctively leaned into it, twisting around to identify the person. And even though his vision was starting to get spotty, he recognized the face immediately.

"Max!" Both relief and fear surged through him when he saw his undefiable expression, but he clung onto him nonetheless.

"Why are you shouting?" Max looked at him bemused, then added, "Wait a minute. Are you-"

"He is," Carmen chimed in, his stare burning through Perry. "Ask him about it."

Max raised his eyebrows, turning to where Carmen gestured. "And you are?"

"Oh, my manners." Perry hopped off the bar stool, extending a hand towards Max. "Oliver Peregrine, your new accountant. At your service, Mr Bialystock."

Leo could no longer keep up with what was happening.

He looked to Carmen. He wore the same hateful stare, looking ready to protest, to tell Max everything.

He looked to Max. His expression remained neutral as he took Perry's hand, shaking it with uncharacteristic passivity.

That instant his eyesight blurred, but not because tears were welling up. Everything became fuzzy; then he saw nothing at all. He was floating through an empty space filled with a thick static. Throughout the inky space his heartbeats pounded loudly, echoing in his ears, alongside fading voices telling him to respond. He blocked them out.

Feeling in his body drained away until finally all grew quiet.

A/N: Whew, that was a detailed one. Please note that I have no idea whatsoever what being drunk feels like, so I guess this is a hit or miss! Well, lemme know in the comments :DD Until next time x