I am a week late! But IIIIIIIIIIII don't care. I was busy. I had no internet. I wrote this chapter in one day. Blah blah blah. And to make up for it, this is two pages longer than usual!
I have decided that KxHiro does not work at all in this story. I have also decided that Natalie/Hugh does work. (nod) So… yeah.
No deadlines this time, because I know I won't stick to them. I'll get it out, I won't take a month, well… 4 weeks at most. I found out that this is the third or second longest fic in the Gravitation section! Go me!
Thanks to everyone who reviewed! Nice to know there's still interest in this story. CSMars: I'll let you dream. / Crimson Glory Kai: I haven't read enough of the manga to base this off it. And in the anime Shuichi didn't let Tatsuha kiss him, and the anime is the one I've seen.
Disclaimer: FEK!
Roses
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Chapter 15
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Edward didn't seem too pleased to have received his matches. Well, actually, he was pleased, it's just he grabbed the box out of Stuart's hands and slammed the door in his face, muttering about a 'breakthrough.' Stuart, having lived with Edward for the past month or so, decided it was best if he didn't press the writer for more information. When you lived with a writer you learned fairly fast that you don't talk to them when they're muttering 'breakthrough.'
However, Timothy must have forgotten that little fact. After Stuart left the hall and retreated into the parlor, Timothy kicked Edward's door in, causing the writer to scream and spill his ink, ruining 5 or so pages of text. Stuart wasn't sure what happened after that, he just saw Timothy a little later looking quite shaken and sporting a shiner.
Needless to say, Edward was dreading his return to his father's home. As peaceful as the setting was, he never had peace of mind enough to write. Or maybe he had so much peace of mind that all of the voices inside his head were levitating and mumbling about the meaning of life. He never could tell, he just knew they never did anything. He enjoyed living in the city so much because of how frantic it was. One could never find peace in the city, or tranquility, or a quiet place to sit. All this combined into one big stew he liked to call 'inspiration.' And the stew of inspiration was quite tasty.
Not to mention at his father's home there was his father. Oh, and Timothy. Edward didn't know which he dreaded more – seeing his brother or seeing his father. Deep down, he felt those nice little warm-fuzzies towards Timothy, but the fact of the matter was that the teenager was simply aggravating to the point of strangling. Not like he could do anything about it, though.
He had a lack of inspiration. Papers were scattered all around the study, full of discarded poems and limericks, ballads and romance, and tons of other nonsense. Each one of these had been dubbed 'crap,' 'useless,' 'stupid,' or 'mind-rotting' by the house's writer. Stuart wasn't considered one of the house's writers; he was just 'the person who annoyed the writer.' Truth be told, Stuart wasn't good at writing, not in the least. But he had 'spunk' and all, and that seemed to be enough for him.
Stuart sighed and glanced up at the clock. Usually he'd run off to practice at around 1pm, finishing everything he needed to do beforehand. At 5pm, the run-through finished and he could return home. However, today wasn't the run-through. It was the real thing – the performance. He didn't have to show up until 3pm (they worked through tea-time, much to the anger of the cast). Stuart smiled and glanced up at the clock. It was 2:30pm. He stretched over to the couch and pulled out his plain shoes, slipping them on, and standing up. The auditorium was several miles away and if he wanted to get there in time he'd need to catch a carriage immediately.
He grabbed his jacket and ran out the door, shouting at Edward that he'd be back later and receiving a nice little 'grunt, fine' in response.
The last few practices had been horror. Terry, Malcolm, and Keith had most certainly had stakes up their bums; Stuart was quite sure of this. Even after several dozen threats from the director that he'd kick them out, the trio persisted in making Stuart and Hugh's time there a living hell. Just the previous day they'd snipped wires in Hugh's violin and replaced Stuart's costume with a woman's dress. That had earned them a very long, flowery lecture from the director.
Today was no different. Apparently none of them had learned their lesson since Hugh's violin went strangely missing after he'd run off to the bathroom. Stuart was standing in the wings, avoiding going backstage to the dressing room he shared with a few other actors. He knew, just knew, that they'd dyed his costume some ungodly color like fuchsia or green. Still, it wasn't like he could go backstage, for at the moment Malcolm and Keith were being lectured again and Terry was leaning against the entrance to the backstage. While he let everyone pass without even looking up, Stuart knew he was going to trip him or something of the sort if he passed.
"House opens in an hour! Get your arses backstage!" Stuart sighed and glanced over at Terry, waiting for him to move. But he didn't. Why? Because he'd already gotten dressed and was just standing there with the obvious excuse of 'I am in the first scene.'
"Stuart! Get back stage!" The stage manager was glaring at him, waving their hand towards the backstage entrance.
"Uhm… couldn't I wait just a –"
"No!"
"Yes, sir." So, off he went, sneaking into the backstage. And, very surely, Terry stuck his leg out and caused Stuart to fall flat on his face. The cackling of the cast didn't help Stuart's red face much.
It wasn't fuchsia, or green – thank God – but it seemed just a bit snug across the chest. Apparently they'd shrunk the costume. Stuart sighed and pulled on the vest, looking at the darkened stage. In just a minute or so, he'd have to go out there with the rest of the cast, sing, dance, and then sing a solo line that spanned until Malcolm ran onto the stage – always before his cue – and cut him off.
And then, Edward was supposed to be there too. He'd promised – Stuart had asked, and he'd said yes. So he'd just have to be there, right? And then that night he'd tell Stuart that he did have talent for something and it would be a very pleasant night indeed.
Invigorated with this sudden realization, Stuart held his head up high and marched out onto stage with the rest of the group, singing along with them as loudly as possible.
"Great job, everyone! Don't forget, same time tomorrow!"
Stuart ran down the wings of the stage after they'd all had a word with a director and threw off their costumes. He'd find Edward, stand there glowing as he received praise (he hoped) and then hurry home (without Timothy, he noted with a smile). When he looked out over the audience – which was surprisingly still full – he didn't spot Edward. Sighing, Stuart plopped down into a seat and turned in the chair, keeping a close eye on the audience in case someone moved and revealed Edward.
He turned his gaze over to the orchestral pit to where Hugh sat. Of course, he was gathering up his things and setting the violin into its case, each move careful and precise. Apparently he was still shaken over the thought of losing it. He sighed and ran a hand along the smooth wood of the case, and grabbed the handle, letting the box hang at his side. Stuart watched as Natalie glided (he was certain that she did not walk; she glided) from her adoring fans (he noticed now that most of the audience who stayed were eager to catch a better glimpse of Natalie) to Hugh, smiling and radiating the charm she had magically inherited from whoever her parents were. Hugh, of course, looked very flustered.
Stuart smiled. He'd guessed that Hugh had a crush on Natalie for a while; it was very hard not to notice. Heck, Stuart would have liked her had he liked women. Hugh stood there, trying his very best not to stutter sentences. Why was he so nervous today? He'd never acted that way towards Natalie before. Stuart leaned against the chair and continued watching as Natalie kissed his cheek (she did this to everyone) and congratulated him on a job well done. Stuart was positive that if Hugh could turn into an apple he would have right then.
Still smiling, Stuart stood and stretched out his arms. He decided that it was best he not watch his best friend be humiliated and instead turned to look out over the audience. It had thinned out considerably, but he could see Mr. Savage standing near the back, talking to the director. Edward, on the other hand, was not there. He couldn't fool himself into thinking that the audience was blocking his view, because the audience had left. Only a few of the cast members and orchestral crew were there, not counting Mr. Savage. He'd seen Mr. Saunders in the audience when he was on stage, so it was best to assume that the agent had left earlier.
The redhead rushed up the aisles to Mr. Savage, pausing just a few rows behind him and slipped into a seat to listen to his conversation with the director.
"I realize that, but – "
"Thomas, I am very serious. If you make me work with them again I will quit! I swear it to you I shall quit! I cannot stand them. If you want someone to work with them, hire Durkshire, but don't make me do it again."
"I'm very sorry to have caused you such inconvenience. Are they really that bad?"
"No, they're not. They're worse."
Thomas sighed heavily, "I thought they were becoming a bit overconfident, but I never imagined it was that bad."
"It is."
"Very well. I'll… have a talk with them."
"'A talk'? Are you certain you need to do that?" Stuart noticed the director's voice pitch rose, "I-I don't think it's quite that bad!"
"I promise I won't get you involved. Matters like these need to be dealt with accordingly. Thank you for telling me." The director squeaked a bit and turned, walking down the aisle past Stuart.
Mr. Savage was certainly a very, very scary man. He'd never heard the director squeak before. Normally the man was extremely harsh and only raised his voice when he was to the point of maiming 'Ask.' Stuart remained extremely still, hoping that Mr. Savage wouldn't notice him sitting – "Hello, Mr. Shubrook."
"H-hello, Mr. Savage." He swore quietly and stood, turning to face the publisher. It was amazing how a man with such a calm face and voice could be so terrifying.
"It went rather well, wouldn't you say?"
"Oh? Yes! I think so too."
"Hmm…" Mr. Savage took a few steps towards Stuart and looked at him, surveying his face with quiet 'hmm's and 'I see's littered throughout his speech. "Well, yes I believe I made a good choice. Mr. Sullivan will be a nice addition."
"W-what? You mean I still have to work with him?"
"Oh I'm quite positive. You simply won't do at your current stage. You need someone like Mr. Sullivan to help you." Mr. Savage nodded to Stuart, tipping his hat, and started walking past him.
Stuart blinked, standing there rather dumb-founded. He thought he'd done a marvelous job! And yet Mr. Savage still insisted on adding that prat to the group. Surely he'd never insult Edward like that – wait. Edward!
"Mr. Savage!"
"Hm?"
"Uhm… did Mr. Young ever show up for the performance?"
The publisher turned and looked at Stuart, his face drawn, "Why, no he did not. Was he supposed to?"
"Well… he did promise that he'd show."
"I wouldn't rely on Edward's promises if I were you, Mr. Shubrook. Good evening." He tipped his hat again and turned, walking towards the orchestral pit. Stuart frowned. He'd rely on Edward's promises just fine! They certainly were better than Mr. Savages, even if the publisher was right. He must have just forgotten or gotten wrapped up in his story. And there was always tomorrow night. Stuart nodded and ran up the aisle and out of the theatre.
During the play it was all about the music. All about the way the notes surrounded him and danced, about how they floated off the page when he slid his bow across the string of the violin, all about how the harmonious sound of the instruments joined together produced the most wonderful sound on earth, and how it enhanced each and every voice and scene. He'd been positively petrified when he thought his violin was gone. The strings being cut were bad enough, but stealing a musician's instrument was unacceptable! Those three had certainly sunk too low.
So he was very happy when he saw that Natalie gave them a tight smile and a nod, no kiss, and glided past them when they approached her and praised her performance. Hugh was certain that nobody really liked those three now, since Natalie almost always gave her fans more attention than that.
He was also extremely happy when she glided past them and towards him. He would have looked at their faces, would have smiled with extreme dignity as he watched their faces contort and steam come from their head. However, he was quite focused on Natalie. He didn't like her, not really. He just admired her greatly. He thought, out of the whole cast and orchestra, that she had the most sense. She certainly carried herself better than the rest of them. It really was a pity that after this play he'd probably never get a chance to work with her.
"Wonderful job, Mr. Norris."
"Ah, thank you Miss Udell." His face warmed as she gave him her standard 'good job, nice to meet you, nice seeing you again' all-purpose kiss on the cheek.
"I think it all went rather well. Reminds me of my days performing. It's nice to be back doing things like this."
"Oh! Are you going to do more of these?"
"Hmm… No, no not plays. This was a favor for Thomas." She smiled and smoothed her dress, "I'm going to be giving a concert or two. Thomas and I have decided there needs to be a female pianist again. We're both restless as well."
"I look forward to it!" Hugh smiled and gripped the handle of his case, his palms growing increasingly sweaty.
"Why thank you! I do too." She gave him a quick curtsey and took a step back, "It was nice performing with you, you and the orchestra of course." Hugh nodded, "I must be off, though." Hugh bowed to her and moved out of her way as she crossed past him towards the other end of the auditorium. He sighed and pulled his handkerchief from his vest pocket and dabbed his forehead and hands before replacing it back into the pocket. Hugh glanced around the large room, looking for a sign of Stuart. He finally spotted him, sitting a few seats away from the director and Mr. Savage, very obviously eavesdropping.
Hugh shook his head, smiling, and moved to step out of the pit. When he turned his gaze to the other side of the auditorium he noticed Natalie standing with an old man, he assumed her father or uncle. But when he slid his arm around her waist and kissed her, he knew it was her husband. Hugh's breath caught in his throat for a second, but he shook his head quickly and looked away. It was best not to watch such intimate moments. He hurried up the side of the auditorium, noting that Stuart was busy talking to Mr. Savage, and left the building.
He ran the whole way home. His sides hurt, his face was red, his breathing was short and sporadic. But he was finally at Edward's house. Stuart hadn't even bothered to hail a carriage, thinking somehow that he'd get there faster if he ran. But he really shouldn't have even bothered – the lights were off and no one came to the door when he knocked. But… Edward never went anywhere, really. Had he been stalled when he saw Timothy off? Stuart frowned and tried to look into the house, but the curtains were drawn and there wasn't enough light to see anything.
That certainly wasn't a good thing. Edward was missing; Timothy had left that evening to go home, and Mr. Savage hadn't seen him at the performance. "Maybe… Mr. Saunders would know something?" Well, it was worth a shot. Mr. Saunders kept in contact with Mr. Savage, and Mr. Savage knew everything that anyone ever did before they did it.
So, taking a deep breath and massaging his sides, Stuart took off down the street to Mr. Saunders house. He really, really shouldn't have bothered in this case either. Really. Mr. Saunders was absolutely no help at all.
"Mr. Saunders!"
"Mr. Shubrook, what are you doing here?" Mr. Saunders opened the door to the young man, dressed in his nightclothes.
"Do you know where Mr. Young is?"
"Well he's not here!"
Stuart started to say something like 'damnit' or 'bloody hell' but he realized that the thought of Edward being at Mr. Saunders had never crossed his mind, "I know that. Do you know where he is?"
"You don't?"
"If I did do you think I would be asking you?"
"Mr. Young is gone?"
"That's what I'm saying!"
And with that, Mr. Saunders fell over, fainted. Stuart groaned and gave the agent a swift kick in the side, causing him to stir and open his eyes.
"Well could you tell me where Mr. Savage lives then?"
"Oh! Yes, of course, Mr. Savage. Why are you going to see him?"
"So I can ask him if he knows where Mr. Young is."
"Mr. Young is missing?!"
Stuart paused and smacked his forehead, "No, he's not."
"Oh, in that case." Mr. Saunders stood and walked into his parlor, scribbling something down on a piece of paper, and handing it to Stuart, "It's a very big house, very hard to miss."
"Thank you, Mr. Saunders!" He looked down at the paper and ran out the door. Unfortunately for him, Mr. Savage was too far away to run to, so he stood out in the street with his arm outstretched, trying to hail a nonexistent carriage.
It'd taken him twenty or so minutes, but he'd finally hailed a carriage. Then it took another twenty or so minutes for him to arrive at Mr. Savage's house, and then two minutes arguing with the carriage driver when he realized he didn't have any money (he never seemed to). But he finally stood in front of Mr. Savage's door and knocked. After a few minutes, a young, tired looking woman opened the door and looked at him.
"What kind of person comes visiting at this time of night?"
"I need to see Mr. Savage!"
"Mr. Savage is not home. Now if you could please – " She tried to close the door, but Stuart held it open with his shoulders, being stronger and taller than her. "Sir! He is not home! Leave or I will be forced to call the authorities!"
"Could you at least leave a message?"
"Martha!"
The girl faltered and Stuart stumbled into the room, just barely managing to keep from falling. He was absolutely shocked. Mr. Savage lived very, very well. The floor, he was certain, was marble with large oriental rugs. The staircase was carved and polished beautifully and made out of oak, or maple, or some strong and expensive wood. At the foot of the staircase stood an elegant woman, dressed in decorated house clothes. Her hair was worn down and she had obviously not been expecting a visitor for she looked very unkempt and wild, but obtained her elegant beauty.
The woman was Marianne. "Ma'am!"
"Oh, so it's you." Marianne took a step down the staircase and glided towards Stuart. She didn't glide as elegantly as Natalie did, and her hands seemed to shake as she walked, but she still glided. Stuart assumed all upper-class women glided. They must've been bred to do that. His sister never glided – she stomped and grumbled and screamed and shuffled, but she did not glide. He really never knew what possessed her to be a nun.
"You're Mr. Young's sister!"
"So he didn't tell you Thomas was my husband?" She scoffed, "How very typical of him. Well, what are you here for?"
"I need to ask Mr. Savage something!"
"You most certainly do not need to ask Thomas anything." She waved her hand at Martha, "Tea." Martha nodded and hurried out of the room. "You will ask me, and I shall decide if you can ask him anything."
"But I – "
"What is it, then?"
"What?"
"What do you need to ask him?"
Stuart took in a deep breath, "Mr. Young is gone."
Obviously Marianne had not been expecting this. Her cold appearance faltered and her face showed lines of worry that had been building for years, "Gone?"
"After the performance, I went back home – " she glared, "I mean his house, and he wasn't home."
"And Timothy?"
"Neither one."
Marianne raised a shaking hand to her forehead, "They're not home! How dare they! They could have told me! Me, their only sister, me, the oldest child. Couldn't they have at least given me a hint? I never thought Timothy would be able to do it – I always thought I would!"
"Mrs. Savage?"
"Stuff it!" Marianne took a step back, visibly shaking now, "Well, this certainly will make father happy at least. I must make arrangements at once to meet them."
Martha hurried back into the room with the tray of tea and, seeing Marianne's tremors, immediately bent down and set the tray on the floor, rushing over to her, "Ma'am, you need to be in bed!"
"I'm fine, Martha."
"But you had those – "
"I'm fine, Martha." She held her head up and looked down her nose at Stuart, "It is of no concern to you where my brother is. Please, leave."
"It is my concern! Is he all right? Is he safe?"
"He is quite safe. He's back where he belongs – home, with our father. And I'd appreciate it if you did not try to bring him back. He belongs with father, and not here with you or anyone else!"
"But, I… I wasn't…" Edward had told Stuart very little about his home life, about his previous life, about his family. The most he knew was that Marianne and Timothy were his siblings, but that was it. The confusion and betrayal showed quite plainly on his face
Marianne's expression softened, "If you must know, he went home to France. Our father is head priest at a church there. In fact… our family owns the building itself."
"Really?"
"He never told me?"
Stuart sighed, "He never told me anything."
"Hm… typical. In any case, I do not give you permission to go after him. He's ended it, Mr. Shubrook, and you can't do anything about it."
"E-ended it?!" Stuart could feel the tears welling up in the corners of his eyes, but he would not let himself cry in front of this cold woman. He would not show how angry or disappointed he was.
Unfortunately for him, Marianne was a very perceptive woman. "Mr. Shubrook… even if I did give you permission, there's absolutely nothing you could do. Once Edward makes up his mind you can't change it." She took a step forward and placed a hand on his shoulder, "I am sorry."
Stuart raised an arm and wiped his tears quickly, "I don't believe you!" He brushed her hand away from his shoulder and stepped back, "I can't believe you! I have to believe that he can come back!"
"It's useless – "
"I don't care if it is! I'm going to find out where he is, and I'm going to bring him back! With or without your permission!"
Marianne's eyes widened in shock at the declaration he made. How dare he! No one (aside from Edward) ever defied her! Her word always went, her wants always came first, and no upstart was going to change it, "I will not stand for such insolence!"
"Well that's just too bad! I love Edward and I'm not going to let you keep me from him!" Stuart stopped, clamping a hand over his mouth. He loved Edward? He loved the cold bastard who never seemed to care about him or about his feelings? Yes. He did.
The woman standing before him seemed to have forgotten her words. She stood there, tremors wracking her body, looking at the young man before her. People had wanted to be with Edward before him – many, many people. And yet, they'd all backed down. None of them ever had enough courage to defy her and confess. "Do you now?"
Stuart gulped; there was no turning back now. He let out a tight, 'yes' and then lowered his hand, speaking louder, "Yes."
"Well then…" Marianne took a step towards him, "I'm not the only one who would stop you, Mr. Shubrook."
"I-I know."
"Do you now?"
Yes, I do! "Yes."
"Then…" Marianne's shaking was less violent and she seemed to straighten a bit, her voice clearer, "You may go after him."
"I… what?"
"You heard me."
She gave him permission? Stuart was speechless. This woman, this cold, unforgiving, calculating woman no longer objected to him loving her brother. She didn't object! Stuart felt like he would float. "Thank you!"
"I will, however, not tell you where he is."
Farewell, floating. "What? Why not?"
"If you love him so much you'll find out without my help."
"But…"
"Now, please leave. Thomas would not be happy to know you're here; it's best you leave before he returns. Martha," she turned to the maid who had been standing there with a look of shock, disgust, and extreme interest, "Warm the tea." The maid jumped and nodded, grabbing the tray and rushing out of the room.
Stuart sighed and bowed to her, turning and leaving the house. Well, he could do it, right? He could find where Edward lived, go there, make him understand that they loved each other, and get him home, couldn't he? Couldn't he?
He had to believe he could… but for now, it was late, and he needed to go to Hugh's to sleep. But… he knew that carriage driver was not going to take him there without money, so he turned back and started banging on Mr. Savage's door, asking for money for a carriage.
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Houston, we have plot!