Title: Every Rose Has It's Thorn
Author: Sorchafyre (VelvetSharu@aol.com)
Editor: Anglofans
Rating: PG-13?
Category: Shounen ai and major angst
Pairing: Berkley Rose and OC
Summary: A short one-shot from a relationship in Berkley Rose's younger
days.
Warnings: You may feel I have Rose OOC due to his being a somewhat
different person when he was younger. Also, unresolved ending. In case you didn't see it above; major, major
angst.
Disclaimers and Acknowledgements: I don't own FAKE or Berkley, they belong to Sanami Matoh.
I'm just sneaking into her playground and trying not to get sand in my
hair. Story is inspired by the soundtrack: Every Rose Has It's
Thorn by Poison. ::shrugs:: I like puns, sue me. Um, not you
Matoh-sama I swear I didn't make any money on this.
**************************************
I looked at
the words. No matter how eloquent, they were just marks on paper.
It was supposed to be therapeutic, writing a letter you never intend to send.
My Dearest Berkley,
I saw you today. It's been a few years, but I still keep up. I know
you made Police Commissioner, that was the last step before mayor, wasn't
it? Every once in awhile I still go down to the plaza and sit for the
afternoon. I'm not really waiting for you, or at least I keep telling
myself that. Pathetic, hm?
I wonder if you've kept up with me? Do you know I'm on Broadway
now? I can't imagine how we've never been invited to the same
parties. My agent says I have a real shot at a Tony Award this year.
*********************************************************
We came in from the party still laughing. Berkley took his shoes off and fell onto
the couch.
"I feel it is time for more sustenance," I said, in pompous imitation
of our previous host, causing Berkley to shake with laughter again.
"Well, Don, you should assess the situation in the kitchen. As
Stanislavski said, when he personally imparted his knowledge of The Method
during my sojourn in Europe, it is time to garner some life experience." Berkley had another guest, an arrogant
actor, down pat.
"Hey, don't you knock my profession." Although my words sounded
humorous, I still felt stung as I moved over to the area of our loft we
jokingly called the kitchen. Although Berkley seemed to scorn acting as a serious
profession, it paid our bills and I loved it.
When I turned back after having fixed two plates of munchies, I saw my partner
lounging with his leg slung over one arm of the couch. I frowned.
"Come on, Berk. You know that breaks the arm." He sighed
at the old argument, but moved his leg. Berkley seemed preoccupied as I ate, the
silence more strained than companionable. I yawned, and headed toward the
bed in the corner, leaving my lover to clean up. He was annoyed, judging
from the way he was rattling around the dishes. Finally he turned off the
light and slid into bed.
I looked at the bars of light patterning the wall. Like old friends,
their patterns held a familiar comfort, unlike the silence between Berkley and I. It hung leaden; the air before a storm, heavy
with potential. Finally he spoke, his voice even in the darkness.
"Have you heard from your agent?" I was between jobs again.
"No," I replied. "I've got an audition for a near-Broadway
comedy next week, though."
"When are you going to get a...second job?" Although the pause
was slight, I heard it. We both knew that if he had said the words 'real
job' nothing could have stopped a full out fight.
"You don't think I'll ever make it, do you?" His silence lasted long
enough to cut through my dreams. "Well, at least I don't have to
spend my evenings smarming up to some awful politician." I was hurt, I was
lashing out in anger and we both knew it. "I hate the way you have
to pander and kiss up to those people."
"You already know this," he said in a weary voice. "I'm
going to need their influence when I graduate. I *will* become mayor one
day, so I have to play the game now." There was no doubting the
determination in his voice. I looked at the ceiling and wished he could
believe in me like that. "You know it means nothing to me.
Why? Are you jealous?"
Damn, I hated when he did that. Of course I was jealous. Not of the
people, I knew that his flattery and attentions meant nothing. I was jealous that his passion and belief was
reserved for his goal and not for me.
"I don't need a second job." The words came out angrier than I had
intended. "I'm doing just fine paying all the bills around
here. If you think we need more money why don't you get a
job?" As soon as the words left my mouth, I closed my eyes in
instant regret. As the silence stretched, I waited for him to explode but
there was nothing. When I could stand it no longer, I gathered my courage
and looked over.
I don't know what I was expecting to see. Berkley Rose silently crying
was not it, however. I reached over to hold him, my own tears beginning.
"We're not going to make it, are we?" I whispered, when we had both
calmed down.
"Yes we will," he said, "We'll work something out."
He sounded like he was trying to convince both of us.
I'm not sure either of us slept that night, although we both pretended to.
*********************************************
I haven't been lonely, you know. I've had quite a few interesting relationships. Nothing serious, though. Don't feel sorry for me or anything, they were pleasant and we parted amiably. Better than we did. Would it have been easier if we'd fought?
I keep wondering what I could have done differently. What I could have said to save our love. I know there had to have been something that would have kept you from leaving me. I know I could have saved our love that night if I'd known what to say...
********************************************************
I tossed my packages down on the couch when I came into my apartment, all
except the one from the florist. I snagged the bud vase off the counter
and carefully filled it with cold water and preservative before placing in the
single red rose.
It had become a tradition for me since Berkley moved out. Every Sunday I
bought a single rose and left it on the table for the week. It had become
almost a game for me, to see how long I could make it look beautiful before it
died. Like all artists, I was hopelessly symbolic. If I couldn't
have my real Rose, I would have another.
It had been six months since we decided to try living apart, even though we
were still hopelessly in love. Looking back on it now, I wonder what I
was thinking when I agreed.
Even after this long the apartment was too quiet. I turned on the
radio. Absently I listened to the DJ as I put away my purchases.
"It's the love hour here at KPKT. And we all know love's just a game,
don't we folks. A game of
easy come,
easy go as our very own Roger and the Rangers will tell us later on in the
hour. So stay tuned, but first here's a little something to get you in
the mood."
THAT song. Yeah, it figures they'd play our song, that's just the way my
day's going. I listened to the sweet strains of the music, remembering
all the times we'd spent together. How you felt in my arms, how we
danced. How I always made you laugh. Viciously I snapped the radio
off, and decided to go out for dinner.
***************************************
You've changed you know. You seem taller, for one thing. And you move
with a lot more confidence.
You were walking with one of your detectives. No, I don't know everyone
in your department but I know he was yours. Did you even know you had
that possessive way of looking at someone? And then you smiled at
him. Your smile is just the same. I didn't know my heart could
still be broken until that moment.
How stupid. You still have power over me. Would you like that, if
you knew? You always did want power. No, that's petty and
unfair. You didn't enjoy power, you just wanted independence.
You looked happy, though. Are you happy, my Rose? Are you lovers,
you and your detective?
I had to stop writing. The paper was getting too wet from my tears.
It wouldn't matter anyway, I had said everything I needed to. Crumpling
up the paper, I put it in the ashtray and set it on fire with a trembling
hand. I hadn't been able to wash away my love for you in tears, so
watching the flames I hoped I could burn you from my heart.
Much later, I laid the petals from this week's rose on the ashes.
