A/N: Alright, so I know I haven't added to this in about forever. I had a nice notebook with pages written up with exactly how I wanted the story to go, character development, etc, etc, etc. Of course, I did the sensible thing: I saw it a while ago, threw it somewhere, and now I don't remember if I kept the pages or recycled them. Auughhh.
Oddly enough, I've been getting messages every few weeks or so for people asking me to continue this. Being in the middle of writing literary essays for scholarships (when science is really my essay forte), I decided it was time for a change in pace. Screw comparing relationships, sociological differences, philosophical views from the 1800s—I'm writing this !
I've actually had this chapter written for about a year, but I reread it and realized that wow, it really sucked. I've sort of forgotten exactly where I'm going with this fic, but eh, I'll shut my mouth now.
Brit half ran, half walked down the hallways of the Heartbreak Hotel in search of Meat. On his way he ran past Scaramouche talking quietly with some short guy with blond hair. Not paying much attention to them, his pace quickened to a sprint when he heard traces of Meat's voice. Scara, on the other hand, nearly passed out when she saw the now un-dead Bohemian. After gaping wordlessly for a few seconds, she turned to Corey.
"Did you see that guy? Oh God, don't tell me Gaz's madness is getting to me…was I hallucinating?" She spoke quietly, more to herself than to anyone else. Her eyes still wide with shock.
Obviously nobody had told Corey about Brit; at least, not that he was dead. He found it odd that Sam—no, she was Scaramouche now—was so amazed by the tall guy in torn clothes running through the halls. There certainly wasn't anything different that he could see about him. "Uh, no, you weren't. But why are you…" Corey's voiced trailed off as Scara started bolting after the man. For a small person, she could move faster than most of the other Bohemians.
She screeched into a halt when she went around a corner to see Brit standing behind a wall, obviously listening to the conversation between Meat and Madonna in the next room. He saw Scara's mouth start to open, and quickly held his hand over her mouth and motioned for her to listen. Not being too happy with having to be quiet, Scara sulked for a few seconds and started listening to what Mads was saying.
"I didn't say you have to start dating again, hon. I just said that you should think about. I mean, it's been a month since the…well, not accident…since the incident. Face it: you're gorgeous, and you're miserable when you're single. Remember how happy you were when ya had Brit? And I think Khashoggi's got a bit of a liking to you."
Brit's expression went from alarmed to enraged. This thing that tried to kill him was now after his girlfriend? And was Madonna implying that Khashoggi could make Meat as happy as she was with Brit? Scaramouche shifted uncomfortably. All of the Bohemians knew about Khashoggi's feelings for Meat. They listened closely to the silence on the other side of the wall. Finally, Meat let out a sigh.
"That was Brit, though," her familiar Scottish accent spoke the words Brit needed to hear. "And Khashoggi? He killed him. He killed him, Mads. He killed the person who kept me alive, who gave me hope, who I loved. If I killed Charlotte, would you go around and start dating me? I don't think so, now. Maybe someday I'll find someone again, but I haven't yet. I just wish Brit were here…all he ever wanted was for the world to be free, and now he's missing it…I just…" she choked back a sob, and took a deep breath. "I miss him so much, and I'm never gonna get to see him again but—"
That was all Brit needed to hear. He burst into the room, closely followed by Scaramouche. Meat screamed and passed out onto the hard cement floor. Despite the looks of surprise and curiosity coming from Scara and Madonna, he rushed over to her and held her close. The room was deathly quiet for a few minutes until Scara started with the questions, assuming she was allowed to talk again.
"Where did you come from? I think you're gonna need some new clothes. Being dead can do that to you. How'd you get here, anyways? How long have you been here for? When did you not die? What's that weird smell? Does anyone else know you're here?"
Brit cut her off before she could ask anything else. "Long story short, a glitch with the laser guns makes them only send you into a deep sleep. I was never dead, and what weird smell? I bumped into Galileo—he's looking for you—and told him about everything." He looked up at Mads. "And why, for God's sake, why were you trying to get Meat together with Khashoggi?"
Madonna's face started turning pink. "I, ah, need to go get something…" She ran off, muttering about zombie Bohemians and knitted socks.
Glaring at her retreating back, Brit turned his attention back to Meat when he heard a soft moan. "Meat? Meat, baby, can you hear me? It's me, Brit."
After a few seconds, Meat's eyes fluttered open. "Am I…dead?" Scaramouche started to laugh, but quickly covered it up with a cough. Meat struggled to sit up and touched Brit's face. "You're really there…" her voice was soft, as if she was in a trance.
Brit's face broke into a huge grin. "I'm really here, babe. I told you I'd always come back, and here I am," he said, feeling rather pleased with himself. He quickly explained exactly what had happened, before Meat could pass out again.
"Well then," Meat grinned as she was getting her old spunk back. "Don't just stand there…fandango me!" She pulled Brit down onto the coach, laughing wildly. The two seemed to forget that Scara was still standing there.
"Eugh, get a room!" Scara rolled her eyes and gave them a disgusted glare.
"We've got one, hen! You're just in it," Meat arched an eyebrow and tilted her head to the door. With a final "eugh," Scaramouche ran for the door, running straight into Gaz.
"You might not wanna go in there," she warned. Looking up into Galileo's eyes, she could tell something was wrong. Instead of having their usual far-away, dreamy look, they were piercing right into her eyes, like he had gone right through into her soul. It was as though he was trying to read her; to see exactly what was going on in her mind. Or maybe they were searching for truths. Scara started feeling uncomfortable…Meat couldn't have told him, but there was no way he could tell what was happening. She knew he'd find out soon enough; it was only a matter of time before it would be impossible to hide.
"Scara?" Gaz was cutting into her thoughts now. "Scara, we need to talk. C'mon baby," he flinched as a way to brace himself for the tongue-lashing that was bound to follow. Surprisingly, Scara didn't react to the name this time; something must be very, very wrong.
Scaramouche numbly followed him to their room, lost in her thoughts. Meat would never tell him something this important, without Scara telling her to…would she? Maybe if there was a caffeine shortage and she was being bribed with chocolate-coated coffee beans…nah, she wouldn't do it. Did Corey tell him? Corey, the one Scara could count on ever since she could remember…he wouldn't have told him…right? No, that was silly. Corey didn't know anything about Gaz, aside from that he heard voices in his head. Maybe she should tell Gaz. She knew he would be hurt when he found out, simply because she didn't tell him sooner. If someone else had told him what was going on…Scara didn't want to think of it.
Scara went into their room and sat down on the bed, still lost in thought. Gaz locked the door and sat close next to her, wrapping her in his arms. They sat like that for a while, enjoying each other's company for the first time in a few weeks.
Galileo was the first to break the silence. "Scara," he started. "You know you can tell me anything that's on your mind, don't you?" He watched her as she fiddled with the ripped sleeve of her sweater. "C'mon, I know there's something."
Sighing, Scaramouche started to talk. "Well, see Shagileo, Meat and I were…ah…we were planning a surprise party for you. For your birthday. And for saving rock. You know, because you're amazing and you deserve it and—shit, look at the time. I'm supposed to go meet up with the girls." She planted a kiss on his mouth and started out of the room.
Gaz cried out after her. "But my birthday's not for another five months!"
"More time to prepare! Remember, you're not supposed to know, Meat will kill me," she replied over her shoulder. She slammed their door and took off running down the corridor.
Gaz pulled his legs in closer, hugging his knees. He wanted to cry, a feeling he hadn't had in months, maybe years. It was obvious to anyone with ears or eyes that Scara was lying to him. She hated parties. She hated birthdays. She didn't even know when his birthday was—the subject had never really come up. He reached into his drawer and pulled out the velvet box, like he did whenever he was feeling lonely. This was becoming increasingly common. Staring at the ring, he felt a tear slide down his cheek. Maybe if he asked Scaramouche to marry him today, she would be so overcome with love that she'd tell him everything. Then again, maybe if he asked her today, she'd get mad about him prying into her life and refuse him and leave him and run off with Khashoggi and restart Globalsoft and—
He put the box away. Maybe tomorrow.