Author's Note: Well, here we are at the end! Thank you for the wonderful reviews, I appreciate them more than I can say! xx

Some of you pointed out the resemblance between Rody and Robert Ross. Funnily enough, just like Oscar wrote Dorian Gray before a similar character entered his own life, I admit I barely knew anything about Robbie's personality when I started this. I watched 'Wilde' halfway through 'Roses' and until then it hadn't occurred to me that I was sort of writing a fan fiction for Oscar's life as much as Basil's. Now, if we're talking about Ross' portrayal in the movie, I think Rody is still a little more juvenile and less serious, more headstrong... Maybe a mixture of Robbie and some of Bosie's good qualities but yes, definitely more Robbie so you are right to make parallels. By the way, the similarity in the names was absolutely unintentional and, oddly enough, I hadn't even noticed until Stephanie pointed it out. Maybe because Rody's full name is Roderick, which is fairly different from Robert and the short form just came naturally. A piece of trivia – Rody's surname was intentionally chosen. It means 'dear friend' in old English.

The 'joke' with old lord Douglas in this chapter is also clearly intentional – I just couldn't resist.

All right, enough of my babbling. On with the chapter.

Chapter five

Memories and coincidences

Basil had left the gallery after revealing his true identity. He felt tired, not to mention he wanted to avoid the ruckus the news of his 'resurrection' was sure to cause.

He had certainly made a show this time. A bit uncharacteristic of him. Now everyone would say it had been a scheme to draw more attention to his paintings. Well, he could not deny that that would probably be one of the side-effects. But he had not planned to tell the story at all. It had come out of his mouth of its own volition.

He briefly wondered if the gentleman with the sideburns (Lord Douglas he now remembered was his name) would try to get him convicted for 'gross indecency'. Sooner not. Lord Douglas had gone pale as a sheet when he had found out whom he had been talking to. While Basil had no doubt that the old man would have gladly insulted him to his face, had he known who he was from the beginning, the suddenness of the revelation had rendered him speechless. He would recover, of course, but it was rather unlikely that he would take any action against Basil. He had no proof and any dangerous implications that had been made could easily be denied. Not to mention the sad fact that there had not actually been any 'gross indecency' going on between him and Rody.

So, revealing who he was had closed Lord Douglas' mouth at the time. But it had opened Lady Weatherby's. Literally and metaphorically. She had stood there with her jaw hanging for close to a minute. After which, of course, she had run to tell everyone.

He had made his escape at that point and taken a hansom.

His home address had been on the tip of his tongue but then he had hesitated and finally given the address of his studio. He might as well see it again before going back to Paris. England seemed to have nothing good to offer him. It only stirred memories of a time that was lost forever. One final look at the past would be enough. Then he would go back to France and live his life. He knew he could do that, even if he wasn't sure he could be completely happy. It seemed that at some point in his life he had acquired a habit of hurting himself with his own actions and now his existence could be summed up into one big, pathetic pile of 'if onlys'. He felt tired. And old. He was far too young to feel old but Harry was right – youth needed company. If you were alone, you were old. If you were among people who were young at heart, you could stay that way too.

Well, it all came down to one thing – he missed Rody. He could technically try to find him, even in America, but, even if they were to see each other again, it would never be the same. He had done exactly what he had been trying to prevent – he had lost Rody as a friend simply on the basis of prolonged separation. There was something desperately sad about the image of paths diverging, of friends drifting apart until affection was based on old memories rather than on sharing the same life.

Well, he had no one to blame. This was his punishment for never trusting his feelings, for never taking a chance. Most of all, for being cruel and selfish enough to leave Rody alone when he had begged him not to. He really should have known better. How many times had Dorian deserted him after another hopeless request to stay? How many times had Basil imagined the simple happiness of hearing 'yes' for once?

He could almost see himself standing there at Victoria station, all but trembling under Rody's imploring gaze. What if it had gone differently?

'Please, don't go.'

A shuddering intake of breath.

'I won't.'

It would have been so simple – the weight suddenly lifting off his shoulders and Rody's tense features melting back into the familiar grin. They would have gone home – either of their homes, really – and had breakfast and talked. They would have called Harry. He would have arrived to roll his eyes and mock Basil's inability to stick to a decision. And everything would have been just fine…

Basil shook himself. He shouldn't be thinking of that. He would be much better off trying to forget.

He had given the poem to Lady Greenaway as means of leaving it in the past. But it had been foolish of him to think that parting with a piece of paper would be enough. He remembered every word.

Misunderstanding love and passion

Is maybe our worst mistake.

May it be clear with this confession

That you can have this heart to break.

But if you have the love to love me

And honest kisses to return

With their sacred imperfection

Two suns will shine, two worlds will turn.

Someone had been ready to promise him the world. And the only reason that promise had not been fulfilled was his own fear.

Now what he was afraid of was the sight of the dark and empty studio that would greet him in a few minutes. He suddenly wished that Harry was not out of town at the moment. A good friend's company would do him far more good than the cold stares of his paintings.

To his surprise, the windows of the studio were actually lit when the hansom stopped in front of it. He was quite puzzled for a moment but then he figured Harry must have come back from his trip. Indeed, Lord Wotton had received the keys to the studio when Basil had left his paintings in his hands. What he was doing at the studio so late in the evening was a mystery but Basil felt grateful for the coincidence.

He paid the driver and walked through the familiar garden. The poppies were blooming again. He could just barely see them in the pale light. Of course, the garden had not been tended to for two whole years but poppies always found a way to grow unaided even where nothing else did.

Basil reached the house and entered it, preparing to give Lord Henry a warm greeting. The words died unspoken on his lips. Leaning on the armrest of the divan, with a sketchbook on his knees, sat Rody Lewin.

"What an evening!" Irene Greenaway exclaimed as she let her hair down.

"It certainly was," George agreed.

"There is one thing bothering me, though," his wife said frowning. "I looked at the portrait carefully. There was only one butterfly left. Mr. Hallward never addressed what had happened to the second one."

"I supposed it must have flown away when Dorian Gray died. If you believe all this talk about magic to begin with."

"Yes, that's what Mr. Hallward must have thought at least," Irene said thoughtfully, ignoring the last comment, "because otherwise he would have been surprised to see that it was missing. However… If Basil Hallward didn't die when the first butterfly disappeared, do you think it's possible that Dorian Gray is still alive?"

"I don't see how."

"But this story had so many twists and turns so far. Don't you think it's possible that the butterflies symbolize something else? Something more complicated than simply the lives of three young men?"

"The lives of three young men are complicated enough, if you ask me. But I suppose everything is possible, my dear. In your imagination, if nowhere else. Now come to bed."

Irene obeyed, resolving to leave her husband in peace, at least for the time being. But at the back of her mind the question still nagged her. When exactly had the second butterfly left the canvas?

Basil froze in the doorway, unable to move or tear his eyes from the man in front of him. Rody raised his head when he sensed him standing there and his eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Basil! I… did not expect to see you here tonight."

"Neither did I," Basil said in astonishment. "I thought you were on your way to America."

"I was. You clearly haven't read the papers."

"Not the last two days, no. What happened?"

"My ship broke down. No victims but we were lucky to make it back to England in one piece."

"God, I'm sorry, it must have been terrible!"

Basil was going through the motions of the conversation automatically but his heart clenched. Here was the distance he had dreaded, the dry politeness in every word. What was the point of this amazing coincidence, of them both being here tonight, if were going to act like mere acquaintances?

"Yes, well, I wasn't dying to get on a ship right away again, so... don't just stand at the door, Basil, this is your own studio… so I decided to postpone the journey," Rody explained as Basil stiffly too k a seat. "I went to see my mother first thing when I came back and she told me you were here and asking for me. She told me about the exhibition too. I thought you would still be at the opening at this time. Congratulations, by the way. One of the greatest examples of modern art, that's what they say about your work. I can't disagree."

"Thank you. But what are you doing at the studio? When I saw the light, I thought Harry might be back in town. Although I could not imagine what business he would have here."

"Harry isn't back yet but I took the key from Victoria. I just wanted to… take a look around the place. I hadn't seen it in a while. I hope you don't mind."

"Mind? Of course I don't mind!" Basil said passionately. "Rody, you are still my best friend. There is nothing I would hesitate to share with you! Not my studio, not my home, not the food on my table, not my bed…" He clamped a hand over his mouth. "Oh, dear, that came out wrong."

Rody chuckled and the old sparkle came back to his eyes for a moment.

"So, have you returned to England for good?" he asked. "Got tired of Paris?"

"No I… I am leaving again tomorrow. The day after, at the latest."

Rody frowned.

"So fast? Then why did you come back in the first place?"

"I…"

Another carefully avoided conversation, Basil thought. Another confession unmade, another secret unrevealed… His dignity wasn't worth that much. Rody had been far more honest with him, if not completely direct. And if Basil hadn't spoken up when he should have, it was his own fault. He had to speak now.

"I came for you," he admitted. "Rody… you have to know that your feelings were never unreturned. I might have recognized my own too late and I'm paying for it but I do love you. I am not saying this because I expect any sympathy or any… Anything at all. I just wanted to tell you that you did not do a single thing wrong. And I am dreadfully sorry for what I put you through. I don't know if you can understand but I was afraid I was becoming obsessed with you, like I had been with Dorian. I didn't think it would be healthy for either of us. And, back then, I wasn't entirely sure if all you felt for me was friendship or something else. I hope you can forgive me…"

Rody drummed his fingers on his leg.

"Forgive you. Oh dear. All right, I don't know how to react to this."

He got up and started pacing. He looked quite angry.

"You put us both through two years of misery because you couldn't take a hint and because you compared your feelings towards me to those you had for Dorian Gray? The first is definitely an insult to yourself, since it was obviously hard for you to believe that someone might have been in love with you, unless they signed a statement in triplicate. As for the second, I'm not sure if I should take it as an insult or a compliment. I am very obviously not Dorian and I never wanted you to be obsessed with me. Well, all right, maybe sometimes, when I saw how you looked at him… But do you actually mean to tell me that when you stood there at that train station and I begged you to stay, you wanted to say yes? But you went and got on the train instead?"

As much as Basil thought he deserved his friend's anger, his instincts prompted him to try to defend himself.

"Rody, it really wasn't that simple. It was incredibly hard for me to leave you."

"Then why, in God's name, did you?"

"I was a mess. I didn't know what I felt. Even if I had stayed, things might not have gone as well as you would like to believe. I needed time to figure myself out. I'm sorry it took me so long, you can't imagine how sorry. But that's just how it happened."

"All right, so you needed time. Why didn't you try to explain? I would have understood."

"If I had told you to wait, I'm afraid you would have done just that. It would have been unfair to make you arrest your life because of me. You have been doing so much better without me. Look at you! You're a poet and a writer. A wonderful one, if I might add."

"Then why did you come back at all?" Rody asked, still angry, ignoring the compliment.

Basil shook his head.

"I thought… It was foolish of me but I didn't know if… You see, I wasn't sure if you had moved on. Your letter only reached me three days ago when I was already here."

Rody stopped pacing and stared at him.

"My letter."

"Yes."

"So you read it."

"Yes."

"And you decided to escape back to Paris. Without even seeing me."

"You were on your way to America."

Rody paused and frowned.

"Oh. That's right, I forgot… But even so, I'm here now. And you still intend to go back to Paris tomorrow. So what? If you can't have me as a lover I don't deserve your company anymore?"

"Rody, what on Earth…?! Since when do you talk like that?"

"Since you are driving me insane with your logic!"

"You wrote that you had turned a new page, I didn't want to get in the way…"

Rody drew in a deep breath that didn't seem to help too much.

"Basil," he said slowly "you are missing a crucial point. The bloody letter was written when I thought you were never coming back, let alone confessing your love for me, you bloody idiot!"

The next thing Basil knew, Rody was compensating for two years of missed kisses.

"You… deserve… to be… shot!" he managed to say in between them. "Except I wouldn't let it happen, of course."

"Shall I take it you still love me then?" the painter asked when he was finally able to breathe. He felt dizzy and wasn't quite sure if it was from lack of oxygen or happiness or maybe both. Rody laughed into his shirt.

"You damn fool. Of course I still love you. I always have. I want to strangle you at times but I think that's part of it. I could never stop loving you."

Basil closed his eyes and let his cheek rest on the soft brown-red locks.

"I am so, so sorry! I was such an insufferable…"

"It hardly matters now," Rody interrupted him.

And, oddly enough, it really didn't. It was as if one kiss (well, twenty) had been enough to erase the last two years entirely.

As he bent down for another, more serious kiss, with less hesitation or fear than he had ever felt, Basil's last coherent thought was that Dorian had been wrong. God did listen. Coincidences were simply his way of remaining anonymous.

It's one of the wonders of life that what seems like a stroke of bad luck could turn into something beautiful. A few accidental spots on the canvas do not always ruin a picture. Not when they can be transformed into butterflies.

End Note: And there you are. I know all of us wanted them to get together. Happy now? I hope you are and I also hope you will drop me a note to say so. And make sure you read the epilogue. It's not about these two but you may still find it interesting ;). This series has material for at least one more story.