A/N: Merry Christmas to all you readers out there! And, of course, a huge round of thanks to those who've reviewed/subscribed/favorited.

Also... the views expressed by Leroy in this chapter do not reflect any personal views of mine. Quite the opposite, really.

Chapter title comes from the Pearl Jam song 'Indifference.'

NINE

Pretend I'm Free to Roam

"What the fuck are you getting at, Leroy?" Vince screamed as soon as he was let into his friend's flat. "Settin' me up with Mrs. Gideon? Are you tryna kill me here?"

Leroy sighed and nonchalantly plopped himself down on his couch, which took up the majority of the living area in his shoddy, one bedroom-er. "She really likes you, Vince. I thought it'd be nice for you to get out with someone who'd actually give you some meaningful affection. Is that so bad?"

"Yes!" he cried, stopping- only momentarily- his restless pacing around the room. "It's awful!"

"Is it 'cuz of what the papers said? 'Cuz really, Vince, we can't be sure that was anythin' to do with you."

"What? What bleedin' papers? Christy, Leroy, you know damn well why! And ya wanna know what the fuck happened later on?"

Leroy became unusually serious, looking up at the ever-in-motion Vince with sad, darkened eyes. "You haven't heard? I read this morning that-"

"I ain't got the patience for stories, Leroy!" snapped the other man frantically. "Listen to me! Last night I got bloody pissed off my tits and jumped into bed with Harold flippin' Boon! Remember that knob-head? Well, he came back, and 'cuz of you, I-"

"Vince!"

"What?"

"Frankly, I could give two fucks about what happened with you and Harold Boon. You got some backdoor action and you know I ain't gonna feel guilty about that. What I'm tryna tell you is that last night, Gideon was put into hospital."

Vince's previously baleful expression fell, and he slowly slid onto the carpeted floor, in front of where Leroy was sat. "What…?" he asked, his voice like that of a child who'd been reprimanded by a parent.

Leroy sighed heavily and invited Vince to sit beside him; this invitation was accepted, and then he trudged on with the explanation. "She was staggerin' about all night and wound up hit by a car. The driver says she walked in front of him, but that could be debatable. She's in critical condition now, but that's all the article said. They're havin' a hard time keepin' her under wraps, since she's already on a heavy regiment of meds for her sickness and they don't want her system to-"

"What sickness?" asked Vince, completely confused.

"Rare early onset dementia. Come on, you had to have known that," Leroy replied, almost laughing at the obviousness. When Vince didn't seem to share the humor, he turned off his own. "Shit off, Noir. You worked with her for all that time and you didn't know?"

Vince looked as if he were going to hyperventilate. "This is my fault," he stated. He wasn't looking to be told otherwise, or even to be consoled; he was promulgating his guilt because he knew it was true. "I said all these horrible things to her… an' I didn't know, Leroy, honest. If I'd known she'd been sick, I never would've… I yelled at her for not rememberin' anything. Who the fuck does that to someone with dementia?" He let out a rancorous snicker before cradling his face in his hands. "I always hated her, thinkin' she was jus' ignorant, like everyone back at school used to be, but… oh, God, Leroy. She told me I was the only solid thing in her life, an' that she loved me… She loved me, for fuck's sake! An' now… look what I made her do!"

"C'mon, Vince. It couldn't have all been you," Leroy said, draping his arm around the man. "She was obviously unstable and sick. This could very well be completely unrelated. And we don't even know if she did it on purpose, so don't get all dramatic until we know everything, alright?"

Vince pushed his arm off of his shoulders and glared at him with disgust. "How can you be so calm about this? It was me, and you know it. If I hadn't said-"

"But how good did it feel to finally say all that?" Leroy interrupted, with a dangerous glint in his nearly black eyes.

"Yeah, okay," Vince conceded. "It felt good at the time, when I thought I was standing up for Howard, but now that I see the weight of the words, it's feeling everything but good!"

Leroy exhaled, madly frustrated. "As if that matters. Look. You don't love her. You don't even like her. All that ties you to her now is pity… or sympathy, whatever. So this guilt you're feeling… it ain't even about her well-being, is it? It's strictly about your involvement. And that's pretty selfish, actually."

Vince's face warped at the confliction he was being hit with. "S'not just that," he began weakly. "I'm hurting innocent people jus' by sayin' what's on my mind. What if I screw up and send Howard over the edge like this? Oh, God…" His voice rose in pitch, a whole new sense of panic spreading. "I couldn't live with myself if I ever did that."

This time, Leroy did laugh. "Seriously? Even if Howard wanted to, we both know he'd be too scared to go through with it. He's safe."

"It isn't funny," Vince defended with that same childish tone.

"No, you're right," Leroy said, with a mock-surrendering gesture of his hands. "It's not funny. But I mean it when I say you shouldn't feel badly about speaking your mind and doing what makes you happy. Can you listen to me for a bit and promise not to interrupt?"

Vince nodded obediently, his head hung downward with his barely concealed shame. Don't listen to him. No matter what he says, don't listen.

"Look at you. Seriously, come with me and look at yourself," he started, just before grabbing Vince by the limp arm and leading him to a mirror hung on the opposite wall. He nudged the man's face upward, forcing him to gaze at his reflection. "You're beautiful. And I don't mean that in a homo way; I just mean it. You're beautiful. It's a fact. Why would you waste that?

"So many people sit around crippled by their insecurities, and as much as they want to make it sound deeper than it is, nine times outta ten, it'll result from the physical. What they look like. We live in a shallow society, Vince. You and I know that more than anyone, and I'm realistic enough to admit to my place in it. These people have been rejected by the shallows so long that anything social will scare them off. Yeah, it's their history that renders them awkward and distant, but what's it a result of? People like us pushing them away, because they look different. Is it morally right of us to do so? No, I should think not. But we do it anyway, 'cuz that's our role. Just as being alone and insecure is theirs.

"I know what you're thinkin', and lemme stop you right there, okay? You're thinking that we should sympathize with the insecure ones, because it's usually our fault- whether it's from rejection or mental comparison or whatever- that they've gotten to this state. Well, we can't take all the blame, 'cuz they're at fault, too. They should be much more resilient. Like Howard. Gideon turns him down, and what does he do? Gets depressed, stalks her around and ultimately takes it out on himself. What would any sane person do? Have some drinks and within a few weeks find someone new to pine after. And don't you say it's 'cuz he was in love with her, or that he's always been socially retarded, okay? Because you used to tell me all the time that he wasn't really in love. You said the two of them had never had a single decent conversation.

"These insecure people are passive aggressive. They like to blame everyone else for the reduction of their confidence and public failures, but really, they're as much at fault as their so-called persecutors. Now, Vince. Look at you. You're born with the natural beauty and assurance that all these people would kill to have. Why should you give up what makes you happy, just 'cuz they're too self-absorbed to go after what makes them feel that way? Why would you take all you have and throw it out?

"You worked in a zoo; you know about habitats and all that biological stuff concerning animals. Well, people are the same way. We all have our own niche. Howard, for instance… he's a completely different species than you. Was he born with your striking beauty? No. Your charisma? No. But he was born with intellect. Let's face it, Vince. Neither of us are exactly Rhodes Scholars, and we know that. Howard is somethin' else, though. You used to tell me all the time. He was talkin' about politics and reading the likes of Plato when we… well, when we were still playing with Play-Doh. And for all that intelligence, where is he now? Workin' in some dingy shop, all his literary talent and smarts left for dead. He rejected his niche for God-knows-what reason, and now he's miserable. Ah, well. He made his bed and has to sleep in it.

"You, on the other hand… you're clearly born for Hedonism. You can get away with whatever you want, 'cuz society is too dense to see past your pretty face. Your niche is the best of all, Vince. Your niche is you. Do you wanna be like your precious Howard and throw it all away? His intellect seems to have dulled from inactivity. That's unfortunate. And your beauty ain't gonna last forever. Use it to your advantage before it's too late. Before you're left as miserable as your little husband-"

"He's not my husband!" Vince exclaimed, his voice hoarse from the drying of his throat, jerking around violently to face Leroy. "Don't fucking call him that," he added, his breathing unnaturally strained.

"Ah," smiled Leroy. "Now we're getting somewhere."