Date: Fri, 19 Jan 2001 09:14:32 -0600 From: Silent Kid Subject: Affirmation 19 Hi everyone, Well, here it is. I know it's been a long time in coming. Thanks to all of you who gave me that extra push to finish another chapter. I tend to let it slide if I don't get a reminder now and then. Please see notes at the end. Hope you like it. :) Am Affirmation 19 Disclaimer: Usual disclaimers apply. Fiction. Gay content. Not for minors or others for him reading would be illegal. Does not reflect the actual lives of Savage Garden, Robbie Williams, Boyzone, or 5ive. - Darren curled against the headboard in his borrowed bed, reading his tattered copy of The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe. He was so engrossed in the story, he didn't hear Daniel come in the room. Even when he felt him next to him, he didn't look up. Things had been quiet the last few days, since Stephen and Shane had jetted back to London, Stephen to a long overdue reconciliation with Ronan, and Shane to make sure that Stephen wasn't hurt again, though he denied that was the reason, saying that he needed to get back to his wife, which still didn't explain why he was going to London rather than Derry or wherever he lived. Darren couldn't remember. His head was swimming from all that happened, which basically amounted to a whole lot of nothing. He remembered Stephen bouncing around in his bliss that could only be described as marital, and Shane gifting him with a copy of Car & Driver which Daniel promptly requisitioned, and the long, low talks between Shane and Daniel as Darren lay sleeping on Dan's lap that night in front of the TV. He didn't remember what was said, but he liked the gentle rumble of their voices and if he hadn't been so preoccupied with himself or with Robbie's unknown whereabouts or state of being, he might have noticed that they were rather subdued when they said goodbye at the airport, and he half expected Shane to stay so they could keep on talking about cars and other manly things, but eventually Shane followed Stephen onto the plane with a grin and a wave carelessly offered over his departing shoulder. Darren shook his head now, noticing for the first time that Daniel was in the room with him. Daniel sat quietly on the bed's edge, his head bowed. He seemed to be trying to figure out what to say. His hands squeezed a rolled up newspaper. "Daniel?" Darren asked tentatively, laying the book aside. "I think I know why you haven't heard anything from Robbie." "Why?" Darren sat up quickly. Daniel tossed the newspapers down in front of him. Not one, but four. "What's this?" Darren asked, almost scared to touch them. "Just read them," Daniel mumbled. He stood to go. Then, as if an after thought, I'm sorry, Darren. I'll be downstairs when you're done." Darren flipped through headline after headline about drunken escapades, public nudity, one night stands with names forgotten before they were remembered. He lingered over an account that claimed he'd woken up groggy and incoherent to find his sheets torn and lipstick writing on the wall. According to the "source", Robbie couldn't even remember what she looked like. Darren threw the papers down in disgust. The pages fluttered away in a frustratingly unsatisfying whoosh. Darren glared at them. Then he dropped his head into his hands and silently started to cry. One thought in his head--if I'd been there.... In a second Daniel was there with him. He hadn't gone downstairs at all. He'd probably had his ear pressed to the door the whole time, waiting. He wrapped his arms around him. Darren squeezed back and settled his head on his friend's chest. Daniel rubbed his back and rocked him gently. When the tears stopped, Daniel put something into his hand. Darren pulled back slightly. "What's this?" He stared down at the Quantas envelope. "I thought you'd want to go to him." "I do," Darren whispered. "The plane leaves tonight." "I don't know if I can do this on my own, Daniel." He glanced up at him, eyes wide and pleading, still shimmering. Daniel reached out a slender arm and gently touched Darren^Rs chin. "Who said you were?" Darren' s eyes widened. "You mean you..." Daniel opened the envelope revealing two tickets. "We leave at 6." "But how will we find him?" "Stephen and Shane are already there. They'll find him." He squeezed Darren's shoulder. "Don't worry, mate. It'll be alright." "Thanks, Dan," Darren choked. Daniel shrugged. "Anything for you, Darren." He sounded almost sad, and Darren glanced up at him to be sure, but couldn't tell anything from his expression beyond his present concern. Daniel lifted himself off the bed. "I should pack." "I love you, Dan." Darren said. Daniel smiled smugly. "You should." With that he left, narrowly missing the pillow Darren hurled at him. Twenty six hours later Darren stood in front of an incongruous brownstone in West London squinting at a scrap of paper in his hand. "You're sure this is it?" Daniel nodded. "Positive." Darren gazed up at the building. "I don't understand why he doesn't just go home. He lives a mile away. That's what Stephen said, anyway." Daniel shrugged. "Maybe he doesn't want to be found." "Oh, great, and here we are!" Darren mocked, trying to take the edge off his nerves. "Do you want me to go with you?" Daniel asked. Darren looked down the street. Three doors down a little girl in a pink jumper stared at him. He shook his head. "No. He wouldn't like that." He paused. "Go on, then," Daniel said, gently nudging him. Darren nodded. He trudged up the sidewalk. He stood before Robbie's door. His hand frozen in a fist. He shook his head violently, vainly. This wasn't the time to think of past mistakes or feelings or stupidity. Just knock and get on with it. But he was stopped. Scared. He looked back. Daniel was gone, disappeared into a coffee shop, no doubt. He took a deep breath and knocked once. Twice. Nothing. He jiggled the knob. To his surprise, the door swung open. Darren stepped in cautiously, wanting to call out to his wayward friend, but the words caught in his throat and he proceeded in silence. The ground floor was spotless, eerily so, as if no one had ever touched it. He half expected to find the clocks had stopped, marking out Miss Havisham's abandonment under her lost bridegroom. But the deep tolling of one quickly debunked this romanticized theory, and he climbed the creaking stairs slowly, resisting the urge to take them two at a time, partly because he wasn't sure he wanted to see what lay ahead, and partly because he was scared of falling in this empty house. Upstairs it was more of the same, ghostly, and Darren had nearly decided that he'd found the wrong home and had better leave before the owners returned and charged him with breaking and entering when he stumbled into a bedroom which could only be Robbie's. As he stood in the doorway and took in the chaos, the words from the articles Daniel had given him tumbled back and he knew they were all true. The far wall was covered in faded red scribbles. Darren could see Robbie on his knees the morning after, trying to scrub away the remnants of this woman he couldn't remember. He felt his desolation when the stain wouldn't be removed, just buffered a little so the words and numbers couldn't be read, like a hazy memory lingering without detail or clarity to bring anything but unrest to the calmest mind. Whiskey and Vodka bottles were strewn across the floor, sometimes in piles seven deep. Darren carefully stepped around them as he entered the room. He pulled the blanket back from the bed and shuddered as a red stain came into view. He closed his eyes, whispered, "Please God," and bent to smell it. He nearly collapsed in joy. Cranberry juice. Of course. But near it, crusted whiteness. Darren pulled the bedclothes back up hastily, covering the stains. He wondered if Robbie was drunk before he brought the girl home. If he had to be drunk to bring her home, if he would only take him home after a pint or ten. Darren pushed the thought out of his head, or at least into the back of it. Now wasn't the time. The Star Wars doll he'd given him tumbled to the floor as the blanket settled back. Darren picked it up, smiling to himself and absently stroked it. He remembered how he'd put it to bed in New York to surprise Robbie that day when J had kissed him in the taxi cab. Darren kicked himself inwardly. He should remember that day because of Robbie's concert, not because of J's backseat antics. He glanced at the dresser and stopped short. There, next to phone, on half a Chinese take out menu, was his own phone number. It was barely legible, obviously written in haste or duress, but still undeniably his. Darren's fingers trembled as he stared at it. Had Robbie tried to call him? How did he get the number? Why didn't he call him at Daniel's? He'd told enough people that he was there, even Robbie's mum knew for goodness sakes! Shaking, Darren grabbed the phone and dialed San Francisco. He got his machine and punched in his code. A string of messages followed--friends, his mom, a couple fans who'd lucked out and gotten his number from a soon to be ex-roadie, the credit card company asking if he was planning on sending a check this century, then, finally, a click. This was followed by a giggling woman and someone who sounded like Robbie shouting incoherently. Darren thought they were talking about love or fucking, but it was too fast and loud for him to be sure. He wasn't even positive it was Robbie because this man sounded nothing like the Robbie he knew. This man was too happy, too *on something* to be Robbie. Just before the click, the woman shrieked, "he loves you!" which was met with uproarious laughter from Robbie. Darren squeezed the doll. He'd forgotten he was holding it. He almost hung up the phone when the next message began. No woman this time. "Daz. It's me. I just wanted to say I'm sorry. I don't remember much, but I think I should say that to you. I'm...trying to put myself back together. I guess you can see that's going well." He chuckled derisively. Then, raising his voice into a faux cheerfulness, he chirped, "catch ya later, Dazboy!" Darren sat on the floor, the receiver tucked under his chin. The next message knocked him down further. "Darren? I...I can't. I just. Please. I can't...do this. You don't know. I need... You're the only one who knows. Help me. Please. I can't. Help. Darren? I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please. Darren? Please. I need..." The words disappeared into choking sobs which went on and on. Darren huddled with the phone, not wanting to hang it up or let Robbie's voice fade out, willing the message to go on even if it only brought him heartbreak at the sound of his friend's desolation. In the end, though, it did stop, but not until Robbie wailed, as if it were breaking his heart to admit it, "I need you," and then he was gone. Darren dropped the phone and curled up where he lie, clutching the doll to himself. His body shook, but no tears came. He was beyond that now. He was so far beyond it that he didn't know what to feel or how to react. All he knew was that he hadn't been there for his friend. It was his fault Robbie had gone off the deep end this time. Sure, the others had told him it wasn't, but he knew they were lying. He could see it in their eyes. He lay there for the longest time, just him and the doll and Robbie's words echoing in his head. His limbs grew heavy and he was nearly asleep when he heard creaking. He shot up. Someone was here. On the stairs. Outside the door. tbc... Notes: I've finally got my own fiction site. It has a few things you've not seen before, including chapter 20 of Affirmation. Because of time constraints and a few other reasons it is highly unlikely that I'll be posting on Nifty anymore. Consider it an early Lenten vow. I hope you will continue to enjoy the story from my site (www.kumquatboy.com/wannabe) and keep Affirmation in mind as you vote for the Boyband Awards. Thanks so much for all your great support for this story. Take care, Amber :)