Ficlet: Entrechat Cinquante: helicopter
Apr. 8th, 2009 11:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
splixTitle: Entrechat Cinquante
Pairing: VigBean
Rating: G to NC-17
Author: Alex
Warning: AU
Written for the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
seans_50 challenge.
Beta: the most excellent![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kimberlite.
Disclaimer: Utterly untrue.
Prompt: helicopter.
October 1993
*
A loud whirring sounded overhead as Sean crossed the street. He looked up and shaded his eyes to see a medical helicopter landing on the hospital roof. He tightened his jaw, readjusted the large green plant in his arms, and pushed at the revolving door.
He kept his eyes on the floor in the elevator he shared with a nurse who looked as if she were about to drop from exhaustion, a wheezing old man in a hospital johnny, a robe, and slippers, and two women arguing in a language that sounded like Russian or Polish. The smell of disinfectant and tinned beef stew filled his nostrils, making him want to throw up. Hating hospitals was a cliché, but who liked them? People rarely went there for good reasons, and too many who went in never came out again – not alive, anyway. He wished Viggo were with him.
Once off the elevator, he shifted the plant to his hip and searched his pocket for the scrap of paper with the room number he’d scrawled on it. He made his way down the corridor, turned a corner, and found it. The door was open, but he knocked anyway, seized by sudden timidity.
“Come in.”
Sean peered past the curtain and stopped in shock, trying to school his face into absolute neutrality. It was almost impossible. “Hello, Christopher.”
“Sean. Don’t just hover. Come in.”
It had been a month since he’d set eyes on Christopher Brill. In that time, Brill had changed so completely as to become almost unrecognizable. His thick hair was no more than a white fuzz. He’d always been thin, but his sinewy body had suggested strength rather than fragility. Now he was emaciated; his face looked like parchment, its bones uncomfortably close to the surface. There was a tremor in his hands. A garden of sores bloomed above his white, stretched-looking upper lip.
“Is that for me?”
“Yeah – from me and Viggo,” Sean said. "It's a gardenia." He'd cultivated it himself, but he was fairly certain Brill wouldn't be interested in that.
“Put it on the table.” Brill pointed to a table by the window, already choked with flowers, plants, and cards.
Sean set the plant next to a bunch of shiny metallic balloons urging GET WELL SOON! Brill must have been delighted at that. The plant ensconced, Sean didn’t know what to do with himself. He met Brill’s deeply socketed eyes for a second, then straightened the blanket at the foot of the bed. “Well.” He forced himself to look at Brill full-on, cleared his throat, and tried again. “Well, it’s nice to see you.”
Some emotion that looked like malicious amusement gleamed in Brill’s eyes. “Is it? Have a seat.”
The chair was old, with wooden slats. Sean wondered if it was the chair from Brill’s office, brought to make him feel more at home. “Viggo sends regards. He’d like to visit you, if that’s okay.”
“He can stop by tomorrow, if he wishes. If not, I’ll understand. But he’ll have to do it before Friday.”
“I’ll let him know. Are – are you being transferred?”
“No. I’m being released.”
Brill didn’t look like he was in fit condition to walk to his bathroom unaided, let alone out of the hospital. “You are? That’s fantastic.”
“Yes.” Brill set his palms on either side and pushed himself up a little higher against the pillows. He sagged with the effort and took a hit of oxygen from a tube beside him. “There was a reason I wanted to see you alone.”
“Kit said.”
Brill leaned back and scrutinized Sean. “I haven’t been kind to you.”
Sean blinked. His first impulse was to say No, you’ve been an utter bastard, in fact, but it was plain that Christopher Brill wasn’t long for this world, as his mum used to say, and if the man wanted to make some sort of deathbed confession, Sean didn’t possess the killer’s heart to tell him off now. “Look, Christopher, that’s all in the past. I think –“
“Do you want to know why?” Brill’s voice was weak and raspy, but still diamond-hard and cold.
A stab of anger that he couldn’t prevent sliced into Sean’s stomach. “Now that you mention it, yes.”
Brill smiled faintly. He picked up a cup of water and took a tiny sip. His hand trembled with the effort of setting it down, and he spilled a bit on the cuff of his silk Charvet bathrobe, a Noel Coward-esque bit of elegance utterly at odds with his wasted appearance. “Kit was the one who hired you, not me. That first time I saw you dance in London –“ He shook his head. “You were brilliant. And the first...the first, and the clearest threat I’d ever seen.”
Sean said nothing. He gazed at Brill warily. The man might be close to death, but like an aging, powerful lion, he still had claws and teeth, and they were still deadly.
“You don’t believe me.”
“It’s difficult,” Sean admitted. “You don’t strike me as a man who’s threatened by much.”
“You know I’m dying?”
The question stung like a slap. Sean nodded reluctantly.
“It doesn’t frighten me - death - and I’ll tell you why. Because I saw my own mortality fourteen years ago when I saw you. I saw your youth and strength eclipsing my own, and I struck back with every weapon I had.” Brill began to cough, and took another breath of oxygen, waving away Sean’s solicitous gesture. He waited until the noisy respiration in his chest subsided, then stared at Sean, his eyes fever-bright. “And you took it all without complaint. I treated you like a pack animal, hoping you’d quit, but I didn’t credit you with as much inner strength as you had. You always managed despite my treatment of you, not because of it, and you’ve succeeded brilliantly.” He leaned back against the pillows and closed his eyes.
Sean sat wrapped in silence. After a few moments, he whispered, “I always thought you hated me, but I never knew why.”
A dry, papery chuckle emerged from Brill’s throat. “Now you know. Someday, maybe, when another brilliant dancer comes along, you’ll know how it feels to face mortality. But I think you won’t be as unkind.” His eyes opened. “I knew that, perhaps. I resented it, too – you have a generosity of spirit that I lack. It’s why I won’t ask your forgiveness. I’m not even sure I want it.”
“I’m not sure I’m ready to grant it,” Sean said slowly.
Another chuckle escaped. “That’s fine. Besides, it’s not the reason I asked you here.”
Christ, what next? Sean wondered. Aloud, he said, “Then why did you ask me here, Christopher?”
“I want you to be Metropolitan’s next artistic director.”
*
The hospital's chapel was on the third floor. Sean peered in cautiously, only entering when he saw it was empty. It was dark and cool and smelled soothing, like wood and starched linen. He took a seat in the first row of chairs and gazed at the bare altar.
He wasn’t ready to go home. Viggo was in rehearsal anyway. He needed to be somewhere quiet, somewhere unfamiliar, to absorb the shocks his system had taken in the last hour. Sighing, he dragged his hands through his hair and stared up at the ceiling. Then, before he could contain himself, a sob welled up in his throat, and he covered his face, weeping bitterly, and not knowing why.
*
picture bygovi20
My table is here
Pairing: VigBean
Rating: G to NC-17
Author: Alex
Warning: AU
Written for the
seans_50 challenge.Beta: the most excellent
kimberlite.Disclaimer: Utterly untrue.
Prompt: helicopter.
October 1993
*
A loud whirring sounded overhead as Sean crossed the street. He looked up and shaded his eyes to see a medical helicopter landing on the hospital roof. He tightened his jaw, readjusted the large green plant in his arms, and pushed at the revolving door.
He kept his eyes on the floor in the elevator he shared with a nurse who looked as if she were about to drop from exhaustion, a wheezing old man in a hospital johnny, a robe, and slippers, and two women arguing in a language that sounded like Russian or Polish. The smell of disinfectant and tinned beef stew filled his nostrils, making him want to throw up. Hating hospitals was a cliché, but who liked them? People rarely went there for good reasons, and too many who went in never came out again – not alive, anyway. He wished Viggo were with him.
Once off the elevator, he shifted the plant to his hip and searched his pocket for the scrap of paper with the room number he’d scrawled on it. He made his way down the corridor, turned a corner, and found it. The door was open, but he knocked anyway, seized by sudden timidity.
“Come in.”
Sean peered past the curtain and stopped in shock, trying to school his face into absolute neutrality. It was almost impossible. “Hello, Christopher.”
“Sean. Don’t just hover. Come in.”
It had been a month since he’d set eyes on Christopher Brill. In that time, Brill had changed so completely as to become almost unrecognizable. His thick hair was no more than a white fuzz. He’d always been thin, but his sinewy body had suggested strength rather than fragility. Now he was emaciated; his face looked like parchment, its bones uncomfortably close to the surface. There was a tremor in his hands. A garden of sores bloomed above his white, stretched-looking upper lip.
“Is that for me?”
“Yeah – from me and Viggo,” Sean said. "It's a gardenia." He'd cultivated it himself, but he was fairly certain Brill wouldn't be interested in that.
“Put it on the table.” Brill pointed to a table by the window, already choked with flowers, plants, and cards.
Sean set the plant next to a bunch of shiny metallic balloons urging GET WELL SOON! Brill must have been delighted at that. The plant ensconced, Sean didn’t know what to do with himself. He met Brill’s deeply socketed eyes for a second, then straightened the blanket at the foot of the bed. “Well.” He forced himself to look at Brill full-on, cleared his throat, and tried again. “Well, it’s nice to see you.”
Some emotion that looked like malicious amusement gleamed in Brill’s eyes. “Is it? Have a seat.”
The chair was old, with wooden slats. Sean wondered if it was the chair from Brill’s office, brought to make him feel more at home. “Viggo sends regards. He’d like to visit you, if that’s okay.”
“He can stop by tomorrow, if he wishes. If not, I’ll understand. But he’ll have to do it before Friday.”
“I’ll let him know. Are – are you being transferred?”
“No. I’m being released.”
Brill didn’t look like he was in fit condition to walk to his bathroom unaided, let alone out of the hospital. “You are? That’s fantastic.”
“Yes.” Brill set his palms on either side and pushed himself up a little higher against the pillows. He sagged with the effort and took a hit of oxygen from a tube beside him. “There was a reason I wanted to see you alone.”
“Kit said.”
Brill leaned back and scrutinized Sean. “I haven’t been kind to you.”
Sean blinked. His first impulse was to say No, you’ve been an utter bastard, in fact, but it was plain that Christopher Brill wasn’t long for this world, as his mum used to say, and if the man wanted to make some sort of deathbed confession, Sean didn’t possess the killer’s heart to tell him off now. “Look, Christopher, that’s all in the past. I think –“
“Do you want to know why?” Brill’s voice was weak and raspy, but still diamond-hard and cold.
A stab of anger that he couldn’t prevent sliced into Sean’s stomach. “Now that you mention it, yes.”
Brill smiled faintly. He picked up a cup of water and took a tiny sip. His hand trembled with the effort of setting it down, and he spilled a bit on the cuff of his silk Charvet bathrobe, a Noel Coward-esque bit of elegance utterly at odds with his wasted appearance. “Kit was the one who hired you, not me. That first time I saw you dance in London –“ He shook his head. “You were brilliant. And the first...the first, and the clearest threat I’d ever seen.”
Sean said nothing. He gazed at Brill warily. The man might be close to death, but like an aging, powerful lion, he still had claws and teeth, and they were still deadly.
“You don’t believe me.”
“It’s difficult,” Sean admitted. “You don’t strike me as a man who’s threatened by much.”
“You know I’m dying?”
The question stung like a slap. Sean nodded reluctantly.
“It doesn’t frighten me - death - and I’ll tell you why. Because I saw my own mortality fourteen years ago when I saw you. I saw your youth and strength eclipsing my own, and I struck back with every weapon I had.” Brill began to cough, and took another breath of oxygen, waving away Sean’s solicitous gesture. He waited until the noisy respiration in his chest subsided, then stared at Sean, his eyes fever-bright. “And you took it all without complaint. I treated you like a pack animal, hoping you’d quit, but I didn’t credit you with as much inner strength as you had. You always managed despite my treatment of you, not because of it, and you’ve succeeded brilliantly.” He leaned back against the pillows and closed his eyes.
Sean sat wrapped in silence. After a few moments, he whispered, “I always thought you hated me, but I never knew why.”
A dry, papery chuckle emerged from Brill’s throat. “Now you know. Someday, maybe, when another brilliant dancer comes along, you’ll know how it feels to face mortality. But I think you won’t be as unkind.” His eyes opened. “I knew that, perhaps. I resented it, too – you have a generosity of spirit that I lack. It’s why I won’t ask your forgiveness. I’m not even sure I want it.”
“I’m not sure I’m ready to grant it,” Sean said slowly.
Another chuckle escaped. “That’s fine. Besides, it’s not the reason I asked you here.”
Christ, what next? Sean wondered. Aloud, he said, “Then why did you ask me here, Christopher?”
“I want you to be Metropolitan’s next artistic director.”
*
The hospital's chapel was on the third floor. Sean peered in cautiously, only entering when he saw it was empty. It was dark and cool and smelled soothing, like wood and starched linen. He took a seat in the first row of chairs and gazed at the bare altar.
He wasn’t ready to go home. Viggo was in rehearsal anyway. He needed to be somewhere quiet, somewhere unfamiliar, to absorb the shocks his system had taken in the last hour. Sighing, he dragged his hands through his hair and stared up at the ceiling. Then, before he could contain himself, a sob welled up in his throat, and he covered his face, weeping bitterly, and not knowing why.
*
picture by
govi20My table is here
