Work Text:
Pairing: Vincent/Elliot
A rewritten/expanded version of this story will appear in DYAD, published by Asido Zines (http://www.asidozines.com). The expanded version is titled "Jericho".
_A Different Corner_
by Laura JV
I clung to the wall of the house where Elliott Burch lived. He'd survived the bullet, and I...I wanted to tell him about Catherine's son. He had loved her, too, after all. Whatever else he had done, he had loved her. Perhaps he would like to meet Jacob.
I eased the window open and slipped inside. The house was dark, but I could hear the sound of a television down the hall. I followed the sound, and found Elliott watching what appeared to be a comedy show. A young man with spikes in his head had apparently eaten a television. I must have made some sound, something to indicate I was there, because Elliott whipped his head around and stared at me.
"God, Vincent, warn a guy, will you?" I met his eyes, startled. I'd anticipated confusion, fear, anger--not this half-amused accusation. He swung his legs off the couch. "Have a seat."
I took joined him, gingerly. "What are you watching?"
"It's called 'The Young Ones'. You've never seen--no, I guess not." He smiled at me, the weary smile of a man who has decided that acceptance of fate is the only way to survive.
This was not the Elliott Burch I had expected; not the Elliott Catherine had known. This man...had depths to him that were as yet unexplored.
"I came...because I wanted you to tell you something." He frowned at me. "I...your help was invaluable, and...Catherine would have wanted you to know."
"Know what?"
"Before she died, she had a son."
"A...son?"
I took a deep breath. "I think...I think she would have wanted you to know him, since you risked so much for her and for me. And because you did love her."
"What's his name?"
"Jacob, after his grandfather."
"Cathy's father was Ch--oh. Your father?"
"Yes."
Elliott looked away for a moment. "Ah. Is he--what does he look like?"
I handed him a photograph, taken by one of our helpers.
"He looks just like her," he said, and I saw that he was crying.
I took off my cloak and reached out to comfort him--and stopped.
Elliott was staring off into space, a figure of profound sadness. Had he been one of my own people, I would have drawn him into my arms. But this man, despite the changes in him, was still Elliott Burch; still aloof and proud.
Still a man who might not welcome my help.
After a few minutes, he said "Excuse me," and left the room. He walked with a pronounced limp, no doubt from the gun wound. When he came back, he was carrying two glasses of water. "Here," he said, "you must be thirsty."
"Thank you."
He sat down next to me again.
"You know I loved her."
"I know."
"Did she ever love me?"
"Yes. She did."
"So she loved you more."
"Not at first, no. For a long time, she and I were...merely friends."
"Don't say that, Vincent. Friendship and 'mere' don't belong together." He rolled his head, stretching the muscles of his neck. "I wish she and I could have been friends. I wish...I'd had that, if nothing else."
I leaned back into the couch and looked at him. "She always cared for you. That is why it was so hard for her when you hurt her: she never stopped loving you, Elliott. She just...it changed, somehow."
He put his glass down. "She wasn't one for talking, at least to me."
I reached over him to set my glass down by his, and a strong hand closed over my wrist.
"Vincent."
I turned my head, startled, and he put his other hand on my shoulder.
"What?"
"Have you ever done something just to prove to yourself that you're alive?" He slid his hand around the back of my neck.
"What are you doing?"
"Answer me."
"Yes."
"What did you do?"
"I went for a run. For hours, just...running."
"I can't run, not with this leg."
"So what--"
I suppose that I'm naive, because I wasn't expecting him to kiss me. And I certainly wasn't expecting to like it.
It was very different from kissing Catherine. She had never demanded, and he was demanding, his mouth warm, his arms pulling me closer. She had been soft--strong, but soft--and there was very little soft about Elliott Burch.
He pressed into me, sliding a knee between my thighs, and I felt my body respond. He chuckled against my mouth and pulled back slightly. "Not going to kill me, are you?"
"No."
"Good." And his mouth was on mine again, and his hand was on my thigh-- and he was so much larger than Catherine; I wouldn't break him if we--
I pulled away. "Elliott, are you homosexual?"
He sat back. "No. I'm just...dammit, I'm lonely, and I feel half-alive all the time, and I...I don't know who the hell I am or who I want to be anymore."
I spared a thought for Jacob, asleep at home, and then I reached out and touched Elliott's cheek.
"That," I said, "I understand."
And I leaned in to kiss him again.
The End