Fish!verse ficlet: A Rough Music
Nov. 11th, 2005 01:21 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lonelybritSome of you may have gathered that during October, ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
eloise_bright and I managed to see Matthew Bourne's Swan Lake. A great ballet that inspires so many happy angsty slashy bunnies. The bunny that finally pinned me down was this one, which somehow managed to cross over into my fish!verse where Pryce looks after the rather baffled Liam Connor. Aww.
Title: A Rough Music
Author: lonelybrit
Rating: PG
Pairing: Liam/Pryce
Notes: Fish!verse ficlet, set sometime after A Fish Out of Water. Quote by Judith Johnson Sherwin. And historical accuracy has a tendency to go out the window in this one.
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss and ME, sadly. And the cameo one belongs to the BBC, I guess.
”I try to make a rough music, a dance of the mind…”
“You know, Pryce, I’m not sure this is a good idea.”
“I assure you, sir, this is quite simple.”
“Simple?” I eyed him lower the needle with a quivering eye. “Look, when it comes to jazz and shaking your booty-”
“Your what, sir?”
“When it comes to that,” I ploughed on, desperately, “then I’m your man. Well, I mean, I’m always y… Yes, anyway, the thing is I can manage that and-”
“Sir,” Pryce came up to me and in the right light his face might almost be considered to be smiling. “This technique is very straightforward, I would not have suggested it had I not believed it to be within your capabilities… such as they are. You need only take the floor once or twice to be polite.”
I resigned myself to my fate, and sensing my submission Pryce moved us both into position. In the background the crackling gave way to the beginnings of a slow gentle swell of piano and violins.
“Now, sir, in your role as leading man…”
We spent a good portion of the afternoon in this way, Pryce patiently guiding my feet into something resembling a calm, flowing dance. As the sun sank low over the fields, dusky beams of light slanting though the windows, I began to feel more comfortable. Rather like the caterpillar when testing its wings for the first time, it dawned on me that this activity was oddly soothing, Pryce literally in my arms and us both moving in harmony. The orchestra of the heart had broken into song when Pryce shattered the mood by musing ‘I wonder if Captain Harkness will be attending tonight’s festivities.’
I crunched to a halt.
Pryce seemed unmoved by my display, merely slipping out of my hands and going to disengage the gramophone.
Captain Jack Harkness, another soul who recently washed up in this region, was an American who flew with the RAF thanks to a link on his mother’s side. He was, I suppose, attractive in a very shallow sense. He glided from room to room leaving both men and women swooning in his wake, as well as an equal measure of the former fuming. I mean, really, there are certain standards one should keep to. Admittedly his conduct was very similar to mine back in the day, but I have moved on. I’ve grown as a human being, learned to cherish my principles, and seeing him strike up an apparently very warm friendship with Pryce was nothing less than bad manners. Normally I admit proudly and without hesitation to being an artist with several New York exhibitions to his name. But somehow painting an inspired mollusc in charcoal didn’t cut the mustard up against a guy who had apparently flown single-handed across deepest darkest Africa with regular stopovers to save native Princesses and Princes from ravaging lions.
“I couldn’t say, Pryce,” I said with admirable restraint and only the smallest hint of a coldness. “Captain Jack’s activities are a mystery to all except himself.”
Pryce looked up at me a little sharply and for one moment I could have sworn he frowned as if troubled. “Sir?”
“Nothing, Pryce, nothing.” I took a deep breath and prepared myself mentally for the ordeal ahead of me. A birthday party thrown in the lair of the Cusplip’s for Lord Cusplip’s elder sister. Will was dragging me along for backup, but I myself had to forgo the increasingly necessary presence of Pryce. “If you could run my bath and I’ll start putting on the old fish suit.”
Pryce came forward and this time gave me a ghost of a proper smile, one that barely curved the lips but lit up the eyes like a sunset. Without saying anything he straightened my collar, and then stepped back.
“Yes, sir.”
*~*~*~*
The ballroom was larger, grander than I remembered it. I guess when a lord wants to throw a big shiding he really does pull out all the stops. The mirrors along the walls glittered with a million reflected flames, the chandeliers glittering overhead with unremembered brilliance.
I’d never felt so miserable and out of place. Lord knows what had happened to Will, one moment he was there, and the next some pretty brunette had flashed her eyes and he vanished off somewhere. Last I saw him he was lighting her cigarette in the warm shadows on the balcony. So much for friends sticking together. I was altogether feeling most sorry for myself as I skulked in my corner.
In the centre of the golden room a mass of silks and diamonds revolved and moved in time to the music, perfumes mingling to fill the air. Part of me was impressed by the whole show, ladies all decked out in their finest, sweeping along on the arms of their companions in perfect unison. However most of me was painfully aware that I really didn’t want to be here. There are times when a man must just face up to the facts of life, and one of these recently realised facts was that no matter how much I tried, I would never belong here.
“Well now, isn’t this a sight for sore eyes.”
I felt myself draw up in response to the American drawl that lanced through the room.
Turning gave me sight of the door, and also gave me nothing short of a mild heart attack.
To see Captain Jack Harkness come swanning in as though he owned the place was no surprise. Nor did his general appearance even warrant a raised eyebrow with me. I was beyond that. He was far from spruce, his hair mussed up, and a motorcycle helmet tucked under one arm. This last item went some way to explaining his current state, though it spoke volumes about the man’s arrogance that he didn’t bother to change before entering the ballroom. His large greatcoat was casually pulled off and dumped on top of poor Greylings who materialised from thin air. The helmet and gloves followed.
I heard some of the ladies within earshot catch their breath as the rest of his attire came into view. Jack always did have to make an entrance.
Now just to be clear, I respect the air force. I am in awe of those who can fly a plane through the eye of the storm. I accept that you need tough clothing to endure such a life. That trousers need to be made of dark, soft leather is something I can understand when your teeth are chattering up above the clouds. But there are your average airman’s trousers, and then there are Jack’s. Because of course, his had to be a little different. For one thing, they were dangerously close to being… fitting. Not a bit of the puffy shapeless leather pulls for Jack, oh no, his had to cling just a bit at the hip and below, catching the thigh just enough to send some girls into fits of the vapours, without actually fitting tightly enough to be called indecent.
As I said, only Jack would do it.
Except, despite my jaw aching a little from the teeth grinding, it wasn’t Jack that had upset me. It was his companion who followed him into the room, every step oozing with the same insolent confidence. His companion who wore similar attire, passing a helmet on to the still stationary Greylings, hair rumpled and careless. His companion who caught my eye as he turned to survey the room, my heart lurching within me as I met those cold, cold blue eyes.
“Pryce.”
But he had already moved his attention elsewhere, him and Jack laughing at some private joke. They stood shoulder-to-shoulder, heads bowed as some conversation passed between them.
“Captain Harkness,” boomed a familiar voice. With a stride similar to that William no doubt used when crossing the beaches, Lord Cusplip strode across the marbled floors to greet his guest.
“Lord Cusplip.” Jack gave a respectful bow and accepted the proffered hand in a firm shake. “I must apologise for my attire, I offered to take my friend Pryce here flying and we somewhat lost track of the time.”
“Oh think nothing of it,” Cusplip said instantly, though the apology noticeably softened his expression. “We’re all friends here, after all. Come and say hello to my niece and then you can…”
Pryce and I watched the pair of them move away.
“Well, Pryce, well well,” I managed at last. I tried to keep a composed face. “I didn’t expect to see you here, was there…”
Pryce walked away from me without a second glance.
You could have knocked me over with a feather, I mean, this was Pryce we’re talking about. I know he and I had had heated exchanges in the past, but I’d never known Pryce to stoop to mere snubbing. Normally he verbally tears me apart, battles me into the proverbial corner and throws long words at me until I’m utterly at sea and surrender from sheer desperation. But he’s never just… ignored me.
I’m bound to say, I didn’t much care for the experience. It wouldn’t be pushing it to say I was even cut to the quick.
“Pryce?”
He had joined a small knot of people a short distance away. I studied the back of his head. I was so sure it was Pryce. Yet as I continued to watch, I began to question myself.
At a first glance, it had to be Pryce. The same eyes, face, set of the mouth, the same fine hands that could move with such a deft touch. Yet, at the same time, the man who openly sneered in the face of some tipsy lordling before my stunned eyes, this man surely was not Pryce. Not my Pryce. My Pryce had manners, he was gentle, and he most certainly did not down a flute of champagne like orange juice before turfing another lordling out of his seat so as to be closer to the lady.
I watched them for what seemed an age, a nasty feeling settling in my stomach. Rather like when you’re waiting at the dentist and you see him hove into view with the dreaded drill. I have a rather unfortunate gift at spotting oncoming disaster.
“That man. I swear I’m going to wring his neck… after I’ve wrung hers of course.”
A short swivel of the head sufficed to pin down the cause of this bodiless threat. The discovered body turning out to belong to the displaced lordling. He was stalking in through the French windows, decidedly the better for several more flutes of the bubbly, a pal supporting him as he swayed.
“Who does he think he is, anyway? Just because his friend’s a captain.” The lordling stopped and after a rocky moment resumed. “I’ll see to him-”
Instinctively I found myself intervening as he suddenly lurched forward in the beginnings of what was no doubt a heated beeline for Pryce. I caught him by the elbow and after a few seconds wherein he threatened to both hit the floor and disembowel me, we were eye to eye with each other.
“Hey there, how’s it going?” I began in a soothing tone, “I think you need to take a little rest.”
He made a sound rather like a steam kettle unblocking itself.
“Look, that gentleman is an… acquaintance of mine,” I continued smoothly, lowering my voice. “I think he’s a bit the worse for the tipple, if you know what I mean. I’ll go and see to him.”
“A very wise move,” the lordling snarled, red eyes glaring across the room. “See to him or I’ll see him broken in five places.”
I deposited him into the arms of his friend who by now had joined us. Together we steered him to the outside balcony and draped him over a railing to cool. By now he seemed to be dozing quite happily. Then, with a stiffening of the lip, I steeled myself and returned to the thick of the action.
Pryce and his companions had moved. I found him and several young ladies talking with Jack. They were looking with great interest at a display of trophies and cups and other such mementos that stood in a case at the far end of the ballroom. Well, the ladies were looking with awe, I could see Pryce and Jack exchanging looks of nothing other than snooty contempt above their fair heads.
“Who would have thought Cusplip used to be such a sportsman,” one of the girls was saying with a giggle. “I mean, looking at him now it’s hard to imagine a horse capable of carrying him, let alone jumping to first place.”
“Oh yes,” said Jack flatly but with a smile, “because surely life is incompletely without winning a bronze plated trophy from the local parish.”
“Now, Jack, don’t be snide,” Pryce said, “we can’t all be flying all over the world and saving local monarchs.”
The ladies tittered obligingly as Jack lifted something down off a mount to examine more closely.
“But I ask you,” he said with open scorn, “what does it say about his life if these trinkets are all he has to show his guests?”
“Oh Jack!” gasped one of his simpering companions, “you oughtn’t say such things!”
Jack turned and finally I could see what it was he weighed so carefully in his hands.
“I mean as riding crops go, it’s a fine specimen,” he continued, this time talking directly to Pryce. “Lovely wood, nice grain. Here, I know you’re a riding man yourself, what do you make of it?”
At this juncture two things happened at once. On was the small orchestra suddenly bursting into a fast toe-tapping flurry of chords. The ladies all gave cries of delight and practically dragged Jack onto the dance floor. He laughed and was lost to view.
The other thing that happened was that Pryce caught my eye. His face remained immobile, and all he did was let the crop drop to tap lightly against one leather-clad thigh.
“I, um, I think…” I trailed off. Despite the evidence of my own eyes, I was almost certain I had somehow made a mistake and that this stranger was not Pryce. He looked back at me with complete indifference, his own eyes sharp with a light I’ve seen Will employ when examining unwanted dirt on his boot heel. “Pryce, why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”
He made no reply, but a smile curved his lips. Only it wasn’t a nice smile like he used to give me when I offered him brandy or tried to leave the house without my cane. It was a smile of the wolf who has just been asked by the lamb which path is the quickest back to the field.
My uneasiness grew as he approached me. He stopped about an arm’s length from me, and then my heart skipped a beat as, with disdainful ease, he lifted the hem of my jacket with the tip of the crop.
“You’ve managed to spill your champagne.”
I met the glacial gaze and found myself lost for words.
“Then again, considering the state of the people here, I doubt anyone will notice or care about such a stain.” He let the hem drop and the leathered tip grazed my own knee as he returned to his earlier stance. “No doubt the drink here has ensured you a very… happy evening?”
I swallowed the mouthful of dust that seemed to have lodged in the windpipe.
“It’s been nice. I… That is…”
All words and thought left my head as with startling swiftness I felt the cool wood of the crop pressed under my chin.
“I do wish you would desist with that childish stammering,” Pryce said shortly, his voice daggered. He applied a little pressure and I shut my mouth in shock. “It does not serve to make you somehow childishly endearing. It only serves to annoy and irritate.”
He drew back a little, a small twist of the wrist delivering two stinging pats to my stunned cheeks.
“There now, see if you can at least stand up straight. Do you take in any of what I tell you?”
“Ladies and gentlemen!”
Have you ever been walking a street in the dark? You take a step forward and find you’ve misjudged the kerb. The foot goes down where there should be nice firm ground, and instead you find yourself en route for the gutter. You know that nasty moment when the whole world seems to tilt and everything is pulled out from under you, the sun blotted out and stars put to sleep.
Take that feeling and multiply it at least tenfold and you’ll begin to understand the tiniest fraction of my emotions in that ballroom.
It was Greylings who called everyone to the drawing room for a last drink before the formal calling to dinner. But neither Pryce nor I spared him a glance. Pryce seemed to not even hear the call, whereas I felt as if someone had just knocked the stuffing out of me and replaced it with smoke.
The orchestra kept on playing, a more slow tune now as the room began to empty.
“Do you remember anything I’ve taught you?” His eyes narrowed and I heard the taunt and challenge.
Something almost extinguished sparked faintly inside me, a trace of pride, and I managed a chilly: “Try me.”
Without a word he came forwards, but his hands were like ice and as I placed my arm round his waist, it felt more as if I was keeping him at bay than trying to draw him close. His eyes bore into mine and it was like looking into somewhere where creatures howled at the moon and winds tore through broken trees.
With heavy feet I led the first step, both of us turning into the centre of the room along the breath of the violins. I could remember what it had been like back in the cottage. Back then the sunlight through the windows seemed to carry the music in each dust mote, Pryce and me moving though shadows and light with the same ease as silk over glass. But this was different. My feet knew their way, and all that was left was the sense of an endless flight, each twist and claw of the viola marking another second of not yet having fallen through the ice I could hear cracking all about me.
Perhaps the orchestra wanted us to pack up so they could join their friends downstairs, because the music began to get harsher, faster, Pryce’s grip becoming painful as he drew me in more rapid and dizzying circles about the room. The light of the mirrors caught my unguarded eyes and I blinked, dazzled. At once I felt the sharp sting of the crop across my thigh, Pryce releasing one hand to spin me once fully round.
“Do try and keep up,” he said in a low tone that chilled me.
I was still blinking as he again enclosed me in that barbed hold, the butt of the crop pressing against my arm, his fingers digging into my hand.
Somehow I did, though it was like drowning on land. The music clashed and splintered about us, and though by now I wanted nothing more than to leave, I clung to Pryce as you would to a broken mast in a shipwreck. The sharp cries of the violins seemed to echo my own breath, which caught every time Pryce released me. When he did, that was when I’d stumble and nearly trip, and then he’d snatch me back before I could actually break free.
Finally I all but fell against him, my face resting against the curve of his cheek. And I made no move to change our rather intimate position, at least that way I could avoid that horribly wrong look in his eyes.
He turned his head a little and I felt his breath, cool and faint, on my skin.
“Having fun yet, sir?”
This time when he spun me, the lights swung down to meet me, a thousand candles sputtering as I finally fell.
*~*~*~*
I swam back into consciousness to feel the dreadful cool touch of the crop trailing across my temples. Instinctively I shied away, only to realise I was pressing back into what could only be a pillow.
Further contemplation of my current state revealed that, according to all senses so far, I was apparently in bed. Opening of the eyes confirmed this, as well as bringing into view the pale face of Pryce, who was just lifting a cool flannel from my forehead.
“Sir?” Pryce never betrays untoward emotion, but his left eyebrow quivered for a moment. “I am glad to see you awake, sir.”
I looked at him a long hard moment, taking in every aspect of him I could lay my eyes on. The leather was gone, the hair back to its pristine, well-combed state. His waistcoat buttons gleamed, his face stern but with an almost fond, gentle light in the eyes.
“Pryce,” I said cautiously. “I… You… What happened?”
“It was the prawns, sir.”
“Prawns?”
“Yes, sir, a creature in the Crustacea class, part of-”
“Yes, I do know what prawns are, I was merely trying to indicate that I haven’t a clue what you’re going on about.”
He cocked his head a little on one side. “You ate the prawns, sir. Some of the other guests were also taken ill, but you collapsed in the garden. Captain Harkness was quite concerned, sir.”
“Captain… You mean Jack?”
“Yes, sir,” said Pryce, absently passing the cloth once more from temple to temple. “He bought you home and later fetched Doctor Crane when you passed out completely. You’ve been unconscious for a while, sir, and there was a fever.”
I know that normally being told you’ve been the victim of a potentially lethal food poisoning is a cause for calling the lawyers and releasing the dogs. But in this case I could only smile up at Pryce with the brightness of a rising sun.
“Fever, Pryce?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did I hallucinate?”
“You certainly appeared to be in some discomfort, sir, your rest was most fitful,” Pryce’s tone seemed to indicate he would rather move on to a new topic.
“Did I say anything?”
“Nothing that made sense, sir.”
“Do you own a pair of leather pants, Pryce?”
“Sir?” He looked at me with such polite and patient incomprehension that my last doubt was squashed like the toad beneath the tumbril wheel.
“I’m glad you’re here, Pryce.”
He abruptly stood up, collecting basin and flannel to him. “I’ll see if I can make you a little broth, sir.”
My stomach turned at the mere thought of food, and somewhere from the depth of memory came a flash of a plate in the Cusplip drawing room stacked high in prawns. A flash of Jack peering down at me, his pristine dinner jacket catching the fading light.
“I think I’ll just have some water please, Pryce.”
“As you wish, sir.”
I found that despite my jubilation, my brain still felt as if someone had hit it repeatedly against a granite wall. My eyes began drifting closed and I must have murmured something because I jolted awake when Pryce said; “Sorry, could you repeat that, sir?”
I blinked up at him. The cogs of the mind slowly gave a little extra turn. “You will stay with me, won’t you, Pryce?”
“Of course, sir.”
“And you won’t ever… I mean, you’re not ashamed of me, are you?”
Pryce stared at me. “Sir, it is hardly my place-”
“Yes, but-” I stopped in shock, for Pryce had suddenly swooped down, one cool hand cupping my face, his lips pressed to my cheek for one burning instant.
“Don’t be an idiot, sir.”
I fell asleep not long after, and while the dream of the ballroom didn’t make a reappearance, my sleep was far from peaceful. As is the way with dreams, it’s hard to recall any fully, unless of course they simply traumatise you. I think that other Pryce might have come back, because I woke a few times with the same lost, empty, ache inside that I remembered quite clearly from before. Quite a unique feeling really. Not one I’d recommend to anyone.
The last time I woke up, I woke up with one hand twisting into the sheet, rather like you’d make a last grab for the tuft of grass before you tumbled off the cliff face.
Except the movement stopped before it could even be finished, because no sooner had sleep gone than I was aware of a blissful warmth along my back. His breathing was deep and regular, and when I shifted back even more, his arm slipped around me as easy as you like. I laid my hand over his, and when I next woke, it was morning.
Fin.
eloise_bright and I managed to see Matthew Bourne's Swan Lake. A great ballet that inspires so many happy angsty slashy bunnies. The bunny that finally pinned me down was this one, which somehow managed to cross over into my fish!verse where Pryce looks after the rather baffled Liam Connor. Aww.Title: A Rough Music
Author: lonelybrit
Rating: PG
Pairing: Liam/Pryce
Notes: Fish!verse ficlet, set sometime after A Fish Out of Water. Quote by Judith Johnson Sherwin. And historical accuracy has a tendency to go out the window in this one.
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss and ME, sadly. And the cameo one belongs to the BBC, I guess.
”I try to make a rough music, a dance of the mind…”
“You know, Pryce, I’m not sure this is a good idea.”
“I assure you, sir, this is quite simple.”
“Simple?” I eyed him lower the needle with a quivering eye. “Look, when it comes to jazz and shaking your booty-”
“Your what, sir?”
“When it comes to that,” I ploughed on, desperately, “then I’m your man. Well, I mean, I’m always y… Yes, anyway, the thing is I can manage that and-”
“Sir,” Pryce came up to me and in the right light his face might almost be considered to be smiling. “This technique is very straightforward, I would not have suggested it had I not believed it to be within your capabilities… such as they are. You need only take the floor once or twice to be polite.”
I resigned myself to my fate, and sensing my submission Pryce moved us both into position. In the background the crackling gave way to the beginnings of a slow gentle swell of piano and violins.
“Now, sir, in your role as leading man…”
We spent a good portion of the afternoon in this way, Pryce patiently guiding my feet into something resembling a calm, flowing dance. As the sun sank low over the fields, dusky beams of light slanting though the windows, I began to feel more comfortable. Rather like the caterpillar when testing its wings for the first time, it dawned on me that this activity was oddly soothing, Pryce literally in my arms and us both moving in harmony. The orchestra of the heart had broken into song when Pryce shattered the mood by musing ‘I wonder if Captain Harkness will be attending tonight’s festivities.’
I crunched to a halt.
Pryce seemed unmoved by my display, merely slipping out of my hands and going to disengage the gramophone.
Captain Jack Harkness, another soul who recently washed up in this region, was an American who flew with the RAF thanks to a link on his mother’s side. He was, I suppose, attractive in a very shallow sense. He glided from room to room leaving both men and women swooning in his wake, as well as an equal measure of the former fuming. I mean, really, there are certain standards one should keep to. Admittedly his conduct was very similar to mine back in the day, but I have moved on. I’ve grown as a human being, learned to cherish my principles, and seeing him strike up an apparently very warm friendship with Pryce was nothing less than bad manners. Normally I admit proudly and without hesitation to being an artist with several New York exhibitions to his name. But somehow painting an inspired mollusc in charcoal didn’t cut the mustard up against a guy who had apparently flown single-handed across deepest darkest Africa with regular stopovers to save native Princesses and Princes from ravaging lions.
“I couldn’t say, Pryce,” I said with admirable restraint and only the smallest hint of a coldness. “Captain Jack’s activities are a mystery to all except himself.”
Pryce looked up at me a little sharply and for one moment I could have sworn he frowned as if troubled. “Sir?”
“Nothing, Pryce, nothing.” I took a deep breath and prepared myself mentally for the ordeal ahead of me. A birthday party thrown in the lair of the Cusplip’s for Lord Cusplip’s elder sister. Will was dragging me along for backup, but I myself had to forgo the increasingly necessary presence of Pryce. “If you could run my bath and I’ll start putting on the old fish suit.”
Pryce came forward and this time gave me a ghost of a proper smile, one that barely curved the lips but lit up the eyes like a sunset. Without saying anything he straightened my collar, and then stepped back.
“Yes, sir.”
*~*~*~*
The ballroom was larger, grander than I remembered it. I guess when a lord wants to throw a big shiding he really does pull out all the stops. The mirrors along the walls glittered with a million reflected flames, the chandeliers glittering overhead with unremembered brilliance.
I’d never felt so miserable and out of place. Lord knows what had happened to Will, one moment he was there, and the next some pretty brunette had flashed her eyes and he vanished off somewhere. Last I saw him he was lighting her cigarette in the warm shadows on the balcony. So much for friends sticking together. I was altogether feeling most sorry for myself as I skulked in my corner.
In the centre of the golden room a mass of silks and diamonds revolved and moved in time to the music, perfumes mingling to fill the air. Part of me was impressed by the whole show, ladies all decked out in their finest, sweeping along on the arms of their companions in perfect unison. However most of me was painfully aware that I really didn’t want to be here. There are times when a man must just face up to the facts of life, and one of these recently realised facts was that no matter how much I tried, I would never belong here.
“Well now, isn’t this a sight for sore eyes.”
I felt myself draw up in response to the American drawl that lanced through the room.
Turning gave me sight of the door, and also gave me nothing short of a mild heart attack.
To see Captain Jack Harkness come swanning in as though he owned the place was no surprise. Nor did his general appearance even warrant a raised eyebrow with me. I was beyond that. He was far from spruce, his hair mussed up, and a motorcycle helmet tucked under one arm. This last item went some way to explaining his current state, though it spoke volumes about the man’s arrogance that he didn’t bother to change before entering the ballroom. His large greatcoat was casually pulled off and dumped on top of poor Greylings who materialised from thin air. The helmet and gloves followed.
I heard some of the ladies within earshot catch their breath as the rest of his attire came into view. Jack always did have to make an entrance.
Now just to be clear, I respect the air force. I am in awe of those who can fly a plane through the eye of the storm. I accept that you need tough clothing to endure such a life. That trousers need to be made of dark, soft leather is something I can understand when your teeth are chattering up above the clouds. But there are your average airman’s trousers, and then there are Jack’s. Because of course, his had to be a little different. For one thing, they were dangerously close to being… fitting. Not a bit of the puffy shapeless leather pulls for Jack, oh no, his had to cling just a bit at the hip and below, catching the thigh just enough to send some girls into fits of the vapours, without actually fitting tightly enough to be called indecent.
As I said, only Jack would do it.
Except, despite my jaw aching a little from the teeth grinding, it wasn’t Jack that had upset me. It was his companion who followed him into the room, every step oozing with the same insolent confidence. His companion who wore similar attire, passing a helmet on to the still stationary Greylings, hair rumpled and careless. His companion who caught my eye as he turned to survey the room, my heart lurching within me as I met those cold, cold blue eyes.
“Pryce.”
But he had already moved his attention elsewhere, him and Jack laughing at some private joke. They stood shoulder-to-shoulder, heads bowed as some conversation passed between them.
“Captain Harkness,” boomed a familiar voice. With a stride similar to that William no doubt used when crossing the beaches, Lord Cusplip strode across the marbled floors to greet his guest.
“Lord Cusplip.” Jack gave a respectful bow and accepted the proffered hand in a firm shake. “I must apologise for my attire, I offered to take my friend Pryce here flying and we somewhat lost track of the time.”
“Oh think nothing of it,” Cusplip said instantly, though the apology noticeably softened his expression. “We’re all friends here, after all. Come and say hello to my niece and then you can…”
Pryce and I watched the pair of them move away.
“Well, Pryce, well well,” I managed at last. I tried to keep a composed face. “I didn’t expect to see you here, was there…”
Pryce walked away from me without a second glance.
You could have knocked me over with a feather, I mean, this was Pryce we’re talking about. I know he and I had had heated exchanges in the past, but I’d never known Pryce to stoop to mere snubbing. Normally he verbally tears me apart, battles me into the proverbial corner and throws long words at me until I’m utterly at sea and surrender from sheer desperation. But he’s never just… ignored me.
I’m bound to say, I didn’t much care for the experience. It wouldn’t be pushing it to say I was even cut to the quick.
“Pryce?”
He had joined a small knot of people a short distance away. I studied the back of his head. I was so sure it was Pryce. Yet as I continued to watch, I began to question myself.
At a first glance, it had to be Pryce. The same eyes, face, set of the mouth, the same fine hands that could move with such a deft touch. Yet, at the same time, the man who openly sneered in the face of some tipsy lordling before my stunned eyes, this man surely was not Pryce. Not my Pryce. My Pryce had manners, he was gentle, and he most certainly did not down a flute of champagne like orange juice before turfing another lordling out of his seat so as to be closer to the lady.
I watched them for what seemed an age, a nasty feeling settling in my stomach. Rather like when you’re waiting at the dentist and you see him hove into view with the dreaded drill. I have a rather unfortunate gift at spotting oncoming disaster.
“That man. I swear I’m going to wring his neck… after I’ve wrung hers of course.”
A short swivel of the head sufficed to pin down the cause of this bodiless threat. The discovered body turning out to belong to the displaced lordling. He was stalking in through the French windows, decidedly the better for several more flutes of the bubbly, a pal supporting him as he swayed.
“Who does he think he is, anyway? Just because his friend’s a captain.” The lordling stopped and after a rocky moment resumed. “I’ll see to him-”
Instinctively I found myself intervening as he suddenly lurched forward in the beginnings of what was no doubt a heated beeline for Pryce. I caught him by the elbow and after a few seconds wherein he threatened to both hit the floor and disembowel me, we were eye to eye with each other.
“Hey there, how’s it going?” I began in a soothing tone, “I think you need to take a little rest.”
He made a sound rather like a steam kettle unblocking itself.
“Look, that gentleman is an… acquaintance of mine,” I continued smoothly, lowering my voice. “I think he’s a bit the worse for the tipple, if you know what I mean. I’ll go and see to him.”
“A very wise move,” the lordling snarled, red eyes glaring across the room. “See to him or I’ll see him broken in five places.”
I deposited him into the arms of his friend who by now had joined us. Together we steered him to the outside balcony and draped him over a railing to cool. By now he seemed to be dozing quite happily. Then, with a stiffening of the lip, I steeled myself and returned to the thick of the action.
Pryce and his companions had moved. I found him and several young ladies talking with Jack. They were looking with great interest at a display of trophies and cups and other such mementos that stood in a case at the far end of the ballroom. Well, the ladies were looking with awe, I could see Pryce and Jack exchanging looks of nothing other than snooty contempt above their fair heads.
“Who would have thought Cusplip used to be such a sportsman,” one of the girls was saying with a giggle. “I mean, looking at him now it’s hard to imagine a horse capable of carrying him, let alone jumping to first place.”
“Oh yes,” said Jack flatly but with a smile, “because surely life is incompletely without winning a bronze plated trophy from the local parish.”
“Now, Jack, don’t be snide,” Pryce said, “we can’t all be flying all over the world and saving local monarchs.”
The ladies tittered obligingly as Jack lifted something down off a mount to examine more closely.
“But I ask you,” he said with open scorn, “what does it say about his life if these trinkets are all he has to show his guests?”
“Oh Jack!” gasped one of his simpering companions, “you oughtn’t say such things!”
Jack turned and finally I could see what it was he weighed so carefully in his hands.
“I mean as riding crops go, it’s a fine specimen,” he continued, this time talking directly to Pryce. “Lovely wood, nice grain. Here, I know you’re a riding man yourself, what do you make of it?”
At this juncture two things happened at once. On was the small orchestra suddenly bursting into a fast toe-tapping flurry of chords. The ladies all gave cries of delight and practically dragged Jack onto the dance floor. He laughed and was lost to view.
The other thing that happened was that Pryce caught my eye. His face remained immobile, and all he did was let the crop drop to tap lightly against one leather-clad thigh.
“I, um, I think…” I trailed off. Despite the evidence of my own eyes, I was almost certain I had somehow made a mistake and that this stranger was not Pryce. He looked back at me with complete indifference, his own eyes sharp with a light I’ve seen Will employ when examining unwanted dirt on his boot heel. “Pryce, why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”
He made no reply, but a smile curved his lips. Only it wasn’t a nice smile like he used to give me when I offered him brandy or tried to leave the house without my cane. It was a smile of the wolf who has just been asked by the lamb which path is the quickest back to the field.
My uneasiness grew as he approached me. He stopped about an arm’s length from me, and then my heart skipped a beat as, with disdainful ease, he lifted the hem of my jacket with the tip of the crop.
“You’ve managed to spill your champagne.”
I met the glacial gaze and found myself lost for words.
“Then again, considering the state of the people here, I doubt anyone will notice or care about such a stain.” He let the hem drop and the leathered tip grazed my own knee as he returned to his earlier stance. “No doubt the drink here has ensured you a very… happy evening?”
I swallowed the mouthful of dust that seemed to have lodged in the windpipe.
“It’s been nice. I… That is…”
All words and thought left my head as with startling swiftness I felt the cool wood of the crop pressed under my chin.
“I do wish you would desist with that childish stammering,” Pryce said shortly, his voice daggered. He applied a little pressure and I shut my mouth in shock. “It does not serve to make you somehow childishly endearing. It only serves to annoy and irritate.”
He drew back a little, a small twist of the wrist delivering two stinging pats to my stunned cheeks.
“There now, see if you can at least stand up straight. Do you take in any of what I tell you?”
“Ladies and gentlemen!”
Have you ever been walking a street in the dark? You take a step forward and find you’ve misjudged the kerb. The foot goes down where there should be nice firm ground, and instead you find yourself en route for the gutter. You know that nasty moment when the whole world seems to tilt and everything is pulled out from under you, the sun blotted out and stars put to sleep.
Take that feeling and multiply it at least tenfold and you’ll begin to understand the tiniest fraction of my emotions in that ballroom.
It was Greylings who called everyone to the drawing room for a last drink before the formal calling to dinner. But neither Pryce nor I spared him a glance. Pryce seemed to not even hear the call, whereas I felt as if someone had just knocked the stuffing out of me and replaced it with smoke.
The orchestra kept on playing, a more slow tune now as the room began to empty.
“Do you remember anything I’ve taught you?” His eyes narrowed and I heard the taunt and challenge.
Something almost extinguished sparked faintly inside me, a trace of pride, and I managed a chilly: “Try me.”
Without a word he came forwards, but his hands were like ice and as I placed my arm round his waist, it felt more as if I was keeping him at bay than trying to draw him close. His eyes bore into mine and it was like looking into somewhere where creatures howled at the moon and winds tore through broken trees.
With heavy feet I led the first step, both of us turning into the centre of the room along the breath of the violins. I could remember what it had been like back in the cottage. Back then the sunlight through the windows seemed to carry the music in each dust mote, Pryce and me moving though shadows and light with the same ease as silk over glass. But this was different. My feet knew their way, and all that was left was the sense of an endless flight, each twist and claw of the viola marking another second of not yet having fallen through the ice I could hear cracking all about me.
Perhaps the orchestra wanted us to pack up so they could join their friends downstairs, because the music began to get harsher, faster, Pryce’s grip becoming painful as he drew me in more rapid and dizzying circles about the room. The light of the mirrors caught my unguarded eyes and I blinked, dazzled. At once I felt the sharp sting of the crop across my thigh, Pryce releasing one hand to spin me once fully round.
“Do try and keep up,” he said in a low tone that chilled me.
I was still blinking as he again enclosed me in that barbed hold, the butt of the crop pressing against my arm, his fingers digging into my hand.
Somehow I did, though it was like drowning on land. The music clashed and splintered about us, and though by now I wanted nothing more than to leave, I clung to Pryce as you would to a broken mast in a shipwreck. The sharp cries of the violins seemed to echo my own breath, which caught every time Pryce released me. When he did, that was when I’d stumble and nearly trip, and then he’d snatch me back before I could actually break free.
Finally I all but fell against him, my face resting against the curve of his cheek. And I made no move to change our rather intimate position, at least that way I could avoid that horribly wrong look in his eyes.
He turned his head a little and I felt his breath, cool and faint, on my skin.
“Having fun yet, sir?”
This time when he spun me, the lights swung down to meet me, a thousand candles sputtering as I finally fell.
*~*~*~*
I swam back into consciousness to feel the dreadful cool touch of the crop trailing across my temples. Instinctively I shied away, only to realise I was pressing back into what could only be a pillow.
Further contemplation of my current state revealed that, according to all senses so far, I was apparently in bed. Opening of the eyes confirmed this, as well as bringing into view the pale face of Pryce, who was just lifting a cool flannel from my forehead.
“Sir?” Pryce never betrays untoward emotion, but his left eyebrow quivered for a moment. “I am glad to see you awake, sir.”
I looked at him a long hard moment, taking in every aspect of him I could lay my eyes on. The leather was gone, the hair back to its pristine, well-combed state. His waistcoat buttons gleamed, his face stern but with an almost fond, gentle light in the eyes.
“Pryce,” I said cautiously. “I… You… What happened?”
“It was the prawns, sir.”
“Prawns?”
“Yes, sir, a creature in the Crustacea class, part of-”
“Yes, I do know what prawns are, I was merely trying to indicate that I haven’t a clue what you’re going on about.”
He cocked his head a little on one side. “You ate the prawns, sir. Some of the other guests were also taken ill, but you collapsed in the garden. Captain Harkness was quite concerned, sir.”
“Captain… You mean Jack?”
“Yes, sir,” said Pryce, absently passing the cloth once more from temple to temple. “He bought you home and later fetched Doctor Crane when you passed out completely. You’ve been unconscious for a while, sir, and there was a fever.”
I know that normally being told you’ve been the victim of a potentially lethal food poisoning is a cause for calling the lawyers and releasing the dogs. But in this case I could only smile up at Pryce with the brightness of a rising sun.
“Fever, Pryce?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did I hallucinate?”
“You certainly appeared to be in some discomfort, sir, your rest was most fitful,” Pryce’s tone seemed to indicate he would rather move on to a new topic.
“Did I say anything?”
“Nothing that made sense, sir.”
“Do you own a pair of leather pants, Pryce?”
“Sir?” He looked at me with such polite and patient incomprehension that my last doubt was squashed like the toad beneath the tumbril wheel.
“I’m glad you’re here, Pryce.”
He abruptly stood up, collecting basin and flannel to him. “I’ll see if I can make you a little broth, sir.”
My stomach turned at the mere thought of food, and somewhere from the depth of memory came a flash of a plate in the Cusplip drawing room stacked high in prawns. A flash of Jack peering down at me, his pristine dinner jacket catching the fading light.
“I think I’ll just have some water please, Pryce.”
“As you wish, sir.”
I found that despite my jubilation, my brain still felt as if someone had hit it repeatedly against a granite wall. My eyes began drifting closed and I must have murmured something because I jolted awake when Pryce said; “Sorry, could you repeat that, sir?”
I blinked up at him. The cogs of the mind slowly gave a little extra turn. “You will stay with me, won’t you, Pryce?”
“Of course, sir.”
“And you won’t ever… I mean, you’re not ashamed of me, are you?”
Pryce stared at me. “Sir, it is hardly my place-”
“Yes, but-” I stopped in shock, for Pryce had suddenly swooped down, one cool hand cupping my face, his lips pressed to my cheek for one burning instant.
“Don’t be an idiot, sir.”
I fell asleep not long after, and while the dream of the ballroom didn’t make a reappearance, my sleep was far from peaceful. As is the way with dreams, it’s hard to recall any fully, unless of course they simply traumatise you. I think that other Pryce might have come back, because I woke a few times with the same lost, empty, ache inside that I remembered quite clearly from before. Quite a unique feeling really. Not one I’d recommend to anyone.
The last time I woke up, I woke up with one hand twisting into the sheet, rather like you’d make a last grab for the tuft of grass before you tumbled off the cliff face.
Except the movement stopped before it could even be finished, because no sooner had sleep gone than I was aware of a blissful warmth along my back. His breathing was deep and regular, and when I shifted back even more, his arm slipped around me as easy as you like. I laid my hand over his, and when I next woke, it was morning.
Fin.
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no subject
Date: 2005-11-10 05:46 pm (UTC)There were so many moments in this fic when my stomach literally flip flopped with joy. The riding crop... I was there, in the ballroom , hearing the waltz to the death, dizzy as Liam, terrified of what Pryce might say or do.
Despite the evidence of my own eyes, I was almost certain I had somehow made a mistake and that this stranger was not Pryce.
And a direct shout out to Swan Lake - The Stranger. You sly thing.
Loved the addition of Captain Jack, and the way Liam hates his easy friendship with Pryce. But most of all I love the ending, and Pryce being there to look after his Liam.
*hug fic and spins it around till it clings to me in desperation*
no subject
Date: 2005-11-13 02:06 pm (UTC)Captain Jacks oddly fits in this verse really easily, when I finally get around to the proper sequel I'm definitely going to have fun with him :)
I have to admit that the idea of Pryce in leather with a riding crop is certainly one that helps keep me warm in these cold winter evenings. Though that said, it was nice to put nice Pryce back in the proceedings at the end. I am a sap at heart :)
no subject
Date: 2005-11-10 06:06 pm (UTC)I’m bound to say, I didn’t much care for the experience. It wouldn’t be pushing it to say I was even cut to the quick.
He's so helpless, the poor woobie!
Pryce had suddenly swooped down, one cool hand cupping my face, his lips pressed to my cheek for one burning instant.
“Don’t be an idiot, sir.”
Ohhh. *adores Pryce* Can I have a Pryce all of my own?
I was aware of a blissful warmth along my back. His breathing was deep and regular, and when I shifted back even more, his arm slipped around me as easy as you like.
I'm so glad Liam has Pryce there to take care of him, silly man that he is. :) Brava!
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Date: 2005-11-13 02:10 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2005-11-13 02:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-11-16 04:23 am (UTC)Normally he verbally tears me apart, battles me into the proverbial corner and throws long words at me until I’m utterly at sea and surrender from sheer desperation. But he’s never just… ignored me.
Awwwww, bless ::pets him::
I loved this! You’ve got the tone down great, the difference between one Pryce and the other (or are they the same??) and the end was just delicious. Enjoyed that!
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Date: 2005-11-16 05:17 am (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2005-12-16 02:52 am (UTC)