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.au fic: The Hours of Instruction - D/M (eventual NC17) 10.?
Title: The Hours of Instruction
By: HF
Email: aesc36 @gmail.com
Pairing: D/M
Rating/Warning: PG/PG13 for now; R/NC17 eventually.
Disclaimers: If the boys were mine, this season would notbe happening have happened.
Advertisements: Catholic school AU. For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
wordclaim50 challenge #01 (AU) and philosophy_20 challenge #08 (Faith).
Chapters: 01; 02; 03; 04; 05; 06; 07; 08; 09
CHAPTER TEN
As it turned out, Martin had to go to services that Sunday.
“Fucking Preston,” he muttered as he and Danny joined the line of boys straggling from Grey to Messer Chapel. Danny only grinned and shook his head, and said something about how if Martin was well enough to go traipsing around the woods, he was well enough to go church.
Of course Preston had gone to Father West, and of course Father West had met Danny and Martin on their skulking way back to their room. Preston had been nowhere in sight, but the first words out of Father West’s mouth, Mr. Preston said he saw you walking out in the south woods, Martin, and he was worried pretty much gave away Preston’s involvement.
“It would be a good idea for you to attend Mass tomorrow morning, Martin,” Father West had added, “to thank God for your speedy recovery.” It was not a suggestion.
“When you break one of the commandments, does God consider extenuating circumstances?” Martin asked.
“I think that depends on if he’s the Old Testament God or the New Testament one,” Ashley said.
“Boys, quiet.” Father West’s voice drifted back from the front of the line.
They filed into their seats in the chapel, Martin acutely aware of the curious stares and comments focused on him. Preston, sitting a few places down from him, had the nerve – the nerve – to offer him a slight smile, like he hadn’t ratted on Martin, the little bastard. A few other boys from Grey offered quick Glad you’re back, Martin’s, which made Martin flush in embarrassment and Danny snicker, but then the heavy chapel doors swung shut and Father Connolly stepped forward to begin the service.
Martin supposed the one benefit to forced attendance was the one hour of unstructured thought, interrupted only for periodic standing and sitting. And it was also one hour of sitting next to Danny in a cramped pew, close enough to feel the warm fabric of Danny’s sleeve brush along his when they stood, to hear the way he sort of half-whispered, half-sang hymns – Danny had a terrible singing voice – and close enough in general to be distracted by him.
Worse this morning of course, thrown off-balance by the whole nearly-dying thing on Friday and then a day of awkwardness and Danny being gone, and then yesterday afternoon. And stuff like this didn’t happen in Martin’s world, which was orderly and made sense and wasn’t at all unpredictable, this uncertainty, kissing a boy one minute then being mad at him the next then kissing him and walking in the woods together. Yes, stuff like that just didn’t happen to him, only apparently it was, and Martin decided he’d need at least the next hour to figure out what to do about it.
What to do about Danny, was more like it, and he knew what he wanted – what he really wanted, and what he would have if his life wasn’t his life, if his life belonged to someone who didn’t have the specter of his father hanging over every decision or every single step minutely planned by some power far more present in Martin’s life than God.
Standing – they were standing now. Martin rose a heartbeat behind Danny, who smirked at him like he knew Martin’s mind was a million miles away from chapel and the Agnus Dei, which he was supposed to be singing. He mouthed the Latin words, already automatic – he’d printed out the text and memorized it, determined to at least pass for a cooperative student and stay under the radar for the next year – more aware of Danny’s voice, low and flawless, whispering like he was yesterday, humming in the air beside him.
And he did not need to think about Danny yesterday and Danny now, because now Danny in the woods and Danny in church were inextricably connected in Martin’s mind. There were thousands of reasons, millions even, why thinking about Danny in the context of how great it felt, Danny’s mouth on his and Danny’s fingers on his face, his neck, what they might feel like lower, under his shirt, let’s say, confident and knowing, like even Danny’s hands had him figured out.
Standing again, this time for the Nicene Creed, and this time standing was awkward. And Danny had that very tiny smirk on his face, enough to be seen and be unmistakable, and Martin knew killing a person in church was a bad thing to do, but the Mafia did it, so he had precedent.
Preston or Danny.... who would be first?
Martin glanced down at Preston, who had put him in this position with his interfering, and nearly had a heart attack when he realized that Preston was looking right at him. Not at Father Connolly, not at the altar or the crucifix suspended above it, but right at Martin.
Preston’s eyes went wide and he snapped back to the front, and he’d even stopped reciting the Creed because Martin – who was still looking – saw him fumble half a line before picking up the thread of the text again. Fleming, who had the unfortunate honor of being Preston’s roommate, paused, understandably surprised at Preston messing up a prayer he’d probably known since the womb.
A sharp, meaningful elbow in his side brought Martin back in time to avoid Fleming catching him staring, and in time to mutter a hasty Amen before sitting down. Danny of course, frowning at Martin in a way that suggested he wasn’t so much angry as curious as to Martin’s bizarre behavior.
“West,” Danny hissed. A subtle nod indicated that Father West was on patrol at the end of their aisle, on the lookout for students falling asleep or otherwise trying to get out of worship.
Martin obediently returned his attention to the remainder of the service, or at least the first fifteen seconds of whatever was left; his attention soon wandered again, back to Danny and how the two of them had kissed twice, which wasn’t nearly enough in Martin’s opinion. But it wasn’t like they were at Westmore, a liberal institution (which irritated Martin’s father to no end), which probably wouldn’t bat an eyelash so long as no one got an STD or became pregnant. No, this was a Catholic school that had very definite problems with sex outside of marriage, to say nothing of you know, two guys kissing.
He tried to imagine confessing that to one of the priests here. Students confessed to one of the brothers from the monastery, to prevent the fathers – who were administrators and faculty, as well as priests – from conflicting over their roles as spiritual confidants and those paid to enforce the morals of the school. Either way, Martin couldn’t even entertain the remote possibility of asking for guidance. He could talk to Matt, he supposed, but Matt wasn’t going to suggest ways to break the rules, or places the faculty would never look to find a couple of teenagers making out.
What about Danny? Martin didn’t know much, but he had the feeling that Danny was there on sufferance, charity toward the priest who’d helped Danny off the streets and had put in a good word for him at his old school. What if they were caught? Most likely Trinity’s goodwill stopped at that kind of indiscretion; Martin’s family’s money would probably keep him in for the next year – and talk about a way to ensure he’d never have to go back after his probationary year – but Danny would be gone, back to his foster family, back to some place where Martin wouldn’t ever see him again.
And that... that freaked Martin out more than he thought it would.
He was still trying to come to grips with that possibility, and to find ways around it, when Father Connolly gave the benediction.
Ite, Missa est, Father Connolly said, and like a kneejerk – that sort of reflex – the boys stood and filed out. Martin followed along behind Danny, propelled by an impatient Fleming. The organ playing the recessional was raucous, uncomfortable in Martin’s ears and discordant, too much like his thoughts.
Once outside, the cool air helped a little, and the crowd dispersed. Sunday was their only real free day, with the library not open until noon and nothing scheduled. Most boys skipped breakfast in favor of going back to bed for a few hours, which Martin usually did – the one o’clock curfew on Saturday nights was a joke, considering they all had to be up by seven at the latest for Mass – but today he was too restless, an anxiety he didn’t like chewing low in his belly and taking the place of hunger.
David, Kieran, and Ashley turned off for Grey, Ashley complaining loudly about Kieran’s snoring and Kieran objecting just as loudly. Matt shook his head and headed toward Coren for breakfast, and that left Danny and Martin by themselves on the gravel walk, and most of the other students dispersed to their rooms or the dining halls.
“So,” Danny said. His voice was loud in the early morning silence, and his breath misted in the air.
“So,” Martin echoed. He started walking, hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets for warmth. It was amazing how their uniform jackets managed to be stifling and uncomfortable inside, yet pathetically inadequate to the chill of a fall morning. He shook off the chill and kept going, heading for nowhere in particular, more for the sake of moving than of going anywhere.
“You okay? You were sort of distracted back there.” Evil teasing there, most definitely, and despite his better intentions, Martin had to grin.
“Yeah, well, you’re sort of bad that way,” he admitted, surprised at himself.
“I try.” Danny was close again, something that Martin was beginning to realize Danny liked to do, like he was some kind of alien feeding off Martin’s energy field or something. Danny’s tone was soft, filled with satisfaction. “So you’ve been thinking, huh?”
“What else do you do during Mass?”
Danny tsked, but then laughed and shook his head. “Try not to fall asleep during the sermon, mostly.”
“Father Orlando would be disappointed.”
Sudden, deep silence then, and Martin realized he’d misstepped. Apologies twisted themselves up and stumbled as he tried to say them, but Danny only smiled softly at him and told him it was okay.
“I was always pretty bad at paying attention,” he said, “in case you couldn’t tell. Father Orlando, he sort of gave up when he realized I couldn’t stay still for five minutes. And that was if I was trying.” Quiet, rueful grin that still managed to seem right on Danny’s mouth. “He finally said that so long as I loved God, it was okay.”
“Still,” Martin said, “I’m sorry.”
“It’s cool,” Danny said, and just like that, like there was some kind of magic in Danny’s voice it was okay.
“So... Were your parents devout?” Martin asked, reassured by Danny’s response.
“Yeah. My mom especially. My dad...” Danny’s mouth tightened. “He was a jerk, but that’s not enough to get you excommunicated.” He shook himself then, like coming out of dark memory. “It doesn’t sound like you’ve gone to church your whole life,” he observed. “So why’re you here? Just for the Best Education Possible?”
And this was where he told Danny about himself, Martin knew, because Danny had told him, and Martin knew enough of Danny to know Danny just didn’t tell people things about where he’d come from and where he’d been.
“My dad, mostly... You know how I said he worked for the government?”
“Yeah. So what is he, like some kind of assassin?” Danny smirked.
“He used to be a detective in Boston, until he joined the FBI. He was a field agent when he met my mom. And that’s where it gets sort of weird.”
He knew Danny really wanted to say something here, but kept going.
“My mom’s family, the Conways... They’re rich. Like, really rich.”
“Like, Donald Trump rich?”
“Like, Forbes’ ninth richest man was my grandfather. You know Conway & Royce, the investment firm? He started that.”
“Wow.” Martin could feel Danny withdrawing, and Danny being uncomfortable with him hurt, Danny being distant hurt, on the other side of a wall made from hundred-dollar bills. And Martin had no idea what to do other than go on with his story.
“My grandparents are – were – really Catholic. My grandmother probably could have filled in for the Pope.” That earned a faint smile. “My mom, though... She’s sort of an atheist, and my dad is, too; my grandparents never really forgave her for being one, or marrying one, and they were really hard on my dad for that, and because he was just a field agent and not someone important.”
When he’d been younger, Martin had never understood his father’s demands, had gone along with them because doing well, straight-A’s, being in the gifted program, being accepted to the private schools along with diplomats’ and senators’ kids, that all meant his father's approval, more important to him than love. And somewhere along the line, around the time he’d realized that he was gay and that his father’s plans for him had meant a life requiring nothing more than a series of lies – or a life that only required the cooperation of a fictitious Martin Fitzgerald – he couldn’t go along anymore. Martin wasn’t supposed to be Martin, but a more acceptable version of Victor Fitzgerald, an upgrade to a Catholic-educated businessman, the sort of man who should have married Petra Fitzgerald.
“Anyway, my grandmother died not too long ago, and my mom was her only child. Her will basically set aside money for me to come here, and only here. And so here I am.”
“Huh.”
“Danny, geez, come on. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” The forcefulness of Danny’s answer suggested otherwise, and Martin said as much. Danny didn’t look at him, only stared at the gravel walk and the thin coating of frost lining it. “It’s just... I mean, I know everyone who comes here has money, but you usually know where it comes from. A lot of the kids here, they aren’t really shy about it.”
“So what, I’m suddenly evil or something?” Martin had stopped at some point and Danny had stopped too, at an intersection in the path leading out past the main complex, one heading toward Raine and the other out into the fields and running paths. “Danny, come on.”
“You’re not, and it’s my problem, okay? I’ll deal with it.”
“Okay, fine. It’s your problem.” And how the hell did this happen? That was what Martin wanted to ask, and he wanted to tell Danny that he didn’t care about his family’s money, that he didn’t like it, that he was the same person now as he was yesterday, as he was when they kissed, when Danny was harassing him, when they’d first stared at each other across the bedroom and Martin had made an ass out of himself. But he was too cut, too angry to ask or say these things. Instead, he said,
“I’m going for a swim.”
Danny started and stared at him. “Are you sure?”
“Is this where you pretend to be concerned?” Martin asked, had the guilty pleasure of seeing Danny flinch. “I’ll be careful this time, Mom. I swear.”
Danny followed him to Raine, but not into the locker rooms, for which Martin was grateful, and in the tiled, echoing silence he thought that their chronic misunderstandings pretty much put an end to any danger of the two of them being discovered. Because how you could be with someone who drove you crazy, then shut down when things happened and wouldn’t talk, Martin couldn’t understand.
That he probably drove Danny crazy, and that he didn’t like talking either, Martin didn’t think about.
He slammed his locker shut, and even that sounded thin and frustrated. Swimming in this frame of mind probably wasn’t a good idea, but the chances of nearly drowning twice in three days had to be vanishingly small; even so, he took a longer time stretching than he usually did. Stiff from sitting still for an hour and the tension of dealing with Danny, his body took longer to loosen up, a bad omen for how well his workout was going to go.
And there was Danny when he walked out into the pool area, sitting on the bleachers, elbows on his knees and leaning forward intently. They stared at each other across that empty space, stared until Danny looked away, and Martin sighed, tossed his towel in the corner and walked to the pool’s edge to dive in.
The water was a still mirror, no one else there to disturb it, hard to believe that he’d nearly drowned here not three days ago, it was that quiet and harmless. Martin paused at the edge of the diving platform, frozen for a moment, caught between the quiet of the water and the knowledge that Danny was watching him, took a breath to steady himself, and dove in.
Not quite on form, but he wasn’t expecting that, and as he swam – slowly, carefully, letting his body acclimate to movement, telling himself this could be easy, should be easy – he had to admit, despite what they’d said not so long ago, it was nice, comforting, having Danny watch him.
-tbc.-
By: HF
Email: aesc36 @gmail.com
Pairing: D/M
Rating/Warning: PG/PG13 for now; R/NC17 eventually.
Disclaimers: If the boys were mine, this season would not
Advertisements: Catholic school AU. For
wordclaim50 challenge #01 (AU) and philosophy_20 challenge #08 (Faith).Chapters: 01; 02; 03; 04; 05; 06; 07; 08; 09
CHAPTER TEN
As it turned out, Martin had to go to services that Sunday.
“Fucking Preston,” he muttered as he and Danny joined the line of boys straggling from Grey to Messer Chapel. Danny only grinned and shook his head, and said something about how if Martin was well enough to go traipsing around the woods, he was well enough to go church.
Of course Preston had gone to Father West, and of course Father West had met Danny and Martin on their skulking way back to their room. Preston had been nowhere in sight, but the first words out of Father West’s mouth, Mr. Preston said he saw you walking out in the south woods, Martin, and he was worried pretty much gave away Preston’s involvement.
“It would be a good idea for you to attend Mass tomorrow morning, Martin,” Father West had added, “to thank God for your speedy recovery.” It was not a suggestion.
“When you break one of the commandments, does God consider extenuating circumstances?” Martin asked.
“I think that depends on if he’s the Old Testament God or the New Testament one,” Ashley said.
“Boys, quiet.” Father West’s voice drifted back from the front of the line.
They filed into their seats in the chapel, Martin acutely aware of the curious stares and comments focused on him. Preston, sitting a few places down from him, had the nerve – the nerve – to offer him a slight smile, like he hadn’t ratted on Martin, the little bastard. A few other boys from Grey offered quick Glad you’re back, Martin’s, which made Martin flush in embarrassment and Danny snicker, but then the heavy chapel doors swung shut and Father Connolly stepped forward to begin the service.
Martin supposed the one benefit to forced attendance was the one hour of unstructured thought, interrupted only for periodic standing and sitting. And it was also one hour of sitting next to Danny in a cramped pew, close enough to feel the warm fabric of Danny’s sleeve brush along his when they stood, to hear the way he sort of half-whispered, half-sang hymns – Danny had a terrible singing voice – and close enough in general to be distracted by him.
Worse this morning of course, thrown off-balance by the whole nearly-dying thing on Friday and then a day of awkwardness and Danny being gone, and then yesterday afternoon. And stuff like this didn’t happen in Martin’s world, which was orderly and made sense and wasn’t at all unpredictable, this uncertainty, kissing a boy one minute then being mad at him the next then kissing him and walking in the woods together. Yes, stuff like that just didn’t happen to him, only apparently it was, and Martin decided he’d need at least the next hour to figure out what to do about it.
What to do about Danny, was more like it, and he knew what he wanted – what he really wanted, and what he would have if his life wasn’t his life, if his life belonged to someone who didn’t have the specter of his father hanging over every decision or every single step minutely planned by some power far more present in Martin’s life than God.
Standing – they were standing now. Martin rose a heartbeat behind Danny, who smirked at him like he knew Martin’s mind was a million miles away from chapel and the Agnus Dei, which he was supposed to be singing. He mouthed the Latin words, already automatic – he’d printed out the text and memorized it, determined to at least pass for a cooperative student and stay under the radar for the next year – more aware of Danny’s voice, low and flawless, whispering like he was yesterday, humming in the air beside him.
And he did not need to think about Danny yesterday and Danny now, because now Danny in the woods and Danny in church were inextricably connected in Martin’s mind. There were thousands of reasons, millions even, why thinking about Danny in the context of how great it felt, Danny’s mouth on his and Danny’s fingers on his face, his neck, what they might feel like lower, under his shirt, let’s say, confident and knowing, like even Danny’s hands had him figured out.
Standing again, this time for the Nicene Creed, and this time standing was awkward. And Danny had that very tiny smirk on his face, enough to be seen and be unmistakable, and Martin knew killing a person in church was a bad thing to do, but the Mafia did it, so he had precedent.
Preston or Danny.... who would be first?
Martin glanced down at Preston, who had put him in this position with his interfering, and nearly had a heart attack when he realized that Preston was looking right at him. Not at Father Connolly, not at the altar or the crucifix suspended above it, but right at Martin.
Preston’s eyes went wide and he snapped back to the front, and he’d even stopped reciting the Creed because Martin – who was still looking – saw him fumble half a line before picking up the thread of the text again. Fleming, who had the unfortunate honor of being Preston’s roommate, paused, understandably surprised at Preston messing up a prayer he’d probably known since the womb.
A sharp, meaningful elbow in his side brought Martin back in time to avoid Fleming catching him staring, and in time to mutter a hasty Amen before sitting down. Danny of course, frowning at Martin in a way that suggested he wasn’t so much angry as curious as to Martin’s bizarre behavior.
“West,” Danny hissed. A subtle nod indicated that Father West was on patrol at the end of their aisle, on the lookout for students falling asleep or otherwise trying to get out of worship.
Martin obediently returned his attention to the remainder of the service, or at least the first fifteen seconds of whatever was left; his attention soon wandered again, back to Danny and how the two of them had kissed twice, which wasn’t nearly enough in Martin’s opinion. But it wasn’t like they were at Westmore, a liberal institution (which irritated Martin’s father to no end), which probably wouldn’t bat an eyelash so long as no one got an STD or became pregnant. No, this was a Catholic school that had very definite problems with sex outside of marriage, to say nothing of you know, two guys kissing.
He tried to imagine confessing that to one of the priests here. Students confessed to one of the brothers from the monastery, to prevent the fathers – who were administrators and faculty, as well as priests – from conflicting over their roles as spiritual confidants and those paid to enforce the morals of the school. Either way, Martin couldn’t even entertain the remote possibility of asking for guidance. He could talk to Matt, he supposed, but Matt wasn’t going to suggest ways to break the rules, or places the faculty would never look to find a couple of teenagers making out.
What about Danny? Martin didn’t know much, but he had the feeling that Danny was there on sufferance, charity toward the priest who’d helped Danny off the streets and had put in a good word for him at his old school. What if they were caught? Most likely Trinity’s goodwill stopped at that kind of indiscretion; Martin’s family’s money would probably keep him in for the next year – and talk about a way to ensure he’d never have to go back after his probationary year – but Danny would be gone, back to his foster family, back to some place where Martin wouldn’t ever see him again.
And that... that freaked Martin out more than he thought it would.
He was still trying to come to grips with that possibility, and to find ways around it, when Father Connolly gave the benediction.
Ite, Missa est, Father Connolly said, and like a kneejerk – that sort of reflex – the boys stood and filed out. Martin followed along behind Danny, propelled by an impatient Fleming. The organ playing the recessional was raucous, uncomfortable in Martin’s ears and discordant, too much like his thoughts.
Once outside, the cool air helped a little, and the crowd dispersed. Sunday was their only real free day, with the library not open until noon and nothing scheduled. Most boys skipped breakfast in favor of going back to bed for a few hours, which Martin usually did – the one o’clock curfew on Saturday nights was a joke, considering they all had to be up by seven at the latest for Mass – but today he was too restless, an anxiety he didn’t like chewing low in his belly and taking the place of hunger.
David, Kieran, and Ashley turned off for Grey, Ashley complaining loudly about Kieran’s snoring and Kieran objecting just as loudly. Matt shook his head and headed toward Coren for breakfast, and that left Danny and Martin by themselves on the gravel walk, and most of the other students dispersed to their rooms or the dining halls.
“So,” Danny said. His voice was loud in the early morning silence, and his breath misted in the air.
“So,” Martin echoed. He started walking, hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets for warmth. It was amazing how their uniform jackets managed to be stifling and uncomfortable inside, yet pathetically inadequate to the chill of a fall morning. He shook off the chill and kept going, heading for nowhere in particular, more for the sake of moving than of going anywhere.
“You okay? You were sort of distracted back there.” Evil teasing there, most definitely, and despite his better intentions, Martin had to grin.
“Yeah, well, you’re sort of bad that way,” he admitted, surprised at himself.
“I try.” Danny was close again, something that Martin was beginning to realize Danny liked to do, like he was some kind of alien feeding off Martin’s energy field or something. Danny’s tone was soft, filled with satisfaction. “So you’ve been thinking, huh?”
“What else do you do during Mass?”
Danny tsked, but then laughed and shook his head. “Try not to fall asleep during the sermon, mostly.”
“Father Orlando would be disappointed.”
Sudden, deep silence then, and Martin realized he’d misstepped. Apologies twisted themselves up and stumbled as he tried to say them, but Danny only smiled softly at him and told him it was okay.
“I was always pretty bad at paying attention,” he said, “in case you couldn’t tell. Father Orlando, he sort of gave up when he realized I couldn’t stay still for five minutes. And that was if I was trying.” Quiet, rueful grin that still managed to seem right on Danny’s mouth. “He finally said that so long as I loved God, it was okay.”
“Still,” Martin said, “I’m sorry.”
“It’s cool,” Danny said, and just like that, like there was some kind of magic in Danny’s voice it was okay.
“So... Were your parents devout?” Martin asked, reassured by Danny’s response.
“Yeah. My mom especially. My dad...” Danny’s mouth tightened. “He was a jerk, but that’s not enough to get you excommunicated.” He shook himself then, like coming out of dark memory. “It doesn’t sound like you’ve gone to church your whole life,” he observed. “So why’re you here? Just for the Best Education Possible?”
And this was where he told Danny about himself, Martin knew, because Danny had told him, and Martin knew enough of Danny to know Danny just didn’t tell people things about where he’d come from and where he’d been.
“My dad, mostly... You know how I said he worked for the government?”
“Yeah. So what is he, like some kind of assassin?” Danny smirked.
“He used to be a detective in Boston, until he joined the FBI. He was a field agent when he met my mom. And that’s where it gets sort of weird.”
He knew Danny really wanted to say something here, but kept going.
“My mom’s family, the Conways... They’re rich. Like, really rich.”
“Like, Donald Trump rich?”
“Like, Forbes’ ninth richest man was my grandfather. You know Conway & Royce, the investment firm? He started that.”
“Wow.” Martin could feel Danny withdrawing, and Danny being uncomfortable with him hurt, Danny being distant hurt, on the other side of a wall made from hundred-dollar bills. And Martin had no idea what to do other than go on with his story.
“My grandparents are – were – really Catholic. My grandmother probably could have filled in for the Pope.” That earned a faint smile. “My mom, though... She’s sort of an atheist, and my dad is, too; my grandparents never really forgave her for being one, or marrying one, and they were really hard on my dad for that, and because he was just a field agent and not someone important.”
When he’d been younger, Martin had never understood his father’s demands, had gone along with them because doing well, straight-A’s, being in the gifted program, being accepted to the private schools along with diplomats’ and senators’ kids, that all meant his father's approval, more important to him than love. And somewhere along the line, around the time he’d realized that he was gay and that his father’s plans for him had meant a life requiring nothing more than a series of lies – or a life that only required the cooperation of a fictitious Martin Fitzgerald – he couldn’t go along anymore. Martin wasn’t supposed to be Martin, but a more acceptable version of Victor Fitzgerald, an upgrade to a Catholic-educated businessman, the sort of man who should have married Petra Fitzgerald.
“Anyway, my grandmother died not too long ago, and my mom was her only child. Her will basically set aside money for me to come here, and only here. And so here I am.”
“Huh.”
“Danny, geez, come on. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” The forcefulness of Danny’s answer suggested otherwise, and Martin said as much. Danny didn’t look at him, only stared at the gravel walk and the thin coating of frost lining it. “It’s just... I mean, I know everyone who comes here has money, but you usually know where it comes from. A lot of the kids here, they aren’t really shy about it.”
“So what, I’m suddenly evil or something?” Martin had stopped at some point and Danny had stopped too, at an intersection in the path leading out past the main complex, one heading toward Raine and the other out into the fields and running paths. “Danny, come on.”
“You’re not, and it’s my problem, okay? I’ll deal with it.”
“Okay, fine. It’s your problem.” And how the hell did this happen? That was what Martin wanted to ask, and he wanted to tell Danny that he didn’t care about his family’s money, that he didn’t like it, that he was the same person now as he was yesterday, as he was when they kissed, when Danny was harassing him, when they’d first stared at each other across the bedroom and Martin had made an ass out of himself. But he was too cut, too angry to ask or say these things. Instead, he said,
“I’m going for a swim.”
Danny started and stared at him. “Are you sure?”
“Is this where you pretend to be concerned?” Martin asked, had the guilty pleasure of seeing Danny flinch. “I’ll be careful this time, Mom. I swear.”
Danny followed him to Raine, but not into the locker rooms, for which Martin was grateful, and in the tiled, echoing silence he thought that their chronic misunderstandings pretty much put an end to any danger of the two of them being discovered. Because how you could be with someone who drove you crazy, then shut down when things happened and wouldn’t talk, Martin couldn’t understand.
That he probably drove Danny crazy, and that he didn’t like talking either, Martin didn’t think about.
He slammed his locker shut, and even that sounded thin and frustrated. Swimming in this frame of mind probably wasn’t a good idea, but the chances of nearly drowning twice in three days had to be vanishingly small; even so, he took a longer time stretching than he usually did. Stiff from sitting still for an hour and the tension of dealing with Danny, his body took longer to loosen up, a bad omen for how well his workout was going to go.
And there was Danny when he walked out into the pool area, sitting on the bleachers, elbows on his knees and leaning forward intently. They stared at each other across that empty space, stared until Danny looked away, and Martin sighed, tossed his towel in the corner and walked to the pool’s edge to dive in.
The water was a still mirror, no one else there to disturb it, hard to believe that he’d nearly drowned here not three days ago, it was that quiet and harmless. Martin paused at the edge of the diving platform, frozen for a moment, caught between the quiet of the water and the knowledge that Danny was watching him, took a breath to steady himself, and dove in.
Not quite on form, but he wasn’t expecting that, and as he swam – slowly, carefully, letting his body acclimate to movement, telling himself this could be easy, should be easy – he had to admit, despite what they’d said not so long ago, it was nice, comforting, having Danny watch him.
-tbc.-
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I'm sure he will, eventually :) He may be stubborn, but he does see reason eventually.
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Danny being uncomfortable about Martin having money is a nice touch. It's one thing to know in the back of his mind that Martin is probably loaded, but with it right out in the open, Danny is forced to deal with it, and it's very easy to assume that because someone has lead a privilidged life, they're rich and arrogant.
*Applauds you for managing to work on two fics at the same time and keep them both so interesting* You're like, a goddess or something.
~Djinn
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*shifty look* Possibly :D
It's one thing to know in the back of his mind that Martin is probably loaded,
Oh, yeah... It prevents that sort of idealizing, if you know what I mean. It's one less thing for Danny to pretend about, or ignore.
*Applauds you for managing to work on two fics at the same time
Thank you :) I usually don't, because my attention isn't all that good, but this time both stories REALLY wanted to be written.
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One nitpick: Agnus Dei before the Creed? Surely it comes much later in the service, unless it's a form of service I'm not familiar with. Which is possible, since I'm not a catholic.
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Yeah, you'd be right :) I went back and changed things around... My memory of the liturgy, it is not so good...
Thank you for catching that!
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I'm not quite sure *g* I wasn't sure what to do with him... I'm still not sure, for that matter. Danny and Martin are a headache all on their own, without the help.
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Lovely, as always. *hugs*
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Oh, definitely. I think Danny's always been direct, and with Martin in particular he says and does whatever he wants. Partly because a lot of the time Martin's too polite or restrained to do anything, so Danny can delight in pushing his buttons as much as he wants *g*
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I'm still getting a whole lot of insight into these characters, and enjoying the setting itself as a character.
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I don't know about boarding schools, but definitely religious schools... And some of this is starting to be a bit weirdly autobiographical (except, you know, with boys instead of girls).
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Also, I loved this: the way he sort of half-whispered, half-sang hymns – Danny had a terrible singing voice ...hee! For some reason that made me giggle. Maybe it's coz Danny's always the cool and suave one so why shouldn't he have a great singing voice? I love that he doesn't! :)
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Hee! That is something I picked up from
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This was really good, with Danny being uncomfortable with Martin's money, but still going to watch over Martin as he swims for the first time since his nearly-drowning incident. *squee* so cute, Danny is.
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No, people other than Danny can crush on Fitzie, they just can't do anything about it!
Danny being uncomfortable with Martin's money, but still going to watch over Martin
*wiggles happily*
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also, I love the excerpts you choose for the 'cut ins' - "When you break one of the commandments, does God consider extenuating circumstances?" lol!
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I really hope he does! *g*
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No, seriously, Danny's issues with Martin money are understandable but still it has to hurt Martin (I wonder how many times he's witnessed the same reaction). I hope Danny sticks around, I think he will considering he's not left Martin alone. But, damn,he's just given Martin more reasons to make those walls he likes to keep around himself higher and stronger.
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Well yes, of course that's why *g*
Danny's issues with Martin money are understandable but still it has to hurt Martin
I think money's been an issue all of Martin's life--he's been raised to care about it, but he really can't. So it hurts, probably, to have someone reject him for having something he doesn't even like.
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I always daydreamed during services, too, or else was busy resenting my mom for dragging me out of bed.
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I must confess, though, as much as I want to hit Danny, I'm really, really in love with your version of him. This is exactly what he'd do --shut down because Martin comes from money and that, in some twisted, fucked up way, matters to him in all the wrong ways. It's heart-wrenching, but true, and that, I think, is what makes this story so compelling.
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It's the big leap at the end--you know, the leap of faith when you put your trust in another person--that helps them make up the distance.
*nods*
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Good chapter of course. Liked getting a new look inside of both of them, loved that last line. And one of my favorite lines was definitely this one: whispering like he was yesterday, humming in the air beside him.
I'm waiting for more but it's so worth the wait!
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Hee! Yay for good surprises :) Glad you liked this one.
I'm on a trip of my own at the moment, but I am writing, so I hope it won't be too long before I can post the next part.