Sorcerer Hunters Fan Fiction ❯ Sanctuary ❯ Everything's In Pieces ( Chapter 6 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Miko No Hoshi 
Results? Or just more questions?
Anime/Manga: Sorcerer Hunters Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Romance / Hentai | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 07.19.2004 | Pages: 2 | Words: 2.8K | Visits: 265 | Status: Work In Progress
Results? Or just more questions?
Anime/Manga: Sorcerer Hunters Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Romance / Hentai | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 07.19.2004 | Pages: 2 | Words: 2.8K | Visits: 265 | Status: Work In Progress
Notes: I’m back and ready for action! Animazement has refueled my school-drained fanfic reserves. I’m still having slight confidence issues (and I know this chapter isn’t as good as the other, forgive, forgive) see? But I am trying, be kind to the poor Miko, onegai? [If I start getting good reactions I’ll pick up some of my other fics and finish those as well...promise]
Sanctuary
Chapter Six : Everything’s In Pieces
Gateau returned home late and in a mood that left much to be desired. Three hours waiting in the cramped little room with people that were less than happy had not helped his day. He was tense, aggravated, and still nervous as hell. It would be two days before he had results, the lab too busy to even run the twenty minute test until then.
Tossing his sunglasses onto a small table in the foyer, he wandered into the kitchen to find something to eat. Finding the room empty, he realized he had hoped Marron had made dinner. With a sigh, Gateau opened the side-by-side refrigerator and examined its contents: a head of lettuce, a lemon, bologna of questionable age, leftover noodles, four cans of beer, and something green. Tomorrow was Marshal's day of shopping. Taking out the noodles, Gateau sniff tested them then placed the whole container in the microwave.
He grabbed a beer, a fork, and the nuked noodles and went to the dining room for a familiar dinner in silence. He thought about locating Marron, but sensed it to be an unwise idea. They hadn't parted on the best terms if he was to judge the look the boy had given him. Honestly, he wasn't sure what the problem was, let alone how to fix it. Still, he would have to try. Unable to fix a course of action, he settled on a general plan of eat, wash, talk to Marron.
~*~
With a little additional thought about his nighttime attire, Gateau wound up wearing a pair of silken pajamas he had received as a Christmas present. They were blue and fit him nicely, and after a bit of digging, he located the matching slippers. This dressed he went to the door recently labeled as Marron's. He managed to knock with confidence and was admitted with a single syllable.
"Hey," he shut the door behind him.
Marron nodded. He was sitting cross-legged on the bed with his notebook across his lap and a pen held loosely in hand. He too had changed for bed, laying aside his jeans in favor of a simple gray sweatsuit. He eyed Gateau somewhat wearily while an awkward pause ensued.
"Something?" Marron finally asked.
"No, not really."
More quiet, gold eyes holding blue, all in ice. Finally the younger turned away.
"Please stop."
"What?"
"Stop looking at me as if you've lost something."
"Huh?"
He laid his book aside and stood, hand finding purchase on the bedpost closest to Gateau. He almost spoke, opened his mouth only to shut it again. Gateau was quiet, waiting, but what he got was not the original, obviously.
"I'm tired. Goodnight Gateau," and with that he was cued to leave.
~*~
They rode the next day out in relative silence, avoiding each other and conversation. This was largely an effort on the part of Marron though Gateau did little to correct it, worrying more over the slip of paper that ate at his mind from the inside of his wallet. A one-eight-hundred number, timed and waiting, results undetermined. It was not until Friday that he managed to corner the other.
Marron was reading in one of the side rooms at the time. Gateau was caught first by striking image as the setting sun leaned through the tall windows to wash over the boy as he tilted his head gently down to take in the words of the page. Delicate hands turned another and Gateau's mind lept to a time passed.
~*~
Marron sat on his friend's porch, his back against the house, waiting for someone. Spring had recently made its appearance and he was enjoying the weather as he breezed through some Spenserian sonnets. Deeply involved with the drama of Astrophil and Stella, he did not hear the approaching footsteps.
Gateau paused to admire the sight. The warming weather meant Marron wearing lighter colors and short sleeves, displaying shapely arms that led fine wrists and hands that the blond knew were extremely talented. With a strange grace, Gateau leant forward on the steps, crouching. He stalked forward on all fours, directly in front of the other. About to pounce, he noticed the smile on Marron's face twitch slightly.
"You saw me," he complained, setting back.
"I'm afraid so, though it was a creative attempt."
"Hm," he lifted the book and sat it aside. Scooting close, he captured one of Marron's pale hands and brought it into his lap. Gently he stroked one finger at a time, admiring. He let one hand slide to Marron's elbow, holding it in place as he lifted the younger boy's fingers to his lips. With a too serious expression he slipped his mouth over his boyfriend's ring finger, using his tongue to tease the delicate skin much as if it were a more interesting part of the other's anatomy. Golden eyes slid closed, pale lips opened slightly to sigh, and Marron's posture relaxed as he leaned against the brick wall.
Abruptly the front door opened. Marron jerked, pulling his hand back and crossing his legs rather suspiciously. Gateau backed off just long enough to note that it was only Marshal leaving. The red haired man gave them only a knowing smile.
"Enjoying the...weather, Mr. Mocha?" and he was quickly gone.
Gateau turned back to Marron with a laugh. The other's face was flushed with embarrassment and something on the verge of fear.
"Hey," he blond smiled, placing a hand on Marron's knee which was instantly removed from his reach. "Come on, he's not gonna be back for a while."
Ever shy and at that point still keeping their relationship from his older brother, Marron refused to relax. Though he was disappointed, Gateau rationalized that there was no use pushing the boy.
"Okay, okay. You read your book and I'll sit here and watch. I am allowed to watch, aren't I?"
Marron tilted his head to the side like a curious animal contemplating the danger of a bit of food.
"Can you just watch?"
"Sure, sure," he stretched, sliding back against the wall to look over Marron's shoulder as he reopened the book. "You got no trust."
"Should I have?"
~*~
Should he? Gateau silently asked Marron as he watched from the doorway. Could Marron trust him, a man who invited him in and then yelled at him, raised a hand against him, stayed silent with him though there was so much to say?
"I'm sorry," he blurted. Marron looked up at him for the first time, and the weight in his eyes fell heavily on Gateau, crushing his attempt in sorrow that he could not match. "What can I do?"
Gateau heard the desperation in his own voice, felt it in his stomach, at the corners of his eyes. Surely he would have retreated if not for the subtle shift in the man before him. Marron's eyes softened, he softened, seemed to fall back into the couch as he sat aside his book and tapped the cushion beside him.
Hesitantly, Gateau took a seat on the opposite end of the couch as silence reigned in the room. There was a moment of indecision as Marron looked at him, questioned him, judged him. And when he didn't run, the dark haired man scooted close, lifted his feet onto the couch, and gently laid his head in Gateau lap.
~*~
It being Friday night, Gateau decided to let Marron in on his normal plans—eating pizza in front of the television. After a little good natured arguing over toppings, they settled on the floor by the coffee table to await their dinner’s arrival.
Gateau rejoiced in the new atmosphere of calm; it fed his hope of complete reconciliation. So it was with a smile that he popped the tab on a beer and pressed play on the DVD remote. Marron brought a coke from the kitchen, setting it down on the table just as the doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it,” he spoke softly. Gateau leaned to the side to pull his wallet from his back pocket and handed it over.
Marron pulled open the heavy door to reveal the scrawny delivery boy that stood outside. Lifting the red, insulated box, he pulled out the pizza and proffered it. Setting it on the table, Marron opened Gateau wallet and pulled out a twenty. As he removed the bill, a small slip of white paper fell to the floor. He reached down and retrieved it. Glancing over the information he closed his eyes, barely able to tell the delivery boy to keep the change.
Quietly he pocketed the paper slip, picked up the box, and carried it into the living room. Now adjusted to the nearly silent nights, Gateau did not notice the quiet contemplation that caused Marron to miss the plot of the movie, nor the fact that for the first time he admitted to being tired and went to bed early.
~*~
Rushing, Gateau pulled on his suit jacket and tightened his tie as he rushed through the hall. Marshal proffered a piece of toast on a tray and he managed to shove it into his mouth before snatching his briefcase from the table and running out the door. Being late always frazzled him, especially when everyone was waiting. His whole day was going to be off, and that was the least of his worries.
~*~
It had been a fitful night for Marron; he didn't manage to pull himself from bed until well after Gateau had made his exit. Lethargically he made his own descent of the stairs, dressed still in the white cotton robe he wore over his nightclothes. Marshall was washing dishes in the kitchen when he went to the refrigerator.
"You slept in this morning," he gave a little smile, leaning over the sink with his uniform sleeves pushed up over his elbows, sharp face lit by the early afternoon light that streamed through the windows. His shoulder-length red hair was tied at his neck and his thin-framed glasses set carefully on the counter beside him.
"Yes," Marron answered, opening the door to the refrigerator and pulling out a glass pitcher of apple juice. He removed a glass from the cabinet and poured it half full then replaced the picture.
"Do you want me to fix you something?"
Marron shook his head to the negative, coming to stand near the windows. Sipping his juice he looked outside. Multicolored leaves swirled in the morning air, covering the ground that had been raked the day before. The thought of winter brought to surface the melancholy waves that had been lurking since his discovery the night before.
Five o'clock.
Six hours until he would know his friend’s sentence, delivered by his own hand. The slip of paper lay in his pocket, waiting. Setting his glass, still nearly full, in the pile of dishes yet to be washed, Marron went to fetch his notebook and perhaps distract himself just long enough.
~*~
The meeting ran long, as ones held on Saturday usually did. It was the only day where the majority of the board wasn't out of town or overseas or absorbed in their own projects. Now his staff debated the problem of decreased demand that /might/ have an effect in the years to come, /if/ market trends continued, and they /possibly/ didn't adapt to new technology. Gateau sat at the head of the long table, elbows laid on the dark wood surface and hands one atop the other, looking for the world as if he was paying attention and not checking his watch every thirty seconds.
When two of the board members were reduced to insulting each other's departments like petty children, he coughed tactically and put an end to the entire discussion.
"Sal, you can have your updates, contact Tech in the morning to determine the cost and have the numbers to me on Monday. Brenda, it won't come from your budget."
"No offense, sir, but where will it come from?" the woman asked, tapping her pen nervously on the pad in front of her.
Gateau ran a hand over his hair, "Didn't labs three and four come off with a surplus on that, uh—"
"Sarson Project."
"Yes. So take that, and what it doesn't cover cut from T and D," he was already standing and shuffling his notes into a pile.
"But sir!" a man at the other side of the table stood, indignant.
"Deal with it Chris. I don't have time for this today," and with that he stepped from the table and left the room.
Stopping quickly by his office, Gateau loaded his briefcase. Pulling out his wallet, he went to check the time, yet again, that the results would be ready, only to find the paper missing. Two and two came together rather quickly and he took one more worried glance at the clock—four forty-seven—before calling to have his car brought around, /quick/.
~*~
Reduced to pacing in front of the phone, Marron walked back and forth across Gateau’s study. The forest green walls and brass accents seemed to create a paradox to his bathrobe and mussed hair. Ever neat, Marron himself felt odd, but the worry overcame anything else. Earlier it had been butterflies, now he felt almost positive that if he gave himself half a chance he was definitely going to be sick. Taking a seat on the edge of Gateau’s desk, he placed a hand to his mouth and tried very hard to remain calm.
~*~
Gateau swore at the traffic light, grabbing his cell and dialing the number for home. It was busy.
“Shit!” he hit the steering wheel, ignoring the angry honks of other drivers as he made a sharp left into the far lane. With some creative maneuvers he was in front of his house within minutes. Leaving the keys in the car and the front door wide open, he called out for Marron. Receiving no answer from the front hall, he began his search.
“Marron?” he took the stairs two at a time, spurred on by a soft noise from the end of the hall. “Marron.”
The study. He hit the door at a run and had to sop short to avoid tripping over the boy he found there.
The phone lay off the hook, the paper beside it. Marron sat on the floor as he had fallen, legs folded beneath him, hands between them, shoulders hunched and head bowed as he shook with quiet sobs.
“Marron...” Gateau dropped in front of him, gathering the younger man up in his arms and holding him tight. “Please,” he begged, pressing his face against the raven hair, “please don’t cry.”
~tbc~
Notes: Oh, oh look what I’ve done! How terrible... Opinions? Anyone still here? Please review!
Sanctuary
Chapter Six : Everything’s In Pieces
Gateau returned home late and in a mood that left much to be desired. Three hours waiting in the cramped little room with people that were less than happy had not helped his day. He was tense, aggravated, and still nervous as hell. It would be two days before he had results, the lab too busy to even run the twenty minute test until then.
Tossing his sunglasses onto a small table in the foyer, he wandered into the kitchen to find something to eat. Finding the room empty, he realized he had hoped Marron had made dinner. With a sigh, Gateau opened the side-by-side refrigerator and examined its contents: a head of lettuce, a lemon, bologna of questionable age, leftover noodles, four cans of beer, and something green. Tomorrow was Marshal's day of shopping. Taking out the noodles, Gateau sniff tested them then placed the whole container in the microwave.
He grabbed a beer, a fork, and the nuked noodles and went to the dining room for a familiar dinner in silence. He thought about locating Marron, but sensed it to be an unwise idea. They hadn't parted on the best terms if he was to judge the look the boy had given him. Honestly, he wasn't sure what the problem was, let alone how to fix it. Still, he would have to try. Unable to fix a course of action, he settled on a general plan of eat, wash, talk to Marron.
~*~
With a little additional thought about his nighttime attire, Gateau wound up wearing a pair of silken pajamas he had received as a Christmas present. They were blue and fit him nicely, and after a bit of digging, he located the matching slippers. This dressed he went to the door recently labeled as Marron's. He managed to knock with confidence and was admitted with a single syllable.
"Hey," he shut the door behind him.
Marron nodded. He was sitting cross-legged on the bed with his notebook across his lap and a pen held loosely in hand. He too had changed for bed, laying aside his jeans in favor of a simple gray sweatsuit. He eyed Gateau somewhat wearily while an awkward pause ensued.
"Something?" Marron finally asked.
"No, not really."
More quiet, gold eyes holding blue, all in ice. Finally the younger turned away.
"Please stop."
"What?"
"Stop looking at me as if you've lost something."
"Huh?"
He laid his book aside and stood, hand finding purchase on the bedpost closest to Gateau. He almost spoke, opened his mouth only to shut it again. Gateau was quiet, waiting, but what he got was not the original, obviously.
"I'm tired. Goodnight Gateau," and with that he was cued to leave.
~*~
They rode the next day out in relative silence, avoiding each other and conversation. This was largely an effort on the part of Marron though Gateau did little to correct it, worrying more over the slip of paper that ate at his mind from the inside of his wallet. A one-eight-hundred number, timed and waiting, results undetermined. It was not until Friday that he managed to corner the other.
Marron was reading in one of the side rooms at the time. Gateau was caught first by striking image as the setting sun leaned through the tall windows to wash over the boy as he tilted his head gently down to take in the words of the page. Delicate hands turned another and Gateau's mind lept to a time passed.
~*~
Marron sat on his friend's porch, his back against the house, waiting for someone. Spring had recently made its appearance and he was enjoying the weather as he breezed through some Spenserian sonnets. Deeply involved with the drama of Astrophil and Stella, he did not hear the approaching footsteps.
Gateau paused to admire the sight. The warming weather meant Marron wearing lighter colors and short sleeves, displaying shapely arms that led fine wrists and hands that the blond knew were extremely talented. With a strange grace, Gateau leant forward on the steps, crouching. He stalked forward on all fours, directly in front of the other. About to pounce, he noticed the smile on Marron's face twitch slightly.
"You saw me," he complained, setting back.
"I'm afraid so, though it was a creative attempt."
"Hm," he lifted the book and sat it aside. Scooting close, he captured one of Marron's pale hands and brought it into his lap. Gently he stroked one finger at a time, admiring. He let one hand slide to Marron's elbow, holding it in place as he lifted the younger boy's fingers to his lips. With a too serious expression he slipped his mouth over his boyfriend's ring finger, using his tongue to tease the delicate skin much as if it were a more interesting part of the other's anatomy. Golden eyes slid closed, pale lips opened slightly to sigh, and Marron's posture relaxed as he leaned against the brick wall.
Abruptly the front door opened. Marron jerked, pulling his hand back and crossing his legs rather suspiciously. Gateau backed off just long enough to note that it was only Marshal leaving. The red haired man gave them only a knowing smile.
"Enjoying the...weather, Mr. Mocha?" and he was quickly gone.
Gateau turned back to Marron with a laugh. The other's face was flushed with embarrassment and something on the verge of fear.
"Hey," he blond smiled, placing a hand on Marron's knee which was instantly removed from his reach. "Come on, he's not gonna be back for a while."
Ever shy and at that point still keeping their relationship from his older brother, Marron refused to relax. Though he was disappointed, Gateau rationalized that there was no use pushing the boy.
"Okay, okay. You read your book and I'll sit here and watch. I am allowed to watch, aren't I?"
Marron tilted his head to the side like a curious animal contemplating the danger of a bit of food.
"Can you just watch?"
"Sure, sure," he stretched, sliding back against the wall to look over Marron's shoulder as he reopened the book. "You got no trust."
"Should I have?"
~*~
Should he? Gateau silently asked Marron as he watched from the doorway. Could Marron trust him, a man who invited him in and then yelled at him, raised a hand against him, stayed silent with him though there was so much to say?
"I'm sorry," he blurted. Marron looked up at him for the first time, and the weight in his eyes fell heavily on Gateau, crushing his attempt in sorrow that he could not match. "What can I do?"
Gateau heard the desperation in his own voice, felt it in his stomach, at the corners of his eyes. Surely he would have retreated if not for the subtle shift in the man before him. Marron's eyes softened, he softened, seemed to fall back into the couch as he sat aside his book and tapped the cushion beside him.
Hesitantly, Gateau took a seat on the opposite end of the couch as silence reigned in the room. There was a moment of indecision as Marron looked at him, questioned him, judged him. And when he didn't run, the dark haired man scooted close, lifted his feet onto the couch, and gently laid his head in Gateau lap.
~*~
It being Friday night, Gateau decided to let Marron in on his normal plans—eating pizza in front of the television. After a little good natured arguing over toppings, they settled on the floor by the coffee table to await their dinner’s arrival.
Gateau rejoiced in the new atmosphere of calm; it fed his hope of complete reconciliation. So it was with a smile that he popped the tab on a beer and pressed play on the DVD remote. Marron brought a coke from the kitchen, setting it down on the table just as the doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it,” he spoke softly. Gateau leaned to the side to pull his wallet from his back pocket and handed it over.
Marron pulled open the heavy door to reveal the scrawny delivery boy that stood outside. Lifting the red, insulated box, he pulled out the pizza and proffered it. Setting it on the table, Marron opened Gateau wallet and pulled out a twenty. As he removed the bill, a small slip of white paper fell to the floor. He reached down and retrieved it. Glancing over the information he closed his eyes, barely able to tell the delivery boy to keep the change.
Quietly he pocketed the paper slip, picked up the box, and carried it into the living room. Now adjusted to the nearly silent nights, Gateau did not notice the quiet contemplation that caused Marron to miss the plot of the movie, nor the fact that for the first time he admitted to being tired and went to bed early.
~*~
Rushing, Gateau pulled on his suit jacket and tightened his tie as he rushed through the hall. Marshal proffered a piece of toast on a tray and he managed to shove it into his mouth before snatching his briefcase from the table and running out the door. Being late always frazzled him, especially when everyone was waiting. His whole day was going to be off, and that was the least of his worries.
~*~
It had been a fitful night for Marron; he didn't manage to pull himself from bed until well after Gateau had made his exit. Lethargically he made his own descent of the stairs, dressed still in the white cotton robe he wore over his nightclothes. Marshall was washing dishes in the kitchen when he went to the refrigerator.
"You slept in this morning," he gave a little smile, leaning over the sink with his uniform sleeves pushed up over his elbows, sharp face lit by the early afternoon light that streamed through the windows. His shoulder-length red hair was tied at his neck and his thin-framed glasses set carefully on the counter beside him.
"Yes," Marron answered, opening the door to the refrigerator and pulling out a glass pitcher of apple juice. He removed a glass from the cabinet and poured it half full then replaced the picture.
"Do you want me to fix you something?"
Marron shook his head to the negative, coming to stand near the windows. Sipping his juice he looked outside. Multicolored leaves swirled in the morning air, covering the ground that had been raked the day before. The thought of winter brought to surface the melancholy waves that had been lurking since his discovery the night before.
Five o'clock.
Six hours until he would know his friend’s sentence, delivered by his own hand. The slip of paper lay in his pocket, waiting. Setting his glass, still nearly full, in the pile of dishes yet to be washed, Marron went to fetch his notebook and perhaps distract himself just long enough.
~*~
The meeting ran long, as ones held on Saturday usually did. It was the only day where the majority of the board wasn't out of town or overseas or absorbed in their own projects. Now his staff debated the problem of decreased demand that /might/ have an effect in the years to come, /if/ market trends continued, and they /possibly/ didn't adapt to new technology. Gateau sat at the head of the long table, elbows laid on the dark wood surface and hands one atop the other, looking for the world as if he was paying attention and not checking his watch every thirty seconds.
When two of the board members were reduced to insulting each other's departments like petty children, he coughed tactically and put an end to the entire discussion.
"Sal, you can have your updates, contact Tech in the morning to determine the cost and have the numbers to me on Monday. Brenda, it won't come from your budget."
"No offense, sir, but where will it come from?" the woman asked, tapping her pen nervously on the pad in front of her.
Gateau ran a hand over his hair, "Didn't labs three and four come off with a surplus on that, uh—"
"Sarson Project."
"Yes. So take that, and what it doesn't cover cut from T and D," he was already standing and shuffling his notes into a pile.
"But sir!" a man at the other side of the table stood, indignant.
"Deal with it Chris. I don't have time for this today," and with that he stepped from the table and left the room.
Stopping quickly by his office, Gateau loaded his briefcase. Pulling out his wallet, he went to check the time, yet again, that the results would be ready, only to find the paper missing. Two and two came together rather quickly and he took one more worried glance at the clock—four forty-seven—before calling to have his car brought around, /quick/.
~*~
Reduced to pacing in front of the phone, Marron walked back and forth across Gateau’s study. The forest green walls and brass accents seemed to create a paradox to his bathrobe and mussed hair. Ever neat, Marron himself felt odd, but the worry overcame anything else. Earlier it had been butterflies, now he felt almost positive that if he gave himself half a chance he was definitely going to be sick. Taking a seat on the edge of Gateau’s desk, he placed a hand to his mouth and tried very hard to remain calm.
~*~
Gateau swore at the traffic light, grabbing his cell and dialing the number for home. It was busy.
“Shit!” he hit the steering wheel, ignoring the angry honks of other drivers as he made a sharp left into the far lane. With some creative maneuvers he was in front of his house within minutes. Leaving the keys in the car and the front door wide open, he called out for Marron. Receiving no answer from the front hall, he began his search.
“Marron?” he took the stairs two at a time, spurred on by a soft noise from the end of the hall. “Marron.”
The study. He hit the door at a run and had to sop short to avoid tripping over the boy he found there.
The phone lay off the hook, the paper beside it. Marron sat on the floor as he had fallen, legs folded beneath him, hands between them, shoulders hunched and head bowed as he shook with quiet sobs.
“Marron...” Gateau dropped in front of him, gathering the younger man up in his arms and holding him tight. “Please,” he begged, pressing his face against the raven hair, “please don’t cry.”
~tbc~
Notes: Oh, oh look what I’ve done! How terrible... Opinions? Anyone still here? Please review!