Date: Fri, 19 Jan 2001 09:14:32 -0600
From: Silent Kid <silentkid@angelfire.com>
Subject: Affirmation 19

Hi everyone,

Well, here it is.  I know it's been a long time in coming.  Thanks to all
of you who gave me that extra push to finish another chapter.  I tend to
let it slide if I don't get a reminder now and then.

Please see notes at the end.

Hope you like it. :)

Am


Affirmation 19

Disclaimer: Usual disclaimers apply. Fiction.  Gay content.  Not for minors
or others for him reading would be illegal.  Does not reflect the actual
lives of Savage Garden, Robbie Williams, Boyzone, or 5ive.

-

Darren curled against the headboard in his borrowed bed, reading his
tattered copy of The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe.  He was so
engrossed in the story, he didn't hear Daniel come in the room.  Even when
he felt him next to him, he didn't look up. Things had been quiet the last
few days, since Stephen and Shane had jetted back to London, Stephen to a
long overdue reconciliation with Ronan, and Shane to make sure that Stephen
wasn't hurt again, though he denied that was the reason, saying that he
needed to get back to his wife, which still didn't explain why he was going
to London rather than Derry or wherever he lived.  Darren couldn't
remember.  His head was swimming from all that happened, which basically
amounted to a whole lot of nothing.  He remembered Stephen bouncing around
in his bliss that could only be described as marital, and Shane gifting him
with a copy of Car & Driver which Daniel promptly requisitioned, and the
long, low talks between Shane and Daniel as Darren lay sleeping on Dan's
lap that night in front of the TV.  He didn't remember what was said, but
he liked the gentle rumble of their voices and if he hadn't been so
preoccupied with himself or with Robbie's unknown whereabouts or state of
being, he might have noticed that they were rather subdued when they said
goodbye at the airport, and he half expected Shane to stay so they could
keep on talking about cars and other manly things, but eventually Shane
followed Stephen onto the plane with a grin and a wave carelessly offered
over his departing shoulder.  Darren shook his head now, noticing for the
first time that Daniel was in the room with him.  Daniel sat quietly on the
bed's edge, his head bowed.  He seemed to be trying to figure out what to
say.  His hands squeezed a rolled up newspaper.

"Daniel?" Darren asked tentatively, laying the book aside.

"I think I know why you haven't heard anything from Robbie."

"Why?" Darren sat up quickly.

Daniel tossed the newspapers down in front of him.  Not one, but four.

"What's this?" Darren asked, almost scared to touch them.

"Just read them," Daniel mumbled.  He stood to go.  Then, as if an after
thought, I'm sorry, Darren.  I'll be downstairs when you're done."

Darren flipped through headline after headline about drunken escapades,
public nudity, one night stands with names forgotten before they were
remembered.  He lingered over an account that claimed he'd woken up groggy
and incoherent to find his sheets torn and lipstick writing on the wall.
According to the "source", Robbie couldn't even remember what she looked
like.

Darren threw the papers down in disgust.  The pages fluttered away in a
frustratingly unsatisfying whoosh.  Darren glared at them.  Then he dropped
his head into his hands and silently started to cry.  One thought in his
head--if I'd been there....  In a second Daniel was there with him.  He
hadn't gone downstairs at all.  He'd probably had his ear pressed to the
door the whole time, waiting.  He wrapped his arms around him.  Darren
squeezed back and settled his head on his friend's chest.  Daniel rubbed
his back and rocked him gently.  When the tears stopped, Daniel put
something into his hand.  Darren pulled back slightly.

"What's this?" He stared down at the Quantas envelope.

"I thought you'd want to go to him."

"I do," Darren whispered.

"The plane leaves tonight."

"I don't know if I can do this on my own, Daniel."  He glanced up at him,
eyes wide and pleading, still shimmering.

Daniel reached out a slender arm and gently touched Darren^Rs chin.  "Who
said you were?"

Darren' s eyes widened.  "You mean you..."

Daniel opened the envelope revealing two tickets.  "We leave at 6."

"But how will we find him?"

"Stephen and Shane are already there.  They'll find him."  He squeezed
Darren's shoulder.  "Don't worry, mate.  It'll be alright."

"Thanks, Dan," Darren choked.

Daniel shrugged.  "Anything for you, Darren."  He sounded almost sad, and
Darren glanced up at him to be sure, but couldn't tell anything from his
expression beyond his present concern.  Daniel lifted himself off the bed.
"I should pack."

"I love you, Dan." Darren said.

Daniel smiled smugly.  "You should."  With that he left, narrowly missing
the pillow Darren hurled at him.

Twenty six hours later Darren stood in front of an incongruous brownstone
in West London squinting at a scrap of paper in his hand.  "You're sure
this is it?"

Daniel nodded.  "Positive."

Darren gazed up at the building.  "I don't understand why he doesn't just
go home.  He lives a mile away.  That's what Stephen said, anyway."

Daniel shrugged.  "Maybe he doesn't want to be found."

"Oh, great, and here we are!" Darren mocked, trying to take the edge off
his nerves.

"Do you want me to go with you?" Daniel asked.  Darren looked down the
street.  Three doors down a little girl in a pink jumper stared at him.  He
shook his head.

"No.  He wouldn't like that."  He paused.

"Go on, then," Daniel said, gently nudging him.  Darren nodded.  He trudged
up the sidewalk.  He stood before Robbie's door.  His hand frozen in a
fist.  He shook his head violently, vainly.  This wasn't the time to think
of past mistakes or feelings or stupidity.  Just knock and get on with it.
But he was stopped. Scared.  He looked back.  Daniel was gone, disappeared
into a coffee shop, no doubt.  He took a deep breath and knocked once.
Twice.

Nothing.  He jiggled the knob.  To his surprise, the door swung open.
Darren stepped in cautiously, wanting to call out to his wayward friend,
but the words caught in his throat and he proceeded in silence.  The ground
floor was spotless, eerily so, as if no one had ever touched it.  He half
expected to find the clocks had stopped, marking out Miss Havisham's
abandonment under her lost bridegroom.  But the deep tolling of one quickly
debunked this romanticized theory, and he climbed the creaking stairs
slowly, resisting the urge to take them two at a time, partly because he
wasn't sure he wanted to see what lay ahead, and partly because he was
scared of falling in this empty house.

Upstairs it was more of the same, ghostly, and Darren had nearly decided
that he'd found the wrong home and had better leave before the owners
returned and charged him with breaking and entering when he stumbled into a
bedroom which could only be Robbie's.  As he stood in the doorway and took
in the chaos, the words from the articles Daniel had given him tumbled back
and he knew they were all true.

The far wall was covered in faded red scribbles.  Darren could see Robbie
on his knees the morning after, trying to scrub away the remnants of this
woman he couldn't remember.  He felt his desolation when the stain wouldn't
be removed, just buffered a little so the words and numbers couldn't be
read, like a hazy memory lingering without detail or clarity to bring
anything but unrest to the calmest mind.

Whiskey and Vodka bottles were strewn across the floor, sometimes in piles
seven deep.  Darren carefully stepped around them as he entered the room.
He pulled the blanket back from the bed and shuddered as a red stain came
into view.  He closed his eyes, whispered, "Please God," and bent to smell
it.  He nearly collapsed in joy.  Cranberry juice.  Of course.  But near
it, crusted whiteness.  Darren pulled the bedclothes back up hastily,
covering the stains.  He wondered if Robbie was drunk before he brought the
girl home.  If he had to be drunk to bring her home, if he would only take
him home after a pint or ten.  Darren pushed the thought out of his head,
or at least into the back of it.  Now wasn't the time.  The Star Wars doll
he'd given him tumbled to the floor as the blanket settled back.  Darren
picked it up, smiling to himself and absently stroked it.  He remembered
how he'd put it to bed in New York to surprise Robbie that day when J had
kissed him in the taxi cab.  Darren kicked himself inwardly.  He should
remember that day because of Robbie's concert, not because of J's backseat
antics.

He glanced at the dresser and stopped short.  There, next to phone, on half
a Chinese take out menu, was his own phone number.  It was barely legible,
obviously written in haste or duress, but still undeniably his.  Darren's
fingers trembled as he stared at it.  Had Robbie tried to call him?  How
did he get the number?  Why didn't he call him at Daniel's?  He'd told
enough people that he was there, even Robbie's mum knew for goodness sakes!

Shaking, Darren grabbed the phone and dialed San Francisco.  He got his
machine and punched in his code.  A string of messages followed--friends,
his mom, a couple fans who'd lucked out and gotten his number from a soon
to be ex-roadie, the credit card company asking if he was planning on
sending a check this century, then, finally, a click.  This was followed by
a giggling woman and someone who sounded like Robbie shouting incoherently.
Darren thought they were talking about love or fucking, but it was too fast
and loud for him to be sure.  He wasn't even positive it was Robbie because
this man sounded nothing like the Robbie he knew.  This man was too happy,
too *on something* to be Robbie.  Just before the click, the woman
shrieked, "he loves you!" which was met with uproarious laughter from
Robbie.  Darren squeezed the doll.  He'd forgotten he was holding it.  He
almost hung up the phone when the next message began.  No woman this time.

"Daz.  It's me.  I just wanted to say I'm sorry.  I don't remember much,
but I think I should say that to you.  I'm...trying to put myself back
together.  I guess you can see that's going well."  He chuckled derisively.
Then, raising his voice into a faux cheerfulness, he chirped, "catch ya
later, Dazboy!"

Darren sat on the floor, the receiver tucked under his chin.

The next message knocked him down further.

"Darren?  I...I can't.  I just.  Please.  I can't...do this.  You don't
know.  I need...  You're the only one who knows.  Help me.  Please.  I
can't.  Help.  Darren?  I'm sorry.  I'm so sorry.  Please.  Darren?
Please.  I need..." The words disappeared into choking sobs which went on
and on.  Darren huddled with the phone, not wanting to hang it up or let
Robbie's voice fade out, willing the message to go on even if it only
brought him heartbreak at the sound of his friend's desolation.  In the
end, though, it did stop, but not until Robbie wailed, as if it were
breaking his heart to admit it, "I need you," and then he was gone.

Darren dropped the phone and curled up where he lie, clutching the doll to
himself.  His body shook, but no tears came.  He was beyond that now.  He
was so far beyond it that he didn't know what to feel or how to react.  All
he knew was that he hadn't been there for his friend.  It was his fault
Robbie had gone off the deep end this time.  Sure, the others had told him
it wasn't, but he knew they were lying.  He could see it in their eyes.  He
lay there for the longest time, just him and the doll and Robbie's words
echoing in his head.  His limbs grew heavy and he was nearly asleep when he
heard creaking.  He shot up.

Someone was here.  On the stairs.  Outside the door.


tbc...


Notes: I've finally got my own fiction site.  It has a few things you've
not seen before, including chapter 20 of Affirmation.  Because of time
constraints and a few other reasons it is highly unlikely that I'll be
posting on Nifty anymore.  Consider it an early Lenten vow.  I hope you
will continue to enjoy the story from my site (www.kumquatboy.com/wannabe)
and keep Affirmation in mind as you vote for the Boyband Awards.  Thanks so
much for all your great support for this story.

Take care,


Amber :)