Date: Wed, 12 Sep 2001 19:54:55 +0100 (BST)
From: writing@vacant.co.uk
Subject: Finding a Belief #8 {} { MM Celebrity Boy-Bands } [8!8]

WARNING: This story contains relationships between adults
of the same sex. If you are too young or if this isn't your thing,
then don't read.

DISCLAIMER: This story is FICTION, which means it really isn't
true. It doesn't imply anything about the sexuality of Nick Carter,
or any other Backstreet Boy, nor does it imply that their characters
and/or behaviour are as portrayed.

Welcome to the final part. I hope it's okay, but I wrote it in so many
different bits, that it may come out a bit disjointed. Sorry if it's too
noticeable! As ever, if you have any opinions on this, or the whole thing,
e-mail me at: writing@vacant.co.uk
(the address in the earlier chapters still works).

Chapter VIII:

	Two lumbering, grey, washed out days elapsed. The
sunshine managed to peek through here and there, but it was cold
and watery, and unwilling to warm, and rather than improving
matters it seemed merely to cast a ghostly pall over everything. The
world that was huddled beneath umbrellas which blotted out any
inkling of the sky failed to register its appearance, and so it went
away again. The gloom pressed upon all but the one place, at which
surprised oil-lamps that had been consigned to storage by parents
resigned to a daughter's rejection of tradition were placed at the
corners of the gate-posts, and on either side of the steps, in the
windows, and in every conceivable nook. The house was a bustle of
activity. Yesterday, the servants had come in extra early to dust
everything and sweep the floors, make sure everything was in the
right state for visitors. The household woke early, if not before dawn,
then with the muezzin calling from the mosque, and the kitchen
suddenly became constantly and consistently occupied, and
wonderful smells dependent on the time of day would travel through
the house: sweet and sugary in the morning, warm and spicy in the
afternoon and evening. People came and went, running errands,
fetching supplies from the grocer or the clothier, or bringing food
and saris and gifts, laughing and joking and chatting. Relatives in
hordes descended with a vengeance, each with their own well-
meaning ideas about expediting the processes, but in fact only ending
up gossiping to each other in the corridors. Their children became
ubiquitous, appearing suddenly at the elbows of the grown-ups to
receive sweets, and then disappearing just as quickly, while the
grown-ups would laugh fondly and continue with their banter-filled
conversations.

And all because she had done the unthinkable.
All because Padma was getting married.

	The dimness lifted slowly in the room, the ashen light
revealing the outlines of the furniture. Little by little, the outlines
were filled in and anaemic colours surfaced, and the shapes of things
became clearer and more defined. Two naked bodies lay on the bed,
in a tangle with the sheets and each other. The cold wind blew
through the window neglectfully left open since last night, arousing
goose-pimples on the bare flesh, and stiffening nipples. The warm
haze of the night they had just passed had faded into the still
dreariness of the morning, and the alcohol had left them with a
clinging, clothy taste in their mouths.
	The chill became too much for Nick to easily suffer in sleep,
and he rubbed his eyes open, his vision attempting to grasp the
surroundings. He shivered, and snuggled closer to Alex, trying to
pick up any warmth there and so go back to sleep, but there was no
help. He sighed, and ran a finger over Alex's back, over the
mouldings of his shoulder-blades, down the bumps of his spine. It
was their last day together, for the Boys' flight left early the next
morning, and both of them had been dreading it. Into the two days
they had just undergone, they had tried to ram what they could,
trying to make each activity as important possible, even though it was
no use: each little thing was overlaid by a despairing finish of
hopelessness, something knocking around in the back of both their
brains, reminding them that time was marking out the hours. Nick
pushed himself upright and sat on the edge of the bed, head in his
hands, wanting to cry, but somehow he couldn't, because there was
an awful buzzing in his head, a pressure, that wasn't strong enough
to explode nor weak enough to ignore.
	A tap at the door, so faint as to pass almost unnoticed. Nick
ran his hands back through his hair, and leant his head out of the
door. Howie and Brian, come for breakfast, he supposed..
	"Can you guys wait a minute? I'll just get dressed." He shut
the door quietly, and reached around for his clothes. Dressed, he
crossed to the door, but before opening it, he turned to regard the
sleeping figure on the bed, and went back to rearrange the sheets
over Alex. This done, he stepped out into the corridor.
	"Are we going for breakfast? You guys are up kind of early."
he said softly. Nick hated being loud in the mornings -- he didn't
mind the mornings certainly, 'cause he didn't get as grumpy as he'd
seen AJ (who was definitely not a morning person), but he didn't like
to disturb the tranquillity with unnecessary noise.
	"Yeah, if that's okay," said Brian. "We're up early. . . well, I'll
explain when we're sitting down." They went down in the lift to the
restaurant which did a buffet breakfast, and having got their food,
they sat. Nick broke apart a croissant and spread a little jam on one.
Howie and Brian seemed to be deciding which of them would speak.
	"So, you guys got up early because. . .?" prompted Nick.
	"I'm up anyway at this time," said Howie helpfully.
	"Yeah, but Rok's never."
	There was a pause. The sound of cutlery rang from the
kitchen.
	"Well." Howie stirred his coffee. "I fetched the mail, like I
always do, and there were these." He produced an envelope, cream
and slightly crumpled, from his pocket. "We all got one. This is
yours."
	"What is it?" asked Nick, taking it and looking at it
dubiously. It was plain and unadorned, apart from his name. "Hand-
delivered?"
	Howie nodded. "Open it."
	Putting down his croissant, Nick used his knife to slit open
the envelope. Brian remained silent, watching Nick. He murmured
the contents to himself as he read. ". . .Hari and Sanjana Mehta are
pleased to announce the joyful engagement of Mr Kiran Vadgama
Narayan to their beloved daughter. . . Padma -- she's getting
*married*?"
	"Mm-hm. Read on."
	". . . the house will be open to visitors to celebrate the sagaii
on the 20th and the 21st of this month -- wait. Isn't today the
nineteenth?"
	"No. That was yesterday."
	"It's today?!"
	"Yeah."
	"What's a. . . sagaii?"
	"We asked the lady at reception. It's the fixing of the
engagement; sometimes they'll set the date of the wedding there too."
	"Are we going?" asked Nick.
	"That's not all," said Howie.
	"What?"
	"These letters were delivered to each of us."
	"So?"
	Howie was reluctant to say any more, so Brian stepped in.
	"Except Alex."
	"What?"
	"We checked and double-checked, but Reception seemed
adamant that it wasn't here."
	Howie re-entered the conversation. "You don't remember
his having received an invitation, do you?"
	Nick thought for a moment. "No -- besides, it's a big enough
thing that I would have noticed from his reaction. . . No, almost
definitely, he didn't get one separately. When were these delivered?"
	"Sometime yesterday morning -- we only check the mail each
morning, so we must have just missed it."
	"Yesterday morning -- that would give him enough time to
make sure with his folks for any mail that would have come for him
back home," Nick thought out loud.
	"Which means. . ." said Howie, and became unwilling to say
more again.
	"Which means," picked up Brian, "that for whatever reason,
Padma doesn't want him to come."

	There was a tap at the open door, and Padma's mother rose
to greet whoever was here. A tall, handsome man with strong-boned
features stood in a suit on the threshold. He was white, which
surprised her slightly -- she didn't know why, she knew that Padma
worked at the embassy and would have contact with plenty of
foreign men, but he wasn't either of the two she knew, Dan or Alex.
	The man put his palms together in greeting. "Namaste-ji," he
said in an accent that was more natural than she expected. He
switched to English. "Today is Padma's sagaii, isn't it?"
	She didn't know which language to respond in. "Ji, aaie," she
said, beckoning him in. She was about to ask who he was, but her
name was called from somewhere at the back of the house, most
probably the kitchen.
	"Haa'n, hu'n aau'n chhu'n!" She looked at the man. "I think I
have some things to which I have to attend, but I'll see if I can find
her. Please, bes-jo," she said, indicating a seat. She went down the
corridor, her sari rustling around her. He sat, and in a few moments,
Padma herself appeared, walking carefully, adorned with all sorts of
heavy, but intricately wrought jewellery. Her eyes widened when she
saw who sat there.
	"Kevin?"
	"Hi Padma," he said quietly. "I got the invitation."
	She said nothing. He sighed. "Padma, is there somewhere we
can go talk?"
	Padma pondered if this was wise, the small risk she would
take in talking to him while her fiance was *in the house*, and in the
end decided it was worth it. She became amenable. "Of course.
Come." She led him into a small room off the main corridor, and sat
him down on the bed; she, however, stayed standing. He didn't say
anything for a while, trying in his head to sort out what he wanted to
say. She was content with looking out of the window.
	"Isn't this a little sudden?"
	Her expression became a little harsher. "Sometimes it
happens that way."
	"Here."
	She had to concede that one, inclining her head.
	"Do you love him?"
	"I beg your pardon?" she said, a little shocked. She still
thought that she didn't know him that well at all, regardless of having
spent a night together, and that this was completely impertinent.
	"I said, do you love him?"
	The sheer nerve of it, she thought. How dare he? "What
business is it of yours?"
	"It's my business because, believe it or not. . ." he began
sharply, then paused, unwilling to finish.
	"What?"
	He exhaled, and continued in a much softer tone. "Because I
care. There." He looked almost ashamed when he said this.
	"What?"
	"I care about you, Padma. You may not think it, you may
still regard me as some piece of trash on the street, but however you
deny it, we shared something that night --" Padma opened her mouth
to say something; he noticed, and raised his hands, forestalling her.
"Let me finish. It wasn't lust, and it certainly wasn't love, but still we
shared something, and so I care. Is that so bad? I'm sorry if it is."
	Padma smiled, in spite of herself. He was one of the good
guys after all. "Thank you," she said simply. Besides, she couldn't
think of what else to say.
	He paused, as if gathering his breath for another stream of
verbiage. "Are. . ." He didn't know how to put this. "You're not. . ."
	"Pick one," she suggested.
	"You're-not-doing-this-because-of-me?" The words came
out all in a rush, and he looked embarrassed.
	Padma smiled again, and knelt down and put a hand on his
knee. "No, I'm not. You can rest easy."
	"It wasn't just for my peace of mind --"
	"No. I know. I was just teasing."
	"But you don't love him?"
	She laughed a little bitterly. "Love?" The thought of a very
similar conversation just days back entered her mind. "No. I don't."
	"But --"
	"I can't explain."
	He looked at his shoes. "Well. I can't say I understand or
anything, but I hope you're happy, okay?" He rose from the bed.
"Maybe we'll keep in touch. Who knows? But I'll leave that up to
you. I know I at least would like to see you again."
	Padma blushed, as they walked towards the door. When they
stepped outside, she could feel the curious, questioning gazes of the
others on her neck, but she ignored it. They went outside into the
yard, where Kevin stopped and looked at her for the last time.
	"You're a wonderful lady, Padma."
	She smiled and he knew she had understood. Stepping forward,
she hugged him, briefly, and looking in his eyes, sadly smiled a
goodbye. When he left, she stood there for a while, looking after
him, eyes filling with inexplicable tears.

	Nick had been silent for a while now. God, he really didn't
need this today. All he had wanted was to spend the remaining time
quietly, with Alex, and not have to deal with singing, or the others, or
any crises.
	"What are we going to do?" asked Howie.
	"Did you say we were going?"
	"I think we are."
	"When?" asked Nick.
	"Around nine-ish. I dunno what's involved, so I dunno how
long we'll be staying there."
	"I'm going to go now. Chances are I'll probably still be there
by the time you guys turn up." Nick didn't know what he was going
to do there, but for some reason his going early seemed to make
sense.
	"Okay. I guess we'll see you there then," said Howie as Nick
rose from the table. He and Brian watched Nick leave in a moment
of silence. "Is he going to be okay?" he asked of Brian.
	"He'll have to be, D."
	"I think maybe we'll just be as unobtrusive as possible
tomorrow, leave him to get on with it."
	"You don't think he'll want to talk about it?"
	"...no..." said Howie slowly.

	Nick walked up to the open front door and tapped. A
middle-aged woman who was bustling around bearing trays, stopped
to turn to regard him. He shifted uncomfortably under her gaze.
"Hi," he mumbled. "Is Padma in?"
	"Ji. I'll just bring her. Please come in."
	Nick did so, feeling even more ill-at-ease when he noticed
the front of the house was filled with adults who all looked at him
with unabashed curiosity. Even a pair of children hid behind a door-
frame, who peeked out, giggled, and scuttled away further inward.
Soon, Padma swished out, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
	"Nick? Did you come alone?"
	"Uh... yeah. Listen --"
	"Are the others not coming?"
	"Can we go somewhere to talk?"
	Second time today, thought Padma. She might as well
preserve continuity and lead him to the same room in which she
talked to Kevin. When the doors were securely closed, he sat down
uneasily on the bed, while she began taking saris that were draped on
the bench to fold so they could be put away in the cupboard. He
watched this activity for a while. Somewhere he wondered how
something so long could be manageably folded by just one person.
	Finally she glanced at him for a moment, in between quarter-
folds of sari. "So, how are you?"
	"What? Oh, I'm fine." He paused, feeling that this wasn't
really enough, and added lamely, "you?"
	She smiled wryly. "Life goes on."
	Nick could tell that there were volumes behind that
statement, but didn't know where to begin in unearthing them. His
head dropped into his hands, his pale fingers intermingling with his
blond hair. Padma watched him, concerned. "Are you okay?"
	He looked up at her with a gaze of mild desperation. "No,"
he honestly admitted. "I'm going tomorrow morning. It's becoming
too difficult to leave."
	Padma's expression became fixed. She continued to fold,
mechanically going through the motions.
	"Still, Alex will be okay. You'll be around to keep him calm."
	A muscle in Padma's cheek twitched.
	Silence.
	There was a clatter of plates from the kitchen.
	Silence.
	Then, in a whisper:
	"No."
	It was barely enough to be heard. So barely, that Nick wasn't
at all sure he'd heard right. "What?"
	When Padma didn't answer, he knew he had. "Why?" In
response, Padma lifted another sari off the bench, and set about
organizing it. Nick tried another approach. "Because you can't?" A
little harsher: "Or because you won't?"
	Padma caught the hardness in his tone and matched it.
"Both. Either."
	"But he'll be alone!"
	"And I?"
	"You're getting married." Nick's voice became chilly.
	Almost to herself, Padma said, "And yet I'll still be alone."
	Nick caught it. "What?"
	"Nothing."
	"Fuck, how can you be so callous?" He turned away from
her, disgusted. "Jesus."
	A look of sheer disbelieving pain flitted over Padma's
features. Because I have to be. Because if I don't, I'll end up in a
worse state than I care imagine. Because I love him. The mask
reasserted itself. "You wouldn't understand."
	"There's no real reason, is there? You're just being spiteful.
You're jealous of me spending time with him," Nick spat, an ugly
look crossing his features.
	Jealous. Padma contemplated this for a second. "What do
you want, Nick? What do you want me to say? Do you want me just
to sit here and listen to you abusing me, and taking it? Or shall I go
and get Alex in and have the pair of you insult me?"
	"Well, not much chance of that, since you didn't invite him
to your wedding," muttered Nick.
	Padma said nothing.
	"Well? Why didn't you?"
	Padma took a deep breath. "I don't have to explain myself to
you."
	"You damn well do. Who's going to have to sort things out
when he finds out he's the only one who wouldn't be coming?"
	"Go home Nick," said Padma coldly. She began to tremble
slightly.
	"No. Not till you tell me why."
	Padma whirled away from him, unable to countenance his
accusatory stare. She could feel writhing of trapped, frustrated
emotion flailing around inside her, like a caged dragon, lashing its tail
at her insides.
	Nick lost patience. He felt like he was banging his head
against a brick wall. He got up off of the bed. "Tell me, dammit!"
His voice rose dangerously.
	Padma shuddered, wondering what the people outside
would be making of this. "Get out!" she shouted back.
	"You can't just mess him around like this!"
	In reply, she drew dangerously close to him, and for one
insane moment Nick thought she was going to produce a knife from
somewhere. But it wasn't rage that was burning in her eyes. "Fuck
you," she said simply, turning her nose up at him, and beginning to
turn away from him. He snatched her forearms in a vice grip, and
stayed her where she was. "Let go of me."
	"Tell me," hissed Nick.
	"No! Let --" she twisted in his clutch -- "go!"
	"Tell me." His voice was low, insistent, and she felt the
secret battering at her trying to break its way out from within.
	"No," she said, but her voice shook.
	"Tell me," he asked more quietly, but just as firm.
	"No," she said, and this time it was more like a whimper.
	"Tell me?"

	It was the unexpected courtesy of a question that stunned
her into breaking. Everything piled up at once and snapped her: the
impossibility of her situation, the stress of having to hide it, to lie to
those dear to her, the effects of the argument she'd just had; it was all
these combined that bested her. And so even as she collapsed
sobbing into his arms, the word he least expected fell from his lips.

	"You."

	For a moment, he didn't understand. How was he the
reason? He -- and it clicked. The reason why Padma couldn't bear to
be around Alex any more. "You," she repeated in a gasp. "You. . .
fucking. . . got in the way. . ." She couldn't say any more and turned
away from him, her long dark hair flying round in an echo of her
action.
	"You're in love with him," breathed Nick.
	Padma laughed bitterly. "Love? That's what you call it.
That's what you call what's brought me no joy."
	If Nick was confused before he came to see her, he sure as
hell didn't understand now. "But -- but you're getting married?"
	"Why does everyone keep asking me that?"
	"But you can't get married just to escape your feelings for
someon else, you just can't. Marriage doesn't work that way -- it'll
fail," Nick warned.
	"Why? Who says that we won't work harder than ever to
make it work? Who says we can't be happy? Maybe it won't be the
most passionate marriage in the world, but if we're happy, who are
you to tell me I can't marry Kiran if I don't love him? Maybe I'll learn
to love him."
	"But Alex --"
	Padma paused. "I shouldn't have let myself be so deluded as
to imagine that he would ever love me back. I didn't want to fall in
love with him, god knows I didn't ask for it to happen."
	Nick was properly concerned now. "That's it then? You're
leaving?"
	"Yes -- as soon as I'm married, we're going to go live
somewhere else. I'll have to leave my job, of course, but --"
	"What about Dan?"
	"What?"
	"Does he know?"
	"Of course he knows." Padma paused. "He's not happy, but
it's my life, and he knows that."
	Nick regarded her with an odd mixture of sympathy and
anger. "You've changed," he said.
	Padma regarded him coolly. "How so?"
	"You've become different -- I don't know -- more
determined, colder -- just different."
	"Well, sleeping with someone, having them" -- Padma made
a face -- "deflower you, and then realizing you're in love with your
best friend will do that to you. Get over it." She couldn't deal with
this anymore. She stepped to the window and glared out at the hazy
sky savagely.
	"I -- Kevin took -- you were a virgin?" Nick couldn't cope,
there was too much information here, he didn't know where to start
with it all.
	"Look," said Padma. "All this is irrelevant now." She smiled
darkly to herself. The past week of her life dismissed as an
irrelevance. But in a way it was, for nothing of your old life really
mattered when you were married. "Are you going to tell Alex?"
	"What?" Nick hadn't even thought about this. "About
what?"
	"About the wedding."
	Nick honestly didn't know.

	He left as the others were just arriving, and he left in a rush,
almost knocking over AJ. Padma watched him go, and then, putting
on a smile, turned her attention to the newcomers.

	Alex looked up at Nick from the bed with a sad smile.
"You're back."
	"Mm-hm," said Nick, kicking off his shoes and kneeling
prayer-style on the floor, elbows on the bed next to Alex's prone
form.
	"I couldn't face getting up. Is it still bad outside?"
	"No, it's gotten a little better."
	There was a terrible silence in which Nick contemplated
telling Alex about Padma and Alex wondered if this was what they
had come to, talking about the weather. With his fingers, Nick
stroked Alex's flank exposed from the sheets, which were in a tangle
again. Alex was nothing if not a messy sleeper.
	Alex stirred a little. "You're not saying much."
	"No. I can't quite find the words somehow."
	"Yeah."
	There was a pause.
	"I love you Nick."
	"I know." Nick slid his finger up to Alex's chest, tracing
feather-light patterns there. "I wish. . ."
	"What?" asked Alex, when he realized Nick wasn't going to
say anymore, but he wasn't answered. Nick rose, and stripped in
front of him, making Alex tent the sheets slightly.
	"I'm coming back to bed. It's only a quarter past-nine." He
stepped towards the bed.
	"Wait," said Alex.
	"What?"
	Alex looked at the youth standing across from him, drinking
him in. "You're beautiful."
	Nick blushed, and couldn't find the words to say. "Alex. . ."
	"Don't." Alex got up to stand naked on the bed, holding a
sheet by his side, covering nothing with it, and looking for all the
world like the statue of a Greek god. Nick felt his cock twitch, and
slowly begin to throb into life. Alex stepped down, and paced
gracefully towards him until they were toe-to-toe, cock-to-cock, nose-
to-nose. And then more. Alex began skimming his foot up and down
Nick's shin, Nick pushed forward, so their hardness mashed together
in a heady mix of pleasure and pain as their mouths locked in
passion.

	They passed much of the day in sleep and love-making, and
lying exhausted in between, replete in each other, making odd
conversation of the little things that entered each's minds, until
finally as a cloud-induced early darkness fell thick, Nick glanced up
at the quiescent Alex to say, "Sleep, get some rest. I'll start packing."
	"But you'll need to sleep too," protested Alex feebly through
a yawn.
	"I'll sleep on the plane. Ssh now, let me pack."
	But Alex had already fallen asleep.

	It was at around two-thirty in the morning that Alex felt
himself being shaken gently awake. He opened his eyes to find deep
blue staring back down at him, then, as Nick saw him to be awake,
receding.
	"What time is it?" he whispered into the stillness.
	"Two-thirty. We're leaving the hotel at three," Nick's voice
was soft and fragile, carefully constructed, like a house of cards. He
continued to pack, slowly and quietly. Unseen, he slipped the
envelope into his pocket.
	"Haven't you finished yet?" Alex was afraid it sounded too
harsh, too condemnatory for the silent background.
	"No, I didn't do much while you slept. I went to see the
others, and I came back and did nothing for a while." Nick didn't
feel much like talking either.
	"I'll get ready," Alex said to himself. Soon the room was
filled with mute activity as Alex showered and dressed, and Nick
completed what he had to do.

	It was a little before three that the knock came on the door.
It was Kevin. "You ready?" he asked of Nick, who nodded. "Alex,
you coming?"
	"If that's okay."
	Kevin nodded, and withdrew. Nick took a last look around
the hotel-room, and an absurd tear came to his eye, which he quickly
blinked away. He couldn't look at Alex.

	They reached the airport after a silent drive. Everyone had
either not gone to bed, or gotten up early. Either way, they were all
tired. The bags were taken by their porters, except Alex's, and they
marched, hushed into the airport. All Nick could hear was a tick-tock
becoming maddeningly louder in the back of he brain, and he sat in
the departure lounge counting the seconds with it, until in the end,
their flight was called. Nine-hundred and eighty-two.
	It wasn't enough.

	The rest said their goodbye's to Alex, who forced smiles, and
shook hands, and even returned a hug (Howie). At last he and Nick
faced each other. Nick took the envelope out of his pocket. Long
had he debated whether to tell Alex, and as time ran out, there were
less suitable moments in which to broach the subject.
	Until now, when there were none.
	"Will you do me a favour? Read this when I'm gone. It's
important."
	Alex took the envelope and nodded. All that was written on
it in Nick's neat hand, was his name.
	Nick pulled Alex to him, and embraced him with a swift
hug. "You take care now."
	"I will."
	They stared at each other for a moment, so close, but
suddenly miles apart.
	"Alex. . ." began Nick.
	"I know."
	Nick nodded and smiled unhappily.
	He turned to leave.