Title: And Then, Into Life
Author: phobosgirl (phobosgirl@eartlink.net)
Date: 12/12/04 (updated 4-28-05)
Rating: PG-13
Authors notes: This is un-beta’d. Feedback is more than welcome and can be sent to phobosgirl@earthlink.net
Disclaimer: This is only for fun. None of this is real nor should any implication be made based on this manuscript that I have any insider info on either of these two incredibly fine gentlemen.
Warnings: Gale/Randy (queer as folk) RPS
Complete: yes

And Then, Into Life

Looking back now, all these years later, I still wonder from time to time why exactly I hesitated for so long with him. Ask me on any given day and you’ll likely get a different answer today than you will tomorrow.

If you can manage to find anyone who remembers first hand what we started out doing, who we used to be, they would probably tell you that it was the whole straight/gay thing that kept us apart for all those years. They wouldn’t be totally wrong, either. That time carried a lot of confusion for both of us, but the relentless rumors about our supposed off-screen love affair and the constant scrutiny of anyone we tried to date only served to add to our emotional detachment.

There were claims that the heat between us could not be hidden or masked, that it couldn’t possibly be acted. And that’s true, too, to some extent. We were boiling just beneath the surface, even though neither of us discussed it at the time. Discussing things like sexual chemistry has the tendency to make it feel more real, and making something feel more real can actually lead to it being real, and that couldn’t be allowed. We both knew that. We were friends, colleagues, but nothing more- and we maintained that professional line in the sand with rigorous determination.

After all, we had to keep things as straightforward and uncomplicated as possible. What we were required to do on camera every day was damned hard and it took its toll on both of us. If we had been scratching and sniping at each other constantly because we allowed the pressure to break us, working together as intimately as we had to would have become unbearable. Besides, we were actors- artists who knew the meaning of words like “poor” and “unemployed”. Why would we blow a good thing? We were under contract; they had our lives and our futures in their hands and we toed the line, just as we were expected to. It wasn’t all bad, we didn’t hate it. But yeah, it helped keep us apart.

There was also the issue of our careers, both of which were only just beginning. How in the hell can you sustain a healthy, loving relationship when you aren’t even living the majority of your lives together in the same state? We were both workaholics, utterly enamored of our craft and intent on deepening our experience and our talent in our respective disciplines. That took time, more than either of us could have imagined, and it left almost no room for anything else. There are just some things you do in your life that consume you, that suck the air from your lungs and leave you gasping but eager to repeat the experience. Acting is like that, particularly if you’re good- and we were both very good. So there was that obstacle standing in the way of our lives together, as well.

And all those things mattered. But they weren’t the real reason- the one I thought I’d hidden deep down for so long. Turns out, the only one I was really hiding from was myself and though I tried hard not to see it at the time, everyone else knew my dirty little secret: I was afraid of him. Terrified. Of what he did to me. Of how he made me feel. Of how alive I was when I stood near him and how inert I felt when he was somewhere else. He wanted me to believe; he wanted it so badly and he never failed to tell me, when the show was all over; he’d say again and again that he knew we could be happy. I held no such conviction.

I believed in him, oh yes- I always had. His power seemed magical and he could achieve anything he wanted. Hell, he still does, although my own powers faded some time ago. I believed in him, then- in his dreams and his rapt focus and his boundless energy, his open heart and generous spirit and the love he said he felt for me. I believe in him even more, now.

It was me that didn’t gel. I didn’t trust providence and until he’d come along, I didn’t trust people, either. I sure as hell didn’t trust that love could conquer all, and god knows I had a lot to conquer before I could ever see my way clear to having and holding. And his steadfast insistence that he would be there with me to help slay my dragons only made me fear him more. Because I had no doubt that he could. He’d call those fiery wyrms out of their lairs and mow them down one by one. And then where would I be?

It took me a long damned time to figure out that where I’d be was in a life I could cherish and respect. A life with him. It’s remarkable how recklessly we cleave to the devils in our nature when angels dance just within reach.

Hearing him shift in slumber behind me, I turn my gaze from the view of the mountains and take in our spacious bedroom. His sleeping form is almost indistinguishable from the mounds of blankets burying him. Even in the dead of winter he insists on keeping the house frigid, and why not? God knows we have the money now, and if we want to blow it on cooling this 12,000 square foot villa we share, who the fuck was there to stop us? I smile at the dirt poor Georgia kid that still lives inside of me who used to wonder where his next tank of gas was coming from. Yeah, life has sure not turned out the way I’d thought it would.

I rise quietly from my place on the window seat and make my way to our dressing room. It’s almost 1 p.m., and I’ll have to wake him soon, but it’s going to be a very long night and he’ll need to look and feel his most beautiful. I want him to rest as long as possible. I turn one more time, glancing back at him, and send a mental wave of love in his direction, hoping it will penetrate his dreams. I close the door behind me with a soft snick.

I know he thinks I come in here as much as I do because of the floor-to-ceiling mirrors, because he thinks I like admiring my own reflection. He chuckles under his breath at me, kisses me on the temple and tells me for the millionth time how breathtaking he finds me. But I come in here because it smells of him- an odd mixture of his cologne and those ridiculous little dryer sheets he makes the housekeeper use in our laundry. Some things about him have never changed, either- he still has a poor kid from a big Georgia city inside him, too, and insisting on the dryer sheets his mom, now long buried, used throughout his entire childhood gives him a sense of comfort. God, he’s still as adorable to me today as the day I first laid eyes on him!

I perch on the edge of a lavishly upholstered bench and look around. As my eyes graze his finely tailored suits hanging importantly along one wall, I can see him wearing each one- radiant, proud and confident. So very confident. My heart squeezes in my chest as I remember again how close I came to giving him up and walking away so many years ago because I was frightened of what life with him might mean. But he dragged me along, sometimes kicking and screaming, determined that nothing would stop us- not a government that despises us, not a public that refuses to acknowledge us, not an industry that expects us to hide.

He spent a long time after the show ended, wearing me down. Months and months of phone calls, dinners, movies, weekends in Toronto, New York, Los Angeles, Atlanta. He never begged or pleaded with me to love him- he knew I already did beyond logic or measure. He didn’t push at me, not even once, to accept us as partners, the way Justin always had with Brian. He didn’t beg me to let our relationship become public knowledge. He never did any of those things. Instead, his method was far more clever. He simply stayed. He lingered close to me and he loved me quietly with such an undemanding joy in the very act that finally my resistance stopped making sense and I gave in. I embraced our lives together.

I know there were things he wanted that he gave up because I didn’t share those dreams, too. He wanted children and we could have had them. Gay couples may still find it difficult to adopt, but money talks, and we have more of that than we know what to do with. But I never wanted kids; I couldn’t see myself being a father. He, on the other hand, would have been fucking magnificent at it, just like he is at everything else.

Over the years my career slowly dimmed and faded into obscurity, but he held me up- maintained my spirit and sense of purpose, pushed me to develop projects, teach, anything to keep my mind and talent active. He’d never fail to keep me in the industry loop, brag about my accomplishments to anyone who would sit still long enough to listen and ask me to repeat for him, again and again, stories of my own glory days. It isn’t pity that motivates him, of that I feel certain; he’s never made me wonder if he feels sorry for me. He is always genuine and unremitting in his praise of me. Most days I don’t even feel that I deserve him, but he would kick my ass if he knew that.

He makes me happy and despite the self-doubt that has begun to creep into my life as I age, I know I make him happy, too.

Smiling to myself, I stand and drift towards the black silk tuxedos hanging on the back of the door. I unzip the plastic bag his is kept in and finger the soft material, knowing he will look spectacular in it. My heart surges again in my chest, only this time it’s pride and adoration I feel. Tonight is for celebration; we’ve waited a long time for this. I feel validated, even though I know we need no one’s blessing to be who and what we are.

I glance at my watch and nod firmly to myself. It’s time to wake him so we can get dressed. My heart starts to thud with excitement and I slip out of the dressing room, padding quietly towards the bed. Climbing over heaps of blankets, patting them as I go to find a limb to latch onto, I call out to him, telling him it’s time to get up.

I hear a groan from somewhere in the middle of the bed and make my way to it. Of course, in his sleep he’s rolled towards where I should have been sleeping next to him, seeking out my warmth to nuzzle. I’ll have to tease him later about how predictable he’s becoming in his old age, although in truth, he is a constant surprise, even after all this time.

“Come on, mister, it’s time to get your butt outta bed, we have things to do!” I tell him brightly, pulling the blankets down just enough to see his eyes blinking sleepily at me.

“No,” he groans and tugs the blankets back over his head, “Don’t wanna.” This last is muffled and I can tell he’s already drifting back to sleep again.

I yank the blankets off him entirely and he shouts in frustration.

“It’s COLD, stoppit!”

“Not a chance,” I chastise him, “We have to get moving!”

More groaning. “I have a better idea,” he says as he curls his body into mine, seeking warmth. “Let’s stay home, drink champagne, and make love all night. Sound good?” He wiggles his eyebrows at me in the way he knows I find hard to resist and a grin begins to spread across his face. He thinks he might just win this time. Fat chance.

“Under no circumstances!” I tell him, and he groans again, his face buried in my neck. I feel him planting wet kisses there as his arm snakes around me, drawing me closer. My body begins to respond and I try to shove him off, but he only leans into me and pins my arms to the bed, laughing quietly.

Shit, this usually works on me but I have to be ruthless tonight or we’ll never get out of this house! I ignore my burgeoning erection (his is harder to disregard- he’s pressing it into my thigh, spiteful bitch that he is) and deliberately extract myself from his embrace. I scoot across the bed out of reach of his arms, and complain at him again, “I said get UP!”

He grabs a pillow and slaps it over his head. Deep, long-suffering sighs can be heard coming from underneath. Always the actor.

“Listen, you,” I tickle the bottom of his foot, which he twitches away from me, “I’ve waited a LONG time for this and you’re damned well going to go through with it, you hear me? If you think you’re going to back out now, you’re out of your fucking mind!”

This reaches him. He pulls the pillow off his head, slides across the silky sheets towards me and takes my hands, giving me the most serious gaze in his repertoire.

“Christ, you’re beautiful when you’re bossy,” He says. A grin suddenly splits his face.

“I love you, too,” I tell him, unmollified, and lean in for a kiss. Seeing an opening, he presses his advantage and slides his tongue into my mouth. I gasp, needing and wanting to devour him, but my resolve is firm- we WILL be at this ceremony tonight on time!

I pull back, trying hard not to drown in his radiance, and give him a severe look.

“My love, my dear, my darling sexy man” I say sweetly, “get your beautiful ass out of bed, shower, shave and get dressed! And I mean right now! You have an Oscar to go and win and there's no fucking way I'm going to miss out on being in the front row when you credit me with all your success!”

His eyes glitter happily. He loves the drama queen in me.

"UP!" I bark.

I punctuate my order with a sharp slap to his backside and he leaps out of the bed, grinning wildly, his hazel eyes flashing with excitement. He grabs my hand and drags me towards the shower.

“Gale! This will never get us there in time...” I threaten, tugging back and dragging my feet. Not surprisingly, he isn’t listening.

“Ran, tell me how this sounds,” he says, and clears his throat, “I’d like to thank the Academy...”

The End.