A/N: Apologies, apologies. I was watching MbN over to get a feeling for how "Philosophers" should end and instead came up with this. It took me an hour of watching, pausing, and transcibing the damned first scene, which is almost completely from the movie. You know where it ends, and where my imagination begins.
"Until This is Over"
a murder by numbers fanfic by SchizoAuthoress
"You threw up?" Richard asked, incredulous. "Man, why didn't you tell me?"
Unable to meet Richard's gaze, Justin shifted uncomfortably against the back fender of his car and mumbled, "I don't even remember doing it."
"I don't remember," Richard scoffed, disbelieving. He looked away as well, staring into the distance.
Finally, worriedly, he asked, "Well, what if they ID you?" and lifted his hands in a gesture of helplessness. Justin pressed his fingers to his forehead, wincing as Richard--with eerie accuracy--named the very thing that had been bothering Justin ever since he remembered the incident. "With, with DNA or something like that; can they do that?"
Justin glanced up. "I doubt it," he said softly, turned to face Richard, pleading for forgiveness with his eyes. "I mean, the stomach acids usually eat away at whatever..." He trailed off.
"You doubt it?" Richard repeated. He didn't want doubts, they didn't need to have, couldn't afford to have, doubts at this stage in the game.
"I doubt--" Justin began, but Richard swiftly cut him off with a derisive half-chuckle,
"This could get us the fucking electric chair and you doubt it."
"Gas chamber," Justin corrected in a dulled, unfeeling tone.
Richard darted a confused, angry glance at Justin's face, saw nothing in the way of emotion there, and was frightened. "What?" He demanded.
Justin's eyes flicked toward him momentarily as he explained, "California uses a gas chamber."
Richard looked away for a moment, marvelling at the insanity of the conversation. He couldn't believe it. He was talking about being executed, killed, snuffed out, kaput, the end...and here was this shrinking violet little genius bastard splitting hairs over the method of execution. Sarcastically, Richard shot back, "Oh, that's very informative."
"It doesn't matter," Justin mumbled.
No, thanks, thank you. And you told her that you tutor me, too?" He wet his lips nervously, watching Justin pacing slightly, stopping, and returning to his previous position leaning against his car. "God, what are you thinking?!"
Something flared in Justin's eyes, something akin to anger. But it couldn't be, because Justin never really felt anything. Justin was a superman--as Nietzsche might have said, ein übermensch--unweighted by human morality and reasoning. Richard felt a pang of fear as Justin strode closer, eyes burning with coldness.
"I was thinking," Justin snapped, in a louder-than-usual voice, "that if she found out on her own, and I hadn't mentioned it, it would look even worse."
Richard stared at him blankly. A beat. He nodded and muttered, "Yeah."
Justin pulled back, the psuedo-emotion falling away, replaced by his more common, more familiar control. "They have nothing," he reassured Richard, once again radiating a plea for forgiveness, for understanding.
Richard considered this, lifting his cigarette to his lips. His eyes shifted from Justin, then away, then to Justin again as he inhaled. Smoke curled like a tiny white serpent from his lips as he amended, "They have nothing on me."
Justin looked at Richard again, vaguely surprised and equally amused at this statement. It took him only a moment to make his soft face void of even these faint vestiges of feeling, and he remarked, in a low voice that contained a gravelly, challenging undertone, "Don't worry, I'm not a back-stabber like you, Richard."
Richard raised his eyebrows at this, the beginnings of his beautiful, charming, false smile curving his mouth. He started, and was cut off by his own cynical laugh, "I'm the back-sta--" Suddenly, his expression changed to one of anger, near fury, "How am I the back-stab..." He couldn't even finish the distasteful word. He threw the ash-laden end of his near-dead cigarette at Justin and watched with satisfaction as the other boy jumped, brushing the flecks of hot ash off his shirt. He yelled, "I'm not the one talking, /Justin/, I'm not the one giving away all the information!"
Justin figited uncomfortably. Richard glared at him, digusted.
"I'm not the one trying to get us caught because I'm a scared little bitch who feels /guilty!/"
"Don't talk to me like that, okay?" Justin asked flatly, closing his eyes for a second. His patience, his near-infinte patience, was reaching its end.
Richard ignored the implied warning and snapped, "I'll talk to you any way that I /want/ to." He continued, beginning to tighten his net of manipulation again. "I trust you, I depend on you for all this forensic stuff, and you have no idea what you're talking about!"
Justin raised both eyebrows in a skeptical look, nodding once slightly as though he accepted Richard's misguided opinion. Despite the fact that Richard looked, and even more, sounded like he might just cry, Justin did not react to that at all. But the other boy was starting to get hysterical, and that was undesirable.
"You're supposed to be the smart one," Richard cried, nearly on a sob.
Calmly, quietly, almost with a laugh, Justin ordered, "Stop, just sto--."
Richard interrupted, "No, you're supposed to be the smart one! You're not smart, you're dumb!"
There was no warning. Nothing, nothing except for Justin's harsh shouted command, "Stop!" and in the same instant, a fist connected sharply with Richard's face. The force of the blow spun him to fall against his own car, half-sprawled against the sloping back. He could feel Justin's presence, feel the violence in it, as the soft-faced blond stood unseen behind him. His elbows rested on the trunk as he clapped a hand to his nose, the warm, sharp sting of pain and the copper smell of blood in his nostrils.
There was remorse in Justin's gaze as Richard turned back. He mumbled low, "I'm sorry."
Richard looked at him and sniffed, touching his upper lip carefully with his fingertips. He glanced down at them, seeing the red wetness shining there in the sunlight, and repeated the motion to make certain that the blood really was there. A triumphant smile formed on his lips as Justin looked down, ashamed. Reaching out, Richard pulled Justin into an embrace, continuing to stare at his fingers as if transfixed.
Justin stood in the half-circle of Richard's left arm, unresponsive, simply allowing this physical contact. Mockingly, Richard said, "That's a good boy."
Justin said nothing.
"Heh," Richard wondered, "You're not still mad about that girl, are you?" Justin narrowed his eyes; the pain of Richard's betrayal continued as a dull, neverending ache beneath his icy veneer. He stared ahead with veiled eyes, unseeing, breathing in the intense, combined scent of expensive red leather mixed with imported cologne and cheap cigarette smoke. Essence of Richard.
Richard pulled Justin's head back so that they faced each other, lifting his hands up to rest almost possessively against Justin's face. The blond's face was cradled in his grasp, the heels of his hands resting gently, without threat, at his neck, feeling a pulse beating steadily there. He raked gentle fingers through the dirty golden strands, pushing them away from Justin's face.
Justin stiffened, inhaling sharply at the univited gesture. He grabbed Richard's hands, holding them tightly in place and away. His blue eyes, half-lidded and alluring, stared impassively into Richard's own as he pushed Richard's hands back down, whispering,
"Let's just stick together and stay calm until this is over, okay?"
Richard looked back at Justin, eyes narrowed against the brightness of the light, unaware of the tiny trickle of blood flowing to his lip and down his chin. An enigma, wrapped up in a mystery, surrounded by conundrum...Justin Pendleton was that enigma. But Richard merely shrugged, licking his lips--tasting metallic saltiness as he did so--and asked, "And then what?"
Justin appeared shaken by the question. He shrugged, shook his head, finding himself unable to answer, and walked away. Down the path that led to the edge of the cliffs, hugging the brink of where solidity met nothingness as it gently sloped to the rock-strewn beach.
Richard turned, watching him go, and yelled, "And then what, Justin?" When Justin didn't come back, didn't even acknowledge Richard's question, Richard demanded, "Where are you going?"
"To the rocks," Justin replied without turning. In very little time, he reached a bend in the path and disappeared from view.
Biting back a curse, Richard followed him.
~End Part One~
"Until This is Over"
a murder by numbers fanfic by SchizoAuthoress
"You threw up?" Richard asked, incredulous. "Man, why didn't you tell me?"
Unable to meet Richard's gaze, Justin shifted uncomfortably against the back fender of his car and mumbled, "I don't even remember doing it."
"I don't remember," Richard scoffed, disbelieving. He looked away as well, staring into the distance.
Finally, worriedly, he asked, "Well, what if they ID you?" and lifted his hands in a gesture of helplessness. Justin pressed his fingers to his forehead, wincing as Richard--with eerie accuracy--named the very thing that had been bothering Justin ever since he remembered the incident. "With, with DNA or something like that; can they do that?"
Justin glanced up. "I doubt it," he said softly, turned to face Richard, pleading for forgiveness with his eyes. "I mean, the stomach acids usually eat away at whatever..." He trailed off.
"You doubt it?" Richard repeated. He didn't want doubts, they didn't need to have, couldn't afford to have, doubts at this stage in the game.
"I doubt--" Justin began, but Richard swiftly cut him off with a derisive half-chuckle,
"This could get us the fucking electric chair and you doubt it."
"Gas chamber," Justin corrected in a dulled, unfeeling tone.
Richard darted a confused, angry glance at Justin's face, saw nothing in the way of emotion there, and was frightened. "What?" He demanded.
Justin's eyes flicked toward him momentarily as he explained, "California uses a gas chamber."
Richard looked away for a moment, marvelling at the insanity of the conversation. He couldn't believe it. He was talking about being executed, killed, snuffed out, kaput, the end...and here was this shrinking violet little genius bastard splitting hairs over the method of execution. Sarcastically, Richard shot back, "Oh, that's very informative."
"It doesn't matter," Justin mumbled.
No, thanks, thank you. And you told her that you tutor me, too?" He wet his lips nervously, watching Justin pacing slightly, stopping, and returning to his previous position leaning against his car. "God, what are you thinking?!"
Something flared in Justin's eyes, something akin to anger. But it couldn't be, because Justin never really felt anything. Justin was a superman--as Nietzsche might have said, ein übermensch--unweighted by human morality and reasoning. Richard felt a pang of fear as Justin strode closer, eyes burning with coldness.
"I was thinking," Justin snapped, in a louder-than-usual voice, "that if she found out on her own, and I hadn't mentioned it, it would look even worse."
Richard stared at him blankly. A beat. He nodded and muttered, "Yeah."
Justin pulled back, the psuedo-emotion falling away, replaced by his more common, more familiar control. "They have nothing," he reassured Richard, once again radiating a plea for forgiveness, for understanding.
Richard considered this, lifting his cigarette to his lips. His eyes shifted from Justin, then away, then to Justin again as he inhaled. Smoke curled like a tiny white serpent from his lips as he amended, "They have nothing on me."
Justin looked at Richard again, vaguely surprised and equally amused at this statement. It took him only a moment to make his soft face void of even these faint vestiges of feeling, and he remarked, in a low voice that contained a gravelly, challenging undertone, "Don't worry, I'm not a back-stabber like you, Richard."
Richard raised his eyebrows at this, the beginnings of his beautiful, charming, false smile curving his mouth. He started, and was cut off by his own cynical laugh, "I'm the back-sta--" Suddenly, his expression changed to one of anger, near fury, "How am I the back-stab..." He couldn't even finish the distasteful word. He threw the ash-laden end of his near-dead cigarette at Justin and watched with satisfaction as the other boy jumped, brushing the flecks of hot ash off his shirt. He yelled, "I'm not the one talking, /Justin/, I'm not the one giving away all the information!"
Justin figited uncomfortably. Richard glared at him, digusted.
"I'm not the one trying to get us caught because I'm a scared little bitch who feels /guilty!/"
"Don't talk to me like that, okay?" Justin asked flatly, closing his eyes for a second. His patience, his near-infinte patience, was reaching its end.
Richard ignored the implied warning and snapped, "I'll talk to you any way that I /want/ to." He continued, beginning to tighten his net of manipulation again. "I trust you, I depend on you for all this forensic stuff, and you have no idea what you're talking about!"
Justin raised both eyebrows in a skeptical look, nodding once slightly as though he accepted Richard's misguided opinion. Despite the fact that Richard looked, and even more, sounded like he might just cry, Justin did not react to that at all. But the other boy was starting to get hysterical, and that was undesirable.
"You're supposed to be the smart one," Richard cried, nearly on a sob.
Calmly, quietly, almost with a laugh, Justin ordered, "Stop, just sto--."
Richard interrupted, "No, you're supposed to be the smart one! You're not smart, you're dumb!"
There was no warning. Nothing, nothing except for Justin's harsh shouted command, "Stop!" and in the same instant, a fist connected sharply with Richard's face. The force of the blow spun him to fall against his own car, half-sprawled against the sloping back. He could feel Justin's presence, feel the violence in it, as the soft-faced blond stood unseen behind him. His elbows rested on the trunk as he clapped a hand to his nose, the warm, sharp sting of pain and the copper smell of blood in his nostrils.
There was remorse in Justin's gaze as Richard turned back. He mumbled low, "I'm sorry."
Richard looked at him and sniffed, touching his upper lip carefully with his fingertips. He glanced down at them, seeing the red wetness shining there in the sunlight, and repeated the motion to make certain that the blood really was there. A triumphant smile formed on his lips as Justin looked down, ashamed. Reaching out, Richard pulled Justin into an embrace, continuing to stare at his fingers as if transfixed.
Justin stood in the half-circle of Richard's left arm, unresponsive, simply allowing this physical contact. Mockingly, Richard said, "That's a good boy."
Justin said nothing.
"Heh," Richard wondered, "You're not still mad about that girl, are you?" Justin narrowed his eyes; the pain of Richard's betrayal continued as a dull, neverending ache beneath his icy veneer. He stared ahead with veiled eyes, unseeing, breathing in the intense, combined scent of expensive red leather mixed with imported cologne and cheap cigarette smoke. Essence of Richard.
Richard pulled Justin's head back so that they faced each other, lifting his hands up to rest almost possessively against Justin's face. The blond's face was cradled in his grasp, the heels of his hands resting gently, without threat, at his neck, feeling a pulse beating steadily there. He raked gentle fingers through the dirty golden strands, pushing them away from Justin's face.
Justin stiffened, inhaling sharply at the univited gesture. He grabbed Richard's hands, holding them tightly in place and away. His blue eyes, half-lidded and alluring, stared impassively into Richard's own as he pushed Richard's hands back down, whispering,
"Let's just stick together and stay calm until this is over, okay?"
Richard looked back at Justin, eyes narrowed against the brightness of the light, unaware of the tiny trickle of blood flowing to his lip and down his chin. An enigma, wrapped up in a mystery, surrounded by conundrum...Justin Pendleton was that enigma. But Richard merely shrugged, licking his lips--tasting metallic saltiness as he did so--and asked, "And then what?"
Justin appeared shaken by the question. He shrugged, shook his head, finding himself unable to answer, and walked away. Down the path that led to the edge of the cliffs, hugging the brink of where solidity met nothingness as it gently sloped to the rock-strewn beach.
Richard turned, watching him go, and yelled, "And then what, Justin?" When Justin didn't come back, didn't even acknowledge Richard's question, Richard demanded, "Where are you going?"
"To the rocks," Justin replied without turning. In very little time, he reached a bend in the path and disappeared from view.
Biting back a curse, Richard followed him.
~End Part One~