(#5) Like Gold To Airy Thinness Beat [Time For Chaos]

[elidelio]

Title: Like Gold To Airy Thinness Beat
Author: timegoesby 
Fandom: Time For Chaos (Podcast)
Rating: General
Category: Gen
Relationship(s): Bertrand Villiers & Vaughn Villiers, Fairuz Gibran ~ Vaughn Villiers
Character(s): Vaughn Villiers, Fairuz Gibran
Word Count: 4,690
Spoiler: Post season 2
Summary: Slowly, steadily, Vaughn recovers inside his little room, parting with some things, reuniting with others, and ending where he began—though not in the same manner.
Notes/Warnings: Deals with themes of delusions brought about by mental instability.

 

“What are you doing, Vaughn?”

Vaughn looks up, startled, at the sound of the voice, and his first instinct is to cover the page he’s been writing on with his hand as he clears his throat. “Bertie, I didn’t hear you come in. I was just writing.”

He’s perched on the side of his bed, writing over the little side table that usually holds his morning tea, the mattress around him littered with loose papers and books and the rest of his journals, looking every bit the madman he’s pretending not to be.

“I see,” Bertrand looks at him in understanding, his gaze and the curve of his mouth softening into something that almost looks like pity. “Is this the journal the doctor told you to write?”

“Yes,” he admits, though his hand remains over the page. “I have been… chronicling things just as he suggested, in hopes that putting my thoughts to page will grant me a different understanding of events.”

“Is it working?” Bertrand asks as he sits down on the plush armchair across the room.

Vaughn hesitates for a moment. There isn’t much point trying to lie to his brother, even now he seems to be able to read the very thoughts inside his heart like the pages on a book, but still, there are some things he would rather keep to himself.

“A little.” He laughs. “I have certainly gained a different sort of clarity that I didn’t have before.”

“That’s good,” Bertrand clasps his hands over his lap and nods, making no indication as to whether or not he buys Vaughn’s words. “Can you tell me what you were writing just now?”

The words make Vaughn flinch, but only slightly, and he recovers his composure with a brief scratch of his chin. “I was… writing about what happened just before I came here.”

“Here as in home?” Bertrand tilts his head, a half teasing, half probing expression dancing on his brows.

Vaughn nods, and elaborates, “We were in a town called Lesser Edale trying to gather information about our friend’s journey, but the place, it… hid more troubles than we’d been anticipating.”

He’d told Bertrand a little about the task he and his companions were trying to complete on behalf of their late friend, but had obviously kept the more horrific aspects of their journey as sparse as possible given the circumstances that landed him here in the first place.

Bertrand frowns sympathetically, clearly understanding that whatever secrets he is leaving untold were the unpleasant type. “It must have been hard.”

“It was.” If he closes his eyes, he can still see the girl’s mangled body, the fragile beauty that lay beneath her monstrously mutated exterior, the pure innocence he failed to save. Worse yet, he can still hear her brother’s primal wail of despair upon realising what had become of her, playing on a loop inside his mind like a broken phonograph.

“Why do you want to go back, then?” They both know Bertrand doesn’t mean the town.

“Because it’s where I belong.” There is no hesitation in Vaughn’s answer, this is something he’s known ever since he and his companions were parted.

“You belong here, Vaughn,” Bertrand stands up as he speaks, crossing the distance between them and coming to kneel beside him at the side of his bed. “Home. With mother and me. Not out there with people who’ll put your life in danger.”

“Bertie…” Vaughn tries to choke back the emotion that wells up in his throat. “Don’t say that, please.”

Are these the words he wants to hear from his brother? This offer of home and a family, untouched by time, safe from the world, is it what he really desires, deep down?

“You are my brother, Vaughn. I love you too much to stay silent on this matter.” Bertrand takes his hand in between both of his and squeezes, but Vaughn feels nothing.

He closes his eyes and shakes his head.

He opens them again. The room is empty.

Bertrand was never here.

---

“What are you writing, Vaughn?”

Bertrand is back, he has a tendency to show up when Vaughn is beginning to forget about his presence.

“A letter.” He’s sitting on his writing desk with a cup of tea and a few sheets of paper laid out in front of him, the window behind him open to let the pleasant afternoon breeze flow into the stuffy room.

“To whom?” Bertrand walks across the room and sits in the same plush armchair as always.

“My fiancée,” he smiles. “It’ll be Valentine’s day soon.”

“You’ve told me about her, haven’t you?” Bertrand’s mouth curves up into a slight smile while his brows furrow as if in thought, and Vaughn can’t help but think his expression incredibly reminiscent to that of the psychotherapist who came to talk to him yesterday. “What was her name?”

“Miss Gibran,” Vaughn reminds him. “She’s out there picking up the slack on my behalf, so I thought I’d send her a little something to express my gratitude.”

“She sounds like a nice girl.” He crosses his legs.

“Miss Gibran is the most capable woman I have ever had the pleasure of meeting,” Vaughn’s tone is fond, he caps his pen and sets it down on the desk before taking a sip of his tea.

“You must miss her,” Bertrand watches him carefully.

“Terribly,” he nods, then adds, “I miss all of them, but we’ll see each other soon.”

“You sound very sure of that.” Bertrand's eyes narrow ever so slightly.

Vaughn simply smiles and begins quoting, “‘And though it in the center sit, yet when the other far doth roam, it leans and hearkens after it, and grows erect, as that comes home’.”

“As a pair of twin compasses,” Bertrand recognises the verse. “You’ve been reading poetry.”

“I’ve been reading a great deal of things,” he laughs. “I have nothing but time, now.”

“Do you believe in it, though?” Bertrand leans forward, uncrossing his legs. “In quiet goodbyes? In partings as being ‘not yet a breach, but an expansion’ of two souls as one?”

“‘Like gold to airy thinness beat’, which stretches out but does not sever its connection, spanning whatever distance it must to unite two people,” Vaughn turns his head slightly to look at the window out of his periphery. “I’d like to believe it so, yes.”

“All connections must be severed at some point,” Bertrand leans back in his seat with a slight shake of his head. “Gold can only stretch so much before it’s so thin a mere breeze would snap it.”

The sky over the family estate is clear and blue, with a few white clouds floating atop it in a lazy journey across the horizon. Later, after the sun has set, that same sky will become alight with a million stars taking their space up in the firmament, the same stars here as in Lesser Edale, as in London, as in wherever else his friends might be at any moment.

“I disagree,” he turns back to his brother. “Nothing can cleave a true connection between souls.”

“Not even death?” Bertrand tilts his head, and Vaughn can’t help but hear a pointed edge to his tone.

“Not even death,” he confirms. “Not when the link exists in the soul, not the earth. As ‘we by a love so much refined, that our selves know not what it is, inter-assured of the mind, care less, eyes, lips, and hands to miss’. A bond such as that endures evermore.”

“But you do miss, don’t you? You feel the absence, as much as you’d like to pretend otherwise.”

Vaughn looks away from his brother’s piercing gaze, turning instead to the papers in front of him. “That’s why I’m writing.”

“I wasn’t talking about Miss Gibran.”

Vaughn snaps his head back up, and Bertrand is looking at him with a sharply knowing expression.

“I don’t understand,” he tries, hoping his guess at the meaning behind those words is wrong.

“When a virtuous man passes away,” Bertrand raises an eyebrow. “Does he do so mildly, with a sigh? Or with a scream and a tempestuous flood of tears that profane the joy that came before it?”

“Stop it.” A knot twists in Vaughn’s stomach. “Bertie would never say that, he would never hold—”

“He would never hold those views? Never hold you in contempt?” Bertrand smiles, it's a mocking expression that looks nothing like him. “Are you sure? Perhaps you didn’t know him as well as you thought.”

“You’re nothing more than a delusion.” Vaughn closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, hoping to clear his head.

However, Bertrand still speaks. “I am your thoughts personified.”

“You’re wrong, I'm not ashamed.” He opens his eyes, someone is still sitting in that armchair, but even though he has Bertrand’s face and voice, it looks the farthest thing imaginable from the older brother Vaughn remembers.

“Not ashamed of the past, perhaps, but the present?” The apparition mocks him with a shake of his head. “You've stretched the gold far too thin, Vaughn. You've severed it. And now you’re trying to pretend it never existed.”

“I have not!” Vaughn can’t help but stand from his desk, knocking into the wood and sending his teacup teetering, dangerously close to spilling. “I would never—”

“Then why am I the one here? Why not him?”

He stops.

“When was the last time you saw him outside of your dreams, Vaughn?” The delusion wearing his brother’s face stands up and walks slowly towards him, not waiting for an answer, yet knowing what it will be anyway. “Don’t you think that means something?”

“It means I’m recovering.” At least, he hopes.

“Does it?” He slides a hand over Vaughn’s desk, and the papers on it remain undisturbed. “Do you feel better now than you did before you boarded that boat back to England?”

Vaughn can’t say he does, not now, at least. “It’s a process, good days and bad.”

“Is that what the good doctor told you?” The apparition laughs, and Vaughn can’t remember having ever heard Bertrand’s laugh sound so cutting. “He knows nothing of what you’ve seen. He thinks you a common madman.”

“Maybe I am.” If he wasn’t mad, why would he be stuck here while the rest of his companions are still out there, dealing with the things he’s proven too weak to stomach?

“Maybe they are all the madmen, and you are the only one who can see the truth beyond the veil.” The apparition clenches his hand into a fist, and the paper under his palm crumples into a ball.

Vaughn remains silent. They both know that thought has crossed his mind on more than one occasion, and it lingers still, sometimes.

“Open your eyes, Vaughn. See the world for what it really is.” The voice sounds distorted for a second, and it isn’t until he says those words that Vaughn realises his eyes are tightly shut.

He opens his eyes. The room is empty.

Vaughn looks down at his clenched fist, holding a crumpled ball of paper—the letter he was working on mere minutes ago.

He takes a shaky breath, sits back down and smooths out the piece of paper, then pulls out a clean sheet to begin writing once more.

---

“What are you reading, Vaughn?”

Vaughn makes no move to acknowledge the voice calling out to him, keeping his gaze firmly locked on the book in his hands.

“Are you still mad at me for last time?” the voice insists. “I’m sorry, brother, I know I shouldn’t have said those things. We’re just worried about you.”

He wants to ask who this ‘we’ is supposed to be, but settles instead for remarking, “I don’t believe it will be productive for me to continue engaging you in conversation.”

“Is that what you truly believe, or what the doctor recommended?” Since Vaughn hasn’t turned to see his face, he can’t tell from tone alone if the remark is meant to be sincere or sarcastic. He wagers it’s a bit of both.

“I know you aren’t really him,” he turns the page of his book, making a show of reading even though he stopped paying attention to the words in front of him when the voice began. “And pretending otherwise will only hurt those I love, in the end.”

“Is this about our mother?” the voice insists. “I know she worries for you, Vaughn. I’m concerned, too.”

“My mother.” It takes almost all his willpower to not turn around as he corrects the voice’s words, as much as it hurts to do so. “I’m the only one she has left, now. I couldn’t bear to break her heart.” Not any more than he already has.

“Does that mean you’ve given up?” the voice’s tone pitches downwards for a second, like a flaw in a near-perfect recording distorting the sound as it’s played back over a speaker. “Are you going to leave your will for dead the same way you abandoned me?”

“The only thing I’m abandoning,” Vaughn clenches his jaw. “Is this charade. Whatever you really are —whether a true spirit of some sort or entirely a figment of my mind— I no longer care, I only wish for you to stop speaking through Bertie’s mouth and trying to sway my convictions.”

The voice falls silent for a few seconds, enough for Vaughn to start suspecting that it has finally left, but then it speaks again, only this time Bertrand’s voice sounds warped and garbled, “Loo-k at-t, me, Vaughn.”

He won’t turn around. He can’t.

“Pleas-ss-se, l-ook att-me, bro-ther,” the voice comes closer, right behind his ear. “Won’tt yo-ou givve, me, a-another ch-ance?”

Vaughn doesn’t respond, feeling a chill travel down from the base of his neck.

“Don’t y-you wantto, see m-me againnn?”

He can’t deny that he does, but not like this.

“Vaughn, p-lease,” suddenly the voice sounds like it’s coming from somewhere far away. “Pl-eas-sse—”

The sound of the voice abruptly cuts off, and the room falls silent.

A few minutes pass, then a few minutes more. Vaughn resists the urge to turn around, focusing instead on listening out for any signs of it.

Finally, he knows, deep down, that he’s alone once more.

“I’m sorry, Bertie,” even his whisper sounds awfully loud in the quiet room. “But this… this is not farewell.”

He knows better than to rely on his sublunary senses to convey the truth of the world, in fact, he’s beginning to understand this now more than ever.

Vaughn looks back down at his book, closes it, and stands up, opting to go out on a walk for some fresh air.

---

“Hi, Vaughn, how are you feeling?”

It takes a second for Vaughn to realise it’s a different voice than the one he’s used to, and when he does, he can’t help but turn around.

“Miss Gibran?” he puts his book down and makes to stand up, but Fairuz motions for him to remain seated.

“Please, I just wanted to see how you were doing.” Her smile is warm, like she is genuinely pleased to see him. “I knocked, but you didn’t answer. Hope I’m not disturbing?”

“Apologies, my mind has been…” he shakes his head and invites her to take a seat as well, which she does on the ottoman by his bed. “What brings you here?”

“I missed you, so I thought I’d come to keep you company,” Fairuz’s smile widens for a second, then turns slightly serious. “You did get my letter explaining I was planning on coming back here after we’d wrapped everything up in London, right?”

Vaughn nods, “Of course I did.” And that’s exactly why he can’t trust his eyes right now, as much as he wants to believe what’s in front of him.

“That’s a relief,” her shoulders slump. “I’m in dire need of rest after everything that’s happened.”

“You’ll have to tell me all about it,” he leans forward, then stops himself. “But not now, if you’re not feeling up to it—when did you get here, may I ask?”

“Just arrived,” she makes a motion like she’s dusting off her clothes. “Giles was kind enough to take my luggage up to the Oak Room while I came to greet you.” She raises an eyebrow playfully, probably thinking back on the surprise he had when first learning his mother had converted the family’s estate into a bed & breakfast.

“I see.” He’ll have to talk to Giles later to make sure she’s really—

“Vaughn,” Fairuz interrupts his paranoid thoughts, her voice taking on an earnest tone as she looks into his eyes. “You’re looking much better now. I’m glad to see you doing well.”

Then, she leans forward and reaches out to give his hand a gentle squeeze, and Vaughn is startled at the feeling of warm skin against his own, of the grounding touch of another human.

“Me too, Miss Gibran,” Vaughn squeezes her hand back in return, the overwhelming sense of relief at the feeling of the person in front of him almost too much to keep in check. “Me too.”

Though they only hold on to each other for a few short seconds, the warmth of the simple interaction seems to linger in his palms even after they part and return to their seats proper.

“You must be tired,” Vaughn clears his throat. “Please, feel free to go rest now and we can have dinner together, if you like.”

“You mean at the B&B’s beloved communal dinner?” Fairuz pulls a face, though it’s clear she’s mostly joking.

“I can arrange for something more private, if you prefer,” he offers with a knowing smile of his own. “I’m sure mother will understand wanting to spend some time alone with my fiancée.”

Fairuz pauses for a second, considering his words, and finally agrees with a pleased smile, “It’s a date.”

“So it is.”

---

Vaughn manages to arrange for dinner to be served for just Fairuz and himself in a little room next to the kitchen, so the two of them eat in peace for a while and begin catching each other up on what has happened since last they saw one another.

Of course, most of their chatter during dinner is superficial—covering events in broad strokes, padding empty spaces with idle talk, skirting close to the surface of deeper topics but not quite dipping their toes in.

Vaughn is not surprised, after all he can tell Fairuz is still concerned about him, and he, too, doesn’t want to push her to talk about things she’s clearly not quite yet ready to. Still, the conversation feels like a balm for his strained soul, quieting the worries that had been plaguing him about his friends’ wellbeing and reassuring him that, though they seemed to be somewhat the worse for wear, at least they were all still alive.

Near the end of the meal, when Vaughn can feel them both running out of safe things to talk about but not yet having gathered the courage to pry deeper into the rest, he sets his cutlery down on the now empty plate and looks up at Fairuz. “Would you like to join me for a walk in the gardens, Miss Gibran?”

At the sound of his voice, Fairuz turns to look at him, then out the small window looking out into the gardens, then back to him with a slightly perplexed smile, “It’s dark outside already, isn’t it?”

“At first glance,” he concedes with a slight nod. “But I can assure you the moon today will be more than enough to light our way.”

“Really?” She narrows her eyes for a brief second, then sets her cutlery down as well. “In that case, I’d be delighted.”

They clear up the table before Vaughn takes her out through the small side entrance that leads to the back gardens, and Fairuz seems almost stunned as she steps out from under the building’s shadow.

“You weren’t joking about the moon.”

The gardens in front of them are bathed in the cool silver light of the full moon above, making the grass and the leaves of the bushes seem as though they are made of quicksilver, and giving the flowers around an ethereal glow as though they are little bunches of moonlight itself.

“It’s…” she takes a step forward, still looking around in almost awe. “It’s beautiful, Vaughn.”

“I’m glad you think so,” he walks up next to her and offers his hand. “There’s somewhere I’d like to show you.”

Fairuz looks at his outstretched hand for only a second before taking it. “Lead the way.”

They walk for a few minutes deeper into the garden, crossing hedge walls and walking past elegant tea tables whose parasols are closed for the night, looking like large budding flowers ever so much at home in the manicured gardens, until they reach a particular corner of the hedge wall surrounding the grounds which opens up into a sculpted archway.

“Through here,” Vaughn motions for her to step through.

Fairuz lets go of his hand and steps into the archway without hesitation, clearly eager to find out what lays beyond. Vaughn goes in just behind her, managing to catch the look of delight in her eyes as she gazes around the small section of the garden. Beyond them, inside the little clearing surrounded on all sides by a circular hedge wall, stands a small white gazebo with a tiled dome roof, inside of which are a few chairs, a garden table, and a small tube-like instrument that glimmers like gold against the bright moonlight.

“This is…” she takes a few more steps inside, then turns her head to look back at him.

“A secret garden, of sorts.” Vaughn makes his way towards the gazebo. “Not exactly private —or all that secret, mind you— but it’s far enough away from the estate that it doesn’t get many regular visitors, especially not once the sun goes down.”

“Vaughn, are you showing me your childhood hiding spot?” Fairuz shoots him a mischievous look. “Or is this more like where you usually conduct your trysts?”

“Nothing like that, Miss Gibran,” he rushes to correct her, then clears his throat a little awkwardly. “Just someplace I like coming to when I need to clear my head in nature.”

“I see.” She smiles and follows him under the gazebo’s roof, then heads straight for the garden table once she sees a couple of books stacked upon it.

“Astronomy texts,” Vaughn explains as Fairuz begins thumbing through the books. “Though I’m only an amateur on the subject. Here.” With that, he turns towards the golden instrument, which upon closer inspection is more likely made of bronze, and begins setting it up on a tripod at the edge of the gazebo.

“You have a telescope and everything,” she turns her attention his way and watches as he adjusts the telescope’s sights. “I’m impressed.”

Vaughn shakes his head with a smile. “This is really nothing. Please, take a look.”

Not needing to be prompted twice, Fairuz is quick to bend down and peek through the telescope, soon letting out an exhale of surprise as she sees the stars above.

“Now this, this is beautiful.”

“Agreed.” He doesn’t even need to look up at the sky to know what she is seeing, he’s spent so many nights gazing up at the stars that he can see them when he closes his eyes—those brilliant clusters of glowing diamonds suspended in the void of space, all different sizes and shades, their light reaching them from thousands of light years away.

“To think these are the same stars as those above the city,” Fairuz muses as she steps away from the telescope and stares up at the sky with her naked eyes. “They look so much more beautiful from here.”

“The countryside does lend itself to better viewing conditions.” Vaughn nods understandingly.

“And the fog near the river doesn’t help, either,” Fairuz frowns slightly as she touches her throat, then shakes her head and turns back towards him. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

“Of course, you can come back any time you like,” he leans back against the railing surrounding the gazebo. “The telescope and books will be waiting for you.”

“And you?” she tilts her head.

He takes a breath. “If you’d like the company.”

“I would,” she smiles, then leans against the railing next to him. “I really would.”

Vaughn returns the smile. “So would I.”

Silence falls between them like a soft blanket, enveloping them in a precious sense of calm that seems to ease the subtle strain they’ve both been carrying with them for so long. The only sounds around are the soft chirping of crickets and the rustling of leaves against the wind, lulling them into a sleepy sense of comfort as they continue watching the stars and trying to map the constellations in the books to those in the sky above.

As he gazes up at the stars, Vaughn can’t help but think about the vastness of the universe, and how small they all are in comparison to it.

And yet, they keep on trying to make a difference, don’t they?

---

“What are you up to, Vaughn?”

Vaughn looks up at the sound of Fairuz’s voice, pausing the movement of his pen. “Just journaling. Is breakfast ready?”

Fairuz nods. “Do you want to come down? Or should I bring something up?”

“I’ll come down.” He places the pen into the notebook like a bookmark, then sets the whole thing down on the little side table by his bed before standing up. As he heads to the door, he takes one last look around the empty room, pausing over that plush armchair on the other end which has remained empty for quite some time now, then sighs and steps out to join Fairuz.

Upon reaching her, Vaughn offers up his arm out of gentlemanly habit and she takes it with a smile tugging at the corners of her lips, clearly not quite used to the gesture just yet, the solid feeling of her hands allowing him to let out the faintest of breaths.

“Are those journals…” Fairuz begins asking a few steps into their journey. “About our little trip?”

“They are.” He sees no need to hide them from her.

“Are you trying to beat Carter at writing that best-selling book?” she laughs slightly.

Vaughn cracks a smile at that, but shakes his head. “These are more for record-keeping purposes.”

“That’s smart,” she nods. “Always good to have records.”

“Would you like to read them?” he turns to her for a moment before looking back at the corridor ahead.

Fairuz looks surprised for a moment, but quickly nods. “I would, I think they could be really helpful.”

“They are, of course, at your disposal,” he offers.

She begins to thank him, then trails off, falling silent for a moment. It’s clear she wants to say something more, but Vaughn simply continues walking with her while she makes up her mind.

Finally, she speaks up again. “I have something for you to look at as well.”

“What is it?”

“It’s about my mother—” she begins, then stops herself. “But we can talk about this later, after we’ve had breakfast, what do you think?”

“I think that sounds like a plan,” he gives a firm nod of his head.

“Good.” Fairuz looks up ahead. “It’s a good time to start thinking about what comes next.”

“Whatever it is,” Vaughn raises a hand and gently squeezes Fairuz’s wrist. “We’ll delve in together.”

She looks to him for a moment, some unknown emotion twinkling in her eyes, then turns her gaze back ahead and squeezes his arm in return. “Together.”

They head down to breakfast, where the other guests are already at the table waiting for them, and enjoy the feeling of normalcy that comes from the wonderfully mundane gathering of people in the sleepy English countryside, focusing, for now, on living in the world they are trying so hard to save.