Nothing Else Matters

Weeks passed, and nothing changed for Schreber. The days became normal, regular periods of daylight and night. And he was free of the Strangers, free of their experiments. But still he felt numb, detached, and went through the motions of each day almost mechanically, feeling nothing. Alone.

At the back of the tiny bar by his apartment, no one really cared about the crippled man in the chocolate brown fedora, which was just how Schreber wanted it. It was too jarring, seeing the faces of people he'd given dozens of lifetimes worth of memories to. People whose life story and character he knew in an instant, before they even opened their mouths. He'd thought that perhaps alcohol would help, help him forget enough to talk to someone, anyone, like a normal human being. But instead the bourbon seemed to make things worse, separate him even more from reality than he already was.

When the chair beside him was pulled away, it took him a long moment to look up, away from the empty glasses and into green eyes that watched him with concern. The last person he expected to see in such a place. "Oh....."

"Danie - I'm sorry - Dr. Schreber..." John Murdoch stopped, as if he wasn't quite sure what to say, but it didn't matter to Schreber. John was different, the only one in the city who'd grown past the experiments. He could inject John with a thousand memories, imprint him with a thousand different personas, and he was sure that the man would still be the same, brave and regal.

"Daniel is fine," he found himself replying, voice a little rougher than expected. Raw from the alcohol that burned his throat, that lifted the dampers on his emotions. He found himself suddenly needing, craving the familiarity that he couldn't foster with anyone else in this city, but perhaps could foster with John. "Please."

Dark eyebrows over green eyes knit together slightly as the man sat down beside him. So unusual to find such light coloured eyes with chestnut hair. Striking. "Are you all right, Daniel? I didn't expect to find you... here."

He stared back for several minutes. Green with little flecks of brown right in the middle, something which was surprisingly enthralling. Maybe he could count the brown in his eyes if the world wasn't quite so unstable. "... yes," he said finally. "It's just a bit... difficult sometimes, still being the observer but... having nothing to observe." What was he saying? It didn't make sense, even to his own ears. "I'm sorry, I mean to say -- it's been hard to adjust, to the way things are now. Nothing is real -- anymore. Nothing was ever real."

The man beside him shook his head slightly. "I'm sorry, I don't understand."

Daniel sighed, leaning back in his chair, sipping the remains of his most recent drink. He gave a little nod toward a man who sat at the bar, drinking to forget, much like he was. "Observe that man. Jacob Barrowman. Labourer at the riverfront. Wanted to be a cop, but he got into trouble when he was younger and -- got a bad record. His father beat him and his mother -- deserted them when he was 8, to go live with another woman. But before that he was Richard Grace, city bus driver. Wife and two kids, happily married. Played poker on Wednesday nights -- with the boys. I could tell you the same and more for every -- person in the bar, even the whole -- city." He turned back to John, feeling his eyes narrow. "It is all a lie. All of it. Everyone in this city -- around us. Every. Damn. Person." He raised a hand to attract the waitress as she neared their table. "Another, please. And one for Mr. Murdoch."

John was silent for a long moment, watching the man the doctor had referred to. "Call me John," he said slowly, glancing back at him. "If I am John, to you. Does it matter what they remember, as long as it's real to them?"

Daniel gave a soft, bitter laugh, taking the drink from the waitress as she arrived, passing the other to John. "No. Not to them, it doesn't. They will never know -- the difference. Not like you and I. Sometimes I hate everyone-- for it. But truly, it is just... envy." He was saying too much, the words were too easy to speak. Too difficult to close down the floodgates he'd opened. "Even with the Strangers gone, I am still a prisoner -- of Their experiments. You should not have saved me." He took another long swallow, felt it burn refreshingly hot going down his throat, and coughed.

"Daniel..." such surprise and sorrow in those green eyes, and they were more piercing than Daniel wanted to admit, cutting through the haze of the bourbon and tightening around his heart. "You really feel like you have nothing?"

He forced himself to look away, down to the liquid and ice in his glass, swirling it around slowly, hearing a bitter laugh leave his twisted lips. "The closest thing I have to a past, is what I have given -- to you."

A sigh, and John gulped back most of his drink in one go. "Then I suppose I'm no different than the rest."

"That is entirely -- not true, John."

"How is it not?" A challenge in his eyes. "Tell me how. Tell me who I am like you did for that guy. It's the same."

Daniel looked down at the table quickly, before his emotions could betray him, before he let it all spill out without restraint. "You are... different, John. You are you, regardless of -- what you remember. You broke free."

"Only because of you."

"Perhaps not. Well." He closed his eyes with a little sigh. "Please do not -- trouble yourself with me. This is my cross to bear. My punishment. Or shall we say... karma? The end result of my -- actions."

"Misery?" John murmured softly. "To be alone? No one deserves that, Daniel. Least of all you."

The kindness of his words was almost too much for him. He felt his body shudder, and retreated to the safety of the bourbon, draining the glass. Trying to react any way other than how he felt. Looking up at him, lashing out, finding it even harder to breathe than normal, in the face of this emotion. "No? Then tell me how to change things, Mr. Murdoch. I do not think that your -- abilities -- can solve this."

John looked a little hurt, and was silent for a long moment, finishing his drink as well. "Daniel..."

"You can't help me, can you?" He turned his face away bitterly from those green eyes.

"Come back to Shell Beach with me."

For a moment, Daniel's heart stopped beating, and he felt the tips of his ears heat. Then he told himself firmly that no, John most definitely was not asking for -that-, nothing that wasn't completely platonic, and he took a few breaths to calm himself, as deep as he can, wincing as his lungs and diaphragm complained. "I do not think that you want me -- as a house guest."

"I very much know that I do," John replied evenly. "Come back with me, just for a few days if you want. Just to get away from the city." John's eyes searched his as he looked back. "... please?"

He almost couldn't comprehend it, the kindness, the care. "Why?"

Green eyes darted away from his again, lips tightening just a little. "You're not the only one alone in this lie."

"Anna - "

"Anna isn't you. And she's not the woman I loved - thought I loved - anymore." He looked strangely embarrassed, and Daniel stared at him fuzzily, still not understanding. He almost questioned it out loud, but caught himself at the last moment.

"I am not sure that I will be -- good company, John," he said finally, trying to be as frank as he could be, and John smiled, patting his hand lightly where it sat on the table. His skin was warm. Real.

"Let me be the judge of that, okay?"

He hesitated, then nodded. Despite his better judgement, he couldn't say no when John was looking at him like that. "All right."

John smiled warmly, something almost blindingly beautiful in its joy. "Let's go, then," He stood, and there was a flicker of - something- in his eyes that Daniel knew meant Tuning, and the dark haired man tossed several bills from seemingly no-where on the table to cover the tab.

"Now?" He tried to stand as well, stumbling a little and grabbing the back of John's chair for support. "Thank you - ah - I'm sorry, I -- am rather inebriated..."

He felt an arm slip around his waist, tight and strong, holding him up and supporting him. His back ached faintly from it, but the warm vibrations of the alcohol, along with the soft pleasant shock of having John's arm around his waist, dulled the usual pain enough to make it bearable. He heard John chuckle very softly under his breath. "You're even eloquent when you're drunk."

"Thank you," he managed faintly, not knowing how else to reply, letting John guide him to the exit, support him. "John, I - I have to go home, I have no clothes...."

"I'll take care of anything you need," came the calm reply, and Daniel found himself taken outside and bundled into a taxi cab. He let himself lean against the warm body next to him, suddenly feeling very weary and out of touch with reality. Weary enough to let his head rest on John's shoulder, enough not to care that it pushed his hat askew. He felt John lift the fedora off his head, fingers stroking lightly over his hair, felt his own body shudder under the gentleness of his touch, under something he hadn't felt in a very, very long time. Perhaps ever. He couldn't remember anything past Their reign, past the ruined remains of his memories, past years of working for Them in darkness.

"I'm sorry," he tried to say, only to have John shush him softly.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Daniel. Nothing at all. I should be the one apologizing." A soft sigh, and Daniel tried to reply, tried to question it, but found that his mouth didn't want to respond, that his body didn't want to do anything but disappear into the warmth and strength of John's shoulder, into the thrumming vibrations of the alcohol in his system.

He was vaguely aware of the cab stopping, eventually, of John paying and then carefully lifting his head from his shoulder, shaking him gently. "Come on, doctor. Help me get you out of the cab and then I can do the rest."

He summoned enough coordination to let John help him out of the car, feeling his hat placed back on his head. "I'm sorry," he tried again faintly, feeling John's hands steady him, help him to stand, and then as the cab drove off, strong arms wrapped around him entirely, holding him achingly close.

"Shhh," John murmured, breath warm on his ear. "Hold on tight, it'll only take a moment to get inside."

He did so, not being able to think about anything but how good it felt to be held so securely, and how much he'd shamefully wanted such contact from John for so very long. He gave a soft, shuddering sob before he could help himself, and felt the arms tighten around him, felt his feet settle on solid ground, though he'd hardly been aware that they were not previously.

"I'm sorry," John was murmuring, voice soft and warm, and he felt his hat pulled away again, felt strong fingers stroke gently over his hair, urging his face to nestle against the warmth of that shoulder, one arm still tight around his waist. "I've been a coward. I never meant to hurt you, but I was afraid...."

He couldn't find the coherency to process his words, or to answer them, beyond a vague confusion. How could John ever be afraid of anything? And he knew that John was just trying to comfort him, but he couldn't stop trembling, couldn't stop the tears, all his defenses torn down by this simple kindness, by this badly craved affection, even though he knew it meant nothing of what he wanted it to mean.

"I'm sorry," he managed. "I'm - I'm so tired...."

"Of course...." He felt John pull away. Daniel tried to dry his eyes with the back of his sleeve, clumsily pushing the wire rimmed glasses up, and felt them taken from him gently. "You can sleep here. Your glasses are on the table beside the bed." Warm hands taking his coat, his suit jacket, gently unbuttoning the vest underneath before he managed to push them away as they started at his shirt.

"No - please...." His fingers clutched the fabric, unable to bare the thought of being more exposed in front of this man, and John gave another little soothing noise.

"Of course, just want you to be comfortable." The voice was rich and soothing, like cream, but did he detect a hint of nervousness? It was so hard to tell, with this blur over his senses, over his mind. He let John guide him into bed, take his shoes off and tuck a thick, warm quilt around him. "There's a glass of water next to your glasses," his voice said softly. "If you can manage to, you should drink it."

Daniel gave a soft, weary noise of agreement, wanting nothing more than for the night to be over so that he could put himself back together.

Gentle hands smoothed over his hair again, and after a short pause, he felt the softest touch of John's lips to his forehead. It almost completely broke him, and he bit down hard on his bottom lip, barely able to hold back until John left the room. Then he gave in and sobbed silently into the pillow until sleep finally claimed him.

~~tbc~~