[ No wonder he'd invented a new name. What kind of name was Benton? Geoffrey--now that was a name. And already he could see how this was all beginning to make sense, because apparently he was a cop, and wasn't it always police officers who you heard were going off the rails all the time? Police officers and people in the arts.
Oh, he could see how a bright, sharp mind like his own might be able to make that sort of connection, and bang, he'd suddenly be Geoffrey Tennant, a man who went mad on stage during a production of Hamlet and jumped into Ophelia's grave; who stole a car, and throttled swans in the park, and was taken to the funny farm still with feather down in his teeth and river mud under his fingernails.
He dug the theatre, and he'd been undercover in an asylum once, and his high stress job...at the consulate - the Canadian consulate in Chicago? - had finally made him crack. Desperate to make sense of his ridiculous life, he'd made up an entirely different ridiculous life, with a new name and a woman whom he loved but whom he hadn't even kissed in seven years, and a ghost--let's not forget the ghost. A ghost helping him put together productions of Hamlet and Macbeth, stories about crazy people and spirits. If that wasn't cracked up then nothing was. ]
Benton. [ He said again, and looked up at Ray above him; Ray who was squeezing his shoulder reassuringly and looking hopeful and terrified at the same time. ] Benton sounds right. Benton Fraser. It sounds alright, doesn't it?
[ He sat forward, then pulled himself up onto the bed beside Ray, licking his lips. ]
I don't know what's set all this off. I know if I could just remember, just piece together my evening, then maybe... I mean you can't just forget everything like that. I've heard about people having...emotional breakdowns when everything becomes too much... Maybe that's why I imagined that I - that Geoffrey - had one. It's difficult when you love someone and they don't, or can't, love you back. Sometimes you just have to do something to take back that control, no matter how insane. [ He was still wringing his hands together in his lap, overwhelmed with a kind of energy he couldn't really figure out how to direct.
Oh what the hell. Ray already thought he'd lost his mind. Maybe the sense touch would bring his memory back? Maybe he'd created this story of longing for Ellen for some other reason, and if he just kissed this guy like he clearly wanted to, then the memory block would lift and he'd be himself again.
Geoffrey unwound his hands and reached his right across Ray, moving his hand to his jaw, fingers against the side of his neck, and pulled himself across the space between them, closing a kiss on his mouth suddenly so as to not give himself - or the other man - any time to think about it. He could always take it back. ]
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[ No wonder he'd invented a new name. What kind of name was Benton? Geoffrey--now that was a name. And already he could see how this was all beginning to make sense, because apparently he was a cop, and wasn't it always police officers who you heard were going off the rails all the time? Police officers and people in the arts.
Oh, he could see how a bright, sharp mind like his own might be able to make that sort of connection, and bang, he'd suddenly be Geoffrey Tennant, a man who went mad on stage during a production of Hamlet and jumped into Ophelia's grave; who stole a car, and throttled swans in the park, and was taken to the funny farm still with feather down in his teeth and river mud under his fingernails.
He dug the theatre, and he'd been undercover in an asylum once, and his high stress job...at the consulate - the Canadian consulate in Chicago? - had finally made him crack. Desperate to make sense of his ridiculous life, he'd made up an entirely different ridiculous life, with a new name and a woman whom he loved but whom he hadn't even kissed in seven years, and a ghost--let's not forget the ghost. A ghost helping him put together productions of Hamlet and Macbeth, stories about crazy people and spirits. If that wasn't cracked up then nothing was. ]
Benton. [ He said again, and looked up at Ray above him; Ray who was squeezing his shoulder reassuringly and looking hopeful and terrified at the same time. ] Benton sounds right. Benton Fraser. It sounds alright, doesn't it?
[ He sat forward, then pulled himself up onto the bed beside Ray, licking his lips. ]
I don't know what's set all this off. I know if I could just remember, just piece together my evening, then maybe... I mean you can't just forget everything like that. I've heard about people having...emotional breakdowns when everything becomes too much... Maybe that's why I imagined that I - that Geoffrey - had one. It's difficult when you love someone and they don't, or can't, love you back. Sometimes you just have to do something to take back that control, no matter how insane. [ He was still wringing his hands together in his lap, overwhelmed with a kind of energy he couldn't really figure out how to direct.
Oh what the hell. Ray already thought he'd lost his mind. Maybe the sense touch would bring his memory back? Maybe he'd created this story of longing for Ellen for some other reason, and if he just kissed this guy like he clearly wanted to, then the memory block would lift and he'd be himself again.
Geoffrey unwound his hands and reached his right across Ray, moving his hand to his jaw, fingers against the side of his neck, and pulled himself across the space between them, closing a kiss on his mouth suddenly so as to not give himself - or the other man - any time to think about it. He could always take it back. ]