SoulDark

by blue kamelion

You ever get to that point where you just don't care? Or to the point where it doesn't matter that you don't care? Where you feel like a worthless piece of society that someone cast aside? No, it's not even that. It's not even feeling human. No longer a person, just something for people to gawk at and take pictures of. A freak in a freak show under the huge sign on the hill. An abnormality. A cancerous growth. Why do people want this when I don't even want it? Am I ungrateful? Yes. Am I worthy? Hell no. I got lucky, and now I'm paying for it. Everyone wants my success. I want my success. But I don't want this, yet I have to have this, it comes with the success. I don’t want people looking up to me, I want to do my job. I want people to leave me alone. Just bash in the cameras, tear the tape out of the recorders, tell everyone to just up and listen to me!! To ME!! Me, dammit, I'm here, I have a personality, a life, interests, well, I did. Now I don't care. Caring is too hard, a sacrifice I'm no longer willing to make. I don't want it. I don't want you. Just leave, go away, get out of my face...

...wait. Don't leave. I need you. I feel so alone, I can't trust anyone, no one cares, they just want something. I'm tired of the charades, just so tired. So tired of it all....so tired.....

* I had no idea what I was getting into. Never in a million years could I have prepared myself for this...*

"Hey, Ryan?" Colin called out into the still air as he tread carefully through the silent house. His stomach was knotted and his palms sweaty. He knew something was wrong, he could feel it, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Every object sneered at him, not welcoming his intrusion. He swallowed thickly and continued his search until he came to the basement door, which was slightly open. His stomach clenched even tighter, making him wince in discomfort and tempting him to rush off to the bathroom. His heart pounded heavily in his chest. The door was eased open, releasing a dusty, cold smell that was unique to basements and did nothing to settle his nerves. He furthered the distance with a creak and crept down the wooden stairs as faint catches of breath and clicks sharpened the air. Reaching the bottom Colin turned and faced a nightmare.

The gun seemed too large. It was alive; a shining, glinting, living threat of death in Ryan's hand. Colin knew that it was loaded. His shocked body protested as he willed himself forward. "Ryan," he whispered, not wanting to scare his friend, not wanting to make that large trembling hand jump.

Ryan turned, and the eyes that locked with Colin's held no emotion. That scared him even more than the gun. He took a steadying and calming breath, asking, "What are you doing?" in a voice that barely carried.

A click popped in the air and Ryan lowered the gun. "Thinking." He cast a wary look towards Colin, obviously suspecting a motive for his presence, obviously not wanting him there, and turned away.

Colin's feet were on auto pilot as he slowly made his way across the concrete floor. "Ryan, why don't you put that down and let's talk."

"No." That was it. No ceremony, no playing around, just flat refusal. He held the pistol to the light and examined it like a treasure. It shone brightly, newly polished. For Colin it was the only object in the room.

"Ryan, please." He kept using his friend's name, hoping the familiarity would draw him from the darkness in which he was so deeply immersed, all the while staring at the weapon. He was standing beside him now and could smell the cleaner on an old rag. Ryan regarded him with a cold expression.

"I thought I told you earlier to fuck off."

"Ryan, you're not yourself, please put that down."

"Since when are you an authority? How do you know who I am?"

"I'm...I don't. Look, just...just give me the gun." He tried to catch Ryan's eyes in a penetrating gaze. "Please."

"Why? Afraid I'll do it?" He grinned without humor and carelessly twirled the gun around his finger like a cowboy, causing Colin's heart to leap into his throat. "Maybe I was just cleaning it, you know? I do that."

"You're right. Fine then, it's clean. Now put it down and come upstairs."

"I said no." Ryan's eyes were dark.

Colin was growing desperate and angry at his inability to take control of the situation. "Come on, you're not serious. Now let's go upstairs." He winced at his words. The last thing he needed to do was to insinuate that Ryan wasn't being serious, that this was a game.

"For what? Milk and cookies? Comfort food for the mentally distressed? I'm fine Colin, now get the fuck out of here!"

"NO! I'm not leaving you down here, and you know that. Now talk to me!" His feeling of helplessness was getting the better of him, and he was eyeing the gun more and more.

"What makes you think talking will help?" Ryan yelled, suddenly infuriated. "Talking is nothing but empty words. Useless." He pointed to himself with the barrel, making Colin jump. "I don't need to talk," Ryan sneered, "I don't have time. No one has. This is just a mechanized world that churns and spins around us. It's cold and uncaring and automated. Don't spout off theories about how talking helps, because no one hears. It's sucked in. We're all sucked in." His shoulder sagged and he rested his hands on the table, still gripping the gun.

"I can't keep up," he continued softly. "I can't...I'm tired. You do so much, you are somebody, I'm...nothing."

Colin's heart broke. "You don't believe that. You know you can talk to me. It's not just words, it helps. We're all worried about you, we can help you. Please let us." His voice carried a hint of desperation.

"You offered help before. It didn't work."

"You weren't ready before. Are you ready now?" Colin held out his hand in an offering. Ryan looked at it closely and found himself unable to reach out, as usual. The realization pained him. Tears formed in his eyes and he looked up at his longtime friend, his best friend, and saw the hurt on his expressive face. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt his friend. And his continued presence was hurting him.

He felt ashamed. He didn't deserve Colin. Colin was some sort of angel, there was no one like him. He didn't need to be burdened with Ryan's darkness. He didn't need to be burdened. And he wouldn't be.

Ryan raised the gun to his head.

In an instant Colin was on him. Ryan cried out as his back hit the sharp edge on the table and the gun slid across the slick concrete floor with a hiss. He shoved Colin away and was surprised when the man bounced back with a left hook to his chin. Ryan was thrown off balance then flung to the floor. Colin knelt beside him, gripping his shirt tightly in his fists.

"Goddammit! Don't do this!" he yelled into Ryan's face as the other man cursed and grabbed his arms, flinging him away and sitting up. Colin bowled into him again, for he had spotted the gun and had no intention of letting Ryan anywhere near it. Ryan was enraged and flipped him over easily, holding him down.

"Why can't you leave me alone?" he screamed out. "Why can't everyone just leave me alone?" He started to push away but Colin caught hold of his wrists, keeping him from leaving his side and using him as leverage to pull himself to his knees.

"Because we fucking care! Can't you see that?" He had managed to catch Ryan's eyes and held his gaze as firmly as he held his wrists, willing with every ounce of his being for his friend to listen. "You hear that? We care about you! We love you, we need you here!" Tears glistened in Ryan's eyes and tore Colin's heart in two. The expression on Ryan's face, the sorrow in his eyes, all spoke volumes of the confusion and pain he was going through. Colin continued, "I could tell you about how you mean so much to so many people, but dammit you mean everything to me. Do you understand that? I can't picture life without you, please don't make me..." He could feel the tension give in Ryan's body, and he released the man's wrists and clasped his hands. "Please let me help you. We're the best of friends, right? I want to help you. Please god, Ryan, please..."

Ryan face was composed of several different emotions; fear, disgust, embarrassment and pain. "I've hurt you," he muttered, "what kind of friend would do that?"

"A friend who is hurting," Colin responded quietly, clinging to a glimmer of hope.

But Ryan just shook his head. "I never wanted to hurt you, you deserve so much..."

"So do you..."

"No."

"Ryan..."

"NO!" Ryan launched himself away and scrambled for the gun.

Colin sprung into action, landing full on Ryan's back, trying to hold him down and restrain his movements while reaching over his head for the gun. He outweighed Ryan by several pounds but the taller man had more body to work with. Ryan stretched and grabbed the pistol while angrily rolling Colin off of his back. Undeterred, Colin was on him again, straddling his chest as he tried to turn the gun away from it's target. He hesitated as he saw sudden understanding in Ryan's eyes and the darkness cleared, and for a heartbeat Colin thought he had won. Then the gun went off.

******************************************************************************

The alarm clock yelled out, screeching through an otherwise calm, pleasant morning. A large hand lashed out and flung it to the floor, silencing the annoying ring. Blurred eyes opened, then shut, then opened again. The world crept into view, fuzzy and hazy, slowly focusing to reveal bright sunlight that was too abundant for early morning. He winced and leaned over the side of the bed, flipping over the clock. Shit. It had been sounding on and off for an hour, he must've been really out of it. He was running late.

Ryan threw off the covers with a curse and rushed through a hot shower, barely toweling off and throwing a t-shirt and jeans over his damp body. He ran a comb through his hair, pulled on his socks and tennis shoes, snatched his keys, and was on the road fifteen minutes after waking. It wasn't until he was nearly at the studios that he realized he had forgotten to brush his teeth.

"Ryan! It's about time, were you sick or something? Why didn't you call?" Drew looked up at Ryan from his script. "We were getting worried. It's not like you to be late."

"I know, I'm sorry, I overslept." Ryan tossed his belongings onto a chair and sat across form his friend. "You wouldn't happen to have a breath mint, would you?"

"What? The king of the breath mints ran out?" Drew grinned and pulled open his desk drawer, tossing a foil and paper-wrapped roll across to him. Ryan was always worried about his breath and usually had a stash of mints or gum. Drew figured the habit was from his improv background, where performing literally face-to-face with someone wasn't rare. And since Ryan smoked he was always worried about blowing his tobacco-breath in someone's face. Many times on Whose Line he chewed mints while waiting in his chair, probably in case someone set him up for a kiss. At least that was Drew's speculation, although Colin was the only person to comply with the gag. No one else had the guts, unless Brad was in a mood. He was known to set Ryan up for a kiss with special guests. But usually Ryan enjoyed setting up Colin, and there were times when Colin fought it. That only insured that Ryan would follow though, because he enjoyed getting up his friend's back. Several times he had been known to set his best friend up in a situation that Colin wasn't comfortable with, and Colin did the same. After working together for so long it was the only way they could challenge each other. Of course if one was truly having trouble with a game, the other was there to rescue and take over. Such was their relationship.

Ryan popped two mints into his mouth and rolled the pack back across the desk. "Where's your mind, Drew? It's not here."

Drew snapped back from his thoughts. "I was thinking about Colin. Is he coming down any time soon?"

"Not until we start filming "Whose Line" again, if we do. Why?"

"Well, I haven't seen him in a long time. Kind of miss the Cannuck."

"I'm not enough man for ya?" Ryan teased.

"With those size fifteens? More than enough." Drew chuckled. He tossed a new script to Ryan and let his thoughts drift again. He had been thinking about Colin a lot lately, and not just because he missed his friend. He was worried about Ryan. The man was staying up late, drinking more, smoking more, and didn't look as put-together as usual. He had been working steadily until two months ago, then everything started to slack off. His performance was fine, he knew his lines and was his usual self on set. But his concentration was starting to waver. The solid man seemed to be teetering on his foundation.

For instance, his temper, which had always been carefully kept in check, was flaring. For the most part he was a calm man and hard to anger, but Drew knew there was a pretty rough temper buried in his psyche. When it did erupt, St. Helen's had nothing on him. And it was erupting more and more. If not that, then he was distancing himself more. But this was all subtle, noticeable only to Drew so far. At least it hadn't been commented on by the other cast members. But Colin would pick up on it, he could probably talk him out of this funk that held Ryan in its grips. He had been tempted to call Colin for some time but always hesitated, knowing the Canadian was very busy. He also wasn't sure of his own feelings. Part of him was convinced that he was over-reacting, that Ryan was just going through a rough time like everyone else did, and that he didn't need to be babied. So he left him alone.

* Deep, dark despair, helplessness, a feeling of being utterly alone. It consumes you, and pulls you into that pit that you cannot escape from, there is no way out, no way to free yourself from the demons and ghouls that suck your soul dry and leave you bare and trembling....*

Ryan sat silently on the hood of his car, staring out over the serene valley, yet seeing nothing. He knew that picture of serenity was as fake as everything else. There was no truth anymore. Nothing real. He was in a void. Everything he had every loved or enjoyed doing no longer held any pleasure. It was all he could do to get out of bed in the mornings. He was a robot going through pre-programmed motions. He simply didn't care.

He knew it was showing, his apathy, and he knew it was hurting everyone around him. No one said anything, no one asked. It was as if they didn't care enough, or he scared them. Or they chose to ignore it. After all, everyone had their down points, hell he was loaded with them, but this was one he couldn't pull himself from. The sun had set and lights dotted the land below him, artificial points trapped among nature. He was one of those points, and his light was dimming. He knew it, he felt it. Life held no more surprises, it didn't even welcome his presence. When he woke in the morning the sun sneered at him. When he slept at night, the dark devoured him. The easiest thing to do was to just stay at home, stay in bed, stay away.

*********************************************************************************

*God, he just lay there so still in a puddle of blood. I admit it, I was hysterical. I shot my best friend. He took the bullet, just like he wanted. I feel so empty. Distant. Numb. Fuckin' insane without the fear of restraints. Everyone has been here, and Drew still is, but I won't talk to them. I can't. Not until I know if he's okay. *

"Mr. Mochrie?" A long, white jacket emerged from around the corner with a head attached. At least that was how Colin saw it through red-rimmed eyes. He grunted a sound of acknowledgement. Drew leaned in to hear what the doctor had to say as the older man sat beside Colin. "The surgery was successful. It was a close call." He looked at Colin, seemingly unmoved by the blank stare he received in return. "We had to shave a patch of hair on the side of his head for the surgery, of course, but that will grow back quickly." He hesitated and looked at Colin closely. There was an air of despondency that Colin picked up on.

"And?"

The doctor clasped his thin hands together and looked down at them, then regarded Colin with a steady eye. "Your friend is in a coma. There is no way of telling if there is any extensive damage to his brain until he wakes." Hesitation. "If he wakes."

Colin heard Drew's sharp intake of breath and felt his hand on his shoulder. He shrugged it off as Drew asked, "When can we see him?"

"He'll remain in ICU for some time. I can arrange for visitors one at a time, supervised, until we move him out of ICU."

Colin felt Drew's gaze. "Col..."

No. Not yet.

The doctor sensed that Colin needed to be left alone. He patted his knee, then stood and walked away, disappearing around one of many sharp corners. Colin sat frozen, then balled his fists, then jumped to his feet and raced down the starched hall. Images of catacombs filled his mind as he ran past the rooms in a blur, flinging open the emergency doors and crying out, yelling at the top of his lungs, releasing all of the anger and anguish he felt until he collapsed into a sobbing heap that was quickly surrounded by medical staff.

"Colin?"

His own name sounded painful in his ears. Turn the lights off, they're too bright. Too much noise. Too much...way too much....

"Colin? Can you hear me?"

"Go away."

"Talk to me. Please. You can't bottle this up."

Colin shifted in his chair, cradling the coffee supplied by the nurse. "No."

Drew studied his hands which were clasped tightly in front of him. He wasn't sure how much more of this he could take, one friend lying at death's door while the other shut out life. It was late, damned late. Visitors had been in and out. Greg had stayed for a while to help Drew, who was becoming a basket case with the stress of two incapacitated friends. He refused to leave Colin, and Colin refused to leave. So they sat in the blinding, artificial glare and drank bitter lukewarm coffee, each coming to grips with the situation in their own way, each forced to remember.

**********************************************************************************

*He wasn't himself. I knew it, the cast knew it, but we didn't pay attention, not really. We thought he would just snap out of it. *

"What do you mean he called in? This is a show. You don't just call in." Drew continued to pace back and forth as Deidrich watched.

"You're gonna fall through, man, calm down. He sounded pretty bad." The actor leaned back in his chair. "Maybe he really does need a day off."

"We film tonight! Or have you forgotten? What do you want me to do, find a look alike? Hey, excuse me, can you impersonate a tall goofball with size fifteen feet?" Drew ran a hand over his buzz cut and blew forcefully through his teeth. "I'm going over there. I'll drag him here by his ears. I can't believe this. This throws everything off, I can't believe he'd be so selfish!"

"Drew! Relax!"

"Fuck you, Dee."

"Fine." Deidrich stood and turned on his heel. "I'm not getting into this."

Drew sighed. "Dee, wait, I'm sorry. I am."

Deidrich turned back and waited. Once he was sure that Drew was calmer, he said, "Look. Ryan's been feeling bad for a while, and you know he's been busting his ass lately. Give him the afternoon. Call him in a few hours. I'm sure he'll show."

Drew sighed again. "You're right." He sat behind his desk on the set and looked around at the props that were as familiar as his objects at home. Usually he could sit there and relax before the crew started coming in, but not today.

Deidrich leaned over Drew's desk. "I'm getting something to eat before everyone gets here, you want something?"

"Nah, I'm fine. Thanks anyway." Drew waved his friend away and leaned back, hoping Ryan would show up after all.

That afternoon everyone was present for final readings, including Ryan. The man was pale and withdrawn, and Drew felt bad about his earlier outburst. They gathered at the office set, marking their places as they reviewed the last minute changes.

"Ryan!"

Ryan jolted from his stupor and looked at Kathy. "Sorry?"

"Look, no offense, but I don't want to be here all night." Kathy Kinney waved her script in Ryan's face. "You plan on staying with us?"

Ryan nodded. "Yeah, yeah, sorry." He winced at the script, flipping a page over with a crack, then back again. "Where were we?"

"Waiting on you." She narrowed her sharp eyes. "You have the opening line."

"Right. Sorry."

"Stop apologizing. Just read." Kathy sighed and turned her attention to the page.

Drew watched from his chair, shaking his head and cutting a questioning glance at Deidrich, who just shrugged and looked down at his own booklet. Kathy was a quiet, patient person but she could flare up when annoyed, and she was, and rightfully so. Ryan, the man who usually knew his lines and everyone else's, was uncharacteristically unfocused. Many times he'd sit quietly, the consummate professional, going over his readings and bouncing his leg, a habit that drove Drew insane. Once the readings started he'd launch into it, inserting jokes, suggesting changes and making notes with short, precise strokes of his pen. At his best he was every script writer's worst nightmare. But now he was still. Silent. Like he wasn't there at all. His voice was flat. Granted "Lewis" talked in a rather subdued tone most of the time, but this was different. This was...lifeless. Drew wondered idly if the man's back was troubling him, but that hadn't plagued Ryan for months. As far as he knew there were no hampering work issues, quite the contrary. Ryan was flourishing. The Drew Carey Show was preparing for the final episodes of the season. Ryan had been offered two bit parts in two different movies, one being filmed in Canada. The schedule was grueling, filming the television show during the week then working on his other projects on the weekends, crammed into fifteen hour days. He shot a commercial and talked his way through several interviews. As a result of his workload and Colin's, "Whose Line" had postponed tapings, instead pulling shows from the massive backstock of unaired episodes. Just one more month, then everyone would get a break. Even Ryan, if he would let himself. He seemed to be everywhere, everywhere except where he needed to be.

Fortunately he managed to harness that concentration he was known for, and by the end of the session he was throwing in a few laughs. Drew left the studios exhausted and ready to throw himself into his bed.

Sleep wasn't long in coming, but was rudely interrupted by the telephone. Cursing violently, he knocked the phone to the floor with a clang, and fumbled for the receiver. "I said no room service," he snapped.

"If you have room service at home I don't want to know about it."

That voice was familiar, and the humored toned belonged to one man only. "Colin?!"

"Hi, Drew."

"Colin, where are you? Are you okay?" He hadn't expected to hear from his Canadian friend for several months.

"I'm fine, Drew, I'm in L.A. I'm sorry to call so late, but you wouldn't answer earlier."

"I haven't been home long. Does Ryan know you're here?"

"No, not yet. Listen, can we get together over breakfast tomorrow? Around seven?"

"If you let me sleep now. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Stop panicking, Drew. I just need to discuss something, that's all."

"Do I need to come to the hotel?"

"No, no. Meet at Rose's Cafe, okay?"

"Craving her bagels, huh?"

"Always."

"That's what I thought," Drew grinned. "I'll see you then."

"So what's up?" a bleary-eyed Drew asked the next morning. He hadn't slept much at all.

Colin fumbled with his napkin, crumpling it between nervous fingers then carefully shredding it along the lined pattern. "You're going to think I'm crazy."

"You called me in the middle of the night. I KNOW you're crazy."

Colin smiled slightly, but it didn't touch his eyes. "It's about Ryan."

Drew looked up quickly. "What about him?"

"Something...something's wrong. There has to be...is anything, I mean, is he okay?"

Drew just stared at the Canadian. "He's been a little down, but he's was really busy for a while. I think he's just burnt out."

"How's he been acting?" Colin wouldn't meet his eyes, he just kept tearing at his napkin.

"Well, tired. Withdrawn. Used to get really angry, but now it's like he doesn't care about anything. Hell Colin, I've been worried about him, to tell you the truth. Damn worried." Drew hesitated, and found himself opening up about his fears. "He doesn't go out. He's lethargic. His memory isn't what it was. Why? Why are you here so early? We aren't supposed to film Whose Line for a good while yet." Drew was genuinely confused.

Colin finally met his gaze. "If I tell you, promise me you won't think it's...weird."

"If it has to do with you and Ryan, I'd believe anything. What is it?"

Colin continued to tear at the napkin, until Drew snatched it away. "Stop that! Talk to me! I'm going nuts here!"

"Sorry, sorry. I, uh...I've been...having dreams about him." Colin stopped and raised his deep brown gaze to meet Drew's.

"Not wet dreams, I hope."

"Christ, Drew..."

"I'm sorry! Really, I apologize. What kind of dreams?"

*********************************************************************************

* They have a connection. They can read each other like a book, they finish each other's sentences. They talk with their eyes. I've never seen anything like it. I've heard of it, but man.... like last fall, I'll never forget that....*

"So you didn't go?" Ryan asked.

"No." Colin didn't look up.

"Why not?"

"You know."

"Well, did he..."

"Yes."

"And you..."

"Of course." Bitterly.

"I see."

"I don't!" Drew sat in astonishment at his desk on the set of his show and watched as a rapid-fire and intelligible conversation brewed before him. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Ryan laughed. "Colin's meeting with his agent."

"And?"

"He didn't go."

"Why?"

"Because he's overbooked and knew his agent would put more opportunities under his nose in the spirit of good publicity."

Drew merely blinked. "And?"

"He called Colin, annoyed that he broke the appointment."

"And?"

"And...Colin told him to jerk off. He has enough going on and he would call when he had a chance. Really, Col, you might ought to call him back apologize for your tone. We can't have people thinking that you actually have a temper buried under that shy exterior of yours."

"You're right, I should," Colin responded.

"Wait, wait!" Drew put his hand to his head, then shook it in bafflement. "You mean you got all that from that tidbit of a conversation?"

Ryan looked confused. "Well, yeah."

"How?"

"Easy. I was in the room with him when he received the call this morning." Ryan grinned and slapped his script down in front of Drew, who just scowled.

"Son of a bitch...."

* Okay, bad example. But there are so many times... *

Ryan stood with his arms high over his head, passing an electrical cord to one of the techies on the Whose Line set, then steadying the ladder as the tech tossed it over one of the steel girders and fed it back down. Ryan caught the flipping end and wrapped the excess cord around his arm, pulling it out of the way as the tech moved the ladder to a new position. Drew laughed. "And you call yourself an improviser. Your heart is in the support group. Secretly you love playing with wires."

Ryan grinned and rubbed a grubby hand on his stained t-shirt. "I'm just tall. Bruce doesn't have to climb up and down the ladder so much with me around, right, Bruce?"

Bruce laughed, flashing white teeth against dark skin. "Only if you can move this ladder with me on it."

Ryan made a move towards the ladder, chuckling as Drew said, "Oh, sure, go for it. This I gotta see."

"Nah." Ryan backed off and tossed the cord back up to Bruce. "Too much at stake. Gotta do that damn dance number of yours later."

Drew grinned mischievously. He loved seeing Ryan try his hardest to master the moves that the choreographer set down for them. The moves were relatively simple, since out of the group Christa was the only one with dance experience, and that was very limited. Ryan managed to pull through without making too much of an ass of himself. On occasion he actually looked decent. Bu they joy was the fact that he was so uncomfortable with the whole thing, and it was something to see; a tall guy with airs of self confidence surrounding him being reduced to a toddler learning to walk. Drew loved it. Now Colin, if Colin were on the show he could carry it off. He had enough natural grace, and Drew had seen him slow dance with Kathy Greenwood between filmings, and knew he had rudimentary tap experience. He tried to picture Ryan in tap shoes and cackled.

"What's with you?" Ryan asked over his shoulder.

"You don't want to know," Drew commented, looking up as Colin entered the studio. His cap was pulled down over his brow, shadowing his face slightly. He smiled a greeting at Drew.

"Hey, Colin, you're earlier than usual."

"I was bored. Thought I'd come over early and give you guys a hard time." He smiled again and Drew grinned, clapping him on the shoulder as Ryan turned. He saw their eyes meet, and swore there was a spark of communication between the two. He couldn't explain it, he only saw it. It was intangible. Ryan caught the cord lowered back down to him, his eyes never leaving his friend's. Colin gave him a nod. "Having fun?"

"Always." Ryan muttered something to Bruce and walked over to Colin. They regarded each other, and Drew was certain words were flowing from one set of eyes to the other, words he couldn't see. Colin turned back to Drew as Ryan glanced back towards the ladder "Hey, wait, let me do that." He waved Bruce down and gave Colin one more glance before heading up the ladder himself, joking with the shorter man about how size did indeed matter. Colin turned back to Drew.

"Is he supposed to be doing that? I mean, he's a star of the show. What about the whole liability issue?"

"I know, I know. I told him before, but you know how he is. Stubborn in the head. I even threatened to ban him from coming in early."

Colin just chuckled in his quiet way. "How's the love life?"

"Wonderful! Steady, fun, I have to wonder why I never let myself get into a true relationship before." Drew beamed.

"Will we be singing at your wedding?"

"I hope not." Drew smiled and looked over at Ryan, who was reaching as high as he could to feed the cord through a hole in one of the rafters. One of the supports on the ladder caught Drew's attention; it was one of those older ladders whose metal side supports bent downwards to close instead of up, and it was halfway down. Drew had no time to shout a warning, and he didn't need to.

Colin's back was turned to Ryan, but somehow he KNEW. He turned and yelled out his name just as Ryan started to lose his balance, then the ladder collapsed to the side. Ryan grabbed onto the steel girder as the ladder crashed onto the hard floor. Colin was already there, shoving it aside and clearing a space for Ryan to drop to the ground. They stood there for a moment, then Colin's lips curled in a smile. They started laughing as Ryan playfully kicked at the ladder in mock anger while Drew tried to erase visions of Ryan's brains splattered on the floor. It wasn't until he reflected on the event later that he realized what had happened, that Colin somehow knew to turn and go to his friend's side right as Ryan started losing his balance. Almost as if he picked up on that moment of panic. Colin had called it a coincidence when asked about it later, his soft, brown eyes showing some confusion.

But it wasn't just that time. When Ryan hit his head on the neon light during Party Quirks and shattered it, Drew expected Colin to jump up and rush to his aid. Instead the man sat there, his hand covering his mouth in surprise. He stared to laugh, his glee well hidden except for the spark in his eyes. It wasn't until Ryan returned rather sheepishly to his seat that Colin stood and looked him over quickly, then sat with a grin. When asked later why he hadn't gone to help, he simply said, "I knew he was okay."

And it wasn't just on Colin's part. Many times he would walk into a room and Ryan would look at him, then walk over and talk to him quietly, pulling him out of whatever funk he was in. Sometimes he didn't even talk, his eyes did the talking. And Colin would change visibly.

Drew was convinced they were telepathic. Everyone was convinced of it to some degree. And so Colin's lassitude worried him but was understandable, because he hadn't seen it coming, and of all people HE should have seen it coming.

**********************************************************************************

* I should have seen the signs. I should have seen it coming... * Smoke curled around Colin's fingers as he sat outside the hospital that afternoon and thought back...

"Ryan, you're..."

"Yeah, Greg gave me some, so fuckin' what?"

Colin stared in shock at the shell of a man he had come to love and admire so much. His eyes were glazed, and he was twitching. Ryan tossed him a curt glance. "What do you want?" He swayed and leaned heavily on the counter, knocking over his beer. His eyes managed to focus on the man standing before him, and his expression held further contempt. How dare he come here now? After all that was said before?

"Ryan..."

"I hate you. Fuckin' bastard."

Colin's throat tightened and he caught his breath. He knew it was the beer and drugs talking, not his friend. Right?

Ryan pushed away from the counter and regarded Colin. "You fucked up, you know that? Fucked it all up." He shouldered past the bewildered man and pulled open a drawer, carefully selecting a sharp-edged knife. "See? See this? What's the first thing that comes to your mind when you look at this?" Colin couldn't say anything, he just stood stock still. Ryan nodded.

"Fear," he continued. "Cold fear. That's what's in your eyes, Col. You know I could always read your eyes." He slowly approached the man, holding the knife so that the razored edge glinted. "I can read your eyes, Col. When did you stop reading mine?" He stopped, his face just inches from Colin's. "Why are you here?"

Colin did his best to keep his gaze steady. "I'm worried. That's why I'm here. You asked if I could read your eyes. I can't, because those eyes belong to someone else."

"Bastard."

"Who's the bastard, the man standing at the point of a knife or the man holding it?"

"Don't turn quotes on me." Ryan raised his chin as a cloud crossed his face. He took a step back. "You know what I see? This knife, you know what it is? Relief. Escape. That's all." He continued to back away as his eyes cleared, and he realized what he had just said. The knife fell loudly to the floor. "Shit." He sank to his knees, trembling as the scene played back in his mind. "Shit, shit...shit...."

Colin slowly sank down to the tiled floor beside him. "Come stay with me for a while. Up in Toronto. Get away from this place, get away from work."

Ryan raised his head. "There is nothing wrong with work." He stood and picked up the knife, placing it back in the drawer. "I just need...I need the TV. Come watch some sports with me." Without waiting for an answer he listlessly walked over to the sofa and fell onto it, flipping channels until he came across a hockey game.

Colin watched from the doorframe and allowed his emotions to take hold, breathing raggedly as the shock of what had just happened weighed in on him. He stood there for sometime, unmoving, staring at the knife drawer. Snores soon floated in from the den and Colin took the opportunity to make a phone call.

*I knew he was in trouble...why didn't I do anything?*

"Hey, Col, what's up?" Greg smiled as he opened the door, then cried out in astonishment as Colin grabbed his shirt and flung him against the wall.

"What the hell were you thinking? Were you thinking?" Colin yelled in uncharacteristic anger.

"What the... what did I do?"

"The drugs, Greg. Ryan and the drugs." His knuckled grip dug into Greg's chest. "How could you do that to him? You know he's not stable right now!"

"Not stable? Is that what you call it? Fucking suicidal is more like it."

Colin forced his fists deeper. "What are you talking about?" he hissed.

"Open your goddamn eyes, man!" Greg shoved Colin off of him. "You're supposed to be so close, and you can't see how he's hurting?"

Colin clenched his teeth and turned away. "Of course I can see it. I just can't do a fucking thing about it." He spun. "And if you knew, why did you give him drugs? Huh? Can your clever ass answer that?"

"I didn't give it to him, he took them. He wanted them, and I was too late to stop him. Okay?"

Colin just glared at him, then threw his fists in the air in frustration and walked off as Greg straightened his shirt. He sighed, watching his old friend try to come to terms with a situation that no one could cope with. "Colin? Listen, we need to talk. I was going to call you anyway, you just beat me to it."

Colin's shoulders shook, causing Greg to walked over and turn the man to face him. "I'm sorry."

Greg cupped his hand behind Colin's neck. "Would coffee help? We could go to that little place on the corner."

"I'm scared to leave Ryan, he was asleep, I should get back."

"He'll be okay for an hour. I need to fill you in on some things."

The coffee cup warmed his chilled hands and cleared his mind. The sun was setting low over the hills in the distance, throwing golden rays over the swimming pool. Ryan sipped carefully, wincing at the dull throb in his head. The sounds of a harsh sit-com had jolted him from his sleep, and he had spent the past ten minutes preparing coffee and trying to remember how he ended up on the sofa in the first place. He had chugged water as the coffee brewed, trying to wash away the cotton dryness that stuck in his mouth. Now he stood gazing out of the glass doors, watching the sun and feeling numb. After his cup was drained he set about cleaning up a bit, throwing away the half-eaten pizza, wiping down the counters and loading the dishwasher with the previous evening's dishes. Two sets, he must've had company over, but he'd be damned if he could remember it. Didn't matter. He poured the liquid soap into the dispenser and shut the door, latching it and turning it on. The familiar whirring sound filled the air and sent Ryan into a semi-dazed state as he thought back, trying to recall the previous evening's events. He was about to be reminded.

It took some time for him to register the faint knock at the door. He opened it and was greeted by a buxom blonde who coyly held out a pair of his boxers. "I forgot to return these," she said, eyeing him up and down, then she shook her hair out of her eyes, tilting her head and grinning evilly. "Last night was, interesting." Her smile widened as she swayed her hips, turned like a runway model, and walked back to her expensive car without looking back. Ryan realized then that he had no idea who she was, and was certain he'd never see her again.

It was late when another knock came. Ryan cursed and eased the volume down on the TV. He had made a special effort not to call anybody and had taken the receiver out of it's cradle so that he wouldn't be disturbed. He wasn't in the mood for anybody, he just wanted to sleep. He wanted to be left alone. The knock turned into a persistent pounding as he walked to the door. It was flung open in irritation, and the knob was nearly wrenched from his hand by a disgruntled Colin, followed closely by Greg.

"Are you okay? Why haven't you answered your phone?" Colin's eyes were frantic as he watched his friend calmly close the door and point to the dislodged receiver.

"What can I do for you guys?" he asked with an air of disinterest. He still wanted to be left alone.

"Man, you come off it better than I do," Greg said enviously.

"Come off what?"

"The high, man. What else?"

"What high?" Ryan stood motionless, though his eyes narrowed.

Colin stood in front of Ryan, trying to decide if he was really confused or just putting on a good show. "You don't remember?"

"No, as a matter of fact I don't remember a damn thing."

"Wow." Greg shook his head and plopped down onto the sofa. "Amazing."

Ryan looked at Colin, then Greg. "Will someone tell me what's going on?"

Colin studied Ryan's face and his eyes. The clear green gaze had returned, a little pained but there nonetheless. He took his friend by the arm and set him down beside Greg. Then he looked at Greg, gesturing for him to talk.

Greg cleared his throat and brought one leg up on the sofa, resting his arm on the back and facing Ryan. "Uh, well, you called me really, really early this morning, like about three. You were trippin' on some girl. You..." he paused and chuckled, "you were out of it, man. Major. You wanted me to come over." He hesitated. "I was, shall we say, relaxed, and I hailed a taxi, toting a stash in my pocket. You were well into the beer and whatever else she gave you."

"Wait," Ryan interrupted, "she gave me?"

"You were floating, man. Orbital."

"Shit."

"Anyway, we talked, and you took some of my stash when I went to the bathroom. I didn't say anything, but I noticed I left with much less than I came in with, and I hadn't touched it since arriving."

Ryan stared at his hands. "And?"

"And Colin came over this morning and you were still tripping. Bad."

Ryan was silent. He had no memory of his apparent date, or Greg, or Colin's arrival. He noticed the serious expression on Colin's face. "Col, you know I don't usually do this sort of thing."

Colin knew. He knew that if Ryan felt bad enough and was drunk enough that he would resort to other means of diversion, but that was extraordinarily rare. For the most part Ryan was clear of that. But that wasn't what frightened him.

If Ryan really had no memory of what had happened, then he didn't remember the episode with the knife. And Colin wasn't about to remind him.

Ryan sighed and let his head fall into his hands. "I don't know, I just felt bad and started drinking. I don't remember any of that." He looked at Greg. "Was there a lady here when you came?"

"No," he replied carefully, "you mentioned one but she wasn't here."

"Shit." Ryan lowered his head again and massaged his temples. "I swear I can't remember a goddamn thing."

Colin's worry and anger drained to sympathy as he watched his friend struggle. "Never mind. It's all done and you're okay."

Okay? Was he? Ryan raised his head and regarded his old friend closely. "Yeah. Everything's fine." He yawned and stood. "I think I'm going to sleep the rest of this off. You guys can stay and watch the TV or something, but I'm out of beer." He gave a half-hearted wave and headed to his room without waiting for a response.

Colin released his breath. "She drugged him?"

"He drugged himself. She had the means." Greg stretched. "You need a ride anywhere?"

"No, I'm gonna hang out here for a while, make sure he's okay." Colin walked Greg to the door. "Not staying?"

"Nah, I need to sleep this off myself. Call me though, if you need anything."

Colin nodded and stopped Greg right before he walked to his car. "Thanks. I'm sorry about earlier."

"Sure. Just keep an eye on him." Greg held his gaze, then waved and was gone.

Colin looked in on Ryan, then made himself a peanut butter sandwich. The substance stuck to the roof of his mouth but there was no other comfort food like it. He licked the remnants from his fingers and dug his tongue into the inside of his cheek as he flipped channels. After two movie and another sandwich he started to doze with the lights of the television flickering against closed lids.

They were at a bridge. Ryan leaned over to look at the water hundreds of feet below. "I hate heights."

Then don't lean over the rail.

"Of course the way to overcome a fear is to confront it."

Ryan...

"Fear of flying..."

Ryan, don't.

"Fear of falling..."

Get down.

"Fear of dying..." He flung out his arms and jumped. Colin screamed and caught at his jacket, his fingertips brushing the coarse denim as his friend plummeted. Colin could only stare and scream...

"Colin!"

Colin gasped and woke, his eyes wide and filled with despair. "Oh god, oh my god..."

"You okay?" Ryan asked in a worried voice.

"I'm, yeah...I'm-I'm fine." He held Ryan's arm as he steadied himself. "I'm sorry."

Ryan nodded and released Colin, although Colin maintained his grip on Ryan's arm. "Must've been a hell of a dream."

Colin was still catching his breath, and he raised his eyes to meet Ryan's soft gaze. "Yes, it was." He continued to hold onto his friend's arm, not wanting to let go, not wanting him to fall. He watched as Ryan fidgeted uncomfortably. "You go on back to bed. I'll be fine."

"Why don't you take the spare room?"

"No, I'm fine right here. I don't want to put you out."

"Give me a break, Col. You're not putting me out." He stood and shuffled over to the hall closet where he pulled out some fresh sheets. "Sleeping on the sofa in front of the TV probably gave you that dream." Colin looked at the screen and found that an old horror movie had come on. He grabbed the remote and clicked it off.

"Probably." Colin was still willing to buy any excuse and dissuade himself from the signs that plagued him, from the events that pointed to one fact that he was desperate to ignore, that Ryan was apparently suicidal.

*It's my fault. I ignored the signs, I didn't want to see the signs.* His best friend needed his help, and he wasn't there, not until it was too late. Colin sat outside the hospital allowing the painful memories to overtake him, torture him, and punish him for not acting sooner, even when he knew in his heart what his head denied him. Colin snuffed out his cigarette and buried his head in his hands, and sobbed....

**********************************************************************************

* He looks at me, and I can tell he knows, but he is uncertain. The concern glints like glass covering an otherwise serene state. He wants to help but he can't, and I feel worse for doing this to him, for showing my weakness and putting him through hell. *

And so as usual he clammed up, closed himself in, and put on a funny, goofy exterior, or threw himself headlong into his scripts and work, hiding the pain from those around him. But doing this was dulling his senses and he knew it, and Colin knew it, but dammit, he couldn't get the guy off his back. For the first time in his life, Colin was pissing him off.

He bared his wrist, looking at the delicate veins that supported and guided his blood. The razor glinted in the light, a menacing promise of relief. Permanent relief. This way his troubles end, and he would be free. No pain. No criticism, no having to live up to expectations. No pressure, except for the cold sharpness of metal against tender skin. And yet he stood there, debating. His conscience was trying to talk him out of something drastic. Did it matter? If he slit his wrist then and there, would anyone care? He'd just be another victim. All of the caring and sympathy would go to those he left behind. The thought of leaving them was more than he could bear. Tears welled in his pained eyes, pleading for their own escape from a confining world.

But how could he stay? What purpose was there? What good was he? So many mistakes, so many faults, nothing went right, nothing WAS right, and he had no control over it. He was useless and helpless.
He wanted to give and to love, and instead was used. He was trapped with no exit, no escape, sinking into a despair colder and calmer than death itself. He no longer felt anything but a deep, biting anger, and it was hurting those around him. Better to rid himself than be a burden. He held the blade over his wrist, steadying himself.

Start with a puncture, and watch the bubble of red rise to the surface. Drag slowly, feeling the pain, agonizing over the pain, DESERVING the pain. Watch as the redness spreads; a warm, sticky
stream steadily leaking away, red like the hell he was escaping, the hell in his confused mind. Red like the cloudy vision that preceded his anger and perplexed his judgment. Red life, HIS red life, pouring away from a small yet gaping wound that reflected the wounded red heart, pounding fiercely, pumping the life out of him. It would seep out, the pain would ebb away, his breathing would slow, then cease, all problems gone. Peace.

Sure, call it a coward's way out. He stared at the blade. It took guts to hold that blade, to put your future on the fine edge of a tool that glinted and laughed, and cut in half any notions of normalcy or fairness. Life wasn't fair, sure. And good guys finish last. He hadn't even left the starting line. This wasn't the
chicken's way out. He was ridding the world of a plague. Himself.

The blade hovered. Why hadn't he done it yet? What was keeping him here? Some faint, optimistic part of his brain that said things could get better? That was bullshit. Nothing but wishful thinking. He had cried so many times, and no one heard. He was alone, no one understood him.

The world was fake anyway. People said they cared, but it was a lie, like the men and women around him. They walked about like mimes, pretending and silent, caught behind painted faces that projected something totally different from what they felt, or who they were. Those that weren't mimes were carved of stone, unyielding and unfeeling. The living dead, walking corpses. They had no heart, no warmth, nothing but cold solidity that was suffocating. No trust. No real life, just imagery of an illusion. There was no light at the end of the tunnel, there wasn't even a tunnel. Just a stone wall that you could bash and bash your head against and never break through while the mimes pointed and sneered, and the carved stone people stood cold and silent and uncaring. The only thing that could break through that wall was a sledgehammer, or a jackhammer. Or a blade.

There. He winced as the blade punctured his skin, but he couldn't drag it across his wrist. He stood frozen, trembling, face screwed up, mirroring his inner agony. A moan escaped, then a scream, then a yell of pure red rage as he flung the blade across the room and pressed his thumb on the wound. He bandaged it lightly, cursing to himself. No guts. He was not only a loser in life, he was a loser when facing death. He covered the wound on his wrist the same way he covered the wound within. With a temporary patch. He walked away sullenly. The blade glinted from the corner of the room, tossed aside or now, but by no means forgotten.

**********************************************************************************

Days passed. Ryan was finally moved into a private room and allowed visitors, but still only one or two at a time. Colin never left the hospital, staying beside Ryan whenever he could. The staff knew that Colin couldn't be kept away, and even offered to set up a cot for him in the far corner, but Colin refused. He spent his time clutching his friend's hand, laying his head beside him on the bed, and talking in a low, soft voice. He re-hashed old times, teased him about old pranks, and filled him in on his visitors. He wasn't talking much to anyone else, he just looked at them with empty eyes. He never felt so scared in his life.

"How is he?"

The voice magically floated in around Colin, who had been unaware of the person's arrival. He looked up blankly and faced Greg's concern.

"The same."

Greg pulled a chair over to Colin and sat beside him. "And you? How are you holding up?"

No answer.

"Have you eaten today?"

Still no answer.

Greg exhaled forcefully and removed his glasses, rubbing at his eyes before replacing them. Colin was pale and thin, and looked exhausted. The nurses had told Greg that he wouldn't eat, he wouldn't leave unless the nurses had to tend to him. The doctor was ready to ban him from the hospital for a day just so he would get some food and rest, but Greg knew he wouldn't do that. He placed his hand on Colin's arm, knowing the other man wouldn't acknowledge it. He just stared at Ryan, at the huge white bandage on his head, at the motionless hands that held no life, at the rise and fall of his chest, knowing that without the machine next to him breathing wouldn't be possible. Tubes and wires covered him. His life was totally mechanized. There was nothing there of the Ryan they knew, the tall man with a heart of gold who lost himself in the struggle to be himself. Greg just sat with Colin, unable to do anything but remember.

*********************************************************************************

*He hated Hollywood, he hated L.A., he hated the whole thing. He just wanted to do his job and go home. He teases and says he uses his stardom to his advantage, for good tables at top restaurants and such, but don't let that fool you. He'd rather be home cooking.*

Ryan and Greg were seated at Greg's favorite bar, throwing back a few and talking about nothing at all. So far the conversation had covered the odd selections of pictures that decorated the walls, the hot waitress, the peanuts shells on the floor, and the proper way to mix drinks. It was after several shot glasses later that Ryan started talking about L.A.

"It's fake. Everything here is fake. The image, the people, I really hate it, Greg. I can't take it."

"It's the drinks, Ryan. Always makes things look worse than they are."

"Don't give me that shit. Drinks are supposed to make things look better."

"Says who?"

Ryan scowled at Greg and down his shot, then signaled for another. "I'm telling you. It's all fake. The people, the buildings...look, look at her." He pointed to a lady laughing in the corner of the bar. "What do you see?"

"A patron enjoying themselves?"

"She's a whore. I've seen her. She works a few streets down. And here she is, covering, being someone she isn't."

"Maybe when she's a whore she's being what she isn't."

"Either way. My point."

"No point made, Ryan. It's a job. Not the most desirable, but..."

"Okay, okay. What about the people that cruise the streets in those fancy cars that only a third of them can afford? Creating the image? They look the same, dress the same, act the same, smoke the same, go to parties and do the same things. All fake, all an image, all created for our viewing pleasure."

"That's normal. You know that, why has this got you down all of a sudden? Nothing has changed."

Ryan rubbed his forefinger around the rim of his shot glass. "I don't know. I make a living being silly. Pretending. Acting. Then I look around, and see all these people being silly and acting...where does it stop, Greg? I need something real."

Greg just looked at his friend in confusion. "Ryan, you aren't making sense."

"I'm making perfect fucking sense! You just aren't listening, just like everyone else! None of you listen to a goddamn thing!"

Greg waved off the bartender who was waiting nearby. Ryan was getting irritable, which meant he'd had enough to drink. "Let's get going. You've got to film tomorrow."

"Yeah, yeah, more pretending. More hiding. I can't even play a successful character, I have to play a loser." Ryan stood and leaned against the table until he had his bearings, then pushed off. "I'll see you later. Thanks for the drinks."

"You need a taxi?"

"I'll get one. See you later."

Greg had wondered for weeks about that night, and what that conversation meant. Maybe he should have asked Ryan about it. What was it people said about hindsight being twenty-twenty? He continued to sit by Colin, intimidated by his silence, by the machines, by the stillness of his old friend.

********************************************************************************

Colin still wasn't sleeping. The nurse was used to seeing him awake, staring at his friend at three in the morning. He hadn't heard her enter. He usually didn't. She felt awful for him, more so than most cases. Usually she could turn off her feelings as needed, otherwise she'd go mad, but there was something about the way he refused to leave his friend's side that was touching. She gently patted him on the shoulder, causing him to start and spin around, then gasp for breath and close his eyes as he tried to regain his calm. Jumpier than usual this evening. "Nurse Benning," he said.

"I said to call me Marsha, remember?" She smiled kindly and checked Ryan's pulse, then his eyes. "How are you feeling?"

Colin just shrugged.

Marsha Benning was a motherly sort, almost to the point of coddling her patients as thought they were her own children. She was able to do that with a love and detachment that suited her profession. It was a proven fact that those under her care had a higher recovery rate then those that weren't, leading credence to the theory that, next to laughter, the most powerful medicine was the human touch. She was the only person Colin allowed himself to really talk to, and she would listen with all attentiveness. He voiced his concerns and cried on her shoulder, and in return she never asked, never offered her opinion, she just sat and became a sponge for his anguish and guilt, until he had nothing left to share. Then he just sat, spent, exhausted, used up. His wounds ran deep. She kept a close eye on him, bringing him coffee or soup or an extra pillow for his back. Once she saw him in the hall, and joked that she didn't recognize him without that chair attached to his butt. Even Drew joked about it a little, saying that he wondered if the chair knew it had a Colin growing out of it. It brought a small smile to Colin's lips.

Marsha concluded her check and walked over to Colin, leaning against the wall beside him. "Have you been talking to him?"

"Yes. Some." Colin winced and shook his head. "It just feels strange. I'm not comfortable with it."

"Have you tried reading to him?"

Colin frowned. "No."

"It would be a good way for him to hear your voice without your having to think of things to say." She smiled and leaned forward, squeezing his arm, then left. For the first time Colin allowed his eyes to follow her out, and for a moment he thought...'if things were different....'

For the next week Ryan was bombarded with book after book. History, fantasy, science fiction, car magazines, anything Colin could get his hands on. He became annoyed if anyone interrupted his reading, even Nurse Benning, who took it all in stride. And so the weeks pushed on....

********************************************************************************

Colin finally left the hospital on occasion to get some fresh air and some sun, and to get away from the beeps and noises that were invading his dreams. Dreams. That was how this all started. He remembered telling Drew about them when he first came back to L.A., all the time hoping the man wouldn't think he was crazy. In fact Drew thought just the opposite, amazed that Colin would pick up on his friend's distress all the way in Canada. He started in on the "connection" that he liked to harp on, but Colin just silenced him with a look. "If we had a connection," he had groused, "then why don't I know what's wrong?"

He drew heavily on his cigarette, feeling the thickness of the smoke fill his lungs, then release with a gentle sigh through parted lips. He stared out at nothing and allowed the artificial calm to settle over him like a blanket. He had chained smoked for the past ten minutes, and it's effects were just beginning to take hold. So much for cutting back. He held the stick to his lips and inhaled deeply once again, noticing the pure silence that allowed him to hear the faint crackle of the paper as it burned around the tobacco. He exhaled forcefully after holding in the drug for as long as he could stand it. It was all he could do right now. Inhale. Exhale. Just breathe. And wait. Just wait, still haunted by those dreams...

They came out of nowhere, for no reason. At fist they were obscure, and he chalked it up to an overworked mind. The first dream came the night after a particularly stressful day.

Everyone knew Colin was painfully shy. It was an accepted fact. It was a quality that made him especially endearing to everyone, yet it was a handicap. Over the years he had learned to overcome it on the stage, but during interviews it would pop into play again. It wasn't that he minded talking about his work, that part was actually enjoyable. But when the questions became personal, a barrier would go up. Ryan could toss away the questions with a joke, but Colin sometimes felt obligated to satisfy his fans. As his popularity increased, he entered the interviews with more trepidation, hoping he could answer the questions thrown at him. He would almost always be asked to improvise a scene, which he would gladly fling himself into. In an odd way he felt he had more control over improvisation than with pre-arranged questions. Then the ball was in his court, and he could toss it about as he pleased until he scored.

And so he had ended that day's interview the same way, with the studio audience in hysterics over his portrayal of a chicken playing jazz/blues in a zoot suit. He donned a hat, flicked his collar, and in his best Elvis impersonator voice, which wasn't great, clucked up a jazzy version of "Heartbreak Hotel." It was a moment he would never live down, but that was okay. Hell, at least he would be remembered.

The show ended and autographs were signed. He loved the crowds, and was extremely and genuinely flattered that they were so supportive of him. In return he did everything possible to please them, and let them know that he truly appreciated everything they had done for him. But time was pressing, as usual, and soon he rushed out of the studios and onto the next gig, then to the reading room, where if he was lucky he could catch a quick snack while they tossed about and discarded jokes. Another interview would be squeezed in, then filming. it was a pace that Hollywood would be proud of, although he much preferred the laid back atmosphere of Canadian television. Even so, it was pressing.

That night he had collapsed into a deep sleep, still clothed. For a while he was fine, unconscious from pure fatigue, then his mind started playing with him....

He was in a car. The road was dark, the pounding rain created a bubbly haze on the windshield that was impossible to see through, no matter how hard the wipers tried to cut through it. Colin knew this wasn't good, and tried to look to the driver, but couldn't see his face. He could feel fear and despair, and practically taste the anger in the wet air. The car raced on, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He glanced over at the driver's white knuckled grip on the leather-clad steering wheel and begged him to slow down, but the man refused; instead he raced on, accelerating, sliding on the wet roads and fish-tailing in the curves. Suddenly he cursed and flung the wheel hard right as bright lights blinded them. Colin's arms flew up to protect his face, and he yelled, terrified, waiting for the final crunch that would end his life. The impact never came.

He lowered his arms and found that the car had stopped, not a scratch on it. Shakily he turned to find the driver gone. He yanked at the door handle in a panic and climbed out, falling hard onto his knees then climbing to his feet. There was a broken body in the road, covered in blood, practically flattened. The driver. And in that moment he realized who the driver was, and a strangled cry escaped his throat...

"RYAN!"

Colin had sat up in bed, sweating, blood pounding in his ears and his heart trying to escape the confines of his chest. He gasped for air, running his hands over his face as the horror of the dream lingered. Forcing himself to breathe easy, he leaned back, closing his eyes and recognizing a sudden urge to call Ryan, but he knew a call at this hour would be unwelcome. It was several hours before he was able to fall asleep, and he did so with the bedroom light on.

Colin ground the stub of his cigarette into the concrete. That dream had plagued him, as did so many others, all focusing on Ryan. At first he blamed it on his workload, maybe the after-effects of interview related stress, then he thought maybe he was simply missing his friend. But the darkness of the dreams had set him on edge, until he felt compelled to travel to L.A.

"Colin?"

The man turned, and was startled to see several of his friends gathered around behind him. Drew, Greg, Deidrich, hell, even..."Chip?"

Chip smiled slightly and walked over to Colin, giving him a firm but gentle hug. "How you holding up?" he asked and pulled back, holding Colin by the shoulders.

Colin merely glanced at him, avoiding those probing eyes. "I've been better." He tossed a visual question to Drew, one which plainly asked what was going on.

"Brad will be coming down this evening," Drew said quietly. He glanced at Greg who just stood quietly at his shoulder.

"Why? Why is Brad coming?" Confusion was battling the fear in his head, and he wasn't sure which would win.

"Colin," Drew carefully pulled Chip aside and faced the older man. "It's...it's over. I'm sorry. They want to turn off the machines, but they need your consent."

"Turn off..." Colin stared blankly at Drew. "But if they do that..."

"Colin..."

"No."

"They said there's no more hope. He's not responding to anything. Nothing."

"No! People have been in comas for months, years! They come out of it!"

"Given the situation..."

"What situation? That he tried to kill himself? That we weren't there to help him?" Colin backed away, tears in his eyes, unable to believe his friends were giving up. "You assholes! How can you leave him now, when he needs us the most! Damn you, all of you!" His fury turned to Chip. "Where have you been, huh? Answer me! Did you come just to see him die?"

"He couldn't get here, we didn't know how serious it was..."Drew tried to reach for him, wanting to apologize, to fix things, but Colin flung his hand away.

"How serious?" Colin spat. "He's in a fucking COMA, for god's sake. After trying to blow his brains out. But no, he didn't have to do that, I did it for him...oh my god..." he fell to his knees in the on the carefully manicured lawn, "oh god, I did, I killed him..." He touched his forehead to the ground and gripped the grass in tight fists, feeding his anguish to the earth beneath him. Drew started towards him but was stopped by Greg, who shook his head.

"God," Colin continued, "I'm so sorry Ryan, I'm so sorry...I should have seen...why didn't I see? You're my best friend, you can't just leave like this...I should have kept talking to you, I shouldn't have left your room..." he sniffed and raised his head, "Can't they keep the machines on a little longer?"

Tears were running freely down Drew's face, as well as Greg's. Chip's eyes were red. "Colin," Drew said carefully, "the longer he's in a coma, the more extensive the brain damage can be. He may never wake. If he does, he may be a vegetable. Do you want to do that to him? After all he's been through?"

Greg finally left Drew's side and knelt beside Colin. "There's no way to tell which decision is best. I don't envy you a bit. But I will stand behind whatever decision you make. And I'll help you through it. We all will."

Colin raised his blotched face. "You'll help me...but couldn't help Ryan..." and with that he collapsed into heart wrenching sobs, a sound that revealed the decision he made in his heart, a decision he would have to live with and question for the rest of his life. "Do it."

**********************************************************************************

*I remember when I saw the needle. I knew he was taking drugs now, just lightly, but I didn't know why. He said it helped with the stress. He never needed it before, always shunned it...berated it...and now....I never understood, even then , that it was a cry for help. I thought it was a bad turn. Even when he said those words, I thought he was exaggerating....*

"Son of a bitch! You have no idea how I feel! You strut around, well-liked, adored even. You have it all, and what do I have?"

"Ryan, you have just as much as I do, if not more. You are liked and well-respected, you know that."

"Bullshit! I'm dark. I'm surrounded by dark. That's all I see, all there is..."

"Don't be absurd. Now please, calm down."

"Fuck you!" Ryan shoved Colin hard, throwing him off of his feet. He loomed over his shocked friend. "You have no fucking right! Look at you!" He stood directly over him. "You just lie there, you have no fucking balls."

"How about I have yours?" Colin sat up and grabbed Ryan's crotch tightly, forcing the other man back. "How do you like that, huh? Hurt enough for you? Bring you to your senses yet?"

Ryan managed to pull away and kicked Colin in the stomach, then pulled him to his feet and slammed him into the wall. "Senses? Long gone, my friend," he breathed into Colin's face. "This is what I have in place of it. This is my only friend. You are all piss-ants that want something. I gave it all away, loyalty, friendship, trust, love, money, it's gone. I'm a shell. I'm nothing, nothing but this." Colin's eyes widened and his breath quickened as Ryan waved the needle inches from his face. "This is a temporary solution to a permanent problem. Until I find a permanent solution. This matters. Not you. So fuck off!"

Colin steeled his nerve and grabbed Ryan's wrist, tearing the needle from his grip and flinging it across the room. Ryan roared in fury and grabbed Colin's shirt, throwing him to the floor. Colin rolled and locked his legs around Ryan's, bringing the man crashing down on him. He flipped and pushed Ryan's arms behind his back, pressing his knee into his backbone, pinning him to the floor.

"I came here to help you, dammit, now listen to me! It has to stop! You have so much, you don't need this, you don't deserve this!" He braced himself as Ryan tried to get up. "You'll have to kill me before you get to that needle, you understand? You'll have to kill me! Do you want that? Do you want to see me dead?"

"I want to see me dead!" Ryan suddenly cried out to Colin's horror. I just want to die, get the fuck off of me!" He struggled then went limp, dissolving into sobs.

Colin released him and turned him over gently, still holding him down, still wary as to what he might do. Ryan continued to sob, all of the emotion ripped painfully from him. Colin finally backed off and pulled Ryan to him, wrapping his arms around him and whispering words of comfort. "You'll be fine, it's over. It's over. We'll get through this together."

"I'm scared."

"I know." Colin continued to hold him, not knowing what to say but hoping that his presence was enough to reassure his friend. They sat like that for a long time, until Ryan fell asleep in Colin's arms.

********************************************************************************

Everyone crowded into the waiting room that evening. Drew, Greg, Chip, Wayne, who had flown in from promoting a show in New York, Deidrich, and various other friends and family members. Colin stood off to the side, watching the scene unfold before him. He felt like he was about to explode, yet he felt nothing. No longer wanting to cry, or scream, or hit, or suffer, he just stood in a calm silence, part of him glad that this long incident would soon be over and preparing himself for the inevitable overload of guilt that would follow.

Each one was allowed into the room to say their farewells, one by one, taking what seemed like and eternity to get to Colin. He looked down at the will he clutched tightly in his hands; the lawyer would be by later to take care of the finalities. Only Colin knew where Ryan kept it, and the hardest thing he had ever done in his life was to go to Ryan house for it. He had felt a chill when he saw the kitchen and the sofa, and nearly collapsed as he passed the basement door. The stark, medicinal, false atmosphere of the hospital was preferable to the barrage of memories that Ryan's house placed before him, worse than his recollections of the past weeks. Now he had to face the consequences.

When his turn came he didn't want to go in. He didn't want to finalize things. Drew put his arms around his shoulders and guided him to the door, nodding at all of Colin's protestations, gently shoving him onwards, saying that if he didn't say his last words he would regret it. He already regretted it.

The machines were still going, filling the room with a reminder that all things must come to an end. Colin crept over to the bed and placed his hands on the metal bars. Ryan had all but sunken away. His pale face was waxen, his hair flat and dull. His thin frame was frail and brittle. His chest heaved slightly, almost unnaturally. This wasn't Ryan. This wasn't the man who had lived and loved and laughed beside him, who intimidated people while winning them over with his charm. He knew those vivid green eyes would hold no spark, that the deep, merry laugh was no longer present, and hadn't been for months. The Ryan he knew and loved had been gone for a long time.

Colin swallowed and pulled a chair close to the bed, the same chair he had occupied at Ryan's side for weeks. He took the cool, lifeless hand in his and squeezed, and, as tears threatened to spill for the thousandth time, he spoke.

"I don't know what to say." He smiled slightly. "I wish you could just know, they way you know everything else about me. Maybe you do. I'm...I'm dying, Ryan. I can't let you go. I just can't. I feel like a part of me is being torn away, god, I can't do this. I can't go through this. You mean everything to me, you are such a part of my life, even when we aren't together. I'm sorry you felt so alone, I feel like I failed you. I should have known, I should have been able to help. Please give me one more chance to help, Ryan. I promise we can make this work, please. We can work on those old cars that you like, and watch the sunset from the pool. I can make that chicken dish, and you can complain about the drivers. I'll be here for you, like an old nagging housewife. And if we are ever lucky enough to get an old, nagging housewife, I'll be with you through that as well." He chuckled. "Although I see us growing old together, two crabby men still doing improv in their eighties." He squeezed Ryan's hand tightly. "Ryan, look. I love you. I need you in my life. Please come back..." His voice choked and he lay his head on his best friend's chest. "Please come back..."

A sudden twitch caused him to sit up. Ryan had jumped. The machine began to catch, and Ryan's chest jumped slightly. Colin quickly put his hand to Ryan's chest. "Oh, god, no...what's happening? What's going on..." The machine that assisted his breathing continued to hitch, and he heard a faint sound. "Ryan?" He bent down, and as the machine hitched again he panicked and called for the nurse. She entered almost immediately and examined Ryan while calling for the doctor and moving a terrified Colin out of the way.

"What's going on? What's happening to him?" Oh god, the machine had broken, something was wrong. This wasn't supposed to happen, he was supposed to wake up...now they would take the machine away...

"He's fighting the machine," the nurse said as she pushed Colin out of the door. He stood in the hallway as his friends crowded around him, demanding to know what was happening. Colin slowly turned to Drew.

"He's fighting the machine," he said in a hollow voice. Drew's eyes widened, and Colin felt a smile creep onto his face right before he fainted.

********************************************************************************

*He loved the sunset. Whenever possible he would take the time to go to the shore and watch the sun disappear behind the waves. It made for a peaceful end to the day, and a colorful start to the evening which often stretched so long before him...*

"Nice, huh?" Ryan grinned as the wind played with the curls on his head.

"Amazing."

"Glad we came?"

"Absolutely."

The sun was a golden orb, dipping into an orange sky and spreading it's color over the water. The ocean waves sang an evening song as the tide came in, rushing in and retreating in a steady beat of nature, a natural music that was unparalleled. The two men stood still, appreciating the beauty while breathing in the refreshing salt air and rejuvenating their spirits. It wasn't until the sun dipped below the horizon that Ryan spoke again. "Colin?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you ever think about the future? I mean, does it scare you?"

Colin thought about it. "Some. Yes. I mean, I guess it scares everyone. Why?"

"How do you get through it?"

Colin smiled. "I go and make someone laugh."

Ryan threw his head back in glee, and Colin smiled. "See? It works."

"I only hope we can do that tonight. Speaking of which..."

"You're right. Let's get going."

**********************************************************************************

It was several more days before Ryan woke. Colin wasn't even in the room when it happened, he was getting a drink from the machine in the hall. When the doctor told him, he wasn't sure how to react. His first instinct was to wave it away as impossible, especially since he had prepared himself for the worst. The news that he was apparently fine and asking for him threw him for a loop and he found himself suddenly reworking a plan in his head. He hadn't been expecting to talk to Ryan that afternoon.

He popped open the can and took a long swallow, long enough to make his throat burn and cause him to wince. He hesitated in front of the machine, staring down the hallway towards Ryan's room. Setting the drink aside, he squared his shoulders and walked down the bright corridor to his room, hesitating again in front of his door. Then, ever so carefully and after what felt like years, he opened the door and confronted his friend.

Ryan was indeed conscious, and his sluggish eyes scanned the room and slowly found Colin. His expression was unchanged from the last time Colin saw him awake, making him cringe inwardly, but he relaxed a little as the stone face broke into a slight smile. "Don't look so scared," the frail man croaked weakly.

Whatever force it was that had kept Colin at bay disappeared when his friend's voice sounded in the room. Colin's lips trembled and he sat beside the bed. The words he had stored in his mind wouldn't come. He was trying to keep his composure, but that wasn't working either. A tear slid defiantly down his cheek, and he brushed at it in embarrassment, then wondered why he felt so ashamed. He finally met that green gaze; those eyes he thought he would never see again. Eyes that were once sharp were now blunted with pain and fatigue, but finally open after locking away Ryan's soul for so long.

"How are you?"

"Tired."

Colin still couldn't say anything. He just sat there, staring at the blankets, picking at the fabric.

"How are you?" Ryan asked in return.

Colin jumped. "Me? I'm-I'm fine, hell, I'm not the one..." he stopped, feeling awkward, and hating himself for it.

"How long have I been here?" Ryan asked slowly, either not noticing Colin's unease or choosing to ignore it.

"Seven weeks."

"Seven...weeks...." Ryan's eyes widened slightly, then he closed them and sighed.

"You need your rest...do you need anything like a drink, or medicine, or...anything...."

"Yeah. I need my two months back." He swallowed and made a face. Colin glanced around the room and found some plastic cups on the far counter. He excuse himself and hurried to the silver water fountain in the hall, filling the cup and rushing to the nurses station for a straw, at the same time refusing their offers of help. He was back half a minute later, carefully helping Ryan drink. It was just a few sips, just enough to moisten his parched throat. "How long have you been here?"

"Since they brought you in."

Ryan stared in surprise, then grinned slightly. "You look like hell." Somewhere in his mind it registered that Colin wasn't shaving much. He wasn't used to seeing stubble. He considered rubbing a hand over his own chin, but lacked the strength.

"Thanks," Colin responded with a smile, "so do you." He noticed the weakness in his friend's eyes, and squeezed his hand. "You need your sleep."

Ryan tightened his hand around Colin's. "No. I slept long enough. Don't leave me."

"But I need to tell everyone you're okay."

A slight frown crossed over Ryan's pale features. "Who's here?"

"Everyone. Drew, Greg, Brad, Wayne, Chip. Dan, Deidrich, Kathy. Kathy Greenwood has called, Jeff has called, people have been coming from all corners."

Ryan looked genuinely confused. "Why?" he asked softly.

Colin leaned in to him, unable to contain his emotions any longer. "Because we care. Dammit, you're the most important thing in my life. You hear me? You are the best thing that has happened to me. And all of these people love you and respect you. We need you." He rose from his chair and sat on the edge of Ryan's bed, looking directly into his tear-filled eyes. "They all care. See? You're not alone." He gripped both Ryan's hands in his, and placed their joined fists firmly on his chest. "You're not alone."

"Don't ever leave me," Ryan whispered.

Colin smiled. "Never. You're not alone." He continued to whisper that as Ryan closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep with a small smile of comfort on his face. "You're not alone...."

*********************************************************************************

(two weeks later)

Doctor Sayer never seemed to look up from his notepad, yet Ryan knew he was listening to every word, taking note of every motion, every subtle movement. It was disconcerting, and yet...nice. The doctor continued to scratch a few notes, then looked up, pushing his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose after having peered over them to write. Ryan grinned wryly, wondering for a moment if he wore the glasses strictly for appearances.

"How does it feel, making other people laugh?" Doctor Sayer asked, noticing Ryan's smile.

The smile stayed on only for a moment, then faded. "Deceitful."

"Why?"

"Because I wasn't enjoying it."

"So you felt...how?"

Ryan was frowning now. He really didn't want to think back, he wanted to ask the doctor about his glasses. Thinking back hurt too much, and it had passed. What was the point of bringing it up?

"Ryan?" the doctor pressed softly.

How did I feel? How does it feel to lose what you love, to feel like everyone was laughing at you and not with you? To feel like a failure, like you didn't measure up to their standards? "I felt fake. Like a fraud."

"Did you feel like this all of the time?"

"Mostly. Yeah."

The doctor continued his note-taking, all the time aware of every twitch or change of position that Ryan made. "How do you feel about returning to work?"

Ryan had his head cocked sideways, trying to see what the doctor was writing. "I...don't know."

The doctor set his notepad on the table beside him and sat back, causing Ryan to sit back as well while trying to achieve an air of disinterest. "The gun. Do you remember what happened?"

This question threw Ryan totally off his guard, and was probably meant to. His held his breath and looked at the floor out of the corner of his eyes. In his mind the scene replayed itself, a little fuzzy, but with enough clarity to make him sweat. "I was cleaning the gun."

"Was it in need of cleaning?"

"Uh...sure. No. Maybe, I can't remember. It was something to do."

"What were your intentions? You weren't going to hunt with it. No one was threatening you. There was no intruder. And yet you were in your basement, polishing a loaded pistol."

"Yes."

"Most people remove the bullets, disarm the weapon to avoid accidents."

"I...I forgot."

The doctor kept a level gaze fixed on the disturbed man, who was trying his hardest to look everywhere else in the room; everywhere but at that man in the stereotypical white coat who already knew the answers to the questions he was asking. "Come now. I give you credit for more intelligence than that."

Ryan's shoulders slumped and he picked at a thinning spot on the knee of his jeans. His left leg started bouncing with characteristic energy, a motion the doctor noticed but didn't comment on.

"Did you really want to kill yourself?"

How the hell was he supposed to answer that? "I wanted to escape."

"What were you trying to escape?"

He shrugged. "All of it. Everything."

"Even your friends?"

Ryan remembered the pain on Colin's face as he confronted him. He remembered the agony in his friend's eyes. "I was hurting them." He felt Colin's grip on his hands, saw the glint of metal as he fought for the gun. He saw Colin's desperation, felt the concern and compassion, and yes, the love. He couldn't move, Colin had straddled him, he couldn't turn away. Suddenly the gun scared him, and Colin's face scared him more. He tried to pull the gun away. This wasn't the answer, the answer was there in his friend's eyes. He wanted to let go of the gun, but he couldn't, he couldn't pry Colin's hands from the hateful object. Then...

Ryan jumped, and the doctor noticed, but as before, didn't comment. "You know they care deeply for you."

"Yes." Now.

Doctor Sayer leaned forward. "You know they genuinely care for you."

Ryan was still thinking about Colin's eyes, about the expression of fear that would forever be etched in his mind. "Yes," he said in a small voice.

"It is important that you understand and believe that. Do you, Ryan? Do you accept it as a fact?"

Ryan allowed himself to think back, willingly, for the first time. Many events were sketchy. Some were a blur. He remembered the darkness, a feeling of helpless, of pain, god, he never wanted to feel that again. "I...I do now. Yes."

"Then the healing begins." The doctor caught Ryan's gaze. "This is going to be the hardest thing you have ever had to do. You must be open and honest with yourself. Can you do that?"

Ryan merely nodded, suddenly too tired to talk any longer.

The doctor was satisfied, and closed his pad.

*******************************************************************************

(five weeks later)

"Remember those sunsets we used to watch?"

"Yeah." Ryan's tone was rather monosyllabic, but it was a response.

"Should have a good one coming this evening. Look at those clouds."

Ryan looked up and smiled. "I think you're right."

They walked side by side, each dressed in ragged blue jeans and old t-shirts and dragging their bare feet in the sand. Ryan had his hands in his pockets and his head was down. Colin was feeling restless, and kept finding little bits of driftwood to throw back into the surf. Neither had spoken of the incident since Ryan's release. He talked to the therapist rather openly, from what Colin was able to discern without breaking the code of confidentiality. It hurt him to think that his best friend was talking to somebody else, but at least he was talking. Besides, his support hadn't helped before. Ryan needed answers to whatever was going on inside his head, whatever plagued his sense of reason. And he knew his friend. If he felt like opening up, he would. Otherwise....

He was more than willing to listen to Colin rant about his upcoming work schedule, however. He questioned him over and over about his projects, nearly driving Colin up the wall, but he refused to turn his friend away. Whenever the conversation drifted to him, he would deflect it, aiming it back towards Colin. Again, this he could handle, because whether is was real interest or clever distraction on Ryan's part, he was talking.

Colin did know a few things, revealed by the doctor per Ryan permission, to ease Colin's mind. He knew Colin blamed himself, and reassured him that the gun didn't fire by his hand. Ryan in fact had pulled the trigger. This hadn't comforted Colin in the least, until he found that it was an accident after all. Ryan had seen the concern in Colin's eyes, and was trying to pry Colin's fingers from the gun so he could in fact toss it aside. He was about to say this when his finger slipped, and the gun went off.

The doctor knew Colin blamed himself for not listening. His own counseling sessions revealed that much. In fact, that was the crux of his sessions. Not only had he watched a friend try to die, he watched a friend nearly die, and for a long while was positive that he was the cause when he was actually trying to save him. Then he nearly killed him again, by agreeing to turn off the machines that were his friend's lifeline. If they had done that earlier in the evening...there was plenty to talk about, and Colin was finding the sessions useful, if not particularly helpful. But as the doctor said, only time would heal the wounds. And some wounds only Ryan could heal, and that would depend on Ryan's own healing process.

The sun dipped down, setting the sky ablaze in crimsons and tangerines. Colin resisted the urge to stick his finger towards the sky, like a child intruding on a finger painting. Ryan sighed blissfully.

"I haven't felt this good in a long time."

That was news to cheer Colin's heart. He grinned at his friend, who smiled back.

"I know I haven't said much..."

"It's okay."

Ryan's shoulder's dropped. "No, it isn't, not really." He was watching the colors in the sky dance before him. There seemed to be a inner struggle brewing, for his fists were clenched, and he refused to look at his friend. Then quietly, so quietly that his voice could hardly be heard over the crash of the waves, he began to speak.

"I felt so lost. I lost myself." His sad gaze sought the white-capped waves for an answer. "I was trying to be perfect, trying to be everything I hate about Hollywood. I was angry that I couldn't live up to the image, and angry that I wanted, hell, expected myself to. I was...confused. Everyone was so busy, I was so busy, everyone wanted me to be somewhere or become someone else. I lost myself. I hated myself, hated my life, hated myself for hating my life. I have so much...I should be grateful but I'm not. Not if this is the reward. I'm not grateful at all. Do you realize how awful that is?"

Colin said nothing, he just stood beside his friend and listened.

"I was sinking. Trapped. I...I don't know, I felt like it wasn't worth the struggle. In my head. I was hurting people, I hurt you..." he finally turned to Colin, "I didn't want to hurt you. It had to end. I'm so sorry. God, idiot..." he turned back to the waves. They stood in silence for a long time as the sky darkened to a velvet cloak covered with starry gems. The air cooled, and the waves disappeared from sight, the only evidence of their existence being the sound of the surf as it lapped at the sand, dragging grit back with it, gnawing away at the beach bit by bit. Ryan was suddenly aware of Colin's hand on his shoulder, and closed his eyes, focusing on it's warmth, and wondering when he last noticed such a flushed, secure feeling.

"You remember when you offered help before?"

Colin turned to Ryan, and was surprised to see his clear, green gaze staring back in the growing moonlight. The gleam was returning, something Colin hadn't seen for too long a time.

"Yes..."

"Well..." he hesitated, then swallowed. "I think I'm finally ready."

END

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