Fic: Masquerade (1/2)
Title: Masquerade (1/2)
Author: BradyGirl_12
Pairings/Characters (this chapter): Mel/Johnny
Fandom: Public Enemies
Genres: Angst, AU, Challenge, Drama, Holiday, Romance
Rating (this chapter): PG-13
Warnings: None
Spoilers: For the movie, natch. :)
General Summary: Mel is invited to a Halloween party while nursing deeply-felt regrets.
Chapter Summary: Mel’s loneliness amidst the holiday glitter can break your heart.
Date Of Completion: August 31, 2009
Date Of Posting: October 11, 2009
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, Universal does, more’s the pity.
Word Count: 1438
Feedback welcome and appreciated.
Author’s Notes: Written for my 2009 Guns_Fedoras Public Enemies Fic/Art Halloween Challenge. Option 1: (Elements of Halloween used set in or around Halloween: Costumes, Masks, Halloween/Masquerade Party, Pumpkins/Jack O'Lanterns) Enjoy! :)
All chapters can be found here.
I
THE MOST PAINFUL WORD
My heart is empty,
My soul in shreds,
The most painful word
Is regret.
Allison DuBois
"Only The Lonely"
1918 C.E.
Mel looked at himself in the full-length mirror attached to the inside of his bedroom door.
His Confederate gray uniform was crisp and impeccably-tailored, the high collar stiff as his hair brushed it. In the style of the 1860s, he had foregone his usual pomade, his jet-black hair fuller and softer. He really should have a mustache or beard but decided that the mask he was going to wear along with his longer hair was enough disguise, even if not exactly authentic.
His boots were polished, and his gray hat was on the bureau. He carefully affixed the ceremonial sword to his belt in its scabbard. Handed down in his family, it was the perfect touch to finish off the uniform of General Maycomb Purvis, Defender of Charleston and Hero of the Battle of Chickamauga.
Quite a legacy to live up to.
Mel sighed. When he had received the invitation to this Halloween party, his first instinct had been to refuse, but then some tickle in his mind had caused him to change it.
As he looked at his reflection, he wondered if he was worthy of this uniform. His career…fuck that, his life was in shambles, and had been for the past year.
It was fifteen months since that awful night at the Biograph.
If only I’d done more…
But he’d been watched too closely. He couldn’t even send a note to Johnny inside the theater. His own men and the Chicago policemen were watching him like hawks.
His right hand curled up into a fist, trying to quell his shaking.
He had spent two weeks after a botched raid in a snowbound cabin with John Dillinger and had fallen hard. The charming robber had whispered, “Come with me,” but he had returned to his duty.
He’d regretted it every day since.
Especially since the Biograph.
He had barely looked at the body sprawled in the alley. The night had been sheer hell, the waiting, the worrying, trying to figure out a way to let Johnny slip away, the fear clutching at his heart, trying desperately to get to Johnny, arrest him before his men opened fire…
…too late.
Always too late.
And now he had to live the rest of his life with the cold, hard knot of regret deep in his heart.
He put the dove-gray domino mask on, his eyes a mask of pain.
& & & & & &
Mel drove his Buick to the Silver Springs estate of Perle Mesta, grande dame of Washington society. Expensive cars were already being driven away by valets, keeping the circular driveway clear.
Mel reluctantly handed over the keys. He loved this car and hoped it would be scratch-free when he got it back.
The exterior of the mansion was tastefully decorated with strings of autumn leaves entwined around the marble columns, and Jack O’Lanterns with flickering candles lined the veranda.
Mel was greeted at the front door by the Negro butler, who directed him to the ballroom.
Inside, the foyer was swathed in orange-and-black, the chandelier at its lowest setting to give the entrance a spooky atmosphere. He had to admit that Mrs. Mesta knew her stuff.
He walked down the corridor, the sound of orchestra music spilling out from the ballroom.
It was a grand ballroom, high-ceilinged and with tall windows looking out over the grounds. The ballroom was decorated in orange-and-black, the ubiquitous Jack O’Lanterns on the buffet tables against the wall. An orchestra played at the far end, costumed partiers already dancing.
Mel wandered through the room, noting the variety of costumes: two cowboys, an Indian, two princesses, three Witches, an inventive Alice In Wonderland, a dancing girl, a Union soldier, two vampires, and many others.
He hoped that Hoover wasn’t at this party. His relationship with his boss was fairly rocky right now.
The buffet was well-stocked: turkey, ham, and chicken at a carving station, chefs at the ready, salads with fresh lettuce and vegetables, whipped potatoes with dill, Swedish meatballs, and baked beans with onions. There was cranberry relish and pickles and cheeses of all kinds, and candy corn, sliced apples sprinkled with cinnamon, pumpkin muffins, and pumpkin pudding with delicate whipped cream and chocolate shavings sprinkled on top.
Mel chose turkey, salad, and sliced apples. The cinnamon tickled his tongue, and he remembered eating apples found in a cupboard in that snowbound cabin.
“I like baseball, movies, good clothes, fast cars, whiskey… and you. What else you need to know?” Johnny asked with a sparkle in his eyes and a smirk on his face.
Nothing else.
Mel finished his meal and picked up a glass of apple cider and a pumpkin muffin.
“Some party, huh?” asked a Witch in traditional black, the cone of her pointed hat slightly bent. Her domino mask glittered as she smiled, shoulder-length blond hair streaked with silver streamers.
“A fine one.”
“Oh, that’s clever, adding the Southern accent to go with the costume.”
“Ah, yes.”
“Mmm, the food’s really good. And I’m glad Perle chose this orchestra. I know Sammy, the band leader, and he’s got a good group.” She tapped her pointy shoe in time with the music. “Hey, that’s One O’Clock Jump!”
“Would you care to…?”
“Oh, there’s my boyfriend!” She waved and dashed off, her dress fluttering behind her.
Mel moved away from the buffet, skirting the edge of the dance floor. He had come alone to this party because he wasn’t currently dating anyone.
He wasn’t sure if he would ever date anyone again.
A sense of melancholy washed over him. Finishing the spiced pumpkin muffin, he drifted out to the balcony.
The stars shone in the clear night sky, a light breeze blowing. It was a crisp night, neither a snowy winter evening or a steamy summer night, memories of times like that sweet and bitter.
The snowy evenings had brought him happiness.
The steamy summer night had been the worst night of his life.
With a shaky hand he wiped away a tear, the old, familiar sense of melancholy settling into the pit of his stomach.
A sound turned his head. A partygoer dressed in forest green tights and jerkin was standing by an arborvitae bush at the edge of the balcony, the music from the ballroom muted as it drifted through the night.
The man had a good body, able to pull off wearing such a costume. A green cap set jauntily on his head, his green domino mask set with white lenses, obscuring his eyes.
The man gestured, silently asking if he could join him. Mel nodded. His sense of loneliness was too heavy to bear tonight. He could do with the company.
The man leaned on the balustrade next to Mel. Blond hair was tucked up under his cap, a faint scar running along one cheek. A light-green feather was stuck in his cap, and a quiver of arrows was strapped to his back.
“Robin Hood?” Mel guessed.
The man nodded. He cocked his head in inquiry.
“Oh, just a Southern gentleman serving the Cause,” Mel drawled.
Robin hid his smile with a gloved hand.
“So you rob the rich and give to the poor?” Mel asked and nearly gasped at the pain that innocent question tore from him.
Robin nodded, tipping his feathered cap jauntily.
Mel couldn’t help but smile, trying to push down the pain.
Robin’s silence didn’t bother him. Some men were not talkative, which Mel could understand. He wasn’t much of a talker, either, and didn’t feel much like it tonight.
Instead, he closed his eyes and let the cool night air caress his skin, remembering other caresses that would haunt him the rest of his life.
He bit back on a sob. Haunted! How appropriate on this night of nights.
A gentle hand rested on his arm, and he opened his eyes to look at his concerned companion.
“I’m sorry,” he said, a trifle embarrassed. He wondered what had happened to his emotional control this past year. He had clamped down savagely on his emotions that night at the Biograph, almost robotic in his speech and expressions. Perhaps he had damaged his control for the future.
The hand gently squeezed his arm, and Mel felt the ache in his chest lessen slightly.
“It’s a beautiful night. I…remember other star-strewn nights.”
He looked down at the marble balustrade, trying to blink away sudden tears.
“Oh, Mel, honey.”
Mel’s head snapped up, hazel eyes wide.
“J…Johnny?”
Author: BradyGirl_12
Pairings/Characters (this chapter): Mel/Johnny
Fandom: Public Enemies
Genres: Angst, AU, Challenge, Drama, Holiday, Romance
Rating (this chapter): PG-13
Warnings: None
Spoilers: For the movie, natch. :)
General Summary: Mel is invited to a Halloween party while nursing deeply-felt regrets.
Chapter Summary: Mel’s loneliness amidst the holiday glitter can break your heart.
Date Of Completion: August 31, 2009
Date Of Posting: October 11, 2009
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, Universal does, more’s the pity.
Word Count: 1438
Feedback welcome and appreciated.
Author’s Notes: Written for my 2009 Guns_Fedoras Public Enemies Fic/Art Halloween Challenge. Option 1: (Elements of Halloween used set in or around Halloween: Costumes, Masks, Halloween/Masquerade Party, Pumpkins/Jack O'Lanterns) Enjoy! :)
All chapters can be found here.
I
THE MOST PAINFUL WORD
My heart is empty,
My soul in shreds,
The most painful word
Is regret.
Allison DuBois
"Only The Lonely"
1918 C.E.
Mel looked at himself in the full-length mirror attached to the inside of his bedroom door.
His Confederate gray uniform was crisp and impeccably-tailored, the high collar stiff as his hair brushed it. In the style of the 1860s, he had foregone his usual pomade, his jet-black hair fuller and softer. He really should have a mustache or beard but decided that the mask he was going to wear along with his longer hair was enough disguise, even if not exactly authentic.
His boots were polished, and his gray hat was on the bureau. He carefully affixed the ceremonial sword to his belt in its scabbard. Handed down in his family, it was the perfect touch to finish off the uniform of General Maycomb Purvis, Defender of Charleston and Hero of the Battle of Chickamauga.
Quite a legacy to live up to.
Mel sighed. When he had received the invitation to this Halloween party, his first instinct had been to refuse, but then some tickle in his mind had caused him to change it.
As he looked at his reflection, he wondered if he was worthy of this uniform. His career…fuck that, his life was in shambles, and had been for the past year.
It was fifteen months since that awful night at the Biograph.
If only I’d done more…
But he’d been watched too closely. He couldn’t even send a note to Johnny inside the theater. His own men and the Chicago policemen were watching him like hawks.
His right hand curled up into a fist, trying to quell his shaking.
He had spent two weeks after a botched raid in a snowbound cabin with John Dillinger and had fallen hard. The charming robber had whispered, “Come with me,” but he had returned to his duty.
He’d regretted it every day since.
Especially since the Biograph.
He had barely looked at the body sprawled in the alley. The night had been sheer hell, the waiting, the worrying, trying to figure out a way to let Johnny slip away, the fear clutching at his heart, trying desperately to get to Johnny, arrest him before his men opened fire…
…too late.
Always too late.
And now he had to live the rest of his life with the cold, hard knot of regret deep in his heart.
He put the dove-gray domino mask on, his eyes a mask of pain.
& & & & & &
Mel drove his Buick to the Silver Springs estate of Perle Mesta, grande dame of Washington society. Expensive cars were already being driven away by valets, keeping the circular driveway clear.
Mel reluctantly handed over the keys. He loved this car and hoped it would be scratch-free when he got it back.
The exterior of the mansion was tastefully decorated with strings of autumn leaves entwined around the marble columns, and Jack O’Lanterns with flickering candles lined the veranda.
Mel was greeted at the front door by the Negro butler, who directed him to the ballroom.
Inside, the foyer was swathed in orange-and-black, the chandelier at its lowest setting to give the entrance a spooky atmosphere. He had to admit that Mrs. Mesta knew her stuff.
He walked down the corridor, the sound of orchestra music spilling out from the ballroom.
It was a grand ballroom, high-ceilinged and with tall windows looking out over the grounds. The ballroom was decorated in orange-and-black, the ubiquitous Jack O’Lanterns on the buffet tables against the wall. An orchestra played at the far end, costumed partiers already dancing.
Mel wandered through the room, noting the variety of costumes: two cowboys, an Indian, two princesses, three Witches, an inventive Alice In Wonderland, a dancing girl, a Union soldier, two vampires, and many others.
He hoped that Hoover wasn’t at this party. His relationship with his boss was fairly rocky right now.
The buffet was well-stocked: turkey, ham, and chicken at a carving station, chefs at the ready, salads with fresh lettuce and vegetables, whipped potatoes with dill, Swedish meatballs, and baked beans with onions. There was cranberry relish and pickles and cheeses of all kinds, and candy corn, sliced apples sprinkled with cinnamon, pumpkin muffins, and pumpkin pudding with delicate whipped cream and chocolate shavings sprinkled on top.
Mel chose turkey, salad, and sliced apples. The cinnamon tickled his tongue, and he remembered eating apples found in a cupboard in that snowbound cabin.
“I like baseball, movies, good clothes, fast cars, whiskey… and you. What else you need to know?” Johnny asked with a sparkle in his eyes and a smirk on his face.
Nothing else.
Mel finished his meal and picked up a glass of apple cider and a pumpkin muffin.
“Some party, huh?” asked a Witch in traditional black, the cone of her pointed hat slightly bent. Her domino mask glittered as she smiled, shoulder-length blond hair streaked with silver streamers.
“A fine one.”
“Oh, that’s clever, adding the Southern accent to go with the costume.”
“Ah, yes.”
“Mmm, the food’s really good. And I’m glad Perle chose this orchestra. I know Sammy, the band leader, and he’s got a good group.” She tapped her pointy shoe in time with the music. “Hey, that’s One O’Clock Jump!”
“Would you care to…?”
“Oh, there’s my boyfriend!” She waved and dashed off, her dress fluttering behind her.
Mel moved away from the buffet, skirting the edge of the dance floor. He had come alone to this party because he wasn’t currently dating anyone.
He wasn’t sure if he would ever date anyone again.
A sense of melancholy washed over him. Finishing the spiced pumpkin muffin, he drifted out to the balcony.
The stars shone in the clear night sky, a light breeze blowing. It was a crisp night, neither a snowy winter evening or a steamy summer night, memories of times like that sweet and bitter.
The snowy evenings had brought him happiness.
The steamy summer night had been the worst night of his life.
With a shaky hand he wiped away a tear, the old, familiar sense of melancholy settling into the pit of his stomach.
A sound turned his head. A partygoer dressed in forest green tights and jerkin was standing by an arborvitae bush at the edge of the balcony, the music from the ballroom muted as it drifted through the night.
The man had a good body, able to pull off wearing such a costume. A green cap set jauntily on his head, his green domino mask set with white lenses, obscuring his eyes.
The man gestured, silently asking if he could join him. Mel nodded. His sense of loneliness was too heavy to bear tonight. He could do with the company.
The man leaned on the balustrade next to Mel. Blond hair was tucked up under his cap, a faint scar running along one cheek. A light-green feather was stuck in his cap, and a quiver of arrows was strapped to his back.
“Robin Hood?” Mel guessed.
The man nodded. He cocked his head in inquiry.
“Oh, just a Southern gentleman serving the Cause,” Mel drawled.
Robin hid his smile with a gloved hand.
“So you rob the rich and give to the poor?” Mel asked and nearly gasped at the pain that innocent question tore from him.
Robin nodded, tipping his feathered cap jauntily.
Mel couldn’t help but smile, trying to push down the pain.
Robin’s silence didn’t bother him. Some men were not talkative, which Mel could understand. He wasn’t much of a talker, either, and didn’t feel much like it tonight.
Instead, he closed his eyes and let the cool night air caress his skin, remembering other caresses that would haunt him the rest of his life.
He bit back on a sob. Haunted! How appropriate on this night of nights.
A gentle hand rested on his arm, and he opened his eyes to look at his concerned companion.
“I’m sorry,” he said, a trifle embarrassed. He wondered what had happened to his emotional control this past year. He had clamped down savagely on his emotions that night at the Biograph, almost robotic in his speech and expressions. Perhaps he had damaged his control for the future.
The hand gently squeezed his arm, and Mel felt the ache in his chest lessen slightly.
“It’s a beautiful night. I…remember other star-strewn nights.”
He looked down at the marble balustrade, trying to blink away sudden tears.
“Oh, Mel, honey.”
Mel’s head snapped up, hazel eyes wide.
“J…Johnny?”