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***
Some people have this idea that life is all about choices, like a tree diagram with every choice representing one level, opening up another level of even more choices. Richard is convinced that the whole concept is complete rubbish insofar as it perpetrates the illusion that one’s life is only governed by oneself. And by the evidence that his own life has provided so far, well, he can hardly accept that as true.
There are choices, yes, but what comes after? Not so much free will as keeping to a compulsory course. He’d made the choice to keep their relationship secret, still thinking himself not ready to face the world as something it doesn’t expect him to be, and yet everything that had subsequently happened had been out of his control, a rush of events during which it had been all he could do to keep himself above the water and still struggling.
Story of his life, really.
He’d honestly thought that this time would be different. Lance was nice, funny, and intelligent and things couldn’t have been going better, despite Richard’s many hang-ups. And now he’s sitting in the dark, alone and Lance is still nice, funny, and intelligent just not with Richard anymore.
He thinks he probably should’ve seen it coming (as he should have seen it coming the last couple of times, too), that having been together for almost year and a half wouldn’t necessary mean that there would be a second year.
“I know you said you weren’t ready, Richard, but it’s been more than a year! And I’m getting tired of hiding all the time.”
He hadn’t known what to say then (somehow never seems to know what to say when it counts, words escaping him in the same way that relationships apparently do), hadn’t even known that Lance had been so unhappy (and doesn’t that just say bloody everything about him as a partner?), and his throat had closed around anything that might’ve made it past his lips.
“Fine, if you’re not even going to say anything, I will. We’re through. I’ve had enough.”
And he’d helplessly watched as Lance turned and stepped out of his life. The hole opening in his chest somehow seems to be nothing new.
It always goes the same and some days he wonders why he even bothers. He always fucks it up at some point and people always leave and it leaves him feeling tired and lonely and like a damn failure.
It’s not as if he hasn’t tried coming out. He knows, rationally, that there’s nothing wrong with being gay, but he was brought up in a catholic family and somehow society’s stigmas always seem to stick to him like super-glue – and every time he thinks of the press’ probable reaction nausea chases every other thought out of his head. He hadn’t given up, but he’d resigned himself to taking small, small steps, one at a time.
Just that it wasn’t enough.
He stares at his half-packed bags on the floor unseeing and wonders not for the first time, whether Peter’s decision to cast him as Thorin won’t backfire on him. It had been hard enough when everything had been all right with his private life, but now they’re going back for pick-ups and he’s a fucking mess. Worse, he knows he’s a fucking mess.
He sighs, taking up another cardigan to add it to the pile inside his bag. It’s not as if he’d told his cast mates that he’d even been in a relationship, so it shouldn’t be too hard acting as if nothing’s happened. As long as he keeps it together, no one will even know.
He snorts lightly at his own foolishness. A mess he might be but he’s not stupid or quite so removed from reality enough to truly believe that it would be that easy.
Shouldn’t be too hard, indeed.
*
It’s not as if everyone immediately notices that there’s something wrong with Richard, but Dean has the clear suspicion that they really should have.
The first clue should’ve been the way that Richard has basically never stopped working from day one of the pick-ups and re-shoots, always busy with his role or research or whatever else he routinely seems to come up with when everyone else is simply glad to be able to take a break from working. At least with this one they have an excuse in that Richard had been almost terrifyingly dedicated during principal shooting as well and everyone had come to expect it from him.
The second clue is something they actually did notice, they just didn’t attribute it correctly. It still makes Dean’s heart hurt to think of the way Richard had been more distant to all of them, frequently shutting himself away in his trailer or apartment alone, while of course still being unfailingly polite and professional, just without the warmth that Dean had come to associate with him as well. It had hit him hard, the way Richard hardly ever looked at him or talked to him anymore, and he knows that Aidan feels the same as the both of them had been taken under the older man’s wing pretty much from the beginning. But there were many reasons why Richard might suddenly be isolating himself and Dean had privately believed that he’d simply tired of them and their company.
And then there’d been the way that Richard kept looking more and more tired, weary even in the mornings when he should’ve just had a full night’s sleep, until even his make-up ladies started to worry when they had to cover up ever darker bags under his eyes. By that point the whole cast had realized that something was off, but no one had known what and Richard seemed less than inclined to talk about it whenever someone tried to gently prod an answer out of him.
At some point not too far in the future they’d have started an intervention anyway so worried they’d all got, Dean thinks, but the point is moot now that all of this had somehow led to Richard sobbing his heart out in his and Graham’s laps.
They are all still in costume, fake dirt and blood smeared across skin and clothes, the set outfitted for the Battle of Five Armies only a few feet away. In fact, Dean has just died. Well, Fíli has, but sometimes it feels uncomfortably like the same thing. Like now, when Richard is having a full-blown breakdown just after filming their death scenes.
Dean trades a helpless look with Graham over Richard’s head. The almost desperate look on the Scotsman’s face makes it quite clear that he has no idea what the hell precipitated this, either, leaving them completely in the dark as to how they could help their friend.
After a while of helplessly rubbing Richard’s shoulders while he lies almost limp in their grasp Dean becomes aware of whispered pleas spilling from the older man’s lips, sounding oh so horribly broken when he mutters I can’t lose them too and why does everybody always leave and I can’t take it anymore.
Dean isn’t usually prone to anger, yet he really isn’t even surprised by the intense rush of protective rage at whoever had made Richard, strong, gentle, kind Richard feel this way – and judging by the positively murderous look in Graham’s eyes Dean isn’t the only one.
But there’s no one here to take his anger, no one to threaten on his friend’s behalf so he swallows it down and pours all of his energy into trying to make Richard feel better in the only ways he can instead, comforting touches and soothing murmurs.
It takes a long while for Richard to calm down, sobs petering out into the occasional rough sound and even then he refuses to look up.
“We should move him somewhere more comfortable,” James is saying behind them to everyone’s unspoken approval and somehow they manage to shift Richard to his feet and steer him toward one of the tents offering a little privacy at the studio edge. They all know that once he has calmed down Richard will probably be beyond embarrassed to have made such an unwilling spectacle of himself in front of most of the cast and crew.
Dean hates to see the blank look in Richard’s eyes, that he doesn’t fight their manhandling or protests that he’s fine as he usually would. He just lets himself be sat down, Graham never leaving his side and Dean manning the other one, Aidan behind him.
Jed has unearthed a blanket somewhere that gets tugged around Richard’s shaking frame and Mark hands him a cup of hot tea (Dean could swear it’s magic the way tea always seems to appear out of thin air when Mark’s around) and everyone else just offers little touches and comforting squeezes as they pass by, careful to be present without crowding him.
Seeing Richard thus surrounded by people comforting him, Graham finally lets go of his shoulders and quietly announces, “I’ll just go tell Peter what happened. We should wrap for today.”
Dean had been so worried about Richard that he hadn’t even thought about their hassled director (though Peter is truly lovely and won’t make a fuss about things like this, they’ve learned.
Understandably Richard doesn’t seem to have either, for he jolts at the words, eyes wide and frantic. “Oh god the filming! I totally bombed the take, didn’t I?”
Aidan and Dean both stared at him.
“Are you kidding? You were brilliant Richard.”
And it’s true too. It had been almost scary watching the older man pour his heart out as Thorin as the dwarf king watched over the last moments of his beloved nephews.
Aidan nodded along fervently. “Yeah man, I’ve never seen anything so intense in my life. I’m sure it’ll end up in the movie.”
“Oh. Good.” Richard slumps back into his seat again, whatever energy that had allowed him to get worried about Peter’s reaction apparently drained again.
A long pause resumes, Dean fidgeting a little as he realizes that someone will have to ask, and right now he and Aidan are the only ones in range – and Aidan looks content to just sit on some equipment and pat Richard’s hair. (Really, it would be a cute picture in any other circumstance.)
“So, Richard,” he starts a little awkwardly and Richard’s still watery eyes dart over to him. “Want to tell us what all of this is about?”
Richard’s wince is strong enough to rattle the half-filled cup he’s still holding. “Not really.”
Brutally honest it is.
“People are going to ask,” he points out, far more calmly than he actually feels, “and though it doesn’t really matter what you tell them, we’re your friends and we want to help you. We’re here to listen.”
Behind them Aidan makes an assenting noise. Perhaps it is the sincerity in his words, or the reminder itself that they haven’t abandoned him that makes Richard crumble.
He looks down at his hands, still faintly trembling, and murmurs, voice quiet and rough and horribly timid coming from him, “I was in a relationship for the last year and a half and he broke up with me just before filming started again. I just couldn’t take – “
Richard freezes, as if his brain has just caught up with his words, eyes darting from side to side in obvious panic. For a moment Dean has no idea what has upset him so much, until he notes the pronoun ‘he’. Well, that finally clears up the question of Richard’s sexuality, he supposes.
For a moment Dean really wishes Martin were here, in that for all that his tongue is as sharp as his wit he usually manages to say exactly the right thing with a kind of unerring sense for what needs to be said.
“It’s fine, Richard, no one here will judge you for that. And we won’t tell anyone if you want to keep it quiet.”
He is relieved to see some of that tension disappearing from Richard’s shoulders, the panic in his eyes receding a little, only to be replaced by something very much like shame.
“I know it’s stupid, it’s 2013 and here I am still,” his face twists, “hung up on these ridiculous notions,” he admits quietly, looking anywhere but at Dean or Aidan. “But I just can’t help it.”
“Hey.” Dean gently takes one of Richard’s shaking hands in his. “Your feelings are never stupid, Richard.”
Their gazes meet for a moment, something unnamed passing between them, and then Richard blinks and looks away and the shame is still there.
“On the bright side, look at all the people around here,” Aidan suddenly pipes up, his grin only a little bit fabricated. “Lots of hot people. Take Dean here for example.”
And much to Dean’s horror, he reaches over and actually pinches his butt. The fucker, especially since he knows how Dean has this more than slightly inappropriate and ridiculous little crush on Richard. Dean can feel himself reddening and tries to ignore the quiet snicker that sounds suspiciously like James – though thankfully from far away enough that he probably hadn’t heard what Aidan had said.
“You’re dead, Turner. Very dead.”
Aidan’s grin only widens, entirely unrepentant.
Once his mortification had subsided a little, Dean realizes suddenly that it’s probably really too early for such jokes around Richard – the man had just had a breakdown for god’s sake! – but when he sneaks a glance over at him there’s a small, grateful smile tugging at his lips. Apparently Aidan had – once again, for someone who looks like a cute puppy and acts like a bit of an idiot some of the time Aidan is surprisingly sharp and discerning – known what he was doing and somehow managed to say exactly what Richard needed to hear, no judgement just humour and easy acceptance.
It almost physically hurts to see that small but true smile die almost as soon as it had appeared, a look of sudden consternation replacing it. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I knew I was being a dick the last few weeks avoiding everyone, but everything was just too much…”
So Richard had noticed then, as Dean had sometimes wondered, how his absenteeism had hurt them.
“It’s okay,” he assures gently, and finds, a little to his surprise that he fully means it, “I’m not saying we wouldn’t have been a lot happier if you’d talked to someone, for your sake alone, but… it’s a lot better than the alternative.”
He feels Richard’s startled eyes on him like a physical weight. “What alternative?”
“You having, you know, grown tired of us.” He shrugs, almost embarrassed but suddenly too tired to care. “You’ve always been, I dunno, in a different class. Not in a bad way, but still.”
Richard snorts, his lips twisting. “If anyone here is in a higher class it’s you and Aidan, Dean. Young, beautiful, rising stars. Not something I could compete with.”
“Bullshit,” Dean denies fiercely, at the same time that Aidan lets out an almost ridiculously sounding indignant squawk, clearly mirroring the sentiment.
Richard looks at them both for a long while, his eyes caught between softness and a kind of appraising thoughtfulness. “I’m still sorry anyway.”
Dean exchanges a quick look with Aidan before simultaneously smiling. “Then apology accepted, I guess.”
Aidan nods and pats Richard on the arm a final time. “I’ll just go and see if anyone knows what’s happening with the rest of the day. Cheers, mate.”
And he bounds off, leaving Richard and Dean alone in a surprisingly – considering the clusterfuck of the last hour, no strike that, of the last month – comfortable silence
“You know that we’re not going to leave you, right?” Dean finally says, utterly serious. “Not if you don’t want us to.”
Richard’s eyes soften and he graces Dean with one of his rare full smiles that light up his entire face – and incidentally make Dean think things he shouldn’t but that’s a discussion for another time – and quietly says, his voice still a little rough, “Yeah, I’m beginning to realize that.”