Untitled (forgive me for that)
Pairing ~ Jeff/Col (implied Ry/Col)
Rating ~ Um...PG-13, maybe?
Summary ~ Colin can't get away from his past... Disclaimer ~ No harm was meant and no profit was made. I own no one and I mean no disrespect. This is purely a work of fiction and the highest form of flattery. Any similairties to real life are purely coicidental.
Author's note ~ this is a sorta continuation of the past Jeff/Col stories, but I've tried to write them so they could also be stand alone's. Hopefully, it works out since i haven't bothered to mark them as part 1, part 2, part 3, etc...

It's the end of another annual Improv All-stars show, and I am beside myself with anxiety. It's odd, really, that I never got like this before. I'm signing autographs and posing for pictures and smiling and it's all sincere, really it is, but my mind is elsewhere.

Drew is actually sweet, offering me a Valium, telling me I look like Hell but that my performance kicked ass - as usual. He's only going on the fact that Brad and I are selling out shows across North America like Elvis Prestley (when that was the thing), and the more tormented I become, people seem to want more of me. It's a phenomenon I don't think I'll ever be able to explain.

In my dressing room, I'm snorting nasal spray and trying to swallow the news that Ryan Stiles just had another baby. A girl. I'm not really surprised that he didn't call me. He knows I've been busy, and we really haven't spoken much lately, since the show was cancelled. But, it feels odd that we were once best friends - and even closer than that.


Once, during the Clive Anderson days (as I so affectionately refer to them), we'd ambled down a London side street together, him anxious about a flight back West and me anxious just being in his presence - but happily so. There'd been a little head shop selling bongs and ugly troll candles and gothic jewelry and I'd purchased the stupidest, gaudy silver ring for him. It was oversized and had a large fake jewel in it. He'd actually blushed and kissed me, right in the shop, right in front of the witch-like matron running the place, and I'd grabbed his hand as we ran giggling like schoolboys down the street. He'd kept it on, even as we made love hours later in my hotel room, anguished over his leaving to go to L.A., and he still had it on when he returned to London.

"You're not going to wear that on stage." I'd asked, simultaneously horrified and overcome with pride.

He'd nodded nonchalantly. "Yeah. Of course. You gave it to me."


Even after months of getting used to his absence in my life, it still feels fresh - like new wounds, left un-bandaged, left to fester.


I'm still staring into the mirror when Greg knocks on my door. I know its him because I know his knock. After years of working with them, I know all sorts of things about them all. I know Drew's confident, heavy footfalls down the corridors and the half empty cans of diet Pepsi he always leaves in his wake. I know Brad's combination of scents because he hasn't changed his cologne in nearly a decade and only recently started using Herbal Essence shampoo (a vice he picked up from his girlfriend). And I know Greg's knock, tentative and light - but somehow mocking. He's never completely sure of himself, a nearly suicidal trait for a comedian.

"Come in." I say without inflection.

His eyes are squinted behind his ridiculously thick glasses, but I am in awe of his hair. It's getting fuller by the second, it seems.

"Hey, you. Great job tonight." He says.

I'm shrugging. "Thanks. Likewise."

"And I like your hair that way." He says leaning on the back of my chair. "It's tres au natural." He's referring to my decision not to dye. Currently, it's blindingly white. My skin looks tanned against its severe color.

"Oh thanks." I'm suddenly self-conscious. "So, what's up?"

He looks unsure as he regards me in the mirror. "Heard about Ryan?"

I nod, trying to keep the emotion from my face. "Mm. Another girl."

"He's trying to populate the West Coast with his own patented brand of Improvisers." He seems amused by this even while I wish he would leave. "Eventually, they'll take over the world."

I muster a smile. "Yeah."

"I mean it - have you seen Mac do song titles with him? It's fucking phenomenal - she's really *good*?"

He continues on about Ryan and co - as if he's the goddamned uncle or something, and I feel myself heating. My God, I wish I could tell him to leave, but I can't. Not while he's gushing like this. Not only would it seem abrupt, but also it would be completely out of character. Using all my years of training at multitasking, I listen to him and respond when need be while focusing on some other place in my mind.


It was several years ago when I'd stayed (against my better judgment) in his house with him while his wife and kids were away visiting relatives. It was wonderful being with him in such an extraordinary place, the ex-home of Liberace. Piano music seemed to radiate off the walls, a strange, luxurious nightclub kind of feel - but very camp. I was in La La Land - but maybe it had nothing to do with the strange aura. It was more than likely the fact that we moved carelessly from room to room, horse playing like children and occasionally pausing to make love, slowly and comfortably. I still feel phantom traces of his sinewy muscles beneath my hands, and it sends a shudder throughout my body. He was the great love of my life, after all. I don't blame myself for it ending. I blame fate and destiny and his own Godforsaken loyalty to her. I am such a baby.


"Colin?" his voice cuts through my thoughts, nudging me out of my daydreams of the past.

"Yes?"

Greg looks concerned, but mostly exasperated. "Have you heard anything I've said?"

I reply, clearing my throat. "Of course. You asked if I'm going to Drew's suite tonight for drinks and strippers."

Greg almost looks pained by my ability to drift and yet still follow the conversation. "And?"

"I'm not coming. I have plans. But give everyone my best."

I stand and go for my jacket, brushing past a dumbfounded Greg to exit into the hallway. It takes approximately fifteen minutes for me to get to the parking garage, grab my rental car and pull up to my hotel; it's that close.

When I go inside, ride the elevator up and swipe my key card I'm not entirely shocked to see a naked Jeff lying across my bed, wearing a huge smile and some Mardi Gras beads around his neck.

It takes every fiber of my being to suppress the sigh. Instead, I smile, convincingly enough in his direction.

"What if I'd been room service?"

He snorts a laugh. "Well. Then, I guess they'd have gotten an eyeful." He watches as I shed the jacket. "Can I have a hug, grumpy?"

I swallow and saunter towards him. "I'm not grumpy."

Kneeling on the bed, I scoot close to him as he gets on his own knees and comes closer. We're face to face now, but neither of us makes a move towards the hug; instead he stares into my eyes until I feel my ears start to burn red.

"What?" I inquire softly.

He shrugs. "I thought you'd be happy to see me."

"I am." My arms go around him now, drawing him against me. "I totally am; its just been a trying evening."

"How was the show?" He asks against my shoulder, letting one hand cradle my head and slide through the pale hair there. "I know you rocked, as usual."

"It was like a million other shows."

"Stop it." He chastises. "I'd have come to see it myself, but there was an unexpected layover at the last second. I spent a whole goddamned hour in Flagstaff!"

For some reason, his annoyance amuses me, and I laugh against his shoulder.

"What?" he murmurs, scrunching his eyebrows. "Oh. You think that's funny?"

I shrug, still smiling. "Well. Yeah. Kinda."

"Is that so?" He pushes me onto my back, grinning devilishly and pinning my wrists. "I'll show you, Tyrannosaurus!"

I'm laughing harder now as he pounces on me and in seconds, he's unzipping me and fondling the most primitive part of my body.

I'm biting my lip as he strokes me intently with silky soft hands, his eyes turning serious beneath ink colored lashes and before I know it, we're tangled together and riding out the waves towards certain inevitability.


By morning, I'm groggy and resentful of the sun for shining directly into my face - then, I remember that Jeff rises way earlier than I do and probably opened the blinds before first light. He isn't beside me in bed, but I hear him prattling around in the other room.

"You awake yet, sleepy head?" His voice sounds farther away than the next room. "Well, if you are, I've made a fresh pot of java."

I'm glad for this because I'm going to need it in my current state.

"Hey!" he comes bounding suddenly into the room in his white t-shirt and black boxer briefs, bouncing on the bed next to me and kissing my head. I'm groaning and thinking that so much energy should be a crime.

"Hey?" I murmur. "?What time is it?"

"Around eight-ish." He lets one hand caress my head, lightly tracing along the circumference. "Last night take it out of you?"

His insinuation makes me smile. "Well...it was certainly nice."

He's in my arms, and I'm about to kiss his mouth when a knock comes to the door.

I raise my eyebrows as Jeff dashes into the other room. I'm already up and throwing on my robe when I hear a familiar voice that makes me freeze. My eyes close involuntarily as I count slowly, backward, in Spanish, from ten.

`Diez, nueve, ocho?'

"Colin," Jeff pokes his head in the door, and I put on a flippant face for him.

"Yeah? Who is it?"

"It's Ryan Stiles. Baring cigars."

I nod once and head to the door, hoping my face isn't blotched with nervousness or that my hair isn't standing on end. Hell, I guess it doesn't really matter.

"Hi, Ryan."

"Col." His voice is rich and delighted. He looks amazing, a little needy for sleep but otherwise, perfect. His hair is sandy, golden, bouncy and full - like always. His willowy body swims in white painter overalls, and a blue button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. In his large hands are cigars. His excuse not to embrace me.

"Congratulations." I say, wondering if he noticed that Jeff answered my door in his underwear. Of course he noticed. He simply doesn't care. That's the most probable scenario.

"We bought these months before we knew if it was going to be a girl or a boy," he's gesturing at the cigars in his hands. "So, we have blue and pink. Take your pick. I know you don't smoke - so I got chocolate. They're made of chocolate. Isn't that so cool?"

I'm smiling but not for the reason he thinks. Yeah, I'm glad he had another baby - that's wonderful, but having him standing here before me is glorious, a precious gift I never could have hoped for or even predicted. His grin is wide as he looks over my shoulder.

"Well... enough about me... how are you?"

In this instant, I realize he's standing in the threshold. I reach for his arm and pull him inside.

"I'm great." I say once I get him seated.

"So, how was the show?" He asks, glancing at his watch. "Good, of course?"

I wave that away, dismissing the question. "So, another girl, huh? Are you excited? Happy?"

He nods, vigorously. "All of the above. It always feels so exhilarating. You know how it is... they're always so tiny and helpless - and you can't believe you had a hand in it."

I'm nodding, wondering why Jeff is choosing to stay hidden away in another room.

"So?" He says after a few minutes. "...you and Jeff."

I shrug, smiling. "Yeah. It happened really fast."

Ryan's eyes flash concern briefly, the green irises shifting from one extreme to the next. As always, I'm entranced by him. "Is he good to you?"

I snort a laugh. "Yes. Unbelievably good." I clear my throat. "He's a sweetie, actually."

My best friend nods, slowly. Something in his eyes reminds me of sadness, but I can't allow myself to be presumptuous. It's probably just a fleck of sleep.

"Well, listen, Col I have to go..."

I knew it was coming, so why do I feel so empty? "So soon?"

He nods and Jeff comes out, as if on cue, wearing slacks and a shirt. "Congratulations again, Mr. Stiles."

Ryan nods, grins and tosses him a blue cigar. "Thanks, Mr. Davis."

Then to me, he murmurs. "Can you walk me to the elevator?"

I nod, then turn to Jeff. "Be right back."


In the corridor, there is a silence taut with expectancy. I have my hands shoved in my pockets as I walk slowly alongside him, resisting the urge to touch him. Then, we pause as he turns to me. With both of us in shoes, he's roughly four inches taller than I am, but with him in sneakers and me barefoot, I feel completely dwarfed. He shoves the `cigars' into his pocket and reaches for me.

I'm trembling but letting myself be pulled into his embrace, welcoming it.

"Oh Colin..." He breathes against my ear. My eyes have slid shut and I'm letting him hold me up. My knees are buckling.

"Ryan..." my voice is an uneven whisper.

"Don't take any shit off of him." He murmurs, holding me close. "Don't let him talk down to you."

"I won't."

"And don't let him tell you what to do. Don't let him boss you around. You're a fucking superstar..."

"Ryan..." It's a sob. My eyes have filled.

"I'll always love you. I just... they need me..." he takes a pause, his voice catching. "...you don't."

I'm shaking, holding him so tight, tears spilling onto his shirt. "You don't *know* that."

"You don't." He affirms, pulling away from me. "I have to go."

He's wiping his eyes and stepping onto the waiting elevator. The five seconds or more between him stepping on and the doors shutting are the hardest. He won't look at me but I can't tear my eyes away from his tanned face.

This should be a joyous occasion for him.


Heading back down the corridor, I pause to examine the pink cigar in my pocket. Made of chocolate. He bought chocolate because I don't smoke. How thoughtful. Even in death we'll be thinking of one another, but for now I try not to let his undying affection bring me further down. Instead, I focus on jostling myself back to reality.

After all, I don't want Jeff to know I've been crying. My hand rests on the door handle, which seems to separate my past from my present... or my future. Putting on my game face, I step bravely through the threshold.

END