Title: Hear Me Falling Author: knowyourlips Rating: PG-13 Pairing: Ryan/Colin Summary: But when he talks about Ryan - and if there's one thing he hates about himself, it's this; he hates it more than he ever hated his prematurely receding hairline (as he'd like to think of it), and more than he ever hated the way he shies away from direct confrontation - his voice catches. Author's Notes: I don't know what this is. *eyes fic warily* Or where it came from. Ignore it. lol. And I couldn't figure out how to end it. It's just something I was thinking about while watching some clips. So, 'spoilers' for ep 428, because I kind of embellished some stuff. *looks innocent* Oh, and title stolen from a lyric in a Goo Goo Dolls song. One of the most puzzling, befuddling, head-scratching facets of Colin Mochrie - even more so than his premature baldness - is his voice. For some reason - a reason that even the man in question can't quite explain - he has almost as many voices as facial expressions. His voice seems to change, depending on what he's doing - and who he's with. Or who he's talking about. When they play 'Greatest Hits', his voice is a lot higher and happier than usual - partly because (and he reluctantly admitted this to himself, once) that voice alone is almost enough to make Ryan laugh. In 'News Flash', he all but shouts, because the role really does call for it. That, and the fact that if he times his wail of, "It's HORRIBLE!" particularly well with whatever's behind him, his best friend laughs helplessly. His voice is different again when they play 'Helping Hands' - he hisses short phrases into the collar of his friend's shirt, on the rare occasion that he needs to speak during that particular game (most often, it's simply a careless "oops" or "shit", or a quiet snort of laughter). "Sorry," he sometimes breathes, sheepishly, when he misses his friend's mouth completely. In between games, everyone on stage leans over to talk to someone else in that row of seats. Greg covers his mouth when he talks, lifting his fingers fractionally away from his lips so he's actually audible, but shielding the lower part of his face from the audience. Wayne whispers, as he tilts his head away from the microphone - and no-one's quite sure if he does it on purpose or not. And Ryan? Ryan talks normally, loud enough for both Drew and the audiences to hear, if they tried; loud enough for the microphones to pick up. Colin counters flatly - he deadpans his answers, he mutters his replies sotto voce, and Ryan shoots him an amused smirk that he only sees out of the corner of his eye, because he methodically scans the audience - for no real reason - as they talk. When he talks to Ryan, he can hear a trace of his old Canadian accent in his voice, and his best friend pointed that out once. "You still have an accent," he'd pointed out, idly, his eyes lazily amused, and Colin's brow had furrowed in mock anger for no real reason he could think of. "I do not," he'd insisted, pulling himself up to his full height. Ryan had watched him, the corners of his mouth turning down as he'd tried not to laugh. Colin had taken a step into him, then, and yelped - as indignantly as he could - "YOU do!" and Ryan had finally laughed. But when he talks about Ryan - and if there's one thing he hates about himself, it's this; he hates it more than he ever hated his prematurely receding hairline (as he'd like to think of it), and more than he ever hated the way he shies away from direct confrontation - his voice catches. He'd been doing a routine radio interview the first time he's noticed that he struggled to say his best friend's name without nearly choking. He'd half-hiccupped saying "Ryan" as his throat closed over, momentarily, and he'd been so stunned and embarrassed that he'd paused for a split second before adding, awkwardly, "Stiles." In one of the better games of 'News Flash' they'd filmed, he'd been shouting until he realized just what was behind him. "It's kind of charming, in a gawky way," he'd smiled, and he'd almost blushed at how wistful he'd sounded. Then Drew had asked him if he had any idea what was behind him, and - aiming for but landing nowhere near a dryly amused tone - he'd replied, "I think it's my good friend, Ryan Stiles," and he remembers the way his voice had caught in his throat - and he still can't explain it. He knows his voice shook slightly when he said his friend's last name; his throat had tightened, and his voice had come out even lower than his natural speaking voice, and all he could do was hope that no one - particularly Ryan - had noticed.