Even The Stars-- They Fade....

...And Colors Fade to Grey.

Baz is gone when I wake up. His side of the bed is cold and empty, the blankets tossed in every direction. It looks like a tornado came through. With a yawn, I stand up, running my fingers through my tangled bird's nest of curls.

He must've gone to work early. It's unlike him, but I suppose if he has a project to finish...

If he had a project to finish, he would've told me.

As I flick the switch on the kettle, worry starts to open a gaping pit in the floor of my stomach. He would've told me... wouldn't he?

The kettle boils, and I make tea, my mind running at a hundred miles an hour. What if something's wrong?

I take a sip of my tea, burning my tongue on the scalding hot liquid. The pain helps to jerk me back to logical thinking. There's nothing to suggest something's amiss-- Baz probably told me he was heading into work early, and I just didn't hear him.

...right?

----------

Around 11:00, I get a call from Baz's boss. It's my day off, and luckily, I'm not out on errands and whatnot, so I'm there to get the phone.

"Hello?" I say into the receiver.

"Mr. Pitch?" a man with a gruff voice answers. I recognize it right away; Baz's boss.

"No sir, this is his boyfr--" I stop to correct myself, remembering that isn't my title anymore, "his, er, husband speaking. Is anything the matter?" Worry tinges the edges of my words.

"Are you aware your husband didn't come in to work today?"

I recoil in shock at the words, holding the phone a foot away from my ear and staring at it, nonplussed. Slowly, I bring it back to my ear, swallowing down hard and clearing my throat before answering.

"No sir, I am not," only a slight tremor in my voice reveals how much the man's words have rattled me.

Silence at his boss's end. And then,

"Well, have him give us a call once you find him, please," is all the reply I get.

"Yes sir. Have a nice day." I'm fighting to keep my voice steady. Where in the world is Baz?

The receiver clicks, and I nearly drop the phone in the rush to grab my coat and put it on. I've got to find him!

----------

I search everywhere. Along the Thames, by the Abbey, places of London I didn't even know existed... he's nowhere to be found. I only decide to call it a day because it starts pouring rain, making it too dark to see; I'm no use to Baz blind. So, I trudge home dejectedly, not even bothering to get a cab.

My feet splash through puddles, and I don't care that my socks are soaking wet (okay, maybe I do, a little). My hair drips water into my eyes, and I barely even bother to blink it away. Worry tears away at my gut with razor-sharp claws, and my mind has little room for anything else.

Finally, I reach our flat. My wet fingers fumble for the key in my pocket, and the slick metal nearly slips from my fingers when I raise it to the lock. Finally, I push the battered door open, listening to the familiar creak of its hinges. My eyes flit once around every part of the flat I can see from here, but there's no sign of him. With a sigh, I trek to the bedroom to get a change of clothes.

Someone's already there when I walk in the door.

Baz.

He's sitting with his back against the headboard. His knees are pulled up to his chest, and he's still got his shoes on-- they're dripping mud and grimy rainwater onto the quilt. But Aleister Crowley, I wouldn't care less if he was covered in shit. He's here, and he's okay. And that's all that matters.

Well, the 'okay' part of that might be a stretch. Baz hasn't acknowledged my presence (not that there's much to acknowledge-- I'm standing completely still in the doorway, in shock) since I stepped into the room. His head rests back against the wall, and I think I can see the glint of a tear on his cheek.

"B-Baz?" I stammer, finally recovering enough to run over to him. He still doesn't move, and it's scaring the shit out of me.

"Baz? Are you-- are you okay? Where where you? I was worried out of my mind!" The words flow from my mouth, making up for the absence of his replies. My hands run all over him, checking for anything gone amiss. Finally they land on his cheeks, staying there. I was right; they are wet with tears. My thumbs brush gently over his skin, drying it.

I climb onto the bed so I'm facing him, holding his head in my hands.

"Baz..." I say, my voice soft, "are you okay?" Finally, he reacts. His stormy grey eyes slide up to meet mine, and that's when I know something is desperately, deeply wrong. They've got a sort of film over them, like someone's covered them with flour. And all of the light has left them-- they're so dull and lackluster, you could mistake them for a dead man's.

One more tear falls down his pale cheek as his eyes stare into mine.

"I'm so tired, Simon..." is all he says. His voice is full of fissures, like thin ice over a lake. He sounds so desperate, so broken. Those four words are full to bursting of black, bottomless voids.

My heart breaks at his voice-- it's been a long, long time since I've heard him this full of sorrow. As gently as I can, I brush a kiss against his forehead.

"Sleep, then, love. I've got you..." I whisper, fighting to keep from crying. Maneuvering myself around the twisted, muddy blankets, I pull him into my lap, so his head rests against my chest. The dull eyes slide closed.

But he shakes his head.

"Sleep won't help me..."

I stroke his hair back from his forehead.

"Then tell me what will?" He shakes his head again.

"Nothing. I'm just..." he's talking like every word cuts a deep wound, "I'm so tired, Simon... tired of fighting, tired of losing, tired of being me... I'm so, so tired..." a few more tears roll down the side of his face and into his hair, where they glisten darkly against the black. Tears of my own threaten to fall, making everything blurry and distorted.

I brush my lips against his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, his lips... every part of his face I can reach.

"You don't have to be tired... you don't have to lose, or fight. You don't even have to be you... just be mine. You're mine, and I've got you right here, and you're gonna be okay. I'll never let anything hurt you, even yourself... I've got you..." my voice fades away until it's barely more than a tearstained breath.

Now he's really crying, clutching onto my shirt and burying his face in my chest. And I'm crying, too, because it hurts to see him like this.

"H-how can you protect me from m-myself?" he whimpers, his words vibrating over my chest. My arms wrap more tightly around him, and I bury my face in his hair.

"I'll hold you tight forever, and kiss away your thoughts-- the good, the bad... everything... and I'll tell you that I love you every chance that I get..." I curl my fingers in his silky black hair and press my lips against his forehead, "I love you, Baz... I've got you..."

Baz raises his head, and doesn't even make eye contact before pushing his lips gently against mine. His lips taste like tears-- salty and wet; like seawater. When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against mine. My eyes close, and I cup his cheek in my palm.

"I love you, Simon Snow... don't ever leave me alone with myself..." he whispers. I shake my head once.

"Never."