?

Log in

Mar. 24th, 2007 @ 07:05 pm Toby/Peter
Tags:
First fic posted - woot.

Title: Vienna
Rating: G
Pairing: Toby/Peter
Summary: After Smiley's People - Toby and Peter meet up in Vienna

    Vienna. The city he never thought he would return to. Vienna. Narrow streets, broad open squares, beige buildings bathed in golden sunlight. Dark allies leading to twisted cobblestone streets and shady, grey, courtyards. Olive skinned bodies hugged the walls watching with wide dark eyes.
    He was a novelty again. Pale skin, silver hair speckled with black, and a small body. Small in the dark since, the city dweller since. He was petit. Not the type of man who is short but barrel chested or built like an ox. No he was small like a jockey, a ballerina with delicate wrists and a body that could manipulate it's way out of any situation.
    He came back to his city, his Vienna, with four pounds in his pocket and a beaten up violin case. The room he rented was small and musty. Sheets that used to be white were yellowing and stained. A window with fogged glass was parted letting in stale air that wafted up from the small courtyard below. Fish frying, rotting fruit, sweat, and piss mixed together forming a bittersweet aroma.
    The bed dipped as he sat down, setting his violin case on the floor. He stared forward at the cracked smoke stained walls. His thigh was burning. Well more correctly the thought of the letter he had yet to open that was resting in his pocket against his thigh caused the previously mentioned burning sensation.
    A letter from his friend, his only friend from that whole fiasco of the circus. Sure Alleline had wined and dined him, smiled and gave him raises when he had been "a good boy, a very good boy. Dear Chap". And Haydon had courted him, smiled and gave him advice, warmed his bed when he had been lonely and listened to him. Haydon was very good at listening. Then there was Peter, his only friend. Charming, open, kind Peter. Who never denied anything and was the opposite of his namesake. It was Peter who wrote him the letter. Chicken scratch that only he, Toby, could understand.
    His hand dipped into his pocket removing the incendiary item. His name, Tobias Esterhase, was scrawled across the envelope. He was the only to ever call him Tobias and the only one to know that his middle name, his real middle name, was Hunyadi. And he was the only one who dared to tease him, sitting next to him at one in the morning on some nameless buss poking him in the ribs and watching to make sure Toby kept a straight face.
    The letter was short, a message full of clichés. I'll miss you, hope to see you soon etc. All written with the full knowledge that they would most likely never see each other again. On the bottom of the eight times folded leaf of paper was a number and address. "Call me if you need anything. Write me if you have nothing to do". A twitch of lips and Toby tucked it away in a jacket pocket.
    Days passed and his violin was earning its keep. He played in the early morning when the sun was low and city still cool. Music slow and sweet, melodies floating softly across the slowly waking city. By midday he was hawking with all the other vendors, selling paintings of questionable origins. His room slowly filled with canvases and the heavy cloth covering them all.
    It was eleven before he got home one night, body exhausted and stomach grumbling. He had played all day, blistered fingers the only witnesses to the effort he poured into Liszt.
    "You never wrote." He froze, the room was dark and a silhouette of a man was on his bed.
    "Don’t do that." He growled back closing the door behind him and dropping his bad and violin case on the dusty floor. "Next time you might not live to hear my reply." A click and a gun was dropped down on the shoddy table ontop the various piles of papers.
    "I'll keep that in mind." Peter said with a smile. "How have you been doing?"
    "Fine, been getting by." He sank into a chair opposite his friend. The only light coming from a small lamp on the bedside table.
    "Excellent. You never wrote."
    "I didn't have time." Peter nodded and looked down, shadow covering his face.
    "Of course. What's all that for?" A hand waved at the piles of papers on Toby's table.
    "I'm a free lance writer – when I'm not selling." A vague nod towards the canvases along the walls.
    "Ah."
    "What are you doing here?" The lamp flickered but didn't quite go out. If it had it would have been the third bulb that month.
    "I'm visiting."
    "Visiting?" A sly smile as Toby crossed his legs.
    "For a while." Peter paused, fingers tapping an irregular beat on his knee. "A rather long while." He finally admitted.
    "Were you…"
    "Let go? Yes. Well I resigned – that's what the record says but you know what it's like." Toby nodded, a twitch of his lips to constitute a smile. Yes he knew what it was like. A long white hall that appeared grey or perhaps a musky yellow depending on the day. Cheeks burning and the feeling that everyone was watching and that everyone knew. Humiliation self-inflicted. And afterwards the letter than came with a pre-paid one way ticket to some unknown city. Or known, sometimes it's known. And the empty bank account, the repossessed (now empty) house and repossessed car. Everything gone within a week. Yes Toby knew what it was like. What it was like to arrive in a city that he had long been a stranger to with only four pounds and one possession. Yes he knew all about it.
    "Hungry?" He asked hoping that the stale bread and old, too sharp cheese would ease the heavy silence that had descended.
    "No, no thank you." Toby nodded and sat back in his chair, eyes closing. "I'm sorry Tobias, I've kept you. I'll go." A hand held out and Peter stopped.
    "No need, you have no where to go I believe. Hand me my violin. What composer do you like?"
    "Uhh Beethoven." A scoff and what could have been a sneer but he said nothing about the choice.
    "Well Peter, let's see what we can make out of this new life." Clouds drifted across the crescent moon making what little light that had been present disappear. And Vienna, lonely lovely Vienna, slept on even as the Fur Elise unfurled through the streets. One man standing near the window playing for an audience that had long passed from this earth. Another man asleep in a small bed of worn sheets that were no longer white. A bed creaked as the other man joined him, arms around his waist and violin lying on the floor.
About this Entry
Rochester - John Wilmot
life_of_amesu:
[User Picture Icon]
From:athousandwinds
Date:March 25th, 2007 01:49 pm (UTC)
(Permanent Link)
Oh, excellent. I love Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy so much and this has the atmosphere just right - weary and a darker, half-lit shade of grey. And Peter/Toby is win. Just, win.
[User Picture Icon]
From:life_of_amesu
Date:March 25th, 2007 06:43 pm (UTC)
(Permanent Link)
*hugs* I love you! Another one fan! I thought I was alone.
Glad you liked it, yes Peter/Toby is love to all ends of the earth. *nods* ^_^
[User Picture Icon]
From:athousandwinds
Date:March 25th, 2007 07:26 pm (UTC)
(Permanent Link)
I should read more le Carré (I've only read Tinker Tailor and A Perfect Spy), but I can only take him in small doses, otherwise I lapse into depression over how grim and dreary the world is.

There's Misc. Papers, Haydon Family, BL Accession No. CQ8421183a at Yuletide Treasure, which is Bill Haydon/Jim Prideaux, but I've not seen any other fic for it, so I was overjoyed. And Peter/Toby works, in a weird way. I can really see it.
[User Picture Icon]
From:life_of_amesu
Date:March 26th, 2007 12:08 am (UTC)
(Permanent Link)
It's Switzerland. That's what makes Toby/Peter work. Smiley's People has a lot of Toby in it - no Bill or really any Jim as it's post Tinker Tailor.
Bill/Jim is OMG love as well. I wrote a few fics with them, just never posted them.

Yes le Carré is very depressing, I try and read him alongside a more chipper book (like the Jeeves and Wooster series or something just as light hearted)