Rhapsody on a Theme

By Matthew J. Metzger

Sequel to The Devil's Trill Sonata

Although their relationship has been repaired since the disaster that was Cambridge, Darren has not. His depression has worsened over the years until it is no longer an option to watch the illness play out its patterns. Treatment is a must.

Treatment is also a difficult disaster. When the second attempt at medication goes as badly wrong as the first, and Darren is forced through a rapid deterioration of mood swings, insomnia, nausea and increasingly dangerous thought patterns, his partner Jayden begins to fear that the only end to this disease will also be the end of Darren himself.

Apart from a single glimmer of hope: when Darren's best friend asks Darren to play at his wedding, Darren begins to slowly return to the half-forgotten piano. As he slowly sinks back into the music that he deserted seven years earlier, the shadows -- finally -- begin to fade.

• Language: English
• Publisher: JMS Books LLC
• Release date: May 25, 2014
• ISBN: 9781611525724

Matthew J. Metzger

Matthew J. Metzger is an author currently residing in Sheffield, England, though he originally hails from London. He writes a wide variety of fiction, from contemporary fiction to science-fiction epics, but usually focuses on the people within the stories. People are, after all, the most fascinating creatures around.When not writing, Matthew can usually be found flirting with the local population, hiking in the Peak District, and collecting bruises in his Muay Thai training.

Book preview

Rhapsody on a Theme

By Matthew J. Metzger

Published by JMS Books LLC at Smashwords

Visit jms-books.com for more information.

Copyright 2014 Matthew J. Metzger

ISBN 9781611525724

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Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com

Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.

All rights reserved.

WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Published in the United States of America.

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Rhapsody on a Theme

By Matthew J. Metzger

Chapter 1

There was a fiddler on the platform when the train came in. High, shivering notes met low, shivering commuters in unusually icy December air. Frost was coming tonight, but the fiddler didn’t care. The case lay open at his feet, a yawning maw for money, and he played what he thought the milling crowd of commuters and students from the next town over wanted to hear, played the lively, and the simple, and the easy-to-enjoy. The money-making tunes that every busker knew. That which would, in theory, separate commuters from coins.

He was wrong. Not just in his assessment, but in his poise and playing. He held the bow at too wide an angle, his elbow was too lax, and his shoulder loose and easy in a way it shouldn’t have been. His hair was tidily scraped into place, and he watched the commuters, brown eyes seeking approval. His discipline was for them, not for the music, and it was the wrong way to tame the strings.

Jayden didn’t approve. The fiddler was all wrong, and far inferior to Darren’s genius when he’d played. He tossed a couple of coppers into the case anyway—nobody in a good situation would be busking in this weather—and jogged up the stairs over the line. It was cold. The summer had been a long, wet, and miserable creature, autumn hadn’t happened, and Christmas had arrived with the ferocity of a minor ice age. He could have stayed at home with Rachel, spent his leave from his new job on the sofa with a heavy duvet, and called Darren every evening without fail, and without having to leave the house at all. He almost regretted coming.

Almost.

Aiden, Aiden, Aiden! something shrieked, and then the something hit his knees, bright red hair bursting out from under her woolly hat.

Rosie! he cheered, picking her up and letting her hug his entire face enthusiastically. She was a tiny three-year-old (nearly four, she insisted, on the occasions she remembered that four came after three) with a lingering inability (or outright refusal) to pronounce certain words, and an extreme energy that bewildered the entire family. She also, red hair aside, looked just like Dad.

Mummy, Mummy, I got Aiden! she screamed, and Jayden winced, carrying her back through the ticket barrier under which she’d obviously ducked, and ignoring the indulgent smiles of the platform staff. Mum beamed, held open her arms, and hugged them together, smelling of the Boots perfume counter and baking. She was warm, plump in a fluffy Christmas jumper, and her hair tickled just the way it always had, feathery and floaty. Time was frozen for the moment on Mum, and Jayden soaked up the comforting familiarity of her.

Hello, darling, she said. Merry Christmas!

Tiss-mas! Rosie echoed, still cuddling Jayden’s face. He shifted her onto one arm. She would be four in the spring, and she still weighed nothing. She was tiny. Mummy, she whined, wriggling. Can we go home now?

Not yet, poppet, Mum said, tickling her ribs until she squirmed. Jayden struggled not to drop her. We have to wait for Darren, don’t we?

Jayden suppressed a smile. Rosie struggled with both their names ever since she’d learned to talk, and had eventually decided they were called Aiden and Dan. Unfortunately, even as she’d learned to speak properly, she’d stuck to her versions. They were better, apparently.

But when’s Dan coming? Rosie whined, true to form.

Ten minutes, poppet, Mum said. Jayden glanced up at the arrivals board. Five now, but whatever.

"…Can we come back later?" Rosie implored, having no grasp of what ‘ten minutes’ meant. Mostly because Mum always insisted she’d be ready in ten minutes, and took hours. Jayden remembered having the same trouble when he’d been little.

"No, poppet."

She squirmed to be let down; Jayden plonked her at their feet, and took the opportunity to hug Mum properly, and breathe that Boots-perfume-counter smell. It always reminded him of Mum. But not everything had remained the same as he’d first suspected, and he frowned. She’d gained weight, and he eyed her suspiciously.

Not yet, darling, she said, and chuckled. But don’t rule it out.

"Mum."

"Come off it, darling. If Darren were a girl I don’t doubt I’d be a grandmother by now, and probably several times over," she scoffed, and Jayden reddened.

Mum!

I’m allowed a little fun too.

"But I don’t want to know!"

"And I didn’t want to know about what you were up to either, she said tartly, and Jayden groaned, covering his face with both hands and going red. How are the two of you, darling?"

Better, the voice in his head supplied instantly, and it wasn’t being bitchy for once. They were better. Jayden had transferred to Bristol to do a degree there instead—English and History—and things had been better since then. Bristol had been…had been more like Jayden had expected university to be. And he had been closer to Darren, visiting every weekend. They had worked at a recovery. It wasn’t over—Darren was worse now than he had been when they were kids, unquestionably, but…

But he was also better than he had been when Jayden had been at Cambridge. Bristol had been easier. Bristol had helped. And Jayden had graduated this last July, and had a framed picture of him in his robe and mortar and Darren in a suit outside the students’ union. Darren had been properly smiling, and it hadn’t looked strained. He’d had his arm around Jayden’s hips, and they’d looked happy, because they were, when the depression let them be. They had been…been working with the illness, chipping away at it, and it had been working, sometimes.

But the last few months had been hard. Not long after Jayden had graduated and moved into the little house Darren and Rachel had set up for themselves in Cosham, Darren had been off to London, sent by the force on some training secondment. (Jayden didn’t know the details, because the minute Darren starting talking forensics, his brain just glazed over in a stupid haze.) And Darren had been gone, living in police accommodation in London since the beginning of September for three months.

It had been hard. Jayden had been terrified that Darren was going to get bad on his own, and Darren had been so out of reach because he’d been working ten-hour days and sleeping ten-hour nights, and…

"DAN!"

"ROSIE!" Mum bellowed.

And it was over. Jayden turned to watch his little sister duck back under the barriers and throw herself across the tiles, and watch Darren’s graceful swoop and catch, throwing her up in the air and catching her again like a sack of flour, lean and lovable in his zip-up black hoodie and blue beanie. He looked a little thinner than he had last time they had managed to meet (mid-October, for all of a day) and he was wearing his glasses instead of his contacts which was a bit unusual, but he was grinning at Rosie and slinging her about on his right arm effortlessly, blowing a loud raspberry on her neck before setting her down and fumbling for his ticket.

Mummy, Mummy, it’s Dan! Rosie shrieked excitedly.

"Rosie, come here!" Mum snapped. Jayden ignored both of them and reached over the barrier to take Darren’s bag. Rosie didn’t weigh much, but Darren had struggled with picking her up since she turned three. She was just too heavy for his left shoulder. The weakness would never leave it properly.

There’s the bastard, Darren muttered, finding his ticket and jamming it in the correct slot. The barriers opened, and he walked right into Jayden’s grasp.

Hello, Jayden said simply, dragging him to one side before planting his hands on either side of Darren’s face and kissing him soundly. He tasted of spearmint and orange juice and Darren under the flavouring, tasted the way Jayden expected him to taste, and he pushed back into the greeting without pause, cupping a hand around the back of Jayden’s neck and another around his waist, tilting his head until their noses brushed lightly. It wasn’t often that Jayden noticed that Darren had taken an inch on him in sixth form, but he noticed it now, almost arching up into the kiss and wanting, fiercely and desperately, to be alone. He burned with it and wanted to clutch Darren and never let go. It was like a fog clearing, like a lightning bolt to the chest, like life itself.

Don’t make me get a bucket of water, Mum said fondly.

Jayden broke away, smiling broadly and rubbing his nose briefly against Darren’s before stepping back. Those beautiful green eyes were almost obscured by the pupils, blown wide at the attention, and then awareness crept back in and Darren scowled.

That’s cruel, he said.

It’s a promise to keep you going until later, Jayden returned.

Wassat? Rosie asked.

A promise?

Noooo, Aiden saying hello!

That was a kiss, Darren said.

She scowled. I want a tiss! I didn’t get a tiss!

Aww, can’t have that, Darren said and noisily planted a kiss on her fat cheek. There you go, Jels.

Jelly! Rosie cheered. Mummy, can I have jelly? she asked, twisting in Mum’s arms, distracted (as always) by the implied promise of a treat that she saw in her nickname. Mum hated it for that reason alone.

No you can’t, poppet, we’re having tea when we get home.

Home! she clapped. "Home, home, home. AIDEN, she caterwauled when Jayden caught Darren’s hand and pressed another kiss to his cheek. We’re going home, no more tisses!"

The woman at the ticket office cracked up laughing; Jayden groaned, mock-saluted, and squeezed Darren’s hand as they followed Mum and her imperious toddler out of the station towards the car park. She’s terrible, Jayden said.

She’s a brat, Darren said cheerfully. Better than Misha was at three and a half, trust me.

How was your trip? Jayden asked, swinging their joined hands lightly as they crossed the tarmac.

Eh. Darren shrugged. I slept through most of it. Did a couple of extra shifts to pay off for this week’s leave. Merry Christmas, by the way, he added, stopping at the car and pulling Jayden in by the collar of his jacket. At the last second, he ducked aside to whisper in Jayden’s ear instead of kiss him. Your present’s for later.

Jayden grinned, pressing a quick kiss to Darren’s mouth before he could slip away, and said, How much later?

"Much later."

Is that a promise?

Mm, bit like yours, Darren said and escaped, slipping around the other side of the car. He typically sat in the back with Rosie if they came back for a visit; apparently he was better at colouring than Jayden. (Rosie was convinced that colouring inside the lines was the wrong way to do things. She had Dad’s artistic ‘talent.’ And luckily for Rosie, Darren had all the artistic talent of a dead rat too, so it was a creative match made in art-hating heaven.)

Are you still going out tonight, darling? Mum asked as they buckled in.

Yep, Jayden said. It was his Christmas treat: come home, see Mum and Dad and Rosie again, and collect Darren en route from London to Southampton. Stay a couple of days, then go back home with Darren and spend the rest of the week they’d booked off in bed, alone, recuperating from three months apart.

God, spending nine months apart at Cambridge seemed a world away. And impossible.

It wasn’t just the worry, really. It was…when Jayden had transferred to Bristol, they’d spent every weekend together, pretty much, and in the holidays Jayden had more-or-less moved into Darren’s flat. They’d gotten closer, especially when Darren had started counselling (and then stopped, and then started again with another counsellor, and then switched again, and you get the idea) and they’d started him on medication last year. It had failed, but they had tried, and they had tried together. They were closer. There were less barriers between them. They were…

Rachel called them newly-weds. Jayden preferred to think of it as…well, no, he didn’t, because he hated the term ‘lovers’ but suddenly ‘boyfriend’ didn’t seem enough to describe Darren anymore. Suddenly, the idea that he’d had in sixth form, that they’d split up in uni, seemed downright stupid. They weren’t going to go their separate ways. They weren’t going to split up.

Darren…Darren was forever.

We won’t get too drunk, he promised Mum. Just, you know, a few drinks and a few dances and everything, and then we’ll be home. Before three.

One.

Two.

Fine, but if you wake up Rosie, you’re in a world of trouble, Mum threatened mildly. "And if Rosie sees you doing anything."

Like what? Rosie piped up.

Jayden and I have a game we play that Mummy doesn’t like, Darren said, carefully colouring a square into an outlined circle.

Like football?

It’s nothing like football.

Oh. Boring! Rosie announced to Jayden’s relief, and pushed Darren’s hand away. "It has to be lellow!"

What? Darren asked.

Yellow, Mum said wearily, turning the car into Attlee Road. Rosie, let’s go and show Daddy your lovely new trainers, shall we?

Yeeeeeeah! she whooped, and Darren grimaced, hastily extracting himself from the car. He hefted his bag over his right shoulder before Jayden could take it, and offered his left hand as compensation; Jayden rubbed the knuckles, and walked his fingers around the slender muscles. Thinner than the other hand, but Rachel disagreed, so maybe it was just his familiarity with Darren’s hands.

What’s my present? he asked.

You’ll see, Darren said.

I want it now.

Well, you can’t have it now, Darren said.

It’s Christmas Eve right now!

Tough shit, Darren said slowly and pressed a light kiss to the corner of Jayden’s mouth (to the less-than-romantic music of Rosie’s outraged squawk) as some kind of peace offering. Later, he whispered in Jayden’s ear, and Jayden squeezed his hand, desire sparking off at the huskily voiced promise. He had missed Darren too much for distance and pleasantries and ‘later.’ Later was now.

He didn’t wait to say hello to Dad, yelling over his shoulder as he used the captured hand to drag Darren upstairs the moment Mum unlocked the front door. Mum had given up after Darren’s…overdose, and simply shouted, Door! after them. Jayden didn’t have a lock on it—in truth, he’d been reluctant after the overdose to get one, you know, just in case—but he’d acquired a chair to keep Rosie out, and wedged it under the door handle. It wouldn’t resist Dad battering the door down, but it easily resisted curious three-year-olds, and the moment it was in place, Jayden turned on Darren and seized his head in both hands again.

"You’re a tease, he breathed against Darren’s mouth, forcing him backwards across the carpet, and retracted his tongue just in time to avoid being bitten as they tumbled down onto the bed together. Tease, Jayden repeated, straddling Darren’s waist and tangling both hands in his hair to keep him still. Tease, tease, tease," he repeated, peppering kisses onto random freckles, as if relearning them, and then he tired of the chase and pushed back past Darren’s lips, finding that edge of spearmint again, finding the way he shifted and moved, chin up and head back, almost nipping at Jayden’s skin.

You’re the one on top of me, Darren said, slightly breathlessly, even though he’d locked an arm around Jayden’s back, and Jayden grinned.

What’s my present?

No.

What is it? Jayden coaxed, kissing the spot under Darren’s ear. Darren shivered, but shook his head. Come on, Jayden wheedled, kissing his neck. "It’s already Christmas Eve. You know you want to tell me. Come onnn…"

Fuck you, Darren muttered, squirming; Jayden held him still and started attacking the other side. Darren groaned, and Jayden wrapped his teeth around the jugular and sucked hard until the groan cut off in the middle with a choked sort of noise. He was getting hard; Jayden could feel it. He broke off, kissing the bruise, and smiled against the damp skin.

Tell me, he whispered.

Fine, Jesus, Darren caved; Jayden shifted off his lap, ‘accidentally’ brushing his hand over the front of Darren’s jeans. Darren’s much-tighter-than-they-were-at-the-station jeans. Darren scowled at him, the effect kind of lost between the swollen mouth and the ruffled hair, and swung his legs gingerly off the bed. He’d dropped his bag by the door, and Jayden watched from the bed as he rummaged through it before producing an envelope and returning, handing it to Jayden and toeing off his shoes to sit cross-legged by the pillow, looking laughably lanky on the narrow single bed.

A card? That’s it?

Open it, Darren said, extending a leg to prod Jayden with his foot.

Jayden tore into the envelope, finding the usual poor-sense-of-humour card that Darren got him (this one, appropriately, involved a sulky-looking little girl in a party hat on the front) and a piece of paper folded up inside.

What are you doing? Jayden asked suspiciously.

Just open it.

Jayden dropped the card into his lap and unfolded the piece of paper. Darren’s small, spidery handwriting covered it in wonky lines, and Jayden smoothed it out over his knees to read properly.

Jayden:

So I’m guessing we don’t have long before the new doctor and the next round of Medicating The Madman…

You’re not mad, Darren, stop it.

"Read, don’t give a running commentary. I know what it says."

…and we both know apparently my dick isn’t too keen on the anti-ds. So this is a double present. 1) It is a voucher, for sex, redeemable for wherever and however you want it. And by however I mean who takes it, not some weird kinky fantasy! And 2) the proper present part. It can also be redeemed (at the same time or again) for sex without a condom. I know you’ve wanted to try it without for ages, so, merry crimbo and whathaveyou.

Love you,

Darren.

Jayden stared, smoothed it, re-read it, stared some more, then dropped it to push Darren back into the mattress and settle over him, staring at that calm, open face. He looked sincere, and it was bizarre because…because it was this. Really? he said.

Mhmm.

You’d really…you’d be okay with it? Without protection?

Well, it’s you, Darren said simply, draping his huge hands around Jayden’s waist and tracing patterns into his jumper with his thumbs. Idle and relaxed. Trusting. I figure I can trust you. It’s been a while.

Jayden laughed. Yes, but that’s not why you don’t want to.

Darren shrugged. Maybe I need to get over myself.

Jayden smiled again almost nervously and kissed him gently. Technically, he supposed, they’d done it once without, but he had taken it, and he’d kind of liked it. It was messy, but he’d liked the closeness of it. But Darren’s one and only experience with it had been when the condom broke that one time, and he’d hated the feel of that, he’d been really grossed out and for ages, Jayden hadn’t had the nerve to ask him to try it bareback. Darren wouldn’t have wanted to, he figured, and maybe it was better to give him the time.

But the time hadn’t worked. When he’d finally gotten curious enough to ask, Darren hadn’t wanted to. It felt wrong, he had decided, and he would do it to Jayden if Jayden really wanted him to, but no way otherwise. Jayden hadn’t been able to change his mind, not with all his arsenal of wheedling and begging and bribery, and in the face of Darren’s disgusted vehemence, he hadn’t had the heart to try too hard anyway. So this…

This was…

You’d…really, though?

Really. You might not ever get another one of those vouchers, so look after it.

Jayden kissed him again, mouthing gently around the edges of his lips, before pulling back just a little and saying, I love you, you know. I really, really love you.

I know, right? No condoms and everything.

Jayden laughed, pressing his nose into Darren’s cheek and kissing the faint traces of stubble coming through after a long day. I’ll redeem my voucher later. Right now, I want you and me and no vouchers, just…you know, us, like we always are, and always should be, and…

Darren’s arms locked around his back and he was twisted to the side—and there they lay, in a pool of dying December light, joined at the mouth and exploring in a slow and idle way that was not really going anywhere, and for a brief moment, perfectly content with their own tiny corner of the world, until Mum called for dinner and the spell quietly died away.

* * * *

Chapter 2

Mum! Jayden called from the hall as Darren shrugged into his leather jacket. We’re off!

Stay safe, darling! she yelled back. She was upstairs putting Rosie to bed; Jayden shut the door behind them before Rosie could kick off that they were going out without her, and slid his gloved hand through Darren’s at the gate.

"So how was the secondment?" he asked.

Darren swung their joined hands lightly. Pretty good, he decided eventually. The work was heavy, but it was pretty good, all things considered. And I’m not going to complain about free room and board in London. Missed you, though.

Jayden smiled at the icy pavement and squeezed the caught hand. But you were good, he said gently. I mean, you were doing really well, when you think about it. The secondment had been offered to only a few of the crime scene officers, and Darren had been eager to go, even as Jayden had been afraid to let him. The force had offered it in the dreary summer; at the same time, Darren had been taken off his antidepressants, and Jayden had been worried sick about the upheaval in case it triggered one of his episodes. A bad one. A really bad one.

But they’d been lucky.

Not looking forward to the new doctor, Darren admitted quietly.

We’ll be fine, Jayden reassured him and let go of his hand as they reached the main road, putting his own back in his coat pocket. Especially now you’ll be back in the house and I can keep an eye on you.

That sounded distinctly like a threat.

It is, Jayden confirmed, and Darren groaned. Oh, shut up. You’ll love it.

I won’t.

You will. And, Jayden bumped their shoulders, you never know when I might redeem those sex vouchers.

Darren snorted as they crossed the road towards the bus stops that marked the edge of the town centre. There were a few people about, but not too many. It was a Friday night, but still early: Jayden had voted for having a few drinks in The Queen’s Head, maybe a game of pool if Darren’s shoulder was up to it, maybe the quiz machine if not, and then wandering home with food from the chippie in Market Square afterwards. Mum had fed them (apparently she agreed with Jayden that Darren had obviously lost a bit of weight in London) but there was always room for chippie food. (Darren was a dustbin anyway, so if Jayden couldn’t finish the chippie food, he could pass it off. Waste not, want not.) More than anything, Jayden just wanted a little time to be them, alone, before settling in for Christmas with his family, and then New Year with Rachel.

Knowing you, at the most inconvenient time possible, Darren opined; Jayden laughed.

Maybe, he said. "Or maybe next time you decide drip-drying around the house with nothing on is a good idea. I mean, come on, you do know