Disclaimer: Andy and Miguel, they belong to Tom Hanks, Antonio Banderas, Jonathon Demme, Ron Nyswaner, Tristar Pictures and Clinica Estitico
A/N1: I apologise to my regular readers, this was a temporary distraction. I'll return to middle earth now.
Translations of Spanish are:
Pálido – Haggard/Pale
Diablo – Devil
Mavlado – Evil
Amante – Lover
Lo siento - Sorry
I apologise I do not speak Spanish, to anyone who does, I mean no offense for any rubbish translations.
He never complained, the man whose tormented chest he was tucked back against. He had every right to complain, when he hurt and he ached and the pain darkened his eyes and deepened the crease between his eyebrows. But he didn't. Not to him. Andy had always blamed himself, for risking Miguel's life, though he did not say it. He did not need to be reminded of it, this morning.
That night, the one that had haunted them ever since, always in the shadows, they had argued, they had been arguing for weeks. It was stupid really; they had only just moved in and couldn't decide how to decorate the bathroom. Andy was angry, needed release, Miguel had refused him – Miguel had held the burning flame of guilt in the deep of his heart for that for more than a decade – and Andy had stormed away. Miguel had been left in the cold empty flat, and had rung his Mama's to complain about his partner's temper. His mother's calming voice had soothed him, his own fury had dissipated, and when he put the phone down, the tension had left him. He had washed up, showered and got into a bed. He had been asleep when Andy had returned.
Miguel shuffled away out of the arms on which too many needles had stabbed, and just watched his lover sleep. How many more nights would he have to sleep next to the man of his dreams? Not enough. Never enough. If they could both live forever, it would still not be enough. Never enough. If they could both live forever, it would still not be enough. Too pale. Too thin. Pálido. Had Andy watched him sleep when he had come back the night he had been infected, as Miguel watched him now? He had never asked. All he had known when he had woken was that Andy was on the other side of the bed, biting his lip. He had confessed what he had done, and they had argued some more. It had taken a long time to forgive each other for cruel worlds and actions… Long enough for Andy to fall ill. And had grovelled for forgiveness he did not feel he deserved. Too many tears had been shed. Too much darkness had surrounded them up that time. He hated to think of it. He buried back into his partner's chest, clinging to him.
Today in the courtroom had been hell. All Miguel wanted to do was wrap his arms around Andrew and snatch him away. Keep him safe and shelter him from the diablo who were trying to make him the evil one. The smile of the malvado lawyer haunted him; he hated how she twisted the truth, made their personal lives known to everyone and did not let Andy explain the situation… it was not fair. He did not pretend to understand the law system of this country, despite living with a lawyer for so long. But he knew what was right and wrong. He thought that the jurors might know it too; he hoped they did. Andy deserved some peace. But after all that he did not know… he did think it was not justice going on, on the stand where they tortured his amante.
And then Andy had to show his poor afflicted chest, losing any dignity he had tried to retain, as he struggled without anyone to help him. Miguel ran his fingers slowly down the shirt of the man lying next to him; no part of him minded having to help Andy dress and undress when he was too weak to do so himself. But not like that. This painfully thin body was his and his alone.
Under his ear, he could hear Andy's heart, fluttering faint and fast. Every ragged breath that Andy dragged into his lungs was magic, and he thanked God for them, every one. But they were too strained, too pained. He tried to press close.
"You're squirming," came Andy's calm, almost emotionless voice, in the dark of the room. "You OK?"
Miguel sniffed, brushing away the tears which he had not realised were falling. "Lo siento Andy, I did not mean to wake you." He did not answer the question; he had no right to be feeling bad and arousing sympathy from his hurting lover.
"It's fine; chances are I'd have to get up soon anyway," Andy said, hiding a yawn with his hand. He rolled onto his back and stretched his arms above his head, silently acknowledging Miguel's need for comfort when he wrapped one arm around the other man's shoulders and let him cuddle in. Miguel appreciated it more than he probably ought to, and angled his mouth so he could press a kiss to Andy's chest. Andy spoke again. "It's not like the dying man needs to sleep."
That was so Andy; trying to make a situation humorous when it was anything but. "Don't say that," growled Miguel, "You're not dying and it's not funny." For once, Andy stopped talking. He was a lawyer and he liked to talk a lot. Therefore he did. Silence when they weren't asleep was rare. "You should go back to sleep," Miguel said gruffly, embarrassed for his outburst. "You could get at least another hour. I will wake you."
Andy sighed, almost visibly deflating, but he did not apologise because he knew that his humour was making Miguel relax, and preparing him in a way. Bluntness disguised as humour. "Alright. If that's what you want." But he did not want to leave the conversation with that, his surrender, and added in a murmur, "I love you Miguel."
"I know you do," Miguel would never confess how even now, after so long, those words still managed to light a dull flame deep in the pit of his stomach, which burnt for a long time after the words had been said. "And I love you too." He hoped Andy would ignore the crack in his voice, as hoping that the lawyer had not heard it was too much to ask for. Andy did ignore, and pulled the covers more closely around the two of them instead. Silent again. "Are you cold?" Miguel asked softly.
"No, you keep me warm," Andy said, a drowsy smile audible in his voice.
"But seriously, are you cold baby?" Miguel pressed, refusing to be brushed away.
"I thought you wanted me to sleep?"
"Andy…" Miguel said warningly.
Andy rolled his eyes, "No Miguel, I'm fine. Honestly. Go to sleep."
Conceding at last, Miguel sighed and closed his eyes, feeling Andy's muscles underneath him relaxing, rapidly giving in to the call of sleep. Andy was quickly pulled under, the deepening of his breath evidence of that, and Miguel was left in the darkness on his own again.
It was not right. Andy should not be the one to comfort him, yet he did. Andy should not be the one holding him, Miguel should be the one holding Andy, comforting him as disease ravaged his fragile, wasted body. But when those positions changed, when he was the one cradling Andy, that was when Miguel would know the end had come.
It would come too soon, and he would be left, to nursing his thoughts in the darkness.
A/N2: I hope you liked it, I know I can not do this film any justice; it was too amazing. But there were not enough affectionate scenes or enough of Miguel. So now there is. :D Please review.