AN: Tommy never really did much for me. He has such a beautiful, fucked up relationship with Hedwig that I should love him, but... meh. This is the story of my favourite of Hedwig's love interests, and the only guy that wasn't a complete bastard. Obviously, I don't own anything. I also tend to refer to Yitzhak using male pronouns and Hedwig using female pronouns. I don't really have much of a reason for doing that, other then, well, I had to pick definitive genders for the purpose of writing this and in my mind that's the best fit for them. It's not a big part of the story and if it doesn't agree with the way you think of them try and ignore it :) oh and flashbacks=italics! Now, finally, enjoy!


"It is clear that I must find my other half. But is it a he or a she? What does this person look like? Identical to me? Or somehow complementary? Does my other half have what I don't? Did he get the looks? The luck? The love? Were we really separated forcibly or did he just run off with the good stuff? Or did I? Will this person embarrass me? What about sex? Is that how we put ourselves back together again? Or can two people actually become one again?" -Hedwig

It was lucky really, him being a girl. Amazing how much of an impact genitalia can have on our lives.

When I said yes to his proposal the only person more surprised than me was him. He talked a good game- that was part of what attracted me to him- but he had no idea what he was doing.

"Hello," he said awkwardly, staring up at me from the bottom of the stairs. "My name is Yitzhak. I'm your biggest fan. Will you marry me?"

...

"Please. Take me away from this living hell."

"What's your name?"

"Yitzhak, ma'm."

"Do you believe in fate, Yitzhak?" I asked.

He hesitated for a second. "Not really, no."

"Neither do I," I said with a sarcastic smile.

After an awkward second of silence, he laughed, a genuine, heartfelt laugh that made his eyes sparkle-yes, they fucking sparkled- and the deal was sealed. He was cute, he seemed sane and he was right there, looking straight at me, one hundred percent honest. He fucking needed me, and I needed to be needed for once. Not to be the hot but silly little girly boy relying on their lover for everything. He made me feel powerful again.

"Well then," I told him, smiling, "I guess we're meant to be."

And that was that. Really, how perfect could a courtship be? No drama, no bullshit. It all just fell into place rather nicely.

I didn't love him then, of course. Honestly, I'm not even sure I do now... no, actually, that's a lie. I love him. How could I not? He's kind, gentle, unique and incredibly hot. I'm just not in love with him. My heart's otherwise engaged, shall we say. But when me and Yitzhak try and put ourselves back together it feels pretty perfect, for a bit. And when we lie together afterwards, just whispering the first things that come into our heads into the other's ear... I can't say there's nowhere else I'd rather be, but there are very few places for sure.

We got married later that week. I'd like to say that it was an important day, but it wasn't, not really. An old man with a balding head read out vows and filled on forms; we recited them and signed our names on dotted lines.

"I do," he said impatiently, checking the time on his watch.

And then, a couple of minutes later it was my turn. "I do," I said with a wry smile, wondering what I was really promising. Sure, I'd heard the vicar's fancy words numerous times, but how about in real life? When you look into someone's eyes and say those two words what are you telling them? That they can have your love? Your body? A part in your future? I realised then that I didn't really know, and for the first time since Yitzhak's proposal felt a bit guilty that we were abusing the sanctity of marriage like this.

The whole affair was a bit of a letdown to be perfectly honest. We didn't even fuck on our wedding night- we hadn't made love at all by that point, actually. Imagine that, me waiting until marriage! No, instead, we caught a plane to America at two in the morning, me with a trolley full of stupid clothes, wigs and junk that had no real value to anyone but me; him with a single, heavy bag that he slung over his shoulder and neither of us with much money, but that didn't seem to matter. I can't remember much of that night, but I know that the sky looked really pretty. So big and dark- not in a scary way, just... an enormous way. And it looked so close, as if I could reach out and touch it if I tried, although when I did it only resulted in me breaking a pair of my favourite heels falling into Yitzhak's arms off a huge brick wall.

"Hold my handbag," I told him, hitching my skirt up and tucking the sides into my panties-ever so ladylikely of course!

He took it from me but put it down on top of all my other bags rather than holding it. Then, as if he knew exactly what I was planning, grabbed my hand with both of his firm, strong ones and steadied me as I skipped onto the waist high brick wall running across the car park. He had to stretch to keep hold of me then, especially with my heels, but he didn't let go. I walked along it for a couple of meters until we got to the wall running around the outside. Squeezing his hands, I pulled him up onto the smaller wall and let him hoist me up, scrambling and fumbling as I tried to get my hands over the far side to pull myself up with. When I was stable I positioned one foot on each side of the wall- for it was one of those irritating structures that doesn't have a flat top but a pointed one- and straightened my legs. "It's kind of a shame," I murmured too my new husband, "that I'll never get to stand like this on top of the Berlin wall, don't you think?"

He shook his head. "We already have, baby," he smiled up at me.

I laughed and reached up to the sky, screaming excitedly as I almost lost my footing.

"Careful, Hedwig."

"Never," I replied jubilantly as I twisted to face him, but this time when I stumbled I didn't get my balance back immediately and instead tumbled towards him, my ankle twisting and my swearing loudly. Perhaps it would be romantisizing it a bit to say that he caught me- it really was more about breaking my fall, to be honest- but either way I ended up in his arms.

"Are you okay?" He asked me, alarm filling his voice.

I pouted and put the foot with the shoe on which the heel had broken on his lap. He laughed and squeezed me tight. "Take them off. We'd better run if we want to make sure we catch the plane."

He could sing. He wasn't a show off like me, wanting the attention on him all night-makes you wonder how he managed to do drag for so long-but if he had wanted it he could have had it, for sure. I didn't realise quite how good he was, though, until I heard him sing me to sleep one night on an almost empty bus...

You'll be given love
You'll be taken care of
You'll be given love
You have to trust it,

Maybe not from the sources
you have poured yours
maybe not from the directions
you are staring at,

Twist your head around
it's all around you
all is full of love
all around you,

All is full of love
you just aint receiving
all is full of love
your phone is off the hook
all is full of love
your doors are all shut
all is full of love

All is full of love
All is full of love
All is full of love
All is full of love
All is full of love

I was glad when he offered to sing back up for me in the new band, and, only a couple of days after I'd agreed, came to me with a list of mediocre musicians that would be willing to join us. I told him that he could pick which ones we'd take. It didn't really matter much to me.

He did a pretty good job. Skszp, Jacek, Krzysztof and Schlatko. Our audiences didn't have a chance in hell of remembering their names, but they were good people, mostly. Good fun too. They've always been able to irritate me like no other group of people on the planet, however. I'm not sure if it's their fault, my fault or the fault of too much time spent locked in cheap hotels together. A bit of both, I suppose. Yitzhak wasn't perfect either- just a person bumbling through life and trying to make the best of things. But that was okay, because I didn't expect him to be anything else.

My only regret is that I'll never be able to love him in the way that I'm just realising he loves me. As much as he means to me, he's not my other half, but somehow it seems as though I am his.


The song Yitzhak sings to Hedwig is originally by Bjork, but I was listening to Death Cab for Cutie's version. Thanks for reading and I hoped you enjoyed it :) this is really different to the usual generic Twilight fanfic I do so if you have any comments I'd love to hear them! xoxo