This is the twentieth story in the Rewriting History series, and it follows Every Salted Tear.

Warnings: m/m, major angst, AU, bad language, and spoilers for the movie.

~Silk

*****

Mein Lullaby, Liebchen

By Silk

Curt leaned against the limousine, the harsh black of his leathers in stark contrast to the pristine white of the car. The trunk was open, what little luggage he had already packed away inside its confines. He took a drag on what was probably his fifth cigarette since he had asked the driver to swing by the Bijoux Records townhouse on the way to the airport.

Last night was like a fucking nightmare from which he couldn't wake up. After he'd left, he'd gone straight to the hotel, to the bedroom he shared with Brian. Packing in a helpless frenzy, Curt wondered if Brian would show up at some point. But he never did.

That meant Brian had slept here. At the office where Curt had left him.

Curt squinted against the unforgiving early morning sunlight, his eyes red-rimmed and stripped of their usual make-up. He was still debating whether or not to go inside when Brian appeared at the third-floor window.

His breath caught at the sight of his lover's face framed by the gauzy white curtains. Brian stared down at Curt, his unadorned hand pulling back the sheer material to get a better look. For the longest time, they simply gazed at one another, unable to see anything else, as if they were storing up memories against the bleak future that lay ahead of them.

As time was suspended, Curt grew more and more edgy. He waited in vain for Brian to say something, anything, to break the tense silence that stretched between them. Beg me to stay, Curt pleaded with anxious eyes, taking a drag on his cigarette. I don't want to go. You know me, babe. Look into my eyes and see what's in my heart.

But Brian didn't say a word. He let the curtain fall from his nerveless fingers and stepped back.

Curt squeezed his eyes shut and sniffed, tossing his cigarette to the ground. With a shudder that he was certain only he could feel, Curt threw himself into the back seat of the car, unable to resist looking back at the window one more time.

He'd left people before, but it had never hurt this much. This was like leaving a piece of himself behind. He thrust his black-lacquered fingers into the hair that spilled across his face and bit down hard on the tender skin inside his mouth, the pain a very necessary distraction now. He wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all, but he didn't. That would come later. He was sure of it.

*****

After Curt's limousine pulled away, Brian stood in the center of his office, unable to move for fear that he would break, the million painful shards of his being scattered to the four corners of the room and beyond. It took a lifetime, but Brian eventually closed his eyes, the ache in his soul too deep for mere words to express.

Curt.

So this was what it felt like to be dead yet still draw breath.

*****

Brian paced back and forth for several agitated minutes before he made the phone call. Not trusting his fingers to hold onto the phone, he bent his head and cradled the receiver between his neck and his shoulder. "Out. O-U-T."

"I'm afraid that's completely out of the question, Brian. You're contractually bound to finish the Maxwell Demon tour as Maxwell Demon."

Jerry glanced absently at Brian's wife. Mandy seemed neither happy nor unhappy about the way Brian was reacting to Curt's departure. Jerry sighed. This was not in his plan at all. He expected Brian to pitch a fit over losing Curt, but he knew how important *Brian* was to Brian. This apparent fugue that Brian had descended into did not bode well for the future of Bijoux...or Jerry Devine.

"I don't think you understand how hard this is for me, Jerry."

"Brian, Brian, I know what a strain you're under," Jerry said soothingly. "You just have to hang on at your end, and I'll hang on at mine. Okay?"

"God, you're a bastard, Jerry," Brian whispered. "This is all *your* fault."

"No, Brian, it's *yours*. Deal with it."

*****

Curt found Berlin depressing. But that suited his mood perfectly. The night he arrived, he couldn't stand the thought of being cooped up inside a hotel room, thinking endless thoughts of what might have been and what never could be. So he walked.

He lit a cigarette and dragged the smoke into his lungs as though it were the essence of Brian Slade. It filled him until he thought his lungs would burst, and then he finally exhaled, letting the smoke trickle out his nostrils the way Brian used to do

Brian. Jesus, he couldn't walk more than two steps without thinking about Brian. Or wanting a drink. Or a hit. Of something. *Anything*. If love had been his drug of choice, its name was Brian.

The pain of withdrawal slammed into him with physical force.

A shock of blue hair up ahead made him stop right where he was and stare. Brian? *Brian*? You came after me? Curt's heart leapt into his throat and stayed there, choking him for one hopelessly expectant moment. Then the owner of the blue hair turned and looked at him. It was a pretty German girl with kohl-lined eyes.

Curt shook all over with reaction. Raising his cigarette to his mouth with trembling hands, he felt his eyes grow wet, and he knew he was in serious danger of losing control. In full view of a shitload of Germans who probably couldn't care less about Curt Wild.

He turned the corner. In more ways than one.

*****

The car was pacing him. Curt could feel it. Throwing his cigarette away, he was about to yell, What the fuck do you want, man?, when the window was rolled down. "Hello."

Well, fuck. It was Jack Fairy.

Curt had always wanted a fairy godmother.

*****

Jack took Curt to his flat. Of course, it was as luxuriously appointed as the clothing Jack wore. Nothing that fell short of elegance would do for Jack.

Curt felt like a lowly vagrant standing next to Jack, clad only in his well-worn black leathers. But he didn't say so. Jack was so...fucking unapproachable. Or he always had been. He was a fucking *icon*, for Christ's sake. Nothing like a real person at all.

And yet...he'd taken Curt in. Given him a place to sleep that wasn't a fucking hotel room. Made him feel welcome.

"Wow. You're really a class act, man. I don't know what to say."

"I'm hoping you'll stay long enough to consider cutting a record with me, Curt." Jack looked hopefully in Curt's direction, and Curt wondered if he was coming on to him.

Nah. That thought lasted all of two seconds. Jack was, contrary to how he appeared, simply a nice guy.

"I'm flattered, man, but I'm kinda embroiled in this contract thing with Bijoux Records and-"

"Yes. You're with Brian Slade."

"*Was*. Was with Brian Slade, man. Not anymore. Not...ever again." Curt's voice drifted off at the end as if the very thought was too agonizing to contemplate.

"Was it bad?"

"What?"

"The break-up. Was it bad?"

"How do you--?"

"Not that hard to guess, Curt. Your face says it all. Do you want to talk about it?"

"Look, I know you're trying to be nice and all, man, but...no, I don't want to talk about it."

"All right."

They sat in relatively companionable silence for a while before Jack got up and floated across the room to click on a state-of-the-art stereo. The tuner hummed for a moment and then...the room was filled with the sound of Brian Slade. The last strains of "Hot One" echoed in Curt's ears.

".. but it's a drag. You're so mean. Destroying my belief in... in love. Oh, love..."

Curt closed his eyes and told himself that he wasn't hearing this. Not this. Not now. But it was too late. The rhythm of his heart stumbled for a second. Then his entire body was wracked with a pain from which he couldn't distance himself.

"Turn it off," Curt rasped out. "Please."

"I'm sorry. I didn't know-" Jack began to apologize.

"No one knows. No one, man. No...oh, God. Brian."

And with no further ceremony than that, Curt fell apart in Jack Fairy's arms.

End