This is the fortieth story in the Rewriting History series, and it follows Cheeky Cheeky.

Warnings: m/m, AU, humor, occasional bad language. No spoilers for the movie.

~Silk

*****

Madeira's Farewell Drink

By Silk


The food never came. But the drinks did. That wasn't a good combination.

"All I wanted was a fucking cheeseburger, Jack. Why did we come *here*?" Curt asked, starting to look a little worse for wear. He wasn't accustomed to drinking anymore. He hadn't just left the *drugs* behind; he'd left it *all* there. And now, a couple of beers left him pleasantly buzzed.

Or it *would* have, if he'd gotten his cheeseburger.

Jack sighed heavily. Curt wasn't the only one getting drunk. Arthur, who was in increasing danger of fainting dead away, had resorted to eating sugar straight out of one of the restaurant's decorative little packets, but when his beer arrived, he chugged it down in one long gulp.

There was only one problem with that. Arthur didn't drink.

"Whoa! That was nice!" Arthur cried out, a silly grin plastered across his face.

"Are you supposed to be drinking, Curt?" Jack asked.

"What? You thin' I can't hold my liquor? Jesus, Jack, it's jus' a coupla beers," Curt slurred.

Brian gave Jack a tight smile. "Maybe our waiter was kidnapped on his way to the table."

"Yeah?" Curt said, his mouth falling open. Disheveled and slightly tipsy, he still managed to look absolutely adorable to Brian. But Jack seemed less than entranced with Arthur's rapid transformation into someone he didn't know.

"Can I have 'nother one?" Arthur chirped brightly.

"No," Jack said firmly.

"Thas not fair."

"You're not the one who has to sleep with you. So I get to say what's fair," Jack said haughtily.

"Sp-spoil-sp-sport," Arthur stammered, hiccupping for good measure at the end.

""Maybe we should just cut our losses and ask for the check, Jack," Brian said, alarmed that he was suddenly coming off as the sole voice of reason here.

Jack nodded. Unfortunately, that was easier said than done.

*****

When the waiter finally re-appeared, he brought food. The *wrong* food.

"Hey, I dint order this!" Curt shouted, eyeing a rather lackluster piece of chicken on a rather spicy looking roll. "All I wanted was a fucking cheeseburger!" he wailed. "Is that too much to fucking ask?"

The waiter looked quite unapologetic. "I'm afraid we don't serve cheeseburgers here, sir."

"I *ordered* one! How do you explain that?"

"Ah, you must have gotten an old menu, sir. I'm so sorry." But he didn't sound a bit sorry.

Brian regarded the waiter coolly. "And you didn't think to mention it when we ordered?"

"Actually, sir, I did. But I'm afraid your friend is simply too drunk to remember."

"Ex-cuse...me?" Brian queried, unable to believe what he heard. "*I'm* not too drunk to remember. Are you, Jack?"

"No. As a matter of fact, the service here is appalling. I would like to speak to the manager," Jack said coldly, drawing himself up to his not-inconsiderable height.

"Well, maybe the manager doesn't wish to speak with *you*, sir," the waiter said rudely.

Brian leaned forward on both hands, looking for all the world like he was ready to lunge at the hapless man. "I dunno what your problem is, but I suggest you fix it...before I come over there...and fix it for you."

"Perhaps you and your friends would be more comfortable at the McDonald's down the street, sir," the waiter said snidely.

Brian stood up and glared at the older man. "Perhaps you'd be more comfortable with your teeth a little further down your throat."

"Are you threatening me?"

"Yes."

"Sit down!" Jack hissed between his teeth.

Arthur smiled crookedly and put his head down on the table. Jack pulled his lover to his feet and wrapped a protective arm around his shoulders. "Let's go," he said to Brian.

Brian grabbed Curt, who was slightly more unsteady on his feet now, and swayed back and forth as he tried to hold onto him. The waiter said, "I'll bring your check."

"We're not paying it," Brian replied.

"*Tommy*, I admire your fortitude, but this may not be the right time to take a stand," said Jack, trying to hang on to Arthur, who was hardly a lightweight.

"Why?"

"*That's* why," Jack said, watching as a photographer seemingly came out of nowhere.

"Aren't you Curt Wild?" the cheerful little fellow called out, taking Curt's picture. "Snip snap."

And there, captured for every willing eye, was Curt, barely able to stand, much less talk.

"Shit," swore Brian. "Please don't do that," he added in an overt attempt to charm the photographer out of using the film he'd taken.

"Hey, man, I'm just trying to make a living. You lot don't know what that's like, I spose, but I do."

"But you don't understand. Curt's...." Brian thought wildly for a moment or two, finally blurting out, "...sick. He's sick. We're just taking him to the hospital."

"Oh, yeah? What's wrong with 'im?" the photographer asked suspiciously.

Jack struggled to hold onto his charge, but Arthur picked that moment to raise his head and declare, "He's got chickenpox."

"I don't see no spots."

Jack lied smoothly, seeing a way out. "Where he has them...you can't see. But that doesn't make him any less...contagious."

"Oy, I've never 'ad chickenpox myself," the photographer said worriedly.

"Did you touch him?" Brian asked with just the right trace of horror.

"I-I don't remember."

"Well," said Jack, "if you hurry to the bathroom right now and wash your hands, you might not get it." When the man hesitated, Jack offered, "Go on, I'll watch your camera."

"Thanks," the man said with a sigh of relief.

After he'd left, Jack tore the film out of the camera and exposed it. Then he carefully replaced the film inside the camera. "We'd better be gone before he comes back."

The waiter glared at Jack and Brian. "If you don't pay what you owe, I'll be forced to tell that nasty little man that your friend doesn't have chickenpox at all."

Brian sighed. "We don't have time for this. Can I hurt him, Jack? Please?"

"I wish you would."

So Brian hit him. But the photographer missed the shot of the century. He was still in the bathroom, compulsively washing his hands.

*****

The waiter wasn't badly hurt. What was a little free-floating violence anyway? They ran down the street, dragging the other two men along, until they reached the end of the block, quite out of breath.

"God, that was fun. Can I do it again?"

"No, you may not," Jack said sternly.

"What are you? My mum?" Brian laughed.

"No, I'm your guardian angel. Remember?"

"Yeah, I do." Brian gazed fondly at his former mentor. "You're going to hate me for saying this, but...I'm still hungry."

"We all are."

"I know a place," Curt stunned them by managing to speak in a full sentence. "It's nothing fancy, but it'll get the job done."

"How did you do that?" Brian asked.

"Do what?"

"You sound...okay now."

"Hey, it takes more than a couple of beers to keep me down for long, man."

Brian nodded. "Then in that case, you get the taxi this time."

*****

Curt was right. The diner was nothing fancy. But it was run by a young woman who not only remembered Curt Wild, but she claimed to be a fan. "I used to go to all your concerts. Until I got married. My husband didn't like me lusting after you. He says you pretty boys aren't *real* musicians."

"That, Darlene," Curt said with a twinkle in his blue-gray eyes, "is a matter of opinion."

"Are you boys hungry? I can make you a mean meatloaf with homemade mashed potatoes and gravy."

Brian sighed happily as he sank into his chair. "Darlene, you'll have my undying gratitude if you could just make Curt a cheeseburger."

Curt wrinkled his nose. "I'm not sure I'm in the mood anymore."

Brian gave his lover a gentle kick under the table. "Curt, if you don't have a fucking cheeseburger after everything we just went through, I might be forced to kill you."

"You're kidding, right?" Curt grinned.

Brian dead-panned, "Curt, I *never* joke about food."

"I don't suppose I could have another drink. Just for old times' sake."

"Not on your life."

*****

When Darlene returned with several trays laden with hot food, Arthur woke up enough to yell, "Food!" Jack couldn't find it in his heart to hold it against him. Truthfully, his own mouth was watering at the sight and smell of food at last.

"There you go," Darlene said, her lips curving into a warm smile.

Curt returned the favor. "Thank you. You have no idea how hungry we are."

"I can imagine," Darlene said, giving Curt a curious look. "Your friends look like they haven't seen food for days."

Curt nodded. "Something like that. Is there anything we can do for you? Besides pay you, of course?"

"Well, I'd really love to get your autograph." To her chagrin, Darlene blushed, her cheeks stained with dark red. "Maybe you could make it...personal."

"Absolutely," Curt said, his former good humor restored with the first few mouthfuls of what turned out to be a world-class cheeseburger.

"If you could sign it, To Darlene, I'd be ever so happy," she added.

Curt shook his head affirmatively. "Sure."

"Oh, and could you get your other friends to sign it, too?"

Curt glanced at Jack. "Jack?"

"Of course."

"And him," Darlene said.

Curt chuckled. "Oh, Arthur's not with the band. But I bet he wouldn't mind giving you his autograph anyway."

"Not him. *Him*." She pointed to Brian, who looked up, his face frozen like a deer in the headlights.

"Ohhhh. Well..." Curt smiled. "He's not with the band either. That's my..."

"Oh, I know who he is."

"You do?" Curt asked warily.

"I'm glad you two got back together. "

"Darlene? Could I ask you to do me a very big favor?"

"Anything."

"Can you keep a secret?"

Darlene nodded, her hazel eyes wide and round with anticipation.

"No one can know."

Darlene mimed zipping her mouth shut and throwing away the key. "I won't tell."

"Thank you."

"Can I still have his autograph?"

Curt cast a pleading look at Brian. "Babe?"

Brian bit his lip. "I suppose...."

"Great! Ooh, I'm so excited! I finally got to meet Malcolm from the Flaming Creatures!" Darlene danced all the way back to the kitchen on merry feet.

Jack looked at Curt. Curt looked at Brian. Brian looked at Arthur. Who was, by the way, nearly half-asleep now. "Well, it's been a long day. Hasn't it?" Arthur asked rhetorically.

Suddenly they all burst out laughing.

Curt wiped his eyes with the tip of his index finger. "Oh, babe, you should have seen your face."

All at once Brian stopped laughing. "Curt...when she comes back...what should I do?"

Arthur winked at Brian. "Sign Malcolm's name. He'll be glad for the free publicity, trust me."

The next few moments passed in companionable silence as everyone concentrated on eating. Suddenly Brian frowned. "Did you sleep with Malcolm, Curt?"

"Sleep with him? I don't even *know* him."

A mischievous grin tugged at Brian's sensual mouth. "Just checking."

End