In The Still Of The Night (Scaramouche)

[Galileo Figaro]

Darkness consumed the Heartbreak Hotel. By day, a small amount of light would rouse the sleeping residents of The Heartbreak Hotel, sending them into a frenzy from dawn until late. But by night, as soon as it got too dark to see more than a couple of yards infront of you, everyone would retire to their respective bedrooms. Or so they should have anyway. All but one rebel. One very special Rebel.

The Dreamer. Galileo Figaro.

Galileo sat in the lounge, a dim light from a lamp in the corner of the room being the only source of light. The shadows of the contents of the room seemed imposing, scaring anyone whom was still half asleep. That if they cared to notice. Galileo wasn't paying the slightest bit attention to his surroundings. He was too consumed in his own thoughts. He was off in his dream world again. Well he wasn't called The Dreamer for nothing.

Like all the other occupants of the Heartbreak, Galileo had gone to bed, hoping to spend some quality time with Scaramouche. But that was when his problems had started. The words and sounds had come back, consuming him again. He had lay back trying to clear his jumbled mind. In the end Scaramouche had gotten frustrated and kicked him out of the room, irritated with his restlessness. He couldn't blame her; he'd been tossing and turning and sighing for a good hour or so before being unceremoniously kicked out of his own room.

The desserted lounge had offered a small amount of comfort for his wayward thoughts. It was quiet and there was no distractions. The words and sounds could come and he could clear them out of his system.

Again, Galileo found himself thinking how strange it was. After over a year of peace and no voices in his head they had suddenly returned, almost as if someone a flicked a switch on inside his head. It was driving him insane. And pushing everyone away from him. By helping the Bohemian's find their Rhapsody, he'd thought he'd been 'cured' of hearing those strange words, voices and sounds.

"Obviously not" he mutter grumpily aloud, sitting back in his chair.

Silence engulfed the room again after his outburst. Galileo sat staring into space, the only sounds being the low hum of the light in the corner and the rythmetic breathing of Galileo.

Will you get me right out of this God forsaken town?

"ARGH!" Galileo exclaimed, letting his head bow forward to be craddled by his hands. It was getting too much now. Far too much. He wanted to talk to someone. Desperately. But who? No-one was up at the hour and Scaramouche was most likely snoring her head off right at the moment in time, glad of the peace and quiet. For the first time in a long time Galileo felt along. Unaccepted.

And that scared him.

[Scaramouche]

Scaramouche lay tossing and turning in bed. She had it to herself after she had turfed Galileo out because he was being a royal pain in the proverbial arse. But the moment the door had closed behind him, she had instantly regretted it. The room was now deadly silent apart from the echoing sounds of her own sighs and frustrated growls. His side of the bed was not cold, although his familiar scent that hung over his side of the bed penetrated her brain, her own restlessness beginning to settle in.

She rolled into his half of the bed, seeking his pillow. She sat up and hugged it close, buring her nose into it and inhaling his lingering scent. A scent she loved and that was, in a way, exclusively hers. She held it close to her for a moment, ignoring the cool air that swirled around her, licking her skin and ellicting goosebumps upon her smooth skin. She shivered.

Throwing the pillow aside she stood up, reaching for the nearest item of clothing at hand. Her fingers closed around the cloth of one of Galileo's shirts that had been carelessly discarded during one of their frezied moments. She pulled it on, letting the material slide down, caressing her skin. Wrapping her arms around herself and praying that the shirt was long enough, Scaramouche exited the room, looking for the Dreamer.

In the day the Heartbreak was dark. At nighttime it was even more so. Lights were lit at infrequent intervals down the echoey hallways, casting dark shadows around Scaramouche. she shivered and quickened her pace, desperate to find Galileo and return to bed, preferrably with him.

One of the doors was slightly ajar, a dim light pooling around the small doorway. Scaramouche crept closer to it, peaking into the room.

The shadows were imposing and, to anyone whom was still half asleep, frightening. As her eyes scanned the seemingly empty room she noticed a hunched form huddled in one of the chairs. Stepping into the room cautiously, Scaramouche approached the lone figure, realising with a jolt who it was.

Galileo.

Scaramouche jumped at his strangled cry of frustration. Stopping for a moment as Galileo craddled his head in his hands, seemingly oblivious to her presence. Scaramouche could stand the silence no more. She took another step closer.

"Gazz?" she asked quietly, coming to a halt beside him. She slid onto the sofa and rested her hand upon his back, rubbing soothingly. she remained quiet for a moment, just surveying him. A confrontation at this time of night would not be welcomed.

[Galileo Figaro]

Galileo didn't see the door open or hear the light sound of someone's footfalls. His brain was too muddled up to think straight or even pay attention to his surroundings. The voices in his head were getting louder and were driving him mad. Literally.

He felt a hand upon his back as it moved soothingly in circles, his shirt sweaty and sticking to his skin. He hadn't realised how warm he was. A soft, familiar voice penetrated his foggy brain, pulling him from his little world.

"Gazz?"

Galileo looked up at the speaker, his eyes landing upon Scaramouche. He noted her lack of attire, dressed in only a long sleeved shirt that was, luckily, long enough to cover her modesty.

"Scaramouche?" he asked hesitantly, reaching out one of his hands to stroke her cheek. He needed to be sure his mind wasn't playing tricks on him and that she really was there beside him and that it wasn't a figment of his imagination. He stared into her eyes, searching them with his own dark ones.

"It's the words..." he finally said, not breaking eye contact. "They keep coming back." He allowed his hand to migrate to her shoulder and down her arm to her hand, grasping it firmly in his own.

"I don't know what they mean..."

He looked down at their clasped hand, tracing lazy circles on the back of hers. After a moment or twos silence he looked up again, meeting her eyes.

"Help me Scaramouche," he pleaded.

[Scaramouche]

Scaramouche kept her gaze steady, never breaking eye contact with Galileo as he looked at her, tracing her cheek as if not sure that she was real. She remained as still as possible, allowing him to gather his thoughts. Whatever was bothering him must have been serious.

The skin of his hand was rough in comparison to the smooth skin of her face. She shivered slightly as his caress lingered lightly on the top of her cheekbone beneath her eye. Sub consciously, she reach up to cover his larger hand with her own smaller and slender hand, stroking it lightly as if to offer a small semblence of comfort.

"It's the words..." Galileo's voice sounded raspy and almost forced. "They keep coming back." Scaramouche was vaguely aware of Galileo's hand migrating from her her cheek to clasp her hand tightly in his own. She gave it a comforting squeeze, offering her reassurance. She knew Galileo often lost a lot of sleep worrying over the words in his head. She remained quiet.

"I don't know what they mean..." Galileo anguish was plain to see as he broke their gaze to look down at their entwined hands.

"Gazza," Scaramouche murmered softly. "We'll get through this. Together."

She looked into his eyes as he looked up at her, his eyes pleading with her to understand him. "Help me Scaramouche."

Scaramouche said nothing for a moment, just simply looking at the young man in front of her. Outwardly, he presented the image of a young man. Inwardly he was a young boy living in a man's body. For all of his annoying quirks and habits, she knew she could never leave him. She depended on him as much as he depended on her, although she would never admit it. She loved him.

"Of course I will you silly banker," she returned. "I'll always be here."