Work Text:
1952
David sat down heavily. His books were strewn across his bed and their discordant nature matched his mood. The letter from Thomas sat on top of everything, a testament and a curse.
He was certain that Thomas meant well. Anyway, David was seeing that fine, solid stock broker with thick, dark hair and a broad chest. Everyone was happy. Everyone had moved on.
Gene was safe.
Thomas mentioned in earlier letters that Gene was scarce – on the force now, a real copper, and looking deadly in the uniform (David did not doubt that Thomas had looked long and hard in order to describe the uniform in quite the level of detail that he did). It was all exactly what David had hoped for, so he felt like a ninny sitting on the floor trying not to cry.
The letter stated simply that the planned date was August 4th. Nearly ten months down the road, so clearly not a shot gun wedding. Damned if David would get an invite, and damned if he would act like he cared. The brief, off-hand reference to the nuptials was Thomas being considerate of David's feelings, and David was not sure if that pleased him or made him want to scream. It was not as if every gay boy within a fifty mile radius of the city had not known that David was Gene's, that they were a couple in every way short of legal. When Gene got back from National Service he made no secret to anyone of his plans to follow David to London, to take care of him, to set him up right. David felt like he was trapped inside a glass ball, screaming at everyone that it would not happen the way Gene thought it would. David knew it would ruin Gene, because he would not become a copper in London, he would end up getting a job at a factory or cleaning the streets – in Manchester Gene had the family contacts to be taken seriously as a police recruit, but in London he would just be another man who left school at 14 to go to work. David saw that, pointed it out, tried to beat it into Gene's head, but nothing seemed to work. Instead David was left doing the dirty work, and that boxer had definitely been dirty. David at least hoped he would have fond memories of being an adulterer, but no, just sticky ones.
It was worth it, though. He set this whole situation up so Gene would do this, become a copper and get married and have lots of little Hunt boys terrorizing the city. Gene often underestimated himself, or at least his potential, but David knew that if Gene did not get caught out being gay, chances were good that he would make it high up the ranks of the constabulary. Now Gene was getting married, his chances of being outed were slim to none, and there it was, the gay holy grail: Gene was safe. Gene made it to "normal" and nothing short of getting killed on the job would stop him now.
Gene was getting married on August 4th, and David was in London, getting fucked by a daddy who smelled like cigars and told his wife everything about his mistress except the fact that "her" name was David.
David wrapped his arms around himself and breathed deeply, warding off the tears, calling on the stoicism that had got him through being evacuated away from Manchester (and Gene) during the War, through breaking the heart of the man he loved, though countless years of being beat on and beat down for being a "poofter." He did this, and it was the right thing to do, even if Gene would never forgive him or even understand. But Gene remembered, David knew that, he knew it very bloody well because Gene was all but yelling it at him from the top of Manchester Cathedral: August 4th, 1948 was the day Gene found that boxer fucking David in his own damn bed.
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