The Greatest Lie
Title: The Greatest Lie
Fandom: Fool's Gold
Spoilers: None. I don't know that Seb has even appeared in FG yet.
Rating: R
Summary: Sebastian Harkness writes a last letter to the love of his life.


Do you remember, my dear, how I screamed when you broke your ankle and they took you to the hospital? I thought it was a place people went to die. Ever since Mother went there and didn’t return, and my father would say nothing of what had happened to her, only that she wouldn’t be coming back to us. I know how I felt then, when that happened, and I don’t want you to feel the same way, so I am writing you this letter. I don’t know when you will read it. Probably sometime tomorrow evening, for my father is perceptive only when I don’t want him to be. Either he or the housekeeper will find it. Maybe you will.

So here it is. If you are reading this, I am gone. I want you to know that I am not dead, or hurt, or in any way in a condition that should worry you. I want you to know that it has nothing to do with you, and so you should not feel guilty. Well, that’s a lie; in some ways it has everything to do with you, but you should still not feel guilty. You did not start this. You did everything in your power to prevent it happening. It is not your fault, and you should not blame yourself.

I also want you to know that I will not be coming back, and that you will not be able to find me, should you want to. I assume that you do. This may be wrong, but, my dear, there are times when I have known you better than I have known anyone in my life. I have been able to give reasons for your every action, your every heartbeat, even when I could barely explain my own. It got to the point where I look to you, first, before I look to myself. I wonder what you will think before I do something; I picture your reaction and only then decide whether I will do it or not.

A little creepy? Maybe, but I am convinced that you have saved me from jail several times. That, at least, is not something that you should fear. Unlike some of my other habits, but I suppose I’m getting ahead of myself.

You will want to know why I left. I can see the distress in your face, and the anger. Don’t be ashamed of either; I understand them both. I only wonder why you should ask that question, because the answer is very simple, and I’m sure that you know it, probably better than me.

You see, I saw your face when I kissed you.

It’s pretty much that simple. Strange, isn’t it? That something so simple as a kiss can destroy something as profound as what we share? Or perhaps it isn’t strange. Perhaps I’m the strange one, for being confused.

Well. I am sorry. Not for kissing you, my dear—I could never be sorry for that, and I know that knowing that about me must hurt you. No, I’m sorry for hurting you, for frightening you, for making you feel like you had to run away from me. I would never hurt you, my dear. I would kill myself before I hurt you intentionally. You must know that.

Please. You must know that. Or at least I must believe that you do.

---

I had to stop writing there for a little while. Dinner beckoned, and it was an awkward, silent affair as it so often is. It feels strange not to be eating with you sitting across from me, but I can hardly blame you for wanting to avoid me right now. That left me and my father, staring at each other across the table, trying to think of something to say and failing miserably.

You’ve seen us together, you know what I mean. You could always talk to him. I think you could talk to anyone, with your charm and your smile. But I am awkward, especially with this man who should love me and for some inexplicable reason does not. Mother loved me, I know, but he does not, and I think he barely even sees me anymore. He will not miss me when I’ve gone.

I don’t even know if you will miss me, considering what I’ve done, but it is a chance I’m prepared to take.

Maybe that’s a lie. I should say instead that it is a chance I’ve already taken.

So. Things that lead up to my leaving tonight.

---

Reason number one: I am an idiot who can’t control himself. But you knew that. I think you’ve always known that. I’m also rather dense, but you knew that too. However, what happened, what you know now—I’ve known about that for years. Since I was twelve, if you must know.

It’s the only thing I’ve ever lied to you about.

Maybe that’s not quite the truth, but the sentiment is right, anyway.

---

Reason number two: I’m a coward. I should have told you, as soon as I knew, rather than letting you find out the way that you did. I don’t know why I didn’t.

Well, I do, a little. Back then you were all I had. Mother had been dead for years, I’d given up on attracting my father’s attention. The housekeepers never stayed long enough, or if they did they never took to me. They adored you, though, so small and sweet with your lovely smile. People take to you, my dear. I certainly did.

But anyway, I didn’t want to risk losing that companionship. I had nothing else, my dear. You have to understand that. You could find someone else, probably, but I had nothing else, no one else.

Perhaps, then, I could have told you in high school, when we stopped being homeschooled and started making friends beyond ourselves. Are you asking me that? I can’t tell. I can read you when you’re there with me, but telepathy is beyond even me, I’m afraid. Anyway, the answer remains the same; I still had nothing else beyond you. You were still the center of my world, the one person who kept me grounded and sane. You kept me honest, in more ways than one.

You’re laughing at me now, if you can laugh. You’re thinking of all my girlfriends and all my boyfriends. Sebastian Harkness, the school playboy, the one who was sure to get laid every night of the week and then some. But my dear, the sad but honest truth is that not one of them meant anything to me.

Great. Now I’m sounding like a romance novel.

And no, you do not need to know how I know what romance novels sound like.

To revise so I don’t become stupidly sappy, not one of them meant anything to me beyond the moment. We were having a good time, and that was it. I have never loved anyone in my life beyond you, and maybe Mother, and for a long time I really believed that having a good time was all that mattered. I never loved any of them, and if any of them loved me, I never heard about it. That is the truth, my dear, no matter what I have told you in the past, and I knew even at the moment that I did not love them, because, as I said, I already knew that I loved you.

I still do, by the way. That’s part of why I’m leaving.

---

Reason number three: I want to leave.

Oh, come on, like you weren’t expecting this. I never do anything without wanting to, my dear, and you know that. Is that why you ran when I kissed you?

But I do want to leave. I’ve wanted to for quite some time now. The only thing stopping me was you.

Here’s the truth: I don’t want to stay in this goddamn town. I hate Kansas, I hate Kansas City, and I want to see something else before I die. I don’t want to stay in this mausoleum of a house, six bedrooms, five baths, only three people in it and no love at all, with goddamn servants. I don’t want to sit at the dinner table every day trying awkwardly to avoid my father’s stares.

I don’t want to go to college, either. Oh, I know I told you I did, but you may have noticed by now that I lie a lot. I don’t lie to you nearly as much as I lie to other people though—is that any consolation? And for every lie I have ever told you, I have eventually told you the truth.

Even the big one. Even the truth it took me seven years to tell you.

You’ve seen me playing my magician’s tricks, sleight of hand and counting cards. I’m good at it, my dear. I juggle knives and come out without a scratch, and throw them, too—but I forgot, you’ve never seen that little skill. One of my disreputable friends taught me that one when he taught me how to fight with knives. One of those friends you hated, remember? I know you hated them for good reason, but they taught me how to survive, and I’m going to need those lessons where I’m going.

Oh, don’t look at me like that. You don’t need to worry. I’m going to join the circus, that’s all. I’ll be the magician in a sparkling tux, with the beautiful assistant. I will pull scarves from thin air, throw knives at her and watch her step away from the wheel unharmed, her brilliant smile undimmed. Maybe she will be my lover, maybe not, but the audience will always suspect that she is; she will be so beautiful, and I will look at her with so much love in my eyes.

Do you know, whenever I picture that, the beautiful assistant is always you?

---

Reason number four: I got caught, and not by you, either.

Remember Tiffany? I think you called her a cheap floozy in one of your worse moods. Or maybe that was me, I’m not sure. Regardless. We broke up last week.

I’ll pause so you can finish cheering. Or laughing at me, whichever you want to. It won’t hurt my feelings, I promise.

Better now? Okay. So we broke up. I guess because I turned down one date too many because I was doing something with you. I think this is a totally unfair reason, mind you; two does not a pattern make. She accused me of being in love with you, and for a moment I could only stare at her. ‘Cause, you know, she was right.

Bit hard to take, that. I mean, Tiffany, with her bottle-blonde hair and fake smiles? How on earth could she have known? I don’t think she did, though, or at least I don’t think it was a serious accusation. I made myself laugh at her, and she flounced right out in a huff of offended arrogance. Bitch.

Feel free to tell her I said that. If you do, also tell her to try not to sprain something while she gloats? The mental image will be good for a laugh.

---

Reason number five: I’m a little scared of myself, and I don’t trust myself to stick around here.

This one may require a little explaining, and maybe it doesn’t. I’m still not sure how much you’ll let yourself know about me. Do you know, for example, that I don’t seem to have a moral sense? It’s true. I really don’t understand why society thinks a lot of things are wrong.

Murder, for example. I can sort of see that one. There are some things not given to man and all that. But if you’re charged with murder, you can plead innocent on account of self-defense, and they’ll let you go. How is murdering someone in self-defense different from murdering someone because… oh, because they broke someone’s heart? How is it different?

Yes, I did want to murder Brian. I didn’t, though, and you should be proud of me for that. He broke your heart. More than that, he spat on what you had to offer him, ripped it to shreds and counted it worthless. And I hate him for that. I was this close to finding him and killing him, and I am not speaking rhetorically. How is it okay for him to call you a whore and not worth his time when he was the one cheating, and not okay for me to teach him just how wrong he is? Why is it okay for him to shred your heart, and not okay for me to shred his face? It doesn’t make sense to me.

You would have been shocked and hurt if I had done that, though, so I didn’t. Remember what I said about you keeping me out of jail?

But that’s not why I’m scared.

I know you remember it, my dear. I know you remember. You came to me when I’d had a horrible day, and my self-control was gone, completely gone. I yelled at you, yes. I wanted you to get away from me, because I knew I wasn’t going to control myself, and I didn’t want you anywhere near me. But you didn’t listen. You never listen when I’m being unreasonable, you said.

Oh, my dear. I hope you know now that I was being about as reasonable as I possibly could have been.

If you had let me kiss you, I would have done so much more that night, and I think you know that too. I love you, and I want you, and you know that. Maybe you knew that already.

In fact, I know you knew that already. You just wouldn’t let yourself believe it.

You didn’t want to believe that I could do that, did you? That I who meant the world to you could feel something so horrible, so wrong? Is it wrong, my dear?

Well, it hardly matters. I kissed you, and you looked at me as if I had murdered someone in front of you, and you ran from me.

You haven’t spoken to me in days, so that’s why I’m writing you this letter.

I hope you recover, my dear. I am so very sorry for hurting you, and I never meant to do it. I hope you know that. I hope that you know I love you, and I hope that you know I’ll be fine, no matter what happens to me. I’m not the first or the last man to love someone I shouldn’t.

I’m not about to kill myself over this, either. Remember that I don’t think it’s wrong. And that isn’t a lie, my dear. That isn’t a lie.

I love you, my dear. Take it in whatever sense you want, but never forget it, and never doubt it. I love you. Godspeed.

Your brother;
Sebastian