Same As It Ever Was Part Six

Title: Same As It Ever Was Part VI
Author: hannah_chapter
Pairing: Belldom
Rating: 18/NC-17
Feedback: Yes please.
Summary: AU. Something is wrong in Matt Bellamy's life. In all his lives. He appears to move between worlds, but how? Which world is the real one? Is he just insane? And where does Dom Howard fit into all of this? Title taken from "Once in a Lifetime" by Talking Heads.
Disclaimer: I don't own Muse and this never happened.


Matt tries to move his arms, can't do it. His brow furrows and then it all comes back to him.

A cell.

A straitjacket.

Bound and restricted.

He attacked that inspector, so they threw him in here. He screamed and threw himself at the door for a couple of hours. When he finally ran out of steam Wolstenholme, bearing all the marks of Matt's first assault, came into the cell. Matt promptly gained a second wind and kicked the policeman in the balls. Then he attacked the officers who came to help Wolstenholme. But they overpowered him, forced him onto the bunk and into this stupid fucking thing. They left him here, stewing in his own juices, Dom's voice inside his head.

He tells him to shut up, but Dom never did listen to him, so why should he start now?

He screams at Dom and Dom laughs.

Ignore him, he tries to ignore him, but he can't, and Dom babbles on, condemning him, calling him a murderer, a psychopath and Matt just can't take anymore.

Matt struggles to his feet, takes aim and runs into the cell door, head first. The first hit isn't hard enough, so he does it again. Three is the magic number, this last attempt cracking his skull and shutting off the voices. Matt

... lies

... on

... his

back, sweaty and spent. Dom pants and sweats beside him, lost in his own cloud of post-coital bliss. Matt reaches out blindly, needing to touch some part, any part, of his lover. Three months since Dom first took him to bed and Matt still can't get enough. He's here every other afternoon, when Mandy's at work and he has no students to teach. Dom doesn't wash his car half as often as he used to, now that he's found a better way to spend his free time - and boost his creativity.

He's tearing through his novel, producing twice - no, three times - as many pages as he did before they became lovers. And that's not all: his protagonist still doesn't have a name, but now he has a face: Matt's face.

Matt's the hero, the confused one, sliding through all the different worlds, unable to remain in any one place for long.

Sound of a door opening on the other side of the wall and Mandy's voice, calling for Matt. Fuck, Dom wasn't lying, these walls really are thin.

"Answer her," Dom whispers, "tell her where you are. Tell her what I'm doing to you. Tell her how much you love it."

Matt shakes his head, bites his lip to stifle a moan when Dom reaches over and tweaks a nipple. Then he hears his phone rings and every hair on his body stands on end. The phone is ringing ... on the other side of the wall. In their bedroom, not this one. He relaxes into the bed and Dom giggles. Matt's phone stops ringing and they both hear Mandy's muffled curse. Matt waits for her to leave the bedroom.

But she doesn't. She's still talking, she must have called someone. Chris? Probably. Dom looks at the wall, then at Matt.

"Okay," he says softly.

Before Matt can ask his lover what that's supposed to mean Dom's pinning him down, hands moving over all of Matt's most sensitive places, the spots that make him gasp and moan. Oh, he knows what Dom's trying to do, but it's going to happen. Matt won't make a sound.

Mandy prattles on even as Dom parts Matt's legs and enters him again. Matt keeps his mouth clamped shut, bites his lip hard enough to draw blood as Dom moves inside him.

"Do you want me to stop?" Dom half-whispers, half-moans, "I will, if that's what you want. All you have to do is ask."

Matt shakes his head and Dom laughs.

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

Biting his lip might not be enough. Matt clamps both hands over his mouth as Dom fucks him. He's silent but Dom is anything but, filling the room with exaggerated moans and expressions of pleasure. And it looks like Mandy's finally noticed what's going on over here. Matt can hear her voice, growing fainter as she leaves the bedroom, bitching about the pig who lives next door.

Their front door slams, a car engine roars to life and Matt loses control. His hands fly back and grab the headboard and he gives voice to a full-throated howl as he comes.  They lie together, completely spent for the second time in less than an hour. Matt sighs.

"You're evil," he tells the limp body still on top of him.

Dom pulls out but doesn't roll off.

"Evil?" he says, "me? I'm not the one cheating on my girlfriend, lying and offering lame excuses instead of sex."

Matt glares up at him.

"Eavesdropping again, are we?"

"No. Who needs to eavesdrop? The two of you fight and the whole street hears it."

"Oh."

Dom strokes his cheek.

"You can't go on like this, Matt."

"What should I do, then?"

"You know what you should do. Tell her about us. Leave her, move in with me."

"Right, into the house next door. Talk about rubbing salt in the wound."

"We don't have to stay here. We could go somewhere else."

"Where."

"Anywhere you like. I don't care."

"I need to think about this, Dom."

"Yes, you do. Because this can't go on forever. You can't live like this, Matt, bouncing from one world to another. You need to pick one."

"I know. But it's hard."

Dom grunts and gets out of bed. He

... looks

... out

... of

the window.

"It's such a lovely day," he says.

He turns and smiles as Matt comes out of the bar.

"All clean?" he asks.

"All clean," Matt confirms.

Matt puts away the broom and cleaning rags. He walks over to the sink, where Dom is washing glasses.

"Anything else you need me to do?"

"No. Why don't you go outside for awhile, get some sun. You need some sun. You're too pale, Matt."

"Oh stop, I can't take all these compliments."

"Don't start. You know I worry about you, Matt."

"I know."

"And you know why."

"I do."

It's been a couple of months since Matt's little dust-up with Chris and, while things between them haven't gotten any worse, they haven't gotten any better, either. Chris doesn't talk to Dom much these days, doesn't talk to Matt at all. That's not a problem. But Matt's memory is still an almost completely blank slate and his headaches and dizzy spells are becoming more frequent. That is a problem. But he still won't go to a hospital, no matter what Dom says. Matt doesn't know much about himself, but he knows one thing: he'd rather die that set even one foot inside a hospital.

Matt stretches and sighs.

"I think I will go outside for awhile, and read my book."

"You do that."

Matt finds his book on the kitchen table and goes outside. He perches himself on a wooden barrel - old, but sturdy enough - and opens his book. He found it underneath their bed about a week ago. The covers ripped off, no title, no author name. Dom has no idea where it came from, or just how long it was under there. But it fascinates Matt, he finds this book and its story of a man leaping into other worlds and other versions of himself oddly compelling.

He reads for a couple of hours, only stopping when he hears a car. He looks up just in time to see Chris haul himself out of the driver's seat. Chris turns, sees Matt and his expression darkens. Matt puts his book aside and goes to find Dom. He stops in the doorway, the sight before him shocking him to his very core.

Dom's lying on his back, struggling to breathe, his face a red and pulpy mess. A hammer lies on the floor by Dom's foot and the blood - oh, sweet Jesus, so much blood.

Matt runs, slips on the bloody floor and falls to his knees. He crawls to his lover, crawls through all that blood. Dom's still fighting for breath and Matt hesitates. What should he do? What can he do?

A shadow falls across them and Matt is lifted up and away from Dom.

"What did you do?" Chris shakes him, making his teeth rattle, "you fucked up little freak, what did you do?"

Matt

... hears

... a

... key

scraping in a lock. He hides behind the kitchen door and waits. An unfamiliar voice in the front hall, asking questions. Matt can't hear the answers, can't hear the second voice at all. The front door opens again, closes and now someone is walking through the living room, coming into the kitchen. The stranger reaches for the light switch and Matt pounces, grabbing the man and bringing him to the floor. The man opens his mouth to scream - or try to, anyway - and Matt puts a hand over his mouth.

"I'm not going to hurt you. I swear, I'm not going to hurt you," he says and then, realising how stupid that sounds, adds, "again."

Doctor Howard stares up at him, eyes wide and terrified. Matt tries a reassuring smile but, when he catches a glimpse of himself in the oven door, he has to admit it doesn't really work. He doesn't look calm and reassuring; he looks like Jack Nicholson in The Shining.

"Look, I'm going to take my hand away. Okay?"

Doctor Howard nods.

"You won't try anything clever, like running for the back door or trying to stab me with one of the knives on that rack over there?"

Another nod.

"Good."

Matt releases him and Howard shifts into a sitting position, keeping a wary eye on Matt as he does so. Strange, but the good doctor looks so much younger, so much more vulnerable without his glasses. Howard touches the bandage on his throat and winces.

"What are you doing in my house?" he asks, voice little more than a hoarse whisper.

"Hiding in the last place anyone would expect to find me."

"How did you know where I lived?"

"Your wallet. Don't you remember? I took it from you just before I escaped."

"Took it just before you cut my throat and left me bleeding on the floor," the doctor corrects.

"I'm sorry about that."

"Are you? Are you really?"

"Yes. I didn't want to hurt you, I didn't."

"Why did you, then?"

"I needed a distraction and I wanted to keep Wolstenholme off you. I didn't want him blaming you for my escape, or maybe even thinking it was your idea."

"You were trying to help me, this is what you're telling me."

"Yeah, I was."

"Well it didn't work. Wolstenholme was waiting for me when I got out of surgery, didn't even wait for the drugs to wear off. I was grilled for hours. Why, he asked, would I, of all people, see fit to remove your restraints and give you a weapon? I wrote my answers down, he tore up the paper and threw it in my face. I could lose my job, my medical licence, I might even go to prison myself if Wolstenholme gets his way."

Another apology would be an insult and a waste of time, so Matt says nothing.

"So you've been here, all the time I was in hospital, you were here?"

"That's right. And how considerate of you, to leave a spare key in the flowerpot by the front door."

The doctor gives him a dirty look.

"Don't worry, I was careful, nobody saw me, and I've been a good guest. You've still got plenty of food and I've cleaned up after myself. I even fed your cat and kept it company."

Speak of the devil: a small, tabby cat pushes through the back door cat flap and strolls into the kitchen. Howard holds out his arms, but the cat ignores its master and jumps into Matt's lap instead.

"Aww, isn't that sweet," Matt grins, "I'm its Daddy, now."

"Andrew."

"What?"

"His name is Andrew."

"Oh, okay."

Matt plays with Andrew until the cat gets bored and goes to investigate his food dish.

"Are we going to spend the rest of the evening sitting on the kitchen floor?"

"No, of course not."

Matt brings the doctor upstairs, lets him shower, change and find his spare glasses. Then they eat, Howard sticking to custard and ice cream. They settle at opposite sides of Howard's couch and watch the news. Police are still looking for Matt, still have no idea where he might be hiding, or with who. Christopher Wolstenholme makes a statement and Matt grimaces and gives the television the finger.

"Why do you hate him so much? Why is he so interested in you?"

"I don't know. I just know he's bad news, for me and for you."

"How? Why?"

"The Eye sees everything. The Hand never lets go."

The words, suddenly in Matt's brain and bubbling out of his mouth.

"What does that mean?"

Images pouring into Matt's mind, drowning his reason. He squeezes his temples, tries to articulate it, tries to make Howard see.

"You ... me ... him ... the three of us ... always, the three of us ... the world ... we ... break ... the world ..."

And then it's all gone - worse than gone, like it was never there in the first place. Matt smacks the arm of the couch.

"I had it, I had it all and now it's gone!"

The doctor tries to calm him down, but Matt's having none of it. He jumps up and starts pacing around the room.

"Do you have any idea, doctor, what it's like to be a stranger in your own head? To experience the emotions of a man who is you and, at the same time, not you? You're happy, you don't know why, you're angry and you have no idea why and you ... don't ... know ... how ... to ... fix ...it!"

Doctor Howard gets up, takes Matt by the shoulders. A brave move, after what Matt did to him and what he thinks Matt's done to so many people.

"Matthew. Matt. Calm down, please. I want to help you and I know I can, if you'll let me. We can figure it out, all of it."

"You still want to help me, after what I did to you?"

"I do."

The doctor's touch soothes him, makes him feel more like himself, the way he was before ... well, before everything.

"Alright. I'm trusting you, Doctor Howard. Don't let me down."

"I won't, I promise."

They spend the rest of the evening in almost complete silence, restricting themselves to an occasional comment on whatever show they happen to be watching. Andrew lies on the couch between then, loving all the extra attention. The doctor tenses up again when Matt leads him upstairs at the end of the night. Matt picks up on the other man's fear.

"Do you really think I'd do that, Doctor Howard? Take advantage of you like that?"

Howard wraps his arms around himself, as if for comfort.

"I don't know. But you are bisexual, with an admitted preference for men."

"That's true. But you can relax. I think this relationship should be a platonic one and, well, don't take this the wrong way, but you're not my type."

The doctor's relief is written all over his face. Matt lies down, stretches his arm across the mattress, makes Doctor Howard lie on top of it.

"There," he says, "now we can sleep and I don't have to worry about you trying to sneak away in the middle of the night. You move, you get up for anything, and I'll know."

"I thought you were going to trust me."

"I am. But only so far, doctor, only so far."

They lie together in the dark. The doctor begins to snore and Matt can feel himself drifting off.

The weight shifting off his arm wakes him again. He can see the vague outline of Doctor Howard, sitting up, not moving, not speaking.

"What is it," Matt asks, "what's wrong?"

No answer from the shape beside him. Matt swears under his breath, reaches for the lamp. But, before he can switch it on, the doctor speaks and it's not the hoarse whisper of earlier. This voice is rich, confident and familiar, oh so familiar:

"Oh, Matt," it drawls, "you've really fucked up this time."

Matt

... pulls

... up

... a

chair and sits by his prisoner's bed. Howard opens his eyes.

"Commander Bellamy."

"Howard. How are you feeling?"

"Sick. Weak. Not ready to go back to your chamber of horrors. But you probably knew that already."

"I did. It doesn't matter, I can wait. I'm a patient man."

"Yes. You are."

Howard motions towards the plastic water jug on the table.

"Would you mind?"

"No, of course not."

Matthew pours him some water, helps him sit up so he can drink it. Howard looks at his torturer, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"The orderlies talk about you."

"What do they say?"

"You punched Minister Wolstenholme in the face, broke his nose."

"Yes, I did."

"And you took his spy and flayed him alive."

"Yes."

"Did you enjoy it?"

"Which? The nose breaking or the flaying?"

"Either. Both."

"No, I didn't enjoy it."

"You hated it, then?"

"No. I did what I had to do, in both cases. I didn't feel much of anything."

"You never do, do you? No love, no hate, you just do whatever you must to serve the state. Irritation when someone gets in your way, a faint sense of satisfaction when you've done what you think is right, that's the closest you get to an emotion, isn't it?"

"Yes. I'm such a good little clockwork thug."

Howard smiles.

"it wasn't an insult, you know."

"What wasn't?"

"Clockwork thug. Not an insult, just a fact. A hollow man, all memories, most of his emotions burned away. A man who serves the state because he was designed to, because that's the only thing he knows, the only thing he's allowed to know. That's you, Commander Bellamy. That's the clockwork thug."

"That's not me."

"Isn't it?" Howard suddenly changes tack, "where were you born?"

"What?"

"Come on, it's a simple question. Where were you born?"

"I don't know."

"Who was your mother?"

"I don't know."

"Who was your father?"

"I don't kn-"

"Do you have brothers, sisters?"

"I don't - "

"What's your earliest memory?"

"I don't - I can't - "

"What did you do, in the time Before?"

"Before what?"

"Before the state was established, before the Eye, before the Hand."

"There is no time Before. The Eye and the Hand have always been here, will always be here."

Howard laughs.

"That's what you think. Poor little clockwork thug! You think you see everything. You see nothing, know nothing, have nothing. You are nothing. An empty man with an empty life."

"My life isn't empty."

"No?"

"No. I ... have ... a piano! I have a piano. I have music."

"Yes, I heard about your piano, and it made me curious. Answer one last question, Commander Bellamy."

"I should be the one asking the questions."

"I know. But indulge me just a little longer."

"Ask your question, then."

"Do you get headaches? Night sweats? Do your hands shake?"

"How do you know about that?"

Howard says nothing.

"Damn you, talk to me! What does it mean?"

"The cracks are beginning to show. The clockwork thug is turning back into a real boy."

And that's all the prisoner will say. He closes his eyes and ignores Matthew, his questions and threats about removed fingernails and removed fingers. Frustrated almost to the point of insanity, Matthew leaves the former Deputy and goes to the man's house. The man won't give Matthew answers, but his possessions might.

Howard's house is warm and welcoming, with soft carpets and expensive furnishings, the complete opposite of Matthew's. The house has already been searched, of course, every document, every book, every scrap of paper examined and filed away. But there must be something, something -

He searches for hours, checks every room half a dozen times and gets nothing. He can almost hear Howard laughing at him. Something furious, some alien anger possesses him and he attacks the rooms in a frenzy, smashing furniture, ripping up carpets, tearing strips off the wallpaper.

And that's where he finds it, in Howard's study, taped up behind the wallpaper: a photograph. Dominic Howard in an army uniform, arm around another man, both smiling for the camera. Matthew stares at the other man's face, the face he sees every time he looks in a mirror. He tries

... to

... make

... sense

of his surroundings. They came for him, he remembers that. They treated his head injury, he remembers that, too. Now he's strapped into a chair, but not in an interrogation room. He's in ... an office?

He hears a door open and a man in a white coat stands before him. Matt gapes up at the white coat. It can't, it can't be -

"Good morning, Matthew!" the man exclaims brightly, "my name is Doctor Howard and I'm your psychiatrist. I'm here to help you."