SERIES: "Seize the Day" (3/4)
FIC: (Part Three) "Living Deliberately"
AUTHOR: Mistress Marilyn camelotslash-2 at qwest.net
DATE: 1989
FANDOM: "Dead Poets Society"
PAIRING: Charlie Dalton / John Keating
DISCLAIMER: I don't own 'em. They belong to Touchstone Pictures, director Peter Weir, writer Tom Schulman, and to the respective actors who played the roles. This is a work of a fan, done for no remuneration save the satisfaction of the work.
WARNINGS: Slash, sorta, but not graphic. Really, this is about young love, meaning the warning should state "underage."
SUMMARY: Charlie Dalton learns about the feelings his teacher has for him.
AUTHOR NOTES: One of my favorite concepts in myth and literature is the love between the younger man and his male mentor or teacher. From the first time I saw 'Dead Poets Society,' I saw this possibility between the rebellious character of Charlie Dalton (Gale Hansen) and the inspiring English teacher, John Keating (Robin Williams). This is Alternate Reality; the story has the same characters but is set the second year of Keating's tenure at Welton; Neil Perry did not commit suicide in the first year, so the Dead Poets go on as before.

Living Deliberately

Charlie was beginning to awaken naturally from the cold temperature and the discomfort of the cave floor when a noise outside abruptly stirred him from sleep. He sat up awkwardly, unable to see much at all around him. The cave was completely black. It must be well past seven.

A light moved around the mouth of the cave. Charlie almost called out, thinking that Neil or one of his other friends had come looking for him. Then, for some reason, he thought better of it. He was suddenly a little afraid, out in the secluded cave all alone in the dark. Instead of standing up, he slunk into a corner and crawled into a niche on the ledge which circled the cave floor. He scratched his hands and skinned his knees in the dark, but finally he felt safe as the bobbing light entered the cave.

"I went to the woods because I wanted to live deliberately!" said a loud, melodious voice. "I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life."

Charlie felt the skin of his scalp prickle. The voice was Mr. Keating's! Mr. Keating had come out to the cave!

"To put to rout all that was not life," Keating continued, in a somewhat softer tone. "And not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived."

The beam of the flashlight went out, and Charlie strained to see and hear what Keating was doing. The cave was completely silent, except for the loud beating of Charlie's heart. Charlie could not even make out Keating's outline in the dark.

Then a sound rose, a choked, strange sound. It took Charlie a moment to realize the sound was coming from Keating. It took a few seconds longer to identify exactly what the sound was. It was the sound of tortured weeping. Mr. Keating was crying!

Did Mr. Nolan already know about Charlie's attempt to seduce Mr. Keating? Maybe he had blamed Keating and fired him! Maybe Charlie had inadvertently ruined Keating's career, ruined his life!

The weeping continued.

Charlie could not cower in a corner while Keating was in such pain. He crawled noisily down, following the sound which was quickly stifled. He groped around, crawling, reaching for the form that had to be close. As his face bumped against a wool sweater, the flashlight snapped on. The beam blinded Charlie, and he threw his hand over his eyes.

"Charlie?" boomed Keating. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Charlie squinted through his fingers and reached for the flashlight with the other hand. Keating was clearly not expecting the strength of Charlie's grip, because the flashlight pulled from his hand easily. Charlie flung it across the cave and it broke noisily. The cave was once again black.

Not hesitating, Charlie took advantage of the surprise of his 'attack.' He flung his arms around Keating and pulled him close with all the strength he could muster. He might not be a suitable partner to share Keating's life, but he was still capable of sharing his pain. He shoved the man's face against his own shoulder in a gesture meant to be comforting.

"Charlie, don't. We can't do this," came Keating's muffled warning.

"Captain, we're not doing anything!" Charlie yelled. "I'm trying to comfort you."

Keating's body shook against him, and for a moment Charlie thought he was weeping again. Then he realized Keating was laughing. The strength of his grip lessened, and Keating pulled back a little.

"Oh, Mr. Dalton! You are the most wonderful boy," he said, still chuckling.

Charlie stiffened. "I'm not a boy, Mr. Keating. Oh, sure, I may still fit your definition of a boy, but in a few months I'll be eighteen, and then before you know it I'll be twenty-one and rich, and then shortly after that I'll be as old as you are -- and I hope I won't feel any different than I do today!" Charlie's fingers gripped Keating's shoulder and back.

Keating breathed slowly; Charlie could feel it as well as hear it. "I certainly hope the same, Charlie. Because you're going to be the most extraordinary man if you're nothing more than a little wiser than you are now."

Charlie's eyes smarted; he felt tears spill as soon as they formed, and he blinked them away. Tears would prove nothing now, except that he was, indeed, still a boy. But then, hadn't Mr. Keating been weeping just moments ago, over some unknown pain? What was it in their emotional makeups that so separated them? Were they so different, really? Charlie believed that he and Keating were much the same, especially in the way they were different from other people. Keating wasn't ashamed of strong emotion and didn't feel it lessened him as a man. Why should he, Charlie, be afraid?

"I'll feel the same about you, Mr. Keating. I'll still love you when I'm 85, and I'll still wish I had been able to make you feel the same way."

Keating drew in his breath. "But, Charlie. Don't you know how I feel? Why do you think I came out here to be alone? I shouldn't tell you any of this, because it's only going to make it worse for you . . . but, yes, I love you very much. I've loved you for a long time, as more than a wonderful student and promising young man. If I didn't, why would you tempt me so much that I'd be forced to hurt you?" Keating's arms were around his back, and suddenly Charlie felt their pressure.

"But -- then -- why --?" Charlie sputtered, confused. Why would Keating forbid himself something as important as love? It was something he constantly preached in class, the importance of passion and love.

"Charlie, don't you know how painful it is to have to choose between the two things I care about the most?" Keating asked softly. His warm breath was on Charlie's face, and the tenor of his voice so moved Charlie that he found himself responding physically despite what Keating was saying. "Charlie, if I give in to what I feel for you, I can forget teaching. We might be able to sneak around for a while and have some sort of relationship, but sooner or later we would be found out. An open relationship between us would turn us into outcasts. It would be even worse for you than for me. Maybe I could make a living writing, and be accepted as an eccentric. But you . . . you would lose your family and your social standing, not to mention your inheritance."

Keating had obviously thought this over quite a bit. He was serious about his feelings for Charlie, and he was agonizing over them more than Charlie was. "But, Mr. Keating, men have done it before. Lots of men. Lots of men do it now. Teachers, bankers, even politicians. It can be done, even if you have to keep it a secret."

"Charlie, Charlie . . . do you want to live that way?"

Charlie pushed his teacher back, holding his arms firmly. "I don't care about any of that, as long as I can be with you! I don't think you'd hesitate a minute if you truly believed that I wouldn't change my mind about this down the road. And there's nothing I can do to convince you that my feelings aren't a boy's 'crush' or a whim of mine." Charlie stared into the blackness, wishing he could see Keating's eyes. "And if, even knowing that I'd love you 'til I died, you still hesitated, I guess I wouldn't want you so much anyway." He let go of Keating's arms and dropped his own.

"Charlie, please--"

Charlie scrambled to his feet and headed past Keating's slumped figure toward the spot where he knew the mouth of the cave to be. "I guess I do't have anything else to say, Captain. What's the point?"

"Charlie, wait!"

Charlie hesitated in the doorway, turning back and facing the blackness of the cave. "If there's no 'beyond the sunset' anyway, then you and I can't sail there, can we? Then what's been the point of all this, Captain? What's the point?"

Without waiting for an answer, Charlie clambered out of the cave and rushed away. The sound of wind rushed past his ears, and he wasn't sure if he heard Keating call his name or not.

The End, Part Three