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Title: Savior
Pairing: Clay Aiken/Ruben Studdard
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I do not own Ruben or Clay, but this is my original plot line. Ask to archive. Thx.


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It was a longing, shallow emptiness behind the twinkle in his eyes, and all he really had left was a failing contract. The only thing he wanted now had surpassed him, left him in the shadows. As much as his friend had said, I will always be there, Ruben knew the truth.

He was just another face in the crowd.

Friendship was valuable. Not that pseudo-friendship that was handed to him in glasses of brandy and diamond studded watches. Friendship was precious like hand-written postcards Clay sent him from London - Just two or so months after Ruben was crowned. Friendship was the half smile- half smirk Clay gave as his album went double-platinum. Darkness was the light burning out. Not on his fame; oh he was still a name in the lights, but it wasn’t what he wanted now. Being forgotten was his friendship fading out like his memories as each day passed.

It was true what they said. What you have is never what you want.

Beyond sacred prayers said every night on one knee - that somehow had lost all meaning - the only thing left to show for his religion was the lack thereof.

Do you believe in God?

Of course.

And no matter who asked him that, on the street corner or during an interview in his Hilton Suite, he always said yes. Yes I believe in God. Yes I believe in my morals that… Somehow have been broken. Yes I do believe I will be saved… So why bother? It was certainly a funny thing, showbiz that is. When he looked in the mirror his conscience would ask… Ruben who?

He was the Velvet Teddy Bear. He was the American Idol winner from years back. He was Soulful. He was rich, he had his entourage… And no friendship left of Clayton… Or Miss Kimberley.

He’d always go back and thank Clay and K.Lo, though. A secret wish to learn who those persons were beyond those façades and masks of makeup.

He won a recording contract. Two Grammy’s, a couple number one hits and yet… He still lost. They all lost, and he knew it. Sometimes people could make up for their mistakes… Turn back like jail convicts. He never had any handcuffs shellacked to his wrists, clamping down and biting into raw skin until the chocolate color turned pale and pink. He never wore chains around his ankles and the only heavy weight he carried was in his heart. He’d stop in the middle of a street corner filled with LA people and LA stars to look at the buildings - no - stare past the buildings and question himself.

Why does emptiness weigh the most?

They bustled past him, barely causing him to stumble as they brushed past him. Some fans would call out “Hey Ruben!” and yet he’d still stare, wondering, how did one man like him end up here?

He didn’t mean to bump into him, and maybe it was fate, but there the lights, cameras flashing in his eyes so that all he could see were neon blinking illusions fluttering beneath his eyelids blink after blink after blink…

The restaurant was tiny and tidy and Ruben began to weigh his odds of meeting Clay Aiken at the very same Italian get-up; one out of a thousand in LA. But either way it did not matter. There he was. Tall and slender with that smile on his face. Although Ruben had to admit, the innocence was gone. He possessed some new kind of confidence in his stride. Maybe it wasn’t new, but instead it had been so many years since they had last crossed paths that all was forgotten. Graceful, buoyant, charming… Sincere. Ruben for once wished that American Idol was still attached to name, and attached to Clay.

And outstretched hand. A grateful smile. “Ruben, how are you?”

Oh… It was definitely new.

“I’m good, fo’ shor’.” He needed not to ask how well his counterpart was doing. He was all over the news, and Ruben knew Clay didn’t need to ask how well things were going for him. They were once attached, when said ‘Clay’ soon followed ‘Ruben’ or visa versa. And now…? “How are you?” he asked politely, taking the lithe hand in his as a flashback of he, Kim, and Clay were grasping onto each other as they awaited Ryan Seacrest’s announcement for Group 2 winners. Ryan had said something to the equivalent of, “Kimberley, you’re moving on!”

Clay smirked as he grasped the handshake firmly. Look who’s winning now…

The dinner was quiet. Clay on one end of the restaurant and Ruben on the other enjoying their separate meals with their separate company, but still, Ruben couldn’t help but glance over at Clay while he laughed merrily with some lady and had a few too many margaritas. And when the woman got up to leave, waving a chaste flick of her wrist as if to acknowledge the goodbye, Clay soon got up after she had left, folding his cloth napkin and swiftly turning in Ruben’s direction to wave.

It’s now or never.

This time, Ruben was going to say goodbye properly, not just hope they’d keep in touch. He left his table, publicist’s eyes watching him in confusion as he stood, one arm pressed against the body guard’s chest as if to hold him back.

“Don’t follow him,” she whispered. Ruben walked away.

The handshake was brief, perfunctory, just another one of those motions they went through. Just another thing they did. When they let go no one said anything for a long time. They just stared, nervously perhaps, around the room. But when Clay gave a curt, ever so polite tilt of his head and turned on his heel to walk away, bored of the silence that got them nowhere, Ruben put up a hand.

“Wait.” Voice deep, steady, demanding. Command.

Clay cocked his head and Ruben swore surprise had flickered across his features. But within a blink of an eye all that was gone and 100% superstar and smugness covered up whatever secrecy or sadness that lay beyond those olive eyes. “Yes?”

“I just… Wanted to know if you wanted to hang out sometime, that’s all. I mean, if you’re not busy or anything… I just know I have a two-day break. If you’re still around and all -”

“Yea, that’d be great.”

Relief flooded through Ruben’s veins as he sighed, leaning against a nearby wall. Sincerity, wistfulness crossed Clay’s features. Maybe even a slight trace of hope.

“Hey dawg,” the bigger man said with his trademark smile, “I’ve missed you. We really need to catch up.”

“You mean it?”

“Of course, what are friends for?”

“Thanks Ru. I’ve missed you too.”

That night Clay had plans. Pulling his convertible into his driveway, he sauntered into his three-level home and blindly groped his way up the stairs in the dark; lights flickering on as he walked into his bedroom. He stopped before his dresser and mirror, staring at himself for a long time. His eyes were a duller shade of green, his skin broken from foundations of makeup. Bystanders, witnesses of his fame and glory would say he lost the joy in his laughter, the twinkle in his eye, and maybe even possibly the passion in his voice as he sang about the love… He never had. And he would say the same.

That night Clay Aiken had plans as he opened the top drawer to his breakfront, hands burying themselves beneath piles of socks and boxer shorts until the cool metal hit his hand. Smooth, shiny, sleek, and divine. Everything he wanted to be. Everything that gun was. And as he examined it the desire to end everything right then and there overtook him. In three seconds the gun had been cocked and was aimed at his temple. His hands didn’t even quiver as he looked himself in the mirror.

Eyes drifted to the pictures on the table as he stood. One of his mother who had passed away. One of his brothers and his sister. Finally settling on a picture of Kimberley, Ruben, and him. ‘I’ve missed you. We really need to catch up.’ ‘You mean it?’ ‘Of course, what are friends for?’

The gun fell to his side as he set on the hard oak finish. He picked up the photo instead. ‘Thanks Ru. I’ve missed you too.’

Tears pricked his eyes as he chewed subconsciously on his lower lip. For the first time in a long time he knew he’d be remembered, and that made it so much more worthwhile. And anyway, he couldn’t leave this world yet. He had a promise to keep.

“Thanks Ruben.”



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