sont des mots qui vont trés bien ensemble, a kings fanfic

A/N: NBC is stupid. Kings is one of the most brilliant shows with one of the most brilliant casts ever, and they cancelled it after a single season, before Jack & David even got a chance. I'm bitter that they haven't had a chance since the beginning, because they're pretty much the most epic thing ever. I'm not religious, but seriously: they were in the Bible. You just don't mess with that kind of freaking epic. The title and the song it came from don't necessarily pertain to the plot of this, but I wanted to tie it in somehow because I thought it was fitting. This follows the basic timeline of the show with a few twists and additions to suit the ship of my choice. If you read it, please review it.

sont des mots qui vont trés bien ensemble

David grew up in a bubble of innocence and piano concertos and ourbloodwonthisland, but he recognizes a cliché when he sees one.

So he tries to avoid looking in the mirror, lest there be a crown of butterflies atop his head.

When he saved a life, he didn't really think there would be rewards, much less consequences. When he reached for Jack – he didn't know it was Jack at the time – there were no ulterior motives. And he never really thought that he wouldn't be able to keep them straight, the consequences and the rewards; he doesn't know which are which anymore.

He's not even sure why he felt the need to rush into enemy territory to rescue people he didn't even know, men he didn't even know. Maybe he doesn't want to know the reason.

He doesn't feel much like a hero, not at all. He feels grounded in this new life that's suddenly been given (awarded) to him, purposeful, but he's lost. Then again, the more time he spends in the capital, the more it seems like everyone around him is wandering through life just as waywardly, pretending to have important destination.

They were the most predictable family, really, they royal clan. The king's strong, definite personality left no doubt that he harboured more secrets than anyone should have to bear. The queen was smiles and sugar but calculably ruthless underneath, all ice beneath sunshine. The prince was powerful but even more powerless. And the princess was pure, an overcoat on top of all she'd endured and all she'd made others endure.

It really shouldn't have surprised David that he fell into a cliché of his own.

The saviour always wins the princess over. There isn't an alternative fairytale.

A blessing and a curse, to be under such close command of the king. Silas has taken David under his wing, with whatever questionable reasons, and all of sudden he's immersed in a world of incredibly political religion and extravagance, along with two vaguely beloved, beautiful children who were just a little bit more grown up than he was.

His first love in his newly-royal life was that amazing piano, so it was no surprise that a gentle kind of affection was transferred to the girl in an amazing red dress who caught him playing it. There it was: a cliché, a bargain, a love story. He was a hero of grand proportions; she was a heroine in smaller, sweeter ways. David had saved the life of the king's son, so the king felt it reasonable that he might owe David a life with his daughter. Their first conversation was stereotypical: light, snarky tones disguising flirtation. She was a beautiful girl, and David had never had a beautiful girl look at him quite like that before.

He went along with the predictably, the easiness of it, because it seemed right. When King Silas granted him any wish, David's gaze drifted over to his daughter – what else could he possibly desire, what else would be so valuable?

The first time he met Jack formally, without all the blood and weapons and gore, he called David darling. It was a general, neutral term; nothing intimate about it, but he couldn't help but feel relatively in awe of the prince, who walked through this house of grandeur as if the Persian carpets were dirt under his feet, the way his icy gray eyes shone, exuding undeniable dynamism.

Jack had a reputation David knew little about, but he found himself craving more knowledge of this famously frivolous lifestyle. More than he even knew, at the time, that there was.

He trailed after Jack down the ornately decorated, regal halls, slack-jawed at the thought of a tailor, darlingdarlingdarling repeating over in his head, something strange and unfamiliar fluttering in his stomach and up around his heart.

Butterflies, of course. In Shiloh, there is no other story.

His first dance with Michelle scares him to the point of dizziness; he's not used to the attention. Particularly not the attention of the prince, who's tugging on the lapel of his friend's jacket on the other side of the ballroom. Michelle smiles at him and David remembers her, settling into this role he somehow managed to assign himself.

It didn't take long for him to learn that the monarchy was not all it was cracked up to be. Silas pulled him close and pushed him far away. Michelle was hot and cold. Jack was appallingly corrupted. Rose was a mystery. And somehow, he was supposed to be loyal to them all.

David chose his side. Against his people, his family, his land, his memories. He picked his king.

It was only fitting that he'd pick the king's favoured child as well.

So it was Michelle. And he said it was love.

Even when he declared his allegiance and picked Michelle, which was the way it had been from his arrival in Shiloh, Jack had a larger role in David's life than Michelle ever did. She was a pretty girl with a big heart – she entranced him on every level. He admired her goodness; he strived for it.

But Jack was somehow there. Jack, accosting him in corridors and taking him out on the town, looping his arm tightly around David's shoulders, sending girls his way, flicking condoms playfully in his direction. It was Jack. Jack, with repressed anger and watery eyes, punching anyone who got in his way, scheming to save himself. Always Jack.

He thinks he might be a lot more like the party prince than he ever could have predicted; he thinks maybe be chose his alliance too soon. He wishes he'd taken a moment to consider before he sided with the person who can give orders to the long-unused guillotine.

Silas discloses all. He takes him to the countryside, introduces Jack to his mistress and his illegitimate child, divulges absolutely everything in the interest of an entirely honest relationship, and it should be too late to go back.

When he falls in the garden David glimpses Silas' mortality and it is so surreal, so frightening. He calls David son but the younger boy doesn't know if he wants it, because he's seen what it means to be the heir of this king.

Even though he makes the moral, sacrificial choice of king and country, Michelle's morality exceeds his own. She tells him she's vowed to dedicate her life to God, and he lets it go instantly, because he can't compete with that.

As he walks away from her teary eyes and trembling lips, he thinks that if it were really love, maybe even God couldn't get in the way of it.

Jack saunters into his apartment one morning when David is sprawled out on the bed in only his boxers and leans against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest and giving his new brother, for all intents and purposes, a steely stare with those gray eyes.

Why didn't you fight for her?

David gives him a long, hard look. I am nothing compared to my enemy in this particular battle.

Jack barks out a laugh; he looks like he might scream or cry – there are bruises on his cheekbones that seem like they are perpetually present. You stood in front of a tank, unarmed, and saved my life. You saved my life again in Gath. What enemies do you have?

Maybe she wasn't worth it, he ends up blurting out before he can fully understand the implications of the sentence. He clamps his lips together and waits for the prince's reaction.

The other boy paces over to him in four smooth strides and leans toward him, bracing his hands on either side of David's body and leaning in so close that their foreheads brush. She can't bear children, my sister. But that isn't an obstacle, and you're not so stupid that you wouldn't realize that. She's older than me. By moments, but still older than me. You marry her, you could be king. You, the peasant, the soldier from the country. You could have my throne.

David works hard to breath, pulling air down into his lungs, and forces himself not to break eye contact. I don't want your throne, he says, the truest words he might have ever spoken.

Jack moves away from him just as quickly as he moved toward him, pacing across the room and kicking the wall so hard he leaves a dent. Why, David? My father's chosen son. What enemies do you have? he repeats, the intensity in his words sucking all the remaining air from the stifling room.

They stare at each other for a long time, minutes on end, until David can see himself reflected in Jack's stormy eyes and he finds himself licking his dry lips.

You gave yourself to her, Jack finally says, his attention on the ceiling, something almost akin to empathy in his voice. And she didn't give herself back. There's no justice. Enemies are what you want, David. Enemies I understand. But you…I don't know what you are.

He swallows the words, sweet on his tongue like the smallest taste of a compliment.

Life is nothing but a battle, Jack declares. You fight, and you lose everyone anyway.

David watches Jack cautiously, his own eyes dancing with something raw. Or you lose yourself, he says.

When King Silas hugs them both at once there is something familial in the moment that David balks at but also somehow cherishes. He thinks of the home he grew up in, of the brothers he has already had, and there is no level of comparison.

You are not my brother, he tells Jack fiercely when they are alone right in the middle of a church, without looking at the other boy.

To his surprise, Jack chuckles lowly, eyeing David in his peripheral vision.

Good, he replies agreeably.

They're alone so rarely that David feels like he imagines the moments, conjures them up. But they exist, lightly and airily, in rooms lit by candles on the wall, decorated in royal reds and purples and the orange of the flag. Or in his miniscule apartment as he plays the piano and Jack sits on the bed, watching David's fingers stroke the keys with those ice-blue-gray eyes of his like he imagines those fingers doing something else.

The air feels heavy and humid and thick and full, like it's been swarmed by monarch butterflies.

There is nothing else in Shiloh, but for once it doesn't feel like there needs to be.

As he listens to all of Silas' ministers and advisors and friends discuss bills and plans and amendments, David contemplates his life. He thinks about what he's gained and what he's left behind and he honestly cannot say which is better. Catching Reverend Samuels' eye across the room, David wonders how the older, wiser man whose watch he still wears would advise him to measure the pros and cons.

In the end, he chooses to think about himself (selfish) and love (naïve), but he feels like he's been trying to live up to something he is not for too long, so he lets himself be selfish and naïve, and his gaze drifts over to Michelle, legs crossed primly as she waits for the approval of yet another bill, and his thoughts drift to Jack.

Jack, with his scarves and his sunglasses and his reputation, who had brought David's friends in from the front and smiled the same big smile David did when their helicopter landed, as if all he'd been aiming for was happiness.

David walks into the wrong room at the right time – something he's developed an uncanny knack for – and sees an earnest-looking boy with a kind face on a video screen confessing his love for the prince and insisting that the prince loves him as well.

He feels a wave of momentary shock, his innocence corrupted once more, but then he snickers at his own incredulity because part of him knew that this was coming all along.

Maybe part of him even hoped for it.

He goes to Jack's lover's funeral, standing way in the back, behind the royal motorcade while Thomasina opens an umbrella and holds it over Jack's head. Jack doesn't see him there, standing awkwardly in his silent show of solidarity, but David realizes that that doesn't matter, because that's not the point.

He may be the innocent country boy, soldier transplanted in the big city, but he knows what is what. There is a difference, between what should be and what is, a difference between chemistry and complete and utter magnetism, a difference between Michelle and Jack.

He didn't even know that Jack and Michelle were twins until Jack told him that day in his apartment, and now the tension between all the members of the family makes even more sense to him. Sibling rivalry – nothing is more predictable than that, and having grown up with six brothers, it's something David fully comprehends. Living in such high-stakes circumstances, it only makes sense that they'd be jealous of one another, that they'd compete for a crown.

The last thing he expected was that they'd compete for his attention.

The first time he kisses Jack (or Jack kisses him) the circumstances are messy. Jack's just fought with his sister and argued with his mother and he feels rejected by his father and David's adjusting to the limelight as usual, so there could be anything behind that kiss, from jealousy to desperation to anger to heartache, and it's probably a combination of all those things, one big mess.

But the kiss itself isn't a mess. It's not altogether unexpected, and it's not as strange as it might have been. In fact, it's a little bit perfect.

He ends up sneaking around with the king's other child, carving out a secret, sacred space.

There is a side to Jack, beneath the front he puts up to the world, that is remarkably genuine, and David can't help but wonder how many people have ever seen it. He picks out a melody lazily on the keys of his piano while Jack lies amidst the crumpled sheets on his bed, staring at the ceiling as he holds the watch Reverend Samuels gave David all those days ago.

All I ever wanted… he mutters, his voice low and mournful, was to tell that stupid butterfly story. He smiles at David, his lips curving in a bittersweet, enticing way. And now you will.

David turns to face him fully, a frown on his lips. He realizes in that moment that there is no loyalty without love. He would reach for Jack if they were close enough to one another, but he doesn't want to break the integrity and the importance of the moment by moving and disrupting anything.

I won't, he vows. He doesn't want it.

There are no more clichés, there isn't a fairytale, and predictability is lost. There are only rewards and consequences so closely linked that they can no longer be distinguished. Maybe he is the consequence and Jack is the reward, or maybe it's the other way around, but it doesn't matter, because they are indistinguishable, two butterflies in the same Shiloh sky.