Fandom: Percy Jackson and the Olympians.
Title: If You Go Chasing Rabbits Part I: The White Knight is Talking Backwards.
Authors: Neko Kuroban and Sister Grimm Erin.
Disclaimer: We relinquish all rights to the Percy Jackson characters and swear we have reaped no profits from our fun.
Soundtrack: The title is from a lyric of Go Ask Alice by Jefferson Airplane, which is about drug abuse with metaphors and not cute little Victorian girls. The song precedes the book, and I have a personal preference for the former.
Summary: Part I of a drabble series surrounding Jack, an original character from the Sightless universe, previously featured in Hands Clean and The Mad People. Involves drugs, subtext, mentions of past abuse, and Seattle rain. PG-13 with undertones of R. Any kind of feedback is appreciated.
If You Go Chasing Rabbits
By Neko Kuroban and Sister Grimm Erin
Part I:
The White Knight Is Talking Backwards
Jonathan Perry Lyndon — known to friends as Jack; to the art world as simply jpl; to his family as Jon; to his probation officer and landlord as Mr. Lyndon or street trash, depending on the day — slumped against the side of the weathered tenement building. He lifted a shaking, trembling hand to run it through his matted brown hair. He had just been evicted from the third apartment he had lived in over the course of...
He couldn't summon the figure. What does it even matter?
It had to have been less than a handful of weeks.
The artist gazed about. The street was slightly distorted to his blurred eyes: shadows stretched into wraith-like beings, light from the streetlamps reaching out like nicotine-stained fingers. Forgetting the rent was well and fine, he reasoned, but surely he should remember the day he had applied for an apartment.
He didn't.
The thought bothered him more than it would have otherwise. A shiver ran through him, and he hugged himself, palms rubbing over his bare biceps as if that simple action was enough to keep warm. He wore nothing more than a pair of flannel pajama pants and sheepskin-lined suede slippers.
Well, he mused. It's better than being thrown out in the streets ass-naked.
It was summer, but it was Seattle, so it was — just his luck! — raining. Jack's green eyes were bloodshot and underscored by dark circles, which stood out against his skin. His temples throbbed painfully, and he was shivering.
A black Mercedes hurtled around the corner.
The decision was easy.
Jack threw himself in front of it.
With reflexes too acute to be human, the driver swung to the side, slamming on the brakes, and threw the car into park. The door opened, and a figure emerged from the sleek luxury vehicle. The door shut with enough force that Jack was surprised it was left without damage.
"What the fuck are you doing?"
The light male voice was achingly familiar, and Jack — breathing in ragged gasps now — felt some of the tension drain from him as the person stepped into the light. The person to whom the silver-blonde hair and angelic features belonged had been his best friend, his lover, his ex-boyfriend and the first one to break his heart. As was common among his friends — or, rather, the people Jack used to consider his friends — these days, a combination of pity and barely concealed disgust overtook his face.
Jack dragged the back of his clammy hand across his brow. He sucked in a breath. "Kamikaze pilot training," he managed to respond.
Luke's left hand clenched into a fist at his side. Jack's stomach lurched as he noticed that his hand was now adorned by a simple wedding band.
"Congratulations," Jack told him, but he smirked in a fashion that changed the sentiment into anything but. "Mercedes CL6. It's not like you're flaunting your wealth or anything, of course."
"Get in the car," Luke said. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "You'll pay for that as soon as you're not suicidal."
With a shrug of his broad shoulders, Jack opened the door and slid into the backseat, stretching his lanky frame out. He closed his eyes, listening as Luke got back in the vehicle. He opened his eyes to sweep his gaze over Luke. He could see Luke's profile in three-quarters view, lit up with soft light — half from the dashboard lights, half from the streetlamps and the lights from the passing cars.
Christ, but he was beautiful. Although his headache was agonizing, Jack's body stirred with need. He wanted to slip his hand into his lap to alleviate some of the pressure he could feel growing...but why do it alone when he could just as easily find someone to join in?
He reached out to trail one fingertip along the back of Luke's smooth neck and leaned forward, so that the warmth of his breath trailed over the shell of Luke's ear. "Hey," he murmured gently, fingers tracing a pattern in the warm skin.
Luke jerked away.
"No," he informed him. "Not just no, but fuck no," he added, his hands at ten and two on the steering wheel.
"You so sure about that, Castellan?" Jack's voice had been hoarse from disuse, but now it took on a seductive quality. He could remember — if vaguely — a time when merely adopting the husky tone had been enough to make Luke hard as a rock.
The stony silence told him that those days were long gone.
"I don't get it, Castellan. I honestly don't." Jack sounded like nothing so much as a petulant child. "What is it about her that makes you be like this?" The words were petty — and they had certainly been intended to be petty — but he could not help the note of genuine curiosity.
"She's Thalia," Luke replied without a moment's hesitation. "If you got your act together in the Sandra department, you would never have needed to ask."
"Fuck you." Jack pressed his cheek against the cold glass of the window. The car was safe and dry, and the warmth of the heat Luke had turned on lulled him to the edge of sleep. Glancing out the window into the rain-dark night surprised him. They had left the somewhat seedy district his building had been in, and Jack recognized an Italian grocery and a Polish bakery, both of which seemed almost familiar. "Where are we headed?"
"Don't worry about it," Luke answered. Paused at a red light, he retrieved from his jacket a sleek, high-end mobile phone; Jack watched as he sent a discreet text message. "Just trust me."
Jack let himself relax, and he remained there, hovering on the edge of slumber, until Luke took a sharp turn that jostled him out of his rest. A garage door was quietly rising. Even in his altered state, Jack recognized a Corvette and a Lincoln SUV as they pulled in.
He yawned. "Where are we?"
Luke threw him an exasperated look. "Home. Be quiet when you go up the stairs."
The other demigod was too confused to question the reason behind these instructions. He merely followed his friend — because they were friends, in spite of everything — up the staircase.
The door at the top opened before they arrived. A dark-haired woman stood on the landing, her blue eyes bright. She wore a midnight-blue kimono that hinted at, rather than displayed, her form, but it ended a few inches above her knees, showing off her legs.
"Absolutely not," she insisted before either of the young men had said a word.
Jack caught the smell of pizza and hot wings, and he knew without a doubt that there was at least beer in the refrigerator. The prospect seemed like a better meal than he had consumed in what seemed like months, and it would certainly be the best one he had had in what felt like weeks. He slipped past her, heading down the hallway before she could say anything to summon him back.
Luke offered his most charming smile.
It was no use. "He can't stay here," his everything, his partner, his best friend, his lover maintained, and she did not sound as if she was prepared to sway on this position.
"I'm not sure if we have another option," the blonde admitted. The guilt in his voice was enough that Thalia came down the stairs, wrapping one arm around his waist. She slipped the other around his neck. He placed his left hand on the small of her back.
"What do you mean?"
"He threw himself in front of my car," Luke whispered, his voice too low for mortal ears to register, and Thalia blew out a breath.
"Fine. But he stays away from the kids at all costs. I don't care if he fucking dies of detox. He stays away from the alcohol stronger than the beer and wine coolers — and those only in moderation. Cigarettes are fine, but he doesn't snort, huff, swallow, or smoke anything else while he's in my house. Promise me," she said as she led the way upstairs.
"Promise."
"Swear to me," she repeated as they crossed the threshold.
In the softly lit hallway, Luke gazed down at her with endless gratitude. "Of course."
Thalia reached up to brush a few damp locks of loose golden hair from his face. "We'll put him in the attic," she said, taking one of his cool hands within both of hers. "It doesn't have windows," she added in an undertone.
Luke answered her suggestion with a kiss to her forehead.
When the time the pair entered the kitchen, Luke and Thalia found Jack with an open bottle of imported craft beer in one hand and a half-eaten slice of pizza in the other. He was leaning against the counter, watching the digital picture frame affixed to the stainless steel refrigerator as the images changed.
Although his expression was dark, his tone was light as he quipped, "Tell me the two of you never reproduced." He brandished his beer bottle at the display. "Hope those aren't yours."
Luke gave him an askance look. "Those are Percy and Annabeth's kids. We're their godparents."
"Ah!" Jack exclaimed, drinking deep from the bottle. "Sounds better than trusting y'all with twenty-four/seven care. Not by much."
"If this is an attempt to distract us so you can go find the keys to the liquor cabinet, there's no chance in hell," Thalia told him curtly. She spared a glance to the window, where the sun was already beginning to illuminate the rain and fog. It would be a gray morning.
It was that moment that Jack finally noticed her state of dress — or lack thereof. Even Luke, who was usually immaculate, was clad in rumpled designer jeans and a worn cotton T-shirt in addition to simple slip-on canvas shoes.
"What time is it?" He asked.
"2:47 in the morning," Thalia answered in what was the closest thing to a polite tone that she and Jack ever managed: civil but faintly irritated. "There's sheets in the hall closet upstairs. You've eaten the whole damn pizza, so don't bother cleaning up after yourself. Someone will get it in the morning. Whatever happens, do not come downstairs without our express and unanimous permission, which you'll likely never get. I'm going to bed." She brushed her lips against Luke's cheek. It was not a possessive gesture — and yet it was. "I'll meet you there?"
Luke smiled in a soft, genuine way of which Jack did not approve. "Wait up for me?"
Thalia expressed her agreement with a swift kiss on the lips.
When she had left the room, Luke turned to face Jack. "If you wanted, you could choose to act as if you're not in kindergarten," he pointed out.
Jack did not acknowledge that with a response.
Luke half-shoved him toward the staircase that lead upstairs. "You first."
"What?" Jack asked, bitterly amused. "Afraid I'll watch your ass the whole way up?"
The other demigod considered this. "Yes."
"Talk about grade school..." Jack muttered beneath his breath, loud enough to ensure that Luke had heard him.