A.N. – If you haven't seen "Shattered Glass", I highly recommend it. Fascinating subject. Incredible acting. Masterful screen writing – you get the picture.
This was a plot worm that bit me at about thirteen minutes and twenty-five seconds into the film – you know that scene where he's talking to Amy, looking like a baby owl in those glasses, and things just get more and more awkward? What if, like always, that wasn't the whole truth?
Disclaimer – This work is based on the actors in the film, and not the people in real life. The real Stephen Glass never did this, as far as I know. I make no claim to the film or any monetary gain thereupon – though it wouldn't do me much good even if I did, this movie is pitifully under-rated.
He wasn't a bad person. Really. He'd knew he'd done some things that were... well, wrong. Beyond wrong. But nobody had caught onto it yet, and after all, what they didn't know wouldn't hurt them.
Stephen knew he was taking a hell of a risk. This whole mess had him walking on eggshells every day of his life, and more often than not led to some embarrassing outbursts. He needed to be less defensive - he couldn't break into a sweat every time an editor asked to take a second glance at whatever he was working on, he couldn't keep blowing up at the fact-checkers for taking too long... Mike had talked to him about it more than once, told him that they were just doing their jobs. Steve understood that – but he also knew only too well that the room for error was non-existent. One slip in the web, and this entire thing would blow sky-high. But he was only twenty-four, the youngest journalist at the magazine, and he needed to prove himself – and if completely inventing every other story he pitched did the trick, so be it.
To be fair, he covered well. They all liked him – funny, sweet, thoughtful Steve, who managed to crank out the most colorful stories any political rag had seen since the eighties.
Maybe that was why he tried to hide it so desperately – not the written deceit; if that blew he'd lose his job but they'd still keep in touch - Caitlin, Amy, the rest. Maybe.
It was the... other problem. The one he just couldn't handle anyway, by way of principle. And if that came out into the open – Jesus, he wouldn't be able to cope with it. He couldn't walk through that office every weekday for the rest of his life, knowing that they were all sneaking glances at him from the corners of their eyes, whispering, despising him. Oh sure, they'd probably assure him that it was fine, they didn't care, but he knew they would. Society was like that.
Being gay automatically meant you were a sex freak.
He didn't even believe it himself – he didn't want to. He needed to be straight, to be normal, for the sake of his job, his parents – rabid conservatives- and just his life as a whole. So if a guy tried to talk for too long, or a hand rested on his shoulder for more than a few seconds, it was all awkward excuses and a quick getaway.
Some people suspected, and he thought some probably knew. Chuck definitely. He had this way of sensing everything. And Gloria dropped hints all the time, casually asking about his 'girlfriend' – he'd just find some reason to dash off.
Didn't mean he couldn't try to deny it, even when it stared him straight in the face...
When it kissed him on the lips.
His name was Jake Summers, and he worked for the Washington Post as a freelance editor. They were trying to get Steve on board for some story about one of the upcoming debates, so Jake called in, and ultimately talked him into discussing it over dinner.
They hadn't even gotten to the salad course before Steve felt uncomfortable – not because Jake was unpleasant – just the opposite actually. He was engaging, and had a nice laugh, and, well... he was good-looking. He had dark hair, like Amy's, and it just brushed his collar whenever he moved his head... Steve shook himself, and tried to keep his focus on politics...
No matter what kind of stress or turmoil was centered upon him, be it internal or external, Steve still always managed to eat like a horse, and so when they left he was stuffed with pasta and at least three glasses of red wine and was beginning to notice the after-effects.
Jake suggested they walk, and try to work a little of the alcohol out of their systems – Steve was only too happy to agree. It was drizzling a little outside, maybe that could clear his head... in more ways than one.
He remembered it distinctly for days afterward, constantly telling himself it had been wrong, disgusting – even though it had seemed like anything but, at the time...
They'd been walking down the sidewalk, talking about Medicare, for crying out loud, and then, right there on the corner of 18th&T, Jake had just... smiled at him and cradled his head with one hand, his fingers weaving through red-gold curls, and then their mouths were together, open, and Jake's tongue was down his throat.
Steve knew he should have pulled back – he should have told him he was sick and not to come near him again, then headed for one of the police hotspots and filed a restraining order – so why, why was he leaning into the touch, opening his mouth up, letting a man he barely knew lap the Italian spices off his palate... and why the hell was he wrapping his arms around Jake's neck... It was wrong, it was so wrong... He shouldn't, he really, really shouldn't, what if someone from the office was nearby and saw...?
Then Jake stroked his cheek, and his every argument seemed null.
The walk back to his apartment was a blur, but he seemed to remember there was a lot of pausing for lip-lock breaks – they were like two teenagers on a first date. He had a hard time unlocking the door because his hands were shaking so much, and Jake followed him in without an invitation – he didn't need one.
The bedroom was a mess, there were loads of college textbooks and crap lying all over the place, but you could balance a wire on how much they cared.
Steve was a virgin in every sense of the word, and how Jake knew that... well, he had no idea. All he knew was that he was gentle, and took it slow...
The first things gone were Steve's glasses. Jake simply plucked them off his face and dropped them with a soft 'cling' onto the nightstand. Then he was sitting on the edge of the bed, and Jake was tugging his shoes off, and it just went farther and farther until they were both kneeling in the unmade sheets, their arms around each other, naked and aroused. Jake started kissing him again, and pulled him down onto the mattress, hands running all over his slight form – and Jake was whispering to him, about how beautiful he was, how he couldn't believe his bedroom innocence... his sweetness...
One of the major things that put Steve in denial about his sexuality was the simple mechanics. It sounded disgusting and uncomfortable – and maybe it would have been, if Jake had been less taken with him. As it was, he just asked for a bottle of hand lotion, lifted Steve's legs up onto his shoulders, and squeezed a generous amount over the exposed pucker. Steve had made some noise, and when the first finger worked inside, spreading the lube around, he had seriously considered getting up and locking himself in the bathroom, nudity be damned...
More fingers squeezed in, and he was just starting to relax when Jake brushed something, and it felt like he'd been electrocuted – and then he'd started rubbing it for Chrissakes, and he thought for a second that he'd actually managed to slip a finger inside his dick...
It was soft, slow, and it actually felt really good – Jake's hands were fastened to his hips, pulling him up gently with every inward thrust – and when he finally came it was with a sob and a few virgin tears...
Afterward they'd curled up together on top of the rumpled sheets, their heads spinning with the afterglow and the wine, and when Jake finally got around to asking him straight up Steve had drowsily agreed to do the article...
He covered for the next couple of days, telling himself it was just once, it didn't matter, it wouldn't happen again...
He only realized when it was too late that he should never have brought it up to Amy. Oh, he omitted details, made it sound as though he'd been jumped on the street corner by a drunken editor he knew platonically – and the bit about going back to his place and screwing had conveniently disappeared.
Stretching the truth had never been too difficult for him.
Amy just seemed confused as to why he would even mention it, and Steve realized immediately that he'd overstepped. She'd be talking to Caitlin, and Caitlin would talk to Chuck, who'd talk to Mike, and then he'd be so sunk...
He was almost relieved when Mike showed up at the door, before the awkward moment could grow any further...
The tone of his voice said everything.
They'd found him out. In some way or another... And no matter which secret it was, whichever sin was gnawing at his insides on a daily basis, it would be more than enough to shatter his life like a mirror and scatter the shards.