AN: This is a re-post of a story I deleted, re-edited slightly to make it less self-indulgent.
The music swirling out of Jean's transistor radio wrapped her in imaginary comfort. Tinny-sounding though it was, the melody provided a soothing complement to the sound of water running in the sink. Jean idly hummed along a harmony as she scrubbed her plate in time to Bing Crosby's immaculate voice. Now that the dishes were nearly done and the baby was put down, there was nothing left to do but curl up on the couch and wait for Jim to come home. Though she doubted she'd have time to enjoy it before she was out like a light, Jean happily anticipated the upcoming moment of peace.
Her harmony faltered as the choir took over during the song's interlude. She'd once been better at this, back when she and Jim were still playing shows and she had to be on top of her game to catch the eye of a producer. Getting signed had removed the urge to practice as vigorously as Jean once had, though she certainly wasn't going to complain, seeing how comfortable her life had become. Gone were the dusty, half-lit stages of Greenwich Village, to be replaced with clean, bright studios and expensive microphones that transformed Jean's ordinary voice into a siren's song.
Only one mug was left to wash when the front door creaked behind Jean. He's home early… Jean shut the water off and spun around, lips curving into a smile. However, the instant she laid eyes on the incomer, the smile crumbled on her face.
"Happy New Year," Llewyn announced, slamming the door behind him and slumping against it. He took off his hat and immediately began to wring it dry on the hallway carpet.
Jean exhaled slowly through her teeth, her surprise slowly melting and giving way to irritation. "It's December, Llewyn."
"Yeah? Guess I didn't get the memo." Llewyn shoved his hat into his pocket and stumbled forward, weaving uncertainly across the floor. "You shouldn't leave your front door unlocked. I's not safe."
Slowly, Jean strode into the hallway, removing her rubber gloves and tossing them on the kitchen table. Why did Llewyn have such a knack of showing up at inconvenient times? Well, his presence is always inconvenient. She sighed through her nose. Just don't blow up at him. Not unless you know he deserves it…
"What are you doing here so late?"
"Uh…" Idly Llewyn wandered into the sitting room, flopping down on the nearby couch. His hands slid behind his head. Jean bit her tongue, trying not to voice her displeasure. Go ahead. Make yourself at home.
"I was kinda hoping I could stay here for the night."
At that, Jean defenestrated her resolution. "Why would you stay here?"
"I dunno. For old time's sake?" Glancing up at the ceiling, Llewyn shrugged into the couch's cozy embrace. Seeing him lying there so comfortably, like he owned the place, nearly made Jean's blood boil. Oh yeah, like I'd want to remember your little "sleepovers." God dammit, why was he here? They saw each other so infrequently already, now that Jean had left the Village, and Llewyn had his hands full with his guitar lessons... Besides a customary "catch up with the old crew" dinner, Llewyn had never gone out of his way to make the trip up to see her. And of all the people she'd left behind, why did he have to be the one…
"What happened to your apartment? They finally kick you out for noise violations?"
Llewyn turned his wasted gaze on Jean, his eyes struggling to focus. "Noise violations?"
"From all the screwing?" Jean said, crossing her arms. "Assuming you've managed to get into that student's pants."
Llewyn emphatically shook his head, his movements overly fluid. "No, no, she's not the student. It's the kid's mom…"
"Admittedly, that's still low. Even for you."
"Whatever," Llewyn said, distraction evident in his tone as he wandered off the subject. "Look, I was in the area and I thought I'd drop by."
Slightly put out that Llewyn seemed uninterested in arguing, Jean closed her mouth and narrowed her eyes. Somehow, she doubted very much that Llewyn had any other reason to be in Westchester on a frigid December evening, but he was rarely one for concrete excuses, and Jean had long since given up trying to pick them apart. Instead, she walked into the sitting room, where Llewyn lay sprawled out in a heap of damp clothing.
"It's two days before Christmas, Llewyn."
Llewyn struggled to lift his head, trying and failing to twist his neck around so that he could meet Jean's eyes. "No shit. You think I'd be that greedy, Jean?"
Jean didn't need to hesitate. "Knowing you…"
"C'mon." Llewyn's eyelids sagged, and he huddled in on himself, as if trying to preserve as much warmth as possible. "Didn't know you cared so much about the holidays."
Instead of responding, Jean sighed. "How many have you had?"
"What?"
"Drinks, Llewyn." God, do I need to spell everything out for him? "How many drinks have you had?"
Llewyn's eyes popped open. "Uh, how many bars are between your place and mine? Because it feels like I hit all of them."
What about a bar hitting you? But Jean felt guilty even thinking up the joke. She uncurled her fists, her frustration slowly ebbing. Now that Llewyn had arrived, her mind was blank as to where he could possibly go. She wasn't about to turn him loose on the streets in this state, and throwing him in a taxi to the nearest station could prove a risky gamble. Whether she liked it or not, Llewyn would have to get his wish.
"Okay, fine."
"What's fine?"
"Fine, you can stay here for the night." Resigned to her fate, Jean pulled up a chair by the couch. "But if you wake up the baby, I won't hesitate in dragging your sorry ass out of here."
Llewyn snorted with mirthless humor. "Wow, you really know how to make a guy feel welcome."
Jean rubbed her temples as she deposited herself into the chair. "God, Jim's going to kill me."
"Really?" Llewyn attempted to prop himself up on his elbows, but after fighting gravity for a few seconds he plopped back down, apparently deciding it wasn't worth the trouble. "Do I sense a little marital tension here?"
"No," Jean spat, shooting Llewyn a glare that he utterly failed to catch. "God, Llewyn."
Llewyn shrugged. "Just asking. Wanted to know what it's like being his housewife."
Jean rolled her eyes as she reached up to undo her braid. "For your information, asshole, Jim and I are very much in love, and very happily married, and if there's one thing Jim's never done to me, it's make me his goddamn housewife."
"Wow. Haven't heard you call me that in a while." Llewyn peered over at Jean, his eyes glassy. "Really is like old times, huh? How long's it been?"
Jean only shook her head, her loose hair falling in her eyes. "Shut up."
"No, I'm serious. How long's it been?" Llewyn's piercing stare made Jean's stomach churn uncomfortably, but she tried to ignore him by running her fingers through her hair, smoothing out the braid's waves.
"When's the last time he let you have a drink? Other than a little glass of sherry when you're entertaining guests?"
Jean attempted to push down her disgust, only partially succeeding. "Jim doesn't dictate what I drink."
Llewyn snorted in a sure he doesn't manner. "Not since you were pregnant, right? No more getting drunk until the kid's born?"
"I don't like getting drunk, asshole, unlike someone who's lying right in front of me."
"See, there you go," Llewyn declared, vaguely waving his arm in Jean's direction. "What about the swearing? I bet he doesn't let you say fuck anymore. Too sensitive for your little demon's ears?"
Jean gritted her teeth, wishing she could drown Llewyn out, or better yet, get him to stop talking. "My baby doesn't even talk yet. How would he even know about that?"
"Well, he's never gonna know if you never say it." Lacing his fingers together, Llewyn settled his hands on his stomach. "What about the fucking?"
"What."
"C'mon, when's the last time you and J-"
"Shut the fuck up," Jean snapped, instantly livid.
To her utter disappointment, Llewyn didn't obey, only smirking grimly instead. "That's my girl."
Jean exhaled through her teeth, trying not to let the rubber band of her rage stretch too far and snap. Of course, Llewyn was making it exceedingly difficult. Like he always does.
"I'm not your girl. I never was."
Llewyn breathed a heavy sigh, momentarily abandoning his probing. "You sure about that? Not even that one night?"
The words shouldn't have had much effect, but Jean stiffened anyway, instantly retreating from the memories of two years prior. One hasty, alcohol-entangled liaison involving Llewyn had led to a mess upon which she loathed to dwell, and set in motion a shitstorm called 1961.
"I can't believe you even remember that night."
Llewyn again struggled for a new position, as last pushing himself upright and wavering in place. "I can't believe you don't."
"I do." Jean's voice came out more hushed than she'd intended. She felt like laughing at herself. What had happened that night was no longer of any consequence. Llewyn had left shortly after she'd taken care of business, and then she and Jim had gotten signed and she'd gotten pregnant again and there was no reason to think of Llewyn Davis anymore, until he turned up unexpectedly a year later at a performance in the Village.
"Yeah?" Now that Llewyn was facing Jean, his gaze was more alert, and no less intense. Again Jean felt uncomfortable to meet his eyes. She watched him squeeze his hands together, his drunken cluelessness diminishing.
"Seems there's a lot you don't remember."
"Like what?"
"I dunno," Llewyn said quietly. "Like, uh… maybe what day it is."
The sharp point of his question took Jean off-guard, but try as she might, she couldn't imagine what was so important. It's not his birthday… I know THAT one, at least.
"It's two days bef-"
"I know it's two days before Christmas." Agitation rose in Llewyn's voice. "You really don't remember? Does 'the George Washington Bridge' ring a bell?"
George Washington Bridge. The words unexpectedly flung Jean back to four years prior, to a panicked knocking at her door and the fateful news that had broken her heart.
"Or maybe 'Folksinger Found Dead' 'll do the trick," Llewyn continued. "Or, I don't know…" His voice became a cloying whine. "'Our boy would NEVER do such a thing! It had to have been an accident!' You remember that load of horseshit, right Jean?"
Yes. No. YES. The words did ring a bell, but not the gentle chimes of long-lost memories. Jean's bell was a clanging alarm.
At once, it made sense why Llewyn was piss-drunk, why he'd chosen Jean to bother even though she lived so far out of his way. In a flash, Jean's anger reignited.
"You're serious?" she blurted. "That's why you came here?"
"Oh my god," Llewyn said, a trace of disgust in his voice. "You didn't remember."
"I didn't need you barging in here to remind me!" Jean's voice hardened. "You didn't do this last year."
"You didn't even see me last year!" Llewyn protested. "I just got back from Vegas last year! I was so jet-lagged I didn't even know what time it was, much less the day!"
"So you would have drunk yourself stupid and run off to find me if you'd realized it?" Jean found herself shaking, though she wasn't sure if it was with pain or fury. "God, Llewyn, pull yourself together! It's been four years. You don't see me running around, pantomiming grief. We've all tried-"
"Tried to move on?" Llewyn's voice filled with acrid scorn, a dark cloud settling across his face. "Is that what you were gonna say? Key word being tried?"
"No. Key word being moved on." Jean brushed the hair out of her eyes, wishing to quell her anger while simultaneously hoping Llewyn could see how infuriated she was. Instead of taking the hint, Llewyn only stared back with bitter disappointment.
"Yeah, well, maybe you've moved on. I mean, I thought I had too, but…" Llewyn's shoulders slumped as he struggled to explain himself. "But it's always with me. The memories. Lurking in the back of my mind like… like some thing that lurks, I dunno. It's… it's different for me, Jean. We… we shared so much, and did so much, and… and you can't possibly know what that was like. Even before you threw your whole life away. You threw him away."
"How can you say that?!" Jean blurted, incredulous. How can he have the AUDACITY… "You think you're so special because you worked with him? I knew Mike for four years before you ever came along!"
To Jean's bewilderment, Llewyn cracked up with pale laughter. "What is this, the friendship Olympics? Just 'cause you met him in school, suddenly you know him better than I did?!" Grimness returned to his tone as the laughter subsided. "Jean, I'm telling you. He was my partner. We lived together for chrissakes-"
"Only because he was too nice to tell you to quit mooching off him," Jean snapped.
For the first time since he'd stepped through the door, Llewyn froze. At first Jean thought she'd put him in his place, but then he clenched his fists, and cold ire took charge of his expression.
"That's fucking bullshit. Mike and I had an agreement. I was paying rent by the time-"
"Yeah, only after you and Diane split." And good for her. Past the point of seething, Jean now found her words escaping with icy precision."You only came crawling back when you needed a place to stay."
"No, no, that's not how it happened!" Llewyn declared. "I knew that thing with Diane wasn't going to last- Mike knew, he wanted me to come back-"
"Mike told me everything, Llewyn," Jean said, fighting the sudden tightness in her throat. All the hours they'd spent on walking talk-a-thons, listening to records in Mike's dorm, in deep conversation over coffee… In that moment, she missed Mike more than ever. If only he were here to set the record straight.
"Before I met Jim, I called Mike my best friend. And as much as you're probably dying to make that claim yourself, you never had what we had. You have no idea what went on betw-"
"Give me a break!" Llewyn shouted. God, he's going to wake the baby up after all. "It's not like you're the only one who was in love with Mike!"
The words smacked Jean across the face. "What are you talking about? Who was in love w-"
She suddenly stopped, because Llewyn's face had drained of color. The harsh light in his eyes extinguished, leaving a vulnerable, pain-wrought expression. His body relaxed from a fighting stance into a slump, as if yelling at Jean had physically weakened him.
At once, the pieces slid into place.
Llewyn and Mike, sitting next to each other at the bar, flicking each other in the face and cracking up laughing. Mike constantly bringing Llewyn up in casual conversation. Llewyn treating everyone around him with indignance, but never having one bad word to say about Mike.
It was all flooding back now. They hadn't just been Llewyn and Mike. They'd been Mikey and Llew.
"Who do you think? Llewyn whispered. "I said we were partners." He glanced to the corner of the room, refusing to meet Jean's eyes. Jean knew better than to expect dramatics, not from Llewyn, but the shameless, matter-of-fact nature of his confession left her stunned.
"And that's supposed to mean… that you were…"
"Yeah." Llewyn's voice was small, and he exhaled noisily. "That I loved him, yes. Or I was in love. Whatever. I mean, it doesn't matter now that he's…" He swallowed hard and shrugged, glancing away.
In love. In love. Try as Jean might, she couldn't force the words into a sensible semblance. The evidence was all laid out, scattered throughout past memories that had sharpened into detail, but all the same, she couldn't believe…
"How?" Jean whispered. Llewyn met her eyes as if he were staring at an open wound.
"What?"
"How could you have been in love?" Jean breathed.
Llewyn visibly bridled, his distraught expression momentarily morphing into one of disgust. "Jesus, how many times do I have to tell you before you believe it? I was in love with him, Jean. And I think… I know he was in love with me."
Somewhere in the back of her mind, Jean recognized that she should hold her tongue, but before she could stop herself the words came spilling out. "And how many times do you have to tell yourself that before you believe it?"
She knew the instant Llewyn's eyes widened that she had gone too far, but it wasn't until he lashed out suddenly, striking the coffee table, that any remorse poured into her. The blow was so strong that Jean could have sworn the newspaper on the table leapt up an inch. Llewyn cried out and cradled his hand with his other, wincing as he flexed his fingers.
"For once can you stop acting like you've got it all figured out or something?! For Christ's sake, Jean, I know damn well that Mike was in love with me. No one in their right mind puts up with all the shit I put him through. No one else would have given me a second chance. You didn't! You never do." Llewyn's voice was rising, in both pitch and dynamic, and Jean feared he was getting hysterical. "Mike let me stay with him and play with him and sleep with him because he loved me, and because he thought… because I did too. But I didn't know… I mean, I didn't know that…"
His eyes were glistening, but it wasn't until an aching sob was wrenched out of him that Jean realized he was crying.
"I didn't know I loved him," Llewyn repeated, his voice breaking. "Not until it was all too late. So I can't just… I'm not gonna…"
He covered his mouth and turned his face away, his shoulders shaking. Jean fumbled desperately for words, but she could only sit and stare, a chill spreading through her chest. In all the years they'd known each other, she'd never seen Llewyn cry. Not even at Mike's funeral, or in the weeks of turmoil that followed. She hadn't thought he was capable of it.
Jean had never been much of a comforter, but when it came to her loved ones she tried her damnedest. Yet seeing Llewyn huddled into himself, weeping with his face in his hands, stirred nothing but numbness within her. Whether it came from the shock of Llewyn's confession, or the shock of seeing him in tears, or if she really was so unmoved, Jean couldn't say. All she knew was that she had to get out. She couldn't just stare silently while Llewyn was falling apart, but every part of her shied away from touching him, from telling him it would be okay. Who likes hearing that, anyway?
"Stay here," Jean muttered, rising from her seat. Llewyn gave no indication that he'd heard her. Stupid. As if he'd try to leave now. She walked briskly down the hall, not fully aware of her intentions until she had entered the kitchen.
"Just hear those sleigh bells jingling, ring-ting-tingling too…" Jean snapped the radio off and grabbed a mug from the sink. A second later she realized it was the dirty mug she'd been interrupted in washing, and went to the cupboard for a different one. Painted Santa faces greeted her, along with the words "Ho Ho Ho." How tacky. Whatever. It would do. Jean turned the faucet on and began to fill the mug, realizing at once that her heart was pounding.
Llewyn's wild, impassioned guess rang in Jean's ears, like the echo of a deafening siren. It's not like you're the only one who was in love with Mike. He'd never been the most intuitive person, had he? Though they'd studied together, confided in each other, and even went on a couple dates throughout college, Jean had never loved Mike the way she'd loved Jim. And after a year of staying single, she'd wondered if Mike's interests lay beyond women entirely. He'd never told Jean outright, but it was no surprise for Llewyn to confirm her suspicions.
But Llewyn, though…that Llewyn would actually reciprocate… Jean turned the faucet off, her head whirling. She'd have never dreamed of it before hearing him confess, but now that her eyes were open, she wondered how she could have missed it. Llewyn had done a fine job of disguising his emotions, apparently even from himself. Was that the reason for his extensive track record, such as it was? Had he flung himself into those women's arms- possibly even into Jean's arms- in order to throw others off his scent? Sure as shit got me fooled. How much of a toll had it taken for him to hide himself?
Llew and Mikey. Mikey and Llew. Two best friends who had been in love. It was as simple, and complex, as that.
Jean took the mug and padded down the hallway, returning to the sitting room in no time. Llewyn was still scrunched up on the couch, his eyes shut tight, but he wasn't shaking any longer. Instead he took deep breaths that shuddered in his throat, slowly rocking himself back and forth.
Before Jean could convince herself to turn away from the mess of a man before her, she surged forward, mug in hand. "Here." She thrust it towards Llewyn, and he opened his swollen eyes to accept it. Jean returned to her chair, watching Llewyn as he fought for control of himself, tightly clutching the mug. There was nothing to do now but wait.
Eventually Llewyn tilted the mug up and drank all the water in one sitting, breaking away once to gasp for air. He set the mug down on the table before the couch, so gently, as if he was afraid to shatter it.
"I'm sorry, Jean," he said in a small, shaking voice. "I'm so fuckin' sorry… I love you…"
Normally, when the "I love you's" slipped out, Jean would have told Llewyn to knock it off. But now she only nodded, her heart clenching painfully.
"Don't start that again," she muttered. "It's okay." Was it okay? For Llewyn, would it ever be okay?
She sat and debated with herself as Llewyn caught his breath, before jumping up and coming to him, taking the mug away. "Do you want any more?"
He shook his head and reached up, wrapping his fingers around Jean's wrist and clinging to her. Like a small child, holding a parent's hand as they walk to the bus stop together.
"I just want you," Llewyn whispered raggedly. "I want you to know that I love you so much…"
Jean shook her head and pulled her wrist free, though a twinge went through her as she did. They'd been down this road many times, but not once had Jean fully believed Llewyn. God. I need a real man in my life, not another son to baby.
After a few seconds' pause, she murmured, "Thanks for telling me about you and Mike." Thanks for trusting me enough. Although were it not for the alcohol, would Llewyn have taken his secret to his grave?
Llewyn reached up to clumsily wipe his eyes. "Never told anyone else." His movements were as weak and deflated as his voice, as his self-consciousness crept back. "Other than Johnny."
Jean tilted her chin up. "Who's Johnny?"
Llewyn shrugged as he leaned back, stretching across the sofa. "Some guy I was fucking, does it really matter?" He kicked his feet up on the armrest, exhaustion spreading across his features. "The guy who took me out of town."
Oh… THAT Johnny. Though Llewyn had recounted his travels innumerable times, this was the first Jean had heard of Johnny factoring into Llewyn's sex life. How many other details had he omitted from his tale? Jean wasn't sure how comfortable she was with hearing them, but at least Llewyn was being honest. There was no longer any reason for him to mislead or deceive her.
She wondered now if perhaps Llewyn's outburst hadn't stemmed entirely from what day it was, but rather from an increasing trend of misfortune, piled up until there was no way to support the weight anymore. She wasn't the only one upon whom 1961 had done a massive number, and clearly Llewyn hadn't been able to share his demons with whoever he had met out West. Why did it always come back to Jean? Despite the many times they had fallen out, no matter how much Jean claimed to despise Llewyn, he still found himself comfortable in her presence, for some unfathomable reason. What had she ever done to earn his wholehearted trust?
"I love you," he'd told Jean, so many times, usually in the depths of intoxication but once- only once- with a clear mind.
I love you.
You shouldn't.
Jean crept an inch closer to the couch, watching Llewyn's eyelids flutter. "I'm sorry. For what I said before."
Though Llewyn appeared to be on the verge of sleep, his eyes popped open. "Which part?"
Jean sighed. The events of the night were already turning into a jumble of heated moments, as if someone had thrown them together in a bucket and shaken them. "All of it. I don't care. Pick something."
Blank-faced, Llewyn closed his eyes once more and reached up to clutch at the afghan draped over the back of the sofa. "Okay. And 'm sorry for… for showing up here, and… and making a total idiot of myself…"
Jean gave a tight shrug. "I guess there's a first time for everything."
"What, for coming over drunk, or-"
"For apologizing for it."
Llewyn sighed heavily, his hands falling to his chest. "Yeah." A shudder of laughter passed through him. "Yeah, I could say the same to you."
Touche. Jean pulled the afghan down for Llewyn, only to startle upright when a baby's wail split the air.
Though nearly half-asleep, Llewyn gritted his teeth in an unpleasant grimace. "Told you he's a little demon."
Jean rolled her eyes, even though Llewyn wasn't looking at her. "Goodnight, Llewyn." She went to turn off the lamp, plunging the sitting room into darkness, before making for the stairs.
The red, contorted face that greeted Jean upon reaching the baby's room was not unlike the one she had just left downstairs. As if she'd never gone through with that abortion- like father, like son. UGH. Jean frantically pushed back those thoughts as she reached to scoop Nell into her arms, already cooing meaningless words of comfort.
As Jean softly hummed the fragment of a forgotten melody, she wondered if her voice was hushed in order to soothe her child, or because she didn't want Llewyn to hear her. Never mind that there was no way he'd hear from downstairs- never mind that he was probably passed out in a dead stupor- never mind that she'd never cared about such things before. If Llewyn caught a glimpse of the music spilling out of Jean, he'd inevitably start probing her again. What are you doing, using that voice to provide for your kid? Why are you stuck out here in Westchester, instead of where you belong? Why do you lock yourself in a studio when you could be out onstage? Don't argue, Jean, you know it's true-
Again Jean cut her thoughts off mid-sentence, because the voice in her head didn't sound like Llewyn's anymore. Gazing into Nell's sweet brown eyes, she mentally berated herself. God, what are you complaining about? Surely this is it. You can't say this is less than what you wanted.
A strange wistfulness crept over Jean. Slowly it dawned on her why Llewyn was still stuck in an emotional rut, four years after incident that had thrown him into one. It wasn't Mike that Llewyn missed, not really. Not Mike as a person, but Mike as what he represented- partnership, camaraderie, a future. A time of relative happiness that, once experienced, could never be repeated, and any attempt to do so would prove a pale imitation.
"I love you," Jean whispered as her son settled down. She kissed him on the forehead and held him for a few more minutes before returning him to his crib. His warmth lingered in her arms before fading away.
Had she achieved that happiness that Llewyn was still striving for? She'd moved on, moved up in the world, while Llewyn bummed around out West in an aimless search for what might be unattainable. Two very different means intended to produce the same end. Who had succeeded?
Overall, it was hard to say- too hard for Jean to consider debating. She shook herself out of her musings and left the bedroom, leaving the door open just a crack. Jim still wasn't home, tomorrow would be Christmas Eve, and there was one more mug left to wash.
AN: I still have a lot of headcanons and thoughts about these characters, so come talk to me if you're interested. There will be another fic for this movie, although it will be a long time in coming. Lastly, I recently re-worked another fic, "Tell Me Who You Love" (which is now "No Word of Farewell"), so check it out if you missed it!