The Story is Told
And it goes like this: Jack proposes to Sarah the week she graduates from college. When Ryan and Tony ask him why over beers and a cutthroat game of poker, he shrugs and laughs and says, "It seemed like a good thing to do at the time," and finishes with good-natured complaints about tux shoes that will likely pinch and choosing flowers that he doesn't give a shit about. Of course, he means it seemed like the right thing to do, like the appropriate next step when you'd been in a relationship with your best friend's sister for five years and have been accepted as part of the family for even longer.
It goes like this: With the wedding date six months off, David becomes quieter and quieter as he's asked to try on cummerbunds and think about toasts. He turns down Jack's invitations for drinks or video games, and when Jack tries to plan a guys' night, a kind of early bachelor party, David says he has an important dinner to attend with his publisher. Sarah is squirreled away working in her apartment five nights out of six, trying to make headway in the world of family law without losing her soul, and Jack is reduced to waiting for Les to invite him over to get to spend time at the Jacobs' house.
It goes like this: David meets Rachel at Sarah and Jack's engagement party – a sister of a friend of a cousin – and suddenly it seems that every time Jack wants to track his best man down, he's over at Rachel's or on his way to Rachel's or spending the day with Rachel. Rachel has soft dark hair that falls in thick layers over her shoulders and plays third violin with the New York Philharmonic. She's four years older than David and can talk with him about Greek plays with titles that sound to Jack like diseases. There's a little gap between her front teeth that Jack has to admit is kind of endearing, and she's so sweet Jack wants to hate her but just can't.
It goes like this: Two months before the wedding, Jack is searching David's room for a pencil and finds an open box of condoms in the bedside table drawer. It's relatively new – and half empty. David walks in as Jack is standing there, staring at the box in his hands. Their eyes meet for a minute, then David looks away and blushes and Jack knows that David has finally lost his virginity. He can't slap David on the back and congratulate him in appropriate manly fashion or even rib him gently (embarrassed David is always fun to tease) though, because there's an empty ache at the back of his throat, vaguely like being ill or very hungry.
It goes like this: Sarah breaks off the engagement two weeks later, and Jack is worried and relieved, but mostly worried about how relieved he is. "We're not the same people we were in high school," she says, and "I think being married would hold me back right now, and I'm at a stage in my life when I want to be free," and "It's not you, it's me." Sarah and Jack don't get married.
But, less than a year later, Rachel and David do.
It goes like this: Jack wants to stay away from Rachel and David, because really, spending time with the two of them in their wedded bliss is just torture. But he can't. He's spent the better part of his life clinging to David and the rest of the Jacobs family, and life without them, without him, seems flat and impossibly lonely. When David and Rachel announce at a family dinner that they've decided not to wait, that they want to have kids now, Esther and Mayer beam and cheer and pinch cheeks, and Jack feels that hollow ache again. Since the day they met, he's always been first in David's life. He lost ground to Rachel, that he knows – David only joins in poker games with the guys ever third or fourth week now, and though he and Jack still call each other regularly and chat, sometimes Jack hears David cover the receiver and talk to Rachel while they're on the phone. There's usually the low tones of David's voice, then Rachel's comes in, a few octaves higher, and more often then he likes to think about, the voices are accompanied by the rumble of shared laughter. Jack grits his teeth and tries not to wonder what's so important, so funny, that David and Rachel can't wait until the phone conversation is over to share it with each other.
But a child – a child would bump him all the way down to number three. It would be permanent. Nothing could ever break the link between David and Rachel if they had a child. He congratulates them, though, and glances over in time to see Les watching him speculatively.
It goes like this: On a sleety night in November, David calls Jack. Jack's somewhat surprised – he's been trying to quit David, like stopping drinking booze or smoking, like trying to avoid an addiction. Neither has called for a couple of months; they haven't hung out for longer. And it's been almost a year since they've sat comfortably side by side with their shoulders brushing and their knees pressed together, just talking and teasing and giving each other sideways glances. But on that night, the phone rings, and it's David on the other end of the line. Rachel overturned her car on the icy roads, David recites calmly. She didn't make it. Could Jack come over, please?
Jack drives to David's modest bungalow, going as fast as possible without meeting the same fate as Rachel. David meets him at the door, still calm and detached. Jack makes him tell the whole story, and somewhere between the calm recitation of the facts and the edging-towards-panicky listing of the preparations that will have to be made, Jack comes to understand that David loved Rachel, really, truly loved her, will be broken and desiccated without her, can never be the same man he once was. And, Jack realizes as he wraps an arm around David and rubs his back, murmuring nonsense that's meant to be comforting as David burrows his face into Jack's neck, it's the same way Jack feels about David.
It goes like this: Jack's been staying over at David's every night since Rachel's death, lying awake on the couch and wondering if it's just his imagination or if he really can hear every breath David is taking in and letting out down the hall. When he hears low sobbing begin one night about three weeks after the funeral, he gets up and goes to the guest room where David's been sleeping because he can't handle being in the bed he and Rachel shared. David is facedown, crying into the mattress in a way that is deep and wrenching and twists his body up in pain. Jack slides into the bed alongside David and wraps his arms around him, pulling him in so he's pillowed on Jack's shoulder. When David finally lays quiet against him, exhausted and spent, Jack turns him, fits their bodies together, rests a hand on David's elbow so he knows he's not alone.
It goes like this: Jack continues to sleep in the same bed with David, their bodies pressed together back to front. Neither of them mentions it. He moves his clothes into the guest room closet, stocks the fridge with the beer he likes, and nestles his toothbrush in the holder next to David's. Most nights he cooks for them – or stops for takeout on the way home, which is close enough – because he doesn't quite trust David with open flame or sharp objects yet. He's glad David's career as a freelance writer allows for some flexibility, because David's not up to working yet. Actually, he's pretty sure David hasn't even thought about work; he certainly hasn't thought about the bills Jack's been paying or about feeding himself or getting fresh air and exercise unless Jack pointedly reminds him.
It goes like this: For a while, Jack's terrified he'll lose David. It's not just that he's worried that David will kill himself, because that's not really it – it's that he looks in those deep blue eyes and doesn't see David there anymore. The stranger in his body is timid and doesn't care to see his family and watches television for hours every day. Esther and Mayer worry, Les and Sarah worry, Jack begs and pleads mentally with whoever may be listening. David really only reacts to Jack and to Mrs. Larkson, the elderly woman next door who keeps tabs on him when Jack's on duty. Jack's lease runs out, and he moves the rest of his belongings into David's house and puts his furniture in storage.
It goes like this: Jack comes home after a long, hot day on patrol, tired and aching and wanting nothing more than to lay in the cool sheets with David next to him and the air conditioner on high. He's surprised to not see David on the couch watching "The Price is Right"; he's more surprised when he peers through the door of the guest room – their bedroom – and sees David sitting at the little desk with his laptop, typing away. David looks up and smiles and it's like he's just seen Jack, really seen him for the first time in months. "Hi," he says. "I've been at this a while. Want to take a walk?" It's not much, but Jack feels warmth flood his body as his muscles relax, and he smiles back. That night, David calls his parents, making chatty conversation with his mother about the weather and plans for a Labor Day barbeque, and in the next week he has coffee with Sarah and Les and, when Jack invites him, goes to a baseball game with Nicky and Ryan and Tony.
It goes like this: Jack's a guy, a guy in his sexual prime. He can't help that some nights, when he and David are pressed together from shoulder to knee in bed, certain parts of him… respond. He can't help that sometimes without even thinking about it, without completely waking, he begins to rock his hips against David's. He can't help that sometimes he imagines, he wants to believe, that David's hips press back. He should be able to keep himself from going to the bathroom, locking the door, and jerking off with David's name on his lips and the water turned on full blast to cover the sound of his groans, but somehow he can't help that either.
It goes like this: The Jacobses watch him measuringly now, with a mix of confusion and misgivings he hasn't seen on their faces since David first brought him home, scruffy and cocky, in seventh grade. Sarah has a new boyfriend, Eric, and while he's blundering and a little too yacht club-ish for Jack's tastes, Sarah seems to like him.
It goes like this: Sarah and Eric become engaged. Jack's worried that the engagement party will bring up memories of Rachel that David would prefer to forget, but David seems fine with the whole situation, so they go. Mayer makes a toast at dinner, saluting their friends and family, and the crowd whoops and hollers for a kiss from the newly-engaged couple. David turns to Jack, laughing, when Sarah and Eric oblige. They're both giddy with happiness, and there's little twinkling lights all over the dining room that are dazzling their eyes, and when David beams at him and lifts his face towards Jack's the same way Sarah used to, Jack presses their mouths together without a second thought.
They leave the party early.
It goes like this: In the quiet, early morning hours, Jack and David press their foreheads together, breathing heavily, muscles limp with exhaustion and bliss. Their passion is spent – for now – but still their hands can't stop sweeping over arms and thighs and the planes of their backs, tracing the patterns of veins and the ridges of muscles. They exchange whispered confessions; David murmurs frightening words about the dark weeks and months after Rachel's death and calls Jack his anchor; Jack calls David the only constant in his life, the only person who thought he was worth holding on to.
Their story is told. It goes like this, and it's just beginning.
AN: Yes, I know it's not the next part of BBE, but I got this in my head and couldn't get it out. Please excuse the cheesy title and section lead-ins. I hope it still amuses.
I leave in less than a week for summer camp, and will try to work diligently on BBE before then (but due to a new job – hooray! – can make no firm promises). Suffice to say I'm still here, I'm still working on The Epic, and at least one, hopefully two chapters will be up before I re-start classes and get really busy.
Oh, and thanks to cymbalism for the quickie beta.