Gotta be Somebody

D/c: I do not own The Truth about Forever or Nickleback (where the title came from). I did, however, borrow dialogue from the book, because I'd stopped writing for such a long time, my brain couldn't compute what I was doing (and it's summer. That's my excuse. Summer has melted my brain. But, school starts again on the 8th. Yay seniority!! I graduate on the 23rd of June! Whoo!!)

Seeing Jason for the first time in a while should have made me nervous, should have made me hesitate. But I found myself not caring. He was staring at me, rain jacket damp, eyes as shrewd as ever (although that was just him, calculating, logical Jason). "Hello, Macy."

Perfect. Precise. Jason.

It was so compelling, the urge, to slip back into my old shoes, and for a brief moment I did as I replied. "Hello, Jason."

He hung his coat in the closet, making sure it was straight, shoulders aligned, collar stiff, before he began making his way towards me. It was the inevitable, and the confrontation, of sorts, was here. He stopped a mere foot away from me, stared at me (him in his perfect slacks, perfect polo shirt, clean cut hair, smooth shaved chin) before asking, "How are you?"

And I felt no sadness or anger as I answered, "Fine. Just fine."

"It's nice to see you."

"You, too."

Jason opened his mouth, and the words that flowed out were what I expected and (not anymore) dreaded, and I readily agreed. "Is there somewhere we can talk?"

I lead him outside, through the kitchen were Delia was hurriedly making more meatballs, where Kristy was piling them on a tray in small intricate patterns that were supposed to be appealing. They both glanced up at me, and as Bert walked in and noticed us walking through, glared at Jason. He seemed a bit taken aback at the treatment, hustled me outside at a brisk pace. As we stepped outside, I could hear (and was fairly sure Jason could, too) Bert asking in what he thought was an inside voice, "Was that the boyfriend?" There was some 'humm'ing from inside, and I could feel my face heating up in embarrassment.

We stepped outside, stood awkwardly beneath the small outcrop of roof that ran the back of my house, near the kitchen window. I smoothed my hands down my thighs, rocked back on my heels. And waited.

"This is quite a party," he said suddenly.

"Yeah," I began, "I mean, Yes. It's been pretty crazy. Actually, this whole summer has been crazy." I found myself saying before I could stop myself. I glanced over his shoulder at the kitchen window, where Delia, Kristen, and Bert were staring at us, concentration etched on their faces. I twisted my lips to smother a laugh as they scrambled to look more productive and less snoopy. "How about your summer?"

Jason made a non-committal noise in the back of his throat, "It was as expected. It was an educational experience, to say the least. Quite the thing I needed."

"Ah."

And we were suddenly back at awkward silence. That is, until a loud crash echoed in the kitchen, followed by a muffled shriek and laughter. I could have guessed what happened, and was right when Monica ambled out, shoulders hunched, cigarette pack crushed in one hand, lighter in the other. She noticed me standing with Jason, offered a slight jerk of the head in hello, and sat on the porch stairs, getting to business.

"Good job, Monotone!" Bellowed Bert through the door, and her shoulders hunched evermore slightly.

"Donneven." She muttered, placing the lit cigarette in her mouth.

"Shut up, Bert!" Kristy shouted, and I heard a cry of pain.

A loud sigh, Delia's no doubt, resounded through the kitchen.

"Who is that?" Jason asked in a some-what Bethany/Amanda tone (I had heard it all summer; I would know).

"That's Monica. She's my friend." I said instantly, looking at her, then back to him.

Jason's mouth twisted in what I had come to coin the 'I-don't like' frown-sneer combination. It was ever-present, hovering just beneath the surface. One wrong movement, and it was there, at the surface, letting one know that something was wrong. I could feel my hackles rising, eyes narrowing, because the look was aimed at Monica. I braced myself for the explanation of the look. "Her posture is atrocious," he began, none to quietly, and Monica seemed to curl into herself, "her English is deplorable, and it seems that she is quite clumsy."

By then, Monica was pushing herself to her feet, face blank as always, and walking away at her usual snails pace.

"Look," I began, and stopped, unsure of what to say. This was Jason we were talking about. But he's insulted Monica, and that deserved some retribution. She wasn't his friend to judge. "Look," I started again, "you don't know Monica, don't know her at all, alright Jason? So don't start your holy crusade of perfection now."

Silence.

He was looking at me oddly now, no doubt wondering where the sub-servant Macy had gone, and where the hell that had come from. I could feel my face reddening, but Monica had stopped walking, had heard us, and she nodded slightly in acknowledgment of the deed, stuck the cigarette between her lips once more, blowing smoke out of her nostrils.

"Macy…are you alright?" he asked me slowly.

I pushed a hand through my hair, tousling it even further. "I'm fine," that word again, always there, "what is it you wanted to talk about?"

"Well," he began, straightening his already straight shirt, "I just…" he paused, shuffling his thoughts, words, before beginning again, "I know I handled things badly at the beginning of the summer, suggesting that break. But I'd really like for us to begin a conversation about our relationship and what, if we do decide to continue it, each of us would like to see it evolve into the coming year."

I was listening as best I could, but I couldn't seem to stay focused on him. I noticed how Monica seemed to be staring at the back of Jason's head (thinking, no doubt, that he was weirder than she was) or how Kristy was peering around the corner, attempting to be James Bond or Sam Spade or some sort of incognito person.

"Well…I don't know, really."

"What I was thinking, really, was that we could each draw up a list of what we really want in a relationship, what we expect, what's important, and then, at a predetermined time, we'll sit down and go through them, see what corresponds."

At that precise moment, Caroline's voice floated over from somewhere behind me, describing the figures that were welded together from sheet metal and coke bottle tops and keys and gears and pipes and just tons of metal objects. "…a real sense of perspective," she was saying, "with the artist making a clear commentary on the events that happen within the frame, and how the frame affects time."

Jason peered over my shoulder at Caroline as she spoke in her art-degree voice, and the lips were back. "I don't see how those can be considered art. It just seems like junk to me."

I closed my eyes in frustration, willing him to just hurry up so I could just….just what?

So I backtracked to what he was saying, found myself wondering why the hell I had ever loved him, thought that I had loved him. "A list?"

Kristy and Monica looked at each other.

"Yes," he said, "a list. That way, I figure, we'll have a written record of what we've agreed upon as our goals for our relationship. So if problems arise, we'll be able to consult the lists, see which issue it corresponds to, and work out a solution from there."

I stared at him, knowing that this was probably annoying him, but I couldn't bring myself to respond. Finally, I worked up an answer, and instead, it was a question. "What if something unplanned happens? What if it doesn't work?"

He blinked, asked, "Why wouldn't it?"

"Because." I said simply. He couldn't be serious.

"Because what?"

He was.

"Because," I repeated, "sometimes things happen, things that we can't control. Life isn't perfect, Jason. Nothing is perfect."

He scoffed, a smile tilting his lips upwards, and once upon a time, I would have done anything for that smile. "Perfection does exist," he said, "you must strive towards it, but it does exist."

And for the first time since we had been together, since we had been apart, since I had known him, I could feel myself getting annoyed with him. "It doesn't!" I insisted, and glanced over his shoulder. I quieted down, stared as Wes, tall, brown haired, tattooed 'delinquent' Wes, spoke to Delia. She patted him on the shoulder, sent him on his way, and he began ambling away, before Kristy called out.

"Wes!" she yelled, waving an arm to be seen through the people that were loitering on the damp lawn. He turned, looking for the source of his name, when his eyes flickered to me, darkened. His lips thinned, and he looked away, and nodded to Kristy. She waved her arm frantically, motioning him closer.

"Macy." Jason's firm voice had me breaking from my trance, looking away from my summer to my past.

"Huh?"

A look of frustration crossed his features, and he opened his mouth to speak again, when Wes happened to walk past us, and I looked away, following his progress. My expression must have given something away (after all, Wes'd just walked past, ignored me entirely) because Jason gave up trying to get my attention and followed my gaze to Wes, who'd just made it to Kristy, who pulled him down, standing on tip-toe, to whisper something in his ear. He turned his head, eyes boring into mine, before sliding them ever-so-slowly to Jason.

Then he turned away.

"Who is he?" Jason asked, and I felt my hackles rise again.

"Jason…" I sighed, about to explain to him…I didn't know, something, to show him that life wasn't predictable, that life wasn't perfect and perfection definitely wasn't achievable, when Caroline's exclamation caught my attention.

There was a figure that hadn't been there earlier.

I looked at it, my breath caught in my throat. An angel, with her heart in her hands, stood within the throng of the other angels, only she had wings. She was the only one with wings.

My eyes slid to Wes, who was beginning to walk away.

"Macy," Jason began again, annoyance in his tone.

But I had already begun to walk away. Those wings were meant for the angel, meant to symbolize her flying, soaring.

And that's what I did.

Wes must have heard the sound of my feet hitting the ground at a run, something I hadn't done since Dad had died, because he turned, and I stopped a few feet away from him, panting. "I have a new rule!" I found myself saying, the words tumbling from my mouth.

He stared (I knew everyone else was staring), before his brain caught up. "Ah…a new rule."

"Yes."

"I wasn't notified," he pointed out.

"Well…it was pretty recent," I said.

"As in…"

"As in, effective right now."

I don't know what had spurred me into saying that, but as I watched him shift from foot to foot (something Jason would never do) and run a hand through his unkempt hair, as I watched the heart and hand appear than vanish again, I knew.

"Macy…" he trailed off, voice soft.

"Ask me about the change." I interrupted, not giving him a chance.

He slid his hands into his pockets, eyes searching my face, and nodded wearily. "Ok. What's the change?"

"It has been decided that there had been another step to winning the game. And that is that in order for me to really win, I have no choice but to answer the question you passed on, that night in the truck. Only then it's final."

"The question I passed on," he repeated.

I heard Jason call my name, exasperated, and I held up a finger, ignoring him. "That's the rule."

In the silence that followed, I knew that it may be too late, that I may have missed my chance, but at least I would have tried, would have put effort into this, whatever the outcome may be.

He took a deep breath, swallowed. "Okay," he began, "What would you do, if you could do anything?"

"This," I said, bolting the last few feet forward, and throwing myself into his arms, kissing him.

There was a deafening silence, and as I began to ease away, embarrassment making my face red, Wes's arms came around me, lifted me so he could angle his head better, coax my lips into moving with his. Now, my head was tilted down, his tilted up, with my hair falling around us both as a shield (not that we needed one in the first place). As I pulled away for much needed air, he spun me around, making me laugh and grab at his shoulders. As I looked up briefly when he stopped to let me slide down, I saw Jason staring at me, eyes wide, mouth slightly parted, in an expression that was so not Jason that I was shocked.

But it was gone from my mind as Kristy tackled us in a hug, with Monica patting me on the head. "Finally!" laughed Kristy, squeezing.

I heard an emphasized, "Mmmhmm," from Monica.

"Macy, what's going on?" Jason's voice was somewhere from somewhere behind me (it was difficult to look when I was encircled in both Kristy and Wes' arms, with Monica behind me). "Please…can you explain this?"

I tried to disentangle myself from Kristy so I could talk to him, and finally managed to just in time to catch his confused expression. Kristy kept her arm around my waist, eyes boring into him, and I could feel Monica's warmth at my back, could smell the cigarette smell that she always carried around, with her hands on my shoulders. Wes had me at his side, almost defensively behind him actually, and was staring at Jason as well.

But Jason was only looking at me.

"What is going on?" he asked slowly, and I could see the shock struggling to the surface. The Macy he knew and left behind would never do something that rash and crazy.

"Jason…" I stopped, struggling to find the words, "Jason," I said more firmly, "when you suggested the break, you were right," I finally said, "because I was dependant on you. You kept me from coming apart at the seams after…after my Dad died. You are efficient, precise, perfect," I paused, "and I never hated it more than when you sent that email." I wondered what he was thinking as he looked at us, so mis-matched. The tall, gorgeous 'tortured' artist, the ex-girlfriend, the girl with the scars on her face, and the tall, ambling klutz. Was he thinking of ways to talk me out of it, to get me to see my faults? "I…found Wish when you were gone. And Wish…they were there for me, in ways you weren't, in ways that Mom and Caroline weren't. Wes was there in ways you weren't." and I felt myself blushing, but I kept my gaze steady. "I…can't and I won't throw it away for your practical relationship, if you can call it that. Relationships are spontaneous, fun, crazy, Jason, not lists and plans and goals."

Jason blinked slowly, and I could almost hear the gears turning at top speed in his head, grasping the meaning of my words.

"So…we're just friends Jason. Nothing more, nothing less, alright?" I said tentatively.

A small smile quirked the sides of his mouth, and he nodded, stepping forward. He brushed a kiss across my forehead, murmuring about how that was perfectly acceptable, and began to walk away. However, he stopped, turning his head to look at Kristy. "What happened?" he asked, tapping his temple in the exact place her scar began.

Kristy started, open mouthed, before a smile brightened her previously suspicious face.