Disclaimer.
* * * * * *RATED ONLY FOR LANGUAGE* * * * * *
I figured I'd try my hand at writing a Town one-shot while writing everything else. Ya know, try sumthan new.
Just might be one of the longest one-shots I've ever written. I don't think I'll attempt a fic on The Town, but if I do, it might not work out. Thanks for reading this, means a lot!
And I might mess stuff up.
You've been warned...
So, here goes nothing...
Jem wasn't one you'd expect to fall in love.
Ever.
Not once in his life.
A lot of people thought he didn't know how to love.
Some people didn't ever get the chance to learn how, though. Some people missed out on it. Others forgot. If you go without love for so long - without the right kind of love - you might never even remember what it felt like when you had it... if you had it to begin with. Then, there were the few who thought it as a weakness.
As something horrid, disgusting, mushy, and disgraceful. Something to be stomped on and smashed, crushed and burned, locked away and obliterated. Love was something to be hated to the few who saw it as a bad thing. They might have refused to feel it for another, or just had never believed in it.
Love was something Jem didn't show... or want. Not in the way people normally did. Jem didn't want the lovey-dovey shit everyone made such a huge fuss over. Fucking a girl with no emotional attachments - that was as close as he got to love. Everyone knew it, and expected no less and no more from him.
So you wouldn't expect James Coughlin, of all people, to fall head over heels in love with another human being.
And nobody would have expected James Coughlin to actually admit that he was in love.
With anything besides his drugs, his booze, and his money.
Well, unexpected things tended to happen time and time again, whether people wanted them or not - whether anyone had seen it coming or not - and love for Jem was no exception.
It - technically - started with a complicated question from a complicated girl named Leila. It was a question many came across, discarded eventually, and then moved on with their lives. But that didn't happen this time with Leila.
Why do I love someone who will never love me back?
It all started when Leila moved in with her grandmother Elsie, who was a native to Charlestown. The way she acted, dressed, talked - it was in the old woman's blood. Leila was about twenty-two. After dropping out of college, dealing with parents and finance troubles, and being evicted from her apartment in Seattle, Washington, her grandmother had been the only family who had eagerly and willingly accepted her. Leila was difficult to get along with - picking fights, crossing lines, doing things she wasn't supposed to - and everywhere she went she seemed to always land herself in some sort of twisted situation. Uneventful was what Charlestown had been at first to her.
Till she went to a certain Irish-based bar with a bank manager named Claire, who'd somehow become her friend since she had arrived six months before.
Leila looked ordinary: brown hair pulled into a pony tail, average height and weight for a girl like her, dull green eyes, a t-shirt, boots, and jeans. Nothing special. She was fine looking like that.
But getting into a fight with her seemed to be the worst idea ever.
Sitting at the bar, drinking away the troubles that had dissipated since her grandmother - and Claire - had readily accepted her as a resident of the town. She had the faintest of accents - a telltale sign to anyone that she had at least grown up here for a while, which she had - and was not bothered much by rowdy townsfolk that often got drunk and were often caught leering at anyone who passed by.
Leila didn't like getting out much. Besides getting a job at the bank as an accountant - somehow - where Claire worked a few days ago, she didn't need to leave her house. Besides, Elsie enjoyed the company and saw no trouble with providing for her troublesome granddaughter.
A group of men walked in through the front doors of the bustling bar, but Leila couldn't bring herself to care much. She and Claire were complaining about impatient and unappreciative customers when a burst of laughter escaped from a few men directly behind her, louder than the chatter that had settled comfortably around her, her drink, and Claire.
Stiffening, she glanced at Claire, who gave her a warning look and shook her head. Either they were hammered already or they were ready to be.
The bartender grinned at them and she relaxed, figuring the guy behind the counter knew his regulars well enough to know if they were going to be a problem... which most of the people who were drinkers in this town were out in public.
Leila finished her drink and slammed the glass down on the table, pulling a bill out of her back pocket and slipping it onto the counter before poking Claire in the shoulder, standing slowly, pleased to see her vision wasn't swimming.
Claire nodded and smiled, also paying for her drink and standing. Leila had had way more to drink than Claire, as usual. It was no wonder she wasn't tipsy as her friend was.
"Let's go," she told her, grabbing her intoxicated friend's arm and began pulling her towards the exit which would release them from the stuff, warm bar and welcome them into the cold, clear night, which would sober the twenty-two-year-old up as soon as it the air hit her.
But before they could reach the door, a bellow of laughter erupted from behind them, and Leila - of course - turned to see who was being so low. Even through the haze of alcohol things irritated her.
Her eyes landed on a man she had never seen in her life until now. He had short hair, wore black, had dark blue eyes despite the dazzling smile on his face and the bottle of beer in his hand that had obviously brought that smile - which she had the strongest urge to wipe off his face - into existence. He was handsome, but he had that deadly don't-you-dare-fuck-with-me look about him, but she wasn't really scared. More like annoyed that that was the vibe he gave off. Her immediate, slightly-drunken opinion of him lowered when he saw her lean into some brunette's ear.
"Womanizing sonofabitch," she slurred, glaring at him with all much malice as she could have mustered in that moment and allowed her friend to pull her from the building.
Jem, unfortunately, while chatting up the random woman he'd been standing next to, had caught the glare that girl had sent him and he was seething under the smile plastered on his face.
What the fuck was her problem? And who the fuck did she think she was? He was James fucking Coughlin.
And who was she?
Nobody.
His good mood slowly dropped into an unknown abyss, and soon he stopped talking to the girl, drinking his bear, thinking about that one girl. And her mouth had been moving. What, exactly, had she said?
If he ever saw her again, he'd ask - and she'd answer.
His mood lifted slightly a few moments later when it hit him: there was no way he'd ever see her again.
No worries, then.
After finishing his beer, he told Doug he needed air and sauntered out of the bar, cold air hitting his face - he welcomed it, it cleared his head a bit - but peacefulness did not reach his ears.
Instead, the sound of a grumbling voice reached his ears.
"... but he was practically ready to fuck her on the spot, Claire!" it was a girl's voice. He frowned, but didn't look to the left. It couldn't be her, could it? No, it was probably someone who'd gotten jealous - or some shit like that.
An audible sigh escaped someone else's lips. A calm voice answered the louder one.
"I know, I know, but we don't know him, so we shouldn't be worrying about him, now should we?" Jem had to admit that whoever this Claire was, she was smarter than her companion. He leaned against the brick wall, closing his eyes, trying to ignore everything and relax a bit more after completing a job - and having to plan for another one in two weeks.
But ignoring these two was something hard to do.
"Did you SEE him, Claire? He radiated the world 'asshole' a thousand times over!"
"Yes, yes, I know," another sigh, "But we should probably take you back to Elsie. You know she doesn't like it when you come home drunk."
"I'm not - I'm pissed."
Jem's eyes flew open. That girl had said Elise.
Was this the same old Elsie who'd known Doug's group throughout their childhood?
There was no other Elsie in the Town.
And the only person who lived with the old woman was her granddaughter - and no one knew who she was. Some did, but apparently she wasn't someone worth remembering, because no one seemed to.
He looked over to his left to see who these girls were and whatever peace he'd felt vanished, and anger replaced it.
It was some toonie and that girl from the bar.
That girl.
He was about to step forward when something occurred to him.
The girl - it was obvious she had been the one to call him 'asshole', which pissed him off to no end (he preferred insults to his face so he could deck someone for it) - was most likely Elise's granddaughter.
Whoopy-fuckin'-do.
"Can we just go?" Claire was pleading now, trying to get Leila to cooperate.
Leila sighed. "Fine." she huffed and then added, "Fucking asshole, that guy was. Who the fuck did he think he was, anyhow?"
"Leila!"
Jem felt his blood boil.
That was it for him.
"Hey!" the girls spun around to see him walk towards him, anger written plainly on his face. Leila paled.
"Oh, fucking hell!" she breathed, taking a step back. She swayed, and Claire grabbed her arm.
"Th' fuck you talkin' about?" Jem hissed, going right up to Leila and staring down at her, itching to do something to make her regret looking at him the wrong way.
"You." Her bravery existed only because of the alcohol. Claire sighed heavily and intervened. The last thing they needed was a fight - getting on the wrong side of anybody in this town was a bad idea. Especially this guy's
"Come on," she hissed, "let's just go."
Jem ignored the toonie, focusing only on the stupid girl before him.
"Yeah, I said YOU," Leila continued.
"You'd bettah' walk awah' soonah' rathah' than latah'," he growled, leaning down so their faces were mere inches apart.
She opened her mouth to respond when a voice called to him.
"Jem! What the fuck?"
The three turned around and saw one of his friends walking towards him. Jem wasn't happy to see Doug, but Claire certainly did. She took this chance to grab her friend again and run away. Jem glanced over his shoulder and cursed, seeing them disappear around a corner.
"The fuck?" Doug repeated, shaking his best friend with a stern look and narrowed eyes.
"Some girl talkin' shit," Jem mumbled, scowling darkly.
"Why ya' worried about it?" Doug asked. He'd also seen the way she'd looked at him - it hadn't seemed to matter at the time, but perhaps the booze in both of them had caused what had almost become a fight.
Jem shook his head, his mood growing fouler as he headed into the bar. "I need ah' drink."
Doug wordlessly followed him inside, wondering about that stranger.
Who was she?
The next time Jem saw her, after Claire's bank was robbed.
Claire was sitting outside a restaurant, at a small table with Elsie and Leila, sipping drinks, keeping the poor woman company.
"You can come over again, you know," Elsie told her. The old woman had short, puffy gray hair that stuck out at odd angles. She was wearing an old faded sweatshirt, a skirt, and her wooden cane was by her side, her thick boots on her feet. To say the old woman was odd was an understatement, but no one in this town minded.
"Thanks, but I think I'm good tonight," Claire assured them. She looked around carefully, as if searching for the bank robbers - as if expecting them to jump out at her and kill her. Leila couldn't blame her.
"Well, you have the house key, and the house phone number," Elsie shrugged, waving to someone who'd passed by before returning her attention back to the older of the two women. "Claire, you know you can always come by - whenever you need us. I'll even come back from the fuckin' grave if need be."
Claire smiled, relieved. "You have no idea how thankful I am for that."
Leila grinned. "I like having you sleep over. Makes me think of the childhood I never had." She snickered, even though Elsie didn't think it was much of a joke. Claire smiled, but she shared the old woman's feelings about it. Her joking about her past was both unsettling and sad to listen to. After all, it wasn't a good one.
Elsie opened her mouth when she heard a familiar voice behind her - more like across the street, but she was sharper than most women who were pushing eighty.
"I ain't fuckin' touchin' that shit, Dougie! Yah' expectin' me to?"
Elsie turned around and grinned at the sight of Doug - someone she'd known for as long as she'd known Jem - holding out something in a wrapper towards no one other than James Coughlin. Jem, of course, had the foulest scowl on his face that the woman had ever seen.
Leila immediately saw what had caught her grandmother's attention and groaned.
"That's the guy I pissed off from the bar."
Elsie grinned suddenly. "Then you two should get along fine."
Without any further explanation, and before either could protest anything, the old woman stood with the help of the cane and shouted in that way of hers that could be heard across the sounds of traffic easier than a wailing child, "DOUG! JAMES!"
Both men turned and grins split their faces at the sight of the old woman waving madly at them.
They crossed the street, unaware of her company, and were soon throwing their arms around Elsie.
When they stepped back, Leila cleared her throat and muttered, "what luck we have, Claire."
Both men turned to look at the young women. They knew Claire immediately from the robbery from just a little while ago. She looked shaken, but otherwise fine. She obviously hadn't talked and had no idea that her attackers were there, standing a few feet away from her on this lovely, sunny Saturday.
Doug then saw the girl Jem had been close to getting into a fight with. Looking between her and Elsie, he could see they were indeed related.
So this was her granddaughter.
Jem scowled openly at Leila. Smirking back in reply, she said cheerily, ignoring Clare's eye roll and pointed look, "hey there, asshole. Having a nice day?"
Elsie sighed. "Excuse her," she said, shrugging, her green turning cheeky. "Doug, James, this is Leila and Claire. Leila, these boys have known me as long as I've known you."
From her time spent here as a child - and leaving when her parents had forced her to after age twelve - she didn't remember these boys. Then again, she hadn't had any friends before - or after - moving away from Massachusetts. She had moved from Denver, Colorado to Seattle for college. But that plan - school after high school - had failed miserably.
They were hardly boys, come to think of it.
"Leilah," Doug repeated, "sounds familiah'." The heavy Boston accent sparked something akin to irritation inside of Leila, but it was hard to dislike Doug. He seemed better than the loser next to him, who looked like he wanted to rip her head off.
Which he probably could have, if Elsie hadn't been right there.
Claire stood up silently, tugging on Leila's hand. The other girl got up, a look of understanding dawning, her smirk vanishing as if she'd never had it on her face in the first place.
"Gran, we've got to go," Leila said. Elsie's grin tuned itself down to a sad smile as she nodded and watched as the two girls took off, hand in hand.
Turning back to Doug and Jem, she commented, "Quite shaken, that one."
Doug nodded.
"James," she said, her smile widening again as her eyes fell on him, "what do you think of my granddaughter?"
Jem blinked, and then scowled, saying nothing.
The old woman cackled. "Maybe you'll get to know her an' like her."
"That'll be tha' fuckin' day," Doug smiled. He had to admit, he kind of liked this girl.
"The hell it well," Jem agreed, but he couldn't help but let his eyes follow Leila as she disappeared around a corner.
He hadn't missed the worried look on her face.
So the bitch wasn't all heartless, then.
Twice after that, Jem and Leila and run into each other on the street, cursing each other before going their separate ways. Claire and Doug had begun dating, which made Leila happy for her friend but also more suspicious about Jem.
He acted like he owned all of fucking Charlestown! It was grating on her nerves. Claire, though, seemed to be getting better after her ordeal with the bank robbery.
One day, Leila was standing on a street corner. Rain fell from the grey sky, sprinkling her, but she didn't care much. Muttering complaints about customers and bosses, she waited for the light to signal the okay on crossing the busy street. She was so caught up in her own thoughts and murmurs that she hadn't noticed Jem come up right behind her, and he didn't even realize it either until he heard a few words that seemed to belong to only one girl in Boston.
"Fucking impatient bastards... no goddamn manners... a lot like that James dude... the fuck?" she shook her head. "Thank God it's Friday."
Jem suddenly smirked and said loudly as more people joined them as traffic sped on, "God didn't make Friday."
She spun around and let out a squeak when her eyes fell on the bank robber - she didn't know that yet - and he chuckled at her reaction.
"Fuck you!" she snapped.
His smirk was crooked, in that smart-ass way of his, which irked her to no end. Why did they have to run into each other everywhere?
"Oh, come on, Leilah," he said, "it was funny."
She glared at him. "No, Jahmes, it wahs not," she mimicked his thick accent, making him glare right back, smirk gone in a blink of an eye.
"Shut yah' fuckin' mouth," he spat, walking ahead of her as the rest of the crowd walked. She jogged to catch up to him, although she had no idea why she even bothered.
"Since when can you tell me what to do?" she snapped as their feet met the sidewalk again. He halted and turned to face her. His eyes were dark, brooding - this look secretly scared her, but there was nothing she could do about, so why give him power over her emotions by letting him know she was terrified? - and he looked peeved.
She felt the exact same way.
Jem, on the other hand, was really enjoying this. It was actually quite fun to make fun of this young lady. Elsie had encouraged it since the last job and he had never once denied the old woman of what she wanted.
But he had no idea why she'd want him to piss off her grand kid.
"Since now," he snarled, none too kindly. Leila restrained herself from shrinking back. Showing fear was not an option - especially to a womanizing prick like him.
"Oh, really, James?" she snarled right back, nearly catching him off guard.
"It's Jem," he said immediately.
She blinked, her mouth forming a small 'o'.
"Oh."
He nodded, eyes narrowed.
When his eyes met hers, she felt it,
The most confusing sensation she'd ever felt.
A spark of something deep within her grabbed at heart and squeezed - hard - and she almost gasped.
What the fuck?
She scowled, hiding it. "Well, I've best be going, Jem."
He watched her turn abruptly and saw with a strange curiosity that she seemed to be trying to restrain herself from running away from him. This confused him greatly.
James Coughlin hated feeling confused.
Why the fuck would she run?
When she was out of sight, she clutched her chest, breathing heart as an image of a smirking Jem entered her mind. She had no idea what was wrong with her. Was she sick? Was she hurt? Had she eaten something? Was she insane?
What the fuck had happened?
She thought it over for a few long minutes, and then it hit her, as if it were the most obvious thing in the fucking universe.
With a sinking heart, she realized she had somehow fallen in love - love - with Jem Coughlin.
Why do I love someone who can never love me back?
Leila stood in front of the front door on the stoop, her hand raised, ready to knock on Jem's front door. This was probably the worst idea she'd ever had. But after a week of hell - work and the confusing knowledge that she loved someone who would always be a prick - she needed to tell him, and maybe she could somehow fall out of love.
Claire had told her that she would never fall out of love - she either got her heart broken or got her feelings returned. Claire had understood when this strange, unexpected-and-no-reason-for-it love had come out of nowhere.
Leila was nervous. It was getting late, and she wanted to get back before something bad happened. Another bank had been robbed, and she was getting scared, but apparently bank robberies were common here - fucking common! - bu she needed to do this.
She hesitantly knocked on the door.
Nothing.
Growing angry at her own fear and anxiety - and she really wanted to get this over with - she pounded on the door. A few seconds later, Krista - a woman who didn't actually hate her guts, and Jem's sister - opened the door.
On her hip was Shyne, who looked just as happy as her mother to see Leila on her doorstep.
"What can I do for yah'?" Krista asked, beckoning her inside, closing the door behind her.
"I... I need to talk to Jem." Leila swallowed hard.
"What for?"
The look on Leila's face told her everything she needed to know. The truth was, although she was a bit of a slut, Krista had noticed the way Leila was. And she somehow - it must've been instinct or something - knew that Leila intended to tell her brother of her feelings for him.
Krista liked Leila. Leila liked Krista. They got along perfectly well, unless Krista was high or drunk or both.
"He's out at th' moment. Youh' can stay till he comes bahck."
Leila shook her head, feeling dejected.
"No thanks," she mumbled, and with a sad smile left the Coughlin household.
Krista watched her go, wondering how in the hell Jem would react when his worst enemy loved him.
The next night, Leila was walking home alone, shivering, cursing working late and everything and everyone in the world - including her fucked up heart and fucked up love - when she coincidentally ran into Jem.
Great.
"Watch where yah' fuckin' - Leilah?"
Leila righted herself using the nearest wall, breathing a sigh of relief. Her heart began pounding, rushing in her ears as she examined Jem. Surprisingly enough, he looked sobered and slightly pissed off - although that part wasn't surprising.
He seemed to be always pissed off at something or someone.
"Hi there," she said nervously, her eyes darting around.
Jem didn't miss this. What the fuck was wrong with her? She'd been acting weird for a while, and no one would tell him why. Not even Krista.
He intended to find out now, since this chance was as good as any.
"What th' fuck is wrong with yah'?" he asked her.
Leila blinked. "Huh?"
"Youh've been ahctin' strange," he said, his dark, icy eyes narrowing.
Leila realized this might be the only opportunity to tell him... and the last. And this might be the last time she would ever see him. She was aware of the fact that he wouldn't love her back. She thought she knew what would happen, what he'd say and do.
Biting her lip, she sighed, running a hand over her face, feeling drained, but her feet were itching to run if she had to.
"I..."
"Yah' not hurt or sumthan'?"
She shook her head, secretly awed that he had showed that he actually gave a damn about someone else's well being. Did he know? No, she thought quickly, Krista would never and Claire refused to go near him alone.
Leila took a deep breath, let it out, and blurted, "I'm in love with you, James Coughlin" and sidestepped him, beginning to run, but she didn't get the chance to make her getaway. Instead, he whirled around, grabbed her wrist, and yanked her up against his chest, his eyes ablaze with anger.
He was furious and bewildered.
I'm in love with you, James Coughlin.
"Why."
She blinked. "Huh?"
"Why?" His eyes narrowed, refusing to release her. Was this some sort of joke? What was this?
She shook her head, her pale cheeks turning a bright red. "How the fuck should I know?" she snapped, trying to wriggle away from him, but he was too strong. "Maybe it's because you're an asshole, or maybe it's because of your smirk, or maybe it's because of your looks - wait a second, scratch that one, I would NEVER stoop to that level of shallowness - or maybe..." she shook her head again slowly and hung it in defeat. "Maybe it's just you, Jem," she said.
As she said this, he dropped her hand.
He was shocked.
This couldn't be real.
This wasn't happening.
She did not love him.
He coud not love her.
He noticed too late the shimmer in her eyes and she turned and fled, leaving him alone in his thoughts.
Oddly enough, something in his chest yanked on something else - hard - as she rounded the corner, but her footsteps could still be heard, although muffled slightly.
Jem scoffed.
Him?
Love her back?
The fuck was wrong with the world?
But the more he thought about it, the more he wanted to go see her again.
Maybe it's just you, Jem.
No...
it couldn't be...
could it?
Before the next - and final robbery - Jem found Leila alone in the park, staring off to space while sitting on a bench.
Watching her, he sighed.
He'd royally fucked up, letting her run off like that.
Slowly, he made his way over to her.
It had been two days since he'd seen her, two days since he'd heard of her, and he knew what she'd thought had been going through his head because of the expression he'd worn on his face.
For these past two days, through the highs of drugs and alcohol, he had reluctantly - oh so reluctantly - come to the conclusion that he fucking loved her back, that James fucking Coughlin fucking loved another human being. It was surreal, in all honesty. He'd never felt this way - never needed to, never wanted to - but here he was, making way towards her as clouds gathered and covered the sun, causing the day to grow suddenly dreary.
"Hey."
She whipped her head to the side and her eyes found him, looking uncomfortable. What the fuck was wrong with him? She wanted nothing more than him to go away. He couldn't possibly love her.
But she loved him.
And she didn't even know why.
No explanations, no proof as to why this had happened - zilch.
Fucking hell.
"Hi," she choked out.
"I have ta' tell yah' sumthan'," he said uneasily, glancing around, feeling so fucking stupid about this entire thing, but he wasn't one to be indenial about this sort of thing. If it existed, than it fucking existed.
"What?" her voice was shaky and quiet. Her eyes seemed lifeless. He wanted to change that. A lot.
For fucking reasons unknown to him as well.
"I... l..."
She waited patiently. What could he possibly want to say to her after her outburst?
Frustrated that he couldn't say it aloud, he marched right over to her, tilted her chin up with his calloused hands, and pressed his lips to hers for a brief moment of stunned silence before turning away, smirking triumphantly as a blush crept up her neck and face and something lit up in her eyes.
Right then, she knew he'd never say what she had said to him.
But that was okay.
Because if this was love to him, then it was good enough for her.
The day of the funeral, Leila sat with Claire, who was simply sitting and holding her hand.
Bank robber.
Thief.
Attacker.
And the fucking love of her fucking life.
Leila sighed as she headed for Claire's front door, preparing herself for a silent grave. Few had come to the funeral, but she had missed that, and now she was going to go on her own to say goodbye to the man once thought incapable of loving another human being.
Because had been James fucking Coughling.
James Coughlin would always be in her mind, no matter who he'd been, and what he'd been. He'd loved her in his own weird little way. And that had made her happy, for a few days at least though.
But it had been enough.
Who knew Jem could ever fall in love?
Especially with a woman like her?
Leila would never know.