The day Dee and Ryo come out at work (for the precious few who haven't already figured it out), Drake shakes their hands and congratulates them. He sorts the data for two unsolved cases and wraps up a minor burglary report on his own. Takeout Chinese for dinner, vegetable lo mein and an egg roll. He calls his girlfriend to let her know he's got to cancel. Then he gathers his files, rents Harvey from the video store, and buys two tubs of Ben and Jerry's AmeriCone Dream.

He pulls up to the apartment building around eleven at night. Even with the blinds drawn, he can see the lights on in JJ's living room.

JJ answers the door in a blue bathrobe, one of his bedroom slippers missing and his eyes puffy and red-rimmed. "Oh," he says, faintly. "I love you."

Drake grins and flourishes a plastic spoon at him.

Most important things go first. JJ snatches one of the ice cream buckets from him, clutching it like a lifeline—it probably is, considering JJ's too conscious of his wallet to buy sweets regularly, and too conscious of his appearance to buy them looking like he's a wreck. "Sweet heaven," mumbles JJ, ripping off the lid unceremoniously. He shoves a spoonful in his mouth, closes his eyes, and makes a tiny whimpering noise.

Then he remembers to step aside and let Drake into the apartment.

JJ's apartment is a lot neater than Drake's place, but it's less lived-in, too. There are still boxes waiting to be unpacked from his move from L.A., stacked in the corner with their lids flapping wide open. The kitchen is the most comfortable, and most used, of any of the rooms—yellow and open, boxes of ammo mixed in with the silverware. They bypass it for the living room, which is normally tidy—the throw over the sofa positioned just so because otherwise it drives JJ crazy, and a set of tasteful lamps and pillows that are color-coordinated—and homey-cheerful in the way Drake's mother used to be, before the cancer. He likes JJ's place. Every time he comes over, something new is on the walls, something strictly Jemmy J. Adams. Besides, Drake knows no one else who has the balls to keep a rifle under their mattress (as it's both dangerous and uncomfortable). And the story behind Drake discovering that is best left untouched, much like the rifle itself.

Right now, there's tissue boxes littering the carpet and an empty pizza box on the coffee table. A far cry from normalcy. Drake moves aside the red comforter on the couch and surveys the damage. "Wow," he says. "You left me to work all by myself without a word, for this?"

"Don't even," warns JJ, the ice cream carton tucked under one arm as he digs into the plastic sack Drake had waved at him. He pulls out the VHS tape and smiles, brief but honest. "Jeez, you brought me Jimmy Stewart."

"Well. You told me he was the cure for heartbreak once. I think."

"And aren't you a very good listener?" JJ waggles a finger at him. "You, mister, have just earned a place on my top five favorite things list. I'm even gonna let you eat some of this ice cream."

"I did bring two tubs."

"Like I said."

There's a show about schools of fish on the television right now, muted, the Discovery Channel logo in the corner. JJ puts in Harvey and the screen goes dark. "You don't want to talk?" asks Drake, watching him.

"Nope. Not even a bit," JJ affirms. "No sir, I'll do plenty of talkin' about Jimmy-darling's eyes, and his perfect voice and his lost cause of a hair-do, but that's it."

"Do you have to do it out loud?"

"Oh, Jimmy. Leave your invisible rabbit, I'll be your snuggle bunny."

Drake laughs. After a while of partnering with JJ, he's figured out that's all you can do sometimes. "C'mon," he says, patting the comforter blob next to him. "You can snuggle with me for a while, if you promise to keep your hands to yourself."

JJ smiles at him again, wobbly and sweet. "Aww. Drake. I…" Then he wraps up in his blanket and settles on the sofa. True to his word, Drake stretches his arm out and JJ fits there, overheated but small, curled up to Drake's side with the ice cream still lovingly clutched at hand. "Thanks," mumbles JJ, once he's draped himself comfortably.

"Eh, whatever. Don't mention it." Drake pauses. "I mean that—don't, dude."

JJ sniffles and then barks a laugh.

They watch the movie for a while, JJ making pointed comments at the screen that either send Drake chuckling or groaning to himself. The ice cream melts fast, but it's funny watching JJ try to drink it like a shake. When they're both sticky, sleepy, and the credits are rolling, Drake squeezes JJ all gentle-like and says, "You're gonna be okay."

JJ sighs. "I know. It's not like I didn't already know."

"Yeah."

"It's just different, when you can have a little hope. If Ryo wasn't gonna come out and just… say it, then maybe…" JJ falls silent, and then goes, "Oh well. It's like you said, Drake-senpai. Plenty of fish in the sea."

That reminds Drake of their conversation and its abrupt ending on the rooftop a few months ago. He shifts, uneasy. "Yeah, well… There are tons, believe me. You'll find another guy. A gay guy," he adds, unnecessarily, but hey, better safe than sorry. He quite emphatically does not think about the kiss they shared (brief, airy, the jaw line all wrong).

JJ hums, fingering Drake's sleeve. "You know why I like Jimmy?" he finally asks.

"Er. Well. You said… what, his eyes and stuff, right?"

"He's always the guy that keeps pushing the envelope," JJ tells him, uncharacteristically quiet. "In this film, he just keeps believing, even when everyone is telling him he's crazy. Guys who pick themselves back up are easy maintenance, you know? That's what I was always told. It made me so happy 'cause I thought I was already like that. I really wanted to be the kind of guy everyone wanted to be around. I figured, that's an easy type to love." His voice catches. "Piece of cake, see?"

Drake doesn't know exactly what to say to that. He goes with his gut, which has gotten him far enough in his job, at least. "JJ, you're…"

"What?"

"You're definitely not easy maintenance," Drake finishes lamely.

JJ stills. And then, burying his face into Drake's shoulder, he bursts out laughing. "Oh," he hiccups, punching Drake, "that's… You're priceless, Drake-senpai!"

"Um. Sorry."

"No, don't—" and he's breathless, and still worn from crying, but he's got that shine back in him that makes Drake feel like JJ is a hundred years younger than he could ever hope to be. "I needed to hear that. And the movie and the ice cream—you're a good buddy, Drake. You're way too nice to me."

Drake pats his back. "Sure, sure. I just knew you'd feel like crap after… y'know, the whole thing." He looks up, embarrassed for a reason he can't pinpoint. "Look, partners watch out for each other."

JJ squeezes him, oddly gentle. "When do I get to watch out for you, Drake?"

The question, for all its surface levity, is a serious one. Drake blinks and glances back down at JJ, only to find his stare caught and affixed. He's always known JJ to be a minefield of emotions. But sometimes, like now, his partner seems to be filled with a single-minded intensity, as if the entire world has narrowed down to the case file sitting before them, the target behind his rifle lens, and in this moment, the flustered expression of Drake's face. It's impossible to look away.

Drake used to wonder how Dee ever resisted being caught by that look. As if being swung up by hooks and thread, Drake feels like he's dangled, helpless and bereft. He's always known it, but somehow—yes, JJ is almost beautiful.

JJ tilts his head. "Drake," he murmurs.

But the thought of Dee has somehow done it. Drake shakes his head, not unkindly, and ruffles JJ's hair with his free hand. "Right now, it's about you. You'll get a chance later, I bet. But right now… I just want you to talk to me, buddy. About whatever you need to."

Like a light gone out, JJ lets the fire die behind his eyes. He closes them and hugs Drake. "I don't know…"

"Just say what you need to say, man. That's all."

"But—"

"You can trust me," Drake tells him, because if there's one thing he's always known, it's that JJ does trust him. It's a fact Drake hopes to never abuse.

And he doesn't tonight. JJ speaks, at first haltingly and then with great difficulty, and finally through tears that aren't always so much upset as they are nostalgic. He tells Drake about Dee. Drake knows plenty about Dee, but he doesn't know Dee through JJ, and today he gets his crash course. JJ tells him about the Academy, about how he can't hate Ryo, and all the stupid but heart-warm dreams he's had for the future that's not going to come. Truth be told, listening to him, Drake can see for the first time why JJ loves Dee Laytner so passionately. For the first time, it feels real, not just a farce—that's why Drake can mourn with him for what's been lost, because it's real to JJ.

(The tiny pang he feels of annoyance tinged with envy, that he'll ignore. More truth be told, listening to JJ makes Drake feel like he could fall in love with Dee, too—but it's not Dee that captures him, it's not Dee that Drake puts to bed well past two, well past the point where Drake's body aches to follow, to soothe, to touch deeper.)

He sits in the dark well after, trying to swallow the taste of ice cream. Abruptly, Drake feels as though everything is going to change, and he's not ready at all.