by Shella
Warnings: Slash. Rejoice. Angst? Not really, just a bit of stress over Jalil's OCD. Rather plotless and pointless - I think I got the idea at about eight o'clock Sunday morning, when no reasonable person should be conscious.
A/N: Humbly dedicated to all Everworld slash authors. Arigato minna.
CNN Breaking News: It's our last night at Olympus before we follow a witch to find a witch. I've just been in Christopher's room for a couple of hours having a heart-to-heart. And then there's the small matter of a battle earlier in the day in which I rode a white winged horse into battle and became a bloodthirsty screaming maniac.
I dropped my glass. It hit red tablecloth and vomited black Coke. Red and black. Blood and ashes. Stains that I created, strains that are there because I killed and burnt and destroyed. Oh, God, I'm a murderer.
"Jalil? Jalil? Dude, are you all right?"
Christopher. Why is he here? Didn't I just leave his room?
"You just got an update, didn't you? What's happening over there?"
I shook my head, trying to get some sense into it. No matter how many times my memories merged, it always disoriented me. And this latest lot were as unlikely as any. Me, in Christopher's room? He and I having a deep 'n' meaningful? Any of us believing Senna's story about her mother? Reasonable, intellectual Jalil turning into a rampaging beast? Me, in Christopher's room?
"Uh, not a lot really," I said. I grabbed a napkin and started furiously wiping at the tablecloth, touching material and cold soft drink but feeling hot coals and warm blood.
"Here, I'll do that, you go and sort yourself out." Christopher pried them from my hands, hands now stained by the mad anarchy of war, and elbowed me off my seat.
"Thanks," I managed. I got to my feet despite having no room in my head for thinking about it. My Everworld and real world sets of memories had encountered one another, and neither was sure the other was telling the truth.
"You'd better tell me everything when you get back," Christopher called after me.
"Yeah, I will," I responded. "I'll just be a minute." I didn't look at him. Couldn't.
I wove my way through the tables in the restaurant like I'd had too much to drink, except at about twice the speed a drunk would be able to move. My hands itched. One more thing to add to the mess in my head.
Inside the men's room I shut the door behind me and bent over the sink. It was filthy. The taps, the basin, the walls were filthy. Everything was dirty, so dirty. My hands were crawling with ashes and dirt and blood and mud and Coke. I hesitated to touch the disgusting tap but had to. Had to get clean.
Water plunged out, scouring my palms and fingertips, gradually warming until it was scalding- hot. I rubbed soap over my hands, over the cuts and bruises and burns I had gained in the battle. They never mattered until I was back here, where I couldn't even see them, where they weren't real. But they were there, in my mind, in my head. I could never get clean but dammit, I could try.
Scrub ... scrub harder ... have to get clean ... so dirty ... so filthy, disgusting, diseased ... sickening...
I didn't even have to think about it. The compulsion took me over, swept me along in its wake, and I let it run its course while my mind focused on more important things.
Like the fact that I was here, in this men's room, in this restaurant, because I was on a date with Christopher.
In Everworld I'd seen and experienced some pretty weird things. I'd done stuff I never would have thought I'd do. Sung songs for Vikings? Lusted after a half-dead woman and an immortal pretty boy? Bargained with a dragon? Definitely not on my task list for the next millennia. But the trump card for unexpected activities had come from the real world, from the me that lived a normal life and did normal things. Who'd have thought it.
"There's a movie I want to see," he'd said on the phone. "You doing anything tonight? Oh, and this place down the road serves really good pizza. It's not quite gazelle haunch but you said you like pizza."
Yeah. Real casual. We both knew he was b.s.-ing.
But I played along, pretended to ask dad if I needed to baby sit tonight, checked my busy social schedule (hah. Yeah, right) to be sure I wasn't double-booked, and then said yes. What exactly I was saying yes to, I don't think I was sure yet.
All three of us - Christopher, David and I - had protested so much about not noticing Ganymede, had been so certain no guy could attract us despite the fact that he definitely had. And yet two of us were unofficially hooking up. Yeah, that's life for you.
I washed my hands again. And then again.
Not clean yet. Just once more. Twice. Three times more. Four, five, six. Has to be seven. The number is seven. Seven times, until the skin is raw and red, until it stings and hurts. Then they'll be clean. Sort of.
My shirt needed the attention as much as they did.
Damn. This was a good shirt, too. Casual but nice. Dark blue. With plain black slacks and black boots it was good enough for a date without looking like I'd dressed up. I didn't want to look like I'd made an effort, after all. Somehow, Christopher had had the same idea and was wearing almost exactly the same kind of thing. Strange. For two polar opposites we sometimes thought on a scarily similar wavelength.
How else could we have talked for two solid hours? I'd gone to his room to tell him to shut up because his restless pacing was keeping me awake, and we ended up sitting or sprawling on his bed as we talked on and on about everything. Olympus. Senna. David. April. Loki. Ka Anor. I'd known Christopher could talk crap for hours on end, making no more sense and enlightening no more meaning than a four-month-old baby responding to Sesame Street, but it surprised me to learn that when he felt like it he could actually speak seriously. And to engage me in a compelling, revealing conversation, to make me respond with the same depth and sincerity he showed me ... Well, I wouldn't have picked it.
But it was nice. I liked it. I liked feeling some sort of camaraderie, of connection, between us. I liked seeing the proof that Christopher wasn't just a big, dumb surfer dude. He'd changed since we came to Everworld, gotten some sort of sense knocked into him. But I'll admit, it hadn't really been that obvious until he gave up immortality.
For some reason the fact that he hadn't tried to save Ganymede's life, failed to repay the debt the Trojan had placed on him, had affected Christopher more than anything else up to that point. The process had already begun - Ganymede's death confirmed it. No time had this been clearer to me than during that conversation.
We'd talked about Ganymede a lot, actually. I guess he was the kind of person who affected everybody around him without even trying. He sure as hell got under my skin. It wasn't just the ridiculously pretty face, the look-at-me butt, the come-hither eyes. He was a guy who'd smile at you and you couldn't help smiling back. He was serious and cheerful, and so sincere it'd take a troll not to like him. He'd saved Christopher's life.
It was impossible for Christopher not to feel something for the guy, so I didn't bother asking and he never spelled it out. At first Ganymede's death had wrecked him, but the resulting effect wasn't that of someone mourning a lover - it was a partly unconscious determination to be a better person, to try and make up for his mistake.
"Jalil?"
Speak of the devil.
"Uh, are you okay?"
Oh, crap.
How long had he been standing there without me realizing? How long had he been watching me wash my hands, again and again, unable to stop, unable just this once to think my way out of a problem?
I turned around. Looked at his face.
Long enough. He'd seen. He knew.
Shit.
We stared at each other. Unable to speak. Unable to think of anything to say. My hands were still wet, still dripping with water and soap bubbles. I held them out before me, clawed, absurd sopping testaments to my inner demon, the manifestation and antonym of my need for control. Not reaching for help. Not even wanting to go back to the sink anymore. Jesus, of all the people-
He took a step toward me. And I was vividly reminded of the day Senna had healed me, just for a moment, just to show me what she could give me. I'd been almost paralysed then, too. The fear of someone finding out my weakness, my hateful, despicable weakness, was almost too much to think about.
As for that person being Christopher ... Just the thought made me feel physically ill. The reality was worse.
"Jalil ... jeez, man ... I don't know what to say." Stunningly intellectual as always. "I had no idea..." Another step. "It's that obsessive thing, isn't it? Obsessive-comparative?"
"Compulsive," I corrected.
"Right." He was staring at me, at my eyes.
Yeah, Christopher, this is me. Jalil. The black nerd. The same guy you asked out on a date. Wasn't quite what you expected, was it? Well, you can leave now if you want. Just hightail it out of here and spread the word that Mr Honor Student, Logic and Reason is a freak. Go on. I wouldn't blame you.
But he wasn't leaving. He wasn't moving toward the door - he was moving toward me. A step closer at a time. We were arm's distance apart now and I felt like crying.
"Look," he began. Nervous. Apprehensive. "I can tell you hate this - I'm not smart, but I know that much. I know this is your own ... your own issue, so I don't know if you'd want me to help you, but ... I'm just gonna tell you now, lay it out, that if you do, then I'm here, all right? If there's anything I can do..." He trailed off, looking uncertain. I felt the whoosh of some extreme, souped-up form of relief sweep through my stomach.
"Thanks," I said, almost automatically, and nearly hit myself. Thanks? That's all I could say? Thanks was an understatement. Thanks was to what I felt as a bathtub was to the Pacific Ocean. Thanks was nothing. My biggest worry in the world had just been turned on its head and chased out of town. Christopher knew my secret and he didn't despise me. Maybe April's ideas weren't such a load of crap after all.
Hang on, he was talking again. And he'd taken another step closer.
"Uh, you can call this a distraction tactic if you want..."
"Call what a what?"
His face was about two inches from mine.
"...Oh."
Ok, so it wasn't the most romantic place for a kiss. The men's room, for God's sake. It was awkward - my hands were still dripping wet, still nagging to be cleaned, and I felt more likely to be terrified than to enjoy it. But at that particular moment I couldn't really care less. I would've married him then and there if he'd asked me. He knew me and he still wanted me. How much more could I ever want out of life?
"C'mon." We'd broken apart for breath and I found myself looking at Christopher's grinning face. I grinned too. Couldn't help myself. "Let's blow this Popsicle stand."
I followed him out of the restaurant, pausing only to split the bill and dry my hands on a napkin. His car was parked around the corner and we walked there in a comfortable silence with the evening air streaming through our lungs.
We'd just gotten in when Christopher was hailed by a pair of guys I didn't know. They were bigger than either of us and wore amicable grins, but looked at me with curiosity as they jogged across the street to us.
"Chris, man, where've you been?" grinned the first jovially. Christopher wound down his window and the guy leaned on the door to talk.
The second guy nodded a greeting to me before turning his attention to the conversation between the other two. I thought he'd dismissed me, but the first words out of his mouth made me freeze. "On a date, are you, Chris?"
My mind stuttered and jarred to a halt. Oh crud. What do I say, what do I say? Can't directly deny it, that'll just make it more suspicious. Need a cover story. Quick, Jalil, quick, you're supposed to be the smart one, think of something! Don't panic, don't sound defensive, be cool and calm and-
Christopher laughed. "Yeah, this is my boyfriend, Jalil."
I was incredibly glad I managed to suppress a thousand-volt shock of surprise to a mere raised eyebrow and bemused expression.
The other two guys laughed at Christopher's reply and even more at the look on my face. I began to breathe again, and slowly my face and my heartbeat relaxed as I forced myself to go along with the joke.
"Chemistry tutoring gets kinda boring after a while," Christopher was confiding. "And then there's all those stories you hear about teachers and their thing for discipline..."
"You like getting the strap, do you? Didn't know you were into that sort of stuff, Chris!" snorted the second guy.
His companion joined in. "But what about me, Chrissy?" he pouted, trying unsuccessfully to flutter his eyelashes. "Don't you remember what you said to me last night?" The other two cracked up laughing.
"Nah, you're just a crap root," Christopher replied.
It took way too long for them to leave. By the time they crossed the street, still chuckling, and we were alone again, my face felt wooden from the effort of forcing laughter for so long. Christopher started the engine again and pulled out, looking about as amused as I felt.
We'd been driving for a couple of minutes before he spoke. "Sorry about those guys," he mumbled. "They're just a pair of idiots." He hesitated, then, "I think they sort of realized we're serious, but unless I actually come ou-unless I tell them I do actually like you I don't think they'll say anything. They wouldn't like the idea of me having a boyfriend so they'll try and pretend they don't know anything."
Silence fell. I realized we were headed for my house. Not Makeout Ridge. I was relieved. Or maybe disappointed, I wasn't sure.
"So I'm your boyfriend now?" I asked.
The question was sudden. I hadn't realized I was saying it until I'd said it.
"Yeah. I mean, if you want to be." Christopher, unsure of himself? Now I've seen everything.
I nodded. Out of the corner of my eye I saw that he was watching me. He grinned again and somehow the sheer delight I could see in that expression made me smile too. I felt like an idiot and knew I looked like one, but it didn't really matter. I had more important things to think about.
It wasn't long before the car stopped outside my house. Christopher turned the engine off and we sat for a moment.
"Good movie, huh?" he said.
"Yeah, it was," I agreed. I didn't remember much of the film. Mostly I remembered my elbow touching Christopher's on the armrest, since neither of us actually tried the old yawn-stretch- and-put-your-arm-around-them routine. Pity. "Do you want to come up?" I asked.
Instantly I cringed. God, I sounded like some coy, blushing girl from a primetime teen drama.
"Oh, I'd like that. If you think it's proper, of course." Of course he noticed the mistake. Of course he responded to it. This was Christopher, after all. I glared at him.
"Shut up," I suggested.
He grinned. "Fine then, I won't come up. How about I go down instead?"
I felt my face begin to heat up. "Yeah, I guess that'd be acceptable," I mumbled. Had to answer back, of course. And got out of the car.
We got past my parents easily enough. Christopher had never been to my house before, but they knew I was his chemistry tutor (true story, I swear - he just twisted it) so they knew his name and that he was vaguely respectable.
Respectable. Christopher. Yeah, right.
The second we were out of sight of my parents as I led him up the stairs to my room, he pinched my ass.
I almost hit him. Partly because of the action itself, partly because of the smug self- satisfied smirk on his face when he saw my reaction. I liked Christopher. I liked him a lot and I'd be the first to admit it. But he still annoyed the hell out of me regularly.
We reached my room without any attempts on Christopher's life, possibly for the sole reason that there had been no other attempts on my butt. The brief moment had served to break the tension, but I was still nervous as I shut my bedroom door behind us. Just slightly too nervous to actually leave the doorway.
Christopher stood in the middle of the room, trying to look relaxed and not really managing it. "Uh ... it's neat," he said at last.
I looked at him. "Tactful."
He had the grace to look like he was swallowing his foot. "Shit, Jalil, I didn't ... I wasn't thinking..."
"So, no change from usual, then," I responded.
He glared for a moment, then backed down, grinning ruefully. "I guess I deserved that," he said.
"Yeah."
"Can I make it up to you?" he asked slyly. I grinned, even as I felt blood rushing to my face.
"I guess so."
And then he was across the room, pushing me back against the door, hands pulling my hips to his, and his mouth was on mine. I "mmph"-ed and opened for him, feeling his lips smush against my own, too hungry and impatient for tongue. He wanted me. For a blinding, searing moment that was all I was aware of - the fact that he was determined to have me and make me his. I groaned.
I wrapped an arm around his neck, shoving away from the door with the other, and we staggered across the room together. He dumped me on my bed and fell on top of me, one knee, then both, between mine. Now he was attacking my ear with eager tongue as I attacked his shirt with fumbling fingers. His pelvis was pressed against mine and it felt so odd to have him between my legs - odd, but incredible. Then he began rocking back and forth, hands still grasping my hips, and I swore reverently. I lifted his head and kissed him again, devoured him, claimed his mouth as I knew he was going to claim my body.
And then the lamp flared and the toga-clad servant whipped the blankets from my bed, and I gasped something that would have been obscene had I been anywhere except Ancient Greece.
"Please, Master Jalil, the chariots will be assembling in one hour," came the voice, and I blinked madly. "Breakfast is already on the table."
...You've got to be kidding.
The servant giggled. "You can't start a journey to Egypt on an empty stomach." Then her eyes travelled playfully down my body and back up again. "Nor in such thrifty clothing."
"Please leave," I said politely, but my face was scalding hot and I knew there was murder in my eyes. She smirked and obeyed, leaving me alone.
I groaned and covered my face with my hands. Of all the times to wake up! Who knew how long it would be before I was back there, with Christopher ... how long before I could remember and know what had happened...
"Jalil! You awake?"
I scrambled to lay hold of the recently-removed blankets and bunch them around my waist, only just managing to cover myself as the door opened and Christopher walked in. His hair was ruffled and his eyes snapping bright. They widened and he gave a lewd, appreciative leer as he saw my undressed state.
"You too, huh?" he grinned, and sat on my bed. "Wouldn't you know, some bloody servant comes in and wakes me up just as I'm taking off your pants. I mean, what a sense of timing! Hey, don't you dare blush!"
Too late. I'd gone bright red, I could feel it.
Christopher smirked and crawled over to me. "Don't tell me you're embarrassed," he said huskily, and put a hand on my chest. I felt heat, and wondered whether it was from his skin or mine. Then he pushed me onto my back. I made an "oof" sound and lost my blankets. He was on all fours above me, leaning down to graze my lips with his. I could feel the heat of his breath washing over me, but the romantic moment was ruined by the fact that he hadn't seen a toothbrush or a Tic Tac in a few months.
"Get off me," I said, and shoved him away. "Your breath stinks."
He laughed and rolled away, getting to his feet. "I love you, too," he teased, and grabbed my clothes from where they'd been folded neatly on a seat after being washed. He passed them to me and was out the door in the space of a moment.
I sighed. "There, but for the grace of personality, go I," I muttered, and started getting dressed. All the while I wondered what I'd gotten myself into.