Note: I don't own anything. The places, the characters...none of it. It all belongs to Warner Bros and a bunch of guys who failed to see the true potential when it was slapping them in the face.
Revisionist History Chapter 7: Resolve
It felt like old times, the two of them traipsing around a big city's streets. Even without the normal crush of ivy leaguers and party kids, Boston was still swamped with people moving from place to place without concern for anything but their intended business - which, in the days spanning between Christmas and the beginning of the new year, was likely gift return and party planning. Drue and Jen had neither to do. For them, there was nothing but time. Time to enjoy the city, time to enjoy the madness around them. Time to enjoy one another.
Not surprisingly, Grams had been quite open to the idea of Drue staying at the house until Jack and Dawson returned. She had gone as far as stripping down Dawson's attic bed and replacing his sheets with a brand new set she had bought specially for Drue. Drue had been somewhat abashed by the whole display, constantly reassuring Grams that it was he who owed her the debt of gratitude, not the other way around. Jen, on the contrary, could not help but be amused by her grandmother's actions, and endeared at the subtle bond that was developing between the two most unlikely of allies. Watching them interact - Grams had taken it upon herself to teach Drue to cook while he was in her house - illuminated for Jen, and anyone who chose to see it, a strange connection that existed outside of their worry and concern for Jen's well being. Grams appeared to genuinely enjoy Drue's company, as much as if he were any of her other boys, and she was beginning to see him as a person. She was taking the time to do what others in Jen's life had not and it warmed Jen to know that she was doing it as much for herself as for the sake her granddaughter.
Mrs. Valentine had been less understanding about the whole situation, using Drue as her ill-chosen outlet. By Jen's estimation, she should have been angry at the man who had actually failed her instead of unleashing on Drue. Yet she had listened to the women's harpy shriek from the kitchen as Drue held the phone away from his ear in the living room when he explained everything to her. The only way to ease her uncontrollable rage, help her gain much needed perspective, was for Grams to offer up her own gentle persuasion. How Drue was doing her a favor with his attentiveness, keeping Jen's spirits high in her time of need. She made Drue out to be no less than a saint, highlighting how he must have learned such devotion and thoughtfulness somewhere, without ever stating that it was a results of Mrs. Valentine's impeccable mothering skills and magnanimous influence. Watching Grams deceive in such a way had a strange, but equally impressive, power to it, leaving Jen slack jawed with disbelief. But the intervention was successful; Mrs. Valentine had been convinced. Drue was to check in every few days and that was the end of calamity.
"There?" asked Jen, pointing to a shabby building - the remnants of plum colored paint chipping from weather worn brick - standing alone on the corner opposite them. At Jen's request, they had detoured from the bustle of the downtown crossing and found themselves exploring the side and back roads that skirted Boston Universities outer perimeter.
"Yup. That's where I got it," Drue said simply.
For Christmas, he'd bought her a CD - seemingly impersonal had it not been a replacement for a favorite she had lost somewhere between hometowns. The fact that he remembered the mention of its loss - and that she now saw that it had not been easy to locate - was the real gift.
"How did you find it?" she asked, pulling her scarf tight over her face as the wind whipped into gusts.
He turned towards her, his back bracing them both. "I had plenty of free time over the last few weeks. I walked around a lot and happened to stumble upon it. Besides, growing up in New York, you learn that the best places are usually the ones that are hidden away, hard to find."
"Very true."
The odd, satisfied expression crossing her face affirmed his statement. All of her favorite places in New York had been a mystery to most of the people she'd known. She had preferred it that way. No one could find her if she did not want them to, which was her objective most of the time. Now, exploring the backstreets of Boston, filling her world up with new places, she was reminded what she loved about big cities.
It was also the first time she had moved easily, mingling with the general public, in months. She felt unsafe in its confides, still struggling with being part of something that she felt abandoned by, but she felt the urgency in its necessity. Exposing herself, little by little, had proven to be the safest course of action.
She had quickly learned her own parameters - what was too much, how far she could push herself - and made attempts to adjust to them when necessary. Tough days were still quite common. Everywhere she went, men bumped into her and looks were passed her way. It was all still quite unsettling. But she found that standing up instead of running away to be fulfilling. She also found renewed comfort in Drue's subtle, yet equally overwhelming, encouragement and his presence next to her wherever she went.
"So," she asked as she looked up and down the street before crossing, "What are your big plans for tonight?"
"I am going to end up sitting on the sofa with you, eating popcorn and watching the ball drop."
Her face scrunched up. "Is it sad that Grams has a more active social life than either of us? I mean, weren't we two of the premiere party kids of the upper east side at one point?"
"Yes, we were. Now, we're…"
"Completely lame," she quipped.
He knew that she could not be happier about a quiet night at home while the rest of the world drunk itself into another dismal year. While she was progressing, socially recovering, throwing herself back into a party scene was something she would never again do. That was the case even before the attack. "I was going to give us a break and say reformed. Besides, it could be worse. Remember that New Years eve we spent in an abandoned subway station with a homeless guy and 3 drunk girls?"
"If I recall correctly, you weren't complaining about those girls until…"
"One of them threw up on my shoes," he finished.
"Up 'til then, you were totally hitting on them."
"Only because I knew it annoyed you. Driving you crazy was a favored hobby in those days."
She smiled. "That's changed?" She bumped his arm with her elbow.
Her level of comfort regarding physicality and proximity with him changed frequently. She still shied away from some casual touches - a ruffle of the hair, a playful bump of the hip - while, at times, initiating them. Drue could never be entirely sure what was appropriate, or what would inevitably set her off, but he had learned not to completely stifle his actions. It was simply a matter of refining his manner and reaction. He prepared himself for her to recoil more than half of the time, and whenever she did not, her trust in him helped reinforce what little confidence he had in his ability to support her.
"Never, Lindley. Not as long as you can't help but be jealous of other girls wanting me."
"Ah, yes. These mysterious 'other girls'," she teased. "I have heard mention of them time and time again yet I've never actually seen one."
He half-smiled, uneasy at the truth in her insinuation. "Again, jealousy. I don't want some girl to end up without an eye because you get catty and try to gauge it out."
The sound of their shared laughter faded quickly as they boarded the bus as it pulled up to their stop. She slid into a seat near the back, closest to the window. He sat next to her, blocking the aisle as he always did.
"You know, if you really do want to make other plans, don't feel like you are obligated to me," she said lightly, trying to sound nonchalant.
"What are you babbling about, now?"
"Stop it," she said, sounding too serious for the conversation they were having. "I don't want you giving up a night of fun just for me."
"I'm not giving anything up. I'll be right where I want to, with the person I want to be with, okay?" he insisted.
After a moment, she took his hand in hers and tentatively rested her head on his shoulder.
***
She would never understand the appeal of standing out in Time Square, in subzero cold, practically being felt up by six strangers, just to brag about the experience of something so arbitrary as the passing of another year. Possibly because she was cynical, possibly because she had done it herself once out of boredom and been thoroughly unimpressed. All she'd had to show for it was a broken shoe, a softball-sized bruise on her left side, and the feeling of loneliness that overwhelmed the high of mystery narcotics.
Evenings on the sofa, a bowl of lightly salted popcorn - a strange preference that she and Drue shared - balancing on the middle cushion, hugged on each side by a respective hip, was becoming its own ritual, completely unrelated to any holiday festivities. It was a part of their days that each knew the other secretly enjoyed more than any other. Sometimes, the would watch movies, compliments of what Dawson considered his secret film stash though Drue had no trouble finding it. Dawson stored his movies like teenaged boys did dirty magazines - under the bed. Also compliments of many a movie night at the Leery's, Jen would drive Drue absolutely mad with endless analysis, technical criticisms and useless trivia, never allowing him to fully enjoy what he was watching. His revenge always came on the evenings when they were either sit quietly, relaxing, or when Jen would lay down on the sofa to read.
Innocently enough, he would set himself at her feet, always welcome company to her, though she knew his intention. In the time it took for them to exchange a look, he had yanked the socks off her feet and was out of the room. When she gave chase, shouting threats in response to his taunts, Grams would scold them both through a smile, reprimanding them for pounding up and down the stairs like two, reckless children. When Jen decided not to indulge his whims, which was hardly ever, he would eventually come back down to the sofa and put the socks back on her feet, never conceding defeat.
It felt good, to Jen, to act out of sorts, like the rabid child Gram's playfully accused her of being. With the others, she had always felt the need to be a little more reserved, a little more guarded. She could tear through the house manically, jumping on and over furniture in pursuit of something as ridiculous as stolen socks. That was not part of the Jen they knew, no matter how well they claimed to know her; it was not a part she felt comfortable showing to anyone other than Drue, for he had seen her much worse. Drunk, high, crawling up a city sidewalk with vomit down the front of her shirt, letting guys put their hands, and other various parts of themselves, anywhere under her skirts they chose. At her lowest points, he saw her. Sometimes inciting and exasperating the problem - he could be equally depraved - others, picking her up out of her own mess. To him, witnessing the brief moments of complete release of self was cathartic rather than disturbing. Whereas others might see an act of madness, he would see healing.
She looked over at him trying to fit a fistful of popcorn in his mouth. He obviously was not worried about her seeing him in that way either, though she knew it was never as easy for him as he made it appear. Just like with Jack, the re-establishment of trust between them would take time. But history was on their side. Knowing what they could have, feeling it more intimately with one another than with anyone, would both ease and complicate the process making it more tangible and less easily destroyed again.
"So," she said as she twisted her body around to face him, "If you could kiss any girl at midnight, who would it be. And I'm talking anyone - super models, actresses…your cousin…"
His eyes shifted from the absent stare he had rooted in the television screen. "Wait, what?! What kind of question is that?"
"The fun kind. Unless it is not a girl your after. Maybe there's a special fella you fancy."
He grabbed up a handful of popcorn and threw it at her. "From kissing cousin jokes to gay jokes. How very original."
"Stop being so uptight," she teased as she retaliated by launching her own popcorn attack. "I was just killing time with conversation. You don't have to answer if you don't want."
"Conversation? What, the lame band of the minute slated to usher us into the new year isn't keeping you entertained."
She rolled her eyes. "Please. Anything but that," she insisted.
"Okay. How about…New Year's resolutions?" he asked.
"Don't believe in them. Resolve is an action, not a phrase. Saying it isn't doing it. And intentions never get the job done."
He shook his head, trying to hide a slight smirk from her. "Jen Lindley, true to form. So…no resolutions. Then, what?"
"Hmm…I don't know."
"How about…something about the last year that you didn't do but should have?"
"That sounds strangely like a resolution but worded differently," she said skeptically.
He groaned, raking his fingers through his hair. "Humor a guy, will you?" "Okay, okay… Well, it is always my goal to be a better friend. But…we know how that turned out this past year. I lied to all of my friends, hurt two of them and my best friend hates me. Not that I don't deserve it. "
They had discussed the matter before on several occasions. The first night he had stayed in Dawson's room, they had sat on opposite ends of his bed, Jen explaining to Drue the exact nature of what had transpired between she and Jack. How she had inadvertently defended him while accusing Jack of having some role in her misfortune. Though he could not understand why she would do such a thing, or how it had even come to pass, he allowed a small part of himself to be grateful that she had even thought to shift some of the blame off of him. If she did not blame him, it made it harder for him to blame himself.
He also painfully aware that if she did not blame him, or blame Jack, as she had claimed not to, she was blaming herself. When confronted with the idea, she had denied it, though not convincingly, by asserting that it was simply too hard to accept that no one was to blame. Without a tangible culprit, there was no one to explain the motives or reasons, and without that, it was difficult accept that there was no blame to be had. Finding the balance, she had said, was something she successfully attempted daily. Drue held steadily to his theory, doubting that her leniency stretched so far as to forgive herself whatever fault she felt she had in the matter, but kept it to himself. There would be no point in challenging her and, in turn, being detriment to her progress.
"Jack doesn't hate you," he said, quietly. "From all you tell me about him, and all that I've seen, he can't hate you. "
"You know, you give me too much credit. You would be well within your rights to hate me as well."
"Hating you is useless, Jen." A lesson that first had experience had taught him. He had laid in bed many a night during their time apart, resolving to hate her the next morning when he awoke. But the mornings always passed with him longing to have her close again. She may have felt that she deserved to be on the receiving end of his animosity but every negative thought brought him more grief than satisfaction. The only way he felt good was when he was with her, angry or not, and hating her only kept him away. All he accomplished was punishing himself. "I couldn't if I tried, and that's how I know Jack doesn't. I think he just hates what happened."
"Maybe." She stared at the television, intent only on blocking out her thoughts with the whine of whatever irritating band was playing Dick Clark's celebration show. She did not want to let herself believe him even though her sincerest hope was that he was right. "I guess there is no point in beating myself up over it right now, though. How about you? What about this last year would you change?"
"We going to be super lame and count it down?" he asked, successfully avoiding her question.
She grinned as the word five trickled from her mouth. He joined in and before he could tick off one as the clock turned over, he felt soft lips on his. The initial surprise dispursed almost immediately and he laced his fingers through her hair, the sweet, tantalizing mix of their breath enticing.
"What's this?" he spoke through this kiss.
She leaned back slightly. "This is me, kissing the boy I wanted to kiss at midnight."
"Nothing about us is that simple. You cannot just kiss me out of the blue and have it be a casual, celebratory gesture between friends."
She kissed him again, knowing that she had already broke the promise she made to him weeks earlier. "I know."
He didn't want her to stop; he didn't want to stop. But he needed more of an answer than she was giving. He would accept almost anything, but had to be something more. "So what does it mean?"
"Something good, I hope."
"I hope so too," he said, standing up. "But I think you need to take some time to figure it out before we do that again, if we do it again." He kissed her on top of her head. "Happy New Year, Jen."