Four years later, Drake has a baby boy.

The smokers are outside in the hospital parking lot, sucking on cigars and slapping the new father on the back. JJ watches them through the window for a while and then steals the crossword booklet from Ryo. When he gets bored of it (fourteen down, an OPEC country, whatever), he stretches and decides to get another glimpse of the Parker baby without the ruckus that initially surrounded it. Also, without Drake's wife, who is sweet enough but still gets on JJ's nerves.

"I'm goin' to see my namesake," JJ tells Ryo. Ryo chuckles and waves him off.

The nursery observation window is smudged. Too many fingerprints, too many foreheads leaning against it, relatives eager to be as close as possible to the bundles. JJ peers into it with caution and a select distance. There—second in the first row, bundled in blue and waving fists about aimlessly. It's going to take after Drake, JJ sighs to himself. No direction and no idea of what it's stepping into at any given moment.

The idea makes him a little warm inside.

"You might've been named after me out of guilt," JJ informs the brat, "but it's a lot better than what Drake was initially planning. Honestly, Bradley? You would've gotten beat up your first day of kindergarten."

"I almost hate to ask," says a voice behind him, "what the kid's name is now."

JJ turns, eyebrow already arching. "Oh?"

The man grins. His teeth are still white but there's a cigarette packet in his shirt pocket—a new smoker, JJ figures, or maybe a cheater who likes to use whitening strips. JJ gives him a cursory glance of two seconds: broad shoulders, shaggy black hair, bitten fingernails, sneakers with mismatches laces, and dark eyes that crinkle impishly with his smile. The cursory glance expands into a honest to god check out.

"Pass the test?" the guy asks. JJ hides his own grin—definitely gay.

"Maybe. And I'll have you know, the kid's name is Jemmy."

"Oh, he's getting his ass kicked later for that one."

"It's a great name."

"Yeah," the man agrees. "It's very unique. It suits you."

JJ's other eyebrow shoots up. "I'll take that as an indirect compliment."

"You should. My name's Aaron. It's not very unique."

"Oh, I don't know," says JJ. "It could grow on a person."

"My new niece's name is Samantha. I tried to convince them to go for Aaron, but you know—everyone's a critic."

"She would've been the one beating people up in kindergarten," predicts JJ, and that makes Aaron the New Smoker laugh. His belly flutters, something innate slowly stretching back into place.

He has no idea what he's doing. He just knows that he suddenly, desperately, achingly wants this time to work.


So naturally, it doesn't.

"You should never take love advice from your Uncle JJ," he tells the baby, jostling the bundle cradled in his arms. Baby Jemmy giggles and squeals and makes JJ feel loved, which is exactly what he needs right now. "Trust me, you'll end up a spinster and an old maid, and then Drake will kill me."

"I certainly will if you don't stop calling my son an old maid," Drake remarks, coughing from the doorway. He holds up the bottle of formula, reheated for consumption. "You want the honors?"

"Ooh, please. Gimme, gimme, gimme."

Drake hands it over obediently. JJ coos at the baby, tickling his feet, and then offers the nub. Jemmy takes it eagerly. He really does take after Drake in his laid back nature—it seems anybody could hold him, feed him, and play with him, and he'd be happy as a duck in water. Although he does love his mother's hair.

"That's it," murmurs JJ, wrapping himself in the scent of chalky milk and baby powder and cotton. "Such a good boy. Yes, you are."

Drake sits in the chair opposite of them, straddling the seat backwards. He leans on the back support, his arms folded, watching his son and ex-lover together. JJ lets him be. It's been long enough that being with Drake doesn't hurt anymore, although sometimes it still gnaws at JJ when he wakes up alone at night. But he doesn't let it come between their friendship, which is somehow deeper and more honest for their past issues.

"I guess Aaron was a bad apple, huh?"

JJ sighs, studying the child in his arms with practiced control. "I don't want to talk about it, Drake."

"JJ."

"What am I supposed to say?" JJ pauses. "I blew it. I'm no good at this. I'm done, Drake."

"Aw, JJ."

"No. I just—for a while, I don't want it to be this hard," he whispers, and he has to blink because Jemmy is swimming in and out of focus. His face hurts. His eyes burn. Being with Drake right now is a bad idea, but he'd needed Jemmy, needed something that would fit into his arms and maybe clog up the hole in his chest for a while. "I thought it was going to work together like clockwork. It serves me right. Maybe I just don't try hard enough. Maybe after Dee—maybe I gave up after that and didn't even know it, 'cause I'm sure failing everyone now. I don't even deserve to be loved when it does happen, I think."

"JJ," says Drake. He sounds shocked. "JJ—babe, what happened?"

Drake hasn't called JJ that in years. Not since—well, it doesn't matter. JJ swallows hard and pokes the baby's nose, unable to smile even as Jemmy squeals and reaches for his finger. "Drake," he says, choked up, "I really love him."

There is silence.

"You mean… Aaron?" Drake asks, carefully. He's never gotten the hang of liking anyone JJ dates.

JJ nods, unable to look him in the eye. It somehow seem shameful. He hasn't said this much of someone ever since Drake, and now he even means it, actually means it. "I think so. It's just—you don't know him, Drake, he was going to be different. I wanted him to be different. He…"

"He what?"

"He can't cook," JJ says tearfully. "H-he's so stupid about baseball, too. Always watching games. And he buys ballet tickets on the sly because he likes to go with his mom, and… Jesus, Drake! He brought over some half-dead plants to my apartment, and he tells me I'm g-gorgeous, and he's almost too young but he's so good to me, like I always wanted, and… Oh god, Drake! Why do I always lose them?"

"JJ, don't—don't you dare—" and Drake's kneeling in front of him and the baby, clasping his knee with one hand and reaching towards JJ's wet cheek with the other. Fingers, familiar and callused, slide against his jaw. JJ clutches at them, unable to help himself as he weeps.

"I loved him! I loved him so much. His stupid Sunday comics and the way he drinks milk from the carton—I wanted to wake up to that e-every morning, I wanted that so much, he even c-caught this moth in the bedroom and shooed it out the w-window and—I want that, Drake, I love his stomach and his voice when it's scratchy f-from sleep and his bad habits—"

"Babe, babe, babe," soothes Drake, hushing him. "I know. S'okay."

Jemmy starts to whine and that, oddly enough, is what breaks JJ from his panic. He calms almost absolutely at once, bouncing the baby in his arms. Drake watches him, wide-eyed and worried to the point of franticness, but JJ has a slight smile despite his red eyes. "It's okay," he tells Drake, feeling bad about his outburst. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to go off like that."

"It's okay. Are you—?"

"I'm done."

"That's not," Drake says gently, "what I was going to ask."

JJ stares at him, thoughtful. Then he says, "I suppose, in the end there was only ever going to be you, Drake. Don't take that badly—I'm not trying to make you feel awful. But maybe I should just accept that and deal with what I have. I'm tired, you know," he adds, "of being lonely."

They talk for a bit longer. Enough that JJ has pieces of himself to pull around him when he leaves, and Drake watches him go and feels as though he's falling down a great and terribly long well. When he finally hits bottom, something snaps, and he goes to the phone book that his wife's left beneath the piano bench. She's a piano teacher. She's made Drake more himself than anyone ever has, even JJ.

He finds a name, and a number.

He tells Aaron a story about JJ that he knows JJ will never be able to tell. He breaks JJ's trust in him for the second time, and tells Aaron everything that JJ has said to him those few hours ago. He tells Aaron all about Drake Parker, too, and why baby Jemmy is named after his makeshift uncle.

"You'll never find someone like him," Drake says haltingly. "You'll always wake up and wonder where he's gone, if it's the bathroom or kitchen or—and maybe you'll still be happy somehow, but you'll know. That he's not there, and that he's alone."

Aaron says nothing for a long time. Then, "Why?"

Drake searches for an answer. "Because—because he deserves it. The whole kit and caboodle. Love and fuckin' sharing it all, finding kids, a stupid colored cat, garden gnomes, I don't know, I don't know—whatever he wants. I want him to have that shit."

"Shut up."

"But you—"

"I've gotta go," says Aaron, and then there's nothing but the dial tone. Drake goes to Jemmy's room and buries his face in his hands and shakes.


JJ has thrown away his Jimmy Stewart tapes ages ago. But he still eats ice cream, his nose running and his cheeks painful from cramping up, and he still curls up on the sofa in a scrambled nest of pillows and blankets. He's not old, but he's not young. He's attractive, but he's haunted. He's got the best friends you could ask for, but he's not going to do this again, not anymore.

His heart can't take this.

"I've been rejected after all," he whispers.

And then the doorbell rings. Twice. In quick succession. JJ shivers and buries himself in the comforter, willing Drake or Dee or Ted or whoever it is to go away. But they're not biting—they start banging at the door, loud angry thumps that rattle the knob and frame. JJ startles, eyeing the door with nervous irritation.

"Stop it!" he yells. "Just go away!"

"JJ, open the door!"

Aaron. His breathing stops dead in his chest, and JJ is already on the other side of the room, hands quivering like crazy as he undoes the latch, and unlocks the bolt, and god, why is he doing this, this is going to be so bad—

Aaron throws the door inward. It crashes against the wall with a bang. JJ registers tiny details from him—the ugly polo shirt, his narrowed eyes, the lack of cigarettes shoved in his pockets, an untied lace—and then suddenly he's caught up in someone's arms, teeth clacking against his own in a rough and reckless kiss.

Oh. Oh. JJ sobs into his mouth and wraps his arms around Aaron's neck, unwilling and unable to let go.

It's Aaron who finally drags himself away, wrenching from JJ's lips and inhaling sharply for air. His fingers are putting marks into JJ's back. He doesn't care. He doesn't care. "JJ," rasps Aaron, "you're an idiot."

"I'm so sorry—"

"I'm not goin' anywhere. You hear me?" Aaron bites at his shoulder, harsh and real. Then he kisses it. It's not a dream. "You got me. And I'm gonna yell at you sometimes when I'm in a bad mood. And I'm gonna say stupid things. And you're going to drive me up a wall, especially when I'm trying to quit smoking and everything's being really fucking annoying—but you're still mine, and I'm yours, and I'm still in love with you."

He's waited all his life to hear that. Now that he has it, JJ has no idea what to say. He clutches, at sea, to Aaron's shoulders, his heart in his throat and all the world obliterated. This feeling is overwhelming.

He's waited his entire life for this. He really has.

Aaron pulls him close, kissing his forehead. "I love you," he mumbles against JJ's skin. "I love you. You're crazy and handsome, and you've got to stop leaving bullets in the silverware drawer, but I love you."

"Okay," JJ gasps. "I can—I can do that—"

"Oh Christ. No, never mind, don't you dare stop." And then Aaron is kissing him again, and it's perfect, and it's perfect, and he's going to cry and he's going to scream and he's going to—

Like the first raindrop for a seed, something in JJ awakens again. He hurls himself as far as he can get into Aaron's arms, and throws his head back, and laughs, and laughs, and laughs, and he'd forgotten—joy.

And like an answer, something in Aaron's eyes softens, and lights up, and finds what it's been looking for.

(And that's how they spend the rest of their lives together: tackling each other in the mornings, burning the chicken in the oven, waiting up at night when JJ's on the job, going to ballet with Aaron's mother, redecorating the apartment, eating Anna's lasagna, making love on the kitchen counter, singing off-key in the shower to annoy each other, fishing bullets out of the silverware, playing with Jemmy on the weekends, and breaking up every other day just so they can get back together again for dinner. It's a great excuse to get each other flowers, anyway, and to eat ice cream out of the tub.)