PART 2
AN: so now we enter into part 2 and New York with Jack's POV! This may be more light-hearted in tone, and a little more sentimental too.
May also include a cat.
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Chapter 1
Room with a View
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"So. What do you think?"
Jack looked around the room again. "Yeah. I like it."
The mid-June sun was streaming across the balcony and through the tallest window, right in front of Cal. The sunlight spotlighted dust on the wooden flooring and caught the soft edges of too many unpacked boxes. It even managed to reach the confides of the kitchen, complete with small stove and sink.
It was a modest little apartment, but equally as perfect.
"You like it?" Cal repeated, as if he was experimenting with a disgusting phrase. He turned away from the window, and looked at Jack with an equally disgusted face. "Just say it. You hate it."
Jack rolled his eyes.
"No. Actually I love it."
"Hm. It's adequate, I suppose," Cal peered out the window again, lip curling. "I hope we don't have any problem-neighbours. The view isn't anything special, either."
Jack grinned at Cal's ruler-straight back.
"I think it's a great view, personally."
He walked over, very tentative in his motions. The way someone might approach a wild animal, and slid hands onto tensed shoulders.
Cal's stance didn't change- he didn't even turn his head to acknowledge it- but Jack could see the clench of his jaw in profile, and the white shade of his knuckles on the window sill.
The move was always going to be stressful. And it had all happened very quickly.
Cal had exchanged a few diced words and numbers with a man in a suit, and Mrs. Bardot had shed some more tears and wished them all the best. Then they were suddenly in New York, viewing apartments as if it were all very normal.
Oft times Cal referred to Jack as his 'business partner', even if the question wasn't up for debate. Jack didn't mind; he could go along with it if it made Cal feel better, though it was a shame.
"Careful," Cal shrugged Jack's hands away, and stepped back from the window. "Someone might see us."
"Too bad."
"I'm serious," Cal frowned. "Are you sure you like it? There's still one more apartment available, you know. It's a few blocks along, and the balcony looks a lot larger. I heard that-"
Jack laughed. "This is fine, Cal. I promise. Besides, you're never gonna be satisfied with anything we look at."
"That isn't true."
"It is. You want the best of everything."
Cal huffed. "I only want the best for you."
It must have been an unplanned confession, because Cal hurried to the other side of the apartment, kneeling down to some boxes with a petulant and pinkish face. He seemed unable to look at Jack for some long moments.
"I suppose I can sell some of this stuff off. Quite the unfortunate downsize though."
Jack grinned. "Unfortunately there aren't too many manor houses in central New York, Cal."
"I know. Tragic, isn't it?"
"Maybe you can send some of it back to your father."
Cal sneered. "Is that your idea of a joke?"
"I guess it is," Jack knelt down, so that they were at eye level. "Can you forgive me for it?"
He followed the line of Cal's mouth, as it became a proper smile again.
"Hm. You're forgiven, Dawson. Barely."
There had been little mention of the situation with Hockley senior. With everything happening so rapidly, there simply hadn't been much time to dwell on it. But Jack hadn't forgotten about the letter and the photograph in the drawer, and all the implications that went with it.
"Cal, does your father-"
"I don't need half these things," Cal interrupted. He pulled open a large box, and grimaced at the contents. "What an ugly vase. I don't even know how it came into my possession."
Jack peered into the box, pretending the vase was more interesting. It was definitely an acquired taste; big splodges of vibrant orange and green paint, like someone might have thrown up on it. Jack smirked.
"Maybe Mrs. Bardot packed it as a joke."
Cal nodded. "Yes. She does share your awful sense of humour, doesn't she?"
"Hah. I bet you miss her."
"Hardly. Anyway, I think she'll miss you more than anything."
"I'll miss her too," Jack considered, and shuffled close enough to Cal. "But I won't miss all her badly timed interruptions."
Cal looked confused.
"Interruptions?"
"Yeah," Jack smiled as he leaned in, happy to elaborate.
The kiss lingered, with a warmth that seemed to cover the entirety of the bare bones apartment. Cal always felt so soft and compliant, and Jack knew then that he could have lived here, and within such a moment forever, if he had to. No qualms about that.
Then Cal pulled away, revealing an uncertain emotion. It reminded Jack that Cal was still in such a fragile limbo, and maybe he might still quit after all.
"Are you okay?" Jack asked, pretending it didn't matter.
Cal nodded shortly, and then cleared his throat.
"Do you know," he said conversationally, "I think Bardot was actually in love with you, Dawson. Like everyone else that has ever encountered you."
"Except your father, of course. I don't think he likes me at all."
"My father is the exception. He doesn't like anyone," Cal's smile became wry. "Rather like me, actually."
Jack snorted. "You're nothing like him, Cal."
"Oh? You don't think so?"
"Well. You do like some people. You like me, don't you?"
"Hm. You're an exception too."
Jack smiled. "I like being an exception."
He curled his hand around the back of Cal's head, wanting to kiss him again. His other hand roamed, unable to help himself, onto taut chest.
Cal rolled his eyes at the ceiling.
"Wait till we've got a damn bed at least, Dawson."
"Who needs a bed?"
"Jack-"
The barred light of the sun crossing Cal's face was soon blocked out, as Jack bridged the gap between them. Cal's murmurs turned into laughter, and he slipped the rest of the way down onto the floor.
"This isn't very comfortable..." he complained, and then trailed off, as Jack tasted his neck. Jack felt the sharp rise of his chest. "...damn it, Jack..."
Only encouraged, Jack trailed a hand slowly along the line of a leg.
"Pretty sure we can manage without a bed for now, don't you?"
Cal scowled. "It's too dusty and dirty..."
And then he scrabbled to reach around Jack's back, contrary to his irritated words.
"We can always stop if you like..." Jack suggested.
The press of stomach became harder, and then he noticed Cal's other hand, whitening and grasping at the floor. A braced shake of breath followed after.
But this was the sort of tension that didn't ever warrant concern, and it always made Jack's heart thud much faster. It was exciting, like that.
And his fingers easily found skin, prickling beneath fabric.
Cal gasped.
"...don't...don't tease, Jack."
Jack covered his hand with his own, and hushed him.
"I won't."
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Jack placed the ugly vase in the middle of the window sill, where it refracted light and made him laugh whenever Cal scowled and threatened to throw it out the window.
A sandy-coloured stray cat seemed to share Cal's sentiment, and it became as ornamental as the vase itself. Swishing it's tale and threatening to knock the vase off every morning, as a few days turned into a week in the apartment building.
Within that week, a routine was beginning to form, and it mostly involved Cal on some mission in a smart suit and briefcase every morning, though he negated to tell Jack what it was all about. He always looked distracted and out of sorts in the morning, and by evening he seemed too tired and tight-lipped about whatever he'd been up to.
Mostly Jack just let him get on with it. He was happy to explore the neighbouring streets by himself for the moment. He'd already gotten to know some of the neighbours; an elderly man in a top hat with holes in it, a red headed girl who seemed to know the area like the back of her hand, and a young couple who were pleasant enough and had already asked Jack to join them for dinner a couple of evenings in a row now. They hadn't asked Cal because he was generally good at avoiding people, so Jack was starting to learn.
Between times, Jack sketched and sketched. Scribbles of the city people, slowly turning into proper drawings. He'd managed to sell a few of them already. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing. He'd even noticed Cal looking at the drawings, perhaps when he thought that Jack wasn't looking. He never said anything about them, but he always looked at them with an interest that made Jack want to carry on drawing.
"I have an idea," Cal announced, as he walked into the apartment that evening. He dropped some bags on the kitchen counter top and then glared at the window. "Have you been feeding that damn cat again? It's probably got fleas, you know."
Jack looked up from his drawing.
"I've called it Skitty," he moved to pet the cat, and it flinched away but didn't leave. "Because it's terrified of everything."
"Wonderful. And yet it still comes here," Cal opened one of the bags and spilled the contents out onto the counter with a suspicious face. ""So, I was thinking; you might sell your drawings at an art gallery. Do you think this is very edible, by the way?"
Jack set aside his sketchbook. "What?"
"This...beetroot. Whatever it is. I don't know. I just picked it up on the way home."
"An art gallery?" Jack repeated blankly.
"There are plenty here, so I've noticed. I could even fund it for you. Perfect for...arty types, like yourself," Cal picked up the beetroot with a morose face. "I've never done food shopping before in my life. This is awful."
"Are you serious?"
"Yes. It's embarrassing, isn't it? I didn't even know what a beetroot looked like-"
"Would you come to the art gallery?" Jack stood up, right in front of Cal.
Cal looked surprised by the question.
"...I suppose I'd have to at least make an appearance, wouldn't I? Moral support and all that."
"I'd be sure to thank you for it," Jack kissed him on the mouth, and felt the tremble of a smile there.
"...well. How can I refuse that?"
Jack returned the smile, around another kiss. "Let me take you out."
"What?" Cal laughed at him. "Where?"
"Anywhere you like. This is New York, after all. Come on, let's go."
"Now?! But we-"
"Look. We've not been out together since we got here. An entire week."
"I..." Cal looked round at the counter, seeming to flounder. "But I got us food. Like a normal person..."
Jack laughed. "And I'm very proud of you, but this is my treat. We can see some of the sights together at last."
Cal tilted his head, in a motion that Jack had come to recognise as apprehension. He could understand it.
"Don't worry, Cal. Nobody will know."
"I'm not worried," Cal said quickly. "I just..." his shoulders sagged.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Cal reached out, hand hovering on Jack's shirt collar. He straightened it with a faint smile. "...it doesn't matter."
Jack's chest clenched, and he wanted to tell Cal just how much everything mattered. But Cal probably wouldn't want to hear such sentiment, anyway.
He was doing such a good job from the point of view of anyone else. But the jolt of the situation must have been one which was still occasionally shocking him in tremendous waves, still taking him by surprise.
And Jack had not missed the way Cal tossed and turned in bed, and the dark circles around his eyes in the morning.
Jack gripped his hand.
"We'll have a good time. I promise."
Cal stared at him. "You don't need to pay me back or anything. If that's what this is."
Jack scoffed. "As if I ever could. I just want to give you a break from your attempted grocery shopping, that's all."
"Is it that bad?"
"No. But how many more soups can we endure before we turn into one?"
Cal's smile cracked into a grin.
"You have a fair point there."
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"This was a mistake," Cal said.
He looked too pale and aghast; eyes flashing a paranoia that Jack recognised only from moments at the dinner table with Hockley senior.
"It's fine," Jack said. "Stop panicking."
"I'm not panicking," Cal insisted, and seemed to pale some more, as a woman brushed past their table. Her eyes barely flitted over them, but Cal reacted with a murmured curse. "Definitely a mistake."
Jack had picked it. The diner had looked very appealing from the outside; cute and understated, with an attractive pastel-orange paint-sign, welcoming most anyone into it for an evening meal.
They had sat and ordered between them, before the diner had gradually started to fill and they were soon surrounded by couples. Hands reaching across tables, heads tilted forwards and staring into each others eyes, as if nothing else existed.
"We're in a dating diner, Jack," Cal said through his teeth. "How did this happen?"
Jack shrugged, and bit into his burger. "I don't know. It's kind of fitting, though."
"What do you mean?"
"We're 'dating', aren't we?"
Cal set his knife and fork down. He'd barely touched his food anyway. "It isn't the same. You know it isn't."
"How isn't it? What's the difference ?"
"You know very well what the difference is," Cal started to pull on his coat. "Dawson, we have to go-"
"No," Jack grabbed Cal's sleeve, before he could stand. He was surprised by his own sudden insistence. "Please, Cal."
"...Jack..."
"We're only eating. That's all it is."
Cal blinked, and Jack could almost see his mind reeling in front of him; the battle between diligence and emotion always so close the surface. Jack sat with his heart in his mouth, and then Cal slowly shrugged his coat off again.
"Fine," he said begrudgingly. "Just hurry up and eat."
He didn't pick up his cutlery, and glared out the window.
Jack sighed.
Perhaps it had all been wishful thinking, after all. It had been different back in Pittsburgh.
In a way, they'd been in their own little bubble there. High society was terribly judgemental and came with it's own countless sets of problems, however privileged it might have been, but it was also entirely separate from the real world.
A dinner party with the ruling classes did not equate with a simple meal in downtown New York, where anybody could potentially judge them and pass comment. Obviously Jack didn't care about that, but Cal was different.
And now he looked uncomfortable in a way that made Jack both sorry and frustrated.
"I know what you're thinking," Cal said dully. His gaze didn't leave the window. "I know I'm a snob."
Jack shook his head.
"I wasn't thinking that at all,"
Cal raised a brow. "Then what?"
"I was thinking about how I wish we could have some sort of normal life, like everyone else in here. That's all I want."
"You're too optimistic," Cal said, and his smile was forced. "I'm ruining this already, aren't I?"
"No, you're not."
Jack reached across the table, but thought better of it at the last second. He picked up the drinks menu instead.
Cal retracted his hand anyway. He looked painfully conflicted.
"I'm sorry, Jack-"
A waiter reached the table in the same moment, and held up a pad of paper and pencil.
"Drinks?"
Cal cleared his throat. "Uh. We're here on business."
"Important business," Jack added.
"I see," the waiter looked disinterested. "So. Anything else, sirs?"
"Erm," Jack stared at the menu.
He could already imagine Cal was pulling out his wallet and throwing money in the waiter's face, before they made the quickest and most suspicious getaway in the history of a date disguised as anything but a date.
"We'll have a drink," Cal said. "I know I certainly need it."
Jack blinked up, shocked and pleased to see Cal's mouth arcing into a smirk.
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"I'm not a cat person. I don't know why you'd even think it."
"I think you are, secretly."
"What does that even mean, Dawson? I go looking for strays in the middle of the night, solely to pet them?"
Jack laughed. "I wasn't thinking that, but now you've got me all suspicious."
The sky was dimming from pastel-pink to blue as evening turned into night, and the orange light of the diner flashed and reflected onto windows across the road. It looked pretty and fuzzed with the influence of alcohol, as they stepped outside into warm night air.
"I don't like cats, and I especially don't like cats you've named Skitty that you insist on feeding your leftovers every morning. That is the worst kind of cats."
"Skitty will be heartbroken," Jack said.
"Oh, how lamentable," Cal turned back round to look at the diner. His cheeks were flushed and strands of hair were in his eyes. He looked unkempt, but in a good way, and he was still smiling. "I'm picking the next place we eat at, Dawson. I swear."
"Sure," Jack grinned. "And you never know. One day you might laugh about all this. Could take a few years, but you might."
"A 'few years'?" Cal placed a hand on Jack's shoulder, as he caught his staggering balance. "That's not even mildly comforting."
"Well. I wouldn't mind coming back here. And I think the waiter enjoyed that obnoxious tip you gave him. It must have felt like all his birthdays had come at once."
Cal looked sheepish. "I've been very thoughtless, haven't I?"
"I don't know," Jack shrugged. "I like it when you don't think so much."
Cal seemed to hesitate. "I do too. I mean...I like not thinking about...pointless things," he blinked slowly at Jack. "You understand?"
Jack wanted to laugh. "Yeah, I think so."
"...good," Cal teetered a bit, and his hand twitched on Jack's shoulder, but didn't move away.
Jack grasped his arm properly, worried he might actually fall down.
"You okay?"
Cal nodded, and then rubbed his head with a soft groan.
"I think I drank too much."
"Heh. I do too," Jack moved his arm the rest of the way around Cal's back. "Let's go home."
The streets were dotted with the lights of various late night diners, cafes and clubs, all flashing welcome signs of temptation; so many colours merging with Jack's blurry vision. It wasn't a terrible sensation at all; more like wading through a surreal dream, with the heat of another so close that they could have been holding hands, or onto each other.
If only they could.
"It's quite nice really, isn't it?" Cal said suddenly. He stopped in the middle of the street, and his eyes lit up on the apartment just a few yards ahead of them. "Looks better at night...a room with a view."
Jack followed his gaze to the very top of the building. He'd seen it from this angle a few times now, but for some reason it was far more attractive when they were looking at it together.
"You really think so?"
"Yes, of course," Cal spoke without hesitation. Then he dug into his jacket, pulling out a cigarette. There was a beat of silence as he lit up. "I think you're wrong by the way, Dawson."
"Oh? About what?"
"About anything being possible in New York. That's just puerile and wishful thinking. Not that I'd expect any less from Jack 'chipper' Dawson."
Jack pulled the cigarette from Cal's mouth, and took a drag for himself.
"You're a real party-pooper, Cal."
Cal shook his head.
"I mean, it doesn't matter where the hell you are really, does it? New York...Pittsburgh. It's all the same," his eyes narrowed, as if he was having a reluctant epiphany. "It means nothing at all...not without...not without some good company."
He snatched the cigarette back.
Jack smirked at him. "Am I good company, then?"
"Hah," Cal averted his eyes, the quivered line of his mouth telling enough without words.
Jack returned the smile.
It would have been far easier just to kiss Cal in that instant, but then it would have meant missing the flash in his eyes; lovely dark pools, if Jack was feeling overly romantic about it. And he always did.
He held off, though.
"You know, I think you talk a lot more sense when you're drunk, Cal."
"How insulting," Cal said. He looked flattered.
They stood side by side in an easy quiet for a while, although it wasn't really quiet at all.
There were the sounds of the living all around them; countless rows of yellowed windows lighting up unending buildings, the occasional horse and carriage and the odd automobile rolling by every so often. Anyone could have been watching them.
And still Jack felt a hand delicately brushing his own, if not quite holding it.
"What do you think, then?" Cal asked, in a much softer tone.
"About what?"
"The art gallery."
"Oh," Jack blinked out of a sort of daze. "You mean...to show my drawings there?"
Cal made an exasperated sound. "That's the idea. And then everyone else can see how talented you are. Think about it. Lord knows I can't do all the work, Dawson."
Jack smiled. He gripped Cal's hand, for just a tiny moment.
"Alright. But tell me I'm good company first."
Cal slowly inclined his head, and stubbed his cigarette out on the floor. He looked at Jack, mouth curving and eyes seeming to flash a subtle coyness under lamplight. Though it could have been just the deceptive effects of alcohol.
"Why don't I prove it, Dawson, when we get home?"
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It was the first morning in the apartment that Jack woke up to an empty bed.
He immediately grappled at bed sheets and panicked about Cal's sudden non-existence; a thousand terrible thoughts rushing through his mind all at once.
Then he noticed the note on the bedside cabinet and panicked some more, before he read it.
'Gone for interview. Cal.'
Jack swore, and then stretched with indulgent and incredible relief, before remembering the blur of last night with an even broader smile.
The sensations were still so vivid in his memory, and the entire night seemed to exist only to assure and promise him that he was indeed good company after all. Unfinished vulnerable words and moans, accompanying the marks of more vulnerable skin. Jack could have marked and bruised every inch of it. He just couldn't help himself.
And anyway, Cal was very good at indicating how much he did want it, in such impassioned moments.
Still, he must have had an ungodly struggle getting up that morning.
Jack sighed, and wished that Cal could tell him about job interviews and whatever else he did in that expensive suit of his, whenever he wasn't at home.
"Oh well," Jack folded up the note. "Could be worse."
He'd barely finished breakfast, and was throwing scraps of food out the window to the mewling cat, when there was a knock at the door.
Jack opened it, and rubbed his eyes.
He thought he was having a strange dream. Or maybe he was still a bit drunk.
"Hello, Jack," said Rose Bukater.
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please do review! I'm much more motivated by a nice comment.
And merry christmas to you all!