This fic is the answer to the question "WHY does Jess stick by Kendall?"

Chapter Text

A/N: At the end of the first season on Succession Logan tells Kendall to "go to the desert" to "dry out." I took this as Logan referring to an earlier time when Kendall was in rehab. Upon rewatching the show, I observed a very keen bond Jess had with Kendall without much dialogue. She says so much with her eyes. I wanted to dive into that bond. What shaped it?

Jess jabbed her thumbs furiously on the screen of her phone as hunger pangs reminded her of the smoothie she'd left on her desk. Six hours before.

It had been her own fault. She hadn't grabbed anything on her way to Teterboro. The jet had its usual Royco provisions, but she couldn't bring herself to eat anything. Her stomach had been turning all morning.

The flight hit turbulence over the Rockies, and she gasped. Jess had anticipated this; this was normal, but she would never get used to it. It would mean they would land at Van Nuys in another two hours or so. Once she landed in Van Nuys, she'd have a car waiting to bring her to Malibu.

She didn't know she'd be his contact. She didn't know—until that morning—that she'd be the one to fetch him. She didn't know that his family had not responded when he had reached out. She only got the call from on high that she was to clear her schedule for the day and have her go-bag at the ready: a change of clothes, toiletries, pajamas, and her laptop. Every other assistant that had worked under Kendall had either been fired or had quit before he'd entered rehab. She, somehow, had been reassigned elsewhere.

But now, sitting in the leather-clad jet, Jess had been pulled back in. She gripped the armrests as they hit an air pocket and then closed her eyes, trying to steady her breathing. She opened them again as the landing gear touched down on the runway. The ride to Malibu was thankfully bearable, but the emails and news alerts hadn't stopped. Of course, the competing tabloids would get wind of this, and her job would be to ensure the most private route to the most private location in Los Angeles County. She had settled on a cool minimalist residence on the Pacific Palisades. The perfect place for him to decompress and get ready to return to New York.

There was only a small pause at the front gate, but then the SUV whisked her right up to the entrance. She had expected him to be waiting, though she didn't actually know what to expect. She had never picked anyone up from rehab before.

When Jess realized he wasn't just coming out to the car, she swung the door open with one hand while emailing Karolina with another and sprinted inside; there would need to be a statement given as the media onslaught was already beginning. Pierce would have a field day with this. She entered the building, distracted by a new email regarding a particularly nasty rumor that had just popped up: Kendall Roy apparently had a relapse.

A relapse? Already? The man hadn't even been checked out yet. Passing those waiting in the lobby, Jess approached the front desk and asked for Kendall.

"Mr. Roy?" The attendant called to a hunched figure that sat in the waiting area—someone Jess had flown past without a thought.

She whipped around, momentarily embarrassed for not recognizing her employer.

"Hey," Kendall had gotten up and, with a small duffel bag slung across his shoulder, walked up to the desk. He met eyes with her only briefly, swallowing the mortification that wracked him as he realized that they'd sent his assistant. "Thanks...for coming."

"Are you ready?" Jess cleared her throat uncomfortably; maybe a straightforward hello would have been better. Gone were the tailored suits and the large headphones. He stood before her in jeans and a hoodie. The circles under his eyes were dark and cavernous. The level of unabashed sadness he exuded in front of her made her shudder.

"Yes," the attendant cut in with a clipboard, "he is. Sign here, please."

Jess grasped the pen and scribbled quickly. She was realizing that she had been the one to release him. Up until that point, the most intimate thing she had known about him was his coffee order. The details of a follow up dentist appointment. He had written for the Lampoon in college. The only concrete facts she knew about him were things he had allowed her to know; but she had started to become good at picking up facts in other ways—mainly through merely observing him. His downward spiral and rehab had put that into overdrive. She had been the one to find him on his bathroom floor.

"Can I get that for you?" She indicated the bag as her phone pinged.

"No…" he answered softly, "I got it."

"All right," she nodded, "let's go."

Jess trotted back to the car as her heart raced—what was the protocol for this? She had no idea. She glanced at her phone again. Just another email from Karolina—no check ins from the Roys. None of them.

As he watched his assistant climb back into the SUV, Kendall exhaled and tried to ignore her familiar scent as it washed over him as she brushed past. That warm, comforting rush—he welcomed it after two months of patchouli and sandalwood and whatever the fuck else they had been burning at the "resort."

"Back home, then?" Kendall muttered as he tossed his bag over the back seat and into the trunk.

"Uh…no…" Jess quickly glanced at him before deciding not to make full eye contact, "I've been told to set up a place—"

"Where?"

So his erratic, coke-fueled calls and promises to vendors had finally caught up with him. He was to be isolated. Was this Logan Roy's version of rehab?

"Pacific Palisades," she responded, ready with a visual, but he held up his hand before she could pull it up on her phone.

"No. I need a change of scenery."

"Where?"

"I don't know—" he cut himself off as he thought.

The fucking moon, maybe.

"—The desert."

"The…desert…" She repeated as she mentally ran down the list of cancellations she would have to make within the next ten minutes.

"Yeah. Joshua Tree or something. No more cliffs."

"Certainly."

Kendall tried to exhale steadily to quell the shaking inside of him; her obedient, quick response made his adrenaline surge after two months of doing nothing but following directions.

They sat in relative silence for the next three hours of the trip. The Los Angeles traffic delivered in spades, and Jess trained her eyes on her phone.

"All right. Everything set," she declared in a low voice as they finally pulled onto the 10.

"Meals all—"

"Done, yes. Chef is en route now."

"Pool-?"

"Yes. I couldn't find Olympic—"

"Mmm. And amenities? Gated?"

"It's…remote. No gate. It's last minute so—"

"—Fine, fine." He said. "It's remote you said—but we're plugged in for conferences?"

"It will be," she lied.

"Perfect. Thank you," Kendall tried to appear relaxed, leaned back, and watched the urban sprawl give way to bare mountains.

It was just past six o'clock when they arrived at the house. A small midcentury bungalow surrounded by huge agave, the house was lit up in an orange glow, waiting for them. The chef could be seen through the kitchen window putting the finishing touches on what would be a whole food, pescatarian meal. Insisting on carrying his own bag, Kendall trudged into the house with Jess at his heels. She felt weirdly light not carrying anything for him. Jess nodded a greeting to the chef, who was plating the meal, and went to the refrigerator for sparkling water. Three kinds, as she had instructed. Aqua Panna with a twist of lemon. She prepared it swiftly and delivered it to Kendall, who was out on the deck surveying the sun dipping into the horizon.

"Thanks," he muttered; he tried again, "And my phone?"

"I was told—"

"Just—I just need my phone." Has Jess ever disobeyed-

"I know, but—"

"Jess, come on," Kendall let a weak smile flit across his lips to stave off the humiliation the crept up between them.

"They told me no," she shook her head slightly. She followed his gaze as he took a swallow of water and turned back to the sky.

"I'm sorry," Jess whispered, her words coming from behind him, hitting his shoulder. She slipped inside without a sound.

Kendall sat with his fizzy water as the sun disappeared into purple darkness. He had been stretched out on a lounge chair when he heard Jess say goodbye to the chef. He heard the clinking of utensils against a plate. He felt her behind him. That familiar scent threatened to envelope him.

"Do you want me to—"

"Yeah, outside is fine."

He heard the plate hit the table behind him. Kendall kept his eyes ahead as he felt her pause for instructions. Always anticipating him; it made him deliciously weak. She waited a bit and moved to go back inside.

"Hey, Jess," Kendall called over his shoulder, careful to avoid her eyes, "you want…to join me?"

"Oh—I—"

He heard her put her bags down. The stars had started to come out.

"Hey, you've got to be hungry." Still no eye contact. Kendall waited, holding his breath for the silent moment that hung there on the deck.

"A car is coming for me," she explained in her regular, dutiful voice, "I'm going back to LA. Your recovery coach is on his way—"

"No…no." Kendall jumped from the lounge chair, "You don't need to bring him here. I'm good."

"But they said—" Jess' eyes widened a little at the sight of him.

"No, I can handle myself. I can handle it."

Jess stared at him as she clutched her phone to her chest.

"Cancel him. He's coming here? Cancel it."

Jess did not take her eyes from his as a way to plead with him, but Kendall held firm. She nodded uncertainly and looked up the phone number to make the call.

Kendall sat down to dinner and called back into the house, "Come on, Jess. Join me."

He only started to eat when he was certain she was making herself a plate. She slipped into the seat next to him, and they ate in silence.

Coyotes howled in the distance. Jess jolted slightly at the sound but recovered quickly. Her nerves had been high all day. She paused briefly until the howls died down before continuing to eat; she had been starving. The entire meal went by before he spoke.

"Compliments to the chef, then." Kendall murmured.

"You can give them to her when she returns for breakfast tomorrow," Jess collected the plates and brought them into the kitchen, "she'll be here at 7 a.m."

This time, instead of staring off into the distance, he followed her back into the house.

"You're headed back to LA?" He watched her put the dishes in the dishwasher.

"Yeah," she responded as she began to wipe down the kitchen island, "that was the plan. I would drop you off, wait for the coach, and head to The Freehand."

"Ooo. The Freehand." Kendall said under his breath as he traced a vein in the marble counter. He paused for a moment, and then found a new vein. "Why don't you just crash…here?"

Kendall watched out of the corner of his eye as Jess paused in the cleaning of the counter. He watched her as she weighed the possible outcomes of the answer to his question. She threw the dishtowel over the lip of the steel farmhouse sink as he felt his jaw clench.

"I—I can't—"

"Come on… there's more than enough room here—"

"Kendall, I should—"

The doorbell. With a quick glance at her watch, Jess dove toward the door, "that'll be the driver."

"No," Kendall made a momentarily frantic move in front of her so that he blocked her way. "No, come on. You can stay."

She eased around him and opened the door. The driver cleared his throat and offered to carry her bag.

"No, she's not leaving." Kendall cut in, going so far as to grab her bag before the driver could receive it.

The driver looked at Jess, bewildered.

"She's not leaving," Kendall repeated, and then, with a firm nod to the driver, "thank you."

Jess brought her full attention to Kendall. His eyes were heavy. Red.

"Yeah, I'm sorry," she turned to the driver with a sigh, "I am staying."

With a thin-lipped nod, the driver turned and left. Jess closed the door tightly as her head threatened to drop against it. And it was then in that moment that a realization had hit her: the weight of responsibility for Kendall now fell to her—and it would have whether she had gone or not. She flipped the dead bolt and turned to him, prepared to fill the silent space with a litany of pointless activities she'd been tasked to set up, activities that had been designed to keep him occupied and far away from any real business.

But he stood in the foyer of the tiny house, inches from her, holding her bag still, looking small. His eyes were redder, and they didn't meet hers.

"Kendall," she whispered softly.

He looked toward the floor and didn't respond.

"Hey," she said, and stepped toward him, her hand daring to reach out, "You…OK?"

"Yeah," the word passed through his lips almost soundlessly. Tears started to pool on his lower lashes.

At first, Jess was startled by his state, but she navigated her nerves-as usual-and took a breath. She tried to coax him into meeting her eyes, but he would not and instead trained his gaze on her collarbone.

His family hadn't reached out to her all day to check on him. She'd turned his phone on and kept a close watch on hers all day. Nothing. Not even Roman.

In that moment, the barrier between them dissolved. She stepped closer to him, inches away, and, with halting care, laid her hands on his shoulders. Kendall squeezed his eyes shut and allowed a tear to escape down his cheek.

"I'm…I'm glad you're OK," she whispered, and before she even finished her words, Jess wrapped her arms around him tightly. Kendall felt something inside of him break, and he threw himself against her shoulder; she could feel his warm breath through her blouse as he struggled to hold back a sob.

Kendall slid his hand around her back and clung to her, there in the foyer. His other hand slid up her arm, and he gripped the silk of her top tightly in his fist. She was shocked for a moment; when she had taken the job just a year before she never would have remotely imagined she'd be where she was then. But Jess pushed past the shock, and she held him in a firm embrace. Other duties as required? She set a mental reminder for herself to laugh at that later.

For that second, he forgot who she was, and his mind went wild. He want her to envelope him, consume him forever, so that he would be secure-inside of her. For all of the spa treatments, the yoga, the therapy, the meditation of the past two months, being embraced was exponentially more powerful to him.

"Thank you," his voice was quiet and shaky, "thank you for staying." He hugged her tighter.

"Of course," was all she said.

"I didn't want—" he gulped his tears like a child, his words making her blouse damp, "I didn't want you to—I didn't want to be—"

"It's OK—it's OK," Jess pulled back and looked at him, her heart racing into something of a minor panic. Who could she sneak off and call for support? Karolina? Geri? She was coming up short.

Kendall nodded quickly and sniffed, "yeah."

"How... about you sit on the couch? Um…I can get you tea? What about a fire?"

"That's…nice. That's really nice." He ran his hand through his hair and tried his best to saunter casually over to the couch. There was a wood burning fireplace. It took only about five minutes for Kendall to get it going at steady roar. By then, Jess presented him with a hot mug of oolong tea.

"Thanks," he said. She sat at a safe distance on the opposite corner of the couch and sipped from her own mug.

"The desert was a better choice," she admitted, staring into the fire.

"Heh," was all Kendall could muster. He felt stupid for saying it.

"I'd never been here before. It's beautiful."

"Yeah, I hadn't either. Maybe that's why I wanted to come."

Jess nodded in the pause between them.

"Thanks again—for staying."

"Don't mention it—"

"I mean—"

"It's not a big deal—"

"I mean, it is," Kendall countered, "my family has you on the clock 24/7 and now they've tasked you to come and release me."

"It's my job—"

"It's your job," Kendall nodded, visibly stung, "right—"

"Well, it's not my job," she knitted her brow, fumbling for words, "but I work for you."

"Ah, yes, you do," he nodded again, reminded of how the people closest to him were the ones who were paid handsomely to do so.

"I'm—sorry—did I-?" Jess held her hand against her heart.

"No, you're fine—" The flickering light of the fire before them only seemed to emphasize the lines in his face and only served to make Jess look angelic.

She slid across the couch and laid her hand on his, which made him jolt in a small surprise.

"I made the choice to stay," Jess asserted, "You're very convincing, but I was the one who made the choice."

She kept her hand on top of his, even going so far as to give a squeeze as something of an emphasis.

"Yeah," he responded, keeping his eyes on the curve of her knuckles. Something was missing. She followed his eyes to what he noticed: the absence of the 3-carat east-west emerald-cut ring that had been on her finger two months ago. Jess pulled her hand back and tucked it into the crook of her opposite elbow. Kendall watched her as she took a sip of tea.

He had never been one to notice something like that. But on the day that it had appeared, glinting brilliantly alongside his cup of morning coffee that she always had greeted him with, it had made some sort of imprint on him, like a part of her had been taken away from him. Now, that part was back. There they were, alone in the desert. No fucking ring in sight.

Except, of course, for his.

Jess finished her tea, stood from the couch and sighed, "I think I'm going to turn in."

This was weird. She felt nervous. But not in the usual Waystar Royco way. Not like when she had booked the wrong Ritz hotel room—Paris instead of London-on the second week of her job. This was different.

She felt him staring at her. "I'm just really exhausted," she exhaled and rubbed her forehead with her unringed finger.

Jess rose from the couch, grabbed her bag and headed down the hall. Kendall's heart leapt as he heard her come back from the bedroom.

Maybe it was going to be the Ritz mix up.

"What's up?" he asked.

"There's…there's only one bedroom."