A Quick Note: I'm assuming that the episodes took place during the summer between their freshman and sophomore year. So Fall 2000 - Spring 2001 would be their sophomore year, Fall 2001 - Spring 2002 would be their junior year, et cetera. It may not be that important, but just to clear up any confusion.

Thanks: To Debi, who devoted so much time to helping me with the story, and Sue, who always lets me bounce ideas and very, very rough stories off of her.
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~May 16, 2006~
Love lies in the simple things, and that's where he found it. In the unique compilation of all the quirks and nuances that made her Jake, things like tugging on her hair when she was nervous. The less sleep she had, the more sarcastic she became. How her mother seemed to annoy her to no end, but she was always secretly thrilled when she found out her mother was coming to visit. The smug smile of hers when she was ruthlessly beating him at yet another computer game.

Though he was known to complain often, he secretly loved all these things about her, but he couldn't tell her that. It would give her the complete satisfaction of knowing she had him wrapped around her finger. Instead, he reserved these thoughts for himself and enjoyed a private smile when she did one of them.

He sat across from her in the rowboat, which rocked gently with the lapping waves. The wind blew just enough to give what would have been a warm spring day, a cool breeze. With a clunk of the plastic bottles, he made the toast 'to us.' She gave him a mischievous smile and raised her eyebrows as she brought the water bottle to her lips. She knew something was up. It wasn't because they rarely picnicked, and yet here they were, on the lake, borrowing the school's boat to enjoy an evening dinner together. And it wasn't because Hamilton had meticulously organized this event; he was never meticulous about anything. It was in his eyes, which, in addition to all the normal spark and love, betrayed his slight nervousness. His movements were sharp and focused, instead of his usual easy going and relaxed. She shook it away. It was probably due to being physically near his parents. Things hadn't been the same with his family after the dual shock of Jake's expulsion from Rawley Academy and his mother's affair in the same school year.

When he thought of Jake, the everyday moments they shared were the first to come to mind. A welcome rhythm had established itself in their everyday life. In the morning, she would bump into him lightly as she made her way into the kitchen. She would set the coffee machine and he would pour their cups. She would make toast, he would get the paper. He'd lay on the couch reading the newspaper, pretending to be keenly interested in an article, and she'd plop down on top of him.

"Readin' anything good?" Her face was hidden from his view by the sports section.

"Just some useful stock market tips."

Chuckling, "Is that so...?" she tore the paper away and looked at it. "Well, rumor has it the best tips are usually found in the business section," smirking before she leaned down to kiss him, both shaking with laughter. He loved to make her laugh, to witness her smile.

He liked the fact that their fights were never really fights at all. Rarely were they angry at each other for an extended period of time. It came to the point that one of them would erupt with laughter during an argument at the immaturity of what they were fighting over. Which would then cause the other one to glare momentarily before dissolving into hysterical laughter, too. He loved her at that moment. She would stop to stare at him angrily for chuckling at her, then a slow smile would find it's way onto her face before she playfully punched him and pushed him onto the couch or bed. After six years together, he knew exactly what to do to make her forget her anger. And he loved how she hated that.

His worn brick house was visible over her shoulder. He barely remembered what it felt like to be the dean's son, the outsider. Maybe he just suppressed it so he wouldn't have to. It had been a hard time, especially after she had left.

The day her mother had come to take her home was still painfully clear in his mind. November 9, 2001, it was a Friday and unseasonably warm. She wore a flowing purple skirt that rested below her knees and white short-sleeve shirt. Her outfit had caused some commotion and rude exclamations in the dorm, but they hadn't cared. They just walked hand-in-hand down the corridor, without stopping or noticing. Will and Scout had been nice enough to help carry some of her things. They parted with 'We'll survive this','I love you's, and weak smiles, but both secretly had their doubts. They had seen each other almost every day for more than a year, could they survive without that close proximity? Did their love mean anything if they weren't there to physically show it, in all the touches, kisses, laughter, smiles?

He had brought her back here for a reason. It wasn't just for his parent's wedding anniversary; that was just an easy excuse to tear her away from her college courses. No, this was where it all began. The dock where they had first met. The lake where they had spent so many afternoon hours. Finn spouting some grand ideas or theories about youth and opportunities. In the beginning, it had been invigorating to hear such passion, but it soon became repetitive and boring. He used the same five theories and reworded them into a hundred different speeches. Or it could be that his memories were baised. After all, Finn had been sleeping with his mother, so his opinions changed abruptly that year. He reminded himself that he was over this; he had forgiven, his parents had forgotten. They managed to establish level of denial that Hamilton didn't understand. He reasoned that it came from a long marriage built on a foundation that neither was willing to admit was unstable. And it was likely because of him, too. Maybe without him, they wouldn't have had a reason to stay together and divorced long ago. It was an odd feeling to know his parents probably wouldn't have made it to their thirtieth anniversary if he hadn't been a part of their lives.

Finn had been quietly asked to leave and he complied. Hamilton hadn't seen him since, and he hadn't wanted to. All the feelings of betrayal, hurt, confusion, doubt - they would all come rushing back. They had been more than enough the first time, he didn't need a repeat performance. He still remembered everything clearly....

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Feb. 15, 2002
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The door slowly creaking open, Finn and his mother kissing, the dining room wallpaper spinning before his eyes, his breath catching in his throat. The dean's office with his father shouting at Finn; his mother crying as she sat on the couch. Focusing on the framed picture of his family which sat on his father's desk. He let the concentration drown out the chaos around him.

In the picture, they were all smiling. His father had his arms around Kate and Hamilton and they were all smiling. It was taken after Hamilton had won a local photography contest. When had it changed to this? Wondering who was the next to betray him. Will? Scout? Jake? Himself? Not being able to breathe normally, always holding his breath waiting for something bad to happen. Turning from that dark oak office. Turning from the people who betrayed him and running. Running down the dark halls past Jake's old room. Running away from it all. Collapsing in the woods, cutting himself on broken branches, he didn't notice, he didn't care. Letting the dark of the night engulf him, he stared at the stars and the full moon. The man on the moon seemed to grin at Hamilton. Taking out his wallet, he stared at the picture of her. Tracing over her features as she smiled back at him, wondering if she was also watching the stars at that moment. Crying...he was supposed to cry. Men didn't cry. But it was to become the first of many nights.
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"Hamilton," she reached her hand out to rest on his knee, "You okay?" Her brow crinkled with worry.

"Yeah," bringing his gaze from the curved center of the boat to her bright hazel eyes, he smiled, "Yeah, I am." He took her hand in his, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles.

"You just...looked kinda far away."

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Feb. 17, 2002
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Hamilton had shown up at her doorstep in New York, begging to see Jacqueline. He carried no suitcase or backpack, only the clothes he was wearing. He was exhausted and dirty from his unplanned journey to New York. Consuela's heart went out to him when she opened the door, silently leading him to the dining room where Jake was finishing dinner. She had dropped her plate of food at the sight of him. His hair was unkempt, his clothes were a mess, and there were dark circles under his eyes, like he hadn't slept in days. The truth was he hadn't. He hadn't slept since he ran out of his father's office in New Rawley two days prior. He felt like the polar opposite of her at that moment. She looked beautiful in her expensive clothes, standing in her clean, perfect house.

He remembered she threw her arms around him, not caring about dirtying her dress. Her fingers ran through his hair, gently shifting his head until his chin rested on her shoulder. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and reveling of the sense of her around him. She was the only thing that seemed right in his broken life. He felt it then, deep in his stomach, like he had leaped off the empire state building. He loved her, more intensely than he had ever thought possible. Pulling away, he held her face in his hands and mouthed,'I love you,' because he couldn't find his voice to convey the emotion. A smile spread across her face, the truest smile he'd ever seen, "I know," she whispered as she pulled him back into the hug. They stood like that for several minutes, swaying together. Jake rubbing his back gently; Hamilton resting his head on her shoulder. It seemed too soon when they broke apart.

She led him to her bedroom, taking out some of her boy clothes and laying them on the bed. With a quick kiss, she left him to wash up and change. Turning slowly, he took in her room. It was so different from who she was; her mom must have decorated it. The walls were painted purple with a suede texture. A canopy of sheer violet material floated five feet above the bed and the edges draped to the floor. A white comforter embroidered with purple, green and blue butterflies completed the bed. But traces of Jake peeked out in random places; her computer sat on the desk with music playing; the letters from Hamilton lay stacked next to her bed; a small collection of books filled a short mahogany bookcase on the opposite end of the room. The room was much like him. He was Hamilton, but at unexpected times, mannerisms he had picked up from Jake would surface and remind him of how she embellished his life.

Stumbling into the bathroom, he stripped off his shirt and grabbed a washcloth from the neat stack in the cupboard, running it under the faucet. He scrubbed his face and chest trying to clean himself of the dirt and grime and in a way, the events of the past few days. Cupping his hands under the water, he splashed it on his hair, combing it with his fingers. He stopped as he caught himself in the mirror. He looked tired and weary. The exhaustion was catching up to him. He trudged out of the bathroom with a heavy sigh. Sitting on her bed, he pulled off his wrinkled jeans and reached for the clean clothes she had left for him. The shirt was a blue sweatshirt emblazoned with the words RAWLEY ACADEMY. He hadn't noticed that until now. He paused for a minute, holding the sweatshirt in the air, before placing it on his lap. He folded the arms over the heat pressed words, so they were no longer visible and set it neatly back in her open dresser drawer.

Falling back onto her bed, he stretched out on his stomach and inhaled deeply. It smelled just like her. A flash of silver jumped out at him from her nightstand. Picture frames glittered from her bedside. The one farthest from him was a photo of the whole gang during their sophomore year, taken at the diner. They had been celebrating Scout's sixteenth birthday. The more prominent picture, the one he had given her before she left, sat closest to her pillow. It was a set of two pictures actually. In the first, Jake was sitting on a bench, her hands clasped together, laughing. In the second photo, they sat together, his arm around her shoulders and her arm around his waist. Both smiling as they looked at each other. He was lost in that picture when his eyes closed from the overwhelming exhaustion

A soft knock on the door woke him up. He must have fallen asleep. He remembered looking at photos, then...nothing. Rolling over, he checked the clock and noted that forty-five minutes had passed. Jake entered the room, raising her eyebrows as she saw him laying on her bed. "Good thing Consuela didn't come in here, 'cause she so woulda read into this the wrong way."

He glanced down at himself; he was only wearing his boxers. "Um...your pants were too short."

She smiled and nodded as she approached him, holding out a white paper bag, "Thought you might be hungry."

Her words reminded him that he hadn't eaten in over twelve hours, a fact which he had managed to forget. "Thanks." He tore the bag open to find a McDonald's hamburger.

"Whoa, slow down there, Hamilton."

Smiling sheepishly, he focused on unwrapping his food. Lifting off the bun, he found cheese and extra pickles; just how he liked it. She caught him checking and laughed, "I know how to order your hamburger, thank you very much."

He lifted his head to meet her eyes, smiling. But his grin faltered and he looked down. He didn't have to see her to know her smile had faded and the mood had shifted imperceptibly.

"I'm just..." pointing to his jeans on the floor, "gonna take these...and throw 'em in the wash." She gathered his clothes and headed toward the door.

"Wait - "

She paused before she turned around and looked at him hopefully.

"Just..." with a tilt of his head, he motioned for her to come over.

She placed his clothes in a pile and climbed onto the bed next to him, resting against the headboard. It was a few moments before either spoke.

"I like your room."

Laughing, "Yeah?" she glanced around her room. "It's very girlish."

"That's what I like about it. But...I was a little disappointed...to see posters of Ben Affleck and Edward Norton, but none of me."

"Well, I was gonna take a life-size cardboard cut out of you, and y'know...make a shrine...but my mom quickly cut down that idea."

He laughed. Life hadn't been as much fun without her there to make him forget about the horrible day he was having, tease him about an annoying habit or to confuse him with her genuine ability to act like a guy.

"I missed you."

Sliding her down until she was even with him, he kissed her softly. Her soft lips, the smell of strawberries, her dark hair tickling his forehead...he missed kissing her and everything that came along with it. Her hands ran over his back, tracing his spine with her fingernails.

"Hamilton..." she sighed as he kissed her jawline lightly and moved down her throat. He slipped the straps of her dress over her shoulders, pulling the material down slowly. Glancing up at her for approval, he found her eyes closed. It all happened so fast, the hollow of her throat, the valley between her breasts, the center of her ribcage, the dress moved down further, revealing her stomach. Placing kisses above the line of her underwear, he hooked his thumbs under the cloth. He was ready to go all the way; okay, he wasn't ever not ready, but now...it just felt right. He didn't know why, it just did. His hands on her hips, he tugged at the red cloth.

"Hamilton..." It wasn't the same as before. Her voice lacked the want and desire it possessed earlier. He felt her hands on his shoulders trying to pull him up, but he continued to place kisses on her warm skin as he lowered her underwear.

"Hamilton, stop...now." He glared angrily and her before rolling away and staring at the opposite wall. Scooting into a sitting position, she pulled her dress back on and adjusted her bra. Sulking at the rearrangement of her clothes, he crossed his arms over his chest and exhaled loudly.

"Hey," she turned him back so he faced her, but he didn't meet her eyes. "Don't make this my fault. You haven't seen me in four months and the instant you get here you wanna jump me?" Grabbing his chin, she forced him to look at her, "That's not you, Hamilton. Ok..." she rolled her eyes, "...not entirely you." She laid down next to him so their faces were only inches apart. "Something's wrong. And sex isn't going to make it go away. Or fix it."

Sighing, he moved his head until it rested on her stomach and closed his eyes. "Why did I have to fall in love with a girl who actually understands me? You just couldn't be a ditzy blonde in it for the sex. No, you had to be smart, funny, beautiful, caring..." By now he was starting to mutter to himself.

"I'll take that as a compliment. Besides it wasn't too hard to figure out when you show up at my apartment, unexpected, looking like a bus dragged you here." Her voice took a soft turn to serious, "Ok, so I promised myself I wouldn't ask, because you would tell me when you were ready. But...what happened?"

"Do I have to tell you now?" He sounded so innocent, like a young child at that moment. He hadn't meant to sound that vulnerable. He could act tough with everyone else, but not with her.

"No, but you are gonna need to call your parents soon. They're probably going crazy-"

"No!" He cried, looking up at her and shaking his head with desperation. He needed her to understand that everything he had done in the past few days was to get away from them and the situation facing him back at home. "I can't call them. I can't listen to her voice right now. If I hear another 'I'm sorry' or 'You won't understand' or 'Everything will be all right,' I'm going to throw myself off a twenty story building. 'Cause it's not....it's not gonna be okay. Ever again."

"Hamilton, what the hell happened?"

He couldn't put it off any longer. It was real, it had happened, but it still wasn't quite believable. All too much like a bad nightmare then wouldn't end. He was waiting to wake up in bed, covered in sweat, but relieved that it was over. Once he told her, that ceased to be a possibility.

"My mom and Finn were together..." The image of them in the dining room was permanently etched in his brain. He doubted he'd ever be able to forget.

"And by together, you mean...?"

"An affair. A liaison. A fling. Whatever the fuck you wanna call it, they were together."

She flinched, almost as if it had happened to her instead of him.

"Wha...but..." She paused for a moment to clear her thoughts. "How long has it...?"

"I don't know. I didn't stick around long enough to get any actual info, I just kinda freaked out and ran."

"What are you going to do now? Are your parents gonna get divor-?"

"I don't know!" He interrupted her curtly. "I didn't come here to get barraged with a thousand different questions!"

"Well, why did you come here, Hamilton?" She snapped back at him before she had the chance to think. He saw her face soften; her eyes became apologetic, "I'm sorry, Hamilton. I...I didn't mean-"

"Can we just not talk about it right now?" He didn't have the energy to bicker, to think, to do anything but sleep.

"Yeah."

He laid his head back on her stomach, closing his eyes as she pulled a pale purple blanket around him. Her name was embroidered on the corner in a darker shade of violet. The last thing he recalled was tracing the cursive lettering, JACQ, with his fingers and the feeling of calm as she ran her hands gently through his hair.
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Life is strange. People are strange. Situations are strange. He learned this early on, possibly earlier than any ignorant and carefree teenager should. Yet, knowing this made the world a little less complicated. Understanding that unexpected situations arose at any time, made them a little easier to deal with when they did.

Nothing good was supposed to come from his mother's affair with Finn; that wasn't the natural order. But his uncertainties and fears about their long distance relationship diminished after his impromptu visit to her apartment. Seeing her for the first time in months, feeling her body next to his, hearing the concern in her voice...how could he ever have doubted them? Love...it emanated from her, like an aura that made her radiate with beauty and happiness.

Contentment. It was an overwhelming feeling, so much that it seemed nothing could ever be wrong again. Tranquility. He never wanted to move from her side again. Love. Someone else, of their own free will, chose to love him. He was at a loss, every positive emotion he had ever felt combined together couldn't compare with what love felt like. It was all of them, and more than he could describe. Yet, he couldn't tell her because to vocalize these feelings would call for understanding them. He didn't want to understand, there was no remedy for something unless it could be straightened out, origins found, and emotions determined. And if love was an illness it should be an incurable one.