New York; 2012
Justin absolutely refuses to watch another horror movie and that's that.
Alex pouts, huffing a little and jutting her lips out, whining all through the video store. He tries to tune her out while he scours the racks for something for family movie night.
She finally gives up somewhere around the documentaries and pulls out the postcard she'd gotten that morning from Paige.
"Snail mail?" Max had asked, and plucked it out of his sister's hand over breakfast to look more closely at the Fiji coastline on the front.
Alex merely rolled her eyes. "She thinks it kitschy and retro."
When Justin becomes so absorbed in reading the description of a 12 hour series on the Nuremburg trials he walks straight into the adult section. He hears Alex call his name and he looks up, directly into the more fetish themed films and feels all the blood rushing to his face.
He remembers the previous weekend, at Paige's wedding, with Alex and blushes harder if that's even possible.
"Justin?"
Snapping to attention at the sound of Alex's voice, Justin whirls and winds up tangled in the thick red curtain that separates the room he's wandered into from the rest of the store with a yelp, falling against the wall.
She finds him there, a prisoner of dusty velvet the same shade of red as his face. With a purse of her lips, she tips her head towards a particularly graphic DVD cover and deadpans, "I don't think that's what Mom had in mind when she said 'something different' for movie night."
"You could help me here," Justin mutters, but manages to extract himself successfully only to fall against her.
Alex helps him regain his balance, rolling her eyes, and laughs when the store owner glowers at the two of them from behind his counter. Once his attention is back on whatever magazine their ruckus pulled him from, Alex lets herself laugh at the horrified look on her brother's face, so hard that she snorts and has to put her hands over her face to muffle the sound.
He glares at her, face slowly fading pink. He can't really be angry though. The situation is pretty ridiculous and if the roles were reversed, there's no way he wouldn't laugh at her. Finally, he lets out a small chuckle himself. Alex grins and a mischievous gleam that Justin knows all too well comes into her eyes.
She tosses a look back over her shoulder at the clerk before she places a hand on Justin's chest and pushes him behind the curtain again.
"Alex…" he says warningly, to which she merely grins in response and then her hands are in his hair and all the talk they had on the way home from the wedding about being more careful goes out the window and he really, really hopes the curtain is enough.
Things are just at that point where they both get reckless when Justin hears someone calling his name.
His head whips up and all the air in his lungs rush out when he recognizes Zeke Beakerman walking towards him, looking exactly the same as he did at graduation 3 years earlier.
He feels more than sees Alex spin around to see who it is and by now Zeke has gotten close enough to know what they were doing when he interrupted them and his eyes land on Alex before widening in horror. "Um, you know what, I'm late for…stuff, so I'll just-" He makes to leave the store but Justin grabs his arm, not really thinking about what he's going to say but he has that sickening churning in his stomach that tells him some serious damage control is needed here and it's up to him to do it. Alex doesn't look like she can move at the moment.
Justin shoves the Nuremburg documentary into Alex hand and pulls the curtain shut behind him and Zeke. Then he has his wand out and the incantation is leaving his lips before he can even begin to rationalize or lie his way out of the situation, the light and smoke erupting from the tip of his wand the only evidence that he and Alex, finally, have been stupid enough to get caught.
It's done. And Zeke is giving him that blank, cheery smile Justin used to associate with his former best friend, asking him about UVA and engineering and how his parents are and Justin feels a 10 ton weight settle directly in the pit of his stomach. He answers; the same bland, boring standard answers he would give a distant relative or the guy who sat behind him in chemistry who used to burn his pencils on the Bunsen burner.
They leave the back room, Zeke giving a surprised but not unhappy greeting to Alex and walks out, completely oblivious to what's just happened.
Watching him go, Justin feels Alex's hand on his arm. "Justin…"
He shrugs her off and yanks his wallet out of his back pocket. Shoving a few bills into her hand, he tells her to get whatever movies she wants. He leaves the store, not even bothering to look back at her, needing to clear his head and when he sees Jack across the street he doesn't even bother to pretend he's not ignoring him.
…0…
Washington; 2018
The smell of incense and melted candle wax flood Justin's nostrils as soon as he opens the door. It's a familiar smell, at one time a comforting smell, and the sound of the heavy oak door shutting behind him makes him jump. He takes it all in; the tapestries, the statues, the rows of tiny flames flickering at the far end of the alter in their red votives.
Part of Justin fears that the few people that are lingering inside despite the hour can see his sin on him, and he even he knows he moves with the caution of someone experiencing the trivial fear of catching on fire when his feet cross from the entryway to stand beside the back pew. He knows he won't actually catch on fire of course, he's not stupid, but he was raised a good Catholic boy by a very devout mother so its with extreme trepidation that he dips his finger into the silver holder by the wall and crosses himself before going further.
Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death, amen.
He sits about 4 rows back from the front, feeling the carved dark eyes of the statues on his back as he makes his way there, feeling far more conspicuous than he is. The thought of lighting a candle crosses his mind and is quickly dismissed. What can he pray for that he hasn't already and even if he thought of something, who up there would be wiling to listen to him after everything he's done?
Time ticks by and the heady musk of the incense is beginning to give him a headache, yet he can't seem to make himself leave. Deep in his heart, he still feels a type of sanctuary and safety in the quiet haven of a church, any church, and the thoughts ricocheting about in his head seem different with the filter of the ornate gilt and deep tradition that surrounds him from every angle. It all still feels the same; Alex's look of dejection, his own guilt, the memories of her soft skin, so warm under his finger and the scent of lavender wafting up from her hair. And being here, the place that hits home just how wrong what they're doing is, filters it-makes it all seem distant, more abstract. Like a movie he saw once and can't fully recall.
People come and go while he sits. Some light candles, some enter the confessional. Some cry. He watches them and wonders if whatever they've done could possibly be as bad as what he's close to doing.
Soft footfalls don't really register. He used to them he's been sitting here that long. The feeling of someone sitting in the pew behind him is new, but he thinks some teeny part of his heart was hoping she'd show up.
"How'd you find me?"
Alex's voice is soft, respectful. "This is the only Catholic church within walking distance of my place."
She leans forward as he turns himself cattycorner to face her, but can't bear to look up from his folded palms in his lap.
"You're pretty predictable, you know that?"
He hopes that's true. If it is, maybe his actions earlier weren't as much as a surprise; maybe they didn't hurt her as much as he fears.
"I'm sorry," he says, daring a glance up at her.
He regrets it at once. She's pale and her eyes are red-rimmed and puffy from crying.
"I know," she says and its true. She does know. Even if he weren't sure of that he can hear it in her voice; how tired she is, how used to this dance they do. "It's okay, Justin."
He shakes his head. "No, Alex, it's not okay. I shouldn't have-"
She cuts him off, shaking her head and muttering 'no' under her breath over and over, eyes squeezed shut. "Don't," she says, word barely audible, and opens her eyes on the tapestry on the far wall depicting the Resurrection. "You know, I haven't been in a Catholic church is almost 4 years."
"I go to Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve," Justin states. "I used to go on Easter too…but it just started feeling weird; the priest talking about Lent and sacrifice…"
"And you started to think that if only they knew the kind of sacrifice you'd made." Alex props her chin on her hand, elbow on the back of the pew Justin sits in.
"Something like that," he agrees, thinking that she looks exactly the same as she used to when their mother made them go to St. Ignatius every week, and Alex would sit in Sunday School with the same far off expression on her face.
It really was amazing, how something that she never even seemed to take seriously could still affect her so.
His eyes are drawn once more to the confessional. No one has gone in for a while now and the priest steps out, offering Justin a kind smile when he notices him.
"Justin."
He turns his attention back to his sister, noting the worry lines crinkling her brow and around her mouth that he hadn't noticed before now. His fingers itch, wanting to trace them and he berates his uncooperative mind for the urges he can't seem to get rid of.
"We can't do this anymore," Alex tells him and he feels something deep in the dark recesses of his soul crack open and bleed. "We're hurting each other, and we're not kids anymore. We know better."
"You're right."
She gives him a crooked smile, more resigned and defeated than he can ever, ever, remember seeing his once wild and uncontrollable little sister.
He did this to her.
She takes hold of the edge of his pew, pulling herself forward a little bit so that she's barely sitting on the edge of her own. "Its just-when I saw you walk into my gallery with Max…you looked so sad, Justin. You looked tired. And you're only 27 years old."
Not like this is new information for Justin.
"And I imagine I must look about the same," she goes on. "So I think its better that we just…stop." Her hand finds his against the back of his seat and squeezes. "I don't want to live the rest of my life being as unhappy as I've been the last few years."
Is this really his sister-this rational, mature woman sitting with him, her fingers wrapped around his? Can it be Alex, so sure and right in what she's saying?
Justin sighs. "I don't either," he confesses. "And I want you to be happy, Alex. More than you know."
The edges of her mouth quirks up and her eyes begin to get watery. Not really able to tell the difference between happy tears and a sad smile at this point, Justin gives her hand another quick squeeze. "I'm tired of not liking myself, Alex. I want to enjoy my life and my work again. I haven't in so long."
"Me either." Alex blows out a long breath and her shoulders tilt up in lopsided shrug. "God, I used to love life."
"I remember." Justin chuckles as the image of a mischievous little girl with inky black pigtails comes to life before his inner eye. He remember her, he remembers the somewhat more serious girl with colored pencils in her hair and fabric swatches over her shoulder looking at him with something akin to adoration in her big dark eyes, and he remembers the shell of a person who sat across from him in a nice Washington restaurant with so much left unsaid between them. "History is who we are and why we are the way we are," he mutters.
"Deep," Alex muses.
He glances at her, brow furrowed. "It's a quote."
"Oh."
Justin laughs, a real laugh, like he hasn't in years. It feels good; laughing, knowing that, at heart, Alex is still Alex. She looks at him like he's grown a second head for a second, which only makes him laugh harder and then joins him, their chuckles echoing off the stone walls around them.
…0…
New York; 2012
Theresa asks him where Alex is as soon as he steps foot back in the shop, and he tosses off that he doesn't know, that he's sick, and that he doesn't want to be disturbed for the rest of the night as he heads upstairs. He's being rude, and disrespectful, but all he wants is time alone to think.
He shuts the door to his room without turning on the light and flops onto his bed. At once he's overwhelmed with pictures of Zeke's face; confused and horrified, bright and unassuming and Justin feels the world tilt under him. He sits up on the edge of his bed and puts his head between his knees, knowing that he's about to be sick and desperate to keep the contents of his stomach on the inside.
There was no other choice. That's what he keeps telling himself. Zeke would never have understood, no matter what Justin could have said. And there was no way he would have kept the information to himself.
This isn't just about protecting himself, all though that thought is definitely there. He was protecting his sister as well-just like he's always had to do.
The window beside Justin's bed is the only source he has for how long passes while he lays there. The sun gets extremely bright then dims and he hears the sounds of his family moving around downstairs fading into silence just as the pink and orange streaks of sunset on his bedroom door disappear.
Laying back down, stomach no longer reeling, Justin's attention falls on his bedside table, to an old picture of himself with Alex and Max the last summer he was home, before college. They're all smiling, standing out on the terrace with the New York skyline partly visible above their head, all smiling and looking like the pieces of a puzzle aligning just right, right next to each other and the resemblances stand out starkly. Max and Alex have the same smile, the same eyes, Justin and Max with the same chin and jaw line, he and Alex both inherited their mother's dark, dark hair.
Justin knows that he and Alex really don't look enough alike for any stranger off the street to automatically think they're brother and sister, but throw Max into the mix and it all falls into place.
His door creaks open and he knows its Alex without having to look.
"Justin? Mom said you're sick."
Instead of replying he rolls over onto his side and pulls his iPod from the top drawer of his nightstand.
And just as soon as he's switched it on Alex comes over and jerks it out of his hands, pulling the earbuds out, hard, and now he's pissed.
"Damn it, Alex. That hurt."
She glares at him, fury contorting her pretty face and making it hard, unfamiliar. He's never seen her so angry.
"Dad decided to do family night when you're feeling better," she says in a cold, detached voice. "He and Mom went out to dinner, Max went to a party."
"So you're gonna take the opportunity to yell at me?" Justin demands. He stands up. The past few years have given him several more inches in height, taller than his dad, taller than Kelbo even, and he towers over his sister now. But she doesn't look intimidated, not by a long shot. Justin could grow to 7 feet tall and Alex would still look scary to him at times like these, her eyes glittering and almost black.
"I'm sorry, okay?" Alex throws her arms out wide. He scoffs, used to seeing her get all dramatic. "I am," she insists, face reddening at his dismissal of her words. "I shouldn't have kissed you back there. It's all on me. But don't get all emo and whiney on me because you had to use a spell on Zeke." She shifts her weight onto her back foot, breath labored and points at him. "That is not my fault."
He can't believe what he's hearing. "Excuse me?"
Alex gets up in his face, not backing down one iota. "You made that decision, Justin, not me, and it sucks. I know that. But no one forced you to do it."
"You have no right to blame me," she says after a few seconds. Her voice cracks. Emotion, from screaming-he doesn't know. But he feels guilty and that just makes him even angrier.
The words are right there in the back of his brain, just like they've always been, full of resentment and accusation he hadn't even been aware he was still carrying around. "Nothing's ever your fault, is it Alex?"
Sucking in a deep breath between her teeth, Alex takes a step back.
She's looking at Justin like she doesn't even know who he is. Oddly enough, he feels vindicated because he hasn't known that himself for quite some time now.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"What does that mean?" he asks. "That means is that you can be so awful sometimes, Alex, so frustrating, and I can't even stand you half the time." Her eyes are filling with tears but he can't stop now. This has all been a long time coming. "You're demanding as hell, and you always have to have your way-" He pauses. "Why. I just want to know why."
"Why what exactly?"
Justin groans dramatically and drops his head forward. "Why do we do this to each other? What do you want from me?"
When she doesn't answer Justin takes hold of her arms, bringing her flush against his chest. "What do you want from me?" he yells. Alex winces, her eyes wide and…scared.
Scared of him.
He comes to his sense and is deeply, deeply ashamed for the way he's just acted. For the way he's treated her. Releasing his hold on her, Justin stumbles backwards away from her, mouth gaping, mind blank.
"Alex…I'm sorry."
She presses her lips together until they disappear and she nods, tears leaking out of the corners of her eyes. "You really hate me that much?"
God. What has he done?
"I could never hate you, Alex." He tries to take hold of her hands, but she backs away from him. Justin stop with his hand in mid air feeling as if she's just slugged him. "Zeke was my best friend," he murmurs in a voice so low even he can barely hear it. "He was my best friend for 7 years and I used magic on him today." She doesn't appear so closed off anymore so he continues. "I've never done anything like that; used magic on someone close to me just to cover my own mistake."
He sees her flinch on the word mistake and this whole he's dug himself is getting deeper by the second.
"I don't know who I'm becoming, Alex, and it scares me."
Wordlessly, Alex walks to Justin and folds him into her arms. The tears start up and he grips at the back of her shirt while she threads her fingers through his hair, his head pressed into the side of her neck.
"You did it for me," she whispers into his ear. "You were protecting me, Justin. You shouldn't feel guilty because you and Zeke used to be joined at the un-hip."
He chuckles, smoothing his hands over her back, drops a kiss at the base of her throat.
His harsh words still linger in the air, hovering over their heads like persistent bees, determined to sting, but Alex's attempts to make him laugh well into the morning hours convince him she's no longer upset and everything settles back where it was.
Justin wakes up around dawn to find Alex curled against his back, her forehead pressed between his shoulder blades, fists twisted in the fabric of his shirt at the small of his back, knuckles occasionally brushing against his spine where the material has ridden up and knows that it will all work itself out in the end.
It has to.
…0…
Washington; 2018
Alex leaves the church before he does, giving him the same spare key he'd used earlier.
Justin sits a while longer, wondering at the absurdity of the situation. He stays long enough to attend the sunrise service and a new peace that he's been seeking washes over him, the calm mending his frayed nerves.
The coffee shop he stopped into the day before is already open. There's no sign of the younger girl, but the other one, Maggie, is there, with open surprise at seeing him again. It makes him wonder what she knows about Alex that he doesn't and he itches all along his skin.
He gets an extra large espresso for himself and a latte for Alex since he didn't see a coffee pot at her townhouse. Maggie's lips purse, but she says nothing past "Cream or sugar?" Justin doesn't know if Alex even still drinks coffee, or if she would want a regular cup as opposed to the sugary, whip-creamed concoction he's ordered for her, its something of a peace offering and leaves Maggie a big tip before he goes.
When he lets himself into Alex's, she's dashing around between her bathroom and bedroom, hair still hanging wet down her back.
She jumps when she notices him, and he grins, handing her the coffee to which she thanks him with a murderous gleam in her eyes that's all show.
His flight leaves at noon, and it's only now a little past seven, but he packs up anyway. (He never really unpacked so it's more refolding everything until Alex reemerges.)
"Do you need a ride to the airport?"
It takes him a couple seconds to say no, he'll call a cab, because he can't seem to stop looking at her.
Then he remembers that they made a choice the night before, and he needs to adhere to his promise.
Alex must notice, for she blushes and ducks her head, a few curly locks of hair falling into her face. All of a sudden he wants to tell her that he likes it, that long, curly hair suits her, but the inevitable awkwardness that would invariably ensue just isn't worth it for something so trivial.
(It isn't trivial though, and therein lays the real problem.)
She fidgets. Something she's done a lot since he showed back up in her life.
Again, Justin feels guilty. And again, he wonders if it will ever go away.
Now he watches her reach under the curtain of her hair to the back of her neck and unclasps the chain she's wearing. "Here." Taking hold of Justin's hand, she drops the St. Christopher medal into his palm. "He does protect travelers after all and it is yours so…"
Justin stopped thinking of this necklace as his the second he saw her tangle the chain around her fingers in her gallery, maybe even the first time she tugged on it to pull him down for a kiss.
Only he doesn't say that. Doesn't give it back to her. He puts it on, feeling in part that it'll help him keep a piece of Alex with him back in Chapel Hill. "I always wondered what happened to this."
"You left it in your room, back in New York," Alex tells him. "I found it a few days after..."
"Oh."
Silence falls and Alex laughs, trying to break it he assumes. "There's that elephant again."
"Yes, I think he's growing." Justin shrugs, stands up. "I think I'm gonna walk down to the bus stop, see a few sites before I go."
"The Library of Congress doesn't open to the public until 9." She grins at him, teasing, and he would never admit it, but Justin loves that she still knows him so well.
Shrugging, he hoists his bag up on shoulder, and moves toward her. "It was good to see you, Alex." Enveloping her into his chest, Justin rubs a hand up her back, hoping against hope that the only affection he's displaying here comes across as brotherly and nothing more.
Her head fits just perfectly under his chin, and her arms go around his waist easily. She squeezes him tight before stepping back. "Take care, Justin."
Justin stops in for breakfast at a little bistro on the national mall, conscious of begin hopelessly touristy with his duffel bag at his feet under the table. He looses himself in the paintings at the Smithsonian and browses in the gift shop, picking up a pretty little Mona Lisa inspired statue for Annaleigh.
Copies of the Tristan and Isolde soundtrack performed by the Washington National Opera sit on the checkout counter, next to piles of paperbacks of the same legend translated from the original German poem. The book cover is from the movie that came out years ago. He saw it-Alex was only 13 and their parents wouldn't let her go to the theater by herself so she forced him to take her.
"Love is made by God. Ignore it and you will suffer as you cannot imagine."
It hits him out of nowhere-he didn't know he even remembered that line. He barely recalls the movie, though he knows the story of course.
If that sentiment is true, then God must have one heck of a sense of humor.
…0…
A/N: I have no idea how long Justin and Zeke have been friends, so we'll call is creative license.
I also have no clue what time the Library of Congress opens to the public, but the Smithsonian opens at 9 so that's what I went with.
"Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death, amen." Rosary 1
"History is who we are and why we are the way we are." -David McCullough
"Love is made by God. Ignore it and you will suffer as you cannot imagine." -Isolde (Sophia Myles), Tristan & Isolde.