Extra Author's note: I wrote this story mostly as entertainment for two of my friends for a school assignment on the Great Gatsby. I'd joked about a Great Gatsby fanfic for a little while before I decided to go through with it. There's an extra song in the soundtrack at the end for my teacher to listen to when he graded, so I guess just live your best while listening to that one. The ending is a little rushed, mainly because I was running out of time before the deadline and my ideas for the story had gotten a little out of hand. Let me know if you'd be interested in a less rushed rewrite or even a longer version of this story. Enjoy!
Authors Note: For the reader's convenience, you will not be able to listen to the whole song while reading. Listen to each song as it comes up in the comments and start the next one when you get to that section of the story.
This story begins right after the car crash when Nick is driving up to the Buchanan manor and runs into Jay.
(The Night We Met, by Lord Huron)
I sat dumbstruck in the car next to Tom as he pulled into the drive of the Buchanan estate. When we came to a stop and got out, Jordan turned around.
"Won't you come in, Nick?" she asked. I shook my head silently. She wavered for a moment, seemingly unsure of what to do or say, and then walked into the house after Tom. I sat down heavily on the front steps and dropped my head into my hands. I heard a rustle from the bushes and Gatsby emerged, his face an ashen white. I jumped up, ready to demand answers from him, but he just shook his head and sat down on the steps. I sat down next to him, and his shoulders began to shake. For an absurd moment, I almost thought he was laughing, and then a sob escaped. I awkwardly put an arm around his shoulder but didn't say anything.
"It was her, Nick," he said quietly.
"What are you talking about?"
"Daisy was driving. Daisy killed her," Jay turned into me suddenly in an intimate way, but I oddly felt no reason to stop him. I hesitantly moved my hand up to his hair.
"Tell me what happened," I whispered.
Jay shuddered and began to speak in a low tone. "She was furious at me on the drive home. I didn't know she could even get that angry… I…" He shook his head as if shaking away a thought he didn't want. "I let her drive because I thought it would calm her down a bit. Oh, Nick, she was saying the most terrible things about me; it was like I wasn't even there. I… I don't know what possessed me in the last five years. She never loved me… she doesn't even know what she wants; she just lets that… buffoon tell her what she wants." He dissolved back into tears. I was at a loss for words, but I sat like that with him until the urgency of the situation dawned on me quite suddenly.
"Jay," I said suddenly.
He looked up at me, his face streaked with tears.
"The woman who… who was killed, that was Tom's mistress," I explained hurriedly. Jay just looked at me, not yet understanding what I meant. "Tom is letting the mistress' husband think the two of you were having the affair! Wilson- he's going to kill you!"
Realization washed over Jay's face and his eyes hardened. "That bastard… that cowardly bastard!" I thought he was talking about Wilson, but as he glared angrily at Tom's car that was being driven to the garage by an aging butler, I realized he was furious at Buchanan. My mind raced, frantically trying to comprehend the events of the past few hours. I didn't understand my current feelings for Jay. I had felt so betrayed when I thought he'd killed Myrtle. I certainly didn't love Jay Gatsby- or James Gatz- but I couldn't help but admit to myself that the admiration and proximity of the last few months had meant more to me than a platonic friendship. Against my better judgment, I pressed a kiss to the side of his head and stood up quickly. The darkness of the night hid the fierce blush on both of our faces.
For a moment, I let myself admire Jay Gatsby. The tears that still clung to his long lashes shone in the moonlight and I could see the sharpness of his cheeks and jaw. A single blond lock had fallen out of his usually perfect coif and into his eyes. He was undeniably a beautiful man, whatever that meant to me. My mind briefly flitted back to the day in the hydroplane. It was only a month or so ago, but at that moment, it felt like years.
(This Is What Falling in Love Feels Like, by JVKE)
That sunny July afternoon, I left my house and walked down to his dock. An enthusiastic Gatsby awaited me and welcomed me into his hydroplane. We skated over the water, out of the bay, and onto Long Island Sound. When we were a good distance from land, the engine sputtered and died.
"Blast!" Gatsby cried. "It's out of fuel!"
"What are we going to do?" I asked nervously. We were quite far from land; there was no easy way to get back and very few boats around us. It was late afternoon and the light would begin to fade soon. Gatsby lifted up the hatch and stood up on his seat, looking out over the water. A cool breeze ruffled his hair and I caught the scent of his cologne. He climbed up onto the roof and held out a hand for me to follow. He saw the hesitation in my eyes almost before I knew it was there myself.
"Don't worry, old sport," he told me jovially. "I'll make sure you don't fall off."
I grasped the offered hand and joined him on the roof of the hydroplane. We spent the next hour gazing out at the water and talking about everything and nothing. We lapsed into peaceful silence as the sun began to set, just observing the brilliant orange hues on the horizon. He stretched out his legs so they brushed against mine and I felt a jolt of electricity. Just as it seemed he was reaching his hand over to mine, a boat appeared on the horizon. Jay jumped up, waving.
"What is it?" I asked stupidly.
"That's my boat!" he cried excitedly. "Ah, the old sport, Bunter must have come through for me!"
I didn't know what to say. I was still trying to wrap my head around my blossoming feelings for Gatsby. I almost felt disappointed at the arrival of his butler; I didn't want the idyllic afternoon to end.
(Run Boy Run by Woodkid)
"What are we going to do?" Jay's frightened voice snapped me back into the present moment. I hesitated. Usually, Gatsby was self-assured and confident and led everyone else with his long strides and booming voice. My mind raced as I tried to accept this new role and figure out what steps to take next.
"You- we- have to leave. Wilson wants revenge; he'll follow you anywhere," I said.
"California!" Jay replied quickly. I stared at him, waiting for him to elaborate. "We'll take my car to Pennsylvania and then get on a train to California. Leave the car at the train station, and he won't be able to follow us."
I looked at him for a long moment. "All right," I said finally. "Let's get out of here."
Jay paused and then slipped his hand into mine and pulled me to the garage where his car had been parked. We rolled quietly away from the Buchanan estate and sped to West Egg as soon as we were out of earshot of the house. Jay pulled into his own drive and I went over to my house to quickly throw clothes into a bag. When I returned, I found him sitting in the driver's seat of his car, staring straight ahead and gripping the steering wheel tightly. A glance at the back seat told me a butler had packed a carpet bag for him. I gently pried his hands off the wheel and he looked up at me, his face an ashy white.
"Shall I drive, old sport?" I asked gently. He nodded silently and moved to the passenger seat. The journey to the train station remains a blur in my memory. Gatsby said nothing for the entirety of the drive, and I spent that time casting nervous glances at him when I thought he wasn't looking. We sat together in an empty car on the train, hats low over our faces. Jay rose several times to look both directions down the hallway; assuring himself that Wilson wasn't going to burst in and shoot him on the spot.
Sometime later, the train stopped in Chicago.
(Bad Idea by Girl in Red)
"I have a flat here," I told Gatsby. "We should stop for the night to get our bearings and decide the next move." He agreed, albeit somewhat begrudgingly, and we hailed a taxi to my building. Once we were in the doorway, Jay glanced around and then walked straight to my bedroom. I set my bag down and glanced in the door a few minutes later. He was still fully dressed and fast asleep on my bed. Abandoning the idea of a peaceful night of sleep in my own bed, I sighed and headed for the guest room.
The next morning, I woke up to the smell of bacon. Confused, I entered the small kitchen to find Gatsby standing at the stove, frying bacon. He turned around when I came in.
"Morning, old sport!" he cried jovially. He handed me a cup of coffee and let his hand rest on mine for a moment too long. I turned away quickly, blushing.
"I didn't know you knew how to cook," I said.
"Learned in the army," he replied lightly while serving bacon and eggs onto my plate. He wouldn't make eye contact with me. Both of us attempted to start a strained conversation several times during the meal, but the tension was palpable. After eating, Jay looked me in the eyes for a long moment and started to say something when we heard a loud banging on the door. We both jumped up and stared at each other nervously, unsure of how to proceed.
Before either of us could make a decision, the unknown intruder broke down the door. Thinking quickly, I grabbed Gatsby's hand and pulled him out of the kitchen window, onto the fire escape. My heart dropped as I heard footsteps behind us on the fire escape, but I didn't dare turn around to see who it was. Once we arrived on the roof Jay grasped my arm and pulled me to a stop.
"Shit," I whispered quietly. It was Wilson. He stood facing us, pointing a gun at me, then Gatsby.
"Well?" he demanded angrily. "Which one of you is Gatsby?"
"Me," I started, but Jay cut me off.
"Nick, what are you doing?" he hissed. "No, I'm Gatsby," he addressed Wilson.
"Think I'm going to fall for that, do you? I recognize you," he gestured at Gatsby with his revolver. "You're that bloke who hangs around Buchanan. Living on West Egg, thinking you're so great because you go to Gatsby's parties."
"They are rather magnificent parties, old sport," I said lightly, cocking an eyebrow at Wilson and taking on Gatsby's swagger and slightly condescending manner.
Acting as if Wilson wasn't even there, Jay turned to me, his eyes pleading. "Nick, please don't do this."
"Out of the way!" Wilson roared suddenly. Jay jumped back, startled. "You killed my wife," he said to me, trying to sound intimidating but his voice cracked pleadingly at the end. I looked him in the eyes and slowly raised my hands in the air. Wilson pulled the trigger. (Sign of the Times by Harry Styles)
It almost seemed like the world slowed down. Wilson turned on his heel and ran, fleeing a scene that he didn't fully understand he'd created. It would only hit him on the ride home what he had done. For years, Wilson would justify his actions as in defense of his wife, but it would haunt him that he truly didn't know which man was Gatsby and which man was Carraway. He would later drink himself to death and leave his children to fend for themselves on very little money.
Back on the rooftop, Gatsby caught Nick just before he fell to the ground. A bright circle of blood bloomed on the front of Carraway's white shirt. Jay kneeled on the cold cement of the roof; cradling Nick's head in his hands. His tears fell past his nose and onto Nick's face while he tried to locate the gunshot wound and apply pressure. Nick stopped him; holding his hand to his chest where Jay had been fumbling with his shirt buttons.
"S'alright," Carraway slurred, almost sleepily. "I'll be fine."
"Yes," Gatsby managed. "Yes, someone is going to come help and you'll be fine."
With an immense amount of effort, Nick lifted his hand and stroked James' jaw, admiring his greenish-blue eyes for the final time. "I think I loved you, James. Or I could have… Yes, I could have loved you, my beautiful old sport," His eyes began to close, and James frantically held his face, rubbing his thumb along Nick's cheekbone as if to will his eyes back open.
"Is that what this is?" James choked. "Love? I suppose I never knew what it felt like." James leaned down and pressed his lips to Nick's for the first and final time. Nick took his last breath, and, sighing almost contentedly, he closed his eyes as if he was just going to fall asleep.
"I love you, Nick Carraway," James Gatz whispered.
(Wait for It, Hamilton)
"Love doesn't discriminate between the sinner and the saints… Death doesn't discriminate between the sinners and the saints… But I'm willing to wait for it."