The Magnificent Maxwell Chapter 3: The Apartment Flat, a Don't Starve + Great Gatsby Crossover fanfic

I seem to have become invested in this story, and will end up writing it to its end. That means now I must mark it as incomplete, hahaha...

And with this chapter, it becomes a true crossover-Tom's here.

PS: Special thanks to Dara999 for reviewing thus far and alerting me to the fact that this uploaded funny the first time. Evil computer...

The next day saw Wilson heading into town with his cousin Charlie's husband, Tom. They had stopped at a gas station on the way there to fill up the tank, during which time Wilson had become suspicious of Tom's behavior—especially the way the gas man's wife acted upon seeing them.

"Say, you've been awful quiet," Tom noted—making the first time that day he had noticed Wilson's silence.

"I'm thinking," Wilson said, shorter than he would have liked.

"Oh right—your 'science experiments.'"

In reality, Wilson was thinking about the conversations he had had yesterday. Ask him to ruin his cousin's marriage? Preposterous!

"So where are we going?" Wilson asked as they pulled away.

"Just to an apartment flat I rent in the city," Tom told him. "We're going to a party."

"I've been to a party," Wilson said, still distracted. "It was quite impressive."

"Yes, I've heard that the parties over in West Egg are extravagant—but you just can't trust those nouveau-riche. Best to stay on East Egg—Charlie's been asking about moving you into one of the spare rooms."

Wilson would probably do it for his cousin, but he couldn't get himself excited about living under the same roof as her husband. "What's your opinion?"

"Well, your science would have to stay where it is, but the influence would do you good. Ah, we're here."

They had walked up a flight of stairs to a gaudily appointed apartment, and within thirty minutes, Wilson had divined what Tom was up to there.

"I'm leaving," Wilson announced, standing up and heading for the door.

"Now hold on," Tom said, catching him by the arm and holding him in place; Tom's physique as a polo player meant he could do that to Wilson's willowy frame. "You're not going to spoil the party, are you?"

"I ought to," Wilson retorted, dropping his voice to an angry hiss. "You're cheating on your wife!"

"No one's getting hurt! Although you might, come to think of it."

"Good-bye, Tom," Wilson said shortly, pulling away.

He was out the door and down the hall before Tom was at the door, yelling after him.

"I hear one word of this breathed elsewhere, and so help me, I'll make you pay, Higgsbury!"

"Write me a check," Wilson shot back.

It was evening before Wilson had made his way back to West Egg. He had been so angry that he ended up in Battery Park before realizing he was completely lost. He only had enough taxi money to get him across the bridge, and had to hoof it the rest of the way.

As a result, he was completely exhausted by the time he arrived back to his house, to see that there was another party going on at Maxwell's.

The good news was, he had had plenty of time to make his decision. He walked through the gate with the intention of finding the host and informing him of said decision.

Unfortunately, two hours of searching provided the same results the first party had provided—he couldn't find Maxwell at all.

Wilson ducked into a side room, which proved to be a library. He wandered through a bit, soaking in the silence, despairing of finding Maxwell. He sighed, exhausted.

"Shhh," a little old lady noised, glaring at him over a book and pince-nez glasses.

"Sorry," Wilson noised in an undertone. "I'm just looking for the host, Maxwell."

"I doubt you'll find him," the lady informed him, putting the book up and pulling another out. "If you ask twenty people if they've seen him, they'll give twenty different descriptions. I don't believe he exists."

Wilson considered this. The man he knew as Maxwell was certainly real, but….

Wilson shook his head and departed, aiming for the gate and home.

Wilson made his way out of the cacophonous party, rubbing his temples and staggering for his house. As soon as he found an appropriate horizontal surface, he was going to flop down on it and sleep. It had been too long a day.

"Say, pal, you don't look so good."

Wilson started. There was Maxwell, leaning against the oak tree in Wilson's yard and smoking a cigar.

"I was looking for you, actually," Wilson said, rubbing his eyes. He was dizzy with fatigue, but he had to have this discussion. "I thought you'd be at your party."

"I was waiting up for you," Maxwell told him, knocking some ash from his cigar. "How was your lunch with Miss Burnshigh?"

Wilson thought back on that, and how it had ended, with him running out the door, frantically hailing a taxi, with Willow tugging at his arm.

"Oh please, Mr. Wilson, you must understand!" she had pleaded. "Charlie's not happy with Tom—she loves Maxwell! But he wouldn't marry her unless he had money, lots of it—" She was talking rapidly now, as a taxi pulled to the curb. "But he took too long, and word went round that he was dead, so she married Tom—but the morning of, she got a letter saying Maxwell was still alive, and oh, she was miserable, but it was too late, see, and—"

"Miss Willow!" Wilson snapped. "You can't expect me to break up my cousin's marriage! I won't help, and that's final!"

But now…now, with the revelation of what Tom was up to—their hasty departure from Chicago, Charlie's attitude at the dinner he had had with them…it all made sense now. And now….

"Say, pal, did you fall asleep on me?"

Wilson looked up, his decision made.

"I'll ask my cousin Charlie to come to tea the day after tomorrow," Wilson informed him. "I need time to mow the lawn." There was no grass to be found, but Wilson needed his sleep. "You're welcome to join us, if you're so inclined."

Maxwell's smile was visible in the dark.

"It's a date, then."