A talky, but critical chapter.

Chapter 20 – The Nightcap

That night's performance went as well as could be expected after the troupe was rattled by the encounter with Crystal. An unspoken malaise gripped their morale. A foreboding energy crackled around them, as if an invisible fuse with a secret length was set with the promise of something explosive to come.

At least the audience had no clue what was going on behind the scenes. The troupe was adept enough at keeping the drama out of the spotlight.

Long after the show was over and the cast and crew went home, Buster lingered behind, wandering the depths of the Crystal Tower Theater. It wasn't unusual for him, as he had similar routines at the villa and the New Moon Theater. There was something about basking in the sanctity of that space, paying tribute to a stage where dreams are both born and realized, that drew him in and reminded him of why he loved doing this. Tonight, the tranquility and fuzzy feelings failed to find him. It was as if he could hear that fuse steadily whittling down to its inevitable end, and what scared him was that what was to come may be worse than Crystal's latest blow-up.

When Buster returned backstage, he met a sight that stopped him so abruptly he almost fell over. Sitting at the table the troupe often turned into an impromptu setting for creative workshopping was Jimmy Crystal.

Did he really have the energy for this? Crystal could be exhausting. And the thought of being alone with him if he went ballistic again...

Buster thought about walking again and pretending he didn't see him, but that plan flopped as soon as Crystal made an impatient gesture to the seat across from him. Buster sighed and made his way over the the table. When he climbed into the chair, he was met with a fresh bottle of Old Clawson bourbon and two glasses.

Crystal regarded him for a moment before saying, "You said something that stuck with me after I left. You said this wouldn't work if I assume you're always lying."

"I did say something like that."

"I thought about it and I agree." Crystal gave a generous pour into both glasses before sliding one in front of Buster. "You know I can be fair enough to give second chances. So we're not leaving this table until you convince me to trust you."

Buster watched the amber surface of the whiskey settle with furrowed brows and tugged at his bow tie. "Is this a good idea?"

"Gotta get the truth out of ya somehow."

"You're reminding me of Nana."

"Not surprised I'm not the only one that has this issue with you." Crystal lifted his own glass and waited for Buster to follow. "What's the matter? Don't tell me you're more of a beer guy?"

"No way. My dad was, though. When I was a teen he left one of his beers sitting around one day. I snuck a sip when he was out of the room and that was enough to put me off trying another beer for at least ten years. Sometimes I think he did that on purpose to teach me a lesson."

Glass hovering above the table, Crystal grew more annoyed by the second. "It's not gonna drink itself."

Buster sighed and finally took possession of his glass. "Bottoms up."

"...And the eye was just bobbing in the tea like it belonged there!" Like a small wizard, Buster's fingers wavered around the top of his glass of whiskey, as if manifesting the imagery to life. "And Miss Crawly says to her, 'I've got my eye on you.' I thought Cleo was going to bolt out of the door!"

Jimmy threw his head back and laughed so hard his knee bumped the table, causing the bottle of Old Clawson to briefly teeter. Buster joined him with a chuckle. They'd both abandoned their suit jackets to the back of their chairs and Buster rolled up his sleeves.

"I was mortified when it happened but in hindsight it was pretty funny," Buster admitted.

"The way she talked about that meeting with you was like her life was in danger," Jimmy said.

"Considering how unpredictable Miss Crawly can be... she may not have been wrong."

Jimmy let the humor of the moment settle before he asked, "What's up with the ringtail?"

"Oh, you mean Aiden? He's the competition Cassidy brought in. We actually go way back to fifth grade."

"So that's the guy that could potentially keep my Porsha off the stage."

"It's not like he's against casting her."

"There's no guarantee either. And for all I know he could be a complete hack."

"He's not. Cassidy found a good rival for me."

Jimmy watched him, thought he detected uncharacteristic levels of uncertainty. "Think you can beat him?"

"I don't have a choice."

"Good answer."

What was once apprehension was now allure as Buster gripped his glass of bourbon and took another sip. Jimmy never let the glass go empty. Buster had to admit the wolf had good taste.

"What's all this gag reflex business?" Jimmy asked out of the blue.

Buster choked, his throat and sinuses burning as whiskey trickled out of his nose. "O-oh, t-that? That's just—you know what? Don't worry about it, don't think about. It's just something stupid. Something really stupid. Heh."

"If it's so stupid, why are you freaking out?"

After coughing up what was left of the whiskey in his windpipe and wiping his nose with his arm, Buster said, "Okay, look. It was all his idea. We were talking about your... temper, and he called himself helping by coming up with ways to... calm you down... and he suggested, you know..."

"Porsha liked to say this, so... explain like I'm five."

"That's, uh... that's definitely not something you explain to a five year old."

Jimmy's brows shot straight up, his throat starting with a low rumble that rolled into sporadic chuckles and erupted into full on guffawing.

"It's not that funny," Buster seethed, his cheeks burning.

"Don't know if I should be offended or flattered," Jimmy managed through waning pockets of laughter. "Guess that little crack I made about my size didn't help."

Buster covered his face and groaned. When he looked up, the wolf was giving him a wry grin.

"What?"

"Do you have a gag reflex?"

"Jimmy!" Buster whined.

Jimmy let out one last chuckle before it dawned on him. "Wait, when did you start calling me Jimmy?"

"I don't know, after everything that's happened... it just felt right. You can call me Buster if you want."

"Nah."

"Too informal?"

"No, I just don't like your name. Buster." He shuddered and took as swig of whiskey as if washing the taste from his mouth.

Buster pursed his lips, wondering he should even dignify that with a response. Jimmy changed the subject before he could decide.

"You're messing up, Moon. With Gunter, I mean. I heard all about your little vampire show with the motorcycles. Let me put it this way. If we were at Crystal Entertainment and you were pitching that show to me, I'd buzz you."

"Do you really want to bring up Gunter after what happened today?"

Jimmy ignored him. "When he brought me his ideas for a TV show, he confided in me—of all people, me—that he was feeling neglected and underappreciated. He's your secret weapon. You better fix this while you still can."

Buster wore an obvious scowl. The audacity of Jimmy to lecture him on how to treat his own friends. Alcohol wasn't just a truth serum, it was doubling as liquid courage, because he was suddenly gathering the nerve to tell the wolf off.

He didn't. Deep down, he knew Jimmy was right. Out of This World wouldn't have happened without Gunter.

Jimmy finished off the last of the bourbon and brought his empty glass down like a gavel dismissing everything that came before. "That's enough chitchat. Let's get down to business."

Before Buster could point out that they'd polished off the bottle of Old Clawson, Jimmy retrieved a second one from the floor and refilled their glasses. Buster blinked. Was that always there? Jimmy gave him a look that said you're not getting off that easy.

Jimmy leaned back, folded his hands over his stomach and watched Buster expectantly. "Why do you lie?"

Buster closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I was scared that my success was limited. My dream was always to have my theater thrive, but once we started making waves and doing sold out shows, a whole new problem cropped up. Labels. Critics were... favorable to what we were doing, but condescending. They put us in boxes when it came to the type of stories we could tell and the audience we appealed to. I thought if I could get the famous Jimmy Crystal to produce our show on his stage in the entertainment capital of the world, no one could decide our limits for us ever again.

"When I told you I'd get Clay, I meant it in that moment, I swear! I didn't know how I was going to do it but I never intended on running that show without him. I know it's hard for you to believe me. From your perspective, there was no way for you to know that. I gave you no reason to trust me. I don't blame you if you still think I'm full of crap."

Jimmy's expression was unreadable, but as he leaned forward, Buster detected hints of annoyance. "I think you misunderstood. I'm not asking why you lied to me, I'm asking why you lie at all. You reached a point in your life where you decided the truth was optional. I want to know why."

Buster grit his teeth.

"We can play a little game," Jimmy said. "I'll give a reason and you'll tell me if I'm hot or cold. The whiskey's right there. You can take another gulp if it'll jostle the truth out of ya."

"Why are you doing this?"

"I told you already. I don't get you. We'll never get past this until I do."

"I don't know what it is you think you want to hear from me."

"Game it is," Jimmy said with a bitter smirk. "You believe that because you have a dream you're entitled to it."

"What? No."

"Or maybe you think you're the only one whose dream matters."

"That's not it at all."

"Do you enjoy the power you have when you manipulate everyone with your lies? Maybe you get a rush succeeding off of deceit."

"Oh, for Pete's sake...!"

"You gotta give me a hint here, Moon. What would possess someone like you to come into my world, my territory, and spin complete fabrications to my face? Why would you do that to anyone?"

"I don't know," Buster replied breathlessly. He pulled at his bow tie one too many times; it unraveled, and he abandoned it on the table.

"Bullshit. You're not some kid doing random stuff. It's calculated. You know exactly what you're doing and you keep doing it."

"Leave this alone!"

"I exposed you all over national television with that Kilborn interview. The whole world knows Buster Moon is a goddamn liar. That's your defining trait. Tell me why you do it!"

"Because the world isn't fair!" Buster snapped, his voice a pained, thunderous roar that rolled all the way out across the stage and over the empty seats. He didn't remember jumping up on his seat and slamming the table with his palms; he only recognized the aftermath as Jimmy caught the bottle of bourbon before it fell over.

He sank back into his seat, awash with shame and confusion. Was it the constant jabbing or the alcohol that made him lash out that way? Even worse, Jimmy Crystal wasn't one to be screamed at, but thankfully the wolf was only watching him, eyes narrowed with intrigue.

Well, Jimmy got what he wanted, Buster thought. There was no putting that genie back in the bottle. He didn't know if he wanted to run away from the truth anymore. He was tired of running, of giving cover. He was doomed to a life of dishonesty if he couldn't even be honest with himself.

"Do you know how my father died?" Buster asked, barely above a whisper. "It was a normal day like any other. He was walking to the theater like he always did. He liked to stay active even at his age, so a stroll to Echo Drive was no big deal. But he had... it was..." Once, twice he ran his fingers through his headfur, trying to find a way to disperse the anxious energy. "They described it as a catastrophic cardiac event. He collapsed on the sidewalk and was dead in minutes... three blocks from the theater. I didn't have a clue."

He choked back something that was more resentful than sad. "My father did everything right! He worked a brutal, thankless job, paid his taxes, followed all the rules, and he ended up dying a sudden and horrible death on some sun-baked piece of cement, surrounded by strangers!"

With a contemplative hum, Jimmy said, "So you cheat and lie because you figure the universe owes you?"

Buster chanced a tepid glance at Jimmy. "He should be here with me right now. He should be enjoying his twilight years, doing nothing but relishing the fruits of his labor in retirement. All of this is because of him and he didn't get to see any of it."

"Think your dad was a sucker for doing it the right way?"

Buster grimaced. "Please don't tell anyone I said that. Please. I sound so bitter and entitled."

Jimmy flew back into his seat in riotous, knee-slapping laughter.

Buster felt a lump form in his throat. "Why is that so funny?" he demanded.

"I knew it! I always knew it! You strut around like your world is nothing but sunshine and rainbows, saying cutesy things about rock bottom and marrying optimism—"

"It's stanning, not marrying—"

"—spinning your dorky little bow tie like a pinwheel—"

"My bow tie doesn't spin—"

"—when underneath it all, you're just as fucked up as the rest of us."

Buster wasted away in silence, his face marred by the anguish and shame of his confession and the sting of Jimmy's words.

Breaking the silence, Jimmy said, "I think I finally get you."

That didn't do much to alleviate how Buster was feeling. His father stayed on his mind. "Maybe I watch too many movies, read too many stories. I never got my final moment with him. I never got to say goodbye. It happened so suddenly, just... one day he was here, the next he was gone."

"Maybe it's better that way."

Buster's eyes snapped onto the wolf. Could even he be so cruel in this moment? But he detected no trace of hostility. Jimmy's sight was trained on something unseen and far away.

"The first sign was the headaches," Jimmy continued. "At first I thought she was being difficult, ya know? 'Not tonight Jimmy, I have a headache.' But they got more frequent. That was the first sign something was wrong, but we were raising a daughter and building an entertainment empire. There wasn't time to sit and worry about what was really wrong."

Buster's ears fell low as he realized what he was hearing. A pang of guilt rattled him, as if he were eavesdropping on the most sensitive of conversations. He wasn't sure if he should be hearing this, but he wouldn't dare to stop the wolf from bearing his soul.

"It escalated, though I can't really say without warning. We were having Family Time—Mercy was good at that, balancing work and life, keeping my head from being completely in the business—and it was the usual stuff. Played games, watched TV, maybe a little bit of singing here and there. But I got a call from work, some talent was showing diva behavior and not really cooperating or whatever, I don't really remember 'cause it wasn't that important, I was just known to keep everyone inline. I'm out of the room and on the call for maybe two minutes when Porsha starts freaking out. Come back to find Mercy on the floor having a full-blown seizure right in front of her."

Jimmy took a sip from his glass, regarded what was left in it for a moment, then gulped the rest down. He didn't bother with a refill.

"After that I got her to a hospital. We waited weeks for news from her doctors. We were hoping for a solution. She got an expiration date." Jimmy laughed scornfully. "She lived for about a year after that, though I'd hardly call it living. It was one long death for my family. Can imagine knowing when you're gonna die? Everybody wants to know the future but nobody knows what that really means."

"I'm so sorry for your loss," Buster murmured.

Jimmy's muzzle twisted skeptically. "Why are you apologizing? You didn't know Mercy and you barely know me."

"That's not entirely true. Between you and Porsha, I feel like I know more about her everyday. You can learn a lot about someone from the loved ones they leave behind. And you, when I first met you I thought you didn't feel anything. Now I know you lose control because you feel too much."

"Huh..."

A thick silence blanketed the entire theater. Jimmy traced the mouth of his glass with a claw. His eyes flickered to Buster and, for just a second, the koala thought he saw fear under his apprehension. He must've been dreading whatever was coming next.

"I crossed a line," Jimmy said. "I know that now."

"I get why you pushed so hard," Buster replied. "You wanted to know me better."

"No, I meant..." Jimmy pointed up. Buster tried to follow along and didn't see anything initially. Then he recognized it, looming way up high and in the back.

For his safety, for his sanity, Buster avoided the catwalks and even the elevators that led to them. It was one of the caveats of getting the show up and running again in the Crystal Tower Theater. Everyone understood. No one made a fuss over it. But the catwalk was always there, towering in the distance. And the guy that threw him from it had just brought it up to him without warning.

Buster tried to ignore it, but the skin beneath his fur prickled and needled with heat.

"For the longest time I've felt like I was standing on the precipice of failure," Jimmy said. "Despite all my success, it was like I could lose everything in the blink of an eye. Then you showed up, pushing all my buttons, pulling every trigger, making a mockery of the dream I built, and what was a paranoid nightmare started to feel like reality."

Everything was awash in a concoction of pink and blue light. The bow tie began billowing on the table as if free in a breeze. Buster's fur bristled with wind of a free fall. He pulled himself down against the chair, tiny claws digging inside. He didn't want to fall. No one would catch him this time.

"Every time I let down my guard or diverted my attention, it was something else with you. I was pissed and desperate. You hurt me and I wanted to hurt you way worse. It made sense at the time, but I needed you gone. I was satisfied when I thought you left town, but then you came back and..."

Sweat beaded across Buster's fur. His heart pitched in his throat, his breathing quick and erratic. He couldn't have an episode now. Not in front of him.

"That probably sounds like a lot of babbling and excuses," Jimmy continued, oblivious to the koala's distress. "Look, they don't really sell cards for this kind of thing, and maybe it sounds ridiculous when put this way, but... I'm sorry I tried to kill you."

Buster looked up at Jimmy and was met with an illuminated, sadistic smile that didn't match his words. A smile he never wanted to see again. He jumped out of his seat, closed his eyes and shook his head. This was not happening again. When he opened them again, he snapped back into the present moment.

Jimmy quirked an eyebrow. "What's wrong with you? Looks like you saw a ghost."

"No!" Buster snapped, pointing at him. "Just... no! I almost was a ghost! You can't just wash it all away by tossing an apology out there." Jimmy slowly recoiled and watched in stunned silence as Buster continued to berate him. "What you did to me still affects me in ways I didn't even realize! I'll have to deal with this for years! It's not right, and it's not okay!"

"But—"

"Look at me!" Buster howled, fur frazzled and drenched in sweat. "You did this to me! You think I'm going to give you some kind of pass to escape what you feel? When do I get to escape what I'm feeling right now!?"

Jimmy looked away, but Buster's indignant growl forced his gaze to snap back. "So what do you want from me?" he asked quietly.

"Right now? I don't want anything from you."

Jimmy stood up from his seat at a complete loss of what to do next as Buster stumbled out of the theater without another word.

A/N

I consider this to be the midway point for the Moonfall saga in terms of plot development moreso than chapter or word count. This is a pretty pivotal development between Buster and Jimmy, learning startling revelations about each other and themselves. A mutual understanding. This is the point where the truce evolves into... not quite a friendship, but most of the animosity is withering away. A foundation is being cemented to build something greater. But as you can see, they're not there yet.