Disclaimer: NBC, MCA/Universal and Wolf Films own them.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: McCoy/Green. Angst + Romance type flashfiction; #2 in the series of genre flashfictions.
Author's Note: Thanks to jessebee for all the help. This one is way over the 1500 word limit, but it's two genres, so I let that stand ;-). This also could be a "fanfiction convention" type of story -- the Trek-Voyager Away Mission Fic, a.k.a. The Camping Fic.
Copyright August 2004 Cassatt
"I don't fucking believe it," Ed Green muttered, hopefully in too low a voice for Jack McCoy to hear him. "Well," he said normally, "this is cozy."
Jack made a noncommittal noise as he walked into the motor court cabin's bathroom, flipping the light switch, and checked the drawers of the vanity. He made another noise, which sounded more like satisfaction, and which was followed by the sound of crinkling plastic.
Ed supposed the man had discovered the complimentary toothbrushes, and whether or not the shaving implements, soap, shampoo and deodorant were also to be found, Ed didn't care. He would in the morning, no doubt. Right then, the one double bed for the entire room held his undivided attention. Undivided, and uncomfortable. If he actually had faith in a God, he would think that the higher being had it in for him. For both of them, actually.
First Lennie got sick, so he couldn't take this investigative trip upstate, then Abbie had some family crisis with her father, so couldn't come either, and without warning it was Ed driving with Jack to talk to some wacko who was the cousin of another wacko who sold illegal firearms to their suspect at the prison where they both worked. If that wasn't enough to make Ed yearn for the blackjack table, on the way back to the city a storm had hit, and hit hard. A mud slide closed the only road, it was eight o'clock at night, and the only good thing was that they had already eaten dinner and had just passed a motor court where they were lucky to get the last cabin available. With one double bed, a fireplace, a porch barely big enough to turn around on, and at least fifty years of wear on its walls, furniture, and floor.
A gust of wind rattled the window panes, followed by another loud rumble of thunder. Ed peeled off his wet overcoat and went to the closet, hoping for regular hangars so he could hang it over the door to dry. There were wire hangars. A small triumph.
He walked into the bathroom for a towel to dry his head, where Jack was washing his hands.
"We've got everything," Jack said, meeting his eyes briefly in the mirror.
"Good," Ed said, grabbing a worn towel off the rack, every inch of the musty, enclosed space feeling like the heavy, charged air outside the cabin. He rubbed his head, and face, and tried to ignore the other man three feet from him. When he moved the towel off his face, he caught Jack looking at him, again, in the mirror. Jack turned away quickly.
"I'm sorry--about the accommodations," Jack said, drying his hands.
"This place is a dump," Ed said, then immediately wanted to bite his tongue right out of his mouth. "But, you know, beggars and choosers, and all that," he finished lamely.
"Yeah," Jack said in a quiet voice. He left the bathroom.
Ed closed the door, and sank down on the covered toilet. He shoved a fist into his mouth and screamed silently against his knuckles. Why, oh why did his life keep tanking? Three weeks. It had been three weeks since he and Jack had had what turned out to be a one-nighter. A simple roll in the sheets. A hot and heavy, and incredible, fuck. Seven hours, an early morning job call, Ed had left a note and had stolen out of Jack's apartment. And Jack had never called him again. They had never mentioned it again. Ed's track record was perfect. All good things slipped through his fingers, like losing something precious down a storm drain. Never, ever to be recovered. Perfect.
Jack sat heavily in the single armchair in front of the fireplace. Rain lashed the windows, pounded the roof. He was almost desperate for a drink, and desperation for alcohol was not a condition in which he often found himself. He was wary of desperation, and tried to avoid it, or talk himself out of it. But those old eye teeth of his were feeling mighty barter-able. He had one question for the God he still believed in. What had he, Jack McCoy, done to deserve this situation? Stuck in a cabin with Ed? Stuck with this horrible awkwardness, tension, and enough unsaid words to fill a legal brief? Thunder boomed overhead. What the fuck?! he shouted silently to the heavens.
The bathroom door opened; he turned involuntarily to look over his right shoulder. Ed stood in the doorway. There was a loud CRACK outside, and the cabin was plunged into darkness.
"Great," Jack said, standing and groping his way to the mantle. "I think there's some matches here--" He reached the mantle and began to explore it.
"Good," Ed said, his voice a little high, "cause my, uh, night vision--not so good."
"Doesn't night vision require some sort of ambient light?" Jack nearly tripped when his toes ran into a protrusion on the stone hearth. "Fuck," he muttered, pain radiating up his foot.
"You okay?" Ed asked quickly.
"Fine," Jack answered, ignoring his blood-deep flush of reaction to Ed's obvious concern. He found a box of matches. "Got 'em." He struck one, and heard Ed's footsteps, as he looked for a lantern he hadn't noticed, or candles. Ed came to his side. There was nothing. The match burned too low to hold and Jack blew it out. "Shit," he said.
"Yeah," Ed replied. "But you must be right, about the night vision. I made it here on one match."
Jack smiled in the darkness. He could feel Ed a foot away, and even with the strain between them, there was some comfort in his solid presence. In the dark. Memories flooded Jack's mind, unstoppable, of Ed, and him, under the covers, falling asleep in a post-orgasmic haze. Heart-wrenching memories. He was about to strike another match, only so he could move away, when a wavering, low light suddenly appeared behind the front window's curtains. Someone knocked. Okay, he said to his deity, all is forgiven--at least you sent a rescue.
There would be no heat until power was restored, and with the storm still raging, odds weren't in their favor. The owner had said it would get "damned cold;" uncaulked gaps around windows and the door proved him right. A cold wind seeped in, carrying the clean scent of rain, slowly permeating the room. So they cleared space in front of the fireplace and dragged the mattress there, neither one of them voicing the real reason why they were going to the trouble. Sharing body heat, close enough to make a difference, was not an option. In fact, as far as Ed was concerned, this entire thing was getting to be simply too much.
One gas lamp on the mantle, another in the bathroom, a mattress in front of what would hopefully be a roaring fire, and the cabin was acquiring the ambiance of some bad romance movie. A bottle of champagne, a fur spread, and it would be just... divine. Ed wanted to hurl.
He had offered to set the fire, to give himself something to do, something to think about, but after setting logs directly on top of the crumpled newspapers--because wasn't that how it looked in Freddie's gas fireplace?--Jack had taken over after a surprisingly gentle prod. Ed stood to the side and watched him work efficiently, creating a structure that, when eventually lit, caught fire easily. Ed was impressed. The fire gradually warmed the air over the mattress. He left to wash his hands and brush his teeth. He left to salvage his cool, too. Jack gazing into the fire was...hard to take.
Moving quickly across the cold floorboards, Jack returned to the makeshift bed from the bathroom, his clothing now hanging in the closet next to Ed's. The smell of woodsmoke was replacing that of the rain, giving the impression that the entire cabin was warm and cozy. Goosebumps on Jack's body belied that notion. Ed was hugging the side of the mattress furthest from the fire, facing the room, his eyes closed, one leg draped over the edge. Jack added another log and poked the fire, sending sparks into the updraft.
"You warm enough?" he asked, turning and pulling back the covers. The skin of Ed's back was gilded by the flames. Jack swallowed hard.
"Yeah," Ed said in a low voice. "You should take that side. You get colder than I do."
Though true, in fact, Jack was momentarily unable to respond. Had Ed always noticed this about him? Ed rarely wore a hat; Jack wore a knit cap and used his hood. He scooted into the bed, his cold legs and feet meeting relatively cold sheets. He lifted the bedding, willing fire-heated air inside. Ed was tense and rigid next to him. Jack felt the same. Hours ahead, exactly like this, looked excruciating.
He sighed in frustration. "I can go sleep in the car, if it would help."
Ed made a noise into his pillow. "Hey, if you can't stand bein' here, just tell me--" He turned his head and met Jack's eyes. "But don't use me as the excuse." He turned back.
Jack's heart started to pound. "What the hell does that mean?"
Ed turned his head again. "What the hell does what mean? You wanna get away from me, go for it. I'm not gonna stop you."
"I never said I wanted to get away from you," Jack said tightly. "I was trying to make this easier on you. You're obviously very uncomfortable--"
Ed punched his pillow hard, and rolled over, propping himself on an elbow. "I'm the one who's uncomfortable? Why do you think that is, Jack? Maybe because it's a little too ob-vi-ous how much being with me turns your stomach? Or is it just that you regret having sex with a man?"
Jack's mind reeled. He rolled on his side, too. "What?"
Ed glared at him in response.
"What," Jack repeated, "are you talking about? Did I act like I didn't enjoy having sex with a man? Jesus. You're the one who slinked out of my apartment in the middle of the night!"
"Slinked?! I--" He shook his head, then pointed at Jack. "I left you a note. In plain sight! So don't go givin' me this--this--" He shut his mouth and shook his head again.
"There was no note," Jack stated. A log popped in the fire behind him.
Ed wiped a hand over his brow. "You're telling me you never saw my note."
"That's right." Jack bit his bottom lip, astounded and disgusted at the same time. This was the problem?
"Well... so?" Ed waved a hand in the air.
"So?"
"Why didn't you call?!" Ed's eyebrows were at his hairline.
"Why didn't you?!" Jack glared.
Ed pressed his lips together, and stared back. Slowly, the fierceness dissolved into a gentle grin, then soft laughter. Jack's anger and frustration followed suit, dissipating in relief as Ed's face opened. Dissipating from all he was seeing. Possibilities. Possibilities he had first realized three weeks before, under a different set of sheets. Jack couldn't stop himself from joining in the laughter, and did, until it died down, and he and Ed were left simply looking at each other.
"So," Ed said, then hesitated for a long moment, "what would you have done if you'd read my note?"
Jack smiled. "That depends upon what it said."
Ed looked over Jack's shoulder to the fire, briefly, before meeting Jack's eyes again. "It said that I hoped we could go out again, that I was sorry I had to leave."
Jack reached out, across what was seeming less like a vast expanse of harsh reality, and more like the modest foot of space it was. He touched Ed's hand. "Well, then," he said slowly, "I would have planned some way for us to be stuck in a cabin in front of a fire, in the midst of a storm."
"Oh," Ed said with a small smile. "Corny, but effective."
Jack shrugged his free shoulder, and smiled, too. "Sometimes romance is incredibly corny."
Ed shifted closer, holding eye contact, lifting a hand to Jack's shoulder, sending a ripple of remembered desire over his chest, and below his waist. Ed said in a honeyed voice, "Point taken," and Jack was ready to pounce on him, roll on him, sink into him. But Ed had moved first, and Jack was about to be kissed, and he had a sense that this kiss would be different, would mean more, and be sweeter, and more intense, and sure enough... it was.
Rain was still lashing against the windows, and roof. The rumbles of thunder were further away. The fire was blazing, white-red embers accumulating with each passing minute, emitting the most heat. Ed was pressing Jack into the mattress, with their mouths enmeshed, and it was good, and right, and healing, and needed. And very, very effective.
End.
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