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He wasn't down south, in the city, back home. He was upstate, in a very old, high-end resort perched on low, rocky cliffs overlooking a river. Sitting on a balcony in the dark. Where it was quiet except for the sounds of water moving along its inevitable path, and night birds hunting for prey. He couldn't remember when, or even if, he had ever before heard an owl. He could say, should anyone ask him, that after sitting here for an hour he had come to hate the call the owl sent into the night. It made the surface of his skin prickle. It made him far too aware of exactly how alone he was.
He was the one who'd driven up here, so he had nobody to blame but himself. Even though alone there would be no different than alone here. Alone was exactly what he would be tonight, and there wasn't anything he could do to change that fact. Of course, he could have called Peter; he could have called a number of different people and asked to crash at their place. Then he wouldn't have had to face his apartment, empty of the person who'd been in his life for months, and as recently as the night before. He couldn't face his own bed without Jack in it, especially knowing where Jack was, and with whom. No fucking way could he deal with it. It hurt too much. Way too much, and way too deeply. So, he had run. Away from his friends and their sympathy. Away from the city. As if running would help.
He heaved himself out of the Adirondack chair and went back into the room. Drinking toward numbness was still a possibility, now that he could see his options with somewhat of a clearer head. Maybe it was the fresh air, or maybe it was the distance. Whatever. This place had a bar. Probably a hundred years old, like the rest of the building. Perfect. Fucking perfect. Exactly how old he felt.
He checked himself in the mirror over the dresser; he looked a hundred, truthfully. The brief glance into his eyes had confirmed it. No bright eyes there. Dull, hollowed out, with a recognizable pain that echoed deep into his brain. Down to his chest. The sweatshirt he'd pulled on at home, while shoving things into a suitcase, wasn't one of his better ones, either. He picked up his room keycard. His holster was there, and he hesitated over it for a long minute. He didn't want to wear it; it would be a noticeable bulge in his side. He couldn't leave it in the room. It would have to be put in the hotel safe, though even that was a shaky choice, at best. It required a trust in the staff that he certainly did not possess. He sighed for the hundredth time that day and evening, and clipped the holster to his belt, then pulled his sweatshirt down to cover it. He had planned on leaving identification in his suitcase, but now he had to take that, too, so he could prove he was a cop and could carry the damned weapon. He almost said, Screw it, but he needed numbness. He needed it like the air he was pretending to breathe. He left for the bar downstairs.
One of his exes was a guy who loved to get into the self-help stuff, though it drove Ed nuts. Steve had a book about relationships, and he used to talk about the timeline of theirs. What was likely to happen at one month, three, or a year. Ed remembered the year thing; that was a bad one. That was the time, when, if something was going to happen to break a couple up, it would happen then. Or maybe Steve had read that it could happen at a year, not would. He emptied the glass of bourbon in one gulp. He and Jack had been together for eleven months. So it was inevitable. This gnawing pit in his stomach had been waiting on the calendar for him all along, and he hadn't thought about it. Hadn't considered it. Hadn't seen it coming.
He should have done that, at the very least. If anything could have been considered inevitable, it was that Jack would find some softly curved piece of ass and breasts to go to bed with. His stomach roiled, and the searing ache in his chest intensified as the scenario played out in his mind, unbidden. She'd be petite, with a pert mouth, sweet smile, sharp mind and a vagina to boot. What Ed hated the most, what he absolutely hated the most, was that every time he thought about it, he either wanted to yell in rage, or cry in a crumpled heap on whatever floor was handy. Neither would take it all away. And maybe that was really the worst thing about this whole mess.
"Want another?" the bartender asked in a low voice, leaning on his hands in front of Ed.
"Sure," he replied, hearing his own voice raspy and thick. He cleared his throat. "What the hell," he added.
The man gave him a brief, intense look then refilled his glass. "We don't get many single men way up here in the middle of the week," he said conversationally. "Off season."
Ed drank. The alcohol was no longer burning, which was a shame; that had been a nice distraction from every other sensation his body was bombarding him with. "What makes you think I'm here alone?"
"Saw you check in." He lifted both hands, then picked up a rag from behind the bar. "Don't mean to pry. Guess I'm just bored."
Ed sighed, and this one was deep. What he wouldn't give.... "Bored can be a good thing. Trust me."
The bartender nodded, as he began to wipe the surface between them. "Got it." He stopped. "So. There's a woman making your life miserable," he said seriously.
Ed swirled the bourbon, then took another swig. "Not in the way you're thinking. She's the other person, the other woman-person."
"You're stepping out and that one is giving you shit?"
Ed sighed again. "No, I'm the one being stepped out on." He didn't care to be circumspect, he'd never see this guy again in his life. "My lover is with a woman tonight." The words were painful to say out loud, and he drank more to cover.
The man whistled softly. "Wow. Your lover's a dyke? Why did you ever hook up with her in the first place? She'll kill ya."
"No, no," he said, the alcohol finally doing its numb thing, or at least starting to. "My lover is a bisexual -- a male bisexual." Ed watched him sort of fall forward in mild shock, supporting himself with his hands again.
"Holy shit," he said quietly, "that's the first time I've heard that specific permutation."
"Permutation?"
"Hey -- I read. Yeah, permutation." He straightened, and looked hard at Ed. "So, what's the problem? It's natural for a guy to go after a woman, after all."
Ed did not need this homophobic jerk, who was supposed to be keeping his glass full, spouting crap at him. He banged his empty glass down on the bar. "'Nother." As the bartender did as he ordered, Ed said, "And for the record, it's not always natural for a man to prefer women." His glass was filled.
"No, man, you misunderstood. I meant that, you know, we guys follow our dicks. First, last and always." The other man shrugged. "Gay or straight."
"Bullshit," Ed replied, with feeling.
"It's not bullshit," the bartender said in a low voice.
"Whatever. This is different. We--" His throat closed suddenly. He coughed, then drank past the lump. "We were... are different."
"You're men."
"Irrelevant," Ed said, hearing Jack's voice ringing in his ears: Objection--irrelevant!
"How can that be irrelevant?" the man asked, a touch of frustration clearly heard.
Ed pointed at him. "Look, just because we're both men, doesn't mean that we can't make a commitment and stick with it. Doesn't mean that we don't love. Hell," he said, letting his own frustration out, "how do you feel when your woman goes out behind your back? Hurts like a motherfucker, doesn't it?" The other man's eyes were slits. "Well, doesn't it?!" He was glad the bar was empty -- he knew he was getting too loud. Therefore, he wasn't numb enough. He downed the rest of this drink and lifted his glass for more. "Fucking right, it does," he muttered.
The bartender gave him another. "I guess," he said slowly, "that when we reach a certain age, we might do better at settling down and making a commitment...."
Ed sighed another very deep one, holding onto his glass with both hands resting on the bar. "That's rich, man. Yeah. Rich."
"Well, you're older than me," the other man said defensively.
Ed chuffed, and took another swallow. "Yeah, I'm older than you. My lover is older than me. Who's goin' out on who here...." He definitely wasn't numb enough. Either that or he had skipped right over numb and was falling into maudlin. Well, maudlin he could get in his room. Maudlin was what he'd had in his room. "Goddamn it," he said to the glass in front of him. "Fucking goddamn it," he repeated, quietly to himself. He closed his eyes, but then saw Jack and the whoever woman, the person Ed had not wanted to know any detail about. The two of them were probably in bed by now -- it was after eleven o'clock. His stomach roiled, and his throat was closing rapidly.
"Wow," the bartender said under his breath, then directly to Ed, he continued, "Another check-in." Ed raised his eyes. The man was looking over Ed's shoulder to the lobby. "You got some misalignment of the planets down in the city, man? This guy doesn't look too relaxed, either."
Ed didn't want any company in the bar, even though he was close to calling his attempt at forgetting a complete failure -- he would probably be in his room in the next fifteen minutes. After finishing his drink and maybe having one more. For the road. For the stairs. For the hell of it. He tipped his glass and emptied it, swallowing past the lump that was still there. He lifted the glass, and it felt a bit heavy, giving Ed a small ray of hope that he might pass out and not have to dream at all tonight. "'Nother," he said. His glass was refilled.
"Hey," the bartender said, as Ed heard the sound of somebody approaching, "what can I get you?"
"Scotch, double, on the rocks."
Ed's heart slammed into the wall of his chest as he whipped his head to the right. Jack was standing there, looking at him with intense, dark eyes. "Ed," he said. He put his helmet on the stool, and dropped an overnight bag on the floor.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" Ed blurted out. His brain had completely ceased functioning; his stomach was taking a much more serious trip, upside down. The stab behind his solar plexus hit anew, with more force than he would have thought possible, given everything he'd been through.
"Looking for you. We need to talk," Jack said quietly.
The bartender delivered Jack's drink and made a hasty retreat to the far end of the bar, wiping the already clean surface. Jack downed half of his drink.
"Think we've done enough talking," Ed replied sarcastically, unable to stop himself. He, too, downed half of his drink. "And how the hell did you find me?"
"Your credit card record," Jack stated.
"My credit card record?! You were watching my activity?"
"You didn't tell anyone where you were going, and you've got your cell turned off. Lennie said you were taking the next two days as emergency personal leave." Jack paused.
"So, you just thought you'd pull some strings and find me," Ed replied with disgust. "Next time, I'll pay cash."
Jack leaned in close. "We need to talk. Now." He finished his drink. "I assume you have a room?"
"You assume a helluva lot, counselor," Ed said in a low voice. Anger was replacing the pain; his brain still wasn't working. He didn't know what to do, how to react.
"Ed," Jack said, quietly again, "please. Let's go to your room." He placed a hand on Ed's arm, and the anger receded. Pain returned.
Ed finished his drink and slowly pulled his arm out from under Jack's touch. "Fine," he conceded. He turned away from Jack and stood; his legs were shaky and his head gave a little spin. He held onto the bar for a moment until he got his bearings.
Jack had picked up his things, and put some money down. He took Ed's elbow and began to walk them out.
"I can walk on my own," Ed said, with more than a bit of attitude.
"I know you can," Jack said gently, "maybe I just want to hold your arm."
Ed looked at him, but Jack was looking straight ahead, steering them toward the stairway. He couldn't think of a response to that. To any of this. The alcohol had hit him like a sledgehammer, but as they negotiated the stairs, Ed could tell that it hadn't even touched the hurt, way down deep inside. Numb had not worked. Now, he had no idea what would.
Ed keyed the door and walked in, ignoring Jack completely. He tossed the keycard on the dresser, pulled off his holster and set it down, too. The thud was loud in the tense silence. He glanced into the mirror, past his own reflection this time, and saw Jack putting the bag he'd brought on the bed next to his. Like other times, when they had taken one of their trips. Bags on one bed so they could sleep in the other. His mind stumbled. He quickly looked back down to the dresser top -- to his gun. It was solid; it differentiated him from other people. Separated him. He was unique. Whatever happened in his life from this night forward, he would still be a cop. No matter what.
Ed went directly to the balcony, to the same chair in which he had spent more than an hour, earlier. The light from the room spilled out into the night; it was enough to see by if you weren't looking for details. Like the set of another person's eyes. The set of Jack's eyes. Ed was glad he was sitting again -- his legs were beginning to feel like heavy weights hanging off of his hips. He heard water running in the bathroom. He looked out over the surrounding forest, a hulking black mass across the narrow river. Clouds had moved onward; there was moonlight reflecting on the tree tops. The damned owls were still calling.
"Here," Jack said, handing him a glass of water.
Ed took it after a moment's hesitation; he did not want Jack's pity, or caregiving. He couldn't make himself behave like an ass, however, so he thanked him, took a sip, and set it on the chair's wooden arm.
"This looks like a nice place," Jack said, sitting, and facing him.
"Seems to be," Ed replied. He waited.
Jack sighed, long and deep. "I'm sorry you felt you had to leave the city, Ed. I came to your place to talk... Anyway, I don't want to get into that again. I am glad I found you, though." He hesitated.
Ed shrugged; he really didn't know what to say to that. Was he glad Jack had found him? He had no idea.
"I'm more sorry that I hurt you," Jack said quietly. "I know that I did, but that was never my intention. I wanted to be honest with you--"
"Look," Ed said with some harshness, "we've been over the honesty part. I got it the first time."
Jack looked at him for a long moment, then scooted forward enough to be able to lean on his knees and clasp his hands together. He was perched on the edge of the Adirondack, only four feet away. "And you only got the first part of it." Jack sighed. "I didn't sleep with her, I didn't have sex with her, and I don't plan on seeing her again."
Ed closed his eyes against the wave of emotion threatening his composure. He felt some heady relief, but it was mixed up with anger, along with the ever present ache. When he opened his eyes he asked the question he really did not want an answer to, as if his muddled brain was firing without his approval. "Why didn't you? You were pretty clear that's what you wanted."
"I don't know if I can explain it, Ed. I...." Jack turned his head quickly, and looked to the trees. Ed waited again. Jack met his eyes, finally. "I was attracted to her, like I said. But more than that, I was beginning to feel that I was missing something -- missing the experience of being with a woman. Like a part of me was being discounted. It was the first time since we've been together that I'd felt that. But when I was at dinner with her, I kept having these...flashes. She wasn't you. She wasn't going to be anything like you. And suddenly, that wasn't something I wanted to experience." He shrugged. "I was a bastard," he said slowly. "I'm sorry."
What Jack was saying was not a surprise; it's what Ed had suspected was really going on all along. It was a bit of a no-brainer. Inevitable. But to hear him say it out loud, that Ed wasn't enough for him -- he was back to wanting to yell or cry, or both. "Maybe we should just call it quits," he said, his brain working on its own again. His heart pounded hard as the words came out of his mouth. The look of shock on Jack's face made him want to take them back, but he wasn't sure he could.
"No," Jack said with force. "That's not what this is about. I don't want that!"
"Well, I can't fucking compete with a woman, Jack. It's impossible!"
"Who says you have to? Who says I'm asking you to?! I just told you that I didn't want someone who was different than you." Jack got up and walked to the balcony wall. "God damn it," he muttered.
Ed could see him breathing heavily. He pulled himself out of the chair with some difficulty -- the bourbon was really doing its job by now, with fatigue helping it along. He stood next to Jack, facing him. "I get what you said. But...." He hesitated, not wanting to let Jack know how fucked up he felt. Jack was now staring at him, and for the first time since Jack had shown up, Ed wanted to see into his eyes. He needed to. He continued, "But I can't go through this again. I can't."
"I understand that," Jack said, his voice low and intense. "I don't want you to go through this again, either. I would rather shoot myself than hurt you. Jesus, Ed -- please give us a chance here." He grabbed Ed's forearm. "Please."
Some murky part of his brain told him he should be flattered. After all, wasn't this what you want to hear from a wayward lover? Please give me a second chance? "Jack," he said, his throat closing rapidly, "what do you want me to do?" He swallowed hard. "Because I don't know shit right now."
Jack slid his hand down until he was clasping Ed's. This was skin to skin contact, and it nearly broke Ed's composure wide open. He couldn't pull away, though. Jack said, "The only thing I want you to do is stay long enough to let all of this settle. Just that. No decisions until we're both thinking clearly, and we have some time together. I screwed up, and I know it. It's my responsibility to try and make it better."
Ed wasn't at all sure it could be made better. And the fuck of it all was that he still loved him. As deeply as he'd been hurt. After a very long minute, he finally nodded, knowing only that he didn't want to break up. Only that. How their relationship would ever work again, he did not have a clue. He didn't think it could. But he saw the absolute relief on Jack's face as he nodded in response, and seeing that did make a tiny bit of difference. Maybe it would be enough of a difference to change the way he was feeling. He didn't hold out much hope. He truly didn't.
Ed had decided, in the time it took them to walk back into the room, that he wanted to sleep alone. He had decided that he needed the space, and the protection of a sheet, blanket, and three feet of floor. Jack had looked hurt, and disappointed, but had not argued Ed's decision. Jack had stripped down to nothing, as usual, had gotten into the bed that had held the suitcases, said good night, and rolled away from Ed. Ed had become stuck while all of that was happening. He'd been pulling off his jeans, but had stopped with them in his hands and not yet folded, while he watched Jack and tried not to at the same time. He finished dealing with the jeans and said good night to the back of Jack's head.
He stripped down to his underwear and got into the bed closest to the balcony, after turning out most of the lights. They had left the bathroom one on and the door slightly ajar, like they usually did when sleeping in a hotel. Like everything was normal. Ed turned on his side, away from Jack, and looked out the windows. The moon was high, and the stars were bright in a sky unchanged from its natural state by city lights. Ed had imagined that he would pass out, conk out, fall asleep so fast he wouldn't know what had hit him. It wasn't happening quite like that. It wasn't happening at all.
The ache in his heart was throbbing with every beat. He told himself for the tenth time, at least, that Jack had not dishonored their promise of monogamy. He worried that he was getting hung up on which, and if any, physical act constituted a break of the promise. So Jack hadn't fucked her. Had he kissed her? Did it matter? He'd wanted to. Did that matter? Was it any different than with past lovers -- when either Ed or the other man had been unable to keep their dicks in their pants -- solely because Jack had wanted the same thing with a woman, instead of a man? If it had been a man who had attracted Jack, would that have been better? Did that matter? Or was it the mere fact that Jack had wanted something more with someone other than him?
Ed had absolutely no answers. All he had was hurt, and disillusionment, and a touch of despair. He relied on the relationship to keep him grounded. He relied on Jack for that, too. Now, everything was up in the air -- he, most of all. He was free floating, after having had the rug pulled right out from under him. He craved the numbness again.
He heard Jack moving in the bed, behind him. Heard him sigh, and his throat reacted, closing too rapidly to stop, for the umpteenth time. He breathed deeply, making an effort which eventually paid off. He rolled onto his back, and looked over. Jack was also on his back, with hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. Ed rolled one more time, until he was facing the other bed. Jack turned his head, and their eyes met, and slowly locked. Ed let him in, just enough to read the man, and be read in return. Even in the low light, he could see something which made him hurt in a completely different way.
He got out of bed and crossed the three feet of floor, with surprisingly steady legs and unwavering eye contact. Jack pulled back the covers, scooting to give him room. He climbed in, moving close, aligning his body with Jack's. He paused, then Jack opened his arms and he moved closer still, gently falling into the embrace, with a startling choke at the feel of nearly full skin to skin contact. Jack's arms wrapped around him. He buried his face in Jack's neck and inhaled deeply, letting his lover's scent do what it always had. Then he felt a strong hitch in Jack's breathing, and it almost shattered his control. The chest under his hand was lifting shallowly and too fast to be normal.
"It's okay, Jack," he said softly, "it's okay."
He heard Jack swallow, hard. "I love you, Ed." His voice was thick, and deep.
"I know," he said, his own voice not much clearer. "I love you." He deliberately kept the 'too' off the end; he needed this to sound direct, and not automatic. He needed him to know. He needed it deep down, as deeply as he'd been hurt. Jack's arms tightened around him. He caressed Jack's chest, and up to the side of his neck and face. Jack's breathing had evened out. So had his own. This still felt right, and maybe it would be enough to make that difference. The one he was now far less certain was impossible. This was a start. And as Steve had always said, sometimes the most significant step was the first one -- it was everything that came next which was truly difficult. Ed touched the soft skin where Jack's neck met his shoulder. He felt Jack's fingers moving slowly over his back. It was a start. Only a start.
Rating: R
Summary: McCoy/Green. How strong can a relationship be? Angst.
Author's Note: This could be considered a sequel to Choices Made. I consider it such. If it makes you feel better, after reading this, to discount that notion, feel free. Link to the sequel, Doors, Unlocked, is at the end.
Copyright January, 2004, Cassatt
If Ed had been in any other place, like south of here, back home in the city, he would have known what to do. He would take a walk across some New York streets, or go to the neighborhood bodega and buy a fifth, bring it home and drink half of it in front of a late movie until he was numb. It would be a lousy movie, undoubtedly; all of the late night ones were. Cheesy plot veering toward soft-core porn. Stupid suspense movie which was not suspenseful in the least, or worse yet, a lousy cop drama, where the police were all idiots save the hero and the bad guys were characatures of the jerks he arrested every week. Or was it the other way around? The perps on the tube were mimicked by the perps he shoved into the car? He no longer knew.
On to the sequel, Doors, Unlocked.