Take me home tonight

[Jack Ripley]

Jack ran a hand through his hair. He didn't know where to look or what to say to that. Guilt was a huge part of it. Regret was one of his ugliest burdens but he hadn't done anything to Allie. Should he feel guilty that he didn't when Allie might have wanted it? But he didn't. He didn't want to die, he wanted somebody to hold him, like Jack did. He wanted somebody to look at him like maybe there was a whole world inside of him that only he could see.

And Jack wanted to. He wanted to but he didn't even know how to try. What could he do for Allie, to ameliorate all that pain inside? What could anyone do?

He knew Brayden was right but it still felt wrong inside that he had no ability to change things for Allie. That maybe he might have but now he couldn't. That part of him had somehow been shut off. The fear had been there for a moment--a breathless, deathly moment. But when vision returned, he could see that Allie was still there, alive, content, sighing, laying back.

Breathing.

"Somebody hurt him. And then I hurt him. And I don't think he's going to be okay. So I keep--keep thinking, where could I have changed things, when did it go wrong, how could I fix it." He looked up at Brayden. "But I can't fix things, Brayden. I can't even fix myself. But I can't watch another--I can't let him... die."

[Brayden Smith]

While all of the details of the story eluded Bray, he could tell that something about Jack's friend had touched him in a bad way. It did something to him, drove him to drink to chase the guilt away. Why, though? Why did Jack feel the need to fix his friend? Why did this affect him in such an obviously significant way?

Bray thought back to that evening out in the courtyard, when Jack came stumbling home drunk from an evening out with their co-workers. Jack collapsed against him, whispering about wanting to die. Was that their common thread? Why Jack was so concerned over his friend, and why there was such fear in his eyes? If it were something frivolous, Bray didn't think Jack would be this way, almost frantically clinging to the assertion that he needed to fix everything for his friend. How good a friend could he be? Jack had only been in town for less than two months. It had to be that common thread--something he saw in his friend that he knew existed inside of himself.

He couldn't let his friend die--Jack admitted finally.

See? Being an over-thinker had its merits too.

Again, Bray took his time to formulate a response. He didn't want to say something in a hurry just to say something, and risk making things worse by compounding Jack's guilt.

"Then... we won't. We won't let him die. If you can't fix him, you can still help bring him back from the brink. And in time, maybe someone will come along who can fix him. If you help him stay away from the edge just long enough for that person to come along... Well, that's the most you can do, isn't it, Jack? It's the most anyone can do."

[Jack Ripley]

"It's just that..."

How to put it? Jack searched for the appropriate words in his surroundings, as if Brayden's friendly, cozy apartment would tell him something. Funny how their homes were built the same but they looked nothing alike. Jack's home was fancy. With the paintings and the shiny, new furniture.

"I'm not sure... we can."

We. Brayden was inserting himself into the mix, which was cute. But he didn't know the darkness that lurked in people. He didn't seem capable of it. As if he had been so loved that he was blinded to the very idea. But no, Jack had seen loneliness inside of him, too. An emptiness, as if before all this, he was a robot, going through the motions of his daily life without much joy. Was that how it was for him? Bland? Did he ever wake up for work wondering if it was worth it?

"He had somebody," he said finally. "Allie. He told me about him. His boyfriend. He spoke highly of him and I can tell he loves him but he doesn't feel like he deserves him." That, Jack understood. He understood it so, so much that it hurt. "So he broke up with him, even though he told me that his boyfriend wanted to work things out."

Idly, he slid a hand over Brayden's hand, over the back of his knuckles, along his fingers.

"Do you think we should look for him? Or... would it just make it worse?" He sighed. "I'm not usually much of a meddler, B." But... he glanced at the window, back where his own apartment was. He thought he knew somebody who was.

[Brayden Smith]

"Hey, you can't say that when we haven't tried."

Only Jack had tried--what about Bray? What about his chance to help someone? Bray knew he couldn't fix everyone but he at least deserved a chance to help make things all right, for Jack's sake if for nothing else. Bray wasn't much of a meddler but he was raised with love, in a loving environment. He was taught only how to love, not how to hurt or destroy. And that was his unique power that he brought into all of this.

He looked down at their hands too, at the way Jack stroked his fingers. That was a loving gesture and no one could tell Bray otherwise. Jack had it in him too--that secret power, the power to care for someone and to love someone. Even if it wasn't Bray and even if this was only a temporary reprieve from the darkness inside of him, Bray felt lucky to be here. He was lucky that Jack allowed him to be a part of his life--that Jack wanted Bray to be a part of him.

"I think we can be forgiven for meddling a little, if it helps save someone's life." He smiled up at Jack. "I'll bring him some soup. And I think we should look for his boyfriend. Maybe he can give us some insight into how your friend--Allie ended up this way."

[Jack Ripley]

Jack made a face. Oh, he could say whatever he wanted! He did try! Maybe not hard enough. At the very least, though, he kept Allie from going out in the night with a destroyed ass and a bunch of Advil in his system. And... at least he seemed peaceful in his sleep. Every time Jack checked in on him, he seemed at peace. There had to be a way to fix this. It was important to Jack. It was... a redemption of a sort.

Of course, he knew saving a life wasn't going to make up for those lost by his hand. But it was all he could do, unless he just wanted to give up and let go. Say it wasn't his problem. Bury it away with everybody else. Jack... didn't think he could survive another death on his hands, though. He knew it when he arrived here, before he even laid eyes on Brayden. Most certainly, there was a shift in him after being shown Brayden's unconditional kindness. But the deaths had been haunting him for years. And with each one, another piece of Jack's soul cracked. One more... one more... and he didn't think he was going to make it.

But he couldn't share that part with Brayden. So he swallowed hard and he stared at their hands, at their clean hands. No blood on these hands. Hands of lovers. No, no. Just hands of friends. Friends. Jack could use real friends. Did he really want to fuck that all up by sleeping with Brayden? (If Marge was to be believed, it was The Right Thing to do.) Jack wasn't so convinced. Sex, intimacy, and romance were all very different categories. Nobody could convince him otherwise.

"Well, then," he said, lifting his head in a more Jack-like fashion. "We'll try to soothe his soul with soup and find his boyfriend." He ran his hand up Brayden's arm, finally--finally--smiling. "I have to admit... having a plan of action makes me feel a lot less..." He waved a hand. "Useless."

[Brayden Smith]

There he was, the old Jack. Handsome Jack, with his handsome smile. Bray's heart fluttered every time Jack smiled at him and he was hard-pressed not to smile back even bigger than before. It wasn't all dire and bad and terrible--the situation and the realness of the danger was, but when they put their heads together, anything was possible. Bray felt that way with Jack, that anything was possible if they did it together.

"You were never useless, don't say that."

And here Bray thought he was self-deprecating and hard on himself, but Jack was downright cruel. Useless? Never. He helped Bray so much, eased him out of his little old turtle shell. He made Mondays not only bearable, but something to look forward to. Weekends were no longer lonely affairs where Bray went through the motions--cleaning his already tidy apartment, working in bits and pieces on his novel, going out for groceries. Now everything had a purpose and there was a purpose for everything he did.

He caught the waving hand in his own and pulled it down to rest in the space between them. Bray's smile was directed at their clasped hands, too abashed to look Jack in the eye as he murmured, "I don't know if you realized this, but you've already saved me. You're the hero in my story, Jack, and you mean the world to me. I know you'll be able to save Allie, too."

[Jack Ripley]

"Useless to him," he clarified. "I feel less useless to Allie. Well. Felt. Although I suppose helpless would be more accurate... It just sounds more pathetic."

Helpless sounded so... small. Useless was bad, too, but it didn't sound as small. And Jack didn't want to be small. Small minded, small hearted. Vulnerable. There, he thought it. Helpless made him feel vulnerable. At least useless just made him sound lazy. Why lazy was the preferred of the two could fill an entire chapter of a psychological profile. He didn't care to reflect on it.

"Ah...m." Jack felt a lot of things in that moment. A warm upswell of affection--Brayden's smile made Jack smile, too. A shock of surprise--how did he save Brayden? But also a tendril of fear. What Allie said about heroes and villains... Jack didn't feel like a hero, although he didn't like the idea of being a villain, either. And he wondered what it said about Allie's narrative, if the so-called villain saved the not-so-heroic-feeling hero. Allie thought of himself as a villain but... he was still a cop.

He wondered if in saving Allie, he was about to fuck himself over.

"I saved you...? And here I thought you were the one saving me."

[Brayden Smith]

"You saved me, even if it might not feel like it." Bray was firm on that point. Jack saved him and Jack brought him back from the brink of hopelessness. Before Jack came along, Bray had been inching towards the edge of that long fall. The precipice yawned before him, luring him in. Give up, it called out to him. Give up and embrace the loneliness, give in to the hollow feeling.

Bray was not and had never been suicidal, though. His demise was mostly--he supposed--losing who he was. Losing purpose. Going through life simply existing, but not enjoying any of it. Jack brought him back from all of that and showed him a life worth living, and for that Bray was forever grateful, even if he might never be able to coherently express himself.

Being told that he was saving Jack, though, made him feel warm. Wanted. Useful rather than useless. So they both saved each other? Bray looked up, pleasantly surprised by that revelation. "I guess that makes us equal then," he laughed as he reached out to pull the blanket down over Jack's shoulders.

Ah, well, tonight wasn't the night either, was it? He thought he had expressed his desire to be... more than friends but Jack never did give him any answers either way. Although, Bray supposed that absence of an answer was answer in itself. Maybe Jack didn't want to let him down, too. Maybe he didn't want to disappoint Bray and God knew Bray wouldn't have wanted him to go back to his old friend, whiskey.

He glanced outside the window, where the sun had yet to rise. But the clock said nearly five o'clock, and Bray wondered if Jack might need some sleep. Sleep was good for the soul, too. His hand lingered on the blanket, hovering near Jack's chest. "Are you going back to your place to sleep? Or do you want to stay here?"

[Jack Ripley]

Saved him... From what? He still liked it. Hearing it. Thinking about it. Without even trying, somehow he was doing the right thing. Good things. Jack never saw himself as a hero nor as a villain. Not even a monster, unless he looked really deep into it--so deep that it only cut him with its truth when Allie said it so plainly. Allie didn't even mean it in a derogatory way and it still cut deep.

After all this time, all this desperate, terrible effort, he'd managed to save one person. And he didn't even know it. Didn't know how he did it. He couldn't stop smiling and it slightly embarrassed him, so Jack lowered his head. The smile didn't go away, though it softened at the edges.

"Oh no, we'll never be equals." He said it so loftily that it might have sounded as if he thought himself better than Brayden but that could never be further from the truth. He lifted his hand up to the blanket too, as Brayden adjusted it. "O soother of souls and maker of soups, I bow to thee accomplishments."

But good question. Stay or go. He knew what he wanted. But Marge might be pissed if he left her alone in his place. What if he went back and she cut up all his ties? No, no. She'd never do anything like that. ...Would she? No. He cupped Brayden's cheek. "I want to stay with you." A gentle pat. "But I should probably go back. Marge is babysitting Allie and she might get revenge on me if I don't get back soon." He paused. "Although.... she'll probably be pissed anyway since I didn't--"

He glanced away and made a vague motion with his hands. Oh, did he almost say that aloud?

[Brayden Smith]

Jack said what Bray not-so-secretly felt. They couldn't be equals. Jack would always be elevated in Bray's eyes because he was the hero in Bray's life story. Cringe-worthy as that declaration may have been, Bray felt it to be true. Jack was the bright spot in his mornings, the one his thoughts turned to when he let his mind wander. He wouldn't have said that Jack featured in every thought... but he starred in a great many of them.

Meanwhile, Bray was... the maker of soups. The only thing he knew how to make, soup. What a terrible skill for a hero, he thought. Soup Man? Was he Soup Man? While Jack was a star--and a rock star--Bray was Soup Man, arriving on the scene with bowls of hot chicken soup to soothe frazzled nerves and to tell everyone that things were going to be all right.

Not exactly a glamorous mental image.

"Ah, I see," he said, disappointed that Jack wouldn't be staying. But it sounded like he was needed back at his place. Bray might have tagged along but it sounded like there were too many people there already. Allie. Marge--another of his friends, Bray imagined. And Jack would have his hands full with Allie, who was very badly off by all accounts.

"Since you didn't what?" He asked the question idly and almost in passing, as he stood up to gather the bowl and bring it to the sink to soak. While in the kitchen, he grabbed a container. "I'll pack up some soup for you for later. And for your friends, if they want any."

[Jack Ripley]

"Since I didn't fuck you."

Oh, there. There he did say it out loud. Oops. Part of him said it because he wanted to see Brayden's reaction. Part of him instantly wanted to take the words back before he could. Friends, he kept telling himself. They were just friends. Weirdly intimate friends, yes. But friends. What if he just screwed it all up by planting the seed into Brayden's mind?

He kissed me.

And that he did. But kissing was one thing. Fucking. Another. See, Jack had ways of compartmentalizing everything. There was nothing wrong with being intimate with a close friend--he had no qualms being so close to Brayden. So touchy. Because he knew when they met. He just felt the connection. It didn't hurt that he also found him attractive.

Fucking was casual. It was done for the fun of it, a way to pass the time and numb any stray thoughts. Fucking was something he did when he was bored, craved a good time, or thought somebody was particularly attractive. Flirting was one of his favorite pastimes, whether anything came of it or not. And he did have a think for eye-fucking anything he thought was attractive.

Fucking a friend, that could be a thing, too. He just had a hard time envisioning white-bread-vanilla Brayden as a friend that fucked. Not that he didn't want him to be. But... damn.

He crossed his ankles as he sat forward, pulling the blanket and his robe a little closer around him, as if he even had a demure bone in his body.

"Apparently, she knows you and she thinks we should fuck." Jack shrugged casually, as if it was the most natural topic to come up in conversation.

[Brayden Smith]

"Huh?!" Bray actually dropped the soup spoon in his shock. That-that was very... direct. Blunt, even. He bent to retrieve the dropped spoon, carefully avoiding looking at Jack who sounded completely nonchalant about everything. "She knows me?" Did he know her? Marge? The name wasn't familiar. While he wracked his brain for a face to fit to the name, he found another ladle and carefully began to transfer soup into the glass container.

"Um. Well." What the hell did he say to something like that?! Bray's face was hotter than the soup. He. Couldn't imagine why this Marge person would think that he and Jack needed to—fuck. Or why she would be upset that they didn't! Sure, Bray was upset too but not about something like that. Intimacy went hand-in-hand with relationships in his mind, and he and Jack weren't in a relationship. Ergo... no sex.

"I... have the soup." Oh, just drop it, Bray, he thought to himself. Drop it and move on, don't dwell on what could have been. Jack wasn't interested in a relationship with him. They might have kissed but maybe it was simply for comfort rather than out of a desire to be his partner. Bray even went out on a limb and kissed him first to indicate his own willingness to be his lover but he was now perfectly clear on where they stood and that was fine. He could be friends. They could be friends.

[Jack Ripley]

"I could lie," he said, mostly to himself now. "But I think she'd see right through me. She's like that, you know."

And she would see right through him; it was a weak lie. And Jack thought it would be fairly obvious if he had sex versus if he didn't have sex. Especially if she and Brayden started talking. There were some things that just weren't practical to lie about, he supposed. Jack's policy was to be as close to the truth as possible. And if not, then he just let things be vague. Or didn't bring them up at all.

He slid his hands over the hem of the fleece blanket, so different than anything that Jack himself owned. Everything with Jack was silks and brocades, cashmere and cotton (good cotton, not the cheap shit). He didn't think he owned a single thing made of fleece. But it was... nice. It was very... Brayden.

"Hey, B--" The question began but it didn't finish. All the hints had been dropped, the clues. Jack had been flirting with Brayden Smith since they met, first with his eyes, and then with his words. And even his hands. But Brayden didn't seem as receptive as Jack might have hoped. Sometimes, he thought it was because Brayden was just clueless. But he had been in a long term relationship before. Shouldn't he know the clues? See them? Maybe he was dodging Jack for a reason.

"Thank you." That was what he said instead of asking him. Why they didn't, couldn't, wouldn't. It was a stupid question, anyway. If they were, they would have.

[Brayden Smith]

Regret hung in the air between them as Bray returned with the container, wrapped up in a towel to guard against the heat. He smiled at Jack but his heart, it wasn't smiling. It didn't feel like smiling. "Yes?" he asked as he handed the soup to Jack, who didn't go through with what he started to say. Maybe it was just as well. Platitudes and sympathetic words couldn't take away from the fact that they just... weren't happening.

"Oh. You're welcome, Jack. If you need more, just come over." There was a little hope in that--in the fact that Jack was nearby, and it was only a matter of walking across the courtyard to see him. Bray was trying to be patient. And if it never happened or could never happen, at least he had this friendship to hold on to, and he treasured it no less than he would have a genuine romantic relationship.

Maybe the timing was all wrong. Maybe Jack just needed a friend in this moment, and not a romantic entanglement to add to everything else that was going on. Bray's life was uncomplicated but Jack's wasn't. His smile grew a touch warmer. Yeah. Jack didn't need that nonsense at the moment, grappling with his own pain, trying to help his friend. Even in his own darkest hour Jack was still trying to save someone else.

Heroic, Bray called that.

"Well. You should get some rest, Jack. And if you want to talk again, you know my door's open to you. Any time, day or night." He laughed a little. "Even at 4 in the morning."

[Jack Ripley]

With reluctance, Jack made himself get up, letting go of the fleece blanket and taking the soup. Then he stood there for a long moment, still feeling as if things were unresolved. It felt like Brayden was holding back on him, like he wanted to say something, too. But they just said things that didn't matter. Thank you, you're welcome, get some rest. Anyway, Jack knew a polite goodbye when he heard one. He had outstayed his visit. Brayden wanted to get back to sleep. Jack probably woke him up. There was no indication that Brayden might have been awake before, not even a blaring television.

No. Books. If Brayden couldn't sleep, he thought he'd be reading. He was a little geek that way.

"Right. I should get back before Marge kills Allie off," he said. "Although that would solve a couple of problems, it would just make bigger ones."

Time to go. A beat of hesitation and then he reached out, pulling Brayden closer for a half-hug. Any time, he said, as if he would always open the door for him. For some reason, he couldn't see Brayden ever shutting the door on him, no matter what terrible things he knew about Jack. He was literally one of those friends. The kind that people joked would help them hide a body. Jack kissed his temple.

"Catch up on your sleep!" Jack said as he moved back, pointing at him as he made his way to the door. "Or you'll get ugly circles around your eyes." His hand turned in a fluttering wave and then he turned away, opened the door, and stepped back out into the horrible cold.

As soon as he closed the door behind him, his energy flagged and he sighed. Time to get back to the real work at hand. There wasn't enough whiskey in the state of Oregon to help him now.