Date: Sat, 10 Nov 2007 12:28:24 -0500
From: christopher. <christopherrluu@gmail.com>
Subject: breaking through part 41

Usual disclaimers apply, this is all fiction.  No implications are made
about the celebrities mentioned.  This is intended for adults, so if you're
not allowed to read this, don't do it.

Author's Note: head on over to the Gyllenhaal Chronicles site for the
latest on this story and the other Jake stories on Nifty.  It's a great
place and I'm very grateful for all the people I've met there.  Sign up at
http://groups.msn.com/TheGyllenhaalChronicles/_whatsnew.

A special thanks goes to everyone who's written to me from the very
beginning and to those just starting. I know that the story's taken a lot
of twists and turns, good and bad, but thank you so so much for sticking
with me through it all.  As always, e-mail can be sent to
christopherrluu@gmail.com or on MSN messenger with that same e-mail
address.  I'm on all the time, don't be afraid to drop me a quick message.

Part LI

     "Hey, guys?" Topher asked, poking his head in the door.  It wasn't
locked, but it wouldn't have mattered, he'd somehow managed to earn a key
to the door.  It was, originally, so he could water the plants, but they
never asked for it back and he figured it was more about trust than
forgetfulness.

      He wandered through the house, a faint sound coming from upstairs.
"Hey big guy," he said as Atticus sauntered up next to him, head coming to
rest under Topher's hand.  He scratched behind the dog's ear before heading
deeper inside the house.  It looked normal enough; there was no reason for
Chris to be ignoring his phone calls--especially for two days straight.

     "Hey, Chris?  Jake?" he asked nobody in particular, hoping his voice
carried through the house.

     The car was in the driveway, there was nobody out on the deck, and he
was sure they were home.  He eyed Chris' phone on the kitchen counter,
screen alerting him to the dozen or so calls he'd missed, ignored, or both.
Topher's forehead furrowed.  He wasn't the only one getting the cold
shoulder.

     "Jake?  Chris?" he asked again as he headed upstairs.  He heard some
shuffling, and he felt a wave of relief come over him as he sped up.  He
stopped short when he glanced into the bedroom.  Chris was sitting on the
floor, back propped up against the foot of the bed, "What's going on?"
Topher asked.  Chris was shaking slightly, his eyes swollen as he pulled
his knees to his chest.

     "Chris, where's Jake?"

     Chris looked up at him with tired eyes and then looked over at the
floor to ceiling glass windows that composed an entire wall of their room.
Jake was sitting in a chair facing the water, silent.  "Guys, what
happened?"

     Jake turned around and Topher could tell something was wrong, Jake was
tired looking too, his beard fuller than normal, his hair messy and his
whole posture weighed down.

     "My cousin's in the hospital," Jake said reluctantly, like he didn't
want to hear his own words, "she probably won't make it."

     "She was in an accident," Chris said, struggling to hold back another
barrage of tears, "on her way to school."  The words barely comprehendible.

     "Oh God," Topher said, his voice trailing.

     Chris' face wrinkled and he buried it in his knees, rocking slowly as
his body shook with a new wave of sobs.  "I don't know, Topher," his voice
was shaky, muffled.

     "Are you guys going out there?" he asked, running a soothing hand over
Chris' back, "Chris, what...can I..."

     "We don't know what's going on," Jake said, "just that she's critical
and...," he sighed, "we just don't have all the news yet."

     "You can't do anything now," Topher said, pulling Chris into his arms.
Chris' body was limp and he clutched at Topher, his tears flowing freely
down his face, body shaking.  Topher held him tight, rocking slowly.  He
shushed him softly and felt Jake move down to the floor with them, his hand
joining Topher's on Chris' back.  He'd seen them laugh and seen them cry,
but he could only think of one other instance when Chris was this
emotional.  It was scary, for all three of them, but they were all thankful
for the company.

     Topher didn't know how long it took for him to get too stiff to sit
there on the floor anymore, but he somehow managed to drag the two of them
into the shower and call for pizza.  Chris came out hand-in-hand with Jake,
their hair still damp, their eyes still sullen.

     "I got some food coming," Topher said quietly, "I figured you'd be
hungry...or something...I, um..."

     He had no idea what to say.  He didn't know what to do, either.
Everything that came out seemed trivial, but there weren't a lot of things
that seemed as serious as the matter at hand.  It was a weird place to be,
admittedly, but he couldn't think of anywhere else he'd rather be.  His
friends, he could say that with complete confidence now, they wanted him
there.  He could feel it.  They'd have kicked him out if they didn't.

     Chris and Jake both looked distracted, sort of vacant.  "I need a
glass of milk," Chris said, immediately wondering why he'd even said it.
"Jesus...what the hell is wrong with me?"

     Topher was afraid to laugh.  "It should be here any minute," he said,
"it's just a pizza."

     "Thanks, Grace," Jake said, gripping his shoulder and pulling him into
a soft hug, "for everything."

***

     Chris turned on his side, his hand grazing Jake's stomach as he tried
his best to fall asleep again.  The blades of the ceiling fan, the same
ones that usually lulled him to sleep, now only kept him awake.  Jake's
soft, even breathing told Chris that he had somehow managed to slip under,
even with the bright sunshine beaming into their room.  His phone was still
lifeless, no new developments and no bad news.

     "You have to go to work," Chris said, shaking Jake softly.

     "No," Jake said.

     "You have to," Chris insisted, "you can't just..." he sighed, "go."

     Jake stretched, arms over his head as he yawned, "Fine."

     "I'll drop you off, I need the car," Chris said.

     "For what?" Jake asked, heading towards the bathroom.  He ran a hand
over his jaw.  He needed to shave.

     "Errands," Chris said, flipping onto his stomach, body trying to match
the patch of warmth on the bed from Jake's body.

     Jake yawned again, "Then get into the shower with me.  I'm already
late."

     They showered quickly, practically silent.  Jake pulled on his clothes
and Chris rummaged through the pockets of his winter coat, knowing that he
had some cigarettes hidden in it somewhere.  He slipped the half-empty
carton into his pocket.  "Are you ready?" Jake asked, startling him.  He
scrambled to smooth his clothes, shuffling the hanging jackets and shirts.

     Nodding, Chris straightened the closet.  He closed the doors behind
him and saw Jake, in a gray suit and blue shirt, no tie.  He looked
comfortable, had to be if he was just going to sit for the rest of the day
answering the same questions again and again.  Chris couldn't imagine doing
it, having to say the same canned answers for a million different news
outlets, especially now.  Inevitably, there'd be one sound byte they'd use,
no matter how many other things Jake would say.  An all day press
conference was an all day waste of time.

     "I'll call you if I get any news," Chris said, "I'll have my phone on
me."

     Jake nodded, "I'll call you when this is done."  He pulled Chris into
a hug, "She's going to be okay," he whispered, "she's already getting
better; I can feel it."

     Nodding, Chris held back the tears.  Just hearing about it made him
queasy in the stomach and shaky all over.  Every time his phone rang he
hoped it wasn't Rebecca, he'd rather have no news at all than to hear
anything bad.

     After walking Jake into the hotel, Chris gave him a quick kiss and
went out to wait for the car.  He didn't have a lighter, and he could feel
his hands quivering in anticipation of the nicotine.  It'd been a really
long time, but he knew it'd be like riding a bike.  He needed the fuzziness
in his head.  He'd be done with his errands in half an hour at the most.
He had time to escape.

     He climbed in behind the steering wheel and drove in no particular
direction.  Everything just seemed muted.  The entire world was gray and
dreary.  Pulling the car lighter out, he rolled the windows down and took a
long, slow drag, eyes shut.  Blowing the smoke out quickly, he let his
shoulders drop, his body already relaxing with the steady rush.  He
instantly saw Jake's disapproving frown in his head and he groaned as he
threw the cigarette out the car window.

     "What the hell are you doing?" he asked aloud.  "Come on, Chris," he
whispered, louder, "come on."

     A bookstore caught his eye and he screeched to a halt, a barrage of
honks behind him.  He couldn't remember the last time he'd gone into one.
A pit stop would calm him down, maybe he'd just sit for a little and his
head would stop spinning.

     Rushing inside, Chris sighed with the smell of the old used book.  He
slowly walked down the aisles, felt the spines of the books against his
fingers, eyes closing as he concentrated on his breathing, in and out.
Just like Dr. Bailey told him to do.  Stress was bad, he could almost
recite what Dr. Bailey told him about controlling his impulses.  He leaned
up against the bookshelf, sliding down to the floor, fingers running over
his face.  First, he'd throw out his cigarettes.  Jake would kill him if he
knew he even had them.  Second, he'd just go ahead and call Rebecca and see
if everything was okay.  He and Jake were shaken, but he had to figure
things out for himself.  Waiting was only making things worse.

     They'd spend the entire weekend lazing around the house, lying on the
couch, drifting in and out of sleep as their cell phones lay side by side
on the coffee table.  They were out on the deck, Chris wrapped in Jake's
arms as they watched their phones for any signs of news.  The entire house
was dark and stale.  Neither ate much, neither did much of anything.  Chris
couldn't stand it.  He kept debating just flying out there so that they'd
know as soon as something happened, but Jake had a schedule to keep and he
knew that if he left, Jake would only worry.  There was absolutely nothing
he could do.

     "Fancy finding you here," Chris heard.  He didn't look up, eyes still
glued on his shoes, expression blank.  "Hello?"

     Glancing up, it was Kurt.  Sighing, Chris swallowed hard, "Hey."  His
voice was hoarse.  He coughed, grimacing.

     "What's got you so down?"

     "Stuff," his voice was quiet, breathy.

     "You've got a way with words, Chris," he let out a nervous chuckle,
"is this part of the writing process?  Hiding in bookstore aisles?"

     Chris felt completely numb, definitely not in the mood to joke.  He
wanted to be alone.  The last thing he needed or wanted was to feign small
talk with someone he barely knew.  He reached for his phone, holding up a
finger to appease Kurt.

     "Topher, hey.  Can you watch the dogs for a few days?  I think we're
going to go out there.  I can't just wait anymore," he said softly, "I'm
going to pack and just get some redeye tickets or something.  As soon as
Jake's done then we'll be out of here." Enough waiting, it was time.  "I
appreciate it."

     "Sorry, Kurt," he said, "there's a lot of shit going on.  Family
stuff."

     "I thought you didn't have a family," Kurt said, "orphan and all."

     "I'm not an orphan," Chris added quickly, "those interviews are always
chopped and mixed up."

     "It's weird how you think you know someone from things like magazine
interviews and TV things."

     "Yeah," Chris said, shaking his head.  Kurt had no idea, "I have to
go."

***

     Jake was asleep, head resting on Chris' shoulder, their hands knotted
as Chris flipped through the channels on his tiny satellite television.  He
was too anxious and swore he wouldn't ever take another sleeping pill.
Jake was exhausted though and didn't ask any questions when he saw Topher's
car pull up, Chris sitting in the passengers seat with a change of clothes
for him in his lap.  Nodding, Jake jumped in the back, tossing his suit in
a pile on the floor wordlessly as they headed to the airport.  Chris
reached over, hands running little circles over Jake's stomach, a soft
groan barely audible as Jake settled deeper into Chris' shoulder.

     "Everything's going to be okay," Jake whispered, "I can feel it."

     "You keep saying that," Chris whispered, kissing his forehead softly,
"everything's going to be okay.  Everything's going to be okay."  Chris
shut off tiny TV and hoped that maybe with that reassurance, he'd be able
to get some sleep.  There were still a few more hours ahead of them.  He
kept saying it.

     Eyes bloodshot and bodies stiff and weary, they walked slowly through
the airport, Chris' hoodie zipped up to his throat, the hood thrown over
his head.  They pulled their suitcases behind them, half wanting to get to
the hospital and half wanting to stay in the airport just to stall.  Chris
hoped neither of them would have to wear the black suits he packed.  Black
suits, black shirts, black ties; the only black he wanted to be wearing was
the t-shirts that he shoved in at the last minute.

     "Where the hell is the car place?" Jake asked, frustrated.  Everything
that was a mere inconvenience in any other situation somehow escalated into
an obstacle.

     "Calm down," Chris said, stroking his arm, "it's over there."

     Jake shook his head, impatience marking his face.  He huffed and
walked over quickly, leaving Chris to linger in the terminal.  Airports
were surreal areas of limbo, where nothing really ever seemed to happen.
He'd been in enough to know that they were just interruptions and
in-betweens.  They book-ended trips, were never really something anyone
looked forward to.  He glanced over at Jake, still at the counter.
Sighing, he wished that they were here under different circumstances.  The
malaise and listlessness that marked the past few days still lingered over
him and he wanted to break it, get the answers and move on.

      "Come on," Jake said, twirling the keys on his finger.  Neither of
them smiled, both of them shaking inside and out.

***

     "You scared me so much, little lady," Chris said, face already
starting to hurt from smiling so much.  He was squeezing her hand, Jake
sleeping lightly in a chair behind them.

     "Mom says you're a model now," Abby said, voice peppy, "I saw you in a
magazine."

     Chris laughed, "I'm no model."

     "Mom said you looked very handsome," she said.

     "Mom said, mom said," Chris mimicked, "what did you think?"

     "I think you look cuter when you're at home," she said, eyes darting
over Chris' shoulder, "when you're on the beach."

     "Don't ever scare me like this again," Chris said, "I can't take it."

     "It wasn't my fault," she said, pouting, "sorry."

     Chris hopped up on the bed and Abby scooted over before Chris scooped
her up in his arms, "I love you so much."

     "I miss Boo," she said softly, "how is he?"

     Chris laughed, the first time in a long time, "He's good.  Misses you,
too."  He smoothed her hair behind her ear, kissed her softly on the cheek.
He might not have been good with kids, but this one was much more special
than any he'd ever met before.

     "I'm glad you came to visit me," she said, "I wanted to go out to
Disneyland again, but mom said..."

     Shushing her, Chris propped himself up on one elbow to glance at Jake,
still sleeping soundly.  "He's tired," Chris told Abby, "he was really
worried about you.  We couldn't sleep back at home."

     Abby seemed sullen for a moment, the gravity of the situation finally
reaching her.  Her elation at seeing her cousins had overshadowed the fact
that they looked really tired.  Even Chris' chin was a little stubby, which
she'd never seen before, and Jake's beard was getting scraggly.  The
instant they came in the room, they gathered her up in their arms, the two
of them saying over and over again that they loved her, how scared they
were, the same things they were still saying.

     "Wake up," Chris heard.  He shook himself from the sleep, the steady,
dull hum from the car's engine suddenly halting.

     "What's going on?"

     "We're here," Jake said, running his fingers over his face.

     "Are you kidding?" Chris asked, bolting upright, "you've got to be
kidding."

     "You were asleep the whole drive," Jake said, confused.

     "I can't," Chris said, hands shaky, "shit, I just...I thought she was
fine and I..."

     "Chris," Jake said, grabbing his hand, "calm down."  Jake's eyes grew
wide as Chris shrunk back, his jaw quivering and his breathing choppy.
"Christopher," his voice was as calm as he could make it, "you have to
settle down."

     Chris shook his head, slamming his hand down on the window button to
get some air.  It was too slow and he slapped the glass as it lowered.
Panic was flooding his body as he broke out in a sweat, his hoodie suddenly
suffocating, the car instantly claustrophobic.  Jake grabbed his shoulders
and shook him, "Jake, I can't," he pleaded.

      "What's going on?" Jake pleaded right back, "Chris, hold it
together."

     Struggling out of Jake's grip, Chris opened the car door and stumbled
outside, taking long, heavy breaths as he steadied himself.  Jake was
scrambling to get to him, but Chris fell to the asphalt of the parking lot
on his knees, hyperventilating.

     "Chris, I need you," Jake said, voice serious, somber, "I need you to
be strong for me."

     Burying his face in his hands, Chris pulled his knees to his chest,
silent.  He couldn't be strong, not when it came to something like this.
He let Jake pull him up to his feet, legs shaky; he fell into Jake's arms
and let out a few shaky breaths, eyes shut tight.  "I can't go inside."

     "Why not?"

     "I'll freak out," Chris whispered, expression blank, eyes glazed and
unfocused, "hospitals just...I'm too scared."

     "I can't go without you," Jake said, "I need you."

     "I need you, too."

***

     Chris held up the umbrella over he and Jake, the staccato tapping of
the raindrops fading into the background.  Black from head to toe, umbrella
to gloves to shoes, Chris didn't even try to hold back the tears that
rolled down his face.  Silent, he just stared forward, arm linked with
Jake's.  He couldn't look at Jake, knew that if he saw Jake crying, he'd
crumble.  Instead, he felt it, Jake's soft sobs shaking their bodies as
they stood together in the sea of black.

     Jake took the umbrella from Chris' gloved hand and pulled him close,
instinct brining Chris' arms around Jake's waist, his head fitting on
Jake's shoulder right at the crook.  He stopped trying to keep it in,
Jake's hands holding him tight as his body was rocked with sobs.  Jake
looked for his sister in the crowd, but his blurred vision and the rain
made it hard to see anyone.  Everyone seemed isolated under domed
umbrellas.

     "Let's go," Jake whispered, running his nose through Chris' damp hair,
"come on."

     Chris had lost all track of time.  He couldn't tell if they'd just
gotten there or if they'd been there all day.  The family had started to
disperse, but Chris could tell that he and Jake had been standing in the
same spot for a while.  His shoes had started to sink into the muddy grass.
Sloshing behind Jake, he turned around one more time, eyes finally
focusing.  It was over.

     "Hey, kid," Chris heard, a hand on his shoulder.  He turned around, a
tingle rushing through his body.

     "Peter," Chris said, falling into his arms.  He felt soothing hands on
his shoulders, "I can't feel anything."

     "That's not true," Peter said, "you know that's not true."

     Chris nodded slowly, his tears soaking into Peter's coat, "My heart
hurts."

     "I know," Peter said, pulling Chris off of him, thumbs wiping away the
tears, "you've got Jake to worry about.  He needs you."

     "Where's the baby?"

     "He's not a baby anymore," Peter said, brushing Chris' hair off his
forehead, "he smiles a lot, misses you, I'm sure."

     Jake kissed his cheek, "Let's find mom and dad," he said.  He reached
over and gripped Peter's shoulder.  They looked at each other and it was
enough to convey condolences.

    Chris closed his umbrella.  Turning his eyes skyward, he shut them and
let the cool rain run down his face.  Taking one long sigh, he opened his
eyes and turned to Jake.  Jake pulled him under his umbrella and gathered
him up in his arms, "We'll get through this," he whispered, trying his best
to make Chris and himself believe it.

***

     Jake and Chris stayed in their room, too drained to do much other than
lie under the covers together, silent to each other and the rest of the
world.  Neither had even talked much to Rebecca, simple condolences and
quick hugs were all they could manage without completely breaking down.  It
was so strange, Chris thought.  It was like nothing had really changed at
all.  Back at home, they stayed in bed and waited for news, for something
to happen.  Here, they stayed in bed waiting for something to happen,
hoping that maybe something would just change one second and they could
move on.  Chris pulled the covers around himself tighter, moving as close
as he could to the warmth of Jake's body.

     "Do you need to talk about this?" Jake asked.  His voice was flat, but
his hands ran slow patterns over Chris' arm, locking their bodies together
in a practiced knot.

     Chris shook his head.

     Jake nodded.  Chris probably had enough experience with this sort of
thing.  He'd been through it much more often.  "I do," Jake whispered.

     "Okay," Chris said, brown eyes looking up to Jake's as they started to
tear again.  Chris' hand went up to wipe the stray drops away, shaken to
his very core to see Jake like this.  Jake was strong, Jake was the one
with that held him and dried his tears.

     "When is it going to stop hurting, Chris?" he asked, voice on the
verge of sobs.

     Chris bit his lip before letting out a long, controlled breath, "I'm
still waiting."

     They never talked about Chris' parents or his grandparents, especially
not after what happened between them when Jake did pry.  Whatever Chris
decided to tell him was all he knew.  It wasn't that Chris was secretive;
Jake just knew it wasn't easy to talk about, for anyone.  "How long did it
take you after your parents," he paused, "and your grandparents?"

     Eyes closed, he felt a shiver run through his body, Jake holding him a
little tighter, "I'm still waiting," Chris said softly.  Jake ran his
fingers up Chris' arm, pushing his hair off his forehead.

     "I feel like something's gone," Jake whispered, his fingers grabbing
Chris' hand and bringing it to his chest, "right here."

     "I know," Chris said quietly.

     "I need you," Jake said for what felt like the hundredth time, "I need
you to go in there and not up here."  His hand moved up to Chris' head,
lips placing a soft kiss on his forehead.

     Chris shook his head, kissing Jake's collarbone, "I won't," he
promised.  He'd really try.

***

     His hands lingered on the chess pieces, unsure and unwilling to make a
move.  He was still shaky, but at least he could pull himself out of bed.
He and Jake still felt hollow though and they didn't talk about it.  Ever.
Jake had no choice but to keep working, but it was easy enough for Chris to
bow out of everything he had planned.  Nobody cared what he had to say
about this movie anyway.  He wrote the book.  He had nothing to do with it
this time around.

     "Move already," Jonas said.  He had come over to go with Jake to
another publicity event, where Jake was harangued with questions about
Chris, and for some reason, Jonas got done early.  Jake insisted he go to
the house to keep Chris occupied, but Chris was certain that it was to keep
him supervised.

     "I'm not very good at this," Chris said, sitting back in his chair,
the ocean breeze blowing lazily.  It was cool, a chill in the air as Chris
leaned down to pick up Boo and set him on his lap, the dog's warm body and
wet tongue bringing a smile to his face.

     "I sent flowers," Jonas said, "did they do what flowers are supposed
to do?"

     "Yeah, thanks," Chris said, pushing his hair back , "they're in the
kitchen, did you see?"

     "No, I didn't," Jonas said.  He knocked his king over, nodding slowly
as he raised his hands up in mock surrender.  "It's not right, what
happened."  Chris shook his head, tears already pricking at his eyes, "But
it did, Chris, and you can't just fall apart.  I know it sounds like shit,
but you have to just keep at it."

     "I know," Chris said, "but I tried.  I have to finish this story and
I..."

     "You keep at it," Jonas said again.

     "She's all I can think about," Chris said, "you know she had the same
eyes as Jake?  Same kind of crooked smile?"

     "And that's what you remember about her.  You remember and you keep
going.  I'm not asking you to forget, but I've been through something like
this, I know."

     "I've been through it too," Chris said, almost pleading, "but it
doesn't get any easier."

     "It never will."

     "God, I'm such a mess," Chris said, placing Boo gingerly on the deck
before he pushed his chair back.  He walked over to the railing and grabbed
it tight, "Look at me.  I need a fucking haircut.  I can't work.  I can't
even get out of this house."

     "I'm getting you out right now," Jonas said, "to get your haircut, to
do whatever you need."

     "I need Jake."

     "I'll take you to him."

     "Thanks," Chris said, "I'm such a fucking mess."

     "Stop saying that."

     Jonas threw Chris in the shower and waited a few minutes before
yanking him out, tossing a pair of jeans at him and a t-shirt.  "Jesus
Christ," Chris yelled, struggling to gain some footing in the bathroom.

     "When did your stomach start looking like that?" Jonas asked.

     "I've been running.  I know you British people have a different sense
of personal space, but I can bathe myself," Chris said, pulling the shirt
over his head, "and I haven't really been eating."

     "Lunch.  Then Jake."

     "I need a jacket or something," Chris said, heading towards his
closet.  He pulled out a scarf and a jacket before going back into the
bathroom, "It's winter now."

     "Get your arse out here," Jonas said from the bedroom.

     "What is your goddamn rush?" Chris asked, fishing through his junk
drawer for his sunglasses.

     "Why are you so goddamn slow," Jonas mimicked his tone.

     Chris hopped out of the car, to-go sandwiches for he and Jake in one
hand, two bottles of water in the other, "I'll park and I'll be right in,"
Jonas said.

     Nodding, Chris headed into the studio, curtailing most of the
security.  Celeste had called ahead and he was amazed at how smooth that
made everything.  Usually he had to make a million phone calls while under
the condescending gaze of a security guard.  But today he breezed right
through, winding through the corridors to studio B, where he stopped.  The
red light was on above the door.

     Scooting his sunglasses up onto his head, Chris fumbled to rearrange
everything in his arms.  Suddenly the door swung open and the reporter's
eyes grew wide, "Christopher Lewis, great to meet you."

     "Chris?" he heard.  Jake's voice carried right out the door before his
head popped out, "What are you doing here?"

     "Microphone please," the reporter yelled, "let's get him mic'ed."

     "I'm just here for lunch," Chris said, "I have an appointment to get
to."  He cringed, "Isn't your time up?"  He hated being mean to reporters,
even if he was in the right.

     "Is it okay to just ask a few questions?"

     "I don't have any makeup on or anything," Chris said, "I'm not camera
ready.  I'm actually...camera-shy."  He grabbed Chris' arm, but he
recoiled, "I look like crap."

     He pulled Chris into the studio anyway, snatching the sandwiches and
water and putting them aside, a stool appeared from some unknowing PA, a
microphone clipped to the lapel of Chris' jacket.

     The red light on the camera came on before Chris or Jake could do
anything.

     "Christopher, how do you feel about Jake being in one of your
projects?"

     "It's great," Chris said, a plastic smile on his face, "he's a
fantastic actor, really passionate.  He was perfect for this crazy movie."

     "It's crazy," Jake said, "surreal.  I think you told me the book was
influenced by surrealist art, right?"

     "Exactly," Chris said.  They'd talked about his book a million
times--it was almost a game to see who could throw out the most bland,
generic canned answers.

     "And we met Jonas Armstrong on the shoot, he's a great guy," Jake
said.

     "Nothing but good things from this movie," Chris said.

     "What's next?" the reporter asked, "Jake, we hear you already have
something lined up."

     "You do?" Chris asked.

     Jake hesitated, eyes glancing over to Chris, "I...do."

     "This isn't the first time, Jake.  This always happens," he started to
get out of his chair, but Jake pushed him back down.  "First thing's first
though, this movie is going to be fantastic."

     The reporter flushed, glancing over his should to the cameramen, "I
don't regret things," Jake threw out.  The reporter instantly perked up,
this was the sound bite he was waiting for, "I'm not that kind of person.
This movie, I'm proud of it.  I just want to keep doing what I do."

     "Thank you," the reporter said, shaking Chris' and Jake's hands before
practically running from the room.

     "Are you serious?" Chris asked, "already?"

     "Just in talks," Jake said, reaching down for the bag of food, "which
one's mine?"

     "Stop," Chris said, "I'm serious.  You're just going to go right into
another movie?  Is it going to be here or what?  You didn't say anything."

     "It's still just..." Jake sighed, "I don't know anything for sure
yet."

     Chris bit his lip, eyes askew as he reached for the bag of sandwiches,
"I know you have to work, but sometimes I feel like you don't think about
other things."

     Jake took the offered sandwich, eyes scanning Chris' face for signs of
anger.  There might have been a tiny tinge of it, but noting major.  "I
tell you everything when I know everything."

     "Fine," Chris said, taking a big bite of his sandwich.

     "No, don't do that," Jake said, "I'll tell you when everything's
final.  You can't jus brush it off."

     "It's fine.  I'm just hungry," Chris said.  It was times like this,
when one or both of the was really busy, when projects were lined up to
occupy the foreseeable future, be they books, movies, promotions, events,
whatever, it was never a good time for them, even when they managed to get
Celeste and Dean to work out their schedules.  The preparation stage was
always frustrating, but the were both glad to see it done when it was,
their schedules somehow working out for the better--most of the time.
Chris was finishing up his magazine run and now he had nothing to do, but
Jake was just finishing and now already had something in the works.  Chris
hated to admit it, but it was times just like this, when Jake worked and he
didn't, that he felt the worst.  He tagged along on set, hung out at craft
services, and read books.  He felt unproductive.

     "Mom said you were working on something, right?"

     "I'll tell you everything when I know everything," Chris said.

     Jake smirked, "Don't," he said.

     Chris shrugged, his eyes darting over to meet Jake's when he felt
Jake's fingers brushing his hair back, "I just don't know what's going on
right now," he sighed, "I feel numb."

     Nodding, he felt a shudder go down his spine.  Jake leaned over and
kissed his cheek, "I know."

     "I'm just waiting."

***

     "I can't find my portfolio," Chris said, voice bordering on panic,
"did I leave it in your office?"

     "No," Celeste said, "you have your clips on your computer, don't you?"

     "Yeah," Chris said, opening and slamming his desk drawers, "but that
portfolio.  Jake's mom gave it to me.  It's vintage Louis Vuitton or Hermes
or something.  It's nice, leather; it's not beat up like my old one.  I
don't think she actually gave it to me.  It was on long-term loan.  She
said mine was too crappy."

     "I'll call Knopf and Vintage and..." Chris heard her rifle through
some papers, "you had a meeting at HBO?"

     "I've been whoring myself out," Chris said, "thanks to you."

     "Pick a project," she said, giggling.

     If Jake could dive into work to forget about things, Chris could do
the same.  Celeste was almost overwhelmed keeping up with his schedule,
synching everything up to his phone and his laptop, and his heart raced as
he looked for that portfolio.  Not only did it have his clips in it, it had
a note Jake had written him when they had just started seeing each other, a
sort of good luck charm he always took with him to work meetings.

     "I'll find it," she said, "you've got too much on your mind.  Did you
get the flowers I sent?"

     Chris was tired of answering that question, the house full of flowers
by now, "Yes," he said, "thanks."  He heard the front door open, the dogs
barking and scampering across the hardwood floor, "I have to go, call me if
you find it, please."

     Jumping down the stairs two-by-two, he fell into Jake's arms, their
lips crashing together.  He still got a rush when Jake came home, no matter
how frustrated he was with things, with Jake even, that initial rush of
seeing him always hit him hard.

     "I'm done," Jake whispered, "for now."

     Hand running over Jake's stubbly jaw, Chris smiled, "Done."  Jake
kissed him again.

     "Why are you so tense?" he asked, pulling Chris through the house to
the kitchen, "let's get some air, yeah?"

     A few minutes later, Jake had Chris wrapped in his arms, the dogs
running through the surf as they sat on the sand, Jake rolled on top of
him, their lips coming together again as Chris' hands gripped at Jake's
shoulders, the sand was cold and the air crisp, but Chris could feel it
getting warmer.  Chris grunted as Jake's tongue slid over his, but the dogs
rushed up, barking loudly at the two of them.  "Go back inside," Jake said
firmly, hand running up under Chris' sweater.  Both of the dogs took one
last look at the crashing waves before obediently rushing back up the
stairs to the deck.  Jake's lips were on Chris' neck, the cool air rushing
up, pulling goose bumps onto Chris' skin.

     "Jake, I can't," Chris groaned.

     Jake tried to ignore it, his lips crashing into Chris', it felt a
little strange to him too, but he wanted to forget about everything and
this was always the surest way to do it.  Jake shushed him and tugged off
his own shirt, pinning Chris' body under him.

     "No," Chris insisted, pushing Jake off of him, "it's...I'm sorry."

     Turning his eyes to the blue-gray sky, Jake sighed, "I know it's
weird."

     "It's not that," Chris said, fingers running over Jake's chest, "I
really don't know.  I know I've been saying that a lot, but I still feel
all empty inside.  I don't want to just pretend."

     "Then we won't pretend," Jake whispered, holding Chris tight.

     "No, it's not like that," Chris said, pleading, "don't."

     "I know what you mean," Jake said, "sometimes you just need to
forget."

     "No, you need to remember," Chris said.

***

     "You can't just call me and expect me to just...drop everything," Jake
said, slamming the door shut behind him.  As usual, Kurt had gotten him
infuriated, his blood boiling as it pounded through his veins.

     "I got you these," Kurt said, turning around to reveal a bouquet of
white peonies, the powdery white flowers nestled in lush green leaves, "I
called Chris' publicist and she told me why you and him weren't picking up
your phones.  I'm sorry about her.  I really am."

     Jake took it from him, still fuming.  "Why the hell do you keep
calling me?"

     "Why do you keep coming?"

     "You going to call the house?  Talk to Chris?  What?" his tone was
accusatory, "What's next?"

     "It's not like that," Kurt said, "you seem really happy.  I wouldn't
want to hurt you."

     Jake bristled, taking a step backwards, "What's with the change of
heart?" he bumped into a little table and turned around to make sure
nothing was knocked over.  In a silver frame was a tiny picture of the two
of them.  Jake's breath caught as he picked it up.  It was old, really old.
The two of them were sitting on a park bench somewhere in New York, huge
smiles on their faces.  He didn't remember ever taking it.  "Why do you
still have this?"

     "It was a good when we weren't fighting," Kurt said, "at least I
thought so."

     "It wasn't," Jake said, "I'm sure."

     Kurt was taken aback.  He snatched the picture from Jake's hands, "You
know what?  He doesn't fucking deserve you."

     "And what?  You do?  I don't want to be with you, Kurt," Jake said,
shaking the flowers at him.

     "I had to deal with all that shit in your head.  'No, we can't go out,
someone will see.'  Fuck that, Jake.  Now you two are all over every
fucking magazine.  Everyone knows.  And what--do you care?"

     "Stay away from him.  Stay away from us," Jake said, "I'm done here.
Don't call me or the house.  Don't fucking dare."

     "I'm not done," Kurt said, tone bordering on a yell, "how the hell
could you just drop me like that and then fall head over fucking heels with
him?  Tell me.  What the fuck happened?"

     "I don't have to tell you anything," Jake said, reaching for the
doorknob, "thanks for these, but no thanks."  He dropped the flowers, the
sweet scent filling the room as they landed in a heap on the floor.  He
knocked the picture over and it landed face down on the table, "You played
games back then and you haven't ever stopped.  I'm through."

     Kurt rushed at Jake and grabbed his shoulders, "I was in there first,"
he said smacking Jake's chest, "I got in there you fucking pushed me out."

     "You weren't ever in there the way he is," Jake yelled, pushing him
back.  They both stopped, eyes surveying the mess.  The flowers, the
picture, their heaving chests, it was all coming together.  Neither of them
had ever acknowledged the breakup.  It dissolved into nothing for the both
of them, and Jake saw that not everyone dealt with the ordeal the same way.
For him, it was just that, an ordeal.  For Kurt, he saw, it was very
different.

     "Look at me," Kurt yelled, eyes wide.

     "It was a mistake," Jake said, screaming.  Kurt recoiled, like he'd
been punched in the stomach.  He backed up to steady himself against a
wall, his eyes turned down.  Jake reached for the doorknob and let himself
out.  Leaning against the door, he took a few deep breaths and slid his
sunglasses back on.  He went to the car, never once looking back.

     "Jake," Kurt said as the door swung open, but Jake kept walking, hands
in his pockets and shoulders hunched.  "Don't do this again," he pleaded.

     Silently, Jake opened the car door, sliding into the driver's seat,
eyes focusing on the ring on his finger.  He drove away.  The past was the
past, and as he sped away, he knew that he was driving to where he
belonged.

---

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