fic: let's all pack up and move this year (disney rpf, nick/miley, etc., 4/4)
Title: Let's All Pack Up and Move This Year
Author: empressearwig
Pairing/Fandom: Disney RPF; Nick Jonas/Miley Cyrus, Joe Jonas/Demi Lovato, Kevin Jonas/Danielle Jonas, David Henrie/Selena Gomez, John Mayer/Taylor Swif
Rating: R
Spoilers/Warnings: None.
Word Count:28,709
Disclaimer: I own nothing and no one, this is all for fun. This hasn't happened. Yet. Etc.
Summary: This is a story about finding yourself and then finding your way back. Set six years in the future, it is the story of Nick and Miley's separate struggles with the choices they've made and who they've become, and how the choices they make next will change the rest of their lives. The story deviates from reality somewhere in fall 2009.
Author's Notes: Written for jb_bigbang 2010. Many thanks to my brilliant artist, magic_panic, whose work can be found here and below. Many, many thanks to the people that looked at this in various stages of development, including, but not limited to the following: perfectlystill, leobrat and normative_jean. I am 100% sure that this wouldn't have been finished without your assistance and cheerleading. You can start calling in those favors any time now.
So when you run make sure you run
To something and not away from
Cause lies don't need an aeroplane to chase you anywhere
~The Avett Brothers, Weight of Lies
Twenty-six and I've grown enough
I'm not better, but I won't give up
You're still here like a flower in rain
You get knocked down then you rise up again
~ Stephen Kellogg & the Sixers, Flower in Rain
Miley flees back to Nashville. She shouldn't have left like that, she knows that. But it was all suddenly too much and she just couldn't stay. She hopes that someday Nick will be able to forgive her, be able to understand. She hopes that they will still have a someday.
She doesn't take for granted that they will.
When the plane lands, she has panicked messages from Demi and Taylor, both wanting to make sure she's okay, to know what happened to make her leave. She sends them both texts assuring them she's alive and fine and telling them she'll call later. She owes Nick her first phone call, at least once she's figured out what to say.
She's not really sure what made her run. She thinks it was too much too soon, too much what she wanted and not enough all at the same time. She thinks maybe she did need the words. She thinks maybe it's simpler, that she's just a coward who is afraid to let good things happen to her. She knows she needs to call.
She waits until just past dusk and then settles out on her porch, cell phone in hand. She dials and waits. It's the longest ten seconds of her life.
"You're okay," is what he says and it makes her want to weep. He shouldn't be so understanding. She doesn't know if she could be as understanding.
"Yes," she says. "Nick --"
He cuts her off. "It's okay."
She shakes her head, frustrated. This is so like him. "It's not. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have --"
"Miley," he interrupts again. "I promise, it's okay."
She draws her knees up against her chest, leans her forehead against them. She doesn't know how to make him understand what she's not sure she understands herself. "Why aren't you mad?"
He hesitates. "I am," he says finally. "Just a little. I wish you had stayed and talked to me, but I wasn't surprised."
Her back stiffens; she doesn't know if she should be mad about that. "Why?"
He sighs. "Miley, I know you. Despite everything, I know you."
"Yeah, and?" she asks, still not sure what it is that he's driving at. Maybe this is why they hadn't talked about their past. It's all too fraught, too complicated. Too many emotions neither of them have ever dealt with. Well, she assumes Nick hasn't dealt with them. She knows she hasn't.
"You run," he says simply.
She sits up straight. He's right, she knows he's right. She doesn't want him to be right. "You're the one that left," she says feebly, knowing it's not a defense even as she says it.
"I did," he sighs. "But Miley --"
This time she's the one that cuts him off. "I know."
There's a long silence. She can hear his breathing, steady and even, on the other end of the line. She thinks about the last time they were together, the last time they broke up. Nick was the one that left. But if she's honest with herself, she knows that she'd walked out weeks earlier. It was too hard. She didn't think then that relationships should be that hard. She still doesn't know if they should.
She makes herself speak. "So what now?" Her heart is in her throat. She'll understand if he says he can't or he won't. She'll never forgive him if he does.
"Why don't we try to be friends?"
"Friends?" she repeats. Of all the things she'd considered Nick might say, that wasn't even on the list.
"Friends. Let's take a step back and be friends."
"Just friends?" The words fall out of her mouth before she can pull them back. She bites her lip waiting for his answer.
The sound of his laughter, low and deep, fills her with relief. "Miley," he says. "Of all the things we've been and will be, just friends doesn't even make the list."
She smiles for the first time in hours. She can live with friends. For now, she can live with friends. "Okay, then. Friends."
"I should go," he says. "It's been a very long day."
"We'll talk soon, though, right?" She tries not to sound anxious, but suddenly she is worried that when she hangs up the phone it will be the last time she hears his voice.
"I promise. Good night, Miley."
"Good night, Nick."
She continues to sit there, alone in the dark, thinking about what it means to be friends. She doesn't find the answers that she seeks.
###
Nick hangs up the phone with a sigh. It was a conversation he didn't want to have, but he supposes it could have gone much worse. He knows it was a conversation they had to have.
And he knows that trying to be friends is the right thing to do. That doesn't mean he has any idea how to do it.
###
If there's one thing Miley knows how to do well, it's lose herself in her work. So it's with a great deal of enthusiasm that she throws herself into tour rehearsals. She wasn't always enthusiastic about this harebrained scheme of Taylor's, but now she sees it as a godsend. It fills up her days and her nights and leaves her almost no time to obsess about Nick and how this friends thing really isn't working for her.
She can't be in denial if she knows she's in it. At least that's what she tells herself.
But she finds herself calling him almost every night to talk about what went well that day and what didn't, to talk about nothing at all. And on the days when she doesn't call, he calls her. They're friends.
It's wonderful. It's awful. Miley wants it to be more. She knows she doesn't have the right to ask for more.
How can she, when she fled a darkened hotel room and left him behind? No, if they're ever going to be more, Nick is going to have to be the one to ask.
She wishes he'd hurry up already.
***
The tour isn't long or far. Just a month and a handful of cities. Really, Miley thinks, it can't even be properly called a tour, at least not compared to what she's used to. Places like Chicago and Minneapolis, St. Louis and Cleveland. Cities throughout the Midwest that can be driven to on a bus.
She's pretty sure that getting used to life on a bus again is going to be the hardest part.
They've been on the road for two weeks when they head for Chicago. She's had the date circled on her mental calendar since the day Taylor gave her the schedule. (She's pretty sure Taylor has too, given the way she rolls her eyes and retreats to her bunk whenever she catches Miley talking to Nick. Muffled exclamations of "get it together already" are commonly heard coming from that quarter.) The closer they get to the city, the bigger the butterflies in Miley's stomach get. It's not that she's nervous about having Nick at the show, at least it's mostly not about that. She's lived through two weeks of playing and singing and no one's thrown tomatoes yet; she's taking that as a good sign.
No, she's nervous about what comes before. What comes after. About whether or not she'll be able to see him without throwing herself at him and saying "please just give me one more chance." Those thoughts are what are transforming the butterflies into giant, leaping bullfrogs that she'd swear are doing the polka.
She didn't know frogs could do the polka.
In the end, she doesn't see Nick until after the show. She can feel him in the audience all night. There's a pricking on the back of her neck that lets her know that he's there watching. It makes her even more nervous, but it also makes her better; it's easily the best show of the tour. They do two encores and could easily have done a third, but they hadn't rehearsed enough material. Miley's pretty sure Taylor's about to make sure that changes.
When Nick finally makes his way backstage, Miley is practically vibrating with nervous energy. She's talking with Kyle, their drummer, and trying to keep a not too obvious eye on the door when there's a tap on her shoulder. She spins around instantly, Kyle forgotten. She can feel herself smiling so wide she's surprised her cheeks don't crack. "Nick!" She manages to resist throwing her arms around him. Barely.
He's grinning back at her -- and she's just so relieved -- and then he's drawing her into a tight hug and she wraps herself around him, burying her head in the crook of his neck. She lets out a happy sigh. Here, this, in Nick's arms, this is where she belongs. This is where she makes sense. She hates herself for maybe almost ruining that again.
He lets her go, steps back. Smiles at her again. "Hi," he says.
"Hi," she echoes, trying to keep her voice as even as possible. She fails miserably. "What did you think?"
"You guys have gotten even better," he says, nodding his head. "Really, Miley, I'm impressed."
She sighs with relief, raising her hand to her heart. "Thank goodness. I think I might have cried if you hadn't said that."
"You have to know how good you are."
She shifts back and forth uncomfortably, avoiding his gaze.
"Miley."
There's something in his voice that makes her look up. He's staring down at her, eyes completely serious. He takes her hand, squeezes it. "Believe me when I tell you how good you were. Because you were."
She can feel her whole body relax. She squeezes his hand back and smiles at him. "Okay. Thank you."
They stand there, hands joined, just looking at each other. It's almost as if the noise of backstage has faded away, leaving just them. Miley's almost afraid to breathe for fear that it will break the spell. So of course someone else does it for her.
There's another hand on her shoulder and Miley nearly jumps out of her skin. She spins around, clutching at her chest. When she sees Taylor laughing at her, she wants to stamp her foot. "Don't do that," she gasps, trying to catch her breath. "I know we've talked about this."
Taylor holds her hands up in front of her. "You were so far gone in your own world there was no way I wasn't going to scare you to death." She looks at Nick. "Hi there."
Miley can see Nick trying to stiffle his own laughter. "Hi, Taylor," he says. "Great show."
Taylor nods, like it's her due. "Thank you," she says graciously. "So what are you two up to?"
Miley looks at Nick. Looks back at Taylor. "What do you mean up to? We're just standing here." She's not making any assumptions about anything.
Taylor rolls her eyes. "You know perfectly well what I meant." She turns her attention back to Nick. "Nick, you're welcome to join us back at the hotel for drinks. It's our own little unwinding tradition of sorts."
Nick looks down at Miley. Shakes his head. "Thanks for the offer, but I was going to take Miley back to my place. She's never been. Well, that's if she wants to." He looks at her again. "Do you want to?"
She nods her head as quickly as she can.
"Okay, then," Nick says. He looks back at Taylor. "Next time."
Taylor smiles. "Next time." She starts to drift away, calling back over her shoulder, "Have fun, you two!"
Nick looks down at Miley. She looks back up at him. "Want to get out of here?" he asks.
"Yes," she says. It feels like she's been ready forever.
###
They take a cab back to Nick's condo. Halfway through the drive, Nick reaches over and takes Miley's hand, twining their fingers together. She gives him a brilliant smile. He finds himself grinning back at her. It's ridiculous, he thinks. She shouldn't still be able to make him feel like this with only a look and a touch. But she can. She'll probably always be able to.
He knows inviting her back to his place was a terrible idea. It would be ridiculously easy to just fall back into bed and the temptation will be greater there than anywhere else. He's trying to think of it as a test of his will power, to see if he can overcome just how badly he wants her and stick to just being her friend.
He doesn't want to be her friend. He knows suggesting that was the right thing to do, but fuck if it wasn't one of the worst decisions he's ever made. He takes a sideways glance at Miley. It's probably petty of him, but he hopes this is as hard for her as it is for him. She owes him at least that.
When he unlocks the door to his condo, he's oddly nervous. He doesn't remember ever being nervous to have someone over. Not even his parents back when he first bought the place and was expecting an argument about moving out. He mentally shrugs his shoulders and opens the door. Too late for anymore second thoughts.
He holds the door open. "After you."
Miley steps past him and inside. He follows, closing the door behind him. He locks it, hearing the sound of her cowboy boots on the hardwood floors as she walks down the hall.
"Nick," he hears her say. "I love it, I really do."
He actually sighs with relief. "Thanks," he calls out as he hurries to join her. "It's not much, but..."
"Oh, but it's so you," she disagrees.
He finds her in the living room, standing at the bank of windows that made him buy the place. At night, during the day, the view of Chicago is amazing. He thinks that with the sight of her standing there it's just gotten even better. He comes to stand next to her and she turns her head to smile up at him. Something in him snaps.
He bends his head to kiss her.
She makes a noise of surprise against his lips, but moves into the kiss, turning toward him. He wraps an arm around her waist, pulls her closer. He doesn't seem to be able to get close enough. He starts towards the couch, but Miley pulls back, gasping for breath.
"Wait," she says.
He drops his hands from her immediately. Scrubs them over his face. "Goddamn motherfucking shit."
"I'm sorry."
He looks at her. Her hands are twisting together in the fabric of her skirt, and she looks like someone just kicked her puppy. "Don't apologize," he snaps. The look on her face gets worse. He closes his eyes, counts to ten.
"I'll go."
He hears her start for the door. "Stop." She does. He turns to face her. "Miley, I'm sorry. Don't go."
She doesn't turn around. "Are you sure?" she asks. "Because I'd understand --"
"I'm sure," he says. He's not. He knows, logically, that she should go. "Stay."
"Okay," she says, turning back around. "Now what?"
He tries to think of something that's not getting her into his bed. Or couch. Or floor. He shakes his head. "Drinks?"
She raises an eyebrow. "Do you really think that's a good idea?"
No. "Do you have a better one?"
"Drinks it is."
He laughs, nods his head toward the kitchen across the hall. "Follow me."
He's very careful to not touch her as he walks past her. He's always prided himself on his control, but it's hanging by a very slim thread. He pulls a bottle off the small winerack on his counter, holds it out for her inspection. "This okay?"
She just laughs and gives a small shrug of her shoulders. "Still more of a box wine person. You can take the girl out of Tennessee and all that."
"You didn't, though," he points out, digging a corkscrew out of a drawer.
"What do you mean?" She's dropped into a chair at his kitchen table and is watching him work.
He opens the bottle quickly, pouring two glasses. He sets one down in front of her and takes the opposite chair. "Just that you went back. And you never really left, not at heart."
She shakes her head, takes a small sip. Smiles. "It's good," she says with some surprise. "You have excellent taste."
Now he's the one to raise an eyebrow. "You had doubts?"
She kicks him under the table. "Be nice."
"I'm always nice," he protests. She laughs. He frowns. "Okay, I'm nice ninety-five percent of the time." She laughs harder. "Ninety." She keeps laughing. "Eighty." No sign of her stopping. "Just how low do I have to go here, Miles?"
She manages to get herself under control. "Do you really want an answer to that?"
He sighs. "Probably not." A thought occurs to him. "Hey, laughing at me wasn't particularly nice, you know."
"Did I ever claim to be nice?"
He sighs again. "I suppose not." He kicks her gently. "Stop being right, that's my job."
She smiles at him and shakes her head. Takes another drink of wine. She looks away. "What are we doing?"
He blinks and sets down his glass. He knows exactly what she's asking; he's just surprised she did. From the look on her face, she's surprised she asked too. He shakes his head. "I don't know."
She nods once, then twice. "I should go." She stands up, and leans over to kiss his cheek. "We'll talk soon, I promise."
He jumps to his feet. "What? No. Don't go." The last is said feebly, because even though he absolutely doesn't want her to leave, he knows she needs to. They need to figure out what this is before they ruin what's still there between them for good.
She smiles at him again and reaches out to touch his cheek. "We'll talk soon," she repeats. She looks him straight in the eye. "I promise."
He lets himself lean into her hand for just a second, then nods. "Okay."
"Okay."
He walks her to the door in silence, holding it open for her. "Good night," he says. It doesn't feel like enough.
"Good night," she answers, kissing his cheek one more time.
He watches her walk down the hall to the elevator. As she gets on she waves her goodbye. He does the same and then closes the door behind him. They'll talk soon. And this time, they'll know what to say. He has to believe that. If he doesn't let himself believe that, he'd have to give up. He's not ready to do that yet.
###
The rest of the tour goes by in a blur. Miley knows that she got on stage on the nights that she was supposed to and sang her heart out every time, but if someone were to ask her for details or what her favorite city was or her favorite show, she'd just look at them blankly and try to change the subject as quickly as possible.
(She knows this is true, because every reporter they spoke to for publicity asked and she doesn't remember any of her answers. After awhile, Taylor stopped having her do interviews.)
What she does remember from the rest of the tour are the endless thoughts about Nick. Despite their promises to talk soon, they haven't talked since that night in his apartment. Miley thinks it's because they both know that it's the type of conversation they have to have face to face. Whether the outcome is good or bad (and she lets herself believe it will be good most of the time), they owe it to themselves, past and present, to tell each other their truths in person.
They get back to Nashville on a Tuesday morning. By Tuesday night, Miley is ready to buy a plane ticket. She orders Chinese from the delivery place two streets away, wishing it were sushi instead, and distracts herself from turning on her laptop and ordering a plane ticket by sorting her laundry while she waits for her food. When she hears the knock on her door, she happily abandons her task, grabbing her purse from the kitchen counter as she dashes for the front door. "I'm coming!" she calls out, not even sure the kid will be able to hear her. She flings the door open.
Nick is standing on the other side. Holding flowers. And wearing a suit.
She's wearing sweats and a ratty tank top and has her hair bundled up on the top of her head, bangs pulled back with a headband. All she can do is blink at him.
"Hi," he says.
"Hi," she says dumbly. Seriously, one of them missed a memo somewhere. And it sure seems like it was her. What is he doing here?
"Can I come in?"
She blinks again. "Right. Sure. Of course," she babbles, stepping aside so that he can come inside. "I just got home not that long ago and I'm cleaning and waiting for Chinese and I thought you were the food and --"
Nick covers her mouth with his hand. "Miley. Take a breath."
She does. He removes his hand.
She can't help it, the words coming tumbling out. "Nick, what are you doing here?"
He hands her the flowers. "Taylor didn't tell you I was coming, did she?"
"What?" The word comes out as a screech. "What?"
He actually has the audacity to laugh, before she can have more than a passing thought about kill him too, the doorbell rings. She looks back and forth at the door and him, and Nick gives her a gentle shove towards the kitchen. "Go put those in water," he says. "I'll get the food."
The only reason she does what he says is that she needs a minute to think. A minute where he's not in front of her and looking good enough to eat and she's not filled with thoughts about climbing him like a tree. She blinks at herself. Apparently she's hornier than she realized on top of everything else.
She finds a vase in one of her cupboards and is filling it with water when Nick walks into the kitchen, arms laden down with bags of food. She frowns. She hadn't realized she'd ordered so much. "Let me pay you back," she says as she unwraps the flowers and puts them into the vase.
He shakes his head, setting the bags down on the counter. "No, I've got it."
"I'm the one that ordered the food."
He rolls his eyes at her and she sighs heavily. She knows she's being ridiculous. She doesn't need him reminding her. "I was going to take you out to dinner," he says. "We'll just call this dinner."
She stares at him. "You were going to -- you were going to what?" She shakes her head. "Taylor is dead."
Nick shakes his head. "It's my fault. I should have called."
"No," she sighs. "I should have called. I said we'd talk and then I didn't call and I'm --"
Nick doesn't let her finish, he just takes a step forward and kisses her. Miley almost drops the vase she's still holding.
They grab at it together, a little water splashing over the top and onto the cotton of Miley's tank top. She looks up at Nick. "Oops?"
He takes the vase from her, sets it on the counter. "Let's try that again," he suggests, bending his head toward her again.
She pushes him back. "I thought we were going to talk before we did that. I mean, wasn't that the whole point?"
Nick frowns at her. "When did you become the logical one in this relationship?"
She throws her hands up in the air. "This is what I'm talking about!" she exclaims, turning away from him and starting to pace the length of the kitchen. "Are we in a relationship? Is that what this is? Are we have friends that just have sex sometimes? Because I don't want that to be what we are, Nick, I don't. And I'm sorry about last time, but I got scared because --"
Nick grabs her shoulders, stops her.
She says the words looking straight up at him. "-- because I'm still in love with you."
"Me, too," he says.
Her jaw drops. She'd hoped -- hoped so much more than she'd ever hoped for anything before -- that was true, but she'd never thought he'd just say it straight out like that. But then, what is he saying "me, too" about exactly? "Me, too, what?"
He laughs, cups her chin in his hand. Looks her in the eye, and she can see it there. The amount of love reflected there, it's almost enough to make her not need the words. He gives them to her anyway. "I'm still in love with you, too," he says slowly. "I love you, Miley."
"Yeah?" she whispers. Her hands have found the way to the front of his suit jacket and are clenching the lapels.
"Yeah," he nods. He bends his head so that he's a hairsbreadth away from kissing her. "Am I allowed to do this now?"
She doesn't answer, but pulls him forward, taking the choice out of his hands. She can feel him smile against her lips.
She takes his hand and leads him up the stairs to her bedroom. The Chinese gets cold on the counter.
***
It's six days before her twenty-fifth birthday and Miley is sitting in a restaurant in Nashville with all her family and friends. It's exactly a year from the date that she realized just how unhappy she was. She remembers feeling alone and unhappy and so many other things, but now she doesn't remember what that felt like.
How can she, when she's sitting her with the people that she loves the most and who love her in return. How can she, when she's sitting here with Nick by her side, his hand warm on her knee as they listen to her daddy tell a story about filming his newest tv movie. How can she, when she looks at John and Taylor sitting across from her, knowing that in six months they're going to become parents for the first time. How can she, knowing that Joe and Demi are sitting on the other side of Nick and that they're getting married in just a few short weeks.
This was all there waiting for her; she doesn't know how she ever took that for granted.
Nick takes her hand beneath the table, leans over to whisper in her ear. "Should we tell them?" he asks, his breath hot against her skin.
She shakes her head. She bends towards him, whispers back, "Not tonight."
He nods. She settles her head against his shoulder, and he wraps his arm around hers.
It's six days before her twenty-fifth birthday and Miley is happy. She believes she'll stay that way forever.
Author: empressearwig
Pairing/Fandom: Disney RPF; Nick Jonas/Miley Cyrus, Joe Jonas/Demi Lovato, Kevin Jonas/Danielle Jonas, David Henrie/Selena Gomez, John Mayer/Taylor Swif
Rating: R
Spoilers/Warnings: None.
Word Count:28,709
Disclaimer: I own nothing and no one, this is all for fun. This hasn't happened. Yet. Etc.
Summary: This is a story about finding yourself and then finding your way back. Set six years in the future, it is the story of Nick and Miley's separate struggles with the choices they've made and who they've become, and how the choices they make next will change the rest of their lives. The story deviates from reality somewhere in fall 2009.
Author's Notes: Written for jb_bigbang 2010. Many thanks to my brilliant artist, magic_panic, whose work can be found here and below. Many, many thanks to the people that looked at this in various stages of development, including, but not limited to the following: perfectlystill, leobrat and normative_jean. I am 100% sure that this wouldn't have been finished without your assistance and cheerleading. You can start calling in those favors any time now.
So when you run make sure you run
To something and not away from
Cause lies don't need an aeroplane to chase you anywhere
~The Avett Brothers, Weight of Lies
Twenty-six and I've grown enough
I'm not better, but I won't give up
You're still here like a flower in rain
You get knocked down then you rise up again
~ Stephen Kellogg & the Sixers, Flower in Rain
Miley flees back to Nashville. She shouldn't have left like that, she knows that. But it was all suddenly too much and she just couldn't stay. She hopes that someday Nick will be able to forgive her, be able to understand. She hopes that they will still have a someday.
She doesn't take for granted that they will.
When the plane lands, she has panicked messages from Demi and Taylor, both wanting to make sure she's okay, to know what happened to make her leave. She sends them both texts assuring them she's alive and fine and telling them she'll call later. She owes Nick her first phone call, at least once she's figured out what to say.
She's not really sure what made her run. She thinks it was too much too soon, too much what she wanted and not enough all at the same time. She thinks maybe she did need the words. She thinks maybe it's simpler, that she's just a coward who is afraid to let good things happen to her. She knows she needs to call.
She waits until just past dusk and then settles out on her porch, cell phone in hand. She dials and waits. It's the longest ten seconds of her life.
"You're okay," is what he says and it makes her want to weep. He shouldn't be so understanding. She doesn't know if she could be as understanding.
"Yes," she says. "Nick --"
He cuts her off. "It's okay."
She shakes her head, frustrated. This is so like him. "It's not. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have --"
"Miley," he interrupts again. "I promise, it's okay."
She draws her knees up against her chest, leans her forehead against them. She doesn't know how to make him understand what she's not sure she understands herself. "Why aren't you mad?"
He hesitates. "I am," he says finally. "Just a little. I wish you had stayed and talked to me, but I wasn't surprised."
Her back stiffens; she doesn't know if she should be mad about that. "Why?"
He sighs. "Miley, I know you. Despite everything, I know you."
"Yeah, and?" she asks, still not sure what it is that he's driving at. Maybe this is why they hadn't talked about their past. It's all too fraught, too complicated. Too many emotions neither of them have ever dealt with. Well, she assumes Nick hasn't dealt with them. She knows she hasn't.
"You run," he says simply.
She sits up straight. He's right, she knows he's right. She doesn't want him to be right. "You're the one that left," she says feebly, knowing it's not a defense even as she says it.
"I did," he sighs. "But Miley --"
This time she's the one that cuts him off. "I know."
There's a long silence. She can hear his breathing, steady and even, on the other end of the line. She thinks about the last time they were together, the last time they broke up. Nick was the one that left. But if she's honest with herself, she knows that she'd walked out weeks earlier. It was too hard. She didn't think then that relationships should be that hard. She still doesn't know if they should.
She makes herself speak. "So what now?" Her heart is in her throat. She'll understand if he says he can't or he won't. She'll never forgive him if he does.
"Why don't we try to be friends?"
"Friends?" she repeats. Of all the things she'd considered Nick might say, that wasn't even on the list.
"Friends. Let's take a step back and be friends."
"Just friends?" The words fall out of her mouth before she can pull them back. She bites her lip waiting for his answer.
The sound of his laughter, low and deep, fills her with relief. "Miley," he says. "Of all the things we've been and will be, just friends doesn't even make the list."
She smiles for the first time in hours. She can live with friends. For now, she can live with friends. "Okay, then. Friends."
"I should go," he says. "It's been a very long day."
"We'll talk soon, though, right?" She tries not to sound anxious, but suddenly she is worried that when she hangs up the phone it will be the last time she hears his voice.
"I promise. Good night, Miley."
"Good night, Nick."
She continues to sit there, alone in the dark, thinking about what it means to be friends. She doesn't find the answers that she seeks.
###
Nick hangs up the phone with a sigh. It was a conversation he didn't want to have, but he supposes it could have gone much worse. He knows it was a conversation they had to have.
And he knows that trying to be friends is the right thing to do. That doesn't mean he has any idea how to do it.
###
If there's one thing Miley knows how to do well, it's lose herself in her work. So it's with a great deal of enthusiasm that she throws herself into tour rehearsals. She wasn't always enthusiastic about this harebrained scheme of Taylor's, but now she sees it as a godsend. It fills up her days and her nights and leaves her almost no time to obsess about Nick and how this friends thing really isn't working for her.
She can't be in denial if she knows she's in it. At least that's what she tells herself.
But she finds herself calling him almost every night to talk about what went well that day and what didn't, to talk about nothing at all. And on the days when she doesn't call, he calls her. They're friends.
It's wonderful. It's awful. Miley wants it to be more. She knows she doesn't have the right to ask for more.
How can she, when she fled a darkened hotel room and left him behind? No, if they're ever going to be more, Nick is going to have to be the one to ask.
She wishes he'd hurry up already.
***
The tour isn't long or far. Just a month and a handful of cities. Really, Miley thinks, it can't even be properly called a tour, at least not compared to what she's used to. Places like Chicago and Minneapolis, St. Louis and Cleveland. Cities throughout the Midwest that can be driven to on a bus.
She's pretty sure that getting used to life on a bus again is going to be the hardest part.
They've been on the road for two weeks when they head for Chicago. She's had the date circled on her mental calendar since the day Taylor gave her the schedule. (She's pretty sure Taylor has too, given the way she rolls her eyes and retreats to her bunk whenever she catches Miley talking to Nick. Muffled exclamations of "get it together already" are commonly heard coming from that quarter.) The closer they get to the city, the bigger the butterflies in Miley's stomach get. It's not that she's nervous about having Nick at the show, at least it's mostly not about that. She's lived through two weeks of playing and singing and no one's thrown tomatoes yet; she's taking that as a good sign.
No, she's nervous about what comes before. What comes after. About whether or not she'll be able to see him without throwing herself at him and saying "please just give me one more chance." Those thoughts are what are transforming the butterflies into giant, leaping bullfrogs that she'd swear are doing the polka.
She didn't know frogs could do the polka.
In the end, she doesn't see Nick until after the show. She can feel him in the audience all night. There's a pricking on the back of her neck that lets her know that he's there watching. It makes her even more nervous, but it also makes her better; it's easily the best show of the tour. They do two encores and could easily have done a third, but they hadn't rehearsed enough material. Miley's pretty sure Taylor's about to make sure that changes.
When Nick finally makes his way backstage, Miley is practically vibrating with nervous energy. She's talking with Kyle, their drummer, and trying to keep a not too obvious eye on the door when there's a tap on her shoulder. She spins around instantly, Kyle forgotten. She can feel herself smiling so wide she's surprised her cheeks don't crack. "Nick!" She manages to resist throwing her arms around him. Barely.
He's grinning back at her -- and she's just so relieved -- and then he's drawing her into a tight hug and she wraps herself around him, burying her head in the crook of his neck. She lets out a happy sigh. Here, this, in Nick's arms, this is where she belongs. This is where she makes sense. She hates herself for maybe almost ruining that again.
He lets her go, steps back. Smiles at her again. "Hi," he says.
"Hi," she echoes, trying to keep her voice as even as possible. She fails miserably. "What did you think?"
"You guys have gotten even better," he says, nodding his head. "Really, Miley, I'm impressed."
She sighs with relief, raising her hand to her heart. "Thank goodness. I think I might have cried if you hadn't said that."
"You have to know how good you are."
She shifts back and forth uncomfortably, avoiding his gaze.
"Miley."
There's something in his voice that makes her look up. He's staring down at her, eyes completely serious. He takes her hand, squeezes it. "Believe me when I tell you how good you were. Because you were."
She can feel her whole body relax. She squeezes his hand back and smiles at him. "Okay. Thank you."
They stand there, hands joined, just looking at each other. It's almost as if the noise of backstage has faded away, leaving just them. Miley's almost afraid to breathe for fear that it will break the spell. So of course someone else does it for her.
There's another hand on her shoulder and Miley nearly jumps out of her skin. She spins around, clutching at her chest. When she sees Taylor laughing at her, she wants to stamp her foot. "Don't do that," she gasps, trying to catch her breath. "I know we've talked about this."
Taylor holds her hands up in front of her. "You were so far gone in your own world there was no way I wasn't going to scare you to death." She looks at Nick. "Hi there."
Miley can see Nick trying to stiffle his own laughter. "Hi, Taylor," he says. "Great show."
Taylor nods, like it's her due. "Thank you," she says graciously. "So what are you two up to?"
Miley looks at Nick. Looks back at Taylor. "What do you mean up to? We're just standing here." She's not making any assumptions about anything.
Taylor rolls her eyes. "You know perfectly well what I meant." She turns her attention back to Nick. "Nick, you're welcome to join us back at the hotel for drinks. It's our own little unwinding tradition of sorts."
Nick looks down at Miley. Shakes his head. "Thanks for the offer, but I was going to take Miley back to my place. She's never been. Well, that's if she wants to." He looks at her again. "Do you want to?"
She nods her head as quickly as she can.
"Okay, then," Nick says. He looks back at Taylor. "Next time."
Taylor smiles. "Next time." She starts to drift away, calling back over her shoulder, "Have fun, you two!"
Nick looks down at Miley. She looks back up at him. "Want to get out of here?" he asks.
"Yes," she says. It feels like she's been ready forever.
###
They take a cab back to Nick's condo. Halfway through the drive, Nick reaches over and takes Miley's hand, twining their fingers together. She gives him a brilliant smile. He finds himself grinning back at her. It's ridiculous, he thinks. She shouldn't still be able to make him feel like this with only a look and a touch. But she can. She'll probably always be able to.
He knows inviting her back to his place was a terrible idea. It would be ridiculously easy to just fall back into bed and the temptation will be greater there than anywhere else. He's trying to think of it as a test of his will power, to see if he can overcome just how badly he wants her and stick to just being her friend.
He doesn't want to be her friend. He knows suggesting that was the right thing to do, but fuck if it wasn't one of the worst decisions he's ever made. He takes a sideways glance at Miley. It's probably petty of him, but he hopes this is as hard for her as it is for him. She owes him at least that.
When he unlocks the door to his condo, he's oddly nervous. He doesn't remember ever being nervous to have someone over. Not even his parents back when he first bought the place and was expecting an argument about moving out. He mentally shrugs his shoulders and opens the door. Too late for anymore second thoughts.
He holds the door open. "After you."
Miley steps past him and inside. He follows, closing the door behind him. He locks it, hearing the sound of her cowboy boots on the hardwood floors as she walks down the hall.
"Nick," he hears her say. "I love it, I really do."
He actually sighs with relief. "Thanks," he calls out as he hurries to join her. "It's not much, but..."
"Oh, but it's so you," she disagrees.
He finds her in the living room, standing at the bank of windows that made him buy the place. At night, during the day, the view of Chicago is amazing. He thinks that with the sight of her standing there it's just gotten even better. He comes to stand next to her and she turns her head to smile up at him. Something in him snaps.
He bends his head to kiss her.
She makes a noise of surprise against his lips, but moves into the kiss, turning toward him. He wraps an arm around her waist, pulls her closer. He doesn't seem to be able to get close enough. He starts towards the couch, but Miley pulls back, gasping for breath.
"Wait," she says.
He drops his hands from her immediately. Scrubs them over his face. "Goddamn motherfucking shit."
"I'm sorry."
He looks at her. Her hands are twisting together in the fabric of her skirt, and she looks like someone just kicked her puppy. "Don't apologize," he snaps. The look on her face gets worse. He closes his eyes, counts to ten.
"I'll go."
He hears her start for the door. "Stop." She does. He turns to face her. "Miley, I'm sorry. Don't go."
She doesn't turn around. "Are you sure?" she asks. "Because I'd understand --"
"I'm sure," he says. He's not. He knows, logically, that she should go. "Stay."
"Okay," she says, turning back around. "Now what?"
He tries to think of something that's not getting her into his bed. Or couch. Or floor. He shakes his head. "Drinks?"
She raises an eyebrow. "Do you really think that's a good idea?"
No. "Do you have a better one?"
"Drinks it is."
He laughs, nods his head toward the kitchen across the hall. "Follow me."
He's very careful to not touch her as he walks past her. He's always prided himself on his control, but it's hanging by a very slim thread. He pulls a bottle off the small winerack on his counter, holds it out for her inspection. "This okay?"
She just laughs and gives a small shrug of her shoulders. "Still more of a box wine person. You can take the girl out of Tennessee and all that."
"You didn't, though," he points out, digging a corkscrew out of a drawer.
"What do you mean?" She's dropped into a chair at his kitchen table and is watching him work.
He opens the bottle quickly, pouring two glasses. He sets one down in front of her and takes the opposite chair. "Just that you went back. And you never really left, not at heart."
She shakes her head, takes a small sip. Smiles. "It's good," she says with some surprise. "You have excellent taste."
Now he's the one to raise an eyebrow. "You had doubts?"
She kicks him under the table. "Be nice."
"I'm always nice," he protests. She laughs. He frowns. "Okay, I'm nice ninety-five percent of the time." She laughs harder. "Ninety." She keeps laughing. "Eighty." No sign of her stopping. "Just how low do I have to go here, Miles?"
She manages to get herself under control. "Do you really want an answer to that?"
He sighs. "Probably not." A thought occurs to him. "Hey, laughing at me wasn't particularly nice, you know."
"Did I ever claim to be nice?"
He sighs again. "I suppose not." He kicks her gently. "Stop being right, that's my job."
She smiles at him and shakes her head. Takes another drink of wine. She looks away. "What are we doing?"
He blinks and sets down his glass. He knows exactly what she's asking; he's just surprised she did. From the look on her face, she's surprised she asked too. He shakes his head. "I don't know."
She nods once, then twice. "I should go." She stands up, and leans over to kiss his cheek. "We'll talk soon, I promise."
He jumps to his feet. "What? No. Don't go." The last is said feebly, because even though he absolutely doesn't want her to leave, he knows she needs to. They need to figure out what this is before they ruin what's still there between them for good.
She smiles at him again and reaches out to touch his cheek. "We'll talk soon," she repeats. She looks him straight in the eye. "I promise."
He lets himself lean into her hand for just a second, then nods. "Okay."
"Okay."
He walks her to the door in silence, holding it open for her. "Good night," he says. It doesn't feel like enough.
"Good night," she answers, kissing his cheek one more time.
He watches her walk down the hall to the elevator. As she gets on she waves her goodbye. He does the same and then closes the door behind him. They'll talk soon. And this time, they'll know what to say. He has to believe that. If he doesn't let himself believe that, he'd have to give up. He's not ready to do that yet.
###
The rest of the tour goes by in a blur. Miley knows that she got on stage on the nights that she was supposed to and sang her heart out every time, but if someone were to ask her for details or what her favorite city was or her favorite show, she'd just look at them blankly and try to change the subject as quickly as possible.
(She knows this is true, because every reporter they spoke to for publicity asked and she doesn't remember any of her answers. After awhile, Taylor stopped having her do interviews.)
What she does remember from the rest of the tour are the endless thoughts about Nick. Despite their promises to talk soon, they haven't talked since that night in his apartment. Miley thinks it's because they both know that it's the type of conversation they have to have face to face. Whether the outcome is good or bad (and she lets herself believe it will be good most of the time), they owe it to themselves, past and present, to tell each other their truths in person.
They get back to Nashville on a Tuesday morning. By Tuesday night, Miley is ready to buy a plane ticket. She orders Chinese from the delivery place two streets away, wishing it were sushi instead, and distracts herself from turning on her laptop and ordering a plane ticket by sorting her laundry while she waits for her food. When she hears the knock on her door, she happily abandons her task, grabbing her purse from the kitchen counter as she dashes for the front door. "I'm coming!" she calls out, not even sure the kid will be able to hear her. She flings the door open.
Nick is standing on the other side. Holding flowers. And wearing a suit.
She's wearing sweats and a ratty tank top and has her hair bundled up on the top of her head, bangs pulled back with a headband. All she can do is blink at him.
"Hi," he says.
"Hi," she says dumbly. Seriously, one of them missed a memo somewhere. And it sure seems like it was her. What is he doing here?
"Can I come in?"
She blinks again. "Right. Sure. Of course," she babbles, stepping aside so that he can come inside. "I just got home not that long ago and I'm cleaning and waiting for Chinese and I thought you were the food and --"
Nick covers her mouth with his hand. "Miley. Take a breath."
She does. He removes his hand.
She can't help it, the words coming tumbling out. "Nick, what are you doing here?"
He hands her the flowers. "Taylor didn't tell you I was coming, did she?"
"What?" The word comes out as a screech. "What?"
He actually has the audacity to laugh, before she can have more than a passing thought about kill him too, the doorbell rings. She looks back and forth at the door and him, and Nick gives her a gentle shove towards the kitchen. "Go put those in water," he says. "I'll get the food."
The only reason she does what he says is that she needs a minute to think. A minute where he's not in front of her and looking good enough to eat and she's not filled with thoughts about climbing him like a tree. She blinks at herself. Apparently she's hornier than she realized on top of everything else.
She finds a vase in one of her cupboards and is filling it with water when Nick walks into the kitchen, arms laden down with bags of food. She frowns. She hadn't realized she'd ordered so much. "Let me pay you back," she says as she unwraps the flowers and puts them into the vase.
He shakes his head, setting the bags down on the counter. "No, I've got it."
"I'm the one that ordered the food."
He rolls his eyes at her and she sighs heavily. She knows she's being ridiculous. She doesn't need him reminding her. "I was going to take you out to dinner," he says. "We'll just call this dinner."
She stares at him. "You were going to -- you were going to what?" She shakes her head. "Taylor is dead."
Nick shakes his head. "It's my fault. I should have called."
"No," she sighs. "I should have called. I said we'd talk and then I didn't call and I'm --"
Nick doesn't let her finish, he just takes a step forward and kisses her. Miley almost drops the vase she's still holding.
They grab at it together, a little water splashing over the top and onto the cotton of Miley's tank top. She looks up at Nick. "Oops?"
He takes the vase from her, sets it on the counter. "Let's try that again," he suggests, bending his head toward her again.
She pushes him back. "I thought we were going to talk before we did that. I mean, wasn't that the whole point?"
Nick frowns at her. "When did you become the logical one in this relationship?"
She throws her hands up in the air. "This is what I'm talking about!" she exclaims, turning away from him and starting to pace the length of the kitchen. "Are we in a relationship? Is that what this is? Are we have friends that just have sex sometimes? Because I don't want that to be what we are, Nick, I don't. And I'm sorry about last time, but I got scared because --"
Nick grabs her shoulders, stops her.
She says the words looking straight up at him. "-- because I'm still in love with you."
"Me, too," he says.
Her jaw drops. She'd hoped -- hoped so much more than she'd ever hoped for anything before -- that was true, but she'd never thought he'd just say it straight out like that. But then, what is he saying "me, too" about exactly? "Me, too, what?"
He laughs, cups her chin in his hand. Looks her in the eye, and she can see it there. The amount of love reflected there, it's almost enough to make her not need the words. He gives them to her anyway. "I'm still in love with you, too," he says slowly. "I love you, Miley."
"Yeah?" she whispers. Her hands have found the way to the front of his suit jacket and are clenching the lapels.
"Yeah," he nods. He bends his head so that he's a hairsbreadth away from kissing her. "Am I allowed to do this now?"
She doesn't answer, but pulls him forward, taking the choice out of his hands. She can feel him smile against her lips.
She takes his hand and leads him up the stairs to her bedroom. The Chinese gets cold on the counter.
***
It's six days before her twenty-fifth birthday and Miley is sitting in a restaurant in Nashville with all her family and friends. It's exactly a year from the date that she realized just how unhappy she was. She remembers feeling alone and unhappy and so many other things, but now she doesn't remember what that felt like.
How can she, when she's sitting her with the people that she loves the most and who love her in return. How can she, when she's sitting here with Nick by her side, his hand warm on her knee as they listen to her daddy tell a story about filming his newest tv movie. How can she, when she looks at John and Taylor sitting across from her, knowing that in six months they're going to become parents for the first time. How can she, knowing that Joe and Demi are sitting on the other side of Nick and that they're getting married in just a few short weeks.
This was all there waiting for her; she doesn't know how she ever took that for granted.
Nick takes her hand beneath the table, leans over to whisper in her ear. "Should we tell them?" he asks, his breath hot against her skin.
She shakes her head. She bends towards him, whispers back, "Not tonight."
He nods. She settles her head against his shoulder, and he wraps his arm around hers.
It's six days before her twenty-fifth birthday and Miley is happy. She believes she'll stay that way forever.