Two Roads Diverged, Chapter 9
Title: Two Roads Diverged (9/12)
Pairing: Cory/Shawn
Rating: This is more relationshippy than sexy, but there's some description of blow-jobs and hand-jobs, so rate that how you will.
Length: ~50,000 words over 12 chapters
Summary: Years after a falling out, Cory and Shawn reconnect in New York City and help each other through some big changes. This takes place about eight years after the end of the series, so roughly 2008-2009.
Note: My earlier BMW stand-alone fics " Idiot Savant" and " Average Boy" can be read as the backstories to this story, but you do not have to have read those to follow this one.
"I don't want you to go."
Shawn is laying on the living room rug, arms folded behind his head. He is wearing nothing but his boxers, having refused to dress out of some form of poorly thought-out protest.
Cory steps over him, grabbing up all his belongings and articles of clothing that have somehow found themselves strewn about the apartment. His leg and hip still hurt from his wipe out on the ice the day before, but he ignores the pain. "Have you seen my blue striped socks? I had them on the other day."
"I don't want you to go," Shawn repeats.
"Yeah, well, I'm not gonna leave Topanga stranded at the airport."
"That's not what I meant."
"Those are my favorite socks. I don't want to lose them." Cory wanders into the bedroom.
"I'll just mail them to you when they turn up," Shawn calls to him, "I'll send them out to you in California."
In the bedroom, Cory continues picking up stray items of clothing, trying to separate what's his and what's Shawn's. Somehow, everything has gotten tangled up. And it's not just the clothes.
He sits down on the edge of the bed and takes a deep breath. He doesn't want to let all this go but somehow it's still happening. He closes his eyes and tries to steel himself. Then something soft hits his chest and drops into his lap. He looks down and sees his blue striped socks, balled up.
"Found 'em," Shawn says from the doorway.
"I'm sorry," Cory says softly.
Shawn shrugs. "I was pretty good about not getting my hopes up. So, dinner tonight? Me and you and the Mrs.?"
Cory watches him shift his weight from one foot to the other, his hip bones protruding beneath the waistband of his boxers. "That's the plan. Promise me you'll eat something before then."
Shawn comes to sit beside him. "If I looked better, would you stay?"
"That has nothing to do with anything."
"Would it be harder for you to go? If I looked more like that guy you were in love with?"
"It's hard no matter what," Cory says. He turns to Shawn and kisses him, then looks him straight on in the eyes. Those eyes. "And I love you no matter what you look like. But I need you to take care of yourself. I can't be here and I need you to do that for me."
"Don't go."
"You should get dressed. You don't want to be late for the lawyer."
"Don't get all excited. It's just a preliminary meeting to find out if I even have a case."
"Of course you have a case."
Shawn lays back on the bed and groans. "Please don't go."
"Shawnie..."
"What time do you have to leave? Like, absolutely go in order to still make it?"
Cory puts his head back to do the math. "Ten, I guess. If I leave by ten I can still drop my stuff off at Jim's place and get out to JFK by the time her plane gets in."
"Okay." Shawn grabs his phone from the nightstand and holds it in front of Cory so he can see him set an alarm for 9:55. "You're mine 'til then."
Shawn surprises him in that he doesn't put a single move on him. He chooses instead to spend their final time together holding Cory close and still. But this should not be surprising, Cory thinks. Sex long ago stopped meaning much on personal level to Shawn. Being close to him like this, allowing himself to be seen vulnerable with someone is much more rare. Cory knows this is a privileged kind of intimacy that Shawn reserves for very few.
As the clock ticks down, Shawn holds Cory. Cory listens to him breathing and takes in his scent, Shawn who has always smelled like home and love and childhood and security. Shawn nuzzles his face into the back of Cory's head.
"Your little curls," he says, half-silly, half-sad, "I met a guy once in Barcelona who had curls like yours. I started crying while he was giving me head. He thought I was such a psychopath."
"I had my own doppelganger."
"You did. You had your share for sure."
"I don't want to go, Shawnie."
"I know."
"But I have to."
"I know."
"Maybe I could come back. Every year, or something."
"I don't want to be your mistress, Cor." Shawn kisses Cory's ear. "Stop talking now."
And then Cory finally allows himself to cry. The tears just start streaming.
"Hey! Hey now," Shawn says as they both sit up, "You can't do this. You'll look all red and puffy for Topanga."
"I don't care," Cory mumbles, feeling like an absolute baby. He's flat-out blubbering now.
"You're gonna make me cry," Shawn says, his voice quavering.
Cory looks at him and sees it's too late. Shawn's getting all red and misty. And Cory starts to laugh. He starts laughing and sobbing at the same time, snot exploding out of his nose.
"Oh, god," Shawn laughs, despite the tears streaming down his cheeks, and kisses Cory's snotty, wet, blubbering face. "I love you so much."
This sets Cory off on another round of hysterical laugh-sobs until he feels like he's hyperventilating.
"Shhh, shhhh," Shawn soothes him, pulling him into a hug and holding him there, "It's all right. It's okay."
Cory breathes against him, choking out sobs and snot and odd bits of laughter, pulling in hitched breaths. Eventually, he calms enough that Shawn releases him. Shawn leaves the room and returns, having fetched a glass of water. As he sits down to watch Cory drink it, the alarm goes off on his phone.
With a deep sigh, Shawn picks up the phone and switches it off. He smirks and wipes his eyes with the back of his arm. "And now I turn back into a pumpkin."
Topanga's flight is behind schedule but Cory gets to the airport on time, so he ends up hanging out around the baggage claim, spending way too much time thinking. His first thought, of course, is that this could have been time he was spending with Shawn. But he banishes that thought and tries to think about something else. What is Shawn doing right now? He checks his watch: 12:36. Should be on his way to meet with Topanga's lawyer friend. If he actually goes. What if Shawn doesn't go? What if he blows this off and wanders off in search of a new way to destroy himself? What if he does this and never comes back? What if this was the last time Cory will see him?
Stop it. Stop thinking about Shawn.
Topanga. Topanga. Topanga. He's supposed to be thinking about Topanga right now. Oh, god, he doesn't want to do that either. What in the world is he going to say to her? How is he going to interact with her in person after everything that's gone on this week? How the hell is he going to keep her from guessing that he's pretty much spent the five days prior in bed with his best friend, passing back and forth each other's hearts and secrets? How do you just act like that never happened? Like you haven't spent the past five days fantasizing about leaving your wife for your childhood best friend? Cory is not good at pretending. Cory is a terrible liar. Cory always gets caught.
Oh, god, what the hell do I think I'm doing?
Desperate to stop this anxiety loop in his head, Cory pops over to a deli cart and buys himself a bagel and some sort of sugary coffee drink. He finds a seat under a TV screen on which two pundits are yelling at each other about politics. The racket is comforting in that it drowns out his thoughts a bit. Bagel. Coffee. Cory concentrates on these. Bagel. Coffee. Shawn. No. Bagel. Coffee. Bagel. Coffee. Bagel. Coffee. Topanga and Shawn. Bagel. Bagel. Bagel. Shawn. Dammit.
And then Topanga is there, walking toward him with her roller suitcase. She is wearing her usual traveling outfit of yoga pants and a pull-over, hair pulled up in a bun, glasses on instead of her contacts. It is how she looks at home, as opposed to how she generally looks when she leaves the house, done up in her professional-lawyer-making-partner look. It always feels like an intimate privilege, getting to see her like this instead of that. Cory watches her approach and feels a wave of affection followed shortly after by guilt. He tosses out the remainder of his bagel and walks toward her.
"Why are you limping?" She asks when they meet.
"Oh," Cory brushes it off, taking her bags and giving her a quick kiss on the cheek, "I took a fall on the rink yesterday."
"You went ice skating?"
"Yeah."
"Wow." Topanga is definitely surprised by this. Then she smiles. "You went with Shawn, didn't you?"
"He had nothing to do with me falling."
"How is it that you still always get into trouble with him? You're grown men."
Cory shakes his head. He should be smiling at her teasing, but he can't manage it. "How was your flight?" He asks, leading the way out to the line for cabs.
"Long. I really want a shower."
They queue up at the taxi stand. "Jim's got a nice one. There's, like, 1000 shower heads."
"Ooh."
"Actually, I think it's only six."
"Can't wait."
They fall silent and just wait their turn for a cab. Topanga's phone comes out and she is lost to the world for the next twenty minutes or so, responding to emails. Cory is relieved. He watches the cabs lining up and taking off as if he is fascinated by the mundane order of it all. He works to keep his breathing steady. Maybe he can do this after all.
When they do finally get a cab, the headrest TV is blaring obnoxiously again. Without even taking her eyes off her phone, Topanga reaches over and switches the TV off. Cory stares at his reflection in the empty TV screen now. How is it that both Topanga and Shawn had no problem turning off those cab TVs, did it without even thinking twice about it, and yet it never even occurred to Cory that he could? When it was just him in a cab all week, he'd sat like a lump, letting the TV blare on and annoy him. He'd done nothing to change the situation, hadn't even thought of the possibility that the situation even could be changed.
Suddenly this feels uncomfortably important and symbolic.
They manage to successfully avoid talking to each other for quite a while without it seeming weird. Topanga admires the apartment, unpacks her bags, takes a shower, spends a luxurious amount of time doing her hair and make-up after. Cory stays out of her way. He tries to busy himself with little things to keep his mind distracted, but he can't help but think.
Everything feels normal, being back with Topanga. Everything feels almost exactly as it has for the past eight years. Except for one thing: Cory is different. How long will it be before she notices?
Cory checks his phone again. Shawn didn't say he would text him, or anything, but Cory sort of expected that he might. Tell him how the meeting with the lawyer went, check in on how things with Topanga are going. But it's more likely that he's keeping his distance, giving them their space. Then the terrible thought occurs to Cory that this is the way things are going to be from now on. Shawn will keep his distance. Everything will go back pretty much to the way it has been for eight years. Cory has known this rationally to be what would happen at the end of the week, but this is the first time it sinks in.
At least they'll get to see him at dinner tonight. As uncomfortable as Cory fears sitting at a table between the two of them will be, he is glad to get to see Shawn again. It's only been a few hours and already he misses him terribly, feels incomplete without his company. How does that happen so quickly?
They can't avoid talking to each other forever. Dressed and done-up gorgeous-casual, Topanga sits down on the sofa across from Cory and looks apprehensive.
"We need to talk," she says. Those are the worst words in the world. They never portend anything good.
Cory nods in resignation. He sits back in the sofa and fusses with a button-tuft on the arm. He asks, "Why are we stopping the treatments?"
"We're not stopping. I am. For the time being, at least."
"Why?"
"Because I told you, I'm not sure this family is ready for another life right now. I need some time to think about it."
"We've been thinking about it for years. This is all we've talked about for years."
Topanga looks so sad. "Cory, that's part of the problem. I don't know what we have left if you take that away."
"I don't know what you mean," Cory says, even though he does. He knows exactly what she means. "We have almost ten years of marriage. That's what we have. How can you act like that's nothing?"
"I'm not acting like it's nothing. I'm just...I've been realizing, this last week especially, that you're not...you haven't really been present."
"I've been on vacation! A vacation by myself that you insisted I take!"
"That's not what I mean. I mean, even when you're here-there-you haven't been present. You're here, but you're not. I have no idea what you do with yourself all day."
"I try to get a job. I keep the house running. I'm sorry if that's nothing to you. I'm sorry I'm not some brilliant lawyer like all those assholes you work with. I'm sorry I'm such a failure at life."
And now she's crying. Goddammit.
"Cory. That's not what I meant. I wasn't trying to insult you. I know what you do all day. What I don't know is what you're thinking all day. I have no idea what goes on in your mind. I have no idea who you are anymore. I feel like you're...somewhere else."
"Maybe it's because you're always somewhere else." Cory goes for the only real ammo he's got.
"You think if I was home more this wouldn't be happening?"
He sighs. "No. I don't know."
"So you know I'm not crazy, right? I'm not making this up?"
Cory can't bring himself to respond. He's admitting that she's correct without actually having to say it. They just sit there in silence, Cory staring into his lap, Topanga looking past him and crying softly. He should go to her, but he doesn't. He doesn't think she would want that and he can't stand the thought of being refused by her, being pushed off. So he sits.
"Okay," she says resolutely after a long, uncomfortable while, "I'm going to take a walk and get some coffee. I think we need our space."
She gets up, gathers her coat and bag, pauses before she goes. "So, dinner with Shawn at what time tonight?"
Cory clears his throat. "Seven. We don't have to go, though. I can cancel."
"No. That should be fine. I'll be back in time."
And then she's gone. Cory strips his clothes off and crawls into the bed. He doesn't want to think anymore.
The cab ride to the restaurant is tense, though Topanga puts up a good front to make it not seem so. She keeps up a steady patter of small talk about the city and all the things they pass that have changed or are new. Cory is much less talented at this kind of fake lightness. He tries to respond to what she says, but mostly just answers with non-committal "mmms" and grunts.
The restaurant is nicer than he'd been anticipating. Shawn has picked it out, so Cory had been expecting a dump or at least something a little offbeat. Instead it's the kind of place where he feels self-conscious that he only wore a collared shirt but no tie.
"Oh, this is beautiful," Topanga says, admiring the decor and the attractive patrons.
The hostess informs them that "Mr. Hunter" will be a few minutes late, so they're shown to their table and order drinks.
"How did he pick this place?" Topanga asks, as she accepts her martini.
"He knows somebody who works here. The chef, or something."
"Wow."
"Mmm."
Then Shawn is there. Cory's not sure if he should be relieved or panicked at this, but the sight of him does put a smile on Cory's face.
Shawn has made a effort in his appearance. The hair gel is back, he's freshly shaven, and he's wearing normal clothes again that fit. He even has a tie on. Cory can tell by his movements, though, that he is keyed up and nervous. Still, Shawn puts on his brightest smile for her. "Topanga, Hi!"
"Shawn, oh my gosh, it's good to see you!"
Topanga hides her shock well at seeing what Shawn looks like, though as she greets him with a hug, she makes worried eyes over his shoulder at Cory.
"You look terrific," she says as she steps down from the hug.
"Aw, I look like shit, but that's nice. You look great. The highlights really work for you."
"Thanks," Topanga brushes her hair back slightly self-consciously, "My little monthly splurge."
Cory didn't know Topanga had highlights regularly done. He's not even sure he knows what that entails.
They sit down, Shawn puts his drink order in and they get to catching up. Cory has forgotten how charming Shawn can be when he wants to, especially with women. His skill has not diminished one bit in the years that have passed. Within minutes, Topanga is completely caught up in the story he's telling, giggling in a way Cory hasn't heard in ages. They engage in safely flirty banter, both acting as if Cory is not present. It's incredible to watch. And also familiar. Cory remembers feeling left out sometimes when the two of them would talk like this, an amused meeting of two clever minds, Boring Cory all but forgotten. He feels a little flame of jealousy alight in his chest. But he's not sure which one of them he's feeling possessive about. Maybe both of them. Cory sucks down his drink in annoyance.
Shawn excuses himself to go to the washroom and Topanga sits back in her chair, slightly flushed from her drink and from the lively conversation of the last twenty minutes.
"Well, he hasn't changed a bit," she declares. "You weren't kidding about him looking terrible. But if it wasn't for that, you'd never know anything had been wrong at all."
"He's a good pretender," Cory says sullenly. His drink is empty and he is willing the waiter to come back already so he can order another.
"He always has been."
Cory is watching Shawn on the other side of the restaurant. He's emerged from the mens room but now run into someone he knows at the bar. He's laughing and chatting, looking for all the world as if he's perfectly at ease. Shawn's so good with people. Probably from a lifetime of being dropped in new places and forced to adapt, Cory supposes. It doesn't hurt that he's so handsome, even with the awful haircut. People always like talking to a handsome guy. And he looks great tonight, smiling, well-dressed. Cory watches him laugh and feels again a pang of jealousy. He wants to be the one making that happen.
He turns his attention back to Topanga then and notices she's been watching Cory watch Shawn. There's a strange expression on her face and Cory doesn't know how to interpret it. Thankfully the waiter returns, disrupting the moment. And then Shawn comes back. Everybody is distracted for a few minutes figuring out their dinner orders, asking the waiter questions. When all the orders are taken and the waiter has left them again, Cory decides to commandeer the discussion.
"How was your meeting with the lawyer?" He asks.
"Oh, you saw Sheila," Topanga says with interest, "She's great, isn't she?"
Shawn looks momentarily bombarded with the switch to this subject, but he recovers quickly, putting on his everything's fine/no big deal face.
"Yeah, she's great. Really seems to know her stuff."
"So?" Cory leads.
"So?" Shawn clearly does not want to talk about this. Cory doesn't care.
"So what'd she say?"
Shawn looks down, very annoyed at Cory, but then looks up at Topanga and puts on a fake smile. "She says I have a strong case. I could even pursue joint custody if I want to."
"Oh, Shawn," Topanga clasps her hands, "That's wonderful."
"Yeah," Shawn gulps his drink. "I. Am. Terrified."
Cory has to stop himself from reaching across the table for Shawn's hand. Luckily, Topanga's instincts kick in as well. "Of course you are," she says soothingly, taking Shawn's hand-the hand Cory wanted to take-and giving him a reassuring smile, "This is a really big deal."
Shawn is very still, then he brightens. "Do you want to see a picture of her?"
Topanga leans forward in excitement. "Yes, of course."
Cory scowls in annoyance while Shawn takes out his phone. It took Cory days to pry this information out of Shawn and here in about ten seconds he's volunteering to show Topanga the picture of his daughter. Cory tells himself that Shawn is just getting more comfortable with the idea of Sadie, with actually talking about her, making her real, but Cory can't help but feel jealous. Why is Shawn so friendly with Topanga? She's supposed to be his enemy. Shawn doesn't even seem to care that she's here to take Cory away from him. Why doesn't Shawn care more? Why is this so much easier for him than Cory?
"Oh," Topanga puts a hand to her heart, "She's beautiful, Shawn. Gosh, she looks so much like you."
Shawn smiles, though his eyes seem focused on something a mile away. He takes the phone back and slips it in his pocket.
"What's Sheila doing about you actually getting to meet her?" Topanga asks.
This brings Shawn back to the present moment. He cocks his head and takes another sip of his drink. "She's calling Anna's lawyer. She's says there's absolutely no way I don't get to meet my daughter within the next couple weeks."
"That's great," Topanga says.
Cory nods too, glad for this. "We're happy for you," he tells Shawn.
Shawn switches up the conversation then, asking Topanga how she and Sheila know each other. This sets her off into a long, involved story about law school. When you're married to someone for a couple of years, you've heard all their stories, know all the dramatic pauses, can recite the punchlines. So when Topanga starts telling the story about Sheila and the Whitney case, Cory automatically tunes out. He watches Shawn listen to the story, his face animated with interest. He smiles at all the right points, asks the kinds of questions that Cory never thinks to ask her anymore, just in general behaves as if this is the most enjoyable story he's ever heard. He's being nice and just reconnecting with a friend he hasn't seen in years, but it makes Cory's blood boil. He wants to reach out and slap Shawn, bring his attention back to Cory. Just hours earlier he was crying over Cory, begging him not to go. Now it's as if none of that ever happened. As if he's just an old friend of a married couple, meeting them for dinner while they're visiting New York.
Their dinners arrive and Topanga teases Shawn, warning him that he better clean his plate. "What would Mrs. Matthews think? All her hard work..."
Cory is startled. Did everybody know about the Matthews keeping Shawn from going hungry all those years? Has Cory just been an oblivious moron for all these years?
Shawn laughs and Cory is impressed by how good Topanga is at coaxing him to try things throughout the meal, putting things from her plate onto his to taste, encouraging him to try a bite of this or that on his own plate and tell her what it's like. She's much better at getting him to eat than Cory was. It must be a maternal thing. Or maybe Shawn's just more receptive to women. He's being so damn nice to Topanga tonight. Cory cannot figure out why this is so irritating. When he can't take another minute of it, Cory excuses himself and heads to the mens room.
He stays in there too long, he knows, but he just can't bear to go back out yet. He paces and fumes. Eventually, Shawn comes in, having been sent by Topanga to check up on him.
"What's going on?" Shawn asks.
"Why do you have to be so nice to her?"
"What?"
"With the flirting and the laughing and the eating..." Cory fully realizes he sounds like a petty jerk, but he doesn't care.
Shawn looks exasperated. "What do you want me to do? You're going back to her. I'm making the best of it. She's a great person and she's always been a good friend to me. How do you expect me to behave?"
"I don't know," Cory grumbles.
Then recognition lights up Shawn's face. "You're jealous."
Cory can't quite bring himself to admit this is true, but his lack of response does this for him. Shawn is incredulous. "You're insane, you know that?"
Cory looks at him helplessly. "I know."
And Shawn kisses him. All Cory's irritation melts away with that sweet, small kiss.
Shawn pulls back from the kiss and looks him in the eye, one hand still clasping the side of Cory's face. "You need to figure out what you want. And if what you want is out there, you need to go out there and start acting like it."
He gives Cory one long look after he says this, then heads out back to the table. Not knowing what else to do, Cory follows.
At the table, Cory does his best to smile and in general not be a jealous, insane asshole. The talk is light as they all finish up. Shawn tells a funny story about Jack and this enormous St. Bernard his wife insisted they adopt. Topanga talks about Cory's ill-fated diy attempts to turn their garage into a finished rec room. Then the check comes and, as Shawn insists on paying it, Topanga tells him they'll treat when he comes out to California. And Cory realizes with a sick feeling in his stomach that this is it. This is the last he will see of Shawn for who knows how long. He watches Shawn and tries to burn every little detail about him into his memory so he will not forget.
Somehow they've left the table and are all heading to the front of the restaurant. Shawn puts a hand on Cory's shoulder, a gesture that passes for friendly-like, not intimate, but Cory knows better. Shawn's hand on his shoulder is heavy with meaning, everything that has transpired these last five days weighing it down.
Outside, Shawn gives Topanga a quick kiss and a smile. "It was great to see you," he says.
"Same here. I'm so proud of you, Shawn."
He gives Cory a quick, one-armed hug. "Take care of yourself," he tells him.
"You too," Cory says, "I mean it."
Shawn gives him a little military salute and a smile. Then he buries his hands in his coat pockets, nods at them both and starts heading down the sidewalk in the general direction of his apartment.
Topanga steps to the curb and starts hailing for a cab. Cory follows her but continues to watch Shawn, a small figure in a wool coat moving further away down the sidewalk. "I'll be right back," he says suddenly, "I forgot to tell him something."
Cory's hard sole dress shoes make an echoing clap as he jogs down the sidewalk to catch up with Shawn. Cory puts a hand to Shawn's arm as he reaches him and Shawn turns around in surprise. "What are you doing?"
"I just...I don't want it to end like this."
Shawn smiles sadly. "I know. But you have to go back to your wife." He gestures his head back toward Topanga. "Go. She's waiting."
Cory hesitates, then he wraps Shawn up in a bear hug. He puts his mouth to Shawn's ear and whispers, "I never loved anyone as much as I love you. I'm sorry I screwed that up."
When he releases him, Shawn's eyes are misty. He clears his throat before he says, "Be happy, Cor."
Then Shawn turns away and trudges off. Cory stands still a second, steeling himself. With a deep, shaky breath, he returns to Topanga. She hails a cab, they get in, and they ride back to the apartment in complete silence. Cory puts his head against the window glass and watches the lights flash by, reflecting in the slushy street. This is my life. Until the end of time, this is it.
Two Roads Diverged
Previously:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Next:
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12