Two Roads Diverged, Chapter 11
Title: Two Roads Diverged (11/12)
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.
"She's so beautiful." Shawn is curled up against the train window, eyes glued to his phone. Sheila had snapped a couple pictures for him, of him and Sadie together, and he just keeps scrolling through them.
Cory smiles. "She is."
"So beautiful. God..." Shawn has been practically dancing on air since he left the McDonalds, barely aware of anything else around him. Cory had to lead the way to the station, remind him to get out his metro card, guide him into the seat so he didn't just topple over once the train started moving.
He turns to Cory now with that same dazed look of wonder on his face. "And she's smart, too. And funny. She's a really funny kid."
"So, you're saying you liked her?" Cory teases.
Shawn takes him seriously, though. "Yeah. Yeah, I mean, I guess I was kind of worried that I might not. You know, not that I wouldn't like her, but that I wouldn't feel...anything. But the minute I saw her...God, Cory. It's the most amazing feeling..." He leans back against the window again and sighs. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For making this happen. I wouldn't have this if it wasn't for you."
"Oh, sure you would. It would've just taken you a little longer to come to your senses."
Shawn doesn't say anything more. He just takes Cory's hand in his and squeezes it for the rest of the trip, scrolling over and over through the pictures with his other hand. Cory cannot recall another time when Shawn has ever looked so happy and content. A little pang of jealousy hits Cory then, but he pushes it away and concentrates on being glad for him.
Back in the city, Shawn insists that they must go to lunch, surprising Cory somewhat. He figured Shawn would be far too nerve-wracked still to want to eat, but Shawn looks at him like he's crazy when he hesitates, so Cory quickly acquiesces. He doesn't mind so much, anyway. The hours that have passed since he arrived at St. Luke's last night have felt like an incredible gift of bonus time with Shawn, as emotionally exhausting as those hours have been. He wants to stretch them out as long as possible.
At the restaurant, Shawn babbles about all the things he and Sheila have been discussing, the different types of custodial arrangements he might pursue, different ways that Anna and her lawyer might counter back. As he talks, he wolfs down spring rolls and coconut soup, barely pausing to take a breath.
"Hey, hey," Cory warns him at one point, "Slow down. You're gonna make yourself sick."
Shawn pauses, half a bite into another spring roll, swallows and takes a deep breath. "You're right."
"Not that it's not good to see you hungry, though."
"I'm not hungry," Shawn says, "I just can't fuck around anymore. I gotta get it together."
"Uggh," Cory sighs in disgust, "I've been telling you that for a week and a half."
"Yeah, well," Shawn says as their entrees arrive, "I'm kind of an idiot."
"I've heard that."
They eat in companionable silence for a while. Cory isn't crazy about his pad Thai, but he plods through it anyway, not wishing to disturb Shawn's momentum. Unlike the majority of the meals they've had together this past week and a half, Shawn does not pick at or play with his food, making an elaborate show of giving it attention without actually eating much of it at all. Instead, he approaches this meal with a deliberate, methodical dedication. Scoop, bite, swallow. Scoop, bite, swallow. There's no masking that it's an effort, but it's an effort Shawn finally seems willing to make. Cory supports the effort by doing everything not to disrupt it.
Eventually, though, Shawn takes a breather and switches his attention to Cory. "So, I haven't even asked you yet," he says, twirling noodles idly around his fork, the habit of playing with his food perhaps too ingrained, "How have things been this week?"
"You mean before I got called in the middle of the night to spring you from the emergency room?"
"Yeah."
"Oh, just peachy. We're barely talking."
"That's not good," Shawn says.
"No, I don't think it is." Cory shovels a forkful of chicken and noodle into his mouth angrily then continues, "She's also stopped the fertility treatments. Before she even came out here."
Shawn puts down his fork. "That's really not good."
"No. It's not. She didn't even talk about it with me first. She just decided to stop. Like it's just her decision."
"Well, it is her body."
"I know that. But, I mean, she just acts like I'm not a part of this at all. Do you know what that feels like?"
Shawn raises one eyebrow and Cory immediately realizes what a stupid thing he has just said. He feels his cheeks flush in embarrassment and a wave of self-loathing floods over him. His problems have always felt so petty and unimportant in comparison to Shawn's dramas. The old guilt at complaining when he has so much less to complain about hits him and he is annoyed by its familiarity. He wants to complain right now, dammit, and feel sorry for himself. Why can't he feel sorry for himself a little bit without always feeling like he doesn't have a right to?
"Anyway," Cory continues, more irritated now, "It's not good." He begins stabbing at the chicken on his plate violently.
"Well, you know," Shawn says, taking the fork away from Cory, "If you needed some time apart for, like, a cooling off period, or something, you could always stay with me."
Cory glares at him. "Really, Shawn? You really think that's a good idea?"
"I don't see why not. You apparently have no other friends."
Cory snatches his fork back from Shawn. "I have friends."
"Would Eric let you stay with him? Or you could go back home to your parents for a bit. I'm sure they'd put you up."
"Stop it. I'm not running away. God. I'm allowed to have a fight with my wife without it immediately meaning I need a new place to live."
"Okay," Shawn gives a falsely casual shrug and returns his attention to the hard work of eating, "I was just trying to help. I wasn't trying to seduce you."
"Well, it would be a lot more believable if you weren't playing footsie with me while you did it."
Shawn grins. "You knew that was me, huh?"
"Who else would it be? You're the only one at the table."
Shawn laughs and Cory's irritation fades away. It's such a relief to see Shawn happy. So what if Cory isn't? What does it matter?
"So, tell me some more about Sadie," Cory says, "What'd you guys talk about?"
Cory doesn't think he will ever get tired of seeing Shawn's face light up like that.
But it's hard. It's always been hard to see Shawn happy when Cory is not. It's like the balance of their universe gets thrown off a little. It's not that Cory begrudges Shawn his happiness, really. It's just that when Cory's happy, he's simply happy and that's it, but when Shawn's happy, he's happy in a way that makes it seem like no one has ever before experienced a state of happiness quite like this. Maybe because for Shawn genuine happiness has always been so rare and fleeting that he appreciates it more, experiences it to its fullest for as long as it lasts. Cory's taken being happy for granted, he supposes. Most of his life there really wasn't any reason not to simply expect it. And then it slipped away some time during these last eight years and he never even noticed. But seeing Shawn happy-and experiencing little moments of happiness with him this past week and a half-makes it all the more clear to Cory what has been missing. It feels like there's a great big gaping hole in his heart where something should be. And it's hard to go around knowing there's a hole in you, especially when accompanied by someone who is a walking reminder of what you desire.
As they head toward the Upper West Side and Jim's beautiful apartment that Cory has come to hate, neither of them says much. Once again they both feel the clock ticking down. There'll be no more bonus time now. As they get closer, Cory feels a need to make things normal somehow, just to undercut the overwhelming sense of dread.
"So, what are your plans tonight?" he asks.
Shawn pushes his hands a little deeper into his coat pockets. "I'm actually seeing my sponsor tonight."
"For NA?"
"Only sponsor I got. Jeez, how bad off do you think I am?" Shawn's smiling, though, and not really offended. He continues, "Yeah, it's just...it's been a while since I touched base with him and with everything that's been happening...well, it's probably good I see him. Just to talk or whatever. I should probably start attending some meetings again too. It's time to get my life back on track."
"I still got your Xanax, you know," Cory says, trying to be helpful.
"Yeah. Keep it, will you? I don't want it around."
"Sure." Cory glances at him as they continue to walk, "You gonna be okay, Shawnie?"
Shawn nods forcefully. "I am. One day at a time, and all that. Besides, I gotta think about Sadie now, before anything else. I don't think I'm allowed to fuck-up anymore after this."
Maybe it's the cold wind putting color in his cheeks, or the fact that he's finally had a couple of good meals in a row, or just his general upbeat mood, but Shawn does not look to Cory like the same person he checked out from the hospital less than 24 hours previously. Even with the little bandage covering up the stitches on his temple, he looks...stronger. He looks healthier. For the first time Cory can remember, he believes Shawn when he says he's going to be okay.
"How 'bout you?" Shawn asks.
"Me? Oh, I'll be fine. I'm always fine."
"No, you're not. I worry about you, Cory. I feel like I'm the only person who's ever looking out for you."
Cory is puzzled by this assertion, that Shawn would think that Cory was the one who never had anybody looking out for him."What are you talking about? I've always had my family, Topanga, Feeny..."
"Yeah, but none of them know you like I know you. And they always seem to believe you when you say everything is fine, like nobody thinks you're complicated enough to have real problems. That always pissed me off."
There is genuine anger on Shawn's face, a fierce protectiveness Cory's never seen. As he contemplates this, he realizes they've passed where they should have turned for Jim's building. He doesn't say anything, though-he's pretty sure Shawn's aware of this. Cory just keeps walking with him, trying to look back on their lives with the idea of Shawn as his protector. For his whole life, he's only ever thought of it as the other way around. But there were lots of times now, looking back, where he should have seen it. And, the more he thinks about it, there were probably a lot instances Cory never even knew about. Shawn is a master of behind the scenes machinations. God, Cory has been so oblivious to everything his whole life.
Shawn leads Cory off the sidewalk and into a park and they walk a bit without talking until Shawn takes a seat on a bench. Cory sits down beside him and they look out over the late January gray of the Hudson River. The wind is brisk and cruel, but Shawn doesn't seem interested in moving away from it. And Cory doesn't feel interested in moving away without Shawn. So he folds his hands in his lap, resigns himself to the cold, and gazes out over the water.
"Is that the watch?"
Cory glances at Shawn and then looks down at his own hands. In the space between his coat sleeve and his glove, his watch is visible, the watch Shawn gave to him for Christmas thirteen years ago. The face is scuffed and scratched, the watchband replaced twice now, but Cory has never once considered getting a new watch.
"There hasn't been a day since I was sixteen that I haven't worn it," Cory says.
"Just habit, or sentimentality?"
"A bit of both, I guess."
Shawn nods and they fall silent again. It is bitter cold, but Cory doesn't care. He would freeze to death beside Shawn if it meant their time together today could last a little longer. Eventually, Shawn speaks again:
"If you never had to worry about money again, but you still had a job you liked and found interesting, and you lived in a vibrant, amazing city, with real seasons, but paid workers to shovel your sidewalks, and you shared a pretty nice apartment with a devastatingly handsome, charming, sexy guy who loved you more than life itself and was happy to fuck your brains out on a frequent basis, a guy you already knew your parents liked, and you maybe even got a chance to play stepdaddy to an adorable little girl say, two weekends a month, do you think you would be happy?"
Cory lets himself picture that, all the elements Shawn has just described. His heart aches with longing. Then he shakes his head sadly. "It just can't work like that."
"Why not?"
"It's too late. It just can't."
"Okay," Shawn says in resignation and stands up, offering Cory his hand. He has no gloves on, of course. "Let's get you back to your real life, then."
They walk back to Jim's building, side by side without talking. Before Cory enters the lobby, though, Shawn pulls him aside under the building's awning. He has a look of determination on his face, underscored by his ruddy cheeks and nose. His eyes are lit up like two gas flames.
"Do you remember," he says, "how I earned the money to pay for that watch? When you got me the job working for the mob?"
"I didn't get you that job. You took it from me, remember?"
"Yeah, whatever. Anyway, do you remember that poem we were reading in class then, the one we talked about that night?"
"What, the Robert Frost poem?"
"Yeah. Two roads diverged in a yellow wood-"
"Yeah, yeah. I know the poem. Everybody knows that poem. And I remember you talking about it then. You thought you were at a crossroads, choosing between a life of crime and something better."
Shawn's expression softens slightly. "You remember that?"
"Of course I do." Cory distinctly remembers being surprised at the time by Shawn seeing a metaphorical connection between his own life, his own insecurities and fears about his future, and a poem from English class. He remembers thinking, not for the first time, that Shawn was a lot more thoughtful and sensitive than people gave him credit for.
"Well...well that's what that whole poem's about, right? So many times in your life you're faced with these decisions that, half the time, you don't even realize are important. But things could go one way or they could go another. I could have gone on working for the mob, ended up at the bottom of a lake eventually, or I could have gotten out while I still could, gone home and spent the holiday with your family. I took the road back to your house. Right?"
Cory nods. Shawn's fervor is unnerving as he continues. "College? I could have kept thinking I wasn't good enough to go to college, stayed on with my job at the photo studio, probably still be there today, still earning $10 an hour and living with roommates, drinking my life away. But I chose the other road. I went to college. Didn't finish or graduate, but I went and learned that I could do it. I was good enough to do just fine in college."
"Sure. Everybody told you that."
"Yeah, but I didn't believe it. I couldn't believe it until I took that chance and saw for myself that it wasn't so scary, that it really was something I was capable of doing. That I wasn't dumb anymore."
"You were never dumb."
Shawn ignores him and continues talking, determined to make whatever point it is he's trying to get across. "What about Angela? I could have been selfish and asked her to stay, gotten married at twenty, probably divorced by twenty-two and hating each other. I chose the other road, even though it meant I was alone and everybody was gonna feel sorry for me and treat me like the saddest guy in the world. And she could have stayed, could have finished college, we probably both would've finished college together if she'd stayed. But she chose the other road. She wanted to see Europe and it ended up changing her whole life. She's married, she has kids, she plays second fiddle to Major Moose. And I dropped out of college to follow you."
Shawn shakes his head quickly, then, as if shaking away the memory of Angela and his frustration with her life and whatever residual anger he still feels about what happened between them. When he looks back at Cory again, his expression has softened a bit. There is still an intense need to make Cory understand, but the desperation has lessened some.
"That night in the hospital," he says, "when I woke up with my head broken open? I could have said 'fuck it' and gone right back to what I was doing. I could have done that and I would've been dead in six months, I guarantee you. And at that point in time, I wouldn't have cared. But something stopped me. Something told me to take the other road. And it was hard. Admitting I had a problem and asking for help and starting over...that was one of the hardest things I ever did."
His voice lowers to nearly a whisper as he reaches what seems to be the last leg of his speech.
"And Sadie? Cory, I almost gave up the chance to have her. But you stopped me. You showed me there was another road I was too scared to even let myself see. I have a daughter, Cory. An awesome, amazing, beautiful little girl. And she's gonna be in my life. Because of you. You told me I'd be crazy not to take that other road. And I'll never in a thousand, million years be able to thank you enough for that. But I'm gonna try. And right now? Right now, I'm trying to do that. I want to do for you what you did for me. I want to show you that there is another road. It's there if you want it. I just need you to know that it's there for you to take. It didn't go anywhere. The road's still there."
Shawn kisses Cory then, kisses him as if he's sucking the life out of him, storing it up in a bottle to call his own. As their mouths part, Shawn gazes downward, his eyelashes short and dark, obscuring his eyes from Cory's view.
"I'm not gonna make this decision for you," Shawn says evenly, "I just want you to know that there is a decision to make. You're standing at the two roads. You get to choose all over again. And no matter which way you decide to go...look at that watch and know that you're not alone. I'm with you no matter what. I'm here and I'm not running anymore."
Cory cannot bring himself to speak. He watches as Shawn stands up straighter, gives him a brave smile, and then turns on his heel to leave. His figure grows smaller as his moves away, then he is lost in the crowd of busy pedestrians.
Inside Jim's apartment, Cory is surprised to find that Topanga still has not returned. Surely her lunch date should have ended by now. Perhaps she decided to do some shopping afterward? He sends her a quick text and then pours himself a glass of wine. Jim has a substantial wine selection, even a special fridge just for keeping white wines the perfect temperature. Cory helps himself to a bottle of Pinot Grigio and says to the empty apartment, "Thanks, Jim."
He sits himself on one of the plush sofas and drinks a glass. He gets a text from Topanga:
Lunch turned into drinks. I'll be home for dinner.
Cory pours himself a second glass and stares at his phone. Then, not sure why, he goes to his contacts and dials up his mom.
Amy answers, cheerful and glad to hear from him as always, and they chat about nothing important for a few minutes. She tells him about his dad taking the car in for an emissions test, Josh getting a part in the school play, Amy's contemplation of taking on a fundraising project for Josh's school. Cory listens to all of it, feeling warm and safe. He really does have the best family a guy could have hoped for. And great parents. The older he gets, the more he understands and appreciates this.
"Hey, Mom," he says as they reach a lull in all the news from back home, "Did you ever think I would turn out different than I did?"
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know. I mean, did you and Dad...did you ever think...with me and Shawn...I don't know what I'm trying to say..."
"Do you mean did we think you were gay?" She says this so sweetly and delicately that Cory almost laughs.
"Yeah," he says, surprising himself, "Yeah. That's what I mean."
Amy laughs a little. "Well, sure. I think we all thought that for a while. But then you had Topanga and..."
"Did you ever think that maybe I was fooling myself? With Topanga?"
There is a long pause on the line. Cory takes the opportunity to take a big gulp of the Pinot Grigio.
"Sweetheart, what are trying to say?"
"I don't know," he sighs, "I'm not trying to say anything. I'm just...I'm trying to figure some things out."
"Honey, where's Topanga?"
"Out."
"All right..."
"I just love him so much, Mom."
"We all love Shawn."
"Yeah, I know, but...I think this is different. I think it's always been different." Cory sets down his wine glass and watches the legs dripping down from the rim back into the goblet. Somebody told him once that you can tell good wine from the cheap wine because it has these "legs."
"Cory, honey, are you all right?"
"No."
"Oh, sweetheart..."
"I think my marriage is done."
"Don't say that. Cory, talk to Topanga. She-"
"I don't think it ever should've happened in the first place. That's what I'm trying to say. I think I've been fooling myself for a very long time. Mom, I've been so unhappy for so long."
Amy's tone is soft and sad. "I know you have."
"You do?"
"Of course I do. I've been worried about you. Every time I've seen you these past few years, you've been so...shut down. You never used to be like that. I thought maybe with a baby it would be different..."
Suddenly, Cory finds tears coming to his eyes. "Mom?"
"Yes?"
"I've been in love with Shawn as long as I can remember."
There is silence. Then he hears Amy sigh. "Well, I know he loves you back."
"What?"
"Cory, that boy's been in love with you your whole life. I could see it in the way he always looked at you. I used to feel so sorry for him when the three of you would go out. I just...I didn't think you felt the same way. I thought that's what must have happened when you guys had that falling out, that you finally realized how he felt about you and...you didn't feel the same way. "
Cory can't help himself. He starts to laugh. All the stress and fear and tension that have been building in his shoulders melt into hysterical giggles. "Shit," he mutters to himself, "Oh, shit..."
"Are you all right?" Amy asks. He can hear the alarm in her voice. He can't imagine what she must be thinking.
He nods, then remembers she can't see him. "Yes," he assures her, trying desperately to compose himself, "I've just...I've been so scared for so long. Mom, I've been pretending to be something I'm not since I was fourteen years old."
There is another long pause. He can almost hear her composing herself. "We all just want you to be happy, sweetheart. And you know we love Shawn."
Cory just stares down into his glass in amazement. In the span of three minutes, the entire narrative of his life has changed. It is terrifying and wonderful and still more terrifying. He drains his glass and sighs, unnerved, "I love you, Mom."
"We love you too." Her concern is audible. Cory can picture her standing in the kitchen, the exact worried expression that must be on her face. "Are you going to be okay?" she asks.
He sighs. "Yeah. I don't know if I'm going back to California, though."
There is a long pause as the meaning of this sinks in. Then Amy puts on a calm, reassuring tone. "Well, you do what you feel like you need to do. We'll...we'll support you no matter what."
"Okay. I'll call you soon." Cory ends the call and sits back into the sofa, stares into his empty glass of wine. Then he sets the glass down on the coffee table and glances at his watch. Carefully, he unbuckles it and slips it off his wrist. He turns it over to look at the inscription. The inscription has faded over years of wear, but if he turns it to catch the light, he can just make out the words.
To my best friend Cory
He has worn those words for years against his skin. Every day unfailing, even when he tried not to think about it, even when he thought he had forgotten, those words were there. He was not alone. And he is not alone now. His heart is pounding, but this knowledge is comforting.
He hears footsteps out in the hall, then a key in the door. Topanga comes in, gives him a little wave before she stops to take off her coat. He gives her a wave back. Then she comes around the sofa and sits down across from him.
"We need to talk," he says.
She nods. "I know."
Two Roads Diverged
Previously:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Next:
Chapter 12