Keeper (Agnates in Elysium), 5/10 (R)
Posted to house_Wilson and betteronvicodin
Title: Keeper (Agnates in Elysium), Part 5/10
Author: Dee Laundry
Rating: R
Summary: House and Wilson's son Jack passes one of life's crossroads and makes an unexpected connection.
Note: Part One began in June 2033. Sequel to My Fathers' Son, set in an AU that crosses over with simple__man 's Churchverse, which began with Brilliant. Grateful appreciation to daisylily for beta and to simple__man for creating something wonderful and letting me play with it.
Special Note: Ruth Wyatt was originally the creation of anamatics in A'changin' and The Logic of a Child.
Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four
"Anderson. Prescription ready for Anderson," Jack recited into the intercom. Things had picked up a bit at the pharmacy after summer ended, but it still wasn't what he would call busy. That was fine with him; he never liked feeling rushed anyway. He kept his head low, reading the latest materials from Pfizer.
"Hey, Mr. Drug Pusher. What's on the menu today? Any cool new benzodiazepines?"
He looked up, surprised to hear a familiar voice at an unfamiliar time. "You'll never know without a valid prescription. What are you doing here?"
Church hoisted the box in his arms above the level of the high counter to where Jack could see. "Pretending to re-stock gum. Ostomy supplies are what I think they are, aren't they?"
Shutting the Pfizer pamphlet, Jack folded his hands on top of it. "If I've parsed that sentence correctly, then yes. What -"
"Yeah, I thought Louis was that much of a douche bag, to assign me that after the gum. No way am I touching any of it." Church pulled a pack of gum from the box and carefully, minutely inspected it before placing it on the rack. He then reached back into the box with the speed of an arthritic ninety-year old.
Jack rolled his eyes. "The supplies are all in unopened boxes. No different from touching any other kind of box that comes into this store. Besides, your fathers are both doctors; I wouldn't think you'd be squeamish."
"A, I mentioned that once, briefly in passing, so it's freaky that you remembered. B, they're not proctologists - not professional ones, anyway, har har har."
Church's curls bounced and flopped as he fake-laughed; Jack waited him out, exasperated. Church had an extensive list of the lamest gay jokes ever and trotted them out entirely too often.
Finally even Church got bored with the joke. He began an inspection of the second pack of gum from the box and continued, "C, even if they were, that doesn't mean I'd have been exposed to all the tricks of the trade, and D, it certainly doesn't mean I'd be interested. And E, ostomy supplies are spectacularly gross. Even proctologists think so, except for the pervy ones that I never, ever want to meet."
"One of these days you're going to make it all the way up to Z in one of those tirades," Jack remarked, looking through the filled prescriptions that had not yet been picked up.
Church tapped the gum against the counter and replied gleefully, "That's the goal!"
Jack shook his head - although he had to admit he was amused - and leaned over to the intercom. "Anderson. Prescription ready for Anderson."
A harried looking woman with a screaming baby strapped to her chest rushed up to the counter. "You called Anderson?"
Feeling sympathetic - who knew how long the infant had been upset? - Jack smiled at her. "Yukiko Anderson?"
"No," she replied, dragging it out as if Jack was stupid. He felt a little embarrassed, but even though the woman didn't look Japanese, he hadn't wanted to presume that she wasn't. He glared at Church, who was quietly sniggering over by the Dentyne, and then looked back into the prescription pick-up tray.
Pulling out the only other packet labeled "Anderson," he asked, "Ruth Wyatt Anderson?"
"That's me," she said with a sigh of relief. The infant's cries, which had dipped in volume, suddenly escalated again, and the woman closed her eyes briefly. Jack pushed the packet toward her, and made a funny face for the baby, who ignored him completely and continued wailing.
As she was signing the prescription register, the woman tapped her earpiece. "Yeah? Oh, hi, Dad. Yes, that's him - who else would it be? Well, me, yes, OK, you got me there. I don't even think it's colic any more." She waved to Jack once, grabbed her prescription, and turned toward the front of the store. "I think he's simply a hellion like his grandfather."
The bawling faded as the woman made her way to the front and out the door. Smirking smugly. Church commented, "You know, I was a colicky baby, for months and months. Drove everyone crazy."
"Why am I not surprised?" Jack retorted. "And speaking of why, why are you working tonight instead of in class?"
Church shrugged and busied himself with realigning the Bubble Yum. "That class was boring, so I dropped it. I'm thinking about changing programs."
Jack could feel the tension building in his head and pinched the bridge of his nose to try to stave it off. "Again? From what you told me, that's like the fourth time."
"OK, Mom, don't get your panties in a bunch." Church huffed and turned his back; Jack had to stifle a sigh.
"Whatever," Jack told him. "No skin off my teeth. It's just that you'll never get a decent job and start making good money until you settle on something."
Church snatched up the box of gum and started stomping away. "If I wanted a lecture on my future, I'd call home. See ya, Drug Pusher."
Jack hated it when Church got like this. He pulled his hands from his hips and decided this would be a good time to catch up on paperwork.
***
It had been such a superb morning that Jack was dancing. Literally dancing. Around his living room, up, down, back and forth, swinging, swaying. He'd almost fallen over the couch twice, but eh, screw it, he'd received not one but two acceptance letters from publishers before ten a.m. and it was time to dance.
He'd dug out all his music files for the awesome old-time synth pop band Erasure (bringing back happy memories of his preschool self jumping around the room with Pop, yelling happily to Dad, who would wave at them from the couch) and had turned the stereo up to eleven.
"I'm so in love with you," Jack warbled, off-key and not caring. "I'll be forever blue." Halfway through a spin, he noticed Church had let himself into the apartment and was staring at him with something approaching concern.
Jack brought his arms down and danced closer. "That you give me no reason why you make me work so hard."
Hands cupped around his mouth, Church shouted, "You dance like a chick!"
Jack raised the remote and cut the volume by half, without ever losing the beat. "Thanks," he called, and swiveled his hips.
"It wasn't a compliment."
"Shut the fuck up and dance with me." Even Sullen Sourpants couldn't resist the lure of Erasure, and soon they were both moving around the room, catching each other's eyes from time to time and grinning. Joy shared is joy doubled, Jack thought, or perhaps it was more of the friendly competitive spirit they shared, but he found himself dancing faster, harder. Fun, but exhausting, and after a few songs more he had to collapse on the couch.
Church flopped down next to him, smirking, and Jack lowered the volume on the stereo.
"Wow, Johnny Upright. I've never known a straight man who danced like that."
Jack smiled. "Have you ever known a straight man with two gay parents?"
Duh was written into Church's stare. "Yeah. Kinda my subculture, the whole gay parent thing."
"Oh, yeah." Embarrassed, Jack stared at his lap. "I always forget your dads were out."
"I always forget yours weren't," Church said, looking intently at him, trying to probe and pin him with a gaze. "Why was that?"
Awkward and uncomfortable, suddenly back to being a grade-schooler, Jack felt his good mood ebbing. "It's a long story," he muttered, and rose from the couch, intending to get a drink from the kitchen.
"I've got time," Church called. "And bring me a beer."
Rolling his eyes, Jack grabbed two cold cans from the refrigerator. He dropped one Coke into Church's lap as he passed, on his way to his bedroom. "I don't have time. Got to get ready for work."
Church snorted, presumably at being given a soda; Jack left him behind.
When he got out of the shower, Church was sprawled across Jack's bed, one hand curled around a bottle of Jack's best beer. Jack ignored him and started getting dressed.
"You've got forty-five minutes, and it's only a two-minute walk away," Church commented. "I think you can hold off on the belt and tie."
With his hand inches from the tie rack, Jack stopped. Church had a point. It would be easier to put them on right before he walked out the door.
Church shifted on the bed so that he was sitting with his back propped against the headboard. "What's the deal with the ties anyway? No one else wears them at the store. Asphyxiation kink?"
"No," Jack replied, shaking his head. He sat down next to Church, shoulder to shoulder, and stole his beer. "I like looking professional. When you take care with your appearance, it shows everyone you respect yourself. Gives people a visual clue that they should respect you too."
Rolling his eyes, Church yanked the beer out of Jack's hands. "Or a visual clue that you're a complete dork. Did you think up that theory on your own, or did your Dad impart it while powdering his nose over his vanity table?"
The thought of his Dad, in an old t-shirt, with a three-day growth of stubble, trying to squeeze his long legs under a tiny vanity table covered in lotion bottles and perfume spritzers made Jack laugh.
"All on my own," he replied. "It's important to think things through before you do them, to really understand why you're doing the things you are, so you can make sure you're moving forward on the right track."
Church's face contorted and he let out an open-mouthed gagging groan. "So typically you. Everything thought through to the nth degree, put in place, and kept there, unchanging."
"What do you mean?"
"Perfect example: picking your stupid boring pharmacy career when you were fifteen frigging years old," said Church, gesturing with the bottle. "How can you stand it, having everything plotted out and resolved?"
Jack sat up straighter and turned, hands on hips, to face Church. "What, just because I managed to think up a plan to get me what I wanted? I wanted to write and at the same time not starve, so I found an in-demand job that pays well. I'm not some anal freak about it."
Swallowing the last of the beer, Church shook his head. "I bet you were a goody two-shoes all your life. Just like Gallant in those stupid Goofus and Gallant comics. I wanted to punch that supercilious Gallant right in his stuck-up face."
Jack wasn't surprised by Church's accusation, but it still stung. "Ooh, 'supercilious!' Breaking out the ten-dollar words," he taunted.
"780 on the Verbal SAT, remember? I'm not stupid."
"Never for a minute imagined you were." Jack sat back against the headboard and crossed his arms, poking at a bump in the comforter with his toes. "OK, I did for a minute, when you were smoking that cigarette when I first met you. But after that, no. In your language, though, you do tend to be more 'man of the people.'"
"Fuck you, pussy, and quit talking about me," replied Church, shoving at Jack's side. "We were talking about you, Gallant No-Balls, and how you've never done anything interesting in your entire life."
Jack made a face and shoved back. "I grew up with two men as my parents."
"That's not doing something, that's being something. Doesn't count. Have you ever even been arrested?"
"No."
"Ever been expelled?"
"No."
Church rolled his eyes and poked Jack's leg with the empty beer bottle. "Ever been in any kind of trouble ever? Your fairy dads taking away your makeup kit for wearing the wrong shade of lipstick doesn't count."
Raising an eyebrow, Jack replied, "Do I need to remind you that your own parents are gay, and that I have photographic evidence of you in drag? Where is all this hostility toward transvestitism coming from?"
"I was just calling you a pussy. And, yes, that's vaguely misogynistic. Must be the lack of influence from actual women in my formative years. Answer the damn question."
"I got suspended from school once," Jack said promptly.
"Now we're talking." Church shifted so he was facing more toward Jack and drew up his right knee, throwing a long arm around it. "For what? Bomb threat? Explosion in the science lab? Got caught with two naked cheerleaders in the video lab?"
"Why do I think those are all things you got in trouble for?" Jack let his head fall back against the headboard and stared at the ceiling. "I was suspended for yelling at a teacher. God, she was such a harridan." He peeked at Church from the corner of his eye. "That means 'vicious hag.'"
"We established that I know the long words, OK? So, did you call her a cunt?"
"No!" he replied indignantly. "I didn't know that word."
"What were you, six?" Church scoffed.
"Five. It was my kindergarten teacher."
Church groaned and rubbed his forehead. "Anything else?"
Jack had to think about it. This interrogation was getting annoying. "In third grade, I cheated on a test."
"Did you get caught? Get a zero? Parents get called?"
"No. The teacher never found out. The kid I copied off of was not that great at the subject, though, so I ended up with a bad grade."
"And your parents freaked and beat you."
"They never beat me," Jack said, exasperated. He glared briefly at Church. "Moron. But actually my Pop just laughed off the bad grade. It was a weird time; that was right after Dad left us."
Church's eyes widened, then narrowed. "Your Dad left you?"
"I mentioned it to you before." Jack sighed and looked back at the ceiling. He never liked talking about this, not to anyone. "The night after my eighth birthday party, my Dad kind of flipped. He walked out while Pop and I were asleep." Jack shrugged. "He thought it'd be better for us if he moved out."
When Jack looked over, Church was staring into nothing, lost in thought. "Hate it when people presume like that," Church muttered. He let out a breath and then looked back at Jack. "So, cheating on a test is the worst thing you ever did?"
Jack thought for a moment and then shook his head. "No, I did something worse. Pop got remarried, to a woman named Elaine, who ended up getting sick with Lewy body dementia."
"What'd you do wrong? Are you the one who gave it to her?"
Jack rolled his eyes and knocked Church's shoulder. "Dumbass, shut up. Dad and I knew really early, even before the official diagnosis, what was going to happen, and I - I tried to talk Dad into taking Pop away from her, knowing she'd have to deal with her dementia alone."
"So you did it?" Church asked eagerly. "You got them back together?"
"No," Jack replied. "Pop and Dad weren't together again until she died."
"How far along did you get in your scheme? What exactly were the steps in your plot?"
Confused, Jack parroted back, "Plot?"
"Yeah, what did you do? Mail anonymous love letters? Anonymous gifts? Strange charges on the credit card, to make your dad think his wife was cheating on him?"
Jack shook his head. "It was my Pop who was married, and no, I didn't do that. I just tried to talk Dad into talking to Pop, and he refused, and then she got diagnosed and it was too late." He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead; the memories of that time were still fresh and painful.
"You are the most useless schemer ever," Church scoffed. "You didn't actually do anything to break up your father and stepmother?"
"No."
"So the worst thing you've ever done in your life is wish somebody harm?"
Jack threw his arms up in the air. How could Church not get this? "It was cruel and horrible of me!"
"Jesus, Jack, you're pathetic." Church shifted and rolled until he was lying on his back on the bed, knees bent. "I do worse things than that between getting out of bed in the morning and taking my first piss. How can you write about stuff when you've never actually done anything?"
That was below the belt, and Jack was furious. "I've done plenty! Oh, Jesus Fucking Christ, Church! You think you're so superior to me, just because you like to get in trouble? Because you drift with the tide, never taking any real responsibility? Because you're a rebel?"
"I take responsibility when it's meaningful to do so. But on top of that, I have experiences." Church gestured widely. "I'm in life, really in it, and I make things happen. You've got to explore, to push. Without that, there's no growth; mankind doesn't advance."
"You getting arrested advances mankind?" scoffed Jack. "That's rich."
"Don't change the subject. You're better than the teeming masses of mediocrity, so why aren't you making your mark? Why aren't you challenging the status quo?"
Feeling like he was going to scream, Jack pulled himself off the bed. "Why do you think you get to judge me?"
Church swiveled his head to watch Jack's pacing. "Why not? I call it like I see it. And I see you, in a lame-ass job, living a boring-ass life, and not letting most people get to know all of you."
"So? I'm happy, Church. My job pays well, and through it I get to help people. I have my writing, which is coming along well, and a great relationship with Mary, and friends. It's all fine; it's all worthy; it makes me happy."
"But you could do more. Your writing is excellent - you could be setting the world on fire. Why don't you? Why won't you?"
Why did Church have to push this? Agitated, Jack paced faster. A thousand different answers flitted through his mind until he finally decided on the truth. "It's not my place to."
The look on Church's face was priceless, but Jack refused to smile.
"What the hell does that mean?" Church asked.
"It means - I don't want to be noticed." Jack found himself gesturing downward with both hands, like he was trying to push something away. "I don't want to be the center of attention. I just want to live a useful, happy life, in peace."
Church was shaking his head before Jack even stopped talking. "That's bullshit."
"What?" Jack demanded angrily. Peace was bullshit? His goals - and his ideal life that he'd been working so steadily towards - were bullshit?
"You love getting attention. You should see your eyes when a group of people are all focused on you. Your eyes fucking sparkle, and I can't believe you just made me use that word."
"Fuck you." Jack was pacing again, around the room and back again. He'd never noticed how small this bedroom was.
"For what, complimenting you?" Up on his knees on the bed now, Church was trying to pin Jack again. "Why are you hiding? Why won't you let more people know about you?"
Jack whirled on him. "Because you don't talk about your family!"
"What?" Church's goggle of confusion could have been amusing, in other circumstances.
"That's the rule, Church. Handed down by Dad as gospel from day one of my life. You don't talk about your family; you don't talk about yourself; you don't draw attention, so that people don't ask questions."
Church fell back on his haunches as if he'd been shoved. Jack refused to look at his face, but the concern in his voice was unavoidable as he said, "Jack, that's totally fucked up."
"Go to hell," Jack responded, but the heat seemed to have drained out of him. He sat heavily on the end of the bed and stared at the wall. "You don't understand. Your parents were always out; you have no idea what it's like."
Now Church was up and walking around the room, gesturing broadly. "Don't tell me to go to hell; tell your parents to go to hell! That's a fucked-up rule, and there's no way they should've ever imposed it on you."
"You don't understand." He had no more capacity to fight; all he wanted to do was explain so that maybe Church would leave him alone. "It was there to protect me."
"Even if that's the case," Church replied, in a very doubtful tone, "you're an adult now. You don't have to adhere to the rule any more."
"I know. I've talked to you about this stuff, haven't I?"
"Barely." Church was agitated, fidgeting as he walked. "I didn't even know your father had remarried until today."
"I guess. The point is that I know, intellectually, that I don't have to keep quiet any more. Hell, my Dad even explicitly told me he'd rescinded the rule. But knowing it intellectually and being able truly to accept it are two different things."
Church shook his head. "How many times have I called bullshit in this conversation? Because I'm going to have to do it again. Put on your big boy underwear, Jack, and quit letting the detritus of your childhood closet control your life."
He's not getting it, Jack thought, suddenly tired. A thought popped in his head on how to explain, and he looked up right into Church's face.
"Piss your pants."
"Excuse me?" Church asked. It was clear he hadn't expected that response.
"Right now, standing there, piss in your pants," replied Jack. "I dare you."
Church fidgeted, clearly uncomfortable. "Um, no."
"I'll give you a hundred dollars if you do it, and no one will ever know. I'll never mention it again; I'll never think about it again. Come on, a hundred bucks; piss your pants."
Church's hands were on his hips, in a move that seemed familiar even though Jack had never seen him do it. "No way."
Point proven, and Jack felt a small thrill of triumph. "You can't do it. You can't. Know why? Because it's an imperative, ingrained in you."
"What does this have to do with -"
"You were toilet-trained, like everyone else, to within an inch of your life. Now, even though you're an adult and can make the rational decision that a hundred dollars is worth two minutes of wetness in your underwear, you can't do it. It's ingrained." Jack watched realization cross Church's face before he finished, "You don't talk about your family."
They stared at each other for two long beats before Church replied, "OK, I get it, it goes deep. But wouldn't it be worth it, to try to root it out, so that you can -"
"I'm happy, Church." Jack pushed every ounce of determination into his voice and his expression, because it was crucial that Church understood this. "Maybe I'm not doing everything that could be possible, but my life is good, and worthwhile, and I like it."
When Church opened his mouth to protest again, Jack cut him off. "You said yourself that I hide from people. Don't make me hide from you."
Church nodded. "I don't really get it, but against my deeper instinct, I suppose I can try to let it go."
It was all Jack thought he could hope for from Church, and a lot more than he'd thought he'd get. He stood up, crossed the room, and pulled Church into a hug.
"Um," Church said. He was stiff under Jack's arms. "I don't like people touching me like this."
Jack nodded against the side of Church's neck. "Must be difficult when you're trying to have sex."
"Let's just say I'm extraordinarily creative. Could you release me now?"
Jack squeezed tighter once and then let go. He looked up into Church's face and caught the end of a grin.
"So, potty-training as analogy, huh?" Church popped him on the arm. "I'll be your toilet, Jack. You can always piss on me."
Rolling his eyes, Jack walked off to grab his tie. "You're an ass."
"No, I'm a toilet."
"No, you're an ass."
As Jack finished getting dressed, Church flopped back onto the bed. "You enjoy urinating on asses? Of all the kinks out there, I didn't think you'd be into water sports."
"Shut up, you doofus."
"Don't you mean Goofus? Get a move on, Gallant; you don't want to be late to work." Church's smirk was only slightly smaller than Jack's.
(Continued)
NOTE: Goofus and Gallant are characters who appear in the children's magazine Highlights: http://www.highlightsteachers.com/teachers/images/content/pdf/NewGoofusandGallant.pdf
Title: Keeper (Agnates in Elysium), Part 5/10
Author: Dee Laundry
Rating: R
Summary: House and Wilson's son Jack passes one of life's crossroads and makes an unexpected connection.
Note: Part One began in June 2033. Sequel to My Fathers' Son, set in an AU that crosses over with simple__man 's Churchverse, which began with Brilliant. Grateful appreciation to daisylily for beta and to simple__man for creating something wonderful and letting me play with it.
Special Note: Ruth Wyatt was originally the creation of anamatics in A'changin' and The Logic of a Child.
Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four
"Anderson. Prescription ready for Anderson," Jack recited into the intercom. Things had picked up a bit at the pharmacy after summer ended, but it still wasn't what he would call busy. That was fine with him; he never liked feeling rushed anyway. He kept his head low, reading the latest materials from Pfizer.
"Hey, Mr. Drug Pusher. What's on the menu today? Any cool new benzodiazepines?"
He looked up, surprised to hear a familiar voice at an unfamiliar time. "You'll never know without a valid prescription. What are you doing here?"
Church hoisted the box in his arms above the level of the high counter to where Jack could see. "Pretending to re-stock gum. Ostomy supplies are what I think they are, aren't they?"
Shutting the Pfizer pamphlet, Jack folded his hands on top of it. "If I've parsed that sentence correctly, then yes. What -"
"Yeah, I thought Louis was that much of a douche bag, to assign me that after the gum. No way am I touching any of it." Church pulled a pack of gum from the box and carefully, minutely inspected it before placing it on the rack. He then reached back into the box with the speed of an arthritic ninety-year old.
Jack rolled his eyes. "The supplies are all in unopened boxes. No different from touching any other kind of box that comes into this store. Besides, your fathers are both doctors; I wouldn't think you'd be squeamish."
"A, I mentioned that once, briefly in passing, so it's freaky that you remembered. B, they're not proctologists - not professional ones, anyway, har har har."
Church's curls bounced and flopped as he fake-laughed; Jack waited him out, exasperated. Church had an extensive list of the lamest gay jokes ever and trotted them out entirely too often.
Finally even Church got bored with the joke. He began an inspection of the second pack of gum from the box and continued, "C, even if they were, that doesn't mean I'd have been exposed to all the tricks of the trade, and D, it certainly doesn't mean I'd be interested. And E, ostomy supplies are spectacularly gross. Even proctologists think so, except for the pervy ones that I never, ever want to meet."
"One of these days you're going to make it all the way up to Z in one of those tirades," Jack remarked, looking through the filled prescriptions that had not yet been picked up.
Church tapped the gum against the counter and replied gleefully, "That's the goal!"
Jack shook his head - although he had to admit he was amused - and leaned over to the intercom. "Anderson. Prescription ready for Anderson."
A harried looking woman with a screaming baby strapped to her chest rushed up to the counter. "You called Anderson?"
Feeling sympathetic - who knew how long the infant had been upset? - Jack smiled at her. "Yukiko Anderson?"
"No," she replied, dragging it out as if Jack was stupid. He felt a little embarrassed, but even though the woman didn't look Japanese, he hadn't wanted to presume that she wasn't. He glared at Church, who was quietly sniggering over by the Dentyne, and then looked back into the prescription pick-up tray.
Pulling out the only other packet labeled "Anderson," he asked, "Ruth Wyatt Anderson?"
"That's me," she said with a sigh of relief. The infant's cries, which had dipped in volume, suddenly escalated again, and the woman closed her eyes briefly. Jack pushed the packet toward her, and made a funny face for the baby, who ignored him completely and continued wailing.
As she was signing the prescription register, the woman tapped her earpiece. "Yeah? Oh, hi, Dad. Yes, that's him - who else would it be? Well, me, yes, OK, you got me there. I don't even think it's colic any more." She waved to Jack once, grabbed her prescription, and turned toward the front of the store. "I think he's simply a hellion like his grandfather."
The bawling faded as the woman made her way to the front and out the door. Smirking smugly. Church commented, "You know, I was a colicky baby, for months and months. Drove everyone crazy."
"Why am I not surprised?" Jack retorted. "And speaking of why, why are you working tonight instead of in class?"
Church shrugged and busied himself with realigning the Bubble Yum. "That class was boring, so I dropped it. I'm thinking about changing programs."
Jack could feel the tension building in his head and pinched the bridge of his nose to try to stave it off. "Again? From what you told me, that's like the fourth time."
"OK, Mom, don't get your panties in a bunch." Church huffed and turned his back; Jack had to stifle a sigh.
"Whatever," Jack told him. "No skin off my teeth. It's just that you'll never get a decent job and start making good money until you settle on something."
Church snatched up the box of gum and started stomping away. "If I wanted a lecture on my future, I'd call home. See ya, Drug Pusher."
Jack hated it when Church got like this. He pulled his hands from his hips and decided this would be a good time to catch up on paperwork.
***
It had been such a superb morning that Jack was dancing. Literally dancing. Around his living room, up, down, back and forth, swinging, swaying. He'd almost fallen over the couch twice, but eh, screw it, he'd received not one but two acceptance letters from publishers before ten a.m. and it was time to dance.
He'd dug out all his music files for the awesome old-time synth pop band Erasure (bringing back happy memories of his preschool self jumping around the room with Pop, yelling happily to Dad, who would wave at them from the couch) and had turned the stereo up to eleven.
"I'm so in love with you," Jack warbled, off-key and not caring. "I'll be forever blue." Halfway through a spin, he noticed Church had let himself into the apartment and was staring at him with something approaching concern.
Jack brought his arms down and danced closer. "That you give me no reason why you make me work so hard."
Hands cupped around his mouth, Church shouted, "You dance like a chick!"
Jack raised the remote and cut the volume by half, without ever losing the beat. "Thanks," he called, and swiveled his hips.
"It wasn't a compliment."
"Shut the fuck up and dance with me." Even Sullen Sourpants couldn't resist the lure of Erasure, and soon they were both moving around the room, catching each other's eyes from time to time and grinning. Joy shared is joy doubled, Jack thought, or perhaps it was more of the friendly competitive spirit they shared, but he found himself dancing faster, harder. Fun, but exhausting, and after a few songs more he had to collapse on the couch.
Church flopped down next to him, smirking, and Jack lowered the volume on the stereo.
"Wow, Johnny Upright. I've never known a straight man who danced like that."
Jack smiled. "Have you ever known a straight man with two gay parents?"
Duh was written into Church's stare. "Yeah. Kinda my subculture, the whole gay parent thing."
"Oh, yeah." Embarrassed, Jack stared at his lap. "I always forget your dads were out."
"I always forget yours weren't," Church said, looking intently at him, trying to probe and pin him with a gaze. "Why was that?"
Awkward and uncomfortable, suddenly back to being a grade-schooler, Jack felt his good mood ebbing. "It's a long story," he muttered, and rose from the couch, intending to get a drink from the kitchen.
"I've got time," Church called. "And bring me a beer."
Rolling his eyes, Jack grabbed two cold cans from the refrigerator. He dropped one Coke into Church's lap as he passed, on his way to his bedroom. "I don't have time. Got to get ready for work."
Church snorted, presumably at being given a soda; Jack left him behind.
When he got out of the shower, Church was sprawled across Jack's bed, one hand curled around a bottle of Jack's best beer. Jack ignored him and started getting dressed.
"You've got forty-five minutes, and it's only a two-minute walk away," Church commented. "I think you can hold off on the belt and tie."
With his hand inches from the tie rack, Jack stopped. Church had a point. It would be easier to put them on right before he walked out the door.
Church shifted on the bed so that he was sitting with his back propped against the headboard. "What's the deal with the ties anyway? No one else wears them at the store. Asphyxiation kink?"
"No," Jack replied, shaking his head. He sat down next to Church, shoulder to shoulder, and stole his beer. "I like looking professional. When you take care with your appearance, it shows everyone you respect yourself. Gives people a visual clue that they should respect you too."
Rolling his eyes, Church yanked the beer out of Jack's hands. "Or a visual clue that you're a complete dork. Did you think up that theory on your own, or did your Dad impart it while powdering his nose over his vanity table?"
The thought of his Dad, in an old t-shirt, with a three-day growth of stubble, trying to squeeze his long legs under a tiny vanity table covered in lotion bottles and perfume spritzers made Jack laugh.
"All on my own," he replied. "It's important to think things through before you do them, to really understand why you're doing the things you are, so you can make sure you're moving forward on the right track."
Church's face contorted and he let out an open-mouthed gagging groan. "So typically you. Everything thought through to the nth degree, put in place, and kept there, unchanging."
"What do you mean?"
"Perfect example: picking your stupid boring pharmacy career when you were fifteen frigging years old," said Church, gesturing with the bottle. "How can you stand it, having everything plotted out and resolved?"
Jack sat up straighter and turned, hands on hips, to face Church. "What, just because I managed to think up a plan to get me what I wanted? I wanted to write and at the same time not starve, so I found an in-demand job that pays well. I'm not some anal freak about it."
Swallowing the last of the beer, Church shook his head. "I bet you were a goody two-shoes all your life. Just like Gallant in those stupid Goofus and Gallant comics. I wanted to punch that supercilious Gallant right in his stuck-up face."
Jack wasn't surprised by Church's accusation, but it still stung. "Ooh, 'supercilious!' Breaking out the ten-dollar words," he taunted.
"780 on the Verbal SAT, remember? I'm not stupid."
"Never for a minute imagined you were." Jack sat back against the headboard and crossed his arms, poking at a bump in the comforter with his toes. "OK, I did for a minute, when you were smoking that cigarette when I first met you. But after that, no. In your language, though, you do tend to be more 'man of the people.'"
"Fuck you, pussy, and quit talking about me," replied Church, shoving at Jack's side. "We were talking about you, Gallant No-Balls, and how you've never done anything interesting in your entire life."
Jack made a face and shoved back. "I grew up with two men as my parents."
"That's not doing something, that's being something. Doesn't count. Have you ever even been arrested?"
"No."
"Ever been expelled?"
"No."
Church rolled his eyes and poked Jack's leg with the empty beer bottle. "Ever been in any kind of trouble ever? Your fairy dads taking away your makeup kit for wearing the wrong shade of lipstick doesn't count."
Raising an eyebrow, Jack replied, "Do I need to remind you that your own parents are gay, and that I have photographic evidence of you in drag? Where is all this hostility toward transvestitism coming from?"
"I was just calling you a pussy. And, yes, that's vaguely misogynistic. Must be the lack of influence from actual women in my formative years. Answer the damn question."
"I got suspended from school once," Jack said promptly.
"Now we're talking." Church shifted so he was facing more toward Jack and drew up his right knee, throwing a long arm around it. "For what? Bomb threat? Explosion in the science lab? Got caught with two naked cheerleaders in the video lab?"
"Why do I think those are all things you got in trouble for?" Jack let his head fall back against the headboard and stared at the ceiling. "I was suspended for yelling at a teacher. God, she was such a harridan." He peeked at Church from the corner of his eye. "That means 'vicious hag.'"
"We established that I know the long words, OK? So, did you call her a cunt?"
"No!" he replied indignantly. "I didn't know that word."
"What were you, six?" Church scoffed.
"Five. It was my kindergarten teacher."
Church groaned and rubbed his forehead. "Anything else?"
Jack had to think about it. This interrogation was getting annoying. "In third grade, I cheated on a test."
"Did you get caught? Get a zero? Parents get called?"
"No. The teacher never found out. The kid I copied off of was not that great at the subject, though, so I ended up with a bad grade."
"And your parents freaked and beat you."
"They never beat me," Jack said, exasperated. He glared briefly at Church. "Moron. But actually my Pop just laughed off the bad grade. It was a weird time; that was right after Dad left us."
Church's eyes widened, then narrowed. "Your Dad left you?"
"I mentioned it to you before." Jack sighed and looked back at the ceiling. He never liked talking about this, not to anyone. "The night after my eighth birthday party, my Dad kind of flipped. He walked out while Pop and I were asleep." Jack shrugged. "He thought it'd be better for us if he moved out."
When Jack looked over, Church was staring into nothing, lost in thought. "Hate it when people presume like that," Church muttered. He let out a breath and then looked back at Jack. "So, cheating on a test is the worst thing you ever did?"
Jack thought for a moment and then shook his head. "No, I did something worse. Pop got remarried, to a woman named Elaine, who ended up getting sick with Lewy body dementia."
"What'd you do wrong? Are you the one who gave it to her?"
Jack rolled his eyes and knocked Church's shoulder. "Dumbass, shut up. Dad and I knew really early, even before the official diagnosis, what was going to happen, and I - I tried to talk Dad into taking Pop away from her, knowing she'd have to deal with her dementia alone."
"So you did it?" Church asked eagerly. "You got them back together?"
"No," Jack replied. "Pop and Dad weren't together again until she died."
"How far along did you get in your scheme? What exactly were the steps in your plot?"
Confused, Jack parroted back, "Plot?"
"Yeah, what did you do? Mail anonymous love letters? Anonymous gifts? Strange charges on the credit card, to make your dad think his wife was cheating on him?"
Jack shook his head. "It was my Pop who was married, and no, I didn't do that. I just tried to talk Dad into talking to Pop, and he refused, and then she got diagnosed and it was too late." He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead; the memories of that time were still fresh and painful.
"You are the most useless schemer ever," Church scoffed. "You didn't actually do anything to break up your father and stepmother?"
"No."
"So the worst thing you've ever done in your life is wish somebody harm?"
Jack threw his arms up in the air. How could Church not get this? "It was cruel and horrible of me!"
"Jesus, Jack, you're pathetic." Church shifted and rolled until he was lying on his back on the bed, knees bent. "I do worse things than that between getting out of bed in the morning and taking my first piss. How can you write about stuff when you've never actually done anything?"
That was below the belt, and Jack was furious. "I've done plenty! Oh, Jesus Fucking Christ, Church! You think you're so superior to me, just because you like to get in trouble? Because you drift with the tide, never taking any real responsibility? Because you're a rebel?"
"I take responsibility when it's meaningful to do so. But on top of that, I have experiences." Church gestured widely. "I'm in life, really in it, and I make things happen. You've got to explore, to push. Without that, there's no growth; mankind doesn't advance."
"You getting arrested advances mankind?" scoffed Jack. "That's rich."
"Don't change the subject. You're better than the teeming masses of mediocrity, so why aren't you making your mark? Why aren't you challenging the status quo?"
Feeling like he was going to scream, Jack pulled himself off the bed. "Why do you think you get to judge me?"
Church swiveled his head to watch Jack's pacing. "Why not? I call it like I see it. And I see you, in a lame-ass job, living a boring-ass life, and not letting most people get to know all of you."
"So? I'm happy, Church. My job pays well, and through it I get to help people. I have my writing, which is coming along well, and a great relationship with Mary, and friends. It's all fine; it's all worthy; it makes me happy."
"But you could do more. Your writing is excellent - you could be setting the world on fire. Why don't you? Why won't you?"
Why did Church have to push this? Agitated, Jack paced faster. A thousand different answers flitted through his mind until he finally decided on the truth. "It's not my place to."
The look on Church's face was priceless, but Jack refused to smile.
"What the hell does that mean?" Church asked.
"It means - I don't want to be noticed." Jack found himself gesturing downward with both hands, like he was trying to push something away. "I don't want to be the center of attention. I just want to live a useful, happy life, in peace."
Church was shaking his head before Jack even stopped talking. "That's bullshit."
"What?" Jack demanded angrily. Peace was bullshit? His goals - and his ideal life that he'd been working so steadily towards - were bullshit?
"You love getting attention. You should see your eyes when a group of people are all focused on you. Your eyes fucking sparkle, and I can't believe you just made me use that word."
"Fuck you." Jack was pacing again, around the room and back again. He'd never noticed how small this bedroom was.
"For what, complimenting you?" Up on his knees on the bed now, Church was trying to pin Jack again. "Why are you hiding? Why won't you let more people know about you?"
Jack whirled on him. "Because you don't talk about your family!"
"What?" Church's goggle of confusion could have been amusing, in other circumstances.
"That's the rule, Church. Handed down by Dad as gospel from day one of my life. You don't talk about your family; you don't talk about yourself; you don't draw attention, so that people don't ask questions."
Church fell back on his haunches as if he'd been shoved. Jack refused to look at his face, but the concern in his voice was unavoidable as he said, "Jack, that's totally fucked up."
"Go to hell," Jack responded, but the heat seemed to have drained out of him. He sat heavily on the end of the bed and stared at the wall. "You don't understand. Your parents were always out; you have no idea what it's like."
Now Church was up and walking around the room, gesturing broadly. "Don't tell me to go to hell; tell your parents to go to hell! That's a fucked-up rule, and there's no way they should've ever imposed it on you."
"You don't understand." He had no more capacity to fight; all he wanted to do was explain so that maybe Church would leave him alone. "It was there to protect me."
"Even if that's the case," Church replied, in a very doubtful tone, "you're an adult now. You don't have to adhere to the rule any more."
"I know. I've talked to you about this stuff, haven't I?"
"Barely." Church was agitated, fidgeting as he walked. "I didn't even know your father had remarried until today."
"I guess. The point is that I know, intellectually, that I don't have to keep quiet any more. Hell, my Dad even explicitly told me he'd rescinded the rule. But knowing it intellectually and being able truly to accept it are two different things."
Church shook his head. "How many times have I called bullshit in this conversation? Because I'm going to have to do it again. Put on your big boy underwear, Jack, and quit letting the detritus of your childhood closet control your life."
He's not getting it, Jack thought, suddenly tired. A thought popped in his head on how to explain, and he looked up right into Church's face.
"Piss your pants."
"Excuse me?" Church asked. It was clear he hadn't expected that response.
"Right now, standing there, piss in your pants," replied Jack. "I dare you."
Church fidgeted, clearly uncomfortable. "Um, no."
"I'll give you a hundred dollars if you do it, and no one will ever know. I'll never mention it again; I'll never think about it again. Come on, a hundred bucks; piss your pants."
Church's hands were on his hips, in a move that seemed familiar even though Jack had never seen him do it. "No way."
Point proven, and Jack felt a small thrill of triumph. "You can't do it. You can't. Know why? Because it's an imperative, ingrained in you."
"What does this have to do with -"
"You were toilet-trained, like everyone else, to within an inch of your life. Now, even though you're an adult and can make the rational decision that a hundred dollars is worth two minutes of wetness in your underwear, you can't do it. It's ingrained." Jack watched realization cross Church's face before he finished, "You don't talk about your family."
They stared at each other for two long beats before Church replied, "OK, I get it, it goes deep. But wouldn't it be worth it, to try to root it out, so that you can -"
"I'm happy, Church." Jack pushed every ounce of determination into his voice and his expression, because it was crucial that Church understood this. "Maybe I'm not doing everything that could be possible, but my life is good, and worthwhile, and I like it."
When Church opened his mouth to protest again, Jack cut him off. "You said yourself that I hide from people. Don't make me hide from you."
Church nodded. "I don't really get it, but against my deeper instinct, I suppose I can try to let it go."
It was all Jack thought he could hope for from Church, and a lot more than he'd thought he'd get. He stood up, crossed the room, and pulled Church into a hug.
"Um," Church said. He was stiff under Jack's arms. "I don't like people touching me like this."
Jack nodded against the side of Church's neck. "Must be difficult when you're trying to have sex."
"Let's just say I'm extraordinarily creative. Could you release me now?"
Jack squeezed tighter once and then let go. He looked up into Church's face and caught the end of a grin.
"So, potty-training as analogy, huh?" Church popped him on the arm. "I'll be your toilet, Jack. You can always piss on me."
Rolling his eyes, Jack walked off to grab his tie. "You're an ass."
"No, I'm a toilet."
"No, you're an ass."
As Jack finished getting dressed, Church flopped back onto the bed. "You enjoy urinating on asses? Of all the kinks out there, I didn't think you'd be into water sports."
"Shut up, you doofus."
"Don't you mean Goofus? Get a move on, Gallant; you don't want to be late to work." Church's smirk was only slightly smaller than Jack's.
(Continued)
NOTE: Goofus and Gallant are characters who appear in the children's magazine Highlights: http://www.highlightsteachers.com/teachers/images/content/pdf/NewGoofusandGallant.pdf