Two Roads Diverged, Chapter 6
Title: Two Roads Diverged (6/12)
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.
Cory is dreaming about his dad. They're riding somewhere in the car-the car his dad used to have when Cory was growing up, not the one he drives now-and they can't seem to find where they're going. They pass the same highway exit over and over again. Cory's trying to read the map, but it keeps folding over on itself and he can't make any sense of it.
"This would be easier if you'd paid more attention in school," Alan says, "Feeny was right."
Dream Cory starts to laugh. "Mr. Feeny is always right."
Then he wakes up.
It's very bright. Must be almost noon, he thinks. He sits up and puts on his glasses. He's the only one in the bed. And someone's running a vacuum cleaner in the living room. It's freezing cold.
Cory rummages through the pile of clothes on the floor trying to find his jeans but gives up and takes a pair of Shawn's pajama pants. They're a little tight but they'll do. Then he puts on some socks and the orange sweater from yesterday. He steps out of the bedroom and finds a middle-aged woman pushing a vacuum over the rug while listening to headphones. All the windows are open. The woman pays no attention to him.
Cory wraps his arms tightly to keep warm and checks the kitchen and the bathroom before he finds Shawn in the office. He's wearing the usual pile of clothes along with a knit cap and fingerless gloves and only looks up briefly from his laptop. "Morning, Sunshine."
The office is small and absolutely jam-packed with books and papers. There's a desk with a computer and printer set up on it and, across from it, a little two-seater sofa. There is where Shawn is sitting, feet resting atop the desk. Cory pushes some books out of the way and wedges himself down beside him.
"It's freezing," Cory says.
"Oh, yeah," Shawn doesn't look up from his laptop, "Cecilia's really into fresh air. I think she's secretly insane, but she's very reasonably priced."
They sit in silence for a few minutes while Shawn types. Cory shudders with a chill and Shawn pauses, hands him his half-drunk mug of coffee, and continues typing. It's still warm so Cory drinks it and waits for Shawn to finish up. He keeps going, though, so Cory takes the coffee mug back to the kitchen to refill. He steps over Cecilia's vacuum cord, fills the mug along with a second mug, and carries them both back to the office.
Shawn is frowning at his screen and gnawing on his knuckle. Cory starts to say something and Shawn shushes him. He types another sentence, backspaces, pauses. Types something else then hits Save and snaps the laptop shut.
"Genius at work, eh?"
Shawn makes a face and accepts his mug of fresh coffee. "Sleep well?"
Cory shrugs. "You?"
"I sleep like I'm in a goddamned coma every night."
"What happens if you don't take the pill?"
"I don't sleep for days. Then I make poorly-thought-out phone calls to people who don't want to hear from me. It's not pretty."
Cory sips his coffee and then notices a plate with some crumbs on it sitting on the desk. "Hey! You had breakfast."
"I did. I had toast."
"Good, that's great. That's really great."
Shawn gives him a withering look over the rim of his coffee mug. Then he lowers his mug, holding it with both hands, and his expression changes to something a little more hesitant. "Listen, Cory, I'm not kicking you out, but I've got a bunch of stuff I need to do today."
"Oh." Cory puts on a fake smile, "Of course. Let me just get dressed and I'll be out of your hair."
"No, no. I mean, you're welcome to stay here all day if you want. I don't care at all. I'm just...you know, I'm not gonna be around much. And I thought...I feel like I've been sucking up all your time. I don't want to get in the way of your whole vacation."
Cory doesn't tell him that he didn't even want to be in New York for the week by himself, that it was Topanga's idea and he made absolutely no plans for his own "vacation," partially out of stubbornness and partially out of apathy. He also doesn't tell him that the idea of being here and not being with Shawn depresses the hell of him. He knows their time here together is short-soon Topanga will be in town and reality will exist again and, before you know it, they'll be back in California and...he'll be back to feeling like he's just marking off the days on the calendar for the rest of his life. He doesn't say any of this. He just gives Shawn that fake smile again.
"But before you go," Shawn says,"I think you should have a shower."
"Why? All my stuff's at Jim's place. I'll just take one when I get back there."
"No, you see, I was in the bathroom this morning and I swear I saw this guy. He kinda looked like I did when I was nineteen. I mean, not a great match. Way too skinny. And beard-y. But if you squinted he could kinda pass for that kid you used to know. And I think, if you were to go in there and take a shower, you might run into him."
A little spark of excited apprehension jumps up in Cory's chest. "Your housekeeper's here."
"She already cleaned the bathroom."
"Yeah, but, what's she gonna think?"
Shawn gives him that look. That smoldery thing he perfected at fourteen. The one that drove every girl at John Adams High crazy. "Do you really care?"
Cory can't quite find his voice under the weight of that look. Then he manages to say, very quietly, "I think I'm going to have myself a shower now."
Cory's heart is pounding as he strips off his clothes and leaves them in a pile on the bathroom floor. He turns the shower on and waits for it to warm up, steadying himself on the sink. He can hardly breathe. He removes his glasses, sets them on the windowsill, and stares himself down in the mirror. Then he takes a deep breath and steps into the shower.
He stands there, arms crossed, under the streaming water and waits. And waits some more. Unsure what to do, he runs his hands through his hair. He picks up a bottle of shampoo and notes uneasily that it's the same brand Topanga uses. Then he laughs. Shawn not only uses lady shampoo, he uses very expensive lady shampoo. The thought occurs to him suddenly that this might not be Shawn's shampoo. He feels uneasy all over again.
"Hey, stranger."
And Shawn is there. He steps into the shower gingerly, too skinny and beard-y, but he's smiling that beautiful smile and Cory's heart feels like it's swelling to fill his entire chest. He's missed that smile for eight years. He's missed his friend who knows him better than anyone else in the world.
It's a standard bathtub/shower, so there isn't a lot of room for two grown men to maneuver and Cory is vaguely concerned that one of them is going to slip and injure himself, but that worry disappears as Shawn moves up to where Cory's standing under the shower head. Shawn's shoulder and arm and hip are touching Cory's and Shawn gives a little shake like a dog as the water comes down over him. He directs his head upward and closes his eyes as the water plasters down his hair against his skull. He opens his mouth, lets it fill with water and spits it out. God, that mouth. Cory's always been fascinated by its comical oversize and the gymnastic moves it makes, Shawn throwing so much expression into everything he says and does with it. Cory grows hard immediately, just watching him.
Shawn opens his eyes, stepping away from the water just enough to press his whole body front to front to Cory, dicks pressing into each other's bellies. He puts his mouth to Cory's and Cory could swear he sees fucking rockets exploding as he closes his eyes and accepts that kiss.
Shawn puts one hand against Cory's chest and traces the other down over the soft roundness of his belly and the hard bone of his pelvis and grabs his cock. Cory inhales sharply.
"You're so close, aren't you?" Shawn says.
"It's been too long," Cory explains in a weak voice.
"It has been too long," Shawn licks Cory's collar bone and slides his hand over and under Cory's cock, teasing him.
"I'm gonna come."
"Then come," Shawn tightens his grips and starts legitimately jerking him off, "But if you decide to run back to California and play pretend again, just know that I intend to fuck you for real before you go."
"Oh, god," Cory says as he comes all over Shawn.
Shawn lets him go, grinning, and rinses himself under the water like he's just taking a regular old shower. When Cory's caught his breath and is standing more steadily, Shawn kisses him again, arm wrapped around him and his hand behind Cory's head. Even soaking wet, Shawn is the most elegant kisser.
Cory kisses him back eagerly and pushes toward him, taking more and more. Shawn loses his footing a little bit on the slippery tub bottom but catches himself against the wall. Cory doesn't stop, kissing him longer and deeper, pushing him into the tile and pinning him there with his body. He takes everything he wants and Shawn gives it to him.
Cory opens his eyes, practically nose to nose and Shawn's eyes are all lit up, pupils enormous and the skin around his eyes crinkling as he grins. Shawn puts a hand to Cory's chest. "You're so hot, Cory," he says.
Cory pushes Shawn's hand off and grabs him at the hips and sinks slowly to his knees. Shawn tilts his head back against the tile in pleasurable anticipation.
The water pounding down onto his back, Cory licks along Shawn's treasure trail and down over his thighs. Then he slips Shawn's cock into his mouth, delighted that it is exactly as he remembered it. He takes his time, reacquainting himself with every little ridge and vein and bump. Then he tightens down his mouth and begins to churn, enjoying the sight of Shawn's stomach muscles clenching and releasing in response to every little thing Cory does with his mouth and tongue. Having this kind of power over Shawn and knowing he is bringing him so much pleasure turns Cory on and he puts every ounce of effort he has into sucking him and teasing him.
Then Cory feels that telltale pulse and Shawn digs his fingers into Cory's shoulder and comes.
Cory holds it for as long as he can, delaying releasing Shawn into the cold world again, then spits and climbs back to his feet. He watches Shawn's body shudder and his chest expand in sharp jerks as he struggles to catch his breath. His face is pale but for two pink spots of flush on his cheeks and Cory reaches out to steady him as Shawn's knees wobble.
"Sorry," Shawn gasps with an embarrassed smile, holding on to Cory's shoulder, "You made me dizzy."
Cory kisses Shawn's forehead and carefully helps him to the far end of the tub, sitting him down on the flat edge of the porcelain. Shawn puts his elbows on his knees and lets his head hang, still working to steady his breath.
Cory takes a seat beside him on the edge of the tub and ignores the icky feeling of the vinyl shower curtain sticking to his back. He puts his arm around Shawn's shoulders. "You okay?"
"I am fabulous. Jesus Christ, I missed you."
If you decide to run back to California. If you decide... Cory trudges through Central Park, ignoring everything around him. He likes Central Park. It was always his favorite place in the city when he lived here, but at the moment he couldn't care less about it. All he cares about is that little "if." If you decide to run back to California, Shawn had said. If you decide to. The possibility that Cory might not return to California has not existed in his mind before this. Now he can't let go of the idea. It is terrifying and exciting and panic-inducing all at once. What if he just didn't go back? Oh, god.
Nope. Not going to think about that. I have to go back. That's what I'm supposed to do. You don't just go on vacation and decide not to come back. You go on vacation. Then you go back home. That's how it works.
Cory gives himself a little determined nod of encouragement and picks his head up, grinning maniacally at the tourists and New Yorkers around him. It's a sunny winter day in this amazing city and he is just another tourist on vacation. Such fun! Look at the kids building snowmen! Aren't they adorable?
But the idea creeps back into his head. What if he stayed here? Got a do-over on his life for the last eight years? Got to go back to the road not taken, the road he was so deathly afraid to set a single foot on back then? His chest feels tight and painful just considering it-it's too wonderful a fantasy. It couldn't possibly ever work out to be half as amazing as he imagines. And it's not like his problems would miraculously go away just because he was with Shawn.
But I'd be happier.
The intervening years have been shit. He can admit that now. But it's his life and that life-puttering around the house, pushing papers for endless interchangeable insurance companies, accompanying Topanga to dinners with other lawyers who never ask him anything about his life and speak in jargon about topics he doesn't understand, staying on top of the groceries and the housekeeping, fantasizing about his old best friend, occasional idiotic trysts with strange men, hoping for a baby just to give his life some sense of purpose-that life is all he knows. If he stayed in New York, all of that would be gone. He'd be starting from zero. That's a terrifying thought.
What would he do with himself here instead of there? Wouldn't it just be like Topanga all over again-Cory inserting himself in as a supporting player in someone else's successful and important life? Staying on top of the groceries, cooking Shawn's dinners, puttering around while Shawn lives his life and Cory waits around for a life to find him? He'd still be boring, directionless Cory Matthews, just floating on the fringes of somebody else's life.
But he'd be with Shawn.
Yeah, and with Shawn comes problems. Even with all his success, the guy's still a complete mess. One thing Cory didn't miss during their years apart was always having a front row seat to Shawn's self-destruction. All the money and support groups in New York haven't fixed that-it's obvious just looking at him. And God knows what secrets he's still keeping, what he hasn't let on yet. Being with Shawn has always meant dealing with unending drama, unending need. With Topanga, at least, there is no drama. No passion, either, but no drama. She takes care of herself.
She doesn't need me.
Cory stops in his tracks as that thought occurs to him. It's true, she doesn't. Hasn't ever. And then a much more disturbing thought pops up.
Do I need her?
Cory sits down on a bench, not seeing any of the runners or people or dogs that pass.
Do I need her?
The thing he told himself for every day since he was fourteen was that he needed Topanga. That one belief led to every decision in his adult life.
And now he doesn't think it was ever true.
Around seven o'clock Cory is lying flat on his back on the bed in Jim's apartment, staring at the ceiling. He's not sure how long exactly he's been lying here, but it has been long enough and still enough that when the message notification chimes on his phone, Cory nearly leaps out of his skin.
It takes him a minute to figure out where he left his phone. He locates it in his coat and it is, of course, a message from Shawn.
Pack your stuff and stay with me until Topanga comes. I don't like the idea of you sleeping alone.
Cory doesn't reply to the message. He just sits there, holding the phone in his hand, considering all the reasons why this is a bad idea. Then he stands up, slips his phone in his pocket, and packs his things.
Cory can hear music from Shawn's apartment while standing in the hallway. He can't make out what it is but it sounds raucous and upbeat. When Shawn opens the door, bossa nova beats and bombastic Portuguese singing spilling out around him, Cory just stares at him. Since Cory last saw him this afternoon, his hair has been trimmed neatly and some sort of gel applied to it. He is also clean shaven, which has easily removed ten years from his face. Cory follows him into the apartment and notices that Shawn is dressed differently as well. He's wearing clothes that actually fit: one sweater, one collared shirt beneath that. He still looks too thin, but now at least fashionably so.
"What happened to you?" Cory asks as Shawn takes his bag and carries it to the bedroom.
Shawn puffs out his chest a little, pleased that Cory has noticed. "Oh, I hadn't been to my barber for ages. Decided today was the day. Then you know how it goes: your hair looks good, you feel like you need to up your game everywhere else too. You ever get one of those straight-razor shaves?" Shawn runs a hand over his now-smooth cheek in memory of it, "Unbelievable. I always feel like I could go right to sleep in the chair."
"You clean up well."
"It's one of my charms." Shawn leads the way back into the living room, closes up the laptop he'd left open on the sofa and pours a glass of wine for Cory to match the one Shawn has on the coffee table. He is almost dancing a little in his movements. "How was your day? Did you like being a tourist?"
"It was great," Cory lies, "Lots of fun. I went to Central Park and then I had dinner at this little hole-in-the-wall place I always liked. I can't believe it's still in business."
"That's terrific."
"Yup." Cory can't take his eyes of Shawn. His face is gaunt and his eyes look tired, but he really could pass now for Cory's memories of him. The guy he's fantasized about in guilt-ridden secret for the past eight years is sitting right in front of him.
"Let me turn this down," Shawn says, and adjusts the volume on the stereo, "Sorry. I was celebrating before you got here."
"What were you celebrating?"
"I finalized the sale on my old apartment. I came out a lot better than expected."
"The rat's nest you were telling me about?"
"No, no. The place I lived before I bought this place. It was a lot nicer. Too nice. I just felt like an asshole living there. This is more my style."
Downsizing and liquidating assets. Something is definitely up. Cory puts on a smile, though, and gives him a little toasting gesture with his wine glass. "You've come a long way from sleeping on park benches."
Shawn gulps down the remainder of his glass in one swallow and pours himself some more. "Sometimes I get scared," he says with an embarrassed smile, "like, genuinely panic-attack scared, that I'm going to wake up and find out it was all some really long hallucination."
Cory watches with some alarm as Shawn's hand starts shaking and he has to set his glass down. He covers up the shaking by folding his hands together in his lap. "When I was really fucked up," Shawn says in a voice trying to be casual, "I spent a whole week believing that my dad came back and told me he'd never actually died. We talked. We watched TV together. I think we even went out to a bar together and played pool...then I realized I was just high out of my mind the whole time. And then it was like I lost him all over again."
Cory doesn't know how to respond to this. "I'm really glad you're not in that place anymore, Shawnie."
"Yeah," Shawn agrees, then looks Cory directly in the eyes. "Tell me you're not another hallucination that's going to just disappear after a week."
"I can't tell you that."
"I know."
They end up watching a movie. Some terrible thing Shawn picks out. Lots of explosions and wooden dialogue. And Shawn gets drunker than Cory's ever seen him, downing glasses of wine one after the other, killing the better part of two bottles by himself. Tipsy himself, Cory hasn't realized that Shawn has killed the second bottle on his own until he stands up after the movie ends and immediately falls over.
"Ow," he says.
Cory remains seated on the couch but leans over to look at him lying on the floor. "You okay, there?"
"Yeah. I'm not getting up, though. I'm staying right here."
"How much did you have to drink?" Cory laughs. He picks up the second wine bottle to see how much is left and is surprised to find it empty.
"Too much," Shawn slurs, "I'm an idiot."
"Bet you have an empty stomach, too," Cory thinks out loud, "And you're, like, 100 pounds."
"I'm like a teenage girl at her first frat party," Shawn giggles.
Cory laughs despite himself. He eases himself down on the floor and sits cross-legged beside Shawn's prone body. "Please tell me you don't drink like this all the time."
"God, I'd have so much higher tolerance if I did. Oh, fuck me." Shawn closes his eyes, "Make it stop spinning."
Cory puts what he hopes is a steadying hand to Shawn's forehead and they sit in silence for a long time. Then Shawn starts babbling and it becomes clear that he's not only very drunk, but very upset about something.
"I was so happy and then I wasn't. I was so happy. I did what I needed to do and I did even better than I thought and I have so much more to give her now. And then I started thinking how you're leaving and I can't have anybody. Why am I not allowed to? This day was so good and then it went to shit because it always does. Why can't I have anybody? Why do I have to be such a fuck-up?"
"Shhh, Shawnie," Cory tries to soothe him while trying to make sense of what he's saying.
"And it's so sad. You've been living a lie since you were fourteen and you'll never get out of it. It's so sad, Cory. You should be happy. It makes me so sad."
Cory can't bring himself to respond to this. But Shawn seems to take this lack of response as a sign of offense.
"I shouldn't have said that. I'm so sorry, Cory, I'm so sorry. God, she's right-I should stay far, far away from everyone."
"Who's right? Who said that to you?"
"Fucking Anna."
"Who's Anna?"
"Oh, god, I'm gonna get sick." The blood has drained completely from Shawn's face and Cory wastes no time hauling him to the bathroom. There Shawn retches up the better part of two bottles of wine. Clinging to the toilet bowl afterward, he pants, "I hate myself so much. I'm glad you're going home."
Cory strips him down and does his best to clean him up. Then, for the second time in two days, Cory carries Shawn to bed.
In the morning, Cory lets Shawn sleep it off and makes himself coffee and breakfast. He exchanges some not terribly interesting text messages with Topanga, and then washes, shaves, and gets dressed. Around ten o'clock, he puts together a plate of Spam, toast, and eggs and takes it to the bedroom. He is determined that today is the day he gets answers.
Shawn is cranky but sheepish when Cory rousts him and doesn't put up as much of a fight about the breakfast as expected. He grudgingly picks at it while Cory starts with what he hopes will be an easy question.
"How'd you get that scar on your head?"
Shawn stacks a little piece of Spam and egg onto his toast and takes a bite before responding. "I don't know, actually."
"How can you not know?"
"Because I was doing a lot of bad stuff at the time and I went to a party at the house of someone I didn't know and got really fucked up and don't remember anything until I woke up in a hospital waiting room with my head split open."
"Jesus Christ, Shawn."
"I know. On the bright side, I stopped messing around with drugs after that and got some help. So, yay for head injuries."
Cory is not in the mood to joke around about any of this. "How do they feel about you drinking in NA?"
Shawn sighs and sits back against the headboard. "You're not supposed to. You're not supposed to use any mind-altering substances, but I guess for me I feel like I'm able to keep those two things separate. So I never felt like I had to mention it. Until recently, I haven't had anything more than a beer before bed."
Shawn notices the skeptical expression on Cory's face and continues a little sadly, "Cor, I know you think I live this wild, destructive lifestyle, but that's not really the case. I mean, I barely go out anymore 'cause ninety percent of the friends I have in New York are recreational users and I just can't be around that. So I sit at home and write and try to stay out of trouble and, yeah, sometimes I have a beer or a glass of whiskey. You have no idea how boring my life is, Cory. You're the first person I've spent any time at all with in months who I'm not paying to do something for me. And it's you. You, who I've spent a lot of years in therapy-and a lot of years before that in a fucked-up haze-trying to get over. You show up and everything is wonderful, but then I know you're leaving again and...I messed up. I couldn't deal with it and I messed up. Because that's what I do. I'm sorry."
Cory scoots closer to him and gives Shawn's knee a little squeeze.
"Okay," Cory says, determined to march onward with his questions, "Who's Anna?"
"How do you know about Anna?"
"You said something about her last night."
"I did?" Shawn swallows a big gulp of coffee, "Jesus."
"So who is she?"
"Anna is a woman I was in a very brief relationship with during a very dark point of my life."
"Were you in love with her?"
"Nope. It was strictly about sex and I haven't seen her in seven years." Shawn busies himself with his eggs and toast again and Cory gives him a minute to eat before continuing the interrogation.
"Who's Sadie Barnes?"
Shawn freezes, his hand holding the fork hovering over his plate.
Cory pushes forward. "I know you've left a lot of money to her and she has a life insurance policy on you."
Shawn doesn't say anything. He sets the fork on the plate and puts the plate aside. There is an expression on his face that Cory cannot place at all. It reminds him of the way Shawn looked at the museum when he had his little panic attack or whatever it was surrounded by the kids. Then he says to Cory very quietly, "Hand me my phone."
Cory does as he is asked and with a shaky breath, Shawn taps through a few screens until he pulls up a photo. He hands the phone to Cory and says nothing. The photo is of a little girl, maybe six years old, posed under a Christmas tree.
"That's Sadie?"
"Yes."
That big smile is unmistakable, as are the eyes. "God, she looks just like you."
"She does."
"I'm confused. I know Chet had kids all over the place, but how could he have a kid who's that young? He died almost ten years ago."
Shawn is very still. "She's not my sister, Cory. She's my daughter."
Two Roads Diverged
Previously:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Next:
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12