Two Roads Diverged, Chapter 10
Title: Two Roads Diverged (10/12)
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.
~~~~~
Three days pass and somehow Cory and Topanga manage to not have a substantial conversation about anything. It helps that with her propensity for over-scheduling their social engagements, those three days are pretty much a whirlwind of brunch, lunch, dinner, and drinks dates with everybody Topanga knows who still lives in the area. Cory eats and drinks and smiles his way through all of it, saying very little. No one ever talks to him much at these things anyway-Topanga has always been the star attraction. For once he is grateful for this.
Although they manage to avoid talking, there is still an undeniable rift. Topanga is unusually dismissive of everything he says, mostly suggestions for how to get to their various engagements. She always corrects him on the superior series of trains to take, the better walking route, the spot where they're far more likely to catch a cab. He wants to remind her that he lived in New York just as long as she did, and spent far less of that time studying in a library cubicle, but he doesn't. He just lets her be right.
She is physically standoffish as well. She pulls away every time he reaches out to touch her hair and steps out of his grasp whenever he tries to put a possessive arm around her. At night in Jim's king-size bed, she rolls as far away from him as possible. When he comes to her, cuddles up behind her, there is nothing receptive in her posture. He might as well be trying to cuddle a coat tree. He releases her and rolls back to his side of the bed. He hates having a "side." He'd much rather always be entangled with the ones he loves.
Aside from the coldness from Topanga, Cory is also missing Shawn terribly. He's heard nothing from him in three days and knowing that this is how it will be-for Shawn's own preservation as well as the preservation of the Matthews' marriage-depresses him like nothing else. While Topanga's lawyer friends prattle on about things at lunch, he finds himself wondering what Shawn is doing right now. Is he okay? Is he taking care of himself? Is he thinking about me?
At dinner that night they meet up with Topanga's friend Jen, who is enormously pregnant. Although Cory and Topanga both smile like children's programming hosts and listen attentively as Jen beams about her experience, her hopes and plans, Cory knows he and Topanga are both dying a little inside. On the way back to the apartment, he can't help but say, "I thought you wanted that."
Topanga doesn't turn back from looking out the window of the cab. "I do," she says softly.
"Then why are we stopping?"
"I just...I want to be sure. I told you."
"How can you not be sure? You were plenty sure before. I thought it was what we both wanted. It's what I want-I know that."
"You don't know what you want," she sighs.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing. It means nothing."
"But-"
"Cory, please. Let's not get into this tonight. I'm so tired."
"Fine." He sits back and closes his eyes. He's tired of this too.
A few minutes after eleven o'clock that night, as they're winding down and checking email on their laptops, Cory's phone starts ringing.
Topanga glances at it, then passes it to him from the coffee table. "It's Shawn."
Cory frowns and answers. "Shawnie?"
"Cory. Hey."
"Hey...what's up?"
"Listen, I, uh, hate to put you on the spot, but do you think you could come pick me up? I'll pay for the cab."
"Uh..." Cory glances at Topanga, "Where are you?"
"St. Luke's."
"Is that a church? I don't know where that is."
"It's a hospital."
Cory's heart leaps into his throat. "What happened?"
"Nothing. Nothing. It's stupid. I'm fine. It's just...they won't discharge me unless somebody picks me up. I'm really, really sorry. I tried calling a bunch of other people and nobody's answering and I really don't want have to stay here the night. I didn't know who else to call."
Cory takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes. Topanga is giving him a look and he just doesn't want to deal with it. "I'll be there as soon as I can."
Cory gives Shawn's name to the front desk at St. Luke's and is eventually shown to a curtained-off portion of a room where Shawn sits in a chair glowering. He has an IV hooked to his arm and a small gauze patch is taped near his temple. "Thank god," he mutters when he sees Cory.
"What the hell's going on, Shawn?"
"Nothing. It's no big deal. These people are just a bunch of assholes afraid of getting sued."
"Why are you here?"
"It's nothing. I fainted."
"You fainted?"
"Yeah. Like a delicate lady in a Victorian novel." He offers Cory the paper cup he's been holding. "Juice?"
Cory ignores him. "Who brought you in?"
"I don't know. Somebody at the bar called an ambulance."
"Just because you fainted?"
"They couldn't wake me up."
"Jesus, Shawn."
"It's okay. Really. I just had too much to drink and I hadn't eaten anything and it all just kinda caught up with me. I'm fine, though. They said so."
"Then what's that all about?" Cory asks, gesturing to the IV.
Shawn shrugs. "Nutrients. I think it's all empty now anyway. I just don't know how to unhook it."
"And what happened to your head?"
He smiles. "They said I hit the corner of the pool table when I went down, but I think it's a coverup for a clumsy EMT."
Cory is so not in the mood for joking. "If you just fainted and everything's hunky dory, why won't they just discharge you?"
Shawn rolls his eyes and looks away. He mutters something but Cory can't make it out.
"What?"
"I may or may not have said some things that led them to believe that I might be a danger to myself."
Neither of them says anything. Cory closes his eyes and tries to compose himself. He is so angry right now he's finding it hard not to just turn around and storm out. Finally, he asks, "Are you?"
"No. I'm not. Really, I'm not."
"Then why do they think that? What did you say?"
"I don't know. I was really out of it when they woke me up and started asking all these questions. I really don't remember what I said."
Cory takes a deep breath and crosses his arms. "What if I don't take you home?"
"What do you mean?"
"Will they keep you here 'til you're better?"
"What are talking about? I am better. I just told you that."
"You're not taking care of yourself. Maybe somebody needs to do it for you if you won't do it yourself."
"I'm not being committed," Shawn scoffs, "If you don't take me home, they're just going to hold me overnight as a precaution."
"Okay. So I'll let them keep you overnight."
"No," Shawn looks panicky, "No, Cory. I hate hospitals."
"Then you should take more care not to end up in them."
"I can't stay overnight. I have to get home."
"Why?"
"Because," Shawn says, then reluctantly gives him the last piece of the puzzle, "I'm supposed to meet Sadie tomorrow."
"Oh." Cory is quiet as he lets the pieces all come together. Shawn's already upset to be losing Cory, Shawn finds out he's meeting his daughter for the first time, Shawn freaks out and goes off the deep end. Perfect Shawn logic. He could kill him. Instead, he keeps his tone steady and asks, "So soon?"
"Yeah," Shawn says, "Sheila's apparently really, really good at what she does. She's a terrifying woman."
"All right," Cory gives in, "Let me go talk to somebody and see what we can do about getting you out of here."
It never ceases to amaze Cory the amount of paperwork any hospital admittance produces. He and Shawn sit side by side on a modular sofa while a woman with a badge (nurse? attending? file clerk?) goes through the history of Shawn's time at St. Luke's from 8:26 pm to midnight. She runs through the treatment that was administered (Cory is surprised to hear that the cut required two stitches) and the information gathered that led to his diagnosis. The woman is determined that Cory be well-informed before Shawn is released into his care.
There are a lot of medical terms Cory doesn't recognize, but the information is clear enough. Shawn didn't lie to him, though he certainly skipped some of the more troubling details. Like that the last meal he could remember eating was several days earlier (when he dined with Cory and Topanga, Cory presumes). Or that he'd been "behaving erratically" at the bar prior to fainting according to whoever talked to the EMTs. Or that he'd said to a nurse after he was revived that "Everyone would be a lot better off if you hadn't woken me up." Or that, at 5' 7" he is currently weighing in at a whopping 109 lbs (far worse than Cory had dared guess). It is also news to Cory that Shawn had been admitted to St. Luke's two months earlier for what turned out to be a very bad panic attack (Cory bet the timing of this coincided precisely with the news of Sadie's existence) and, according to the records that Cory reads upside-down on the woman's clipboard, he'd weighed a much healthier 132 lbs at that time.
"Jesus Christ," Cory sighs when the whole run-through is done. Shawn continues fiddling with his shirt cuffs, as he has been the entire time. He only comes to attention when the woman with the badge points out several places where he needs to sign. Then she leads them over to the front desk where they both sign several more forms to complete the check-out procedure. When that's done, the girl at the desk slides them their copies of the check-out and billing forms, along with a pamphlet on the care of stitches and two small sample cans of Ensure.
"Oh, for God's sake," Shawn mutters.
Cory takes the paperwork and hands him the cans. "You earned it, Champ."
"Fuck my life."
Cory gives Shawn a sarcastic clap on the back and leads him out of the building. Shawn argues that he'd prefer to walk home, but Cory insists on a cab ride, even for such a relatively short distance. He's not taking any chances. Shawn gets in the cab and throws himself into the seat like a sullen teenager.
"Well, that was humiliating," he grouses.
Cory doesn't reply. He can't even bring himself to speak, he's so angry. Instead, he focuses his attention on texting Topanga, filling her in and telling her he's taking Shawn home and will call in a bit.
Shawn is obviously waiting for Cory to say something, but when he doesn't Shawn says hesitantly, "I'm really sorry about this."
Cory continues to ignore him, keeps his eyes on the middling traffic outside the window.
"Hey," Shawn touches his arm, "I said I was sorry."
Cory finally looks at him. "What does that even mean to you? You're always sorry, then you keep doing stuff like this. If you cared about me at all, you wouldn't. I don't like seeing you like this. I don't want to ever see you like this again. But it's like it never stops."
"I'm sorry."
Cory shakes his head. "Do you have no self-preservation instinct at all? At what point does that actually kick in for you?"
Shawn just shrugs, no longer able to look at him.
"I'm not going to stick around and watch you destroy yourself, watch you destroy everything you have," Cory says.
"You're not sticking around anyway, so don't worry about it."
"I'm not talking about sticking around in New York. I'm talking about sticking around in your life. If this is how it's gonna be, Shawn, just watching you slowly killing yourself, I don't want any part in that. I can't take it."
Shawn is quiet for a while, then he says softly, "I don't think I can take it much longer either."
"Then what are you gonna do about it?"
"Whatever I can."
Cory takes a deep, cleansing breath and sits back. He doesn't like being angry at Shawn; it's like being angry at a puppy. He picks up one of the cans of Ensure that are currently rolling back and forth across the vinyl seat. "You gonna drink this when we get home?"
Shawn makes a disgusted face. "Nah. I'll just...find a way to force myself to eat regular food. Dope up on Xanax if I have to. Anything to get my nerves to stop. Then maybe I can actually eat again like a normal person."
"You're gonna eat that and this," Cory says, tilting the can in his hand, "You're gonna do whatever you have to until you're healthy again. You have someone else to worry about now. It's not just me and you anymore."
Shawn puts his head back and gazes up at the ceiling. "Shit, Cory, I'm so scared about tomorrow."
Cory ignores him and continues his line of thought. "Sadie by all rights should be my goddaughter. And if you live out this deathwish of yours before that asterisk is taken off your life insurance policy, she'll be totally screwed. I'm not letting that happen to her. And you're not either. So you're going to man up and take care of yourself. Starting right now."
Shawn smiles at this. As the cab slows down at the corner by Shawn's building, he hands the driver some cash. Back out on the street, he doesn't head for his apartment. He approaches the diner instead. "I'd kill for a burger right now," he says to Cory, "You want anything?"
"Everything all right?" Topanga asks when Cory calls to touch base with her.
"As all right as it ever is, I guess. Did I wake you?"
"No. Well, yes, but it's okay. How's he doing?"
"Eh. I think this was maybe a wake-up call for him. Or I hope it is, anyway. He's supposed to meet Sadie for the first time tomorrow."
"Wow. Sheila's good."
"Yeah."
"Listen, Cory, why don't you just stay there tonight? I don't want you out on the streets at this hour and it sounds like he needs you."
"You don't mind?"
"Of course not. I'll give your excuses to Jon and David tomorrow."
"I forgot about that."
"It's okay, it's just lunch. I'll see you back here and we'll get dinner together."
"Just you and I?"
"Yeah. We need a night together."
"I'd like that."
"Okay. Well, tell Shawn I love him, even though he's an idiot."
"I will."
"Goodnight."
"Night."
Cory ends the call and heads back into Shawn's apartment. He finds him sitting up on the bed, legs stretched out, hands folded across his chest. He looks remarkably at ease.
"Everything okay?" Shawn asks.
"Yeah. I'm staying here tonight."
"Is that a 'staying here because we're worried Shawn might throw himself off a bridge' or a 'staying here because I'm in the doghouse with my wife'?"
"It's a 'staying here because it's the middle of the fucking night and I'm exhausted.'" Cory starts to undress.
"Well, either way I'm glad. If my idiocy can do nothing else, at least it has brought us back together."
Cory climbs into bed beside him. "How you feeling?"
"Like I'm gonna puke."
"Is that because of Sadie or because of the cheeseburger?"
"Probably both."
Cory leans over to kiss his cheek softly, then lays back on the pillow. "You're gonna be fine. Did you take your pill?"
"Yes." Shawn slides down off of his elbows, snaps off the lamp, and burrows up next to Cory. "Thank you for being here."
"Of course."
Cory feels a pressure against his chest as Shawn leans onto him, puts his mouth to Cory's and kisses him. The warmth of Shawn's tongue is incredibly reassuring. He is alive and he is okay and everything-for this moment, at least-is all right.
"Oh, god, I can't do this," Shawn says, for the fifteenth time this hour. He is walking stiff-legged around the apartment, waving his hands about nervously, completely failing at the task of getting dressed.
"It'll be fine," Cory assures him, for the fifteenth time.
"Oh, no it won't. Oh, god..."
"Shawnie. Shawnie, chill out." Cory puts an arm around Shawn and leads him back to the bedroom where he'd been in the middle of putting on his socks then abandoned the task when he hands started shaking so bad. He sits him down on the edge of the bed and says, "Get your socks on."
Shawn takes a deep breath, exhales, then pulls one sock over his foot.
"Good," Cory says, like he's encouraging a child. Or a crazy person. "Now do the other."
He puts on his other sock then looks at Cory hopelessly. "What am I doing?"
"You're getting dressed, going to Jersey, and meeting your daughter."
"Oh, god, I can't do this." Sixteen times.
Cory squats down opposite Shawn and kisses him. Shawn is not unresponsive, but he does not warm to the distraction either. Cory runs his hands down Shawn's chest, lets them settle suggestively near his cock, but Shawn just gives him a look. Nice try. This isn't gonna happen.Then he starts shaking again. Cory puts his hands on Shawn's shoulders and tries to still him. His face looks waxy and faint which, considering yesterday's adventure, makes Cory uneasy.
"Did you say you have Xanax?" Cory asks.
Shawn gives a reluctant nod.
"Topanga takes one every time she flies. She says it works great for calming you down when you're freaking out."
"Yeah, it does. It's good stuff. Too good. I don't wanna take it."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm afraid if I start using it, I won't be able to stop. I've had that bottle for two months and you know how many times I've let myself take it? One time. I don't trust myself, Cory."
"Where is it? Can I see it?"
Shawn looks puzzled, but he gets up to go retrieve the bottle. At least the task is temporarily distracting him from his panic, Cory thinks. Shawn goes to the closet, rummages around for a minute, then emerges with a shoebox that's been rubber-banded shut. He sits back down on the bed, pulls off the rubber band and takes out an orange prescription bottle from beneath a pile of letters. Cory wonders briefly if those letters are the same ones Virna sent him all those years ago, but the thought flits away as Shawn hands the bottle to him.
"Did you get these prescribed after you left St. Luke's the last time?" Cory asks, glancing at the label on the plastic bottle.
"Yup. That and the sleeping pills."
"And you've only taken it one time since then?"
"You can count them if you want." Shawn looks a little bit offended.
Cory isn't trying to accuse him of anything, though. He's working to put together the story of Shawn's life these past two months. Anxiety bad enough that he stopped sleeping for days at a time, landed in the hospital thinking he was having a heart attack, dropped twenty-three pounds off his frame in a matter of weeks...and he only resorted to taking an anti-anxiety med once?
"All the stuff that's been going on...what was it that made you actually take a Xanax?" Cory asks.
"I took one the night you first came into town."
"Oh." Cory is weirdly touched. He looks at Shawn, his poor wreck of a friend who he loves so much, and smiles. "You still scared of me now?"
Shawn laughs. "I wasn't scared..." Then he gives Cory an exhausted look. "No, I'm not," he says.
"All right. Well, I think maybe you should take one just for today. And then maybe Sadie won't be so scary either after this."
Shawn hesitates, then he drops his shoulders in exasperation. "Yeah. I don't know how else I'm gonna do this."
Cory removes one small pill from the bottle and hands it to Shawn. Then he screws the cap back on and tucks the bottle in his pocket. "I'm gonna hold onto that for you, okay?"
"Yeah," Shawn agrees, "Thanks."
"Want me to get you water?"
"No, these guys taste nasty. I need something to cover up the aftertaste."
"Got just the thing." Cory pads off to the kitchen and returns with one of the cans of Ensure. Shawn looks disgusted, but he doesn't fight Cory over it. He pops the top open and takes his pill with the nutritional substitute. Then, making sure Cory is watching, he drinks the remainder of the can.
"Good boy," Cory applauds.
"Blech." Shawn gives a disgusted little shiver. Then he turns to him, distraction gone and the panic returned to his face. "Will you please come with me?"
"Aw, I don't know, Shawnie. I don't know if that's my place."
"No, I know. Just...maybe you can keep me company on the train? And then wait for me while I meet her?" Shawn gives him a look that can be described as nothing short of absolutely desperate.
It's going to be an hour long meeting, with Anna and both lawyers present. As Cory considers it, he thinks it might be good for Shawn to have an ally waiting for him afterward. If it goes badly, Cory really doesn't want him making his way home alone. "Okay," Cory gives in.
"Oh, god, Cory, thank you. I was really hoping you'd come with. I think...I think maybe this'll be good."
"Well, let's just work on getting you dressed first. Okay, buddy?" Cory rests his hand on Shawn's bare shoulder. He can feel his pulse jumping through his skin.
Shawn closes his eyes for a long moment and when he opens them, he smiles. "Yeah. Good plan."
Cory is impressed at how quickly the Xanax seems to have a reaction. Within twenty minutes, Shawn's hands are no longer shaking and he is visibly calmer. He is able to shave without slicing himself up and even puts that extra bit of effort into styling his hair, making it tousled just so. As he changes his clothes for the second time and puts on a spritz of cologne, it occurs to Cory that Shawn has no idea how to prepare for a playdate with his daughter. Instead he's getting ready the only way he knows how to, as if preparing for a date. This makes Cory smile.
Maybe it's just his imagination, but Shawn's color seems to improve right before him; he looks significantly less deathly, his eyes and smile brighter. As they head out to the PATH train, Cory is feeling optimistic. Perhaps this day will go well after all.
The train ride out to Jersey City is less inspiring of confidence. Shawn is not the trembling, babbling wreck he was at the apartment, but he is clearly still struggling to keep his nerves in check. He doesn't say much, just stares out the window and works to keep his breathing steady. He is clutching a stuffed alien-monster creature thing he picked up earlier in the week in a fit of positivity about the whole situation. He's asked Cory three times if he thinks it is a stupid gesture, a weird toy to give a little girl, too babyish a toy for a six-year-old. Cory assures him that no, it's cute, it's a sweet gift and, if Sadie is Shawn's kid at all, she'll probably love it.
Then they arrive at the McDonalds where the meeting will take place. Cory stands with him out front, preparing to leave him and return in an hour. All Shawn's good color has gone. Cory puts his hands to the sides of Shawn's face, turns his head up so that he has no choice but to look at him.
"Shawnie, it's going to be okay. She's just a six-year-old girl. Like Morgan was. You like kids. You'll be fine with her. You're just gonna go in there, let your lawyer do the talking to Anna, buy the kid a Happy Meal, and get to know her a little. And when it's all over, I'll be right here."
Shawn's eyes remain fixed on Cory's. They look more crystal-blue than they have ever looked. He takes a deep breath, lets it out. Behind him, Cory sees a woman in a gray suit emerge from Mercedes.
"Your lawyer's here," Cory tells him and Shawn turns to look at Sheila and acknowledges her with a little wave.
He turns back to Cory. "Okay," he says.
"Okay?"
"Okay. I'll see you in a hour."
Cory gives Shawn's hand one last squeeze, then lets him go. He watches as Shawn falls in line behind Sheila and follows her into the restaurant, clutching the alien-monster stuffy in one white-knuckled hand.
Two Roads Diverged
Previously:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Next:
Chapter 11
Chapter 12