Four Brothers
Title: Chasing Ghosts 2/?
Author: veiledndarkness
Rating: R
Pairing: Implied previous Bobby/Jack, Max/Jack
Summary: Not all those who wander are lost.
Disclaimer: Not mine, no harm intended, and no profit made
Crossover between Four Brothers/Max Payne
Part 1
X
If Jack had thought the silence was awkward before the…well, whatever the fuck that had been the other night, the silence in the apartment now was slowly choking him. Their fight, debate, whatever you could slap a label to it, had sunk a huge stone in their comfort level with each other. And yet…Jack couldn’t bring himself to leave.
Had Jack gotten into a fight anywhere else, he would have left immediately. He would have grabbed his shit and been gone before the other person could have finished yelling. No one, no one was ever going to hurt him like this ever again, he’d sworn to himself when he’d left Evelyn’s house the year prior.
And here he was, curled up in the heavy blanket that Max had draped around him on that night, trying to sort out his fucked up emotions. Another empty coffee mug sat beside him, the television flickering across from him, the volume so low it was barely audible. Jack stared at nothing, his eyes red-rimmed and shadowed from lack of sleep.
He rubbed his knee absently, picking at the rip across his jeans. He supposed that he must’ve looked a lot like a sullen kid right then. Max hadn’t said a goddamned thing to him since they’d argued. Jack closed his eyes briefly, wincing at the memory.
He’d screamed at him, raged about his feelings, for fuck’s sake, his anger at Bobby, which had had no place in how he felt about Max, and then thrown up. He sighed heavily; exceedingly angry at the way he’d behaved.
Ma would have been so disappointed, he mused.
But Max hadn’t flipped out. He hadn’t thrown Jack out or slapped him around. He’d wet a washcloth and wiped Jack’s face in that way that felt perfect after you’d been sick, gently, kindly. That wasn’t what you did when someone screamed and ranted at you. Hell, even Bobby would have been tempted to belt him one for that.
Jack smiled sadly. Not that Bobby would actually strike him in anger, he knew. The urge would be there though and he’d have seen it in Bobby’s dark eyes. Bobby…God, he missed him.
Nor would Bobby would chase him this time. Not anymore. Jack knuckled at his eyes, rubbing at the swollen lids. He pushed the blanket back and emerged from his cocoon on the pull-out bed, his legs stiff. He shuffled his way to the kitchen on unstable feet, shivering a little in the cool evening air.
As he made more coffee, not that he needed more of that in his system, he saw boxes off to the side, several of them stacked against the wall closest to the kitchen. He shook his head. Looking inside wouldn’t be good, he reasoned. It would be snooping and more than likely, that would be the reason for Max dumping his ass into the snowy gutter, if not for flipping his shit while drunk.
Temptation was a bitch.
Jack nudged the box with his spoon, noting that the flap to the highest box was slightly ajar. He bit down on his knuckle and nudged it again before he lost his nerve. The flap fell back easily, inviting him in.
“Damn it,” he muttered and gave in, moving closer to see inside.
Photos, stacks of them, some loose, some bound in albums, some in frames. Jack poured through them, forgetting about his coffee, his fascination with the man he hardly knew growing. He sifted through the box, paging through each album as though it was made of the most breakable glass.
Pictures of Max, pictures of him smiling, of him in his cop’s uniform, of him as a young boy, and if Jack hadn’t seen the resemblance before, fuck, could he ever see it now. Max looked just like Bobby, albeit with shorter hair, even during his teen years. He chuffed out a breath, amused. Even the way their eyebrows pointed upwards, slightly devilish, the way their eyes crinkled when they smiled.
Jack’s throat ached. He paged through the wedding album, looking at the photos of Max and his smiling wife, the way he looked so damned carefree and happy. More photos, his pregnant wife, his hand so proudly resting on her rounded stomach, the look in her eyes as she smiled at him.
He envied this woman, for having known Max before someone stole the look of happiness from him, for having seen the softer side that no one ever would again, yeah, envy and a tinge of jealousy too, if he was honest.
The photos of the baby filled several albums. The baby looked like Max.
Jack put that album down, his chest hitching. God…He couldn’t even imagine the level of grief. Losing Evelyn had wounded him in a way he hadn’t thought possible. He replaced everything hurriedly, pushing the box back into place. The pictures hurt, seeing what Max had lost, that hurt.
The sound of a key in the door made him jump with a guilty start. Jack snagged the coffee mug and stirred it, putting his best look of nonchalance on his face. He was sipping it, and trying not to wince from how lukewarm it had become, when Max entered the kitchen, silent as always. Jack’s heart pounded a nervous tattoo against his ribcage, certain that Max would be able to tell immediately that his memories had been disturbed.
Max looked him over, his face so blank and empty that Jack winced inwardly. Jack swallowed, trying to bring some words forward, something to break the ice. He licked his dry lips, a sound catching in his throat.
“I…H-Hey…”
Max nodded at him. “It occurred to me today that I don’t have much food here.”
Jack gave him a small shrug. “I don’t expect you to feed me.” On the inside he was rejoicing for even the smallest effort from Max.
“You’re a guest, Jack. And you don’t eat enough to keep a bird alive.”
“I eat, I just…look, like you said I don’t have a lot of cash and I’m used to gettin’ by on less.”
Max looked past him, his gaze falling on the box behind Jack.
Jack held his breath, panicking a touch. “Max, honest, I’m fine. I’m uh…I’ll figure somethin’ out, ok?”
“Get your coat. Wind chill’s pickin’ up tonight.”
Jack sighed. He knew when arguing was pointless. He gulped down his coffee and followed behind Max obediently, putting his boots and coat on. He wrapped the scarf tightly around his neck and shoulders, already dreading the freezing temperatures.
“You’d think I’d be used to fuckin’ freezing,” he mumbled. “Detroit’s no picnic in January.”
Max dug in the closet closest to the front door. He emerged a second later, the lightest touch of amusement to his eyes. “I wondered about that. Maybe New York snow is different, huh?”
He tossed something at Jack. “Here, put these on.”
Jack looked down, catching the object before it hit his chest. Gloves…He touched the tip of them, a sound caught in his throat again. A warm surge built inside and he had to blink rapidly to hold back the prickle of tears. They were thick, heavy gloves, well worn but still in good condition.
“Max…” he looked up. “Thanks.”
A grunt was his response. Max tugged his coat on, foregoing a scarf in favour of one of his turtleneck black sweaters. He seemed to have dozens of those. Jack slid the gloves on, pleased by how well they fit. He wriggled his fingers, testing out the material. Perfect.
X
Max moved up and down each aisle of the grocery store on autopilot. He selected items here and there, the food staples, as Evelyn would have called them. Jack walked at his side, understanding that his help really wasn’t needed as much as Max was trying to smooth over their fight.
And really, that itself made Jack feel calmer. He’d never been the type to hold grudges.
He dawdled by the frozen turkeys in the freezer rows, his gloved hand trailing over the biggest ones, unaware of the wistful smile on his face. He could hear Angel and Jerry tussling behind him, hear Bobby’s smartass commentary narrating their play fighting, smell the gravy warming, feel the heat of the oven as he basted the turkey…
“Jack?”
He blinked and turned, his eyes still lost in memory for a moment. “Huh?”
Max nodded to the frozen birds. “Pick one.”
“Pick…yeah?”
“Go on. Whatever size we need, it doesn’t matter.”
Jack grinned stupidly down at the one his hand was on. No, no, much too big for the two of them. He lifted a few of the larger ones out of the way, spotting a more realistic sized one underneath. “This one,” he said, placing it in the cart, “Big enough for leftovers, but not to the point of havin’ turkey sandwiches till Christmas.”
“I hope you know how to cook, kid.”
“Oh yeah,” Jack nodded, his mood lifted by such a simple gesture. Well, that and the gloves. “Yeah absolutely, I do know. I was gonna offer before, an’ y’know, make something but I didn’t want to assume anything.”
Max rested his hands on the handle of the cart. Though his face was still mostly blank, there were definitely signs of amusement in his eyes. “Alright, so get whatever shit you need for cooking a turkey.”
Jack tried to ignore the little thrill running through him. Not only was Max making an effort at conversation, he was willing to let Jack actually do something in the apartment. And hell yes, he could cook. Out of all of them, Jack had been the only one interested in the process of creating food in a kitchen, whereas his brothers had been more interested in the end result of what was made in said kitchen.
He’d spent many an hour with Evelyn, learning everything she thought he should know.
And if that made him a queer little fairy in his brothers’ eyes, so be it.
By the time they hit the checkout counter, the cart was nearly full. Jack mumbled to himself, checking over the cart as Max unloaded it onto the conveyor belt. “You do have oven mitts, right?”
“Yeah, of course,” Max raised an eyebrow at him.
“Hey, that’s a logical question. I’ve yet to see a pair in your kitchen. Or even see you make anythin’ other than coffee.”
Max blinked. “The oven mitts are in the drawer next to the one with the silverware.”
“Then this’ll be fine. Turkey just needs to defrost and I can get ‘im ready in time for Thanksgiving.”
He was excited, in truth. He hadn’t had much opportunity for cooking since he’d left and he kind of missed it. It was soothing in a way; everything was done a certain way, a routine that he could rely on. He fidgeted with his new gloves, trying to play it cool and failing.
Max said nothing again until the bags of groceries were loaded into the car. “I don’t cook,” he admitted, turning the heat on and letting it blast out of the vents. “Apparently I have no ability in the kitchen and during my last attempt, burned the shit out a pot.”
“So you survive on takeout?”
“Yeah, pretty much. I buy some quick stuff that doesn’t require cooking, dinners, restaurants, and things like that.”
“I figured.”
Max drummed his fingers on the wheel, a move that sent a flicker through Jack. Bobby had a habit of drumming his fingers when he was thinking in the car. He looked over at him, watching his jaw clench, seeing the hesitation in his face.
“Jack, about the other night…”
Christ. Jack sighed under his breath. This was not the conversation he wanted to have so soon after Max’s attempts to smooth things over. “I was drunk, ok? I…I drank too quick, hadn’t eaten much an’ before I knew it, I was freakin’ over nothing. Normally, I can hold my liquor a hell of a lot better than that.”
“No, not that, well, ok, part of that.” Max looked vaguely uncomfortable. He rested one hand on the steering wheel. “You…indicated that your brother would…”
“Aw Jesus, cut out the cop talk an’ say it. And before you go any further, Max, might I remind you that he’s not my…my blood brother.”
Max’s jaw tightened for a moment. He nodded then, a look to his eyes that Jack hadn’t seen before. What was that?
“I know that. It’s…I get the feeling he’s older than you, and you’re you, and him using you like that, it’s wrong, Jack.”
“I’m me?” Jack dug in his coat pocket for his nearly empty pack of cigarettes. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“You’re attractive,” Max muttered. “Some people would use that to their advantage. And someone, such as…him, they might not have any problem using you that way.”
“Oh, back the fuck up!” Jack grabbed his lighter and lit his cigarette, his anger sparking way too fast for this conversation. He inhaled sharply, fighting to stay calm.
“First of all, you don’t even know Bobby. Second, you don’t know me like you think you do,” he mocked, throwing Max’s words from the other night back at him. “And third, most important of all, it’s not like he fucked me when I was a little boy, not like some other well meaning men!”
Silence filled the car, choking them both now. Jack smoked furiously through one cigarette, then another, his eyes brimming with bitter tears. “You don’t know him at all,” he whispered. “He loves me.”
“You left though.”
“So?”
Max said nothing and really, saying nothing was everything.
Jack swallowed and swallowed until he could speak without his voice breaking. “Don’t bring him up again, Max.”
“Fine…”
X
What he really wanted was for Max to at least try and meet him halfway on understanding the information he’d inadvertently revealed. Jack ran his tongue along his teeth as he ripped slices of bread into small squares. He toyed with his tongue stud and tried not to grind his teeth.
That was the problem with cops. They’d get some info and that was end of it. Like a dog with a damned chew bone, Jack thought, glum resignation settling in. No cop gave a fuck when he’d needed them to, but now, oh yes; let’s share the nitty, gritty details of poor Jackie’s childhood. Never mind that he’d rather forget it all. No, keep digging and pushing until Jack loses his shit.
He looked down and sighed at the slice of bread he’d mangled in one hand. He set the lumpy mess to one side and grabbed a new slice, tearing it up carefully. Half the bowl was full with ripped up pieces of bread, needed for the stuffing. Jack looked over his shoulder, Max sitting at the large wooden table behind him.
The sounds of a gun being taken apart and cleaned, now that was familiar. Max cleaned his guns as thoroughly as Bobby ever had. Jack tried not to stare but sometimes when he did, he could see the image of the two men blurring together. He bit back a sigh and finished tearing up the bread.
It had taken a lot of convincing on his part to keep Max from looking up the details of his earlier life. The look on his face made his promise seem a touch hollow. Jack gathered the needed spices and ingredients, mixing the stuffing without much attention. His mind wandered and he struggled not to dwell on the silent anger emitting from Max.
It was somewhat nice in that his anger meant he cared. Jack rinsed his hands off slowly, pondering that. Bobby’s anger had been a front for a multitude of feelings that he’d never share, not even with Jack. He’d pretend that he wasn’t hurting, but Jack had heard him crying in the bathroom, the night after Evelyn’s funeral.
Jack paused in the middle of drying his hands. Some day he’d be able to think about her without wanting to fall apart, he vowed. He set the towel aside and leaned back against the counter. “Max?”
He looked up and Jack felt that little flicker again, warming his attraction to the man despite himself.
“You need any help?”
Both of Max’s eyebrows lifted upwards. He couldn’t have looked more surprised.
Jack grinned a little. “What?”
“You know how to clean guns?”
He nodded. “Uh huh, I learned years ago.”
“I bet there’s a story behind that.” Max set a handgun down on the wooden table. “And I bet you were barely a teen when you learned.”
“You should consider hittin’ a casino with the way you bet.”
“Smartass,” Max muttered. “This mother of yours, did she know all that?”
“It’s not like they did that on the fucking coffee table, Max. Of course we didn’t, not in front of Ma. She’d have had a fit.”
“At least one of you had common sense.” Max shook his head. “Fine, show me.”
Jack moved to the table, leaning on it. He eyed the gun and started the process. By the time he was done, he could see grudging respect in Max’s eyes. He washed his hands again and smirked. “See?”
Max made a sound. Judging by the noise, Jack guessed that he was at least a little impressed. He put the items away, one by one and then stared at Jack. “How old are you?”
Jack’s smirk faded away. “Why?’
“Why resist telling me?”
“And if I’m underage? You’d be in a shitload of trouble for getting me booze.”
Max snorted. “Does it look like I care about things like that?”
“My birthday’s in March,” Jack tried, then sighed when Max only stared at him pointedly.
“Fine, fine, I’ll be 21 next year!”
Max seemed to consider that. “You’re so young still,” he murmured.
“I’m not a child; I haven’t been one for a long time, Max.” Jack leaned in against the table and gave him a slow smile. “You don’t need to handle me with kid gloves.”
“Jack…” Max looked uneasy. He shifted on his chair, his gaze moving from Jack’s.
“You won’t hurt me.”
At that, Max moved back, moving so quickly, Jack barely had time to blink. “Don’t…”
Hurt, Jack turned away. His shoulders hunched, he went through the routine of preparing the roasting pan for the thawed bird.
“Jack…Jack, look at me.”
“Don’t you fucking apologize,” Jack whispered harshly. “Don’t you dare, Max.”
He could hear movement, Max’s quiet footsteps on the tiled floor. He could feel the wall of tension, the man hovering behind him uncertainly. Jack gripped the counter, willing his voice to be calm, to not let the rejection show.
“Jack,” Max’s hand ghosted near Jack’s shoulder. “It’s not…, I mean, I’m not…”
“Bullshit.”
The hand settled on his shoulder, burning clear through his sweater, right to his skin. His heart pounded.
“You’re afraid,” Jack kept his voice to a whisper, afraid to startle him. “Scared to admit what you really want deep down. Seen it before, guys like you, they want to, but think they shouldn’t.”
“Stop it,” Max tried to hiss but failed.
“Bet you’ve been thinkin’ about what you wanna do to me since you saw me eating in that diner. I bet you’ve always wanted to, maybe fooled around some in high school or college with a guy, right?” Jack treaded on thin ice, the words escaping him, past his control. He kept his eyes on the counter, his heartbeat pounding in his ears the way it had the year before, only now he wasn’t terrified.
“Shut up…” Max’s hand moved down Jack’s arm, gripping him just this side of too tight.
Jack licked his lips, aroused and a little afraid. “You’re lyin’ to yourself, Max, pretending you don’t want it, but I know. I see it when you look at me.”
Max yanked him around, face to face then. He was flushed, his eyes wide as he stared up at him. Jack pressed against him, and yeah, there was his proof, what Max couldn’t hide. Jack moved his hand up and into Max’s short hair, briefly mourning the fact that there wasn’t enough to grip, before sliding down, cupping the back of his neck.
“No,” Max whispered, even as he pulled Jack closer, looking at his mouth, his breath coming in fast gasps.
Jack closed the last inch of distance, his lips catching Max’s.
Max resisted only a second longer, his eyes closing at the feel of Jack’s mouth on his, the taste of his kiss burning through him. Jack made a soft sound in his throat, his hand moving down Max’s neck, his hips lifting into contact with Max, drawing a startled noise from him.
“Jack,” Max broke loose, panting, his lips tingling.
“Don’t…” Jack reached for him, resting his forehead to Max’s, his hands around Max’s wrists, drawing him in again, taking another heated kiss and memorizing the way it felt.
Max gave in, unable to deny how much he wanted Jack’s mouth on him. He shifted them, pushing Jack back against the counter, his hands sliding under the edge of Jack’s sweater, feeling hot skin under his fingertips. Jack moaned lowly and tilted his head, ending the kiss only to move his mouth down to Max’s neck, nipping and kissing his way across the sensitive skin.
“God!” Max yanked away from him, startled by the sensation. “Jack…Jack, we need to stop.”
“Why?” Jack took small, quick breaths, his mouth kiss-swollen.
“It’s not right,” Max scrubbed a hand over his hair, his fingers shaking.
“Give me one good reason why.” Jack lifted his chin, stung anew by the rejection in Max’s face.
Max took a step back, struggling to regain his composure. “I’m too old for you, Jack. Way too old, in fact.”
“Age never bothered me before,” Jack snapped.
Max narrowed his eyes at him. “Just how old is this Bobby of yours?”
“He’s old enough!” Jack pushed past him angrily. “What’s the matter, Max? You jealous of him, is that it?”
“No.”
“You’re a shitty liar.” Jack sneered at him. He wanted to pace the length of the kitchen, run from Max, punch him even. But more than that, fuck, did he ever want to kiss him again, kiss him and forget the harsh words.
Max moved quickly, blocking Jack from leaving the kitchen. “How much older is he? You’re better off tellin’ me, Jack. It won’t take me long to dig him up, I promise you that. I say the word, I could have the info.”
Jack fisted both his hands, his chest hitching. “What is it about you fucking cops? You think you can bully me, you fucker? You think you can intimidate me? You ain’t got shit on a real cop, buddy. You’re a desk jockey, Max, that’s all. Just another pathetic jockey who thinks he knows shit about the streets because he slaps a badge on every morning and struts around, thinking he’s got power.”
“Watch it, Jack,” was Max’s quiet warning. Only his narrowed eyes gave any sign of anger.
“Watch it or else, Max?” Jack laughed harshly. He pushed against Max, staring down at him. “Or what, huh? You gonna hit me? You gonna show me how wrong I am? I know you wanna belt me one good right about now. I can see it, I bet you can’t decide if you wanna fuck me or hit me. Hard choice to make, Detective, ain’t it?”
Max hissed then and shoved Jack forcefully back, knocking him into the wooden table. Jack smacked into the object, the small of his back crying out. He bit his lip to keep the cry that wanted to escape, in. Blood welled up on his lower lip, drawing Max’s glazed eyes.
“C’mon, Max,” Jack croaked, fighting back angry tears. “Is that all you got?”
“Just shut up!” Max yelled finally, pushing him back against the table harder. “Shut your mouth! Fuck, you don’t know when to quit, do you?” He grabbed a fistful of Jack’s hair, his mouth crashing down onto Jack’s lips, kissing him roughly.
Jack groaned into the kiss, his hands gripping Max’s shoulders. The man was stronger than he’d expected. He wanted to tear off Max’s sweater, see his skin, see the differences between Bobby and him, and see if Max would feel the same.
Max muttered his name between the almost painful kisses, one hand gripping Jack’s hair, the other moving down the long length of Jack’s body greedily, touching and stroking anywhere he could reach. His hand drifted between Jack’s open thighs and stilled. He licked the drop of blood from Jack’s bottom lip, breathing heavily.
Jack could feel Max’s arousal pressing down on his thigh. “Feels better when you give in, doesn’t it?” he smirked, letting his tongue swipe over his own lip, flashing a hint of his tongue stud at Max.
“I don’t…I don’t need to take it by force,” Max managed to say.
Jack almost pitied him, pitied the desire clear on Max’s face. He knew how badly Max wanted to take him, he understood then that Max hadn’t been with anyone in the last three years. He lowered his eyes slowly. He relaxed his body and let his arms rest submissively at his sides. “Who said anything about force?” he murmured.
Max released the grip on Jack’s hair, his face pale at the realization of how close he’d been to taking what he wanted with little concern for the young man beneath him. “Jack, Jesus, I’m sorry.” He took a big step back from him.
Jack shifted and stood up. He turned to the side silently and looked down at the table. “Don’t have to face me, if you don’t want.”
Max recoiled visibly from his words. “That’s what you think I want?”
“Some guys prefer it,” Jack turned completely, his back to Max then.
“He did that to you a lot then?”
Jack closed his eyes and swallowed, his throat tightening. “Don’t…”
“He did.” Max swore fluidly under his breath. “Goddamn it, Jack.”
“Not…Not always,” Jack rested his palms on the table, studying the grain of the wood. It looked as though it had been polished at one time or another. “Depended on things, is all.”
“Jack…” Max moved to his side and cupped Jack’s chin, feeling the fine tremors moving through his body. “Look at me.”
Jack flinched at the calmly spoken words, hearing her as always.
‘Jackie…hey, look at me…you’re safe now…’
Concerned brown eyes stared at him, Max’s fingers holding his chin in place. “I know I got rough, but that’s not me, normally. And if, if I was going to…” he searched for the right word and came up empty. “Be with you like that, it wouldn’t be a quick fuck in the dark. I’d want to see your face, Jack.”
“I hate empty promises.”
“I don’t make empty promises.” Max’s thumb swiped over Jack’s lip, a slightly ragged breath catching in his throat. “You make me feel a lot of things that I’m…I’m not sure I can face.”
Jack felt his cheeks burn with shame. He flinched harder and pulled back from Max. “You look like him,” he whispered, wanting to clasp a hand over his mouth. “You have no idea how much.”
Max ran his fingers through Jack’s hair, gently now. “That’s why you came back here with me.”
Though it wasn’t a question, Jack nodded a little.
“You left after your mother died, because of him, because of your history together.”
He nodded again, tears prickling under his eyelids.
Max smoothed Jack’s hair back from his forehead, calming him slowly. “You fought and when the yelling stopped, you left.”
“Yeah…” Jack felt a tear slip down his cheek. “He…I can’t go back now. He won’t…Nothin’ changes, Max. Nothin’ ever gets better.”
Max said nothing to that. He stilled his hand and sighed aloud. “I’m sorry I shoved you, Jack. It wasn’t right. I thought I was a better man than that.” He let his hand drift to Jack’s neck, stroking the smooth skin for a second.
Just as Jack was about to speak, to protest that Max wasn’t some wild beast, he felt Max’s hand move away from him completely. A pang of loss echoed through him. “Max, wait.”
“I’ll be back later, I got…I’ve got some stuff to do.”
And without another word, Max left the kitchen. Jack fisted one hand, hitting the table with a dull thud. “Damn it,” he whispered thickly, refusing to let one more tear fall.
X
Author: veiledndarkness
Rating: R
Pairing: Implied previous Bobby/Jack, Max/Jack
Summary: Not all those who wander are lost.
Disclaimer: Not mine, no harm intended, and no profit made
Crossover between Four Brothers/Max Payne
Part 1
X
If Jack had thought the silence was awkward before the…well, whatever the fuck that had been the other night, the silence in the apartment now was slowly choking him. Their fight, debate, whatever you could slap a label to it, had sunk a huge stone in their comfort level with each other. And yet…Jack couldn’t bring himself to leave.
Had Jack gotten into a fight anywhere else, he would have left immediately. He would have grabbed his shit and been gone before the other person could have finished yelling. No one, no one was ever going to hurt him like this ever again, he’d sworn to himself when he’d left Evelyn’s house the year prior.
And here he was, curled up in the heavy blanket that Max had draped around him on that night, trying to sort out his fucked up emotions. Another empty coffee mug sat beside him, the television flickering across from him, the volume so low it was barely audible. Jack stared at nothing, his eyes red-rimmed and shadowed from lack of sleep.
He rubbed his knee absently, picking at the rip across his jeans. He supposed that he must’ve looked a lot like a sullen kid right then. Max hadn’t said a goddamned thing to him since they’d argued. Jack closed his eyes briefly, wincing at the memory.
He’d screamed at him, raged about his feelings, for fuck’s sake, his anger at Bobby, which had had no place in how he felt about Max, and then thrown up. He sighed heavily; exceedingly angry at the way he’d behaved.
Ma would have been so disappointed, he mused.
But Max hadn’t flipped out. He hadn’t thrown Jack out or slapped him around. He’d wet a washcloth and wiped Jack’s face in that way that felt perfect after you’d been sick, gently, kindly. That wasn’t what you did when someone screamed and ranted at you. Hell, even Bobby would have been tempted to belt him one for that.
Jack smiled sadly. Not that Bobby would actually strike him in anger, he knew. The urge would be there though and he’d have seen it in Bobby’s dark eyes. Bobby…God, he missed him.
Nor would Bobby would chase him this time. Not anymore. Jack knuckled at his eyes, rubbing at the swollen lids. He pushed the blanket back and emerged from his cocoon on the pull-out bed, his legs stiff. He shuffled his way to the kitchen on unstable feet, shivering a little in the cool evening air.
As he made more coffee, not that he needed more of that in his system, he saw boxes off to the side, several of them stacked against the wall closest to the kitchen. He shook his head. Looking inside wouldn’t be good, he reasoned. It would be snooping and more than likely, that would be the reason for Max dumping his ass into the snowy gutter, if not for flipping his shit while drunk.
Temptation was a bitch.
Jack nudged the box with his spoon, noting that the flap to the highest box was slightly ajar. He bit down on his knuckle and nudged it again before he lost his nerve. The flap fell back easily, inviting him in.
“Damn it,” he muttered and gave in, moving closer to see inside.
Photos, stacks of them, some loose, some bound in albums, some in frames. Jack poured through them, forgetting about his coffee, his fascination with the man he hardly knew growing. He sifted through the box, paging through each album as though it was made of the most breakable glass.
Pictures of Max, pictures of him smiling, of him in his cop’s uniform, of him as a young boy, and if Jack hadn’t seen the resemblance before, fuck, could he ever see it now. Max looked just like Bobby, albeit with shorter hair, even during his teen years. He chuffed out a breath, amused. Even the way their eyebrows pointed upwards, slightly devilish, the way their eyes crinkled when they smiled.
Jack’s throat ached. He paged through the wedding album, looking at the photos of Max and his smiling wife, the way he looked so damned carefree and happy. More photos, his pregnant wife, his hand so proudly resting on her rounded stomach, the look in her eyes as she smiled at him.
He envied this woman, for having known Max before someone stole the look of happiness from him, for having seen the softer side that no one ever would again, yeah, envy and a tinge of jealousy too, if he was honest.
The photos of the baby filled several albums. The baby looked like Max.
Jack put that album down, his chest hitching. God…He couldn’t even imagine the level of grief. Losing Evelyn had wounded him in a way he hadn’t thought possible. He replaced everything hurriedly, pushing the box back into place. The pictures hurt, seeing what Max had lost, that hurt.
The sound of a key in the door made him jump with a guilty start. Jack snagged the coffee mug and stirred it, putting his best look of nonchalance on his face. He was sipping it, and trying not to wince from how lukewarm it had become, when Max entered the kitchen, silent as always. Jack’s heart pounded a nervous tattoo against his ribcage, certain that Max would be able to tell immediately that his memories had been disturbed.
Max looked him over, his face so blank and empty that Jack winced inwardly. Jack swallowed, trying to bring some words forward, something to break the ice. He licked his dry lips, a sound catching in his throat.
“I…H-Hey…”
Max nodded at him. “It occurred to me today that I don’t have much food here.”
Jack gave him a small shrug. “I don’t expect you to feed me.” On the inside he was rejoicing for even the smallest effort from Max.
“You’re a guest, Jack. And you don’t eat enough to keep a bird alive.”
“I eat, I just…look, like you said I don’t have a lot of cash and I’m used to gettin’ by on less.”
Max looked past him, his gaze falling on the box behind Jack.
Jack held his breath, panicking a touch. “Max, honest, I’m fine. I’m uh…I’ll figure somethin’ out, ok?”
“Get your coat. Wind chill’s pickin’ up tonight.”
Jack sighed. He knew when arguing was pointless. He gulped down his coffee and followed behind Max obediently, putting his boots and coat on. He wrapped the scarf tightly around his neck and shoulders, already dreading the freezing temperatures.
“You’d think I’d be used to fuckin’ freezing,” he mumbled. “Detroit’s no picnic in January.”
Max dug in the closet closest to the front door. He emerged a second later, the lightest touch of amusement to his eyes. “I wondered about that. Maybe New York snow is different, huh?”
He tossed something at Jack. “Here, put these on.”
Jack looked down, catching the object before it hit his chest. Gloves…He touched the tip of them, a sound caught in his throat again. A warm surge built inside and he had to blink rapidly to hold back the prickle of tears. They were thick, heavy gloves, well worn but still in good condition.
“Max…” he looked up. “Thanks.”
A grunt was his response. Max tugged his coat on, foregoing a scarf in favour of one of his turtleneck black sweaters. He seemed to have dozens of those. Jack slid the gloves on, pleased by how well they fit. He wriggled his fingers, testing out the material. Perfect.
X
Max moved up and down each aisle of the grocery store on autopilot. He selected items here and there, the food staples, as Evelyn would have called them. Jack walked at his side, understanding that his help really wasn’t needed as much as Max was trying to smooth over their fight.
And really, that itself made Jack feel calmer. He’d never been the type to hold grudges.
He dawdled by the frozen turkeys in the freezer rows, his gloved hand trailing over the biggest ones, unaware of the wistful smile on his face. He could hear Angel and Jerry tussling behind him, hear Bobby’s smartass commentary narrating their play fighting, smell the gravy warming, feel the heat of the oven as he basted the turkey…
“Jack?”
He blinked and turned, his eyes still lost in memory for a moment. “Huh?”
Max nodded to the frozen birds. “Pick one.”
“Pick…yeah?”
“Go on. Whatever size we need, it doesn’t matter.”
Jack grinned stupidly down at the one his hand was on. No, no, much too big for the two of them. He lifted a few of the larger ones out of the way, spotting a more realistic sized one underneath. “This one,” he said, placing it in the cart, “Big enough for leftovers, but not to the point of havin’ turkey sandwiches till Christmas.”
“I hope you know how to cook, kid.”
“Oh yeah,” Jack nodded, his mood lifted by such a simple gesture. Well, that and the gloves. “Yeah absolutely, I do know. I was gonna offer before, an’ y’know, make something but I didn’t want to assume anything.”
Max rested his hands on the handle of the cart. Though his face was still mostly blank, there were definitely signs of amusement in his eyes. “Alright, so get whatever shit you need for cooking a turkey.”
Jack tried to ignore the little thrill running through him. Not only was Max making an effort at conversation, he was willing to let Jack actually do something in the apartment. And hell yes, he could cook. Out of all of them, Jack had been the only one interested in the process of creating food in a kitchen, whereas his brothers had been more interested in the end result of what was made in said kitchen.
He’d spent many an hour with Evelyn, learning everything she thought he should know.
And if that made him a queer little fairy in his brothers’ eyes, so be it.
By the time they hit the checkout counter, the cart was nearly full. Jack mumbled to himself, checking over the cart as Max unloaded it onto the conveyor belt. “You do have oven mitts, right?”
“Yeah, of course,” Max raised an eyebrow at him.
“Hey, that’s a logical question. I’ve yet to see a pair in your kitchen. Or even see you make anythin’ other than coffee.”
Max blinked. “The oven mitts are in the drawer next to the one with the silverware.”
“Then this’ll be fine. Turkey just needs to defrost and I can get ‘im ready in time for Thanksgiving.”
He was excited, in truth. He hadn’t had much opportunity for cooking since he’d left and he kind of missed it. It was soothing in a way; everything was done a certain way, a routine that he could rely on. He fidgeted with his new gloves, trying to play it cool and failing.
Max said nothing again until the bags of groceries were loaded into the car. “I don’t cook,” he admitted, turning the heat on and letting it blast out of the vents. “Apparently I have no ability in the kitchen and during my last attempt, burned the shit out a pot.”
“So you survive on takeout?”
“Yeah, pretty much. I buy some quick stuff that doesn’t require cooking, dinners, restaurants, and things like that.”
“I figured.”
Max drummed his fingers on the wheel, a move that sent a flicker through Jack. Bobby had a habit of drumming his fingers when he was thinking in the car. He looked over at him, watching his jaw clench, seeing the hesitation in his face.
“Jack, about the other night…”
Christ. Jack sighed under his breath. This was not the conversation he wanted to have so soon after Max’s attempts to smooth things over. “I was drunk, ok? I…I drank too quick, hadn’t eaten much an’ before I knew it, I was freakin’ over nothing. Normally, I can hold my liquor a hell of a lot better than that.”
“No, not that, well, ok, part of that.” Max looked vaguely uncomfortable. He rested one hand on the steering wheel. “You…indicated that your brother would…”
“Aw Jesus, cut out the cop talk an’ say it. And before you go any further, Max, might I remind you that he’s not my…my blood brother.”
Max’s jaw tightened for a moment. He nodded then, a look to his eyes that Jack hadn’t seen before. What was that?
“I know that. It’s…I get the feeling he’s older than you, and you’re you, and him using you like that, it’s wrong, Jack.”
“I’m me?” Jack dug in his coat pocket for his nearly empty pack of cigarettes. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“You’re attractive,” Max muttered. “Some people would use that to their advantage. And someone, such as…him, they might not have any problem using you that way.”
“Oh, back the fuck up!” Jack grabbed his lighter and lit his cigarette, his anger sparking way too fast for this conversation. He inhaled sharply, fighting to stay calm.
“First of all, you don’t even know Bobby. Second, you don’t know me like you think you do,” he mocked, throwing Max’s words from the other night back at him. “And third, most important of all, it’s not like he fucked me when I was a little boy, not like some other well meaning men!”
Silence filled the car, choking them both now. Jack smoked furiously through one cigarette, then another, his eyes brimming with bitter tears. “You don’t know him at all,” he whispered. “He loves me.”
“You left though.”
“So?”
Max said nothing and really, saying nothing was everything.
Jack swallowed and swallowed until he could speak without his voice breaking. “Don’t bring him up again, Max.”
“Fine…”
X
What he really wanted was for Max to at least try and meet him halfway on understanding the information he’d inadvertently revealed. Jack ran his tongue along his teeth as he ripped slices of bread into small squares. He toyed with his tongue stud and tried not to grind his teeth.
That was the problem with cops. They’d get some info and that was end of it. Like a dog with a damned chew bone, Jack thought, glum resignation settling in. No cop gave a fuck when he’d needed them to, but now, oh yes; let’s share the nitty, gritty details of poor Jackie’s childhood. Never mind that he’d rather forget it all. No, keep digging and pushing until Jack loses his shit.
He looked down and sighed at the slice of bread he’d mangled in one hand. He set the lumpy mess to one side and grabbed a new slice, tearing it up carefully. Half the bowl was full with ripped up pieces of bread, needed for the stuffing. Jack looked over his shoulder, Max sitting at the large wooden table behind him.
The sounds of a gun being taken apart and cleaned, now that was familiar. Max cleaned his guns as thoroughly as Bobby ever had. Jack tried not to stare but sometimes when he did, he could see the image of the two men blurring together. He bit back a sigh and finished tearing up the bread.
It had taken a lot of convincing on his part to keep Max from looking up the details of his earlier life. The look on his face made his promise seem a touch hollow. Jack gathered the needed spices and ingredients, mixing the stuffing without much attention. His mind wandered and he struggled not to dwell on the silent anger emitting from Max.
It was somewhat nice in that his anger meant he cared. Jack rinsed his hands off slowly, pondering that. Bobby’s anger had been a front for a multitude of feelings that he’d never share, not even with Jack. He’d pretend that he wasn’t hurting, but Jack had heard him crying in the bathroom, the night after Evelyn’s funeral.
Jack paused in the middle of drying his hands. Some day he’d be able to think about her without wanting to fall apart, he vowed. He set the towel aside and leaned back against the counter. “Max?”
He looked up and Jack felt that little flicker again, warming his attraction to the man despite himself.
“You need any help?”
Both of Max’s eyebrows lifted upwards. He couldn’t have looked more surprised.
Jack grinned a little. “What?”
“You know how to clean guns?”
He nodded. “Uh huh, I learned years ago.”
“I bet there’s a story behind that.” Max set a handgun down on the wooden table. “And I bet you were barely a teen when you learned.”
“You should consider hittin’ a casino with the way you bet.”
“Smartass,” Max muttered. “This mother of yours, did she know all that?”
“It’s not like they did that on the fucking coffee table, Max. Of course we didn’t, not in front of Ma. She’d have had a fit.”
“At least one of you had common sense.” Max shook his head. “Fine, show me.”
Jack moved to the table, leaning on it. He eyed the gun and started the process. By the time he was done, he could see grudging respect in Max’s eyes. He washed his hands again and smirked. “See?”
Max made a sound. Judging by the noise, Jack guessed that he was at least a little impressed. He put the items away, one by one and then stared at Jack. “How old are you?”
Jack’s smirk faded away. “Why?’
“Why resist telling me?”
“And if I’m underage? You’d be in a shitload of trouble for getting me booze.”
Max snorted. “Does it look like I care about things like that?”
“My birthday’s in March,” Jack tried, then sighed when Max only stared at him pointedly.
“Fine, fine, I’ll be 21 next year!”
Max seemed to consider that. “You’re so young still,” he murmured.
“I’m not a child; I haven’t been one for a long time, Max.” Jack leaned in against the table and gave him a slow smile. “You don’t need to handle me with kid gloves.”
“Jack…” Max looked uneasy. He shifted on his chair, his gaze moving from Jack’s.
“You won’t hurt me.”
At that, Max moved back, moving so quickly, Jack barely had time to blink. “Don’t…”
Hurt, Jack turned away. His shoulders hunched, he went through the routine of preparing the roasting pan for the thawed bird.
“Jack…Jack, look at me.”
“Don’t you fucking apologize,” Jack whispered harshly. “Don’t you dare, Max.”
He could hear movement, Max’s quiet footsteps on the tiled floor. He could feel the wall of tension, the man hovering behind him uncertainly. Jack gripped the counter, willing his voice to be calm, to not let the rejection show.
“Jack,” Max’s hand ghosted near Jack’s shoulder. “It’s not…, I mean, I’m not…”
“Bullshit.”
The hand settled on his shoulder, burning clear through his sweater, right to his skin. His heart pounded.
“You’re afraid,” Jack kept his voice to a whisper, afraid to startle him. “Scared to admit what you really want deep down. Seen it before, guys like you, they want to, but think they shouldn’t.”
“Stop it,” Max tried to hiss but failed.
“Bet you’ve been thinkin’ about what you wanna do to me since you saw me eating in that diner. I bet you’ve always wanted to, maybe fooled around some in high school or college with a guy, right?” Jack treaded on thin ice, the words escaping him, past his control. He kept his eyes on the counter, his heartbeat pounding in his ears the way it had the year before, only now he wasn’t terrified.
“Shut up…” Max’s hand moved down Jack’s arm, gripping him just this side of too tight.
Jack licked his lips, aroused and a little afraid. “You’re lyin’ to yourself, Max, pretending you don’t want it, but I know. I see it when you look at me.”
Max yanked him around, face to face then. He was flushed, his eyes wide as he stared up at him. Jack pressed against him, and yeah, there was his proof, what Max couldn’t hide. Jack moved his hand up and into Max’s short hair, briefly mourning the fact that there wasn’t enough to grip, before sliding down, cupping the back of his neck.
“No,” Max whispered, even as he pulled Jack closer, looking at his mouth, his breath coming in fast gasps.
Jack closed the last inch of distance, his lips catching Max’s.
Max resisted only a second longer, his eyes closing at the feel of Jack’s mouth on his, the taste of his kiss burning through him. Jack made a soft sound in his throat, his hand moving down Max’s neck, his hips lifting into contact with Max, drawing a startled noise from him.
“Jack,” Max broke loose, panting, his lips tingling.
“Don’t…” Jack reached for him, resting his forehead to Max’s, his hands around Max’s wrists, drawing him in again, taking another heated kiss and memorizing the way it felt.
Max gave in, unable to deny how much he wanted Jack’s mouth on him. He shifted them, pushing Jack back against the counter, his hands sliding under the edge of Jack’s sweater, feeling hot skin under his fingertips. Jack moaned lowly and tilted his head, ending the kiss only to move his mouth down to Max’s neck, nipping and kissing his way across the sensitive skin.
“God!” Max yanked away from him, startled by the sensation. “Jack…Jack, we need to stop.”
“Why?” Jack took small, quick breaths, his mouth kiss-swollen.
“It’s not right,” Max scrubbed a hand over his hair, his fingers shaking.
“Give me one good reason why.” Jack lifted his chin, stung anew by the rejection in Max’s face.
Max took a step back, struggling to regain his composure. “I’m too old for you, Jack. Way too old, in fact.”
“Age never bothered me before,” Jack snapped.
Max narrowed his eyes at him. “Just how old is this Bobby of yours?”
“He’s old enough!” Jack pushed past him angrily. “What’s the matter, Max? You jealous of him, is that it?”
“No.”
“You’re a shitty liar.” Jack sneered at him. He wanted to pace the length of the kitchen, run from Max, punch him even. But more than that, fuck, did he ever want to kiss him again, kiss him and forget the harsh words.
Max moved quickly, blocking Jack from leaving the kitchen. “How much older is he? You’re better off tellin’ me, Jack. It won’t take me long to dig him up, I promise you that. I say the word, I could have the info.”
Jack fisted both his hands, his chest hitching. “What is it about you fucking cops? You think you can bully me, you fucker? You think you can intimidate me? You ain’t got shit on a real cop, buddy. You’re a desk jockey, Max, that’s all. Just another pathetic jockey who thinks he knows shit about the streets because he slaps a badge on every morning and struts around, thinking he’s got power.”
“Watch it, Jack,” was Max’s quiet warning. Only his narrowed eyes gave any sign of anger.
“Watch it or else, Max?” Jack laughed harshly. He pushed against Max, staring down at him. “Or what, huh? You gonna hit me? You gonna show me how wrong I am? I know you wanna belt me one good right about now. I can see it, I bet you can’t decide if you wanna fuck me or hit me. Hard choice to make, Detective, ain’t it?”
Max hissed then and shoved Jack forcefully back, knocking him into the wooden table. Jack smacked into the object, the small of his back crying out. He bit his lip to keep the cry that wanted to escape, in. Blood welled up on his lower lip, drawing Max’s glazed eyes.
“C’mon, Max,” Jack croaked, fighting back angry tears. “Is that all you got?”
“Just shut up!” Max yelled finally, pushing him back against the table harder. “Shut your mouth! Fuck, you don’t know when to quit, do you?” He grabbed a fistful of Jack’s hair, his mouth crashing down onto Jack’s lips, kissing him roughly.
Jack groaned into the kiss, his hands gripping Max’s shoulders. The man was stronger than he’d expected. He wanted to tear off Max’s sweater, see his skin, see the differences between Bobby and him, and see if Max would feel the same.
Max muttered his name between the almost painful kisses, one hand gripping Jack’s hair, the other moving down the long length of Jack’s body greedily, touching and stroking anywhere he could reach. His hand drifted between Jack’s open thighs and stilled. He licked the drop of blood from Jack’s bottom lip, breathing heavily.
Jack could feel Max’s arousal pressing down on his thigh. “Feels better when you give in, doesn’t it?” he smirked, letting his tongue swipe over his own lip, flashing a hint of his tongue stud at Max.
“I don’t…I don’t need to take it by force,” Max managed to say.
Jack almost pitied him, pitied the desire clear on Max’s face. He knew how badly Max wanted to take him, he understood then that Max hadn’t been with anyone in the last three years. He lowered his eyes slowly. He relaxed his body and let his arms rest submissively at his sides. “Who said anything about force?” he murmured.
Max released the grip on Jack’s hair, his face pale at the realization of how close he’d been to taking what he wanted with little concern for the young man beneath him. “Jack, Jesus, I’m sorry.” He took a big step back from him.
Jack shifted and stood up. He turned to the side silently and looked down at the table. “Don’t have to face me, if you don’t want.”
Max recoiled visibly from his words. “That’s what you think I want?”
“Some guys prefer it,” Jack turned completely, his back to Max then.
“He did that to you a lot then?”
Jack closed his eyes and swallowed, his throat tightening. “Don’t…”
“He did.” Max swore fluidly under his breath. “Goddamn it, Jack.”
“Not…Not always,” Jack rested his palms on the table, studying the grain of the wood. It looked as though it had been polished at one time or another. “Depended on things, is all.”
“Jack…” Max moved to his side and cupped Jack’s chin, feeling the fine tremors moving through his body. “Look at me.”
Jack flinched at the calmly spoken words, hearing her as always.
‘Jackie…hey, look at me…you’re safe now…’
Concerned brown eyes stared at him, Max’s fingers holding his chin in place. “I know I got rough, but that’s not me, normally. And if, if I was going to…” he searched for the right word and came up empty. “Be with you like that, it wouldn’t be a quick fuck in the dark. I’d want to see your face, Jack.”
“I hate empty promises.”
“I don’t make empty promises.” Max’s thumb swiped over Jack’s lip, a slightly ragged breath catching in his throat. “You make me feel a lot of things that I’m…I’m not sure I can face.”
Jack felt his cheeks burn with shame. He flinched harder and pulled back from Max. “You look like him,” he whispered, wanting to clasp a hand over his mouth. “You have no idea how much.”
Max ran his fingers through Jack’s hair, gently now. “That’s why you came back here with me.”
Though it wasn’t a question, Jack nodded a little.
“You left after your mother died, because of him, because of your history together.”
He nodded again, tears prickling under his eyelids.
Max smoothed Jack’s hair back from his forehead, calming him slowly. “You fought and when the yelling stopped, you left.”
“Yeah…” Jack felt a tear slip down his cheek. “He…I can’t go back now. He won’t…Nothin’ changes, Max. Nothin’ ever gets better.”
Max said nothing to that. He stilled his hand and sighed aloud. “I’m sorry I shoved you, Jack. It wasn’t right. I thought I was a better man than that.” He let his hand drift to Jack’s neck, stroking the smooth skin for a second.
Just as Jack was about to speak, to protest that Max wasn’t some wild beast, he felt Max’s hand move away from him completely. A pang of loss echoed through him. “Max, wait.”
“I’ll be back later, I got…I’ve got some stuff to do.”
And without another word, Max left the kitchen. Jack fisted one hand, hitting the table with a dull thud. “Damn it,” he whispered thickly, refusing to let one more tear fall.
X