daniel watches jacob push his hair back from his face and wishes it was his own hand. he knows he’s being cruel for the sake of it. he knows there are better ways to handle this. if he were in a better state of mind, he might choose a different path, one where he wraps jacob up in his arms and blankets, looks after him, has him see daniel’s personal doctor because nothing else is good enough for jay, his jay. but his darling bastard needs to be punished: not just for running away, not just for leaving, but for thinking he can hide anything from the man in the high tower who sees all. maybe, once he’s satisfied jacob has suffered as dearly as daniel has suffered, he’ll ease up. but it’s a strong maybe.
when he listens to jacob’s rough gravel road voice go even rougher, he knows he’s fooling himself, hoping jay will say something that can actually convince daniel to soften up on him. true, the fact that jacob hadn’t even planned to see him again tugs something in his heart, makes the sore spot where jacob once was twinge in agony. he thinks about crossing the table between them, kneeling between jacob’s legs, holding his hands like some rom-com. i’ll always take care of you. you knew that, you should’ve come to me. then he swats it down like a pesky fly.
“ of course you didn’t want me to know. you’ve kept a lot of things from me, i’ve found. is there anything else i should know about, mr. crane? ” his tone is clipped, like he’s speaking to a subordinate and not a man he’s had in his bed and who, if it were a perfect world, he’d put there again in a heartbeat. he uncrosses then re-crosses his legs, and it gives him away. if it weren’t for the nervous tics, he’d be the perfect image of disdain.
“ you’re sorry. ” bland disbelief. he doesn’t add anything else, merely lets it sit in the air for a moment before he continues, rubbing the spot between his eyes in agitation. “ do you even … no. no you don’t. ” because how could jacob know about all the late nights on daniel’s end? all the insomniac evenings, wondering what jay was doing, if he was okay or, god forbid, if he was happy. he’d pictured him in venice, eating spaghetti and living out the godfather in the sunshine or whatever it is italians do. now that he knows the truth, it cores something in him. if daniel’s the apple, jacob is the worm, infesting him and eating him alive. funny, because it was meant to be the other way around. “ how could you? because … ” because you were meant to be the only person who knew me and now i feel like i’m looking at a stranger. “ well, you’ve seen me again. and it ought to be the last time you see me. ” even as he says it, it feels wrong, a thousand voices inside him screaming no! he presses on. “ i’m not angry at you for … ” he can’t say it, even if it’s embarrassing, the way he starts and stops like a car turning over. “ i’m not angry at you for your choices, however shit they are. i’m angry at you because … ” you left me, you didn’t come back, i waited for you even if you think i didn’t. he breaks off from staring at jacob to stare at his shoes, perfectly polished in comparison to the grimy room they’re in, unable to finish his thoughts without sounding like a bad movie. even as he tries to return to the cold demeanor, dan can’t look up, ashamed for some god fucking forsaken reason. why should he be ashamed? he’s not the one strung out and fried like an egg on concrete.
“ you’re clearly prospering without me, so. shall i deport you and be done with it? ”
jacob sniffs, desperately trying not to rub his nose with his arm in a gesture so feebly infantile. instead, he runs a broad hand across his face and discards the plstic cup on the table. for a minute he feels confused, the shiny shoes before him melting from black to brown, from oxfords to derbys. he’s seventeen again, the coke from his bag sat in front of him. edward glares at him, an iceberg of a man dictating from above. i thought you’d put my money to better use than simply directing it straight up your nose. jacob winces, blinks, and realises the memory is as distant as the house in london. it’s not edward hissing at him in disgust, it’s daniel, dan has reached the end of the road.
well, it’s not much of a surprise. jacob knew this day was coming, thought it had already happened back when he won the election. looks like he gets a second go round, as a special treat for being just that much of a fuck up. he groans into his cupped palm, wishing he could muzzle himself like a vicious, dying dog. his spine feels like it’s crumbling as he forces himself to sit back in his chair. “‘m - can’t tell you. here, i mean.” he stumbles, thinking of the young faces twisting in pain, the expressions going blank, the feel of body crushing beneath his fists. he doesn’t have names, only numbers, and he knows that even if dan lets him back onto american soil that he’ll leave a part of his soul in mexico. he did it himself, just like everything else.
bile rises in his throat, hot and bitter and he looks around desperately for somewhere to vomit. with no other option, he swallows it down, wincing and regretting that his eyes water. arms return to clutch his sides, crossed over like a shield against daniel’s frigid attitude. he wishes bijou hadn’t found him, wishes he’d overdosed in his flat, wishes some other guy had taken out a job on him. a nice new bullet between the eyes, get him out of this misery. shakes race through his body, and he tries to disguise them, hunching up like an old man. “you done?” he asks, voice cracking.
he can’t blame daniel if he is. he expects it. but this time he’s hearing it from that pretty, pouty mouth. “tell me you don’t give a fuck. about me.” he rasps out, eyes on daniel’s pale, folded hands. “last time was different. i need t’know.” because jacob isn’t out, even now while his brain screams for the dope and his body is breaking down and daniel is sneering at him. he can hear the air conditioning system click over and start whirring, and he pulls his leather jacket closer in anticipation. desperate, like a starving man, he runs his tongue over cracked lips. “i am sorry. wish you hadn’t seen... this. send me back then, the cartel’ll figure out what to do with me.” they’ll put him down, too unreliable on the brown and not worth the rehab. he doesn’t say that to dan, though. even though he can picture the long sleep that the drugs bring, he doesn’t want dan to know.
“i’ll go, fine, i just. need to know you’re done.” if dan no longer cares for him, the world has nothing of meaning for him anymore. he coughs once more, ducking his head and somehow pulling himself even further inward - an impressive feat for a man over six foot tall.
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