Chapter Text
Unable to find sleep Nick continued sitting on his sofa, his head resting in his hand he stared blankly at the wall in front of him, his other hand tapping mindlessly against the soft brown fabric. If there was ever a time to find a reason to drink, now would be it. Temptation was a dance he did well with Gatsby, with all of them.
Gatsby, alive?
The thought turned over and over again in his mind, vivid pictures of that rainy grey day in a lone cemetery, the scent of freshly dug dirt waiting for Jay's casket to be embedded in it flashed before him.
Liars… greed-ridden wastes... that is what the Buchanons were, and she was no exception. Though he never painted her as evil, not until tonight. Gatsby couldn't be alive. He'd hoped for a resurrection much too long for him to be. Whatever reason Jordan may have hidden beneath her words to tell him such a thing he swore he would never give another thought to again.
He flinched at the sound of his telephone shrieking through the apartment when he looked at the clock on the mantel- nearly dawn.
Angry enough to answer the phone and demand she never call on him again he almost stood, yet couldn't get himself to move. He'd spent the last two years being angry, now he was simply tired. Gatsby was gone and he'd spent the last two years wasting away on that fact, he was beyond it now atleast he wanted- needed to be. Instead, he let the phone ring knowing she wouldn't be the kind to call twice and never the one to beg- for anyone or anything. This call would be the final between them and he was perfectly alright with that.
He stood, dragging himself off to his bedroom when the phone rang once more. His eyebrows raised he looked back at the phone ringing on the counter, though sure that would be the last. He closed his door and turned off his Lamp. As expected, not another sound the rest of the morning.
Doing everything he could to keep his eyes open Nick's elbow sat on his desk, his head in his hand he counted the minutes hoping they'd go by faster. His long nights ended that Summer, older and softer now he couldn't remember how he managed to get through them before- supposedly the life that ran through them with all the excitement and scandal made it easy to do.
Preying for the time to rush past the phone rang for the first time that day. Staring at it a moment longer than he should've he quickly picked it up, refusing to be bothered by her at work of all the places she could find him.
"Nick Carraway, First National Bank. How may I-"
"Nick-"
Her soft voice carried into his ear. Dropping all pleasantries he spoke firmly, "Listen Miss. Baker- I have no desire to ever hear from you again. You must stop calling me. Gatsby is dead, he's dead don't you understand that I know that? You will never be able to get me to go back, certainly not with you-"
He slammed the phone down, exhaustion replaced with anger when his phone rang again. Knowing it could very well be work he answered once more, amazed after all his rejection she would still attempt to speak with him.
"Nick Carraway, First National Bank. How can I help you?"
"Don't take it all out on her Old Sport."
His back tensed he edged closer to his desk, wrapping his hand tight around the receiver. "Wh- Who is this?"
"It's me Nick- Gatsby. Jay Gatsby."
"Impossible!"
"No Old Sport, it isn't-"
"It is Mr. Carraway!"
"Forgive me- Old friend- Nick- Mr. Carraway. I wish I'd told you sooner it's just you see- I couldn’t."
Nick scoffed. Jay Gatsby- the Jay he knew did whatever he desired- he wouldn't have put him through this, not for so long a time. It was an act it had to be, an imposter Jordan hired to pacify him.
"The Jay Gatsby I know is dead- dead don't you understand? I buried him with the help of his father. Shame on you- two years he'd been gone and you have the nerve- never call here again!"
"Wait!"
Jay held his breath for the dial to begin buzzing in his ear, yet he heard nothing.
Gatsby's words began to quicken, his voice the most anxious Nick had ever heard it. "Please- Nick, Mr. Carraway please forgive me. Meyer and I- we felt it best not to tell anyone. I owe you a great debt Old Sport I do, a debt I may never be able to fully repay but please- help me. Help me in clearing my good name, & I will work towards earning your forgiveness. Everything Miss. Baker told you is the honest truth. I would not lie to you further not more than I already have. As a favor to me, she gave me her word that she would do exactly as I've asked. Come to New York with her Nick. I cannot move forward without you. I will repay you promptly & greatly just please- will you come Old S- Mr. Carraway?"
"Repay me?" Nick muttered, much more to himself than to Jay. He blinked once, twice, his mouth trembling, his mind filled with questions and declarations he could not possibly share in a calm or timely manner. As damning as it was- he knew the man on the other end of the line was telling the truth- and for that reason alone all Nick could do is slam the phone into the connector and storm out of his office.
If this was two years ago, when he was still the man he'd tried to be, before disappearing into himself with only a bottle of gin as his companion, & a story no one believed to torture him surely he'd be overjoyed- but now, hearing that same wonderous voice proudly announce that he had been a part of his game just as everyone else- only an addition to the mystery surrounding Gatsby all he wanted was to tell him to go to hell as he did the rest of them. Jordan was right all that time ago- they belonged to one another, in every way.
Jordan sat on the balcony in a baby blue garden chair, staring down at the matching small table, her hands wrapped around a china teacup, her finger tapping along the side. “Give him till tomorrow evening, I assure you he’ll be at your door…"
It was nearing 3:30 in the afternoon, she didn’t have all the time in the world to sit around and wait for J Gatsby to get what he wanted or for Nick to decide whether his pride was more valuable to him now than his loyalty. She barely knew Jay- barely knew Nick- anymore, at least. She had a reputation in the sporting world to maintain and a status in her circles to uphold, instead, she was twiddling her thumbs in a 2-floor hotel in the middle of Red Wing, Minnesota, in case J had managed to talk Nick into traveling back to bring down Daisy and Tom, despite everything he had put Nick through himself.
She didn’t necessarily mind, going after Daisy and Tom, that is. Seeing the poisonous vine her closest friend had become Jordan knew she was no longer the same Daisy she once loved. The precious flower with thorns hidden underneath, so small you wouldn’t notice how sharp they were until they pierced your skin. Day by day, since the incident she’d become more like Tom. Brazen, cruel… consumed by all of the secrets she was now charged with holding onto it became all she had left, and after keeping her as close as she had since their return from ‘holiday’ Jordan knew better than to imagine under better circumstances she would have stopped. For that, she had no choice but to agree to help Mr. Gatsby.
Walking back inside, tired of fanning herself from the heat she closed the balcony door and decided to lay down, waiting one more night incase he did show up. If he did choose to show- the trip back to New York would be even longer then the drive into town. Did she miss him? At times, but he refused to see himself in the same crowd he spent so much time criticizing- that now consisted of her, and that was unforgiveable.
How dare he? In the end, who was the one to help Gatsby without question? The nerve of that man... he knew nothing of loyalty, of the raw honesty he so often sought- perhaps that is why he could never seem to find it. With that she was glad he'd left her that day with nothing more left between them.
For Gatsby, she would take him back to the city with her, then clean her hands of him entirely.
Holding onto her glass much too tightly she gently set it down on the counter and reached for a magazine before heading to her bedroom. Just before closing the door she heard foot steps swarm into the sitting room. Picking up a club that stood along the wall she quickly walked back through the hall.
Gasping lightly, the club fell to the floor the moment she saw Nick pacing wildly back and forth through her suite.
Knowing she was there Nick stopped, his chest moving heartily up and down, his stance firm he looked at her. "How long have you known?"
Still shocked from his startling intrusion she blinked rapidly, her mouth speechless.
"Him being alive- how long have you known?"
"Nick- I"
"Why are you suddenly helping him? What does he have on you Miss. Baker he must-"
"What on Earth are you talking about?"
"You're choosing to help him- why?
"Because he asked me too!" She commanded, their voices raising with each question she refused to let them go any further. Jordan Baker answers to noone, what did this man Nick Carraway think he deserved barging into her room searching for answers he had no right to seek?
"No no no-" Nick shook his head, smiling with disbelief, "you never cared about helping Gatsby before, why now after so much time had passed would he come to you, and you do as he asks? There must be a reason forgive me if him simply asking as a favor doesn't suffice."
"Well it should!" She spoke through gritted teeth, the idea of reconsidering picking up her club dancing in her mind as she walked toward him, "let me ask you something,"
Inches away, he'd forgotten how frightening she can become, how she could hold so much power in that tiny frame of hers with one glance.
"Why won't you help him, hmm?"
Her eyebrows raised she stood over him waiting for a response that marveled his interrogation.
"Please, tell me Nick- you would have done anything for that man once upon a time, what has changed? He's alive is that not a good enough reason for you? Now Nicky I-"
"Damn it!" Nick turned away, his head in his hands he gripped onto his short brown hair. "I mourned for him! I mourned for you, for Myrtle, for Daisy, at a time.... for everything lost- myself! All I've done these years passed- and I find today that it was all for nothing- a lie? Over the same girl that brought us all into this mess in the first place? How could I help him?"
"Because-" she spoke softer now, having not seen him in such a state in a very long time, "to you he was worth all that heartbreak in the first place-"
Smashing his lips together he shook his head, forcing himself to meet her gaze once more. For the first time since they're seeing one another, she'd remembered how bright a blue his eyes were in the afternoon light.
"That's it Jordan- he wasn't. We are pawns in his game, characters of his story, we always were. You knew that from the moment you got wrapped into this mess we all fell into, you told me so yourself all those years ago, before he came to my house. All the more reason you shouldn't be here now unless..."
"Unless what?" She whispered, her anger fading into a saddness she so often tried to seperate herself from.
"Unless-" it was his turn to move toward her. His voice was softer, noting the fragility in her voice he nor most people could ever say they would ever hear. For a moment he thought to reach for the part of her hair that had fallen out of place, caress the side of her jaw as he had once before, before coming to his senses. Those days had long since passed for the both of them, as hard as it was to imagine in the moment. Instead he only softened his voice further, decided not to accuse but comfort, "Unless you were left with no choice. So, tell me Jordan Baker, how does he have ahold on you, and why would you pull me in as well?"
She wanted to despise him, snarl, call him a nosey bastard and tell him to leave things that were not his to understand alone. He would not always get an answer no matter how much he pry and someone must teach him that, yet she could barely meet his eye.
Rubbing her lips together she could no longer hide the truth, least of all to him. "I want Daisy to face her consequences too! I want her to suffer- Nick- she is no longer Daisy Faye, she is a Buchanon through & through &-" Uncontrollably her eyes began to water, her throat suddenly feeling tight as she swallowed, "we cannot allow either of them to get away with their crimes. Jay came to find me with the same intentions. Agreeing to join him and find you was simply a part of my prayers being answered."
Slowly she walked passed him as if he were no longer there... a figment of her imagination, to the side table to grab her decanter, sitting herself on the sofa. Opening the bottle she poured the brown contents into a glass as she murmured, "who was I to walk away from that?"
In all the time they'd spent near one another, all the tragedy they had bared witness to together, he had never seen her cry. Troubled and mystified he refrained from asking anymore questions instead choosing to sit beside her. Gatsby was not the one he should have been inquiring about all this time, the Buchanons had done something, or were doing something to break her. Gatsbys secret was only her best defense.
Exhausted from all the shouting, outbursts like this always leaving him feeling empty he sat in absolute silence while Jordan lit a cigarette, her glass of bourbon resting in her other hand. His chin rested against his knuckles, his elbows set over his knees. Finally, he filled the space between them with his voice, dry and firm, "call Gatsby. Tell him we'll be on our way in the morning."
He needed to find out what else the Buchanons had destroyed & put an end to their reign of misery, his anger towards Gatsby, towards her, no longer so important.