Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

‘Jared, did you pay the bill?’

‘No, we didn’t have the funds.’

‘What?!?’

‘I tried to bring it to your attention, but you said ‘Fuck off, Mom.’’

It’s said politely, with a little frown between Jared’s eyes. If Richard squints – if he really, really concentrates – he thinks he can make out an infinitesimal glimmer of satisfaction. A smidgen. A picoparticle. An infinitely diluted homoeopathic memory of ‘I told you so’.

It’s bad, at this point. Jared’s quit, and Richard’s on the way to firing him. Richard’s running on nothing but fumes of panic and desperation, he can’t taste anything but metal, and if he stops for just one second he knows – he knows – he’ll die.

But he admits that he can’t – quite – bring himself to be sorry for ‘Fuck off, Mom’.

Because…. It’s….look.

Richard is the CEO of a company that he knows could be worth billions, if he’d only get the fuck out of its way. Which is…hard, because it’s only worth those billions because of him. And he’s riding a wave which catches him under the chin as it crests and pantses him as it breaks and the only times he’s ever really caught a break is when his infinitely well-funded enemies are fucked over by their own pettiness or malice or whatever else he can completely, totally recognise.

Richard is in over his head, basically. So far over his head he needs to grow, like, gills and an exoskeleton and figure out oviparous breeding which actually may come in handy because fuck knows viviparous isn’t happening any time soon.

So there’s that.

Which is quite a lot on his plate without the…thing.

And the thing is….

Okay, here’s the thing.

The thing is that Jared loves Richard.

Which isn’t the problem.

Well, it is the problem.

Because Jared looks after Richard. He fusses over him. He fakes user numbers to keep Richard going. He brings him sandwiches. He gets Richard job offers to fluff his ego. He gushes with pride when other people praise him. He…fixes his collar.

Which is…nice.

But also, really really not?

Because when Jared’s fixing his collar, Richard doesn’t think he (Jared) is expecting him (Richard) to nose at his (Jared’s) wrist. He (Richard) doesn’t think he (Jared) realises that he (Richard) badly wants to press his (Richard’s) lips to the skin there.

Pale skin. Richard imagines it’s soft. Fine and delicate, like the spider-web that gathered on his first homemade hard drive. Richard thinks if he just rested his lips there, he could transcribe Jared’s pulse onto his own. Forever.  

Or better than his lips, his tongue. Just…just to taste. And to feel, yeah, feel is good too. Feel Jared’s heart flutter and stammer and race. Travelling up his tongue, swallowed down to have and hold and lock away.

When Jared’s fixing his collar and murmuring something loving and supportive – I mean, Richard assumes he’s saying something loving and supportive and overinvested. He could be reciting Tacitus' Histories for all Richard knows over the roar of his own heartbeat and the whirring of the extremely overheated processors of his self-control. Or cowardice. Or whatever the fuck it is holding him back from just taking one of those long, delicate fingers into his mouth. Just – just to feel the whorls under his tongue. Slide in. Nibble a little maybe. Just one. Just once. In and out and in and –

And at this point there’s the sound of static as Richard’s brain shuts down for essential maintenance.

Which is just as well, really. Richard knows his brain’s really all he’s got going for him. He can’t afford…wherever that train of thought was leading him. His subconscious is going to have to handle it. He can wait for the grainy saturated black and red and neon blue dreams that leave him soaked and panting and occasionally with unscheduled laundry to do the next day.

Which…so, not ideal.

I mean, Richard can barely introduce himself to a stranger without somehow, like, implying that if said stranger had a little girl, he (Richard) bets that she (the little girl) is a sexy beast. Which Richard is well aware is not only a disaster, but a disaster that he would have to somehow explain before apologising for.

So, I mean, Richard already has 99 problems, is what Richard is saying. A consuming, staring-unblinkingly-like-a-goddamn-serial-killer obsession with the hands of his apologetic giraffe of a CFO is already straining his already-stretched resources. Not to mention his ferocious jealousy of the goddamn monstrous regiment of women whom Jared has invited - invited - to fucking despoil him.

So really, Richard can’t help but feel it’s a little unfair to be lumbered – fucking assaulted – with the completely unsolicited maternal devotion of said giraffe. It’s bad enough to be slobbering over your colleague’s hands, or his eyes (no not his eyes quick think of anything else), or his mouth (……… fuck), without feeling like a special sort of pervert. Fucking Oedipus. And not even, like, regular Oedipus. Like a fucking weird ersatz adoptive family step-Oedipus.

Jared probably has a story about that, with that childhood of his.

Maybe Richard will ask him.

No, goddamit, Richard will not ask him.

And there’s another thing to remember not to do.

Fuck.

Chapter Text

Sometimes Richard thinks it’s getting better.

Not – not the thing about Jared’s hands, which continue to play a starring role in Richard’s waking fantasies and aching, gasping night-time torments. No, that’s still going strong.

No, Richard means that sometimes Jared might be…..turning into……like, just his friend?

Dinesh debuts a gold chain one day that he’s robbed from Mr T. Gilfoyle gives his little lab-rat a nudge, watches behind those giant fucking glasses as Dinesh obliges by flinching, and informs him that he’s bought himself a lifetime of pain.

Gilfoyle and Dinesh with their mutual fucking obsession and homoerotic jousting. What else is new.

But. Then Jared joins in. He drops, like, a burn on Dinesh. He gives Dinesh shit. He is busting Dinesh’s balls. And, once he realises, Jared is fucking over the moon about it.

But nowhere near as much as Richard is.

‘Congratulations, by the way’, he says to Jared. And congratulations to Richard Hendricks, who may just have an inappropriate tongue-swallowing monster crush on his colleague and a member of his posse (Shut up, Dinesh and Gilfoyle, it’s Richard’s head and he gets to call it his posse), rather than his kinda-sorta Mom.

Which is better, right? I mean, it’s all still surrounded by blinking twenty-foot neon ‘BAD!’ signs and like a klaxon blaring, but…better?

So Richard can’t help but glow when Jared tells him they’re no longer allowed to talk about work and Jared keeps chanting the word ‘bifurcate’ like it’s a mantra and an amulet all in one and wants to talk about swimsuit models’ faces and holy fucking shit this is happening he and Jared could have guy talk like they’re friends and yes yes yes this could work. Although if Jared never says the word ‘pussy’ again in Richard’s hearing, it’ll be too soon.

Or when Jared calls Richard his captain and says that he’s Richard’s mate and he’s wearing this pea-coat and his hair is like aggressively side-parted and Richard thinks he has a use for that scarf that Jared is wearing and Richard forgets where he was going with this but ever since that moment his increasingly detailed dreams have had accessories.

Or when Keenan fucks them over and Jared kneels to break the bad news and Richard gives himself like five aneurysms with the kneeling oh my God the kneeling and is that Monica’s Bad News Sweater and where did Jared get it is this a thing is Jared is Monica and when did this happen and what were the signs where how when and then his brain catches up and he realises that Jared’s sweater actually fits him so maybe just maybe Jared’s just trying to ease the pain by switching off Richard’s desire for him which oh Jared you beautiful idiot if hearing you say ‘pussy’ didn’t do it why would one sweater in which by the way you look like a fucking preppy choirboy a kneeling choirboy and maybe he can get Jared to wear just the sweater one day and kneel just like that and recite a Hail Mary or a Paternoster or a or a or a and Jesus Christ thank fuck Richard doesn’t believe in hell.

Or when they’re in Peter Gregory’s garage and Richard feels Peter from beyond the grave telling him he was right, he is right, and he tells Jared and he can see Jared’s eyes widening and it’s like they’re standing on the threshold of their own fucking kingdom no their own planet and Richard wants to try something and oh oh oh he wants to try something but all he can muster is a strangled little ‘woo’. And Jared is blinking like Richard is just the baddest badass in the world and Richard can feel himself unfurl and preen until Jared fucking shows him just how a ‘woo’ is ‘woo’d. Jared hoots and hollers and yelps with his eyes fucking blazing a hole in the wall and yes Richard knows Jared will 100% kill a motherfucker one day but oh my God Richard thinks it’ll have been worth it.

Progress. Richard’ll take it where he can get it.

Which is why, of course, it all goes to hell like five minutes later.

Chapter Text

It’s bad. It’s so close, everything’s so close. Failure, success, and Richard honestly doesn’t know which is more fucking terrifying at this point. When he isn’t writhing in some sort of Lynchian porno projected on his own mind’s eye by his own subconscious, he’s jolted awake by multiples and daily active users and the cracking of the ice under his feet, the ice that’s cracking because of his own flop-sweat-spattered tap-dancing to keep this…this thing going, this Pied Piper, this puny malformed mutant he has to love because it’s his and if he doesn’t then what does he have?

And he thinks Jared’s there with him. Beyond him, even. His job, his home, his…. fuck, Jared’s just, like, launched himself out of a plane without a parachute like it’s nothing. Because he’s an insane person, and because he’s possessed with the bawling, sickly, demanding creature they’re trying to grow, just like Richard is, and Richard needs that right now. He needs Click-Farm Jared. He needs the half-crazed half-Apache who’ll do anything to have his back.

What he doesn’t need, is the frown on Jared’s face. He doesn’t need Jared to remind him that it’s malware. He doesn’t need Jared’s fucking conscience, and what a fine time for that to show up to the party. He doesn’t need to hear himself launch into some shitty rationalisation invoking Abraham Lincoln, which he doesn’t believe and Jared doesn’t believe but if Jared’s there with him then maybe it’s not so bad and goddammit he needs someone there on his side and the side of his parasitic monster baby that nobody’s fighting for except him and Jared. And Monica, but she doesn’t…Monica has perspective, and that’s no good to Richard right then.

He just…look, Jared doesn’t need to do anything. Richard won’t…he won’t make him…he won’t make him, all right? Dinesh and Gilfoyle will do it for money and shits and giggles, respectively, and Jared can just…

If Jared can just pretend. Pretend that everything’s okay. Pretend that they’re on an adventure. Pretend that Richard is his captain and Jared is his mate, and they’re steering their tiny little boat against a fucking storm-tossed sea of, like, icebergs and torpedoes and soulless dead-eyed sharks waiting to take them out. Their tiny boat that’s sprung a leak and will sink without Richard and Jared frantically baling it out. Pretend that they’re the heroes. Pretend the other guys have it coming.

If Jared can just… if Jared can just do that, then maybe Richard can too. Jared’s belief could power a fucking country. Richard just needs for it to power him through, like, one conference. Richard will make it easy for him, as easy as he can. If Jared will just…shut those huge blue eyes to this one thing, Richard will do the seeing for both of them.

‘Do you know what you’re asking?’ says Jared, and Richard doesn’t, he doesn’t know, but he knows enough.

And it might – it might – have worked, but then there’s Winnie and that smug fucking Eurotrash philanthrodouche and he is everything – everything – Richard cannot deal with in one tall self-satisfied package.

At least PoopFare wipes the grin off his stupid face.

Richard can take pleasure in that for the five seconds between that and the arrival of the Nerd Patrol and the discovery of the Pineapples.

It’s bad.

It’s about to get worse.

Jared’s sitting hunched-over in that motherfucking jacket. He looks like a little boy who’s just been told his hamster’s dead.

And then he finds out about PoopFare.

‘PoopFare?’, he says, so broken and quiet and Christ no Richard never wants to hear that voice again.

And then Jared says it again. And – just – his eyes are like lasers and his mouth that mouth that Richard tries not to think about is it’s like Jared doesn’t know whether to scream or spit or sneer so he’s trying to do all of them at once and he’s bending forward and those fingers are pointing at Richard and Richard always knew Jared would kill a motherfucker one day but this is the first time he’s thought that that motherfucker is Richard Hendricks.

It’s bad.

Jared calls him a reckless child, and Richard can’t remember ever being called anything worse.

And it’s Jared saying this.

Jared who fixes Richard’s collar and tells him he’s a catch and brings him sandwiches and whom Richard has just – fuck – disappointed.

Richard can’t help wishing Jared had called him – oh God, almost anything else. A stupid piece of shit. An irresponsible asshole. A – a – a – oh God, whatever nautical insult Jared surely knows?

But child?

And then he finds Jared playing that social entrepreneur fuckwad’s social entrepreneur fuckery on his phone and Richard just wants to go back. Just pretend. Just pretend. If one of us believes, then there’s something to believe in.

You did this first, he wants to scream. The ClickFarm. You lied first. You made believe because you believed. You pushed first, you broke first, and now there you are looking like I, I, I backed the Aviato van over your hamster. All I wanted was one more day to work it out, like you gave me when you faked the users. Does it, does it only count when it’s you giving me the chance? Am I fucked forever because I take the chance for myself?   

He wishes he’d said it.

Instead he just pushes Jared to turn that frown upside down like a brat who doesn’t want to take his lumps and Jared….just…..

It’s like Jared begins to fade away right then, he’s checking out but he can’t, it’s so close, Richard can feel it, they’re on the verge, and if Jared just if he just hangs on there’s a whole planet out there it’s there it’s right there.

Richard studies the employee handbook. It’s not…Richard doesn’t know what to get Jared, how to get through to him, but this he thinks would be – it’d be like…

Like, Jared might make a point about, like, confidentiality or something and Richard would finish his sentence quoting from the handbook and he would look at Jared the whole time he said it, he would offer it up to Jared, he would place it at his fucking feet, this is for you, I am on the ball, I am your colleague, I am your friend, I am here, I am here, and Jared will come back.

Richard learns the employee handbook.

He uses it to get Jared to stay.

He doesn’t place it tenderly at Jared’s feet.

He snaps it around Jared’s wrist like a manacle, Jared’s quitting and Richard can’t, it’s so close, and Jared’s eyelashes flutter as he says ‘You read the handbook?’, and Richard’s too far gone to even try to make hay, to drop his voice and say ‘Of course I read the handbook, Jared’, because it’s so close and Jared’s leaving and he doesn’t want Richard to beg so fuck him Richard’s not going to beg.

Jared stays, under protest.

He presses when Richard’s trying to hustle.

Jared isn’t protecting Richard anymore. Jared’s the enemy, Jared’s gravity and Richard’s Wyle E. Coyote, fucking careening out in thin air and it’ll be okay if he doesn’t look down, but only if he doesn’t look down.

So okay, fine, fucking fine, so long, Jared, your gold watch is in the mail, maybe now the dreams will stop.

Richard should be glad.

He’ll be glad, just as soon as…he will, he just needs to…

It’s so close.

Chapter Text

He’s so close.

He’s so close and Richard’s mouth is very dry.

Anton’s entrails are all over Stanford, Dinesh and Gilfoyle walk away with a final twist of the knife about Jared, and Richard’s at Jared’s door.

He has… a whole thing planned. He’s going to recite the employee handbook. He’s going to apologise, he’ll be on the ball, I am your friend, I am here, I am here, this is me. And then Jared will….and Richard will….they’ll……

Okay, he doesn’t have it planned to the last detail.

He can’t wait to get started, and then Jared clears his throat and says he has company and Richard can hear laughter and his entire brain jumps tracks. Girls, how many girls, when, where, Jesus fuck Jared Anton’s not cold yet and and and..

And Jared asks ‘Richard, what do you want from me?’

And oh, even on peak form with a full night’s sleep Richard’s nowhere near capable of answering that question, and now? Now?

Instead, he apologises. It’s not the greatest…he’s been crying and half his brain is trying to count the different kinds of laughter he’s heard inside Jared’s apartment but he wants to say that he gets it, he’s going to walk away from Pied Piper, cut out the parasite, he’ll be clean, he’ll be empty, he’ll be free. He realises he doesn’t know what he wants from Jared except…this is me, your captain, I am walking the plank, I wanted you to know, watch me, watch me, bear witness.

And then, because it’s true and it has to be said and because this is what friends say, isn’t it, and how else can he say everything, everything, he says ‘This guy fucks’.

And it’s okay, it’s okay, this is fine, Richard is fine, he knows what he has to do, the ice has cracked and Richard has fallen and it’s fine.

And then Jared pulls up in his car and it’s…they’re Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid going over the fucking waterfall, they’re going down together in their tiny boat, Jared’s even gotten the gang together while they pull the plug on Pied Piper, and it’s…

Well, turns out it’s unnecessary. Pied Piper’s risen from the dead because of like one moment of intense pettiness from Gilfoyle weeks ago. Which makes sense, given how often Richard’s pettiness has nearly killed his baby, or how often Gavin Belson’s pettiness has saved it. Pied Piper: dying of pettiness, hooked up to an IV drip of pettiness.

So…yeah. Pied Piper lives as it always did. Though Richard gets clobbered because of his….philandering?  Does it count as philandering if it’s the only action your dick has seen has seen in…well, moving on, but, like, also, it was the worst ever that the lady has ever seen? Does it count?

Well, Dan Melcher’s fist certainly says so.

And so does Jared’s shoe, thumping energetically on that loser Melcher in defence of Richard. Like Richard isn’t already addled with….lust? love? Both? Some horrifying mutant superlust? For Jared.

Anyway, after the dust settles, the gang’s back at the Hacker Hostel, because where else are they gonna go.

Jared’s found a pack of frozen shrimp or something, and he’s holding it against Richard’s black eye against Richard’s (feeble, insincere) protests. And Richard’s just….it’s….Jared’s there, and the New Internet works, and there’s a whole planet there, and Jared like went to war for him, it was…

Jared has a cut on his lip. A long narrow slash next to his lip but it’s bleeding and Richard just….

‘I’m gonna….your lip, I’ll just…’ he says, and scrambles out from under the ice-pack.

Dinesh and Gilfoyle are settled in the living room, and watch him out of the corner of their eyes as he searches uselessly for a Band-Aid.

‘Looking for something?’ Dinesh offers after watching Richard turn the kitchen and living room upside down for like five minutes and then search increasingly noisily just where they’re playing fucking Halo.

‘Yes’, Richard says, because he’s learned enough that you don’t turn down an opening, no matter how grudging. ‘I want a Band-Aid.’

‘A Band-Aid’s not gonna fix your black eye’, says Dinesh, because sure.

‘It’s not’, grits Richard, ‘for me.’

Dinesh sighs and – like it’s an intolerable fucking imposition – turns to Gilfoyle and says ‘I’ll kick your ass another time, Bieber.’ He gets up to kinda sorta search for whatever the fuck, like he was going to find anything that Richard wasn’t.

Gilfoyle looks inscrutably at Dinesh, then at Richard, and turns to rummage in his pack. While Richard and Dinesh are scrabbling at the kitchen, he deposits on the table a series of……Disney Princess Band-Aids.

Because of course.

Richard considers the Band-Aids with Dinesh for a while.

‘What the fuck?’, says Dinesh, quite mildly all things considered.

Gilfoyle shrugs. ‘We were hiking. We needed Band-Aids. These were available.’

There’s a silence. Dinesh breaks it.

‘I feel like’, he says. ‘there had to have been other options than, like, fucking Ariel.’

‘Well, I manage to avoid injuring myself, Dinesh, so I don’t have your intimate fucking acquaintance with antiseptic bandages.’

‘Fuck you, cocksucker, I don’t need to be constantly shoving crucifixes up my asshole to know that Snow White isn’t my only alternative, so….’

‘Which should Jared have?’

It takes a moment for Richard to realise that he said those words. There’s a silence, and Gilfoyle says

‘….which Band-Aid should anaemic ostrich-boy have?’

Richard opens his mouth, and fuck knows in what way he would have made everything 100000000% worse, and then Dinesh says

‘….Snow White? I feel like Jared’s a Snow White?’

‘Fuck you, he’s a Snow White’, says Gilfoyle. ‘Jared’s Ariel.’

‘Fuck you, he’s Ariel. He’s got brown hair, right?’

‘Yeah, so, you racist prick?’

‘I’m the racist prick? Me? Well….’

Ricard slips away, clutching the entire pack. He’ll decide with Jared which Satanist Disney Princess he gets to be.

Jared starts up when Richard enters the garage.

‘Richard, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean – ‘

‘It’s fine’, says Richard, ‘it’s fine, just… just sit.’

‘Can I offer you some… I think I left my tea-bags here from….’

‘It’s fine’, says Richard again, trying to inject more authority into his voice, ‘just let me...Can you… I haven’t…. what do you…’

Jared’s hands fold over his.

‘I can put it on myself, Richard. It’s fine, just…’

‘No’, barks Richard, and Jared’s eyes fly open. ‘Sit down, Jared. I won’t tell you twice.’

Jared’s knees fold beneath him automatically. Richard doesn’t remotely know what to do with that information, so he files it away to scream internally about later.

And now Jared’s sitting, hands folded in his lap, looking expectantly up at Richard, and Richard just…. It’s like….. and his hair still has that fucking side-parting, but one curl’s escaped, a curl, just lying there….

And Jared’s mouth that miraculous mouth all thin and full at the same time and with a cut…

Shit, the cut.

Richard grabs one of the Satanist Disney Princesses at random and fumbles at the wrapper.

‘Hold still, Jared. We’ll, just, as good as new.’

‘Oh, I’ve had worse’, says Jared, with that wide, troubling grin of his, ‘and you know the ladies love a scar.’

‘Yeah’, says Richard, and because he can historically never leave well enough alone, ‘not that you need help there, right?’

Jared’s brow wrinkles some more. ‘I don’t….’

‘You don’t need help with the pussy, all right, Jared?’ Richard sees the words leaving his mouth before he can help himself. He sees Jared’s eyes widen. He sees the full-body wince, swallowed and shut away out of…..loyalty? fucking politeness? And he forges on ahead. ‘there were, there were, I saw them, fucking dozens of them waiting to lay eggs in your nest….’

‘They weren’t cuckoos, Richard’, says Jared. ‘And as to laying eggs in my nest, it’s common practice for the male of many species to build a nest as an essential part of the mating ritual. It would be her nest were she to choose to lay eggs in it, at my invitation. Although I also think you’re assuming the mating is exclusively procreative, so….’

Richard rips the peel off the Cinderella Band-Aid with unnecessary force.

‘You don’t’, he snarls, lining up the Band-Aid, ‘need’, and he pads down the Band-Aid violently, ‘the help’, and he jabs the Band-Aid in place, thumb resting by the corner of Jared’s mouth.

They stay there, for a long moment. Richard’s eyes skitter between the place where Jared’s lips meet, and his eyes, huge and dark in the gloom of the server room. Richard can feel his own heart thrumming faster and louder, and he’s almost relieved when Jared’s eyes flutter shut. He thinks if he moves his thumb just, like, a hair to the left he will find soft, yielding mouth, and with a little, just a little probing he could slip his thumb inside, that Jared’s mouth would open for him, like a flower in the rain, it could happen, this could happen, and he watches Jared’s Adam’s Apple bob as he swallows and he thinks if he moved his other hand down just a little to that long pale throat it could…

And then there’s a soft, fragile whisper: ‘I’m sorry.’

Chapter Text

‘I’m sorry’.

For a moment, there’s silence. For a moment, Richard wonders who said the words. And then Jared clears his throat and speaks.

‘I’m sorry, Richard. You wouldn’t have done this – you wouldn’t have stooped – if I hadn’t shown you the way. If I hadn’t – seduced you. Like a – like a Mephistopheles flattering Faust to deceive.’

For a moment – for a long moment – Richard considers this. It’s so close to what he’s thought, so shamefully close. Jared does this, Jared will put out flames with his hands and apologise for not being made of asbestos, he’s – Richard sometimes thinks he gets off on it. If everything’s Jared’s fault, then everything’s in his control, and isn’t that the best thing he could do for Jared? Wouldn’t it be an act of charity?

No, he thinks, with vicious clarity, it would not. Be. An act of charity. Fuck you, Richard Hendricks, and fuck your guilt, Jared Dunn.

‘No’, he says. Clears his throat. ‘No, look, Jared, it isn’t – I’m not – you  - you’re not responsible for me, Jared. You’re not my mom, all right?’

Jared’s eyes widen and Richard’s ready to rush into an explanation, but then Jared says, as if he’s surprised, ‘But Richard, you’re the mom.’

And that is not what Richard was expecting. He stares. ‘What?’

‘You’re the mom’, says Jared. ‘Pied Piper is yours, your baby. You conceived it, you’re birthing it, and its life and health are bound up in yours.’ And as he’s speaking, he takes Richard’s hands and places them gently on Richard’s belly. For one breathless moment, Richard thinks he can feel something kick and turn where his and Jared’s hands meet.

Probably just nausea, he tells himself. But still, there’s a hush in the room and if Richard holds himself very still he can watch Jared’s head bent forward to Richard’s belly as though he’s listening for a heartbeat.

He’s so close, Richard swears he can feel the brush of his hair against his ribs, through his hoodie, through muscle and skin.

And then Jared lifts his head to stare directly into Richard’s eyes. He pauses, hesitates, licks his lips once, delicately, yes, catching a little of that goddamn Cinderella Band-Aid, and then he says ‘And because you’re a mother, Richard, your actions have consequences for your baby. You want what’s best for the baby, I have no doubt about it. But – but Richard, you know that in times of famine the body will turn on itself to feed the baby. Mothers lose their hair, Richard. Their teeth. Their bones never recover.’

Jared seems to be expecting something from Richard at this point, so he clears his throat and says ‘Like the baby’s a parasite.’

He is rewarded with Jared’s blinding grin. ‘Yes! And Pied Piper’s no different, Richard. In its dying moments, it fled its host and impregnated Smart Fridges the world over.’

Richard frowns, stung. ‘That was the algorithm, Jared. And it saved us.’

‘It did, Richard’, Jared agrees. ‘To save itself. Like rats deserting a sinking ship and taking the plague with them.’

Richard thinks Jared’s come up with better analogies. ‘So....are you saying that Pied Piper…abandoned me – us – when it didn’t need us anymore? That’s….Jesus, Jared, that’s…’

‘It’s harsh, I know, Richard’, says Jared. ‘But nature is red, red in tooth and claw. Hatchlings are fragile, Richard, and vulnerable. They will use whatever they’ve got – whatever tools come to hand – to survive. And vulnerability is a powerful tool. Babies need you to want to protect them, Richard, otherwise they’d be slaughtered in seconds. Mammals would never stop breast-feeding if they weren’t weaned, why would they? In one of my foster-homes, there was a boy who was still being breast-fed at the age of eight. Eight, Richard.’

‘Okay, Jared, I think I…’

But Jared continues as if he hasn’t heard. ‘Pied Piper still needs you, Richard. You’re still its mother. But need is blind, Richard, and knows only itself. Richard, what happens when your bones are breaking, when your soul’s breaking, but Pied Piper decides it needs to be fed? When it cries and your breasts run over with milk long, long after Pied Piper should have been weaned off your teat?’

Okay, that’s it, Richard is stopping this right now. Jared needs to commit to a metaphor, and it needs to not be the one involving lactation and the word ‘teat’, which has replaced ‘pussy’ as the Number One Word That Definitively Proves Richard Has A Problem Because How the Fuck Can He Still Want Jared After Hearing That. Plus, now Richard’s head is fucking swimming with visions of, like, Pipey sucking on his chest, and he didn’t think anything could make Pipey more of a goddamn nightmare. Thanks, Jared. Thanks a bunch.

‘Okay, Jared, stop. I – I think I get it. Like, Pied Piper will suck me dry and capitalism’s evil or whatever, but-’ he stops. ‘This is – Jared, this is mine. I thought – I thought you got that. I thought – I thought this was yours too.’

Jared’s eyes widen. He takes in a shuddering breath and exhales, his eyes wet. ‘Richard – oh, Richard, thank you. That you would choose to honour me so, after I left, I - ’

‘So’, Richard says, desperately Jared’s eyes are somehow bluer now how does he do that, ‘so you do get it.’

‘Richard, I do, I do, I do.  It’s – it’s a mission, Richard. A sacred mission. And missions demand sacrifices, of course they do. Like the tithe of flesh we used to make to Father Samael.’

‘…What?’

Jared goes on. ‘But Richard, what happens when the FBI raids the compound and arrests Father Samael for unpaid parking tickets and you’re taken back to care?’

Richard is eyeing Jared in fascinated horror. ‘What happens?’

‘Then’, Jared says, ‘you have to make yourself the mission, Richard. You – you tried to show me that.’

‘………………….I did?’

‘Yes’, says Jared, nodding eagerly. ‘I tried to make Hooli my new mission, and then you, Richard, you walked away and you showed me there was another way, but did I listen? No. I – I thought Pied Piper was meant to be my mission, and you were Pied Piper and you just – oh, Richard, you shone so bright, and I thought yes.’

And oh, that ecstatic, breathless yes is doing terrible wonderful things to Richard’s insides, and he needs to – he needs to concentrate, because Jared is rapt and serious and Richard needs to pay attention.

‘But Richard, it was wrong. It was wrong, and – and selfish of me. I can’t demand – I can serve, and proudly. I can steer our vessel by the light of the North Star. But it would be wrong to demand meaning of the sea, or the tides, or the stars. I cannot ask what they never promised to give me.’

There’s a pause. Jared seems to have finished what he had to say, his fingers stroking lightly against Richard’s. Richard clears his throat. ‘So…like…’

Jared gazes up at him. Richard sighs. ‘I shouldn’t…..take meaning from Pied Piper?’

‘I’m saying’, says Jared, ‘that I’m not going to, anymore.’ He pauses. ‘Not entirely.’

What does this mean, Richard wants to say. Are you still my, my unflinching unswerving unsettling friend and colleague and and and..are you still mine, Jared?

What he does say, at length, is ‘….you’re still…..with us, right, Jared? I can still….count on you?’

Jared’s eyes fill with hurt. ‘Richard!’

‘Right, sorry’, Richard says hastily, ‘dumb question, I know, I know, sorry Jared.’

‘No’, says Jared, with decision, and Richard looks at him. ‘I’m sorry, Richard. You have a perfect right to ask that question.’ He takes a breath and lets it out. Richard can feel it against his stomach. ‘And – and you’re right. You can rely on me, Richard. For my loyalty, for my judgement, for my – for anything you find useful. You, or your baby.’

‘Our baby’, Richard reminds him.

Jared smiles that smile, and bends his head in acquiescence. ‘Our baby. Yes, Richard. You can rely on me to - to forage in the Sahara, Richard. To travel to the farthest ends of the earth. To slay dragons. To cut my heart out to buy our baby another hour of honourable life.  But - ’ he squares his bony shoulders resolutely, ‘you cannot rely on me to assume you’re right, Richard. You cannot rely on me to stand by as you shroud yourself in darkness to buy Pied Piper a compromise. And you cannot rely on me to do the same.’ He reflects and adds, conscientiously – always so fucking conscientious: ‘Anymore.’

Richard blinks. ‘But I – but I knew that. You said you didn’t – you gave me your – you left, Jared.’

Jared nods. ‘I did, Richard. And - ’ gazing up at him, ‘I will do it again, and I should have done it long before. ‘

Richard wants to flail, but Jared’s hands are clasped over his, and he feels so safe, even though Jared’s basically told him that he’s – what? – on notice? Because Pied Piper can’t give him meaning or whatever the fuck that was that just basically means that Jared has a line, and Richard should have a line, and fuck Pied Piper?

Yes, Richard realises, Jared’s told him precisely that.

Because Richard might be Pied Piper’s mom, but Jared’s resigning from being Richard’s.

And Jared’s hands are still on Richard’s belly. Low on Richard’s belly.

And – oh, God – parts of Richard just woke up to that little detail.

Richard doesn’t know whether Jared’s sensed it, or whether Richard’s seismic twitch gave him away, or what, but Jared begins to draw away his hands with a murmured apology, and Richard hands twist under Jared’s. He clutches at Jared’s hands convulsively, fucking clawing at them. Jared looks, wide-eyed, up at Richard.

‘Richard? I…’

 So blue, thinks Richard in despair. So blue.

Jared’s put him on notice.

Jared says he’s free.

Or at least he wants to be.

And Richard can be too.

Jared says so, with his fucking saucer eyes and that mouth with its Cinderella Band-Aid and that curl in the centre of his forehead and his hands. His hands that Richard’s clutching like they’re the last dry land for miles.

He can feel the ice cracking, the sky tilting.

He can feel himself lifting Jared’s hands up, slowly, so slowly Jesus it’s like his motor functions are getting instructions by fucking carrier pigeon, up, up, up…..

He feels Jared’s fingers twitch, just a little, in his hand, and absorbs the tremor in his mouth.

So long he thinks and just fuck just they’re like saplings so delicate and supple but the strength in them the strength that could break through fucking stone and concrete and lift towards the sun and the narrowing at the joints and the roughness just there and it’s just a little just a little spatulate at the tips isn’t it oh yes because of all the typing that he does that we do did he play the piano did they ever let him what would it feel like to have them wrapped around his throat around his cock and Jesus fuck the slight drag against his tongue as he slides them in and out and the fragility and the heartbreaking fucking tenderness of the webbing between his fingers and and and….

‘R-Richard?’

Jared’s voice is – startled. Breathless. Richard’s eyes drag open – oh, they were shut. Huh. – and he looks at Jared.

His pupils are blown, his chest is heaving like he’s run…well, probably to the front yard, and his lips are parted, and Richard wants to eat him. Just start with the fingers in his mouth and work his way…up. Down. Sideways. Everywhere. My tithe of flesh. More than a tithe. All of it. I’ve found my mission, Jared Dunn.

Jared swallows. His Adam’s Apple bobs and Richard swears he can hear it move. ‘Richard? What – what are you doing?’

What does it look like, Captain Obvious? thinks Richard, in Gilfoyle’s voice get the fuck out of here man.

‘What are you doing, Richard?’ repeats Jared, and he’s sounding….alarmed? Angry?

And then it seems to sink in to Jared that his fingers are in Richard’s mouth, and he makes to pull them out, and oh hell no, Richard just clamps down. And okay, it’s maybe not…ideal, refusing to give up Jared’s fingers like a dog with a goddamn bone but just no Jared stay it’s -  look, just please.

‘Richard’, says Jared. ‘Richard, why are you doing this?’

He’s sounding….stern….now, and oh Jesus that tone shoots straight to Richard’s groin, but also no fuck don’t Jared Richard can explain or at least apologise he can…

‘mfsnalkrtjladmft’, says Richard.

Jared wrinkles his forehead.

‘Richard, I can’t understand you around the - ’ he coughs, ‘around the fingers. Talk to me, please?’

Oh yeah. The fingers.

Richard lets them go, allowing himself one last long voluptuous slide. He keeps his eyes on Jared, savours the way he watches his fingers emerge wet and glistening from Richard’s mouth, watches him shiver. He keeps hold of Jared’s wrist.

‘I’m – fuck, I’m sorry, Jared, I - ’

‘Why are you doing this?’, Jared asks again, and no fuck no that voice, that small broken voice. ‘Is this – Richard, I came back. You have me, you and Pied Piper. I promise you, Richard, you – you have my eye and my sword arm as long as we steer aright, but do you – is this how – is this how you’ll make me stay?’

No, Richard wants to scream, but his tongue, his stupid tongue, is frozen, and Jared’s saying ‘I never – Richard, I never thought you'd use how I feel this way – Richard, it’s little better than prostitution.’

‘No’, Richard finally manages to croak, before the dam bursts, ‘it’s not – I wouldn’t – I didn’t – you don’t even know, Jared, when you’re walking around all – all you, with your eyes and your hands and your and your and your and I – fuck – I want you here, Jared, and it’s not because of, of, I always have and, and, and you can, you can question me and argue with me and disagree with me and and and I, it’s all good, you’re so good, Jesus, Jared, please, just’

And his brain catches up with him and he feels Jared’s pulse race beneath his fingers and his eyes are so dark and Richard forgets to breathe and when Jared crashes their mouths together it feels like he’s giving him CPR.

Maybe he is.

When Gavin calls, Richard agrees to meet him. Jared asks to speak to him in the server room.

‘Richard’, he says, a frown between his eyes, ‘you’re in charge and you have to form your own judgement, but please – be careful.’  

Richard grins at him. Jared’s evaluating the Bream Hall offer, Richard’s black eye’s coming in nicely, Jared’s told him, with a little shiver, that he looks like a pirate, and life is good. ‘I will.’

Jared looks at him doubtfully. Richard feels a little piqued. ‘Jesus, just…trust me, all right?’

Jared considers him. ‘Richard, I promised you, you could have anything of mine that would serve you and Pied Piper. You have my heart, my mind, my body. You don’t need my trust, Captain.’

Richard can feel his face split into a smirk. He pulls his friend in for a kiss, nipping at that full bottom lip as they part. ‘Fuck off, Mom.’