Work Text:
John Steinbeck was a fascinating challenge. Francis Scott Fitzgerald struggled to understand him, perhaps struggling more the closer the two of them had become, as new oddities in his behaviour and attitude kept revealing themselves more clearly.
Truthfully, Francis had always known there was something unique about the young man, from the first day they met, the day he joined the Guild and agreed to serve him in his quest. A young face, always decorated with a polite smile on his lips and unwavering optimism in his sky blue eyes, a motivation so noble that it was bound to make anybody sympathise with his plight – even Francis who, by all accounts, could not care less about the financial stability of some poor family of farmers. Perhaps it was his weakness of sorts, the one thing he could relate to, the mentality of 'I will do anything for my family'. After all, what was his quest, if not that?
He found himself wanting to cherish and strengthen that bond, though it made for a rather weak base, as it turned out. Though John was always polite, nodding along with a smile and occasionally responding, it soon became clear that he was not interested in any closer connection with his boss, building a cold, hard invisible wall between them.
Francis should have given up, perhaps. There was no reason why he should make an effort to impress a simple farmer, no matter how much of himself he ended up seeing in him along the way. Their mutual self-sacrificial attitude towards their families wouldn't have been enough by itself. Indeed, remembering his family life while hearing John talk about his big, happy family, was far from pleasant. There was something else, though, something that kept him drawn to this young man on a far more important level.
After just a few weeks, he realised with certain surprise that he saw himself in the young farmer, himself from many years ago, before he achieved his wealth and status. Behind the innocent smile and the bright eyes, he saw something that John might either not have been aware of, or something he was incredibly good at hiding. The cold, ruthless, unmistakeable glint of overgrown ambition. Was it there all along? Did he miss it when he first looked into John's eyes, or was it something he'd only developed now, in the Guild?
That alone made him want to keep the boy close, to watch him grow, to see what could become of him. Eventually, he made John his closest – and, to be frank, only confidant and right hand man. Unsurprisingly, the young man seemed unconcerned with his status from the personal point of view. He couldn't give less of a damn about what Francis was telling him, though he admittedly at least tried to hide it behind even more innocent smiles.
What he cared about, though, was money. Of course, Francis knew that much. John only agreed to join him for the sake of the paychecks after all, to keep his family fed. If there was a way to keep him loyal and motivated, that was the only one he could count on. Whatever else he could say about John, he was honest, and would not have run away with the money. It was quite interesting to test that by giving him progressively more dangerous and responsible tasks. He didn't wither even once. In fact, he seemed to accept every mission with unwavering enthusiasm – at least on the surface. He got things done quickly and with a smile on his face, and with that same smile he accepted each paycheck.
There was, however, one thing that even money couldn't buy him. Naturally, that made it all the more alluring, especially over time.
The one thing – the same thing he desired from the start and failed continuously to achieve – was any kind of genuine warmth from the young farmer, any sympathy or positive attention. Unfortunately, despite his special status, which he must have been aware of, John never seemed to care about Francis as a person. Perhaps even that wasn't entirely accurate. Whenever they talked, he seemed polite enough, but there was a hint of deeper emotion lurking beneath the surface. Was that emotion hatred? Envy? He couldn't tell, but having noticed it, he wanted to bring it to the surface at all costs.
How utterly foolish it was of him to fall in love with a poor man who hated him from the depths of his soul. Whether it was because he failed to notice how similar they were, or, on the contrary, because he was painfully aware of the parallels, perhaps even he wasn't sure.
In his desperation, awakened by the rare experience of finding something so unachievable by normal means, he changed his strategy. Money wasn't the only currency he had to offer, after all. John was already his confidant when it came to the professional side of things. It was only natural that eventually, he would grow to trust him with personal matters, too. He wasn't one to bare his soul to anybody. And yet, it spilled out, once, with the sun setting in front of them, the evening falling as they stood together, illuminated by the orange light.
Even then, John didn't care.
He listened, or at least he seemed to, but he didn't seem to absorb any information or understand the significance of it. He was smiling at Francis, as he noticed from the corner of his eye, but it was a strange smile. It seemed to be shooting somewhere past him. Maybe that was just an impression – but he knew that it wasn't a smile of understanding, sympathy, or anything of such sort.
He wasn't going to understand that smile until much later.
The fall of Moby Dick separated the two of them for what felt like years but was in reality just a few weeks. Francis got back on his feet and started rebuilding his empire from scratch. He knew what he had to do, and most of it came to him naturally. There was something missing from the bigger picture, multiple things, really, but he couldn't afford to focus on that. With Alcott by his side, always helpful, loyal, passionate, he at least could keep going.
One day, John came back. The visit surprised him for a number of reasons. Firstly, it was natural to assume that he would have gone home to his family. Not getting his pay from the Guild anymore, he could have at least made it back safely and tried to find something to do closer to home. Secondly, the reason he stayed in Japan was that he took on the responsibility of managing the remnants of the Guild, preventing what he perceived to be a tragedy, a fall of the empire.
Having heard his story, looking at his exhausted face, the way he swayed as if he was about to fall, Francis smiled. Of course, it all made sense when he thought about it for a second.
The reason why John couldn't go home was obvious. He wasn't the same man as he was all those months ago when he left his family behind. The look in his eyes no longer had any innocence in it, his gentle smile was gone. He had killed people, tortured children, attempted a kidnapping. Of course, he did all of those things because that was what he was ordered to do. Nevertheless – he did them, and there was nothing he could do to undo them. Perhaps he didn't trust himself to be able to pretend to be the same good son and brother, perhaps he wanted to avoid uncomfortable questions about his job.
Similarly, the reason why he stayed behind and took charge... Francis had to stifle a laughter. So that is what one gets when they mix ambition and loyalty. A man who couldn't stand to let his boss' empire fall, and jumped on the opportunity to take over it to satisfy his own need for power, however small it really was in the grand scheme of things. Coming to Francis and handing the remnants – and himself – back to him, was both an act of loyalty, and an admission of failure to take his place. In a way, he couldn't help but feel sorry for John's undoubtedly wounded ego.
He accepted the offer, of course.
In his mind, it would be as if nothing had ever changed. Once he dismissed John and asked Alcott to show him to his room, so he could rest properly for the first time in a month, he imagined that everything would be just about back to normal. With John back by his side, sliding right into his old position as his right hand man, his pursuit would proceed without issue. In fact, he realised, wasn't John's return proof that his methods were working, at least on some level?
The difference made itself obvious soon enough. Having had a taste of leadership, knowing how difficult it is, John seemed to have developed some level of admiration for him. There was a new look in his eyes, somewhat softer than what it was before. His ambition tempered, his spirit beaten down, he finally seemed to be paying attention to what he was told. They weren't equals, perhaps, and they never would be, but their relationship was no longer so artificial.
Francis knew the time was right to talk about his past again. This time, he trusted that John would listen to him, and really hear him this time. He spoke calmly, with a sad smile, and watched the young man from the corner of his eye again, curious to see how his expression would change. Except for an occasional twitch of his nose, or a deeper breath, there wasn't much of a reaction, but he knew that, for once, John was entirely focused on his words.
Once he was finished, he openly looked into John's face with anticipation. The young man leaned back, stretching his arms. He was going to respond, but he was obviously in no rush to. He never was in any rush, Francis mused. Always doing things at his own pace, no matter how inconvenient it might have been for others.
When he started talking, a sea of words poured out, words he must have been holding inside him the entire time. Cruel words, bitter words, but above all else - revealing words. Revealing his envy, his hatred, his impatience, his frustration with himself. He explained, with a gentle smile, that he always hated Francis, and was waiting to see him fall. Between the lines, it was easy to sense that he had noticed that he was turning into what he hated, closing the distance between them as people, and that made his disgust with Francis all the stronger when he wasn't there.
It was not pleasant to hear all of that, of course. It was all the more infuriating to discover that he was doomed to fail at what he set out to do. His attempts were futile, whether they involved money or not. John was never going to accept him. In hindsight, it was quite obvious. How foolish and blind was he?
But then, something odd happened. John turned towards him, and for the first time since he first looked into them, they seemed perfectly clear and innocent. Quickly, as if he needed to get the words out of his system in order to keep breathing, he blurted out a single sentence, one that Francis could only believe he misheard.
I love you.
His expression must have revealed his surprise, because John smiled the gentlest smile he had ever seen on his face, blush spreading on his face. And then, he said it again.
I love you.
Francis smiled back at him with disbelief. Was it really possible that he had achieved his goal? It seemed impossible, after all this effort, after the earlier heartbreak. And yet, he clearly succeeded.
A pair of gloved hands pulled his head down to John's level. Half a foot of difference in height, conquered just like that, but now he was hesitating. Was it because Francis wasn't clear enough in his response to the confession. By god, he simply wasn't expecting this outcome. Sure, he had spent months courting this young man, this stubborn, confusing, hypocritical, contradictory man he had fallen in love with, but by God – he never could have expected that he wouldn't be the one to confess first.
He nodded, closing his eyes with anticipation. He should have said those words back, surely, but he found that for once in his life, he was speechless.
All he had left to do was wait until the soft lips met his, ensuring that his pursuit was over.