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Author’s note and summary: Sequel to my post 9x01 fic Drowning. This is the morning after the night before. I had the vague notion of the final moment of this fic in my head, and then built the fic around it!
Rescued
It was late the next morning when James woke. Despite the inevitable feeling of grogginess that came from vast quantities of red wine and more than a few cigarettes, he felt oddly unburdened. Keeping his eyes closed for a moment, he concentrated on other sensations. He could feel the duvet lying askew on top of him, the pillow beneath his head, the warmth from the winter sun as it shone into the room, and the fact that his limbs felt heavy and tired. He could also feel that he had the very definite beginnings of a shocking hangover, including the obligatory pounding head.
Opening his eyes gingerly, he became stingingly aware of the winter light that was streaming through his rather inadequate bedroom curtains. He couldn’t even remember closing them last night. Sarah had laughed when he’d hung them – white curtains in the centre of Hammersmith would do nothing to block out the street lights and car headlights through the night. She’d been right, as usual. He’d meant to put up some blackout linings as well at some point, but décor had never been his strong suit. At least they matched the duvet cover at the moment, even if that was coincidence rather than judgement.
He noticed as he moved his head from side to side and tried to get a handle on his thoughts, that one of the pillows from the bed was on the floor beside it. His old cream jumper was lying in an untidy heap next to the pillow. That was odd; he made a point of never just chucking clothes down where they fell. They always went in the washing basket or back in the cupboard. He was still wearing yesterday’s clothes; he’d obviously been far too drunk to think about undressing before he’d collapsed into bed. His shoes were discarded by the side of the bed as well; at least he’d managed to get those off.
Rolling over, suppressing a groan, James ran a shaky hand through his hair and realised gradually that apart from Fusker, who was curled up at the foot of the bed, and who opened one eye to give him an irritated glance as James moved, he was alone. Thinking about it now, he was pretty sure he hadn’t been by himself when he had eventually passed out in the small hours of Thursday morning. To confirm this, on the other side of the bed, hung up on the wooden footboard lay a dark jacket that definitely wasn’t his.
As he lay on the bed, still trying to summon the will to get up, he gradually remembered the events of the previous evening. He’d been brutally honest with Jeremy last night about a lot of things he’d kept hidden for a very long time. Not least, his own guilt about Richard’s crash. It was something he was in no hurry to revisit, and as he sat up in bed he was at a complete loss about how on earth he was going to face Jeremy after that. He remembered the feeling of terror as the words had come flooding out of him, ‘I should have been in that car, it was supposed to be me.’ He’d admitted something out loud that he’d sworn he never would. The thought of that was still frightening. Now it was out there, now someone else knew, would it make it better or worse? What was Jeremy going to do with that information?
Alongside that memory came others: warm hands, exploratory fingers, hot tears and something like comfort came back to him in small measures. He’d fallen apart last night, and Jeremy had put him back together again. He remembered the release of allowing Jeremy to take control for a short time; of crying, properly breaking down, for the first time in years, and how that was as cathartic as it was terrifying.
As he thought harder, past the kitchen and deeper into the night, he remembered being held for a long time by a pair of strong arms. He remembered the feeling of peace that the contact had brought, and how he’d fallen asleep, most uncharacteristically for him, close enough to another human being to feel their heartbeat. He remembered lying in the darkness, thanking God, for once, that he wasn’t alone, and thanking Jeremy that it was he who’d seen him safely up to bed. To his booze-addled, ferociously tired mind and body it had been the most comforting thing in the world. He remembered someone lying behind him, long legs lying parallel to his on top of the duvet, the sensation of a large hand idly stroking his hair, surprisingly gentle kisses and whispered words of reassurance the only sounds in the darkness: It’s alright, I promise you, it’s going to be alright, over and over again. It was as if Jeremy sensed that it was only his touch, and only the night, that could help.
He thought he remembered waking with a start some hours later, mouth dry and heart beating far too fast, images of Richard, lying pale and helpless in a hospital bed flashing before his eyes, the sound of a female voice, probably Mindy’s, echoing in his ears. It was your fault, James, she seemed to be saying. James had lain there, paralysed with horror and shame as he came back to consciousness. This was a dream he’d had over and over again since the crash, but it never became less potent because of that. In his sudden wakefulness he’d disturbed Jeremy, who’d merely put a comforting hand on his shoulder and murmured, once again ‘it’s alright. Just go back to sleep. I’m here.’ This time, instead of lying awake for hours afterwards, having Jeremy next to him calmed him straight away, and he’d slept soundly for what was left of the night.
He remembered all this, and he remembered the feelings of safety and reassurance that Jeremy’s nearness had given him. In the cold, unforgiving, unashamedly masculine light of day, however, there was also a rather large part of him that wanted nothing more than to pull the bedclothes back over his head and deny all knowledge of absolutely everything that had happened the previous evening. He was a man for Christ’s sake, and men never admitted to such things: especially to their friends. Men certainly didn’t end up shuddering in the arms of their best mate, however safe it had made them feel.
As much he remembered the calmness and reassurance of having Jeremy so close to him, the rightness of that feeling, the notion that Jeremy now knew, James couldn’t avoid that creeping sensation of embarrassment and worry that was growing stronger now that he was awake. And, obviously, it wasn’t just confessing all about the accident that James had to worry about. As if the ‘beige’ gags already weren’t prevalent enough, by kissing Jeremy, by letting his own guard down more completely than he ever had done before, and then spending the night with him, he’d given him enough ammunition to taunt him forever about his leanings. Of course, he thought, anything Jeremy might have said about him, he could equally throw back. After all, Jeremy hadn’t exactly gone running when they’d kissed last night: quite the opposite, in fact, if the jacket on the bed was anything to go by. That, at least, was something. What, he wasn’t quite sure, but something.
With the pounding in his head echoing the beating of his heart, he swung aching legs over the side of the bed. He found himself hoping against hope that Jeremy would have vanished with the dawn, sparing them both the dreaded morning after conversation that he was in no way ready for. He couldn’t tell if the smell of coffee that was wafting up from the kitchen was fresh or not, whether there was going to be a figure in his kitchen still drinking it, or whether he’d be alone again when he walked in. Although the smell, and the possibility that he wasn’t alone made him feel vaguely nauseous, he grabbed Jeremy’s jacket off the footboard and headed in the direction of the kitchen, rubbing a hand over his eyes.
As he padded down the stairs, in faint surprise he noticed that the bandage on his right hand had been tied very neatly. He couldn’t remember that happening. It was seemingly another example of how Jeremy had fixed him. He knew he probably wasn’t going to live that down, either.
James wandered downstairs, through the hallway and into the kitchen. The smell of coffee got stronger, mingled with what was certainly not the first Silk Cut of the day. He was about to rebuke Jeremy for smoking in the house when he caught sight of the man’s face and thought better of it. Anyway, they’d both spent enough time doing exactly that the previous night for it to be a moot point.
Jeremy was seated at the kitchen table, apparently trying to focus on something in yesterday’s paper. He had the squinting gaze of a man who had left his glasses at home, and, from the way he was hunched over, using one elbow to prop himself up, James surmised that he wasn’t really paying attention to the lead article on the page, just trying to keep his eyes fixed on something in an attempt to battle a fierce hangover.
“Alright, Jez?” He said, not at all surprised by the gruffness in his voice, given the wine and cigarettes.
“Morning,” Jeremy replied, equally gruffly. He looked up from the paper.
James noticed Jeremy’s pallor and bloodshot eyes and realised that they’d probably got through at least another two, if not more, bottles of red between them last night, and innumerable fags. Any normal human being would probably still be out for the count, but they both had the somewhat dubious advantage of being pretty seasoned drinkers - even moreso since Richard had been forced to curb his drinking by Mindy. It was as if they were compelled to make up for his abstinence with their own overindulgence. More often than not since the accident they’d drunk together long into the night after Richard, pleading boredom or, heaven forbid, exhaustion, had left them to it. For James it had been a kind of atonement as well as a way of coping: a subtle punishment for his perceived sins.
“You look rubbish, so I won’t ask how you’re feeling,” Jeremy said. He gestured to the coffee in front of him. “This instant crap hasn’t made me feel any better.”
James grinned ruefully. “Sorry,” he replied. “I only keep a jar in for you and Hammond.” He could barely tolerate instant coffee, and the ground stuff was totally unpalatable. Striding over to the kitchen worktop, he grabbed a mug off the tree, flipped the switch on the kettle, opened the cupboard above and got a tea bag out of the box. After making his tea, he settled back down at the kitchen table, in an odd reprise of the scene last night.
“Thanks for sorting this out,” he continued, flexing his bandaged right hand. “I don’t know how you managed to get the dressing so tidy, given the state we were in, but I appreciate it.”
“’S’alright,” Jeremy grinned briefly. “Couldn’t have you bleeding to death on me – wouldn’t exactly have been good for my reputation to leave here covered in blood and gore. Besides, I’ve had plenty of practise bandaging up kids and dogs – I think you fall somewhere in between.”
James smiled wryly. “Thanks.” Idly he fiddled with the knot of the bandage on the inside of his wrist. “I can’t help noticing you’re still here, though.”
“Seems that way.” Jeremy replied. “Didn’t really want to leave you by yourself, what with the blood and everything. You’re such a girl you’d probably have passed out if I’d left you to your own devices.” Jeremy looked as though he was about to elaborate further, then seemed to think better of it and went back to looking at the paper.
Pause. For the first time in a long time, James wondered what to say to this hungover, middle aged, irascible man seated at the other side of his kitchen table.
“Jeremy…” he began eventually, completely at a loss about what he was going to say next.
“It’s alright,” Jeremy repeated, taking a moment to drain his mug of coffee. “You don’t have to say anything. I mean, there’s not a lot to say, really, is there?” He smiled briefly. “And the last thing I need is you getting all…emotional on me again.”
James grimaced. “Don’t remind me.” He sipped his tea, deep in thought. He wished he had a clearer idea of what to say, how to proceed now that something had changed between them. Eventually he spoke again.
“What happened…after the kitchen…how did I get to bed?” He wasn’t really sure he wanted to know the answer, but he thought he’d better ask anyway.
“You mean you don’t remember?” Jeremy said in mock outrage. “I virtually had to carry you upstairs, and given my back trouble that wasn’t the easiest thing in the world.”
“And I’m guessing you couldn’t make it back downstairs again,” James said wryly, gesturing to the jacket that he’d hung over the chair next to him.
“So you don’t remember me ravaging you senseless all night?” Jeremy replied, matching James’ tone.
James started, in spite of himself, sensing that Jeremy was calling his bluff. “Wh-what?” He thought he’d remembered everything – was it possible that his mind was playing tricks on him, protecting him from what had really happened?
“You seemed to enjoy it at the time,” Jeremy continued. “Practically begged me to stay with you.” Smirking into his coffee, he took a sip.
James shook his head, trying desperately to remember through the sea of hangover and tiredness. Surely he’d have remembered if anything more than a kiss had happened between them? Was this what posttraumatic stress felt like? Given his state of drunkenness last night, anything, or indeed nothing, was equally possible. Did more happen in his bed than he could actually remember? Was his brain trying to protect him from the uncomfortable truth that he really had slept with one of his best friends?
“Oh God,” he groaned, eventually, head in his hands partly from hangover, partly from embarrassment. “You’re winding me up…aren’t you?” He looked back at Jeremy for confirmation.
Jeremy raised an eyebrow. “But you had to think for a bit, didn’t you?” He placed his coffee mug down on the table. “Don’t worry,” he conceded eventually. “Your virtue, and your dignity, are both very much intact.”
James let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “We, um, we did kiss though, didn’t we? I’m not imagining that?”
Suddenly Jeremy’s face was all seriousness. “No, James,” he said. “You didn’t imagine it.” He paused for a moment. “But what you want to do about that is entirely up to you. I think it’s something you need to think about when you’re able to…not now.”
James was touched at Jeremy’s honesty, given the situation. He knew his friend was right, that now wasn’t the time to complicate things. They both had a hell of a lot to lose; neither of them was exactly free from responsibility.
“But you did end up sharing a bed with me?” he said eventually.
“Well, your spare room’s a tip, and to be honest I didn’t want to leave you with that hand in the state it was in,” Jeremy said. “And you looked like you needed…someone.”
I needed you, you bloody oaf. James thought unguardedly, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud just yet. It wouldn’t have been right to put that one on the table so soon after everything else. He remembered again the feeling of Jeremy’s body behind him on the bed, how safe he’d felt through the night, how no one had ever made him feel that way so completely before. Just being held had been enough, but would it stay that way? What did this mean for their friendship now a boundary had been crossed?
“I think I did,” James finally said. He wanted to say more, but he couldn’t find the words to do it. Sipping his tea, he wondered exactly where that left them both.
Eventually, Jeremy broke the quiet. “I’d better get going,” he said, looking at his watch. “There’s more to be done with the editing, and I promised Andy I’d get the bacon sarnies in this week. He’s already going to crucify me for missing most of the morning.” Closing the paper, he stood and took his mug to the sink and rinsed it under the tap.
“Leave it,” James said automatically. “I’ve got all that bloody washing up to do anyway.”
It was as if, by moving from the table, Jeremy was declaring a close on the proceedings of the last twenty-four hours. James knew, once he opened his front door to let Jeremy leave, that something had ended, for now. Not for the first time he was at a loss for words. It was as if something was also beginning, but he had absolutely no idea what that something was.
“What happens now?” James asked, unsure of the answer. His voice sounded loud, brittle, in the quiet of the kitchen.
Jeremy turned back towards James for a moment, and James saw a mixture of emotions passing over his face, ranging from affection to nervousness and back again. “Well,” he said. “I leave, and when you need me, you give me a ring. And if you don’t need me…I’ll see you later in the week anyway.” He placed the tea towel he’d used to dry his hands back on the kitchen counter.
James regarded his friend for a moment, considering the gentleness, the lack of pressure in that reply. Last night had seen the release of some of the heavy, cloying guilt that had weighed him down since the accident, and for that he would always owe Jeremy a debt. Whatever had happened between them in the darkness of a bedroom in the small hours of the morning would have to stay there for now, for a little while, while he got his head around it all. It seemed there would be no discussion, no elaboration unless he wanted it. But did he want it like that?
“I don’t…I mean, is that it?” James asked.
Jeremy’s smile faltered. In that moment James read a thousand more emotions as they flickered over his friend’s face. As they held one another’s gaze, James knew from his posture that Jeremy was fighting the urge to reach out to him again. He felt strangely comforted by that; it seemed Jeremy was going to allow him to choose the pace of things for now.
“I meant what I said last night,” Jeremy said softly. “I’m here for as long as you need me. But we both need some time, I think, to work out just what the hell that actually means.”
“And we’ve got enough to worry about at the moment,” James completed the thought that Jeremy had left unspoken.
Dropping his gaze, he wondered how something so painful could have been partially healed by kissing a friend. Then, realising that the path he was going down would inevitably lead to more darkness and introspection, he concentrated on the mug in his hand. He could feel the warmth of the tea seeping through the mug and past the bandage, making his palm throb faintly where the heat came into contact with the wound. He wondered if he should get it checked over. Like the beleaguered Stanhope in Journey’s End, he felt as though he was seeing everything in vibrant detail for the first time, seeing right into the core of things; but, unlike Stanhope, this didn’t terrify him, it gave him a kind of reassurance.
“I’ll be off then,” Jeremy said, breaking James’s reverie. James watched as Jeremy shrugged on his jacket and walked to the front door. Putting down his mug, he stood and followed Jeremy out into the hallway.
“I’ll see you later in the week,” Jeremy said; turning back towards James for a moment, one hand still on the latch of the door, ready to open it.
James nodded. Then, before he could think better of it, he closed the gap between himself and Jeremy. Still saying nothing, he placed his hands on Jeremy’s upper arms and drew the taller man towards him until their foreheads touched. Gently, aware both of the wound on his hand and somewhat nervous about Jeremy’s response, he slid his right hand around the back of Jeremy’s neck, feeling the roughness of Jeremy’s hair against his fingertips. After their night spent holding one another, it felt like an oddly chaste gesture, but James knew that was what they both needed. He relaxed as he felt Jeremy mimicking the gesture, his hand coming to settle under James’s own tangled hair.
They stayed like that for a moment, not needing to make the contact any closer. James closed his eyes briefly, savouring, needing a little while to readjust his own physical boundaries once again. He knew, the next time the two of them met, there would be nothing like this physical closeness. Business as usual meant the accustomed backslapping and banter, the trademarks of a friendship that was strong enough to endure.
“See you soon,” he eventually said; voice admirably steady under the circumstances. It was Jeremy’s turn to nod.
After a time, it ended. James stayed quiet when Jeremy opened the front door, stepped into the outside world and closed it behind him. He needed the stillness, the utter lack of movement to anchor him back in reality. From the corner of his eye, just as the door was about to close, James was sure he saw some of his own demons following Jeremy; becoming fragile, indistinct and finally invisible as they encountered the crisp morning air.