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It was early days. Early days.
That's what James kept telling himself as he stared at his dark bedroom ceiling at 3am one night. Its been a few days since his first season on Top Gear finished, he's got a whole new contract in place and he'll be back in the office in no time. He doesn't feel right though. He doesn't feel like he should be there, he doesn't deserve all this, he's just some weird bloke, and everyone will see that soon. It plagues him everyday he works, every time he steps into the office, sees his co-presenters, he gets the thoughts, the intrusive ones. Of course he does, he barely remembers a time when he lived without them, he's got a problem, its got a name: OCD. Somehow that doesn't make him feel any better, he can't hide from it now, pretend its not a problem, because truth be told, you'd never be able to tell from the outside, that's by design. Having to see someone about it wrings him dry, he doesn't like talking about his feelings, but he's got very good at saying enough to please people over the years so its fine. He'd taken tablets for it on and off for most of his teen years, but its hard to say if they did anything or if he'd just boxed himself in enough to not get tipped off.
That leads him on to his current predicament. James had been very anxious about starting on Top Gear again, but his therapist thought the opportunity would be good; he'd never held a job done in his life for various reasons, so he supposes this is his last chance at ever having a stable job, so when she suggested going back on antidepressants, just to "help you get through this new transition in your life", he'd reluctantly agreed. He doesn't want to bore you with the details, but long story short: they'd upped his dose towards he end of the series, and boy was he feeling it now.
He'd never been a good sleeper before, due to all the anxiety and general insomnia that came with his puberty, but now his sleep was downright bizarre. On a lower dose he'd had very vivid dreams that left him feeling tired when he woke up, as if he'd actually lived the dreams himself, but on the higher dose, his dreams were bloody psychedelic, strange, vivid yet hard to remember, and would cause him to wake up in a pile of his own sweat. He doesn't want to be dealing with any of this embarrassing shit when he should be celebrating the success of his blooming career, not that he'd ever be able to fully do that like Jeremy or Richard, but still he didn't deserve this, he's sure of it. Worse still, he's worried about Richard or Jeremy finding out, he hasn't told them about his OCD, because why should he? He doesn't want to know about either of their health issues so why would they care about his? It's not like there's anything for them to do, he's getting all the treatment he can and any symptoms they do notice can simply be attributed to his general oddities. Maybe he'll tell them at some point, but not now, its early days and they shouldn't be burdened with his problems.
It's wishful thinking, as all things are for James, he shouldn't have told himself it'd be fine, that's why this happened, the universe did it. He shouldn't just expect the worst, he should hope for it, then it won't happen. It starts on New year's eve, as all the next year's events do, and he'd been invited by Jeremy to join him and the whole crew down the pub for celebrations, it had taken some further persuading from Richard but he did eventually agree to go. He didn't go out with them often, which probably made the other two think he was a prick, but honestly he just couldn't most days no matter what. He likes the pub, he's a British bloke, it would be blasphemy not to, he spent most of his childhood in them, surrounded by the pungent smell of beer, crisps and the cold, gloomy weather that threatened to leak in every time the door was opened. It was just that, he made a lot of sacrifices to be on Top Gear, holding down a job was nothing short of taxing on his mind, there was just so much to think about, so much that he didn't have control over, every new job was a new scenario for new and old obsessions, which had made his sorting and ordering compulsions a lot worse, thankfully most people just found it amusing or annoying, at least logically he knew that's what they thought, even if his intrusive thoughts were trying to convince him that Jeremy knew, he was looking at him, he could see, everyone knew, which had lead to him compulsively watching people in the office, trying to sort when he knew he was alone, and try to actually do his job on top of that, all with the threat that at any moment something could come up and trigger a new obsession, then he'd be too focused on that and his other ones to do his job, which would get him fired or cause him to resign, which is what usually happened. The idea of being a public figure actually wasn't as taxing or triggering as he thought it would be, sure he had paranoia about it, sometimes he thought people were going to find his address and break in, but that was an at-home compulsion that didn't affect his job, for the most part, being in front of the audience was fine, being on tv was fine, as long as he didn't see what was being said about him, then there was nothing to worry about. It was fine. Seriously it is.
All that is to say that, by the time he can actually go home, he has absolutely no wherewithal to go out to the pub and do another whole little performance of being the James everyone saw him as, not to mention if he goes to the pub, when will he be able to do his at-home compulsions? He could leave them until after, but then he'd be late to bed and he'd be tired the next day. What if he got drunk and couldn't do them? Absolutely not, he's okay to get a bit off his face, but there's no way in hell he'd ever let himself get blackout drunk.
This was a special occasion though, and they hadn't had work that day, so he agreed, it was fine, this was normal and okay. He knew what he was doing, and besides, he did actually enjoy the pub so he should relax a bit, that's what Jeremy would say. He thinks James has a stick up his arse or something, he told him so himself, and James likes to think that anyone in his position would have a stick up their arse, how can you relax when there is no certainty to anything in your life, even the tiniest things you have control over, you doubt them too, so Clarkson can sod off.
He smokes a fag in the carpark, just to calm his nerves. The pub is nothing special, its cramped and wood, probably not all real by the looks of some of the tables, there's the smell of beer embedded into every fibre of the building and the toilets just smell like piss and cold air. The crew's large so they take up practically all of the bar and the tables by the door, but luckily the other patrons just go to the other rooms and leave them alone. There's a fluffy dog roaming around that probably belongs to the owners, it delights Richard to no end, but is a very real trip hazard from the bar back to the seats, which makes James apprehensive to buy a round, it definitely makes him look like an arse.
He spends his first two pints watching the dog, he feels incredibly awkward here, what does he say? He doesn't know most of the crew very well, and his co-presenters are busy arguing over something he didn't catch beside him. So he just sits in silence, too aware of the people around him to keep track of what he's drinking, or how much. He's not sure who keeps buying him these drinks, if they even are, but he sits, sipping his beer in silence, trapped inside his head for what feels like hours, but probably isn't.
"Oi, James, how come you don't come with us to the pub after work?" Clarkson says as he turns to him, he says it in a loud tone, Which he can't tell if that implies Jeremy had tried to get his attention more than once, or if he's making reference to whatever he was talking to Richard about. He supposes it doesn't change his answer either way in the end.
"I told you, I'm just too busy" technically not a lie.
"Yes but, doing what? You don't have a girlfriend so I don't see what could be keeping you from coming out with us every day of the week"
"Well having a wife has never stopped you from going out every night, so I don't see why that has to be the only reason"
"Hey, my wife approves of my post-work endeavours because she actually knows what fun is" James can see Richard roll his eyes beside him as he leans into the conversation.
"Well, I guess I just don't have fun then, oh well." He hadn't really meant to say it like that, it was supposed to be funny, but for some reason they don't laugh, god, how much has he drunk already? Fuck, he's drinking too much, he needs to get out of here, people are looking at him, no they're not, don't stand up you pillock, the alcohol does sooth his mind somewhat, keeps him in place.
"What do you mean you don't have fun?" Jeremy asks bemused
"I don't know I just don't, stop asking" He runs a sweaty hand over his flushed face then through his hair, which he wants to go back to hiding behind.
"Fine, fine, suit yourself you miserable git"
It's supposed to be a light jab but it really rubs him the wrong way. That's all he can think about as he stands abruptly and walks out the back for another fag. It's dark outside now, of course it is, was it dark when he arrived? He can't remember. It can't be that long until midnight he reasons, but he's not sure based on what logic considering he doesn't even know when he arrived. Its peaceful out here, in the cold winter's night with the light of the pub behind him and the occasional warmth from the lighter that he keeps playing with in his other hand. He shouldn't have come out tonight, but what could he have possibly said? Its already dickish enough that he refuses to come every night, its just downright rude to refuse New year's eve, they'll start thinking he doesn't like them, if they don't already.
"James?" he hear the tentative voice of Richard call
"Yes?"
"Oh there you are!" he exclaims as he stick his head out the back door and motions for a fag, which he happily supplies.
They stand there in silence for a few minutes, just smoking, looking out into the night, its actually pretty comfortable with Richard here too, he will admit that, which is unusual, isolation is optimal for him, no matter how much his therapist said it makes him worse.
"Sorry about Jeremy earlier, he's just nosy"
"Its alright, I don't mind really"
"Well you seemed to mind a lot in there..."
"Its just the alcohol, I don't drink a lot of beer"
"Right..." Richard works his jaw a bit, looking to the side "James, you know we're just trying to be nice right? We're not trying to pry but it would be nice if you could tell us more about yourself"
"Why?"
"Why? because it helps you to get closer, also, we want to know, we want to care"
"Why would you want to care about me?"
Richard is momentarily stunned into silence, fuck, he shouldn't have said that, fuck, fuck, fuck.
"James..... are you okay?"
"Of course"
"But, why would you say that? Why wouldn't we care? We're co-presenters, and most importantly friends"
"Oh. I wasn't sure I was actually considered a friend"
"James! Of course you are! Oh my god" Richard pinches the bridge of his nose "Look, I'm sorry for all the jabs we give you, but we really do care about you, and, I don't know, maybe we'd seem more like friends if you actually told us things about yourself"
This time its James whose stunned into silence.
"I hadn't thought of it that way.... Just to be clear, I don't come to the pub with you because I wasn't sure I was in the right, I do genuinely have things to do"
Richard huffs, the last smoke of his fag melting into the cold air, its half a laugh and he shakes his head to himself. "Fine. Look, I won't push it. Just don't get it confused, we ARE friends, and you can come to us for anything, alright?"
"Alright" Not happening.
"Come on, lets go back inside, wouldn't want to miss the New year"
The actually New year itself goes off without a hitch, I mean how can't it, they just drink more beer and watch the small wall-mounted TV, there's cheering all round, more pints, and more pints. Suddenly its 2am and he's been attempting to play cards with one of the cameramen when he feels a hand on his shoulder. He jolts immediately, only to be met with the face of Jeremy, who's staring down at him with concern, shit, he'd been asleep, it's the only thing his drunk disorder brain can think as the world spins, he feels hands on him, trying to grab him, but he swats them away, stumbling to the door, out into the cold night. He's too drunk. He's too drunk, everything is spinning and he feels just so much. He hears voices behind him and it takes a moment to realise its Jeremy and Richards', they're hailing down a taxi, right, he should probably do that too, but he can't even remember how his arms work. This jolt again and he's being pushed inside a taxi.
"James! James! Look at me, what's your address?"
It takes him three attempts to answer but he does it, he thinks. He feels warmth either side of him. Shit. They're in the taxi with him. His sober brain would be panicking right now, but all he can do now is bask in the warmth of the bodies beside him, something he rarely gets to feel.
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It would be dishonest to say that Jeremy had always worried about James, bemused is a better word, he'd always found James bemusing. He was a strange man, a mop of long hair and the worst fashion sense he's ever encountered, yet he was always very neat and tidy, he was straightforward in his manner of speech and humour, how could one person be such an obvious contradiction? It didn't make sense to him. He was an enigma of a man that Jeremy had tried to crack since he first met him, but he wouldn't budge. Except for tonight.
It was New year's eve, they were at Jeremy's local, as had become tradition, and this time James actually showed up! They'd invited James a countless amount of times to join them at his local, or Richard's, or even his own if he had one, but he had always declined. If he was anyone else, he would've stopped asking by now, but Jeremy Clarkson was nothing if not a persistent man, he would always get his way in the end. Why James never came to pub was simply beyond him, he drank and he seemed to like them both enough so really there was absolutely no reason he shouldn't be there with him. Now, he will admit, when James first joined them on that New year's eve, he had given him a bit of a cold shoulder, he was happy he came, but it felt like too little to late, plus, James really needed to talk to the other members of the crew for a change, it would be good for him. To his surprise though, he didn't he just sat there, nervously staring off into space like a pissy child looking for attention, and after a while, he'd simply had enough, he turned to James and asked him the question that had been playing on his mind for months, of course what he didn't expect was how the conversation ended.
"Well I guess I just don't have fun then, oh well" James' face was flushed with alcohol, he looked tired, and well, miserable, maybe there had meant to be some humour there but it just came out too honest, like an admission, he was tired of playing Clarkson's games.
James wouldn't elaborate and the conversation just ended in a metaphorical soggy heap, with James getting up in a huff and going wherever. He turned to Richard, who was looking at him angrily of course, he was scaring James off, like he always didn't, it wasn't his fault the man was such a coward.
"Now look what you've done!" Richard hissed
"Well I actually think that went quite well" Jeremy sipped his pint "that's the most honest he's ever been with us"
"Yes! and it was fucking miserable, there's something wrong here Jez, just leave it"
"Of course there's something wrong here, have you met James?"
"No I mean like actually wrong, we don't know anything about him, we don't know what we could be getting ourselves into, I won't play this game with you if it's just for your entertainment, I'm doing it because I'm actually worried"
"Hey, I am worried!"
"Really? because you don't seem it. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to look for him, because I really do give shit"
Jeremy rolled his eyes as he walked off. Fine. Whatever. Jeremy cared, it didn't mean that everyone could see it, it doesn't matter. The thing was, it was the mystery that made him so brash, James was obviously hiding something and he wasn't even doing a good job at it. Maybe its the writer side of him, but he knows there's something juicy here, if James was doing something like caring for an ill relative, he'd just say that wouldn't he? That would be understandable and they'd all let him off, so the fact he isn't telling them, means its weird, of course it does. Richard is too worried about this if anything, James is hiding something weird, its probably not dangerous, so he should just calm down. So far, the only think Jeremy could think that it was, was that he had some sort of secret boyfriend or sex thing, look at him, its always the weird ones that like the BDSM shit, sure, why he'd be doing that every night, he doesn't know, why he hasn't come up with some cover story for it, he doesn't know either, surely that's like one of the first things you do when you get into it. Of course, tonight's admission that he "doesn't have fun" has thrown him, because what the fuck does he even mean by that? That leads him back to the ill relative theory, but again, why wouldn't he just say that? Is he in an abusive relationship? Sure he doesn't have a girlfriend or anything, but familial relationships can be abusive too right? It just doesn't make any sense to him.
He'll get to the bottom of this, he will, James is drunk, quite so, he'll get something out of him in this state. Then the clock strikes midnight and its the New year, they drink, more and more, argue about stupid things, throw ideas around for the next series, and somehow Jeremy just can't seem to find an opening, Richard just keeps eyeing him, like he wants to say something, but they don't get to talk about it either. That is until 2am. James has been wobbling around for the past two hours, making nonsense conversation with the rest of the crew, who are a lot more sober than him, in fact Jeremy would say probably James is the drunkest in the room right now. Richard is watching him, concern plastered on his face as the man starts trying to play cards with the cameraman John. He can't even tell what game they're trying to play, and seemingly, neither can John, James' movements are uncoordinated and he's quite giggly, Jeremy can't for the life of him tell who's given him so much to drink, or if he's even still drinking.
It all comes to ahead when James' head rests on the table, starting to fall asleep. Right. That's enough. He stands from his chair, Richard following behind him, and taps James on the shoulder, what he doesn't expect, is the full body flinch from the man as his head snaps up, there's fear in his eyes, and that's when Jeremy decides, there is something wrong here, seriously wrong. It breaks his heart to see the other man so scared, he stumbles out of his chair, mumbling to himself, he can't quite catch it, but he thinks he hears him say that he's "too drunk" which, yes, he is. Jeremy and Richard both try to still him with their hands on the way to the door, but James just pushes them off in his frantic state, almost tripping through the door on the way out into the night, as he stands in the cold on shaky feet, look awfully unsure what to do with himself.
Richard taps Jeremy's elbow, "We are going home with him tonight, I am not letting any of this slide"
Jeremy can only nod, still stunned at the picture of the man in front of him, an anxious shaking mess who keeps mumbling about how he's let himself get too drunk, as if he'll be in trouble for it. There is no way he is going home alone tonight, they will get to the bottom of this, tonight.
They hail a taxi and push the mumbling man inside. They have to get James to tell them his address, Jeremy kicking himself for not knowing it, its a challenge but hopefully what they get out of him is right. James rests his head against the back of the seat, shutting his eyes, leading Jeremy to prod him awake, James only huffs in protest, opening his eyes slowly before humming as he leans against Jeremy's body. He's not really sure what to make of it, but he can't exactly protest now.
When they arrive at his house, it certainly is as tumble-down as he'd first said, but its the inside that shocks them the most, as they fish his keys from James' pocket, the door swings open to what he can only describe as the cleanest porch he has ever seen in his entire life, which is to be expected really, he is a very particular about being tidy, but what really shocks him, is that the door to the rest of his house, is also locked, strange. They fumble around with his other keys, trying to figure out which one opens this door. James has a lot of keys, and Jeremy is starting to get suspicious that they may all be for this house.
"Hello?" Richard calls when they finally open the door, they're both more than convinced now that James definitely lives with someone. They hear no reply, so Richard goes upstairs, fully expecting to find a room with an angry bed-ridden dementia patient in it somewhere, but he doesn't he just comes downstairs shaking his head. Well, that's even weirder now, why were both his doors locked?
They attempt to lead James to his living room, but he protests, turning back around to the doors no matter how much they try to guide him away, he sticks his hands in his pockets, looking for his keys, a panicked look appearing on his face when they're obviously not there, Jeremy looks to Richard, who just shrugs, so he hands James his keys back, not sure what he intends to do with them considering they're already inside.
First James goes to his front door, shakily putting his keys in the door, god knows how before he then proceeds to turn them back and forth five time, locking and unlocking the door until he finally leaves it locked, Jeremy smiles, deciding James is a funny drunk. That smile soon fades though, as James then goes on to do the same with the porch door. They finally manage to lead James into the living room, but he won't let go of the keys, and when he's guided to the sofa all he does is stand on it, that is, until he then goes and does the same to the windows, locking and unlocking them five times, every single window in the living room. Jeremy looks around the living room, then to the kitchen which is in the same room, a look of horror forming on his face.
"Rich, he has locks on every single window and door."
"What?"
"Look" he motions to the kitchen windows, which all have keyholes, then to the back door, Richard hurries out of the room, he can hear him upstairs, looking in every room. He runs down the stairs.
"You're right" he pants "Every single window and door"
They turn to look at James, who is paying them no mind as he continues to lock and unlock every single window and door in his house, five times, even the bedroom doors have locks, and the door from the landing to the living room! Though he does thankfully leave that unlocked. It takes almost an hour for him to finish them all, not having even acknowledge their presence as they stare in horror, this isn't just some drunk shenanigans.
"Do you think he does this everyday?" He asks Richard
"Yeah, he's doing this almost blind drunk, it has to be muscle memory"
"But why? Even if he is scared of being burgled, why five times? Why all of the doors in the house?"
"I have no idea mate"
He tries to move onto checking more things once he finishes, but he's obviously exhausted, so they're finally able to lead him to his sofa, where he falls asleep instantly. They both stand there for a few moments, watching him in shock as his chest rises and falls peacefully. They do finally sit down on the plush chairs either side of the sofa, both lost in their own thoughts for quite some time, this won't be an easy conversation in the morning.
"He thinks we don't see him as a friend" Richard says quietly, snapping Jeremy out of his stupor
"What?"
"When I went to find him, we had a fag out the back together, and he said he didn't tell us anything about himself because he didn't think we cared"
"I- Oh god" Jeremy runs a hand over his face "Where did we go so wrong in this? Is it us or him?"
"I don't know. I think we've tried our best but we're missing something"
"Yeah, like he takes an hour to lock and unlock his entire house five times, every day"
"Do you- Do you think that's why he doesn't come to the pub with us? Because he's too busy..... checking all these things"
"I really hope not"
That's all they say for the rest of the night.
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James jolts from his sleep with a gasp, breathing in air like he'd been brought back from the dead, his mind chasing the images of colours and vague dreams that had some how fit together when he'd dreamt them, but now just made him feel tired and confused. The first thing he realises about his current reality, is that he's not in his bed, not in his room, he's on his sofa in his living room, the one in front of the window that looks at to the kitchen, which reveals a dishevelled Jeremy and Richard. They're staring at him in concern, momentarily shocked out of whatever conversation they'd been having as they leaned against his kitchen counters.
Why were they here? Why was he here? He barely remembers last night. Wait. He can't remember. Fuck. He anxiously runs a had through his hair. He'd got too drunk. Fuck fuck fuck. No. This can't be happening. Who knows what he did last night. Did he bring these to home with him? Or did they bring him here? He needed to check the house, make sure it was safe, who knows what could have happened whilst he'd been so fucking reckless. Anxiety boils in his chest, its not dread running over him, its a heat in his skin, like he's being boiled alive. He's panicking. His breathing is raged. He needs to get out of their line of sight, calm down, then check.
He goes to stand, ignoring the hangover that makes itself known as he does, obsessions have a way of giving you tunnel vision, unable to feel yourself in your own body. Jeremy's hand is on his chest, pushing him back down.
"Sit back down James" Fuck he sounds angry. What happened last night? What did he do?
"No I need-" He looks around frantically, meeting Richard's worried eyes, then to his kitchen cabinet. Maybe he wouldn't be panicking so much right if he took his meds. He lets himself be pushed back to the sofa.
"What do you need James?" Richard asks, obviously caught him staring at the cabinet.
He looks to his hands, a distant memory of Richard complaining about his distance from them washing over him, fine. "I have some meds in that cupboard, please"
Jeremy's still standing in front of him, he won't let him get out of here. "Rich, you get them"
James watches around the side of Jeremy's leg as Richard fetches a glass of water, then stopping when he opens the cupboard as he realises that James does in fact have quite a few tablets and medical stuff in there.
"Which ones?" He asks sheepishly
"The Sertraline"
"What's that?" Jeremy asks above him, Richard shooting him an angry glance.
"Just uh- something I've been put on recently"
"Put on? Why? What's it for?"
"It's none of your business" He snaps, looking up at Jeremy, expecting to see anger, but is shocked to find his eyes only contain sadness.
"I think it is- James, last night-"
"I don't remember last night, look, I'm sorry for whatever I did, I was drunk, I didn't mean it."
"I think you did, you spent and hour last night locking everything in your house" shit.
"Oh. Right- I- Uh, I don't know what to say" He looks down to his hands, he's definitely going to be fired.
"What are the meds for James?"
"They're just some antidepressants"
"Do you have depression?" Jeremy sits down on the chair next to him as Richard hands him the glass of water and a small, white, tablet, which he swallows as he assesses his options here. He could say yes, its not technically a lie, he has been before, but that would never explain it, and- and maybe he should tell them, This is what the universe is telling him to do, he'll feel guilty if he doesn't, keep him up at night, make him worse.
"Sometimes. But no, they're mainly for a disorder I have"
"Okay, can I ask which one?" He doesn't have to tell him, he's said enough already, but Jeremy's testing him here, trying to form a connection, and honestly, he's never going to get another chance to admit it.
"It's called OCD- I don't know if you know what it is- It's hard to explain, you can probably google it"
"James, don't worry, I have heard of it. Is that why you don't want to come to the pub with us?"
"Its not that I don't want to, I do, I just can't, its too much after a long day of work, it'll just make everything take longer when I get home"
"Hey, Its alright, you don't need to explain yourself in detail, I'm not actually that nosy, believe it or not. I- I just wished you'd told us before, we were really worried about you, we wouldn't have bother you so much if you'd just been honest"
"Well its not exactly something I want to admit, people look you differently, I don't want the public knowing! Please don't tell anyone, who knows what they might do" He looks at them with panicked eyes, he'll feel pathetic about this later, but he's overrun with fear in the moment.
"No, we won't tell anyone, I swear" Richard says, reassuringly, looking to Jeremy who nods
"I swear"
"See, I'll tell you what" Richard starts "You said it was too much to go to the pub after work, and I know we keep coming back to the pub, but, if we went on a Sunday? Would that help? Would you do that? We really just don't want to leave you out, you said you didn't feel like we thought you were our friend, but that's probably because we spend more time together than you do with either of us."
"Yeah, maybe I can, I think I can try- Just- I don't want to make a fuss, it already affects my job and such, I don't want to feel like a burden-"
"Hey" Jeremy says sternly "You are not a burden. Never say that, you're our college and our mate, if you've got problems we can help you, if work is getting too much, tell us, please James, trust me, we care, and this show, it will go places! We just need to keep going, and we need to be more open to do that. Please. Can you just try?"
That's the only thing that had kept him going all these years, trying, this is the only opportunity he's going to get to make something for himself. The only opportunity he has to make friends. "Of course I can"