Work Text:
To Nick’s occasional and immense distress, he enjoyed writing. Quite a lot, actually—he enjoyed it just fine as a child, but it became a source of great comfort over the war. So when he came home from work, writing was a nice way to relieve himself of stress. He wrote of the people and places in his life. His work—boring and miserable and stale, sucking the life slowly out of him but better than staying in Minnesota. Jordan, her thirst for gossip and particularly disastrous love life, and he’s seen a lot of disastrous love lives. Daisy and Tom and all their heterosexaul nonsense. The long island air and sun, and whether it nourished him or choked him that day. His dreams and nightmare. Gatsby’s parties, delusions, car, hair, smile….
When dawn broke he became cognizant of the fact he’d been writing all night—mostly about his neighbor. He needed to get a grip. Instead, he laid down in bed and stared at the ceiling until he heard a frantic knock on the door. Must be Gatsby—no one else would visit at 6 am. For a good fucking reason. Still, he dragged himself out of bed, threw on a robe, and opened the door.
“Old sport!” The blonde man exclaimed, donning a pale yellow suit that fit him quite nicely. The rising sun’s light caught his perfectly slicked back hair, creating an almost angelic halo crowning his head. His lips pulled back in a dashing grin—all teeth and charm, very effective charm, but ultimately hollow. Not the real smile he knows.
“Gatsby,” he returned, a soft smile forming on his face. The other man rolled back and forth on the balls of his feet, staring at him in silence.
“Is there…a reason you’re here?” he asked tentatively.
He didn’t respond, and Nick—despite the annoyance this was proving to be—was a bit concerned. Not too much, Gatsby had come running to him during his anxious spirals before and behaved similarly. It was probably something trite and Daisy related. Which he was completely fine with, except for the fact that he was becoming too involved in his cousin’s love life. At this point, he didn’t believe he could know more about her. Daisy’s smile, Daisy’s hair, Daisy’s eye color, etc etc.
Lost in his musings; he startled when Gatbsy said something too fast to understand and ran back in the direction of his house.
“Gatsby?”
“GOTTA GO OLD SPORT FORGOT MY–uh–SHIRT!”
How has this man survived so long in the criminal underworld, “YOU’RE WEARING ONE!” Nick shouted to the other man.
“Oh,” he stopped short, back still turned, “Silly me. I don’t want to be bother, however, so I’ll get going—”
“Gatsby,” he sighed, “Why are you here? Do you want me to set up a “tea party” with Daisy?”
“Actually,” he trotted up to Nick, “I already have a meeting with Daisy scheduled, but…ehm…I just wanted to—well, this is a bit awkward but…,” he trailed off, rubbing his neck. Nick watched his cheeks and neck redden.
He raised an eyebrow at Gatsby.
“Daisy is coming over tomorrow,” he rushed out, “You see—it was very clever—she’s told Tom she’s visiting her sick aunt.”
“Very clever,” Gatsby didn’t look offended, so he must not have noticed Nick’s obvious sarcasm. If Tom wasn’t himself, he might have thought to ask Nick about his mother, because Daisy has no other aunts. He doubts Tom knows that much about his wife.
“Yes, isn’t it? Well, erm, she’s staying the night.” Gatsby refused to look Nick in the eye.
This has nothing to do with him. Why is he telling Nick this? He should really tell him to leave, “Okay. Not to be rude, but what does this have to do with me?”
“It doesn’t.” he was quick to clarify, “But, old sport, she’s staying overnight.” he nearly whined, handsome face growing redder.
Jesus Christ, no, he’s having enough trouble keeping himself from picturing Gatsby’s intimate life without the other man bringing it up, “Have fun?”
“Old sport,” the other man moaned, bursting into his house. He missed the next few things Gatsby said while yelling at himself for his previous choice of mental wording, but he heard what Gatsby was talking about when he flopped down on the couch.
“—what if it’s bad?”
Nick needed to tell him to leave, “Why would it be bad, Gatsby?” he sighed, sitting down next to the other man.
He hid his face in a pillow, thankfully, so Nick’s blush without Gatsby’s knowledge or judgment, “Well…it’s been a while.”
Staring at the ceiling and trying to keep himself together, he choked out, “How long, Gatsby?”
“...five years…give or take a couple months.”
“So since you’ve seen Daisy last.” He’s unsure why he’s so surprised. This is exactly the sort of thing Gatsby would do—toothachingly romantic and pointless.
The blonde man sat up and sighed, “Yes, so I’m a bit out of practice, old sport, and hoped you’d be able to help.”
For a brief moment Nick was under the ridiculous impression Gatsby was asking to…warm up, in a sense, with him. Blood rushed to his face at the thought, but of course he’d do it for such a good friend. He felt a bit bad for Daisy—what with getting his sloppy seconds—but what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. Truly, this was in Daisy’s best interest.
“Any advice?” that brief moment ended.
Getting a look at Nick’s face, Gatsby was quick to clarify, waving his hands around foppishly, “Oh God, old sport I’m so sorry. I overstepped, you don’t have to answer that—”
“It’s fine, really,” he coughed into his hand, “But I don’t think I’ll be much help. Never been wise in the ways of women.”
The other man’s eyes widened, just a smidge, “Oh–erm–have you…you’ve been with a woman before, right. I know you’re dallying around with Ms. Baker right now, and Daisy mentioned you had a fiance,” damn it Daisy, “but I’ve never seen you bring any lucky ladies home before?”
Has he been watching him walk home at night? It was a strangely comforting thought.
“Well, that's good, because I don’t remember bringing any home.”
Gatsby simply blinked at him, urging him to continue. When Nick didn’t, he added, “Have you…you know?”
Oh god, this was starting to sound like a conversation he’d had with his parents many times, before they caught him with Harold, “Had sex with a woman? No, I can’t say I have.”
Men on the other hand? A slightly different story, and not one Gatsby ever needed to know.
“Oh,” the blonde man put his hands on his knees, blushing like a school boy, “Well, I suppose this was completely useless, then.”
Most of the time Gatsby took pains to give off the impression of a man in control. He stood straight, talked fast, moved with authority and never seemed to falter. He stood with grace, if you never looked too close. As he stumbled into becoming the man’s confidante he’s seen more instances of, well, a certain level of patheticness. Like a wet dog in the rain that one couldn’t help but feel pity for. Nick was just another person feeling pity.
“Look Mr. Gatsby, Daisy likes you. I wouldn’t worry too much about the particulars,” he fibbed, hoping to soothe his ridiculous nerves.
He let out a long, wearied sigh, “I just want to be good enough for her. Tom—”
Subtly rolling his eyes, Nick cut him off, “Maybe don’t think about Tom while you’re with his wife.”
“But you know Tom’s type of man. He’s likely more…practiced,” he rubbed the back of his neck.
“Somehow I doubt it would make a difference,” Tom and pleasing women didn’t go together in his mind. However, from past experience he knows Gatsby’s anxieties are not so easily abated, “You know what, what if I ask Jordan how Daisy is feeling about the night.”
“Fantastic, old sport! You do get on that,” he snapped up and pulled out a cigar, walking to the window to light it. It’s just like the man to jump into every new thing, dragging Nick along with him. With a sigh, he made the trek over to the phone in the hallway.
“This is Jordan Baker speaking.”
“And this is Nick Carraway.”
“Oh hello, Nick,” her tone relaxed, deepening a fraction, “Whatever do you call for?”
“Have you talked to Daisy lately?”
“Of course I have, have you heard about Daisy and Gatsby’s little sleepover?”
He glanced to the other room, where Gatsby was bent slightly out of the window, puffing on his cigar, lips perfectly puckered with smoke pouring from them, “I have. How is Dai–”
“Daisy is over the moon. She hasn’t stopped talking about how excited she is to get out of her routine. You know, apparently Tom has been a bit boring in the bed lately. He—”
“Spare me the details. Please, this conversation was embarrassing enough as is.”
“As is?” she questioned, “My oh my, are you with Mr. Gatsby right now? You know he’s a one woman man,” He could hear the smirk on her face.
“No,” he startled as Gatsby crept up behind him, angling his ear towards the phone receiver, trying to hear what was going on.
“You should tell him to buy a collar for himself,” the curt manner in which she declared this had him blushing, “She wants to, but is afraid it’s too improper.”
“Jordan, nothing about this is proper,” through a combination of Jordan’s unabashed lewdness and Gatsby infallible stare had him wishing he could melt into thin air. He didn’t particularly care if he ever reformed; anything to escape this interaction.
“That’s what I said! But she insists. I think she’s too used to playing the submissive wife with Tom. According to her, Gatsby was much more willing to hand her the reins—I believe her wording was “almost too eager to please me.” Also, Tom refuses to put his mouth anywhere near her bits, so it’s been a while since someone’s sneezed in her satchel. You should tell Gatsby–”
“OKAY JORDAN, THANK YOU JORDAN, GOODBYE JORDAN!” he rushed out and slammed the phone down.
Gatsby’s handsome brow crinkled, “What is it?”
“You’ll be fine,” he said, decidedly not meeting the blonde man’s eyes. With the images currently careening through his skull, he doubted he would be able to look at him for a long while, “Just…do what you’ve done. You’ll be fine.”
“...Are you su—”
“Yes, Mr. Gatsby, I’m sure,” Nick didn’t even have to lie anymore. When your only competition is Tom Buchanan, it’s hard not to win. And furthermore, he needed to get Gatsby out of his house before Nick’s…anatomy…became an issue.