Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Davey Jacobs is not, by nature, an impulsive person. He has always been the most cautious of the Jacobs children, the middle child who generally played the voice of reason between his two more adventurous siblings. He always had good grades, graduated with honors, and never caused trouble. He found a decent, respectable job, bought a practical little house, and dated a nice, regular guy. Everything he had done with his life fell in line with The Plan.

Davey's still thinking about how much he never does things like this as he climbs out of the taxi on the first Friday of December, his suitcase in one hand and the emailed instructions from the home exchange website in the other.

The enormous apartment complex where Katherine Plumber - his exchange partner in this venture - lives fits well with the towering Manhattan skyline. Davey's heart hammers in his chest as he walks into the lobby, where a guard behind the security desk gives him a curious look. Part of him still expects this to be some vicious prank, but the passcode he was given works on the elevator. It lets him out in a little foyer outside the penthouse, and the door key is hidden below the large potted plant, exactly where he was told to look.

Taking a deep breath, Davey unlocks the door and lets himself into his new home for the next two weeks. It is even more incredible than the photos. The open floor plan is nicely arranged so that the row of expansive windows illuminates everything. The appliances in the kitchen are all pristine, and a small balcony gives a spectacular view of the city.

It would look like a brochure were it not for the scattered personal touches that show someone lives here. There's a snowflake-patterned throw blanket folded over an arm of the sofa, and an end table by the front door holds a bowl full of pocket detritus. A large mug with the logo of what he assumes is a local bar sits on the desk, filled with an assortment of pens. As Davey moves down the hall toward the bedroom, he can see a collection of photo frames tacked to the walls on either side.

Overall, the place is a million times better than he expected. He once again can't imagine why on earth a lady who lives like this would be interested in staying in his boring suburban cottage in Massachusetts. That being said, it is precisely what he was looking for when he half-drunkenly Googled ways to have a cheap vacation escape. Now he gets to spend two weeks exploring the Big Apple from the comfort of a glamorous apartment instead of a lousy and expensive hotel room. 

And more importantly, he's a couple of hundred miles away from home and everything that comes with it.

Depositing his things in the bedroom, Davey takes a quick moment to freshen up and then heads back out. He still has the evening left, and there's plenty to see in the big city.

By the time he makes it back to the apartment, it's night, the city illuminated by cascades of brightly colored neon and festive Christmas lights. 

Davey settles down in the living room with dinner that he picked up from a nearby deli, sitting on the floor at the coffee table because he's conscious of making a mess in someone else's home. He finds a vaguely interesting documentary about holiday traditions in America on television to play in the background. It doesn't really matter to him what he's watching; it's purely to keep his brain busy so he doesn't think about why he's in New York in the first place.

Thankfully, the documentary proves to be reasonably entertaining, and he winds up absorbed in it by the time he finishes his dinner. Davey migrates up onto the sofa - even comfier than it looks - and curls up under the throw blanket to watch the rest of it. It doesn't take long before the combination of travel and walking around the city catches up to him, and he gradually nods off.

A pounding at the door jerks Davey roughly from his sleep, and he spends a disoriented minute trying to figure out where exactly he is. Once he does, he glances at the clock on his phone: 1:47 am. Who's knocking at the door at almost two in the morning? Does Katherine Plumber have an angry ex-boyfriend that she left the city to hide from? Is Davey about to get murdered in the crossfire of some insane domestic dispute?

"Kat? You forgot to put the key back again," a voice calls from the other side of the door. It's decidedly male, but he doesn't sound angry. Inebriated, maybe, but generally amused. It doesn't change the fact that Davey has no idea who this person is or what they want. "Kitty Kat?" the voice says in a slurred sing-song. "C'mon, please, I let Race pick drinks. You don't lemme in, I'mma puke on your flowers."

Davey has no idea what's happening, but he doesn't want to have to explain to Katherine Plumber that he let someone defile her potted plants. Whether his anxiety likes it or not, he knows the best option is just to tell the guy that Katherine isn't home. Davey leans in to peer through the peephole on the door. It's difficult to make out any details because the guy is leaning against the frame, but the edge of his face that Davey can see doesn't look intimidating. Hopefully.

Bracing himself, Davey opens the door just as the person on the other side raises their hand to knock again. Davey ducks, startled, and the guy flails a bit before he catches his balance against the doorframe. "You ain't Kat."

"No, I'm not," Davey agrees as he straightens up, and then he finally gets a good look at the other man and promptly forgets how to talk. The man in the doorway is devastatingly handsome, even while clearly drunk, with casual confidence behind his well-cut jaw and vaguely disheveled clothes. He's broad-shouldered and would probably be just a bit shorter than Davey if he weren't leaning heavily into the door frame. Davey has to take a step back before he feels like he can breathe.

The man's brow furrows suspiciously, and he scowls, even though he looks like he's about to fall over. "'Kay, so who the hell are you then?" he says, bright chocolate-brown eyes narrowing.

"Oh, uh, Katherine and I did a home exchange," Davey scrambles to explain. While the guy doesn't look like he'd put up much of a fight in his current condition, Davey isn't inclined to find out. After all, there's a reason New Yorkers have a reputation. "So I'm staying here, and she's staying at my house for a couple weeks."

"Home exchange?" the guy echoes uncomprehendingly, and then, abruptly, he laughs. "Christ, Kat."

"I'm sorry, I'd assumed she'd told people," Davey says awkwardly.

"Yeah, well, that's Kat for you," the guy says, amused. He winces and lets out a slow breath, and Davey wrinkles his nose at the heavy smell of alcohol. The guy looks distinctly queasy now, and he swallows, grimacing. "Look, I don't wanna intrude, but I ain't-" He makes a vague gesture in the direction of his stomach, and Davey understands immediately.

Any self-preservation instincts that Davey might have about letting a stranger in are completely outweighed at that moment by his desire not to be vomited on by said stranger. Davey hastily steps back, and the guy staggers past him with a grateful nod, heading straight for the door to the bathroom. It's only shut behind him a few seconds before Davey can distinctly hear the sound of someone being sick.

Ducking into the living room where he can't hear the sounds, Davey busies himself with cleaning up the last of the empty food containers from his dinner. As he's passing the fridge, something catches his eye, and he pauses. One of the photographs stuck to the surface features the mystery man from the hall with his arm slung across the shoulders of a pretty redhead that Davey recognizes as Katherine from her account photo. Actually, on closer inspection, the drunk guy's in quite a few of them. 

At least now, Davey knows the guy is actually a friend of hers, and he wasn't just scammed.

Davey has resorted to methodically refolding the throw blanket by the time the bathroom door opens, and the other man comes around to prop his weight against the wall. He's less pale than before but still doesn't look very steady, eyes bloodshot and heavy. "Sorry 'bout that," the guy says and gestures over a shoulder sheepishly. "And all this, really. Musta woke you up."

"Actually, you might have saved me from an awful crick in my neck," Davey admits, trying to break the tension. "Fell asleep on the sofa. That isn't as comfortable as it was when I was a kid."

The guy snorts, a quick smile flashing over his features. "Well, I know from 'sperience, far as sofas go, Kat's is lush," he says. The guy shuffles and rubs the back of his neck nervously. "Oh, uh, anyway, I should pro'lly go. Letcha go back to sleep."

"You can barely stand," Davey says, noting the way the guy hasn't shifted his weight off the wall. "Are you sure you're okay to get home?" 

The stranger makes a dismissive hand wave, but Davey's warring with himself. Every logical cell in his body tells him to get this stranger out of here, but there's something in him that wants this man to stay. And it's not just because he's the most attractive guy Davey's met in a while. There's something deeper to it. This guy intrigues him, somehow, like one of those optical illusions where he can see more than one image and isn't sure which one's right.

On top of that, a rational part of his brain says that it's probably not safe for a guy who can barely walk to try and get home on his own, especially when it's below freezing outside.

Clearing his throat, Davey draws himself up. "Look, it's not fair to make you leave just because your friend didn't tell you she'd be gone," he says. The guy lifts an eyebrow questioningly, like he's waiting for the other shoe to drop. "At the very least, you should sit down and have some water, sober yourself up a bit before you go anywhere. I think Katherine will be angry with me if I let one of her friends freeze to death in some alley."

"You sure you don't mind?" the guy asks. He's looking so desperately hopeful toward the sofa now that Davey doesn't have the heart to deny him. When Davey nods, the guy beams. "You're a saint."

"Just don't be a serial killer who'll murder me in my sleep, please," Davey says, prompting the guy to laugh, a loud, unabashed explosion of mirth. Davey slips into the kitchen and checks a couple of cupboards until he finds a glass, then fills it from the tap. By the time he goes back into the living room, the guy is slumped on the sofa cushions, his head tipped against the back and eyes half-closed. He cracks one eye open further at the sound of Davey's footsteps. "Here, this'll help."

The guy sits up and accepts the glass. "Thanks. Really, you're great," he says and promptly drains the glass in one go. Davey turns and heads for the hall, but he's stopped when the guy raises his voice. "Wait, what's your name again?"

"Davey," he supplies.

And the guy on the sofa grins a warm, heart-stopping smile. "Nice to meetcha, Davey. I'm Jack." Then, without another word, the guy flops over to sprawl out across the sofa, flinging an arm over his face.

Davey is fighting a smile as he goes into the bedroom and starts getting ready for bed. It's an unexpected turn of events, and he's still not entirely sure what's happening, but there's just something about this guy, Jack. He makes Davey want to know more, and this feeling of the unknown and intrigue is something Davey's uneventful life hasn't had in a long time.

However, since he's not entirely insane, Davey still makes sure to lock the bedroom door before going to bed, just in case.

Davey wakes to the smell of fresh coffee, and he grudgingly drags himself from beneath the blankets out of curiosity. In the apartment's main room, he's greeted by the sight of his mystery guest, Jack, at the stove, carefully prodding something in the frying pan. The coffee maker in the corner - a contraption fancier than Davey's computer, honestly - is bubbling cheerfully, two large blue mugs sitting next to it in waiting. At the sound of the door, Jack looks over his shoulder and fixes Davey with that lazy grin.

"Morning," he says and nods toward the stools at the breakfast bar.

"You're surprisingly chipper for someone who couldn't see straight a few hours ago," Davey says, amused despite himself.

Jack bites his lip, embarrassment claiming his features. "Yeah, about that," he says. "Wanted to apologize. I didn't exactly make a great first impression."

Davey chuckles under his breath. "Memorable, though."

"Yeah, I suppose so," Jack agrees. He's distracted for a moment by the frying pan, then turns and presents a plate to Davey with a still-steaming pancake on top. "So, this's me saying sorry."

"With pancakes?" Davey asks, surprised.

"And coffee," Jack says, nodding toward the machine. "Soon as it's finished. When I drunk-crash someone's vacation in the middle of the night, least I can do is make a fella breakfast." He emerges from the fridge with a syrup bottle before going back to the stove.

Smiling, Davey sets about preparing his pancake. "Do you do it that often?"

Jack snorts a laugh. "Nah, this's a first for me, ach'lly," he says. His distinctive New York accent remains strong, but it's much easier to understand without the slur. It lends a slight drawling flavor to his words that Davey finds far sexier than he probably should, considering the circumstances. "Normally, when I show up in the middle of the night, I just get Kat's stink-eye. Don't much find, you know," Jack glances over his shoulder and smiles, "you."

Something lurches in Davey's stomach, and he busies himself with the pancake to hide the heat that blossoms in his cheeks. Is Jack flirting with him? "So, um, you and Katherine are close?"

"Been best friends since high school," Jack says conversationally, going over to pour the coffee. "Only reason she's nice enough to let me crash here when I've been out with the fellas." He moves around the kitchen with the ease of familiarity, clearly accustomed to spending time there. A mug of fresh coffee lands in front of Davey in a matter of moments. Jack holds up a bottle of creamer questioningly, and Davey shakes his head. 

"Oh, she says hi, by the way," Jack adds, propping a hip against the countertop. "Texted her to make sure you weren't some serial killer with a weird story."

"Fair enough," Davey says, nodding. "I was going to do the same thing, but then I saw you're in the photos on her fridge."

Jack glances over at the fridge door and chuckles. "Ah, nice catch," he says, nodding. "Anyway, she says she loves your house, and you have a great - bathtub?" 

Davey smiles into his coffee. "I've got one of those old-fashioned claw-footed tubs," he explains, and Jack makes a noise of comprehension. "It's probably my favorite thing about my house." 

Laughing, Jack shakes his head. "I gotta say, this trading houses thing, I didn't even know that was a thing people did. You just up and move into a stranger's house for a bit? How d'you get into something like that?"

"Honestly? Too much wine and Google," Davey admits self-consciously. "Was just looking for a way to take a vacation on a budget, and I found the site. Katherine messaged me, and here I am."

"Huh. That's wild." Jack sets up his own plate and coffee, and he comes around the breakfast bar to take the other empty stool. Neither of them says anything until Jack finishes doctoring his coffee with a rather ungodly amount of sugar. "So you're just up here by yourself?" he asks curiously. "You just had some impulse to spend Christmas in New York?"

Davey can feel the heat starting on the back of his neck again. "I'm actually going home the week before."

Jack blinks and frowns. "That makes even less sense then," he says. "I mean, just spending the weeks 'tween Thanksgiving and Christmas? Kinda random, ain't it?"

"It was just the way the timing worked out," Davey says with an anxious shrug, his voice taking on a defensive edge. "I was just looking to get away for a bit, and Katherine said she needed to be back by the eighteenth. It was an impulse thing. I just sort of took what I could get."

Jack draws back, obviously caught off guard, and then he lifts a hand in a sign of surrender. "Right, sorry, ain't my place." The silence stretches, uncertain, between them before Jack clears his throat. "You wanna be alone? 'Cause I can go, I didn't mean to-"

"No, it's fine," Davey says quickly and then blushes when he realizes how fast he said that. Jack, on the other hand, looks pleased. "Sorry, I didn't mean to be snippy. I just - I needed some time away from home, that's all. And I'm actually Jewish, so I don't care about missing Christmas. I've just always wanted to see New York."

"You never been before?" Jack asks. When Davey shakes his head, Jack's face breaks into an eager smile. "Oh, you're in for a good time. This city's got all kinds of great things to see if you know what you're looking for. In fact," he pauses, and there's something almost daring to his expression now as he meets Davey's gaze, "you got plans or you down for a tour from a real local?"

And Davey, who's never risen to a dare in his life, finds he really can't say no to a challenge like that.

For someone who's struggled to make friends his entire life, it amazes Davey just how easy it is to be around Jack. He still has moments of awkwardness and nerves, but for the most part, there's no pressure when it comes to Jack. It might have something to do with the fact that he knows there's no permanence to it, that after this vacation is over, he's never going to see this guy again. Still, Davey feels more comfortable being himself than he has in a long time.

It also doesn't hurt that Jack is an incredible flirt, and even Davey isn't resistant to the guy's charm.

The tour turns out to be great as well, a far better time than Davey could've had on his own. Jack is a lifelong citizen of New York, so he knows all of the secret ways to get around and avoid the worst of the traffic or tourists. Davey still gets to see a lot of the usual sightseeing spots that every tourist wants to see, but for the most part, they do it from a better vantage point up the side of a building or a less crowded spot further down the road.

On top of the tourist traps, Jack also makes it a point to show Davey what he considers to be hidden gems in the city.

A neighborhood mural painted by several generations of residents in the building, decades of art layered on top of each other.

A nondescript office building that still bears the signs of having once been the home of a Prohibition-era speakeasy.

A spot in Grand Central Station where Davey can hear Jack talking to him from the opposite side of the crowded station as if he were right next to him.

An actual piece of the Berlin Wall, casually on display in the plaza of a business skyscraper.

They stop at midday for lunch at a hole-in-the-wall deli called Jacobi's that Jack insists has the best sandwiches on all of Manhattan Island. The place is charming, with wood paneling and stained glass windows that cast jagged shapes of color over the booths and tables. Framed photographs line the walls, snapshots of the deli over the years and the famous patrons that visited. Davey is staring at the one above their table when Jack returns with their food.

"Is that Teddy Roosevelt?" Davey asks in awe.

Jack glances up at the photo and hums. "Yeah, I think Kenny says that's back when he was gov'nor," he responds. Davey looks over in surprise. "Family business," Jack explains. "Guess it was Kenny's grandad who owned the place back then. Or maybe great-grandad, I can never remember. Place is more than a hundred years old."

"That's so cool," Davey says. He looks down at the plate deposited in front of him, and his stomach rumbles eagerly. Jack wasn't wrong; the food looks delicious. "So, do you do this tour guide thing full-time?" he asks.

"Nah, just in special cases," Jack replies, grinning cheekily. Davey fights back a blush. "I'm an artist, ach'lly." Davey raises his eyebrows, and Jack's smile turns self-deprecating. "I know, New York cliché, huh, the starving artist thing? I did that for a while, but now I got a gig doing the political cartoons at the World."

Davey coughs, choking on his drink slightly. "The World? You're kidding. You work at one of the biggest newspapers in the city?"

"Yeah, although it doesn't normally get that kinda reaction," Jack says with a questioning look.

"Sorry," Davey says, and this time, he knows he's blushing for real. "It's just - I'm a journalist. It's just a little local paper, nothing exciting, but I remember dreaming about writing for some big paper back in school."

Jack laughs. "You should talk to Kat some more, then," he says. "Youse two gotta lot in common. Her old man runs the World, and she's a writer for the Sun." Davey makes an incredulous noise that propels Jack into a fit of giggles. "Hey, now I know you're into papes, I can show you some more stuff in the city. Know where all the paper offices are. And can show you the site of the Newsboys' Strike and stuff like that. Did a big school project about it once, so I know all kindsa nerdy facts about it."

"That would be so great," Davey says eagerly.

Before he can say more, a phone ringing breaks the moment, and Jack digs his cell out of his pocket. Davey's eyes catch the faintest glimpse of the name 'Charlie' on the caller ID as Jack lifts the phone. "Oh, sorry, I gotta take this," Jack says, and he stands to move away from the table. 

Davey tries not to stare, but he can't help but sneak glances at where Jack is hovering near the door. He's too far away to make out any of the conversation, but there's a soft, genuine smile on his face as Jack talks to whoever is on the other end. A boyfriend? Or girlfriend, even; Charlie is a girl's name these days too.

Determined to distract himself from the rise of questions in his head, Davey pulls out his own phone, which he's deliberately left on silent, and checks his notifications. There are two texts from his little brother, Les, telling him about his plans for the winter break with his new girlfriend. A text from his dad, telling him to call his mother soon because she's starting to fuss and it's getting annoying. And then two messages under the heading of 'Darcy.' Scowling, Davey swipes those away without reading them.

"Hey, sorry about that," Jack says as he drops back into the chair opposite. Davey jumps and hastily puts his phone away. "So I was thinking, once it starts getting dark, we should swing by Rockefeller. I know you're Jewish, so you pro'lly don't care about the big Christmas tree thing, but they got this garden on the roof, and the view is a beaut."

"Sounds great," Davey agrees, and Jack smiles. He doesn't need to be thinking about Darcy, not when he's got a guy like this right in front of him and no responsibilities or obligations. Then what Jack said sinks in, and Davey frowns. "Wait, there's actually a garden on the roof?"

Davey's never been much of a drinker, and he knows he's already more than halfway to drunk by the time he and Jack collapse onto the sofa in Katherine's apartment, both of them giggling for a reason that Davey can't quite remember. When Davey mentioned that he wasn't a beer drinker, Jack insisted that it was just because he'd never had a proper New York brew and set out to prove him wrong. 

Davey still doesn't like beer, but he can at least say he's given it a good college try.

Jack settles into the cushions with a contented sigh, draping his arms across the back of the sofa. Davey can feel an electric tingle where Jack's arm almost touches the back of his neck. "You know what, I don't get it," Jack says abruptly. Davey raises an eyebrow in question. "You. You really don't got someone back home? It just don't make sense, a fella like you on his own. I mean, what ain't to like?"

Despite the burning in his cheeks, Davey scoffs. "I've been told I'm socially awkward," he says dryly.

Jack blows a raspberry, his hand waving dismissively. "Medda, my foster ma, she always says if folks think you're weird, they're just the wrong people." The thought puts a smile on Davey's face. "So that ain't it, then. What else you got?"

"I can be a know-it-all."

"So's Kat, and she does just fine."

"Apparently, I'm boring." The sudden thickness in his voice catches Davey as much by surprise as it does Jack. Davey swallows against the lump in his throat, determinedly trying to force those feelings back. He's not thinking about it; he's not going to let it ruin his night. 

Jack obviously misses that mental memo because he twists to face Davey better, frowning. "Who says that?"

"Nothing, it's stupid," Davey says, shaking his head. He tells himself that if he doesn't think about the itch at the corners of his eyes, it doesn't exist.  

Jack snorts skeptically. "Clearly, it ain't nothing. Hey, c'mon," he puts a hand on Davey's knee, warm and reassuring, "talk to me."

"It's my boyfriend," Davey admits. "Well, ex- now, I mean. I don't know. I thought everything was fine. We were together two years, and it wasn't like it was a fairy tale or anything, but we were good together, you know? Or I thought we were good. Then out of the blue, he breaks it off. A day before Thanksgiving, the first time I was supposed to go join his family for it. He up and says I'm too boring. That he needs someone with dreams and ambitions, that he can see himself working toward a future with, and apparently, that's not me."

The silence falls heavy in the apartment, the white noise of the city distant, until Jack breaks it by scoffing loudly. "Fuck him, I ain't buying it."

Davey laughs weakly. "I dunno, maybe he was right," he says. "I mean, the more I think about it, the more it makes sense. I am kinda boring. I'm just this guy with a normal little house and a normal little job. I go to work, and I go home, and that's about it. I can't remember the last time I ever did anything exciting, at least when I was the one to choose it. Normally it was just me getting dragged along by my sister or something."

"What about this?" Jack asks. "Spur the moment vacation in the big city, staying in a stranger's place. That's exciting."

"An anomaly," Davey says with a glib gesture. "Out of character moment. And I was, like, super drunk when I made the account."

"Nope, still ain't buying it." Davey opens his mouth to argue, but Jack stops him by squeezing his knee, giving him a pointed look. "Tigers don't change their spots, yeah?"

Davey can't stop the giggles. "Tigers don't have spots."

Jack frowns. "What? Oh, yeah, I meant stripes. Or cheetahs. I dunno, I heard it both ways. Anyway, what I mean is, you doing this, that ain't you suddenly getting spots instead of stripes. That's gotta be something that's always been there. So maybe you ain't used it a lot, but it's still there.

"'Cause see, the Davey I know, he ain't boring. He goes to New York 'tween two big holidays but don't stay for either, just because. And he lets a handsome stranger sleep on the sofa, even after he's been puking his guts. And he runs 'round New York looking at it like it's magic, 'cause even if he don't wanna admit it, he's still that kid who studied newspaper in school and dreamed of writing for the Times or something. That Davey, he ain't even close to boring."

As they stare each other down, Davey's heart hammers so hard he can barely breathe. Something hums, wild and electric, in the air. Something new and passionate and tentative in the way Davey's only ever heard of in books and movies. Jack meets his gaze, strong and sure, like he actually believes, with one hundred percent certainty, every word he said.

And Davey, who has never felt so reckless, decides to do one more impulsive thing: hooking a hand around the back of Jack's neck, Davey drags him up into a kiss.

It's messy and frantic, an abrupt clash of teeth and tongues that taste like hops and bar pretzels before they finally settle into something of a balance. From there, things spiral. Jack pulls Davey into his lap, and then two minutes later seems to decide that's not enough contact because he flips them to press Davey down into the sofa. Fingers tangle in fabric and hair, desperately trying to get closer, grasping at whatever they can.

"Davey," Jack groans, and his name has never sounded so deliciously sinful. "This is - are you sure? 'Cause I can't-"

"It's fine," Davey breathes because somehow, he knows exactly what Jack's trying to say. He's not looking for a relationship. Right now, in this moment, Davey only wants to know what it feels like to be cherished the way Jack's eyes are promising. To feel needed in a way Darcy never made him feel. "No strings, just tonight." 

Jack moans and pulls Davey closer, meshing their lips together again. This time, when Davey breaks the kiss, it's only long enough to pant one word against Jack's jaw. "Bedroom."

Chapter Text

Exhausted and sore in all the best ways, with a faint hangover throbbing in his temples, Davey wakes up slowly and stretches. It's been a long time since he's felt so satisfied, and his muscles are still loose and gelatinous. The last thing he wants to do is move, so he doesn't. A soft chuckle sounds from the other side of the bed, and Davey pries an eye open curiously.

Jack sits on the edge of the mattress, and Davey drinks in the image in the early morning light. Wearing only boxers, Jack is still the picture of graceful confidence, even with his messy hair and heavily-lidded gaze. He has one leg drawn up with a small notebook balanced on his knee. "Morning," Jack says when he catches Davey's eye.

"What're you doing?" Davey asks, nodding toward the notebook. In response, Jack holds it out. A pencil sketch covers the lined paper, and Davey's stomach lurches when he sees it. The face is unquestionably his own, the angles of his face cast into sharp relief by the dawn shadows as he sleeps. The sketch stretches down to where the blanket pools at his waist, and there's something incredibly intimate about the image. 

"I thought you said you draw cartoons," Davey says, awed.

Jack snorts. "Sure, for work," he says. "Being an artist doesn't much have a steady paycheck. We all have other jobs. I'm just lucky mine is still art." He pulls the notebook back into his lap, going back to sketching idly. "Painting's really my thing. Like that one."

Davey follows the gesture to a framed painting mounted on the opposite wall of the bedroom. The canvas shows a view of the Brooklyn Bridge against the sunrise, rose-gold spears of light dancing between the suspension cables and up the sides of skyscrapers. "You did that?" Davey asks.

"Yeah, back in high school," Jack says without looking up. "Was technically my first paid job. Tried to give it to Kat for her birthday, but she insisted on paying me. Said that's what you do with a real artist." He grins fondly. "Think she believed in me 'fore I did, really."

"You two sound really close," Davey says, and although he means it casually, he winces when a little jealousy slips out underneath.

Jack glances up for a brief second, eyebrow lifted. "Ain't like that," he says with a knowing smile, and Davey blushes. Jack chuckles. "We tried dating once, in high school. Didn't last long. Realized we were better as friends. Well, that and she decided since she'd never find another guy like me, she was gonna stick to girls."

Davey laughs when he realizes what Jack means. "Oh, got it," he says. "Yeah, I had a girlfriend like that in junior high, except she was so terrible it scared me off girls forever."

"Well, that's the way Kat tells it," Jack admits with a grin, "but I know the truth." His attention turns back to the sketch, and heat climbs up the back of Davey's neck at the glances Jack shoots him while he draws. Finally, Davey buries his face in the pillow, and Jack laughs. "Hey, don't do that. I'm still working."

"You're making me self-conscious, staring at me like that," Davey says, twisting his head just enough to squint at Jack with one eye.

"How's you self-conscious, looking like that?" Jack asks in awe. "You're damn beautiful." Davey huffs and sticks his face back into the pillow, only to feel fingers beneath his chin, tipping his face back up seconds later. "Hey, I mean it," Jack insists. "Trust me, I'm an artist. We know these things. And you, you got this bone structure, and them eyes." He tracks his thumb along Davey's cheek and down to his jaw, brushing the pad of his thumb over Davey's lower lip. "I could draw that face for days."

Even as Davey can feel the blush burning up into his ears, an entirely different fire starts in the pit of his stomach. The look Jack's giving him, the intensity of that gaze, is exhilarating. Feeling daring, Davey nips gently at the thumb still resting on his lips, and Jack swallows hard. "I've got a few days," Davey offers suggestively. "And I can think of a few things we could do apart from drawing."

Jack groans, tossing aside his notebook and crawling up the bed. He brackets Davey's head with his arms, kissing him long and hard. "You got no idea how tempting that is," he says with a weary sort of resignation. "But I gotta get back tomorrow."

"You can always come back after work," Davey points out.

"It ain't about that," Jack says, shifting uncomfortably. "I can't - this ain't like that. You said last night, this's just for now. I can't do more than that. And truth is, if I keep coming back, I dunno if I'm gonna be able to leave." He strokes a thumb along Davey's cheek again, his expression turning oddly tender, before his smile slants into cocky again. "Besides, takes the mystery outta it, don't it? Ain't nothing more exciting than a sexy one-night stand."

Davey snorts. "I think you lost out on 'sexy one-night stand' territory when you passed out drunk on the sofa the first night," he teases. "Not to mention the puking."

Jack barks a surprised laugh. "Ah, shaddup you," he says and lunges down to cover Davey's mouth with his own, stifling their laughter.

They don't make it back out into the city until the afternoon, and even then, it's mostly only because they need food. After a late lunch at a charming café, they go on a walking tour of Central Park. It isn't as crowded as Davey expects, the snow and slush driving most people indoors, but there are still more than enough clusters of people wandering the paths. Jack shows off his extensive knowledge of the park, exposing alcoves shielded by frosted trees and places off the footpath where there are secret benches or viewpoints.

"It's better in summer," Jack says as they walk past a clump of tourists who are taking photos of a light display. "When everything's all green and pretty."

"I don't know. I kind of like the snow," Davey admits even as he buries his hands deeper into the pockets of his coat. "Especially when it's fresh and white. It makes everything so bright. When I was a kid, we didn't get snow." Jack glances over, curious. "We lived in Arizona until I was thirteen. I didn't even see snow for the first time until we moved to Michigan."

"Wow, that's a big move," Jack remarks. "Military family?"

Davey grimaces. "No, my dad got kicked out of his job. I mean, that's not what they called it, but that's essentially what happened. He got hurt at work, and it took him a long time to get better. When he finally got back to work, and they found out they were going to have to accommodate him, they ended up," Davey makes exaggerated finger-quotes as he finishes, "'downsizing' his department - by exactly one."

"Ouch," Jack says, wincing sympathetically.

"Yeah. It was rough for a bit, but eventually, my uncle found him a really good job at a company in Detroit," Davey says. "So we moved."

"That must've been hard," Jack says. "Moving 'round is never easy, but at least when I moved, it was still in the same city mostly."

A snatch of conversation from the night before, dismissed in the moment, comes back to him, and Davey hums. "You said you have a foster mom?"

Jack places a supportive hand on Davey's back as they cross over a patch of ice, waiting to answer until they're back on steady ground. "Yeah, grew up in the system. Bounced through a bunch of places 'til I finally ended up with Miss Medda when I was twelve. She's a gem."

"Getting shifted around like that - I can't even imagine what that's like."

"Ain't the greatest," Jack says, shrugging. "Was partly my fault, though. I was a bituva problem child."

Davey chuckles softly. "You? I can't imagine."

"Shaddup," Jack says, bumping shoulders with him and grinning. "Miss Meds, she's a sorta legend. Takes on the ones no one else'll take, puts 'em back on the right track so they can find good homes, or until they're adults and can take care of themselves. See, you get nicknames around the orphanages if you have a rep. The ones that cause a lotta trouble and don't last in foster homes long, you know? They called me Cowboy—ride 'em hard and put 'em away wet. Had a bad habit of burning through homes like a wildfire.

"Only kid who had a worse rep than me was Spot. Called him that 'cause he could tell you on the spot, soon as he laid eyes on the foster folks, exactly how long it'd take him to get 'em to send him back. Was damned good at it, too. Even the most patient folks'd get tired of him quick. Then, in comes Medda, and she takes us both at the same time."

"Both of you?" Davey asks, shocked.

"Yeah, everyone kept telling her it was crazy, that it was bad enough taking one of us, let alone two," Jack says. "But she just says there's no kid out there too broke to fix. And damn if she wasn't right. I mean, we tried, we really did. Pulled out all the stops to get her to give up, but she's stubborn, too. Eventually, we just got tired of trying."

Davey shakes his head. "That's incredible."

Jack laughs. "You're telling me. She took the two worst boys in the state and made us into semi-respectable fellas. Spot more than me, of course, but don't tell him I said that. He's a cop now out in Brooklyn, just made sergeant, and he's getting married and everything."

"You're really close?" Davey asks.

"Closest thing I had to a brother growing up," Jack says, nodding. "Known him since I was about six. He's barely a year younger than me, so we stuck together whenever we were both at the orphanage." He pauses and then adds, laughing, "Was ach'lly his stupid fiancé got me so trashed I hijacked your vacation."

Davey grins. "What's her name? I need to send her a fruit basket."

"Him," Jack corrects idly. Davey can't bite back his noise of surprise. "Yeah, another thing me and Spot got in common. Part of the reason folks didn't wanna adopt us, I guess. Me, I was never shy about it, even when I was just a li'l kid. Apparently, that puts folks off, especially twenty years ago. And Spotty, I'm pretty sure he's the reason all those stories exist about how bully kids are all secretly closet-cases. Of course, then he met Race and turned into a total sap."

"Race?" Davey asks. "Is that another orphanage nickname?"

Jack huffs. "Nah, Race got folks," he says. "He just doesn't like his real name. Call him Racetrack 'cause he got himself into trouble in high school for street racing this car he built from scratch." He chuckles. "He's a good guy, though. They fight like cats 'n' dogs, but they're good together."

"It's sweet," Davey says, drawing Jack's gaze up. "The way you care about Spot, I mean."

"Oh, shaddup, now you're making it sound like I'm the sap," Jack says, laughing. Throwing an arm around Davey's shoulders, he nods toward the road. "C'mon, you like snow? I got another place I wanna show you, then."

The next morning, Davey rolls over to find the other side of the bed empty. He lays there for a moment, staring at the depression on the pillow where Jack had spent most of yesterday evening. Even though Davey knew going in that it was only a fling, it doesn't stop the twist of loss in his stomach.

Truth be told, he's never connected with someone the way he has with Jack Kelly. Davey has always been awkward and withdrawn, with a touch of social anxiety thrown in for good measure. It's been a problem his entire life. He only ever feels truly comfortable around a few close people, and most others don't see a reason to make the effort to get close enough.

Then Jack blows in and, with no work, makes Davey feel like he's someone worth knowing. Not only that, Davey wants to let him closer. He wants to be able to talk to Jack about things he's only ever talked about with his sister, and he wants Jack to confide in him as well. He wants to know everything about this strange man who can be simultaneously over-confident and sweet.

Except he's gone.

Sighing, Davey wanders into the apartment's main room, only to freeze when his eyes land on the breakfast bar. A lone coffee mug sits in the middle of the counter, perched on the corner of a piece of paper: the sketch Jack did of Davey the day before. Davey picks up the paper, eyes panning once again over the sweeping lines and shadows. It's breathtakingly beautiful in a way that Davey never thought his body could be.

When he moves to set it down, a flash of black on the backside makes him pause. He turns the paper over and sees a short note written on the back in a messy scrawl.

Davey,
You're something special
and don't let anyone
make you think different.
- Jack

Stomach lurching, Davey drops the sketch back onto the breakfast bar. He needs to clear his head. He came here to get his mind off one man; the last thing he needs to do is go and get himself hung up on another. Shaking his head, Davey heads to take a shower.

He's getting dressed when he hears his phone ringing, and he picks it up anxiously, hoping it isn't Darcy. Instead, the name flashing over the cheesy selfie is 'Sarah.' Davey instinctively unwinds at the chance to talk to his sister. She can always make him feel better. He smiles as he slides the accept button. "Sarah, hi."

"So, I don't suppose you want to explain why you're currently a pretty red-headed woman?"

"Um, what?" Davey asks, startled. He sneaks a glance at the phone screen to make sure he didn't accidentally connect to a different call somehow.

An unladylike snort of amusement comes from the other end of the line, and now he's sure it's his sister. "Well, the thing is, I found out that my little brother might be feeling down. So, being the awesome big sister that I am, I decided to go to Boston to spend some time with him. Now, the kicker is, when I get to his house, instead of my brother, I find a very friendly young lady named Katherine."

"Wait, you're in Boston?" Davey asks, wide-eyed.

"And you aren't," Sarah replies pointedly. "Which brings us back to my original question: what the hell, Dave?"

Davey groans and flops back onto the bed. "I can explain," he says, but then falters as something else she said finally connects. "Wait, how did you know I was upset?"

"I got a call from Captain Nepotism," Sarah says in a tone of open disdain.

"Why'd Darcy call you?" Davey asks, ignoring the nickname his sister gave to Darcy early in their relationship. She's never been one to temper her opinions, and she made it abundantly clear that she didn't like Darcy from the first time they met. 

"He informed me that you two had a bit of a falling out and was then somehow surprised that you were ignoring his calls," Sarah drawls with heavy cynicism. Then her tone softens, and she adds, "But really, are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," he says, and then, at a noise from his sister, he amends, "I mean, I don't know."

"Davey, you ran away to New York to trade houses with a stranger," Sarah says dryly. "That's the sort of thing I'd do, not you. So, the truth, maybe?"

"Okay, so I'm a mess," Davey admits. "I mean, what am I supposed to do? Two years, and then he just suddenly decides I'm not good enough anymore. And what am I supposed to do about work? I can't keep working with him every day as if nothing's changed. He's technically my boss, and his dad owns the paper. It's why I took this trip. I needed to get away from him and figure out what I'm going to do because I can't just go back there and act like everything is fine."

Sarah hums. "How's that working out for you?"

"Terribly," Davey grumbles. "I mean, New York is incredible, and you would not believe this apartment. Katherine is living the good life. And then one of her friends comes by, and you should see this guy, Saz. He's gorgeous and charming and funny and - I don't even know, I don't have words for it. He's incredible."

Her innate big sister instincts must kick in at that moment because Sarah gasps dramatically. "Davey, you didn't." Davey groans, and Sarah lets out an excited squeak. "You did! Wow, Davey, I'm impressed. I knew you had it in you."

"Don't get too excited," Davey says. "It was just a one-night thing. Well, two nights, if you want to get technical."

"You're kidding, right?" Sarah asks. "David, I have known you your whole life. You're an amazing person, but you're so cautious. If you met someone who can make you relax and have a little fun, you should hold onto that."

Davey snorts. "Right, because rebounding straight into a long-distance relationship is a great idea."

"Who said anything about a relationship?" Sarah counters. "I'm not saying you should marry the guy. But you're in New York for a while longer, right? Enjoy yourself. Have a little fun with your guy. Loosen up a bit. At best, you have a friend-with-benefits in the big city. At worst, you've got a helluva story about your passionate romantic fling that you can tell all the other guys in the retirement home when you're old."

"You're insane," Davey informs her, but he can't entirely hold back his smile. Sarah's enthusiasm has always been infectious. She's got the sort of unbridled passion for life that he's always wished he could have but never knew how.

"Look, I'm being real with you here, Davey," Sarah says. "The way you just described your mystery guy? I never once, in two whole years, ever heard you sound that enamored with your boyfriend. I know you, I can tell when you're into someone. You were just gushing about that guy like he's a Prize-winning exposé."

Davey laughs. "Thanks for making me sound like even more of a nerd," he says sarcastically. "Because that's something I really need help with."

"That's what I'm here for," Sarah replies cheerfully. "Really, though, are you gonna be okay? 'Cause I came to Boston, I will totally come to New York instead if you need me to."

"No, thanks, I appreciate it, but I'm okay," he says.

Sarah giggles. "I'm kinda glad you said that because I've got a dinner date tonight I really don't want to cancel," she says. "Going to introduce your house guest to some of Ma's secret recipes. Would you believe she's never had latkes?"

"Sarah!" Davey interjects. "She's on vacation. She doesn't want you bothering her."

"Actually, she's the one who invited me," Sarah argues, and he can hear her smirk. "And I sure as hell wasn't going to turn down that offer. I don't know if you've seen this girl, Davey, but she's beautiful, smart, and ginger. I'm pretty much defenseless here."

Davey groans, dragging a hand over his face. "Just try to behave, would you?"

"I will if you don't," Sarah retorts with a laugh. "Really, though, call me if you need anything, okay? And I mean anything."

"I will," Davey says. "Thanks, Sarah. Love you."

"Love you too, little brother," she responds affectionately, and then Davey hangs up the call.

Lying back and staring up at the bedroom ceiling, Davey thinks over what she said. As much as he might not want to admit it to himself - and he'll definitely never say it out loud anywhere she might hear it - she has a point. He always cared about Darcy, and he liked him, but there was never much in the way of passion. 

Honestly, passion is something that's been missing from Davey's life for a while now, and not just romantically. He likes his job, but he doesn't love it. He likes Boston, but he doesn't love it. And he liked Darcy, but he didn't really love him.

These last two days, that soaring feeling in his chest as he wandered the streets listening to Jack tell stories about the city—that felt closer to what he imagined passion could be than anything he's ever known before. And that's not even mentioning how good things are in the bedroom. Jack Kelly makes Davey want to live a little, and like Sarah said, even if it doesn't last beyond this trip, it can't be bad to open himself up to that chance. Can it?

Well, only one way to find out...

Chapter Text

Davey's heart hammers as he steps up to the door, the little plaque with the number 92 staring back at him. It feels a bit sneaky having gotten the address from the little planner on Katherine's desk, but Davey didn't have any other way to contact him. It's not like they exchanged phone numbers in between rounds of mindblowing, no-strings-attached sex. Taking a deep breath, he knocks.

There's a minute's pause before the sound of steps approaches. Davey spends the entire time rehearsing in his head everything he wants to say to Jack, every point he wants to make in defense of whatever this thing between them is, limited by time as it might be. Then the door opens, and all of that vanishes, because it's not Jack standing on the threshold.

It's a boy, no older than ten, with tousled light-brown hair and a curious smile. It would be impossible to miss the forearm crutches he's leaning on, his weight pitched to one side with his hand on the doorknob. His right leg twists awkwardly underneath him, so his toes drag against the floor. 

For Davey, though, it's the more minor details that catch his attention: the bright gold-brown of his eyes, the shape of his nose, a certain curve to his jaw and cheeks that looks a little too familiar.

"Hi," the boy says, blatant curiosity in his voice.

"Oh, right, hi," Davey says, scrambling to remember how to talk. It doesn't make sense, but at the same time, something about it makes too much sense. Jack was so secretive about his home life, so ready to sever ties the moment the real world started to inch closer. Jack had seemed too good to be true. Is this his big dark secret? A child, a family? 

Was Davey just unknowingly the other half of an illicit affair?

"Hey, kid, who is it?" Jack's voice comes from deeper in the apartment, and a sudden panic swells in Davey.

The boy frowns slightly. "Dunno," he calls back and then turns his focus to Davey again.

Before Davey can find the words to tell the kid to forget about it - or the strength to turn tail and run - Jack appears in the doorway behind the boy. He meets Davey's eye, and his smile immediately flickers. "Davey," he says, surprised and just slightly nervous.

"Hi," Davey replies breathlessly.

The tension hangs between them, a tangible presence in the hall, before the boy pointedly elbows Jack in the stomach. Jack startles and then pulls himself together, his usual expression of casual confidence sliding back into place. "Oh, Davey, this is my kid brother, Charlie." Davey's eyes widen as he remembers the name from Jack's caller ID that first day—so, at least it wasn't a boyfriend, then. 

"Call me Crutchie," Charlie says, beaming.

Jack groans and slaps a palm over his face. "Christ, Charlie, how many times I gotta tell you people ain't gonna call you Crutchie?" he says wearily. 

"Why?" Charlie asks, frowning. "Uncle Racer does."

"Well, yeah, but Racer is a weirdo," Jack counters. "Normal people ain't gonna call you that. It's not nice."

Charlie huffs. "If I tell 'em to, it's not a mean name anymore." Jack opens his mouth, but the kid talks over him, his attention back on Davey. "Are you Jacky's friend?"

"Um, yeah, I guess so," says Davey, looking to Jack for some guidance. Swallowing, he takes a small step back. "Sorry, I didn't mean to intrude or anything."

"Nah, don't worry about it," Jack says with a flippant wave of his hand. "We're just getting ready for dinner. You hungry?"

"Jacky makes the best spaghetti," Charlie interjects enthusiastically. 

The kid's expression is so eager, and it reminds him of his own little brother, so Davey finds he can't bring himself to let him down. Besides, the curiosity is killing him, even though Davey's a bit terrified to hear the answers. "I don't know, I've had some pretty good spaghetti before," Davey says. "I guess I could stick around and see if he can live up to the hype."

Jack snorts. "I never disappoint," he says. He steps back, opening the door wider in a blatant invitation. Charlie maneuvers around and heads back into the apartment, and Davey hovers near the door as Jack shuts it behind him. "Wasn't expecting to see you," Jack comments, quietly enough that Charlie won't hear. 

"I didn't mean to intrude on your family," Davey says. "Really, I can leave if you want me to."

"Didn't say that," replies Jack, and a small spark lights in his eye again. Then he nods toward Charlie's retreating back. "Besides, wouldn't wanna disappoint the kid. He loves chatting to new people."

"Jacky! The noodles are boiling over!" Charlie hollers, and Jack springs into action.

Davey gives himself a minute to take in the apartment as he follows at a slower pace. It's a large and airy space, with exposed brickwork and a hodge-podge of mismatched furniture. Two doors lead to other rooms, one a bathroom and the other a small bedroom. Above that, an open loft has been converted into a second bedroom. A living room takes up one end of the flat, and a kitchen fills the other, with a small counter island in place of a dining table.

What really catches the eye, though, is the art. Several paintings and sketches hang around the place, bright splashes of color on the bland walls. The entire stretch of wall behind the kitchen is painted with an enormous mural of a desert landscape, featuring orange sand and plateaus meeting a bright blue sky.

"Did you do that?" Davey asks.

"Yep, Jacky did it all himself," Charlie answers before Jack, preoccupied at the stove, can even open his mouth. "It's Santa Fe. That's where we're gonna move someday."

"Yeah?" asks Davey, surprised.

"Yep. And Jack's gonna get an art studio, and once they fix my leg, we're gonna run a marathon all the way down the Grand Canyon," Charlie says, matter-of-factly. Davey can't even think of a way to respond to that, and thankfully, Charlie spares him by barrelling on ahead. "So, Davey, do you work at the newspaper like Jack?"

"No, at least not that paper," Davey says. He crosses uncertainly to the counter island where Charlie sits on a stool, taking the empty spot across from him. "I live in Boston, I'm just here on vacation."

"Oh, we just learned about Boston at school," says Charlie, eyes widening. "That's the place they threw all the tea off the boats to piss off the British."

Davey laughs. "Exactly."

"But it wasn't just about pissing them off, huh, Jacky?" Charlie says, peering over his shoulder at his older brother. "It's about showing 'em that you can't push folks around just 'cause you wanna. That people don't get to be mean just 'cause they got more money, huh?"

"Fo'sure," Jack agrees with a nod, a proud smile slanting across his lips. "Set the table, wouldja, kid?"

Charlie grins and slides off the stool, tucking his right arm back into the forearm crutch. He limps over to the cupboard and then back, balancing the plates in his left hand. Once he's set those on the table, Davey shifts uncomfortably. "You want a hand with that?" he asks.

"Nope, I got it," Charlie says unconcernedly. He makes his way back and forth from the cupboard, carrying over a stack of cups and then three sets of cutlery. The movements are practiced and fluid; his body is obviously used to compensating for his leg in a way that suggests it isn't a new injury. 

Once he's done bringing everything over, Charlie hauls himself back up onto the stool and starts laying out the dishes at each spot. He at least lets Davey help with this part, and they're just finishing when Jack comes over carrying a steaming pot.

"Pasta a la Kelly," Jack announces, nudging a hot pad so he can set down the pot of noodles. "We're a 'help yourself' kinda family, so dish up." He comes back with the second pot full of deep maroon spaghetti sauce and a small plate stacked with slices of garlic toast. "Just watch you don't get your hands 'tween Charlie and his food; he bites."

"Shaddup," Charlie responds, poking Jack with his fork. "I'll bite you."

"I'll bite you back," says Jack, raising a challenging eyebrow and grinning. "We've had this fight before, kid. You know who wins."

Rolling his eyes, Charlie sticks out his tongue and goes back to dishing up his pasta. It's quiet as they all fill their plates and start eating, but Davey can't stop the small noise of surprise when he takes his first bite. As the sort of guy who uses bottled store-bought sauces to make spaghetti, he's shocked by the array of spices and flavors. "Okay, that's actually really good," Davey admits.

"Told you so," Jack says, smirking. "Kelly boys don't disappoint, huh, kid?"

"Fo'sure," says Charlie in an obvious parrot of Jack's mannerisms. Jack snorts and ruffles Charlie's hair. Davey manages not to laugh, but he's still grinning. As an older brother himself, the scene is oddly touching. It's also incredibly sweet, this other side of Jack that Davey has caught hints of before, the one that's protective and affectionate.

Charlie spends the rest of dinner chattering about his day, telling them all about the new video game he played at his friend's house and the gossip from his play rehearsal. As he talks, Davey sees that same smile from the café slip over Jack's face, the genuine one. For all his swagger, it looks like Jack Kelly is a bit of a softie.

If this is Jack's big dark secret, Davey thinks, it's not a deal-breaker.

They follow up dinner with a movie, and by the time that finishes, Jack tells Charlie to start getting ready for bed. Even though he complains that he's a big kid and can stay up later, Charlie does as he's told easily enough. When he's changed into his pajamas, Charlie limps back out into the main room. "Hey, Davey, are you gonna come see my play?" he asks eagerly. "I got a singing part this year and everything."

Davey's eyes widen, startled, but Jack saves him. "He's going home by then, kiddo," Jack says. Charlie's expression falters slightly, so Jack adds, "But that means Aunt Kat is gonna be back so she can come to it."

"Oh, right," says Charlie, and he seems pacified. "Well, nice to meetcha, Davey."

"You too, Charlie," Davey says. "G'night." Charlie fist-bumps Jack, grinning, and Jack ruffles his hair one more time as the kid turns and heads into the single bedroom. The door shuts behind him, and a tense silence promptly falls over the apartment.

"Sorry about him. He's all excited about the show," Jack says. "Been inviting everyone in the whole damn city."

"No, it's fine," says Davey. "He seems like a great kid."

"He is," Jack agrees with a distracted smile. Then he shakes his head and nods toward the loft. "Figure you wanna have a chat, huh?" When Davey nods, Jack leads the way up the flight of steep, narrow stairs that go into the loft. 

The space has been converted into a bedroom, a bed and dresser tucked against the wall on one side. The opposite corner is devoted to an easel, where a half-finished canvas sits. A set of enormous windows looks out onto a fire escape and gives a view of the street several stories below.

Davey takes a step closer to the easel and examines the features that are forming in the sweeping lines of color. "This is beautiful. You do a lot of landscapes?"

Jack shrugs, suddenly self-conscious. "It's just a buncha trees," he says. He sits down on the edge of the bed and eyes Davey uncertainly. "So, was a surprise to see you."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have just shown up the way I did," Davey says immediately. "I mean, I know you said you wanted a clean break, but I just - I've had a great time with you the last few days, and I guess I just wasn't ready to give up on that. But that didn't give me the right to just show up at your home, and I-"

Jack chuckles and holds up a hand to cut him off. "You talk a lot," he says, smiling to soften the comment. "Sit down, Davey. If I didn't want you here, I wouldn't have let you through the door." Sheepish, Davey crosses to the bed and sits down next to Jack. "Just - now you know why I had to get back."

"You're raising your brother," Davey says, and Jack nods. "Is he - I mean, I thought you said you grew up in foster care?"

"Did," Jack agrees. "And yeah, he's my real brother. Well, half-brother. It's a kinda long story." He sighs and cards a hand through his hair. "See, thing is, my old man ain't a nice guy. It's how I ended up in the system in the first place, 'cause he got himself tossed in prison. Well, he apparently made parole about ten years ago, shacked up with a girl, and they had a kid."

"Charlie," Davey concludes, and Jack nods again.

"So, I just turned twenty-three, and I'm finally getting going with my art, at least steady enough to support myself most times," he says. "Then this lady from the state shows up on my doorstep. Says I got a little five-year-old half-brother, and they're tryna find a relative who will take him so he don't gotta go into the system. I couldn't - God, I just couldn't let him go into the system. 'Specially not after I found out about the leg. System's hard enough for a healthy kid."

Davey fidgets with his hands, trying to think of a good way to say it. "Is it a muscular disease or-"

Jack scoffs bitterly, and his hands fist on his knees, knuckles bleached white. "Nah, the old man got a temper. The kid's mom didn't make it; she took a couple good blows to the head apparently. Charlie got out lucky, all things considered."

"His father did that?" Davey asks, horrified.

"By the time the docs got to him, damage was already done. Near pulverized every bone below the knee, and it tore up all the muscles and stuff." Jack swallows and shakes his head. "Docs fixed up what they could, but his leg ain't ever gonna work right again. State helped out with those bills, but then there's all the physical therapy and stuff. It's why Kat helped me get the gig at her dad's paper, 'cause I needed the insurance and steady checks."

"Jack, that's-" Davey takes a breath, struggling to come up with appropriate words. "It's incredible what you're doing. To take on that kind of responsibility, especially knowing the kind of baggage that must have come with that. It's amazing." Jack still hasn't looked up from his hands, but the tension in his shoulders lessens slightly. Davey dares to slide a bit closer, letting his knee bump against Jack's. "And you've done a good job. He seems like a really great kid."

This finally manages to drag a smile out of Jack. "He's definitely something," he agrees with a soft chuckle. "It wasn't easy at the start, but the kid's tough. Lots tougher than I am, fo'sure. And Medda, my foster ma, she's been a saint. He stays with her every couple of weekends when I need some time for myself. That's where he was this weekend while I was with you. And then she got him into theatre and he just sorta came to life. Should see him on a stage, he's brilliant."

"Yeah, I heard he even got a singing part this year," Davey chips in, grinning, and Jack laughs.

"He's excited," Jack says with a helpless gesture. "Come a long way from his first play. Medda put on Christmas Carol, cast him as Tiny Tim. Think she was tryna show him a crutch shouldn't stop him from doing what he wants, but she just says she was planning on doing that play anyway, and it just worked out. He only had the one line, but damn if he wasn't so proud of himself when he nailed it first night. Oh, in fact, think I got-" Jack digs his phone out of his pocket. He flips through the photo gallery before finding the one he's looking for and passes it over.

The screen shows Jack crouching with his arm around Charlie, who can't be more than six, against a backdrop of brick houses on a stage. Charlie wears a ragged coat and breeches, an oversized newsboy cap pulled on over his messy hair, and both brothers beam like the sun. 

"You look so happy," says Davey. When he looks up from the phone, it's to see Jack wearing a very similar smile now. "You know, I think parenthood suits you, Jack Kelly."

Jack snorts and shoulders him, taking the phone back and tossing it onto the side table. "It's been rough, but I ain't trading it," he admits more softly. "He's a good kid. Just wish I could do better for him."

Davey reacts without thinking and kisses Jack. The other man freezes for a moment, startled, before he sinks into the kiss. When they break apart, Jack nudges his forehead against Davey's and smirks. "Not that I'm complaining," he says, "but what was that?"

"I don't know," Davey says, blushing. "I just - felt like it."

Jack chuckles. "Oh, well, in that case," he says and then closes the gap between them again.

Someone shakes him by the shoulder, nudging Davey back into awareness. He groans and tries to roll over, dragging the blanket up over his head. "C'mon, Davey, wake up," Jack murmurs, his laughter muffled. "We fell asleep, and I really don't wanna make Charlie scarred for life."

That manages to break through the sleepy haze, and Davey lowers the blanket to squint up at Jack in the darkness. "What time is it?" Davey asks blearily.

"Almost seven," says Jack, voice muted as he tugs his T-shirt over his head.

"So much for vacation," Davey grumbles, rubbing his eyes.

Jack chuckles. "That's what you get for hooking up with a guy that's got a kid and no bedroom door."

Davey catches his shirt when Jack tosses it at him, untangling it so he can put it on. "Yeah, the kid wasn't a deal-breaker, but this door thing might be," he says. A grin flashes across Jack's face as he steps into his jeans. "Who gets up this early?"

"He's got school," Jack says. "But even when he doesn't, he's usually up soon enough. Always been a morning person, can never get him to sleep much past eight, 'less he's up way too late the night before. It's kinda habit for me now, too."

"That explains how you were up before me even after you'd passed out drunk," says Davey, making Jack laugh again. He slides out from under the covers and immediately shivers as the cold air hits his bare legs. "God, it's freezing."

Jack chuckles and tosses Davey's jeans over from where they landed the night before. "Yeah, sorry, that happens this time of year," he says and nods toward the windows. "Ain't meant to be a bedroom up here, but I had to do something when I took in Charlie. I couldn't afford to move, and this place is rent-controlled, but the loft stairs are too steep for the kid. I just sorta got used to it by now."

"Don't be sweet, it's making it hard to be annoyed with you," Davey mumbles as he slips his jeans up over his hips. He stands and stretches, only to lose his balance when Jack hooks an arm around his waist and tugs him closer. Davey stumbles into him, arms locking around Jack's neck, and Jack takes advantage of the moment to sneak a kiss.

"Ah, you know you like it," Jack says, and he sneaks a hand into the back pocket of Davey's jeans, winking. Davey fights back a smile, shrugging nonchalantly. "M'kay, gonna have to break out the big guns, then," Jack says with a decisive nod. "Just remember, you brought this on yourself." Pulling Davey closer, his lips brush against the shell of Davey's ear as he whispers, "I have coffee."

Davey can't help the surprised laugh that bursts out of him, and he buries his face in Jack's shoulder to stifle the noise. He's still snickering when he steps back to meet Jack's gaze. "You drive a hard bargain, Jack Kelly."

"I told you," says Jack, grinning smugly. "I don't disappoint." He opens up the wardrobe in the corner and pulls out a sweatshirt, handing it to Davey as he passes. Then, with one last stolen kiss and a minor grope, he heads down the steps into the kitchen.

Shaking his head, Davey unfolds the hoodie curiously. Flaking screenprint on the front declares Columbia University in blocky letters, and splatters of paint in various colors dot the sleeves. Davey pulls it over his head and shrugs the hoodie more tightly around himself, the sweatshirt too big on his narrow shoulders. The fabric is soft, obviously well-worn, and smells like pine and laundry soap.

Davey walks down the stairs and takes a seat at the counter island, watching Jack busy himself in the kitchen. "So, Columbia?" he asks curiously.

"Hmm?" Jack glances over his shoulder and then laughs. "Oh, no. Spot, my foster brotha, he gave me that. It's where he did school."

"Oh, wow," says Davey. "Isn't that supposed to be a hard school to get into?"

Jack nods. "Scholarships," he says. "He gots the brains, I got the good looks." Davey snorts. Jack sets the coffee maker to brew and comes over, leaning his elbows on the countertop. "Nah, I didn't go to college."

"So wait, all of this," Davey says with a sweeping gesture around the apartment, "you taught yourself?"

"I mean, yeah, mostly," Jack says and shrugs. "It's just lotsa practice. Some foster folks noticed I was always doodling, so they decided it'd be a good way to keep me busy and outta trouble. Didn't work so well as they hoped, least as far as the trouble part, but I liked it, so I just never stopped. Took classes in high school and stuff, but that's about it."

Davey lets out a breath. "That's amazing."

"Ain't that special," Jack says, rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously, and his ears go pink. "Anyone can do it."

"Trust me, no, they can't," says Davey. "I can't even draw a stick figure without it looking like the Hunchback of Notre Dame."

Jack huffs a laugh. "Look who's sweet-talking now," he says, smirking and leaning closer. At that moment, the door to Charlie's bedroom opens, and Jack mutters, "Great timing, kid." Davey muffles a laugh as Jack straightens up and grins. "Morning."

"Morning," Charlie echoes. He's dressed in a tee-shirt and Captain America pajama pants, and he cocks his head in surprise when he sees Davey. "Hey, Davey. You came back?"

"Your brother was bragging again," Davey says. "Said something about breakfast. I wasn't going to turn that down." Davey glances at Jack, raising an eyebrow in challenge, and Jack smirks.

"Whaddya think, kiddo?" says Jack. "Omelettes or waffles gonna impress him more?"

"Waffles!" Charlie crows excitedly. Jack nods and heads for the fridge, while Charlie comes over to join Davey at the island. He pulls himself up onto the stool next to Davey today. Davey struggles not to watch the careful way Charlie lifts his right leg into place and balances his crutches against the counter. Then, finally, the kid sets his arms on the countertop and looks up at Davey. "You didn't go home, huh?"

"What do you mean?" Davey asks, trying not to panic.

Charlie gives him the knowing, unimpressed look that only a kid can pull off. "Your hair's a mess," he points out. "And you got no shoes and Uncle Spot's hoodie. I'm not dumb."

Davey glances down at his hands, a blush burning across his cheeks. Nothing like being called out by a ten-year-old. "Yeah, I guess we're not very sneaky," Davey admits with a bashful smile.

"Nope," agrees Charlie, popping the 'p.' He shuffles slightly in his seat to face Davey better, his eyes narrowing and arms crossed. "So, does that mean you're Jack's boyfriend?"

"Uh, no," Davey says, the panic resurfacing. "We're just friends. We're just hanging out while I'm in town."

Charlie's expression falls. "Oh."

"You sound disappointed," Davey says, surprised. In all honesty, he had been expecting the protective brother inquisition. It wouldn't be the first time he'd gotten one, although it would be the first time it came from someone prepubescent.

"I dunno, just Jacky's never had a boyfriend," Charlie says, shrugging. "Or girlfriend. Least not since I moved in. He has lotsa friends, but he doesn't have someone like Uncle Spot has Racer. I think that'd make him happy."

Davey's chest seizes up like a fist closing around his heart. "I think you make him happy," he responds, nudging Charlie's elbow with his own. Charlie snorts. "I mean it. He was telling me all about your first play when you were in A Christmas Carol, and how proud he was."

Charlie beams, ducking his head. "I wasn't in it a lot," he says modestly.

"But you were Tiny Tim," Davey counters determinedly. "He's an important character. He's the whole reason Scrooge starts to change his mind because the little boy shows him what's most important about Christmas."

Jack, who has just walked up to the island with a mug of black coffee, gives Davey a confused look. "I thought you're Jewish?"

"Doesn't mean I don't know about Christmas Carol," says Davey, laughing. He accepts the coffee when Jack passes it over, smiling in thanks. "Everyone knows that story. And I took a lot of Lit classes in college, I was bound to read Dickens at some point." Shaking his head, he turns his attention back to Charlie. "So, hey, since I'm not going to be here for it, why don't you tell me about this play you're in?"

Chapter Text

It's strangely easy to fall into a pattern after that. 

Davey spends his days out exploring the city, curiously browsing through all of the tourist traps he hasn't visited yet, or aimlessly wandering through historic districts or shops. Then, in the evening, he winds up back at Jack's apartment for dinner. Davey listens to Charlie ramble excitedly about his day at school, and Jack talks about the happenings at the office or whatever current political turmoil is the subject of his next cartoon. At the end of the day, Davey grabs a taxi back to Katherine's apartment for the night so he can start the whole thing over again. 

It's miles from all conventional ideas of vacation, but Davey feels more relaxed than he has in ages. He tries not to let himself dwell on how much he loves it, not for the days of sightseeing but for the lazy, domestic evenings listening to Jack and Charlie singing along with the radio while Jack cooks. A voice in the back of Davey's head screams at him that he's getting in too deep, that this path can only end in heartbreak. 

Then Charlie asks Davey for help with his homework, and Davey shoves that warning into the back corner. 

On Saturday morning, Davey knocks at the apartment door with a wide grin and a box of pastries. He's looking forward to spending the whole day with Jack and Charlie, and they've been planning to visit the Central Park Zoo. So when Jack opens the door with shadows under his eyes and a tense frown, Davey's stomach plummets. 

"Hey, Dave, sorry," Jack says, summoning up a weary smile. "I was just gonna call. We're gonna have to raincheck today." 

"What's wrong?" Davey asks nervously. "You look exhausted. Are you okay?"

Jack grimaces. "I'm fine. We just didn't get much sleep. It's Charlie. His leg's giving him shit. Gets bad sometimes when there's a storm coming in." Davey winces sympathetically, and Jack nods. "Yeah, so I'mma stay in and take care of him."

Davey bites his lip. "Can I at least come in and say hi before I go?" he asks. "I brought breakfast."

That tugs a small smile out of Jack, and he steps back to let Davey in. Charlie lies on the sofa beneath a blanket, one leg propped up on throw pillows. Although he's staring in the direction of the television, his eyes are so heavily lidded that Davey would be surprised if he can see the screen. His gaze flicks over at the sound of the door shutting, and his expression brightens into a warm smile. "Davey, hey," the boy greets. 

"Hey, Charlie," Davey responds. He crouches by the sofa, depositing the pastries on the coffee table. "I brought danishes. Got the raspberry ones because I know that's your favorite." 

"Thanks," Charlie says. While he's smiling, deep shadows hang under his eyes and lines carve his brow. Even as Davey's watching, Charlie's foot twitches under the blanket, and the boy winces. Davey's heart clenches painfully at seeing him hurting so much. "Sorry we can't go to the zoo," Charlie says sadly. 

"Hey, nah, that's okay," Davey says, shaking his head. "Honestly, it's freezing out there. All the animals are probably hiding inside where it's warm anyway. That's the smart thing to do."

Charlie nods, his eyelids fluttering blearily. "Maybe we can go some time when it's warmer," he offers. Davey doesn't have the heart to remind the kid that he's flying home in five days. "Whatcha gonna do today then?" Charlie asks. 

"I dunno, I'll figure something out," Davey says. "Don't worry about me, there's plenty of things to do around here. You just get feeling better, okay?"

The boy bites his lip tentatively. "You wanna watch a movie? You know, while you eat? Since you got 'em and all. Jacky and me been watching Harry Potter."

Davey glances up toward Jack questioningly, not sure if he's welcome into the family affair. Jack smiles softly down at Charlie and shrugs. "I mean, you did buy the danishes after all. Should at least stay and have one." 

"And I do love Harry Potter," Davey agrees. The way Charlie's face lights up makes Davey's heart skip a beat. 

Despite Davey's protest, Charlie shuffles on the sofa enough to make room for Davey to sit by his head. Jack brings Davey a cup of coffee before he sits at the other end, lifting Charlie's legs into his lap. While the movie plays, Jack's free hand massages small circles into Charlie's right leg, trying to ease the spasming muscles. 

Charlie starts on a second pastry when his leg suddenly seizes, jerking it sharply, and the boy lets out a pained yelp. Jack grabs hold of his ankle to hold the leg still and rubs his other hand along his calf. "You okay?" Jack asks, frowning. 

"Yeah, I'm good," Charlie answers, although it's less convincing considering his face is scrunched in pain. 

"Does that happen a lot?" Davey asks tentatively. 

"Nah, cold just makes it spazzy," Charlie says. The statement emerges so calm and dismissive, which means he's more than used to this happening, and the ache in Davey's chest sharpens. It's horrifying to think that a kid so young has grown up having to deal with constant pain to the point he just accepts it as normal. 

Davey licks his lips, brow pulled down thoughtfully. "Do you have metal in it?" he asks. Both Jack and Charlie cast curious looks at him. "Like rods and pins, you know?" 

"Yeah, a bit," Jack agrees, eyeing Davey uncertainly. "From putting the bone back together."

"I'm like a cyborg," Charlie chips in with a grin. 

"I know something that'll help," Davey says. "I know this is gonna sound weird, but trust me. I just need a box of rice and a sock. Longest one you've got." When Jack raises an eyebrow incredulously, Davey smirks. "A clean one, preferably." 

"You're kidding, right?" Jack says dryly. 

Davey shakes his head, standing up and heading for the kitchen. "No, this's an old trick my dad uses whenever his hip gives him trouble. They had to rebuild his hip joint with metal, and if that metal gets cold, it makes the muscles around it hurt. So you just have to warm the metal back up, and it takes a lot of the pain away." 

"With rice and a sock," Jack concludes skeptically. 

Smile softening, Davey turns to Jack, who slipped out from under Charlie's legs to follow Davey—no doubt to stop him from blindly plundering the kitchen pantry. "It'll help," Davey says insistently. "Trust me." 

Jack stares back for a long minute, and then he sighs. Opening the pantry, he pulls out a large box of Minute Rice. "This work?" 

"Perfect," Davey agrees. 

Shaking his head, bemused, Jack jogs up into his loft and comes back a minute later with a bright red crew sock. "You wanna tell me what you're doing with my socks?" he asks in amusement.

"Hold the top open for me," Davey instructs, grabbing the box of rice. As soon as Jack stretches out the top of the sock, Davey starts pouring the rice inside. "It's a D-I-Y heating pad, basically," Davey explains. "But doing it this way makes it softer and easy to mold around whatever hurts. It technically works better with dried corn, but that's not something most people have just laying around, so rice is a good substitute." 

He checks the sock to see how full it is and nods. Taking the sock, he ties it off at the top. Then, prompting an incredulous noise from Jack and a laugh from where Charlie's watching on the sofa, Davey sticks the sock into the microwave. Jack throws up his hands, clearly giving up and leaving Davey to his crazy project. Davey warms the sock a minute at a time, checking after each minute to see how warm it is before he finally decides it's hot enough without being painfully so. 

Walking back over to the sofa, fat sock full of hot rice in his hands, Davey grins. "Where's the part that hurts worst?" Davey asks the boy. 

"My ankle, mostly," Charlie admits. "And just above it."

Davey nods and crouches down, carefully draping the sock over Charlie's ankle where it sits in Jack's lap. The boy startles in surprise at the warmth. "Give it a couple minutes, but that should warm up any of the metal in there, and it'll also help relax the muscles there too," he says reassuringly. "Should start feeling better soon." 

Charlie grins and giggles. "That's funny," he says, but he settles his head back down onto the sofa cushions. Davey laughs and sits down on the other end of the sofa, Charlie's head just brushing against his thigh. "Jacky, can I have another danish?" Charlie asks, glancing down at his brother plaintively. 

"You already had two," Jack says. 

"But they're raspberry," Charlie counters. Then the boy pulls out such a tragic pouting face that Davey can't help but laugh, although he's quick to muffle it behind his hand. Jack sighs, rolling his eyes, but he leans out and grabs another pastry off the coffee table, handing it over. "Yay!" Charlie chirps excitedly. "Thank you!" 

They settle back into watching the movie, but barely a half-hour goes by before Charlie's asleep. At some point, he stretched out enough that his cheek now rests on Davey's leg. "Sorry, he's a snuggler," Jack says when he notices. "Especially when he don't feel good." 

"It's fine," Davey says, shaking his head. "He needs the sleep anyway, poor kid." He brushes Charlie's fringe back off his forehead, the curls sweat-stiff from the restless, painful night. "Is it always that bad?" 

"Only gets this bad sometimes," Jack says, his lips pressed into a tight frown. "Big weather changes, stuff like that. There's that snow front rolling in, think that's what's done it." He glances over and smiles. "Thanks for staying. He really likes you. And it helps, keeping him distracted. Looks like your magic rice-sock worked too," he adds, kneading his thumb gently along Charlie's lower calf, "muscles 'round here don't feel so tight."

"Told you so," Davey says, smirking playfully. "Old home-remedy my dad's family's passed down for ages. Dad swears by it, helps him keep moving in the winter when his leg acts up, too." Frowning, Davey glances down at the boy sleeping between them. "I'm sorry he has to deal with all this." 

"Me too," Jack says. "Give anything to make it so he doesn't gotta." 

Davey fusses with the edge of the throw blanket over Charlie's shoulder. "Isn't there anything the doctors can do to help?"

Slumping back into the sofa cushions, Jack sighs. "Sorta. Thing is, leg's done for. Too busted to ever make it work normal again. They're gonna have to take it off and get him a prosthetic. And Charlie, he's okay with that. Kid's tough as nails, he doesn't care. It's the insurance that's the problem. 

"See, their docs say they gotta take it off all the way up into his thigh, but that's gonna make things so much harder for him. And it's not fair, you know? His knee still works fine, just the bits under that don't. Talked to a specialist who says he can do it so Charlie keeps his knee, but the insurance won't go for it. Too risky, they say, and outta network. Been fighting with 'em about it for almost two years now."

"Jack, that's-" Davey trails off, struggling to find the words. Finally, he settles for reaching over to rest his hand on top of Jack's, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "I'm so sorry."

Jack huffs, waving his other hand dismissively. "Ain't your fault, and there's nothing no one can do about it. Just ain't fair the poor kid gotta suffer 'cause some big rich company wants more money, and I don't got the cash to do it." He returns to rubbing the muscles of Charlie's leg, his expression heartbreakingly sad. "I dunno. Days like this, I gotta think if maybe it'd be better to just get it over with, you know? Physio'd be hard as hell, learning how to walk without the knee, but at least he wouldn't be hurting like this."

"He's a good kid, and he doesn't deserve that," Davey says resolutely. "Everything he's already been through, it's not fair to take more from him." He settles his hand on Charlie's shoulder, and he can feel the boy twitch in his sleep. "I'm sorry, I wish there's something I could do to help." 

Jack chuckles dryly. "Not unless you got a couple hundred grand burning a hole in your pocket," he jokes. "It's fine. We'll figure it out. Been thinking it might be time to leave New York, though. See if I can find a job somewhere out west where they don't get weather as crazy as here, don't get so cold. And everything here's so - vertical. Elevator broke in our building once when I was still at work, the poor kid had to climb nine flights of stairs on them crutches." 

Davey glances over Jack's head at the mural that dominates the kitchen wall. "You were talking about New Mexico," he remembers. "Charlie was saying something about it, about you guys moving there. Is that why?"

"A bit, yeah. I mean, nowadays, anyway," Jack agrees, and a faintly wistful smile crosses his lips. "I dunno, I always wanted to go, ever since I was a kid. The city's just so big and crowded. And me, I was just some foster kid no one gave two shits about. So I wanted to move somewhere different, where people don't get lost in the crowd, you know? Then we do these reports in school - like third grade, I think - and there it is: New Mexico, capital Santa Fe. Small towns, big spaces, and all that color."

"But you never went?" Davey asks.

Jack chuffs. "Nah, getting Charlie kinda put a pause on that," he says. "Didn't have the money for it. I had to stay where I knew I had work and people to help out, 'cause I had no idea what I was doing. But now, more I think about it, think maybe a place like that'd be good for him. It'd suck to leave 'cause we got family and friends here now, but I gotta think about him first." Jack sighs and cards a hand through his hair. "But you didn't come here to hear me whining. Lemme help get Charlie off ya so you can go do your vacation." 

"No, it's okay," Davey says, shaking his head. "I wouldn't want to wake him. Besides," he gestures to the television, "we're only on the fourth movie. I can't just leave in the middle. I mean, if you don't mind." 

A strange, inscrutable look flashes across Jack's face before he cocks his head and grins. "Boy, you sure dunno how to do a vacation right, do you?" he teases. "Sleeping in a stranger's house, hooking up with a drunk guy. And now you're in the biggest city in the US, and you're gonna spend your Saturday lying around watching movies with a ten-year-old. And here you were saying you're boring." 

Davey laughs, fighting back a blush. "I'm trying out something new." 

Something softens in Jack's smile when he says, "It suits you."

Davey winds up spending the rest of the weekend at Jack's apartment. 

Charlie feels a little better after his nap, so he and Davey pass the afternoon playing Mario Kart while Jack sketches out ideas for his cartoons for the next week. They order in pizza from a nearby place that Jack swears up and down serves the best pizza in New York; as he devours his third slice, Davey's not inclined to argue. 

That night, after Charlie's taken a dose of painkillers and fallen into bed, Jack drags Davey up to the loft bedroom. They kiss leisurely as they huddle beneath the duvet, Jack exhausted from lack of sleep the night before, and it feels strange after the fiery passion of every other night they've spent together. More worryingly, it's a kind of strangeness that feels good. 

Jack hums blearily when the fatigue starts to take over, and he curls his arms around Davey. "You know, gotta say, this's the weirdest, longest one-night stand I'se ever had," Jack teases. 

Davey laughs, relaxing into Jack's embrace. "Yeah, I might be doing it wrong," he agrees. "I've never done it before, and I didn't read the instruction manual." 

Snorting, Jack nuzzles the back of Davey's neck and sleepily mumbles, "Nerd." 

The predicted snowstorm rolls in overnight, and they wake up to a city blanketed in white. For all that the cold weather causes him pain, Charlie seems to love the snow because he gapes delightedly at the fat flakes drifting past the window. "Does it snow like this where you're from?" Charlie asks Davey over breakfast. 

"Oh, yeah, I'm sure I'm going to have to spend hours shoveling my driveway when I get home," Davey agrees. "I wouldn't be surprised if Katherine's snowed in." 

"Way she was talking last time I heard from her, don't think she'd mind," Jack says, smirking over his coffee cup. "She likes your house, and apparently, she made a friend up there." He shoots a playful look at Davey, who blushes and rolls his eyes. Still, Davey makes a mental note to call his sister later to be sure she's behaving herself. 

"Can we go to Boston some time?" Charlie asks Jack plaintively. "I wanna see it. And we can visit Davey!"

Jack and Davey exchange quick, uncertain glances. The concept of planning to see each other again makes this whole thing feel decidedly less like a fling, less temporary than just a vacation. But how do you explain that to a kid? Honestly, Davey is having a hard enough time explaining this bizarre, one-night-turned-one-week affair to himself. "We'll see what we can do," Jack says. "Maybe we can get Uncle Spot and Race to come with, do a family road trip sometime."

Charlie cheers and thankfully doesn't notice that Jack said nothing about them visiting Davey.

The days rush by, and before Davey knows it, the last day of his vacation arrives. He flies back home tomorrow, back to the life and reality he's spent nearly two weeks hiding from, and it terrifies him more than he's willing to admit. He still has no idea how to move forward, hasn't been able to draft a new plan for his life now that the old one lies shredded on the floor. 

That day, Jack slips out of work for his lunch break and meets Davey at a little Chinese restaurant near the newspaper office. They claim a small table in the corner, and Davey watches in amusement as Jack tries to capture a piece of chicken with his chopsticks. "Shaddup," Jack grumbles when he hears the giggle that Davey couldn't fight back, but the grin on his face says he's not really offended. 

"Sorry, your dexterity is just so incredible," Davey teases. 

Jack snorts, but it quickly morphs into a triumphant noise when he finally manages to scoop up the chicken. He hastily shoves it into his mouth before it can fall off, and Davey offers a playful, quiet golf-clap. "You're a bituva shithead, anyone ever toldja that?" Jack says around his mouthful, smirking. Davey just laughs and shrugs. "So what's your plans for the rest of your last day? Fly out in the morning, right?" 

"Yeah, hard to believe it's over already," Davey says with a wistful exhale. "I might have to plan another vacation. I'm not ready to go home and deal with all of it." At that moment, his phone vibrates loudly from his pocket, and Davey groans. "Speaking of…"

"That the ex?" Jack asks, eyebrows shooting up. "He's seriously calling you after he dumped you?"

"All week," Davey says, exasperated, and Jack's brow furrows. Davey fishes his phone out of his pocket, but before he can slide the button to deny the call, Jack snatches the cellphone from his hand. "Jack, what-?"

Grinning mischievously, Jack lifts the phone to his ear. "Davey's phone," he answers. Ignoring Davey's frantic reaching, Jack laughs at the call. "Who am I? I'm the fella that Davey's been screwing all week-"

"Jack!"

"-'cause you're too stupid to know a good thing when you got it. Thanks for that, by the way. Now, if you don't mind, me and Davey's in the middle of a date. Later, pal."

Panicked, Davey grabs the phone back, but the call is disconnected. "What the hell?" he says, looking up at Jack in alarm.

"What? Dickhead shouldn't be whining and bothering you after what he did. I guarantee that'll get him to stop calling," Jack says, shrugging.

"And probably got me fired, too," Davey snaps furiously. "Not only is Darcy my editor, but his father owns the paper. I'm never going to be able to go back to work after that."

"Were you really planning to?" Jack asks skeptically. "You can't be serious. You're better than that place. I've read your stuff, Davey. You could be working at any paper in the country if you wanted." Davey blinks, startled. "Yeah, so I Googled you," Jack says, waving a hand dismissively. "I was curious, whatever. But I know a thing or two about good stories, and if you ach'lly tried, you could be writing for a real paper, not some dinky small-town rag."

Davey prickles defensively, a lifetime of insecurities swelling to the surface - a middle child unable to compare to his outgoing siblings, Darcy's accusations of having no ambitions - and he lashes out. "Yes, well, thank you, I was looking for life advice from the part-time artist who's afraid of commitment," he snarls waspishly. 

Jack reels back and, for the briefest moment, hurt flashes across his features before it's carefully stowed behind an expression of casual indifference. "Oh, that's rich," he sneers. "Yeah, you go ahead and call me a coward. At least I'm ach'lly tryna follow my dreams for my job. You're so damn scared of everything that you just stick to what you're doing even though it makes you miserable. You just go ahead and assume it's gonna end bad, so you don't even gotta try."

"Says the guy who walked away the moment things started to get real," Davey says. "You play at being a confident, devil-may-care guy, but you cut and run at the first chance."

"Don't gimme that, you agreed going in that it was nothing," Jack says. 

Davey scoffs. "It might've started that way, but we both know it isn't that anymore. I know I'm not the only one who felt it." 

"Maybe for you," Jack says, folding his arms over his chest. "But the thing is, I got a kid to think about. Reason I don't date is 'cause I don't want Charlie getting attached to someone and have them leave. So sue me for not wanting to get his hopes up on a guy who's too scared to take a little control over his own life."

"Sure, keep using your brother as an excuse, but you're not fooling me. You're just so used to being abandoned that you assume everyone will do it, and anyone who doesn't, you push until they do." 

Jack shoves back from the table, standing up and making a flippant gesture. "Right, you go on and keep talking like youse any better. 'Cause a guy that runs away to another state from a break-up obviously has tons of close friends. The way I remember it, you were just fine with us not being anything. Easier to give up before it starts, right? 

"'Cause see, that's your real problem. Your boyfriend thought you have no dreams and goals, but that ain't true, is it? You do it one better. You've got all these dreams, but you're so scared of failing that you won't even try. And that's why you're never gonna be happy." 

Heart pounding in his ears, Davey stands up. Anger blinds him to the point that he barely notices the entire restaurant is staring at them. His hands shake as he digs a folded bill from his wallet and tosses it on the table to cover his part of the lunch. Then Davey looks up and meets Jack's gaze, keeping his expression as neutral as he can. "Congrats, Jack, you're right; I give up. Have a nice life." 

And Davey turns and storms out of the Chinese shop, determinedly ignoring the broken, "Davey," that follows him out the door.

Chapter Text

After a restless night spent going over the entire trip in vivid detail, Davey drags his exhausted body into the chaos of JFK airport first thing in the morning. He staggers through security and then settles down in a coffee shop near the terminal to kill time until his flight. Whether he wants to admit it, he's just as miserable leaving New York as he was coming. To top it off, Davey has even less idea of what he's going to do with himself.

Talk about "one step forward, two steps back."

The only consolation is that Sarah is waiting for him at home. She texted him last night to check on him (which makes him think she knows something is up, which probably means Jack's been talking to Katherine.) Still, she accepted his brush-off well enough on the promise that he'd tell her later. She's always been one of the few people who understands that sometimes he needs a little time to work through things on his own. It's nice not to have to go home to an empty house, though. 

His mind drifts to a lively apartment full of color and sound—Charlie chattering animatedly about everything while Jack putters around the kitchen with paint-freckled hands. Or the brothers animatedly rapping their way through the soundtrack of Hamilton, what's lacking in speed or skill made up in enthusiasm. Or the easy laughter that bounces between the Kelly boys, playful shoving and affectionate hair ruffling. 

Davey sucks in a breath and is alarmed to hear the way it shudders into his chest. He squeezes his eyes shut against the burn at the corners. It isn't supposed to hurt like this, not after just two weeks. How is it possible that he feels like he's losing something so vital? 

"Flight 799 to Boston, now boarding at gate 12." 

The announcement startles Davey, and he looks up, oddly detached from the churning mass of bodies around him. His coffee has gone cold, the cup leaching all the warmth from his hands, so he tosses it into the bin outside the cafe. Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he pulls his boarding pass from his pocket, but he can't seem to make his feet move further.

Jack shouldn't have this much of a hold on him after such a short time. It's not fair. Nothing about the entire vacation makes sense, and Davey should really get on his plane and go back to where he understands everything. Maybe his life wasn't great before, but at least he had The Plan. He knew what he was supposed to be doing and where he was going. So maybe he'll have to make some adjustments, but at least there was an outline to work from. All he has to do is walk into that terminal and board the plane. 

And yet Davey, who has been following The Plan his entire life, finds that he can't make himself follow through on those simple instructions. 

"Final call for flight 799 to Boston." 

Davey stares down at the slip of paper in his hands, curled at the corners by perspiration. As he stands there, he feels the weight of the moment on his shoulders. This is a turning point. This is a decision. This is precisely the sort of enormous risk and unknown that he's spent his life avoiding. 

"Sir, can I help you?" 

Davey jumps and looks up at the airport employee standing in front of him. It occurs to him now that he must look insane, standing in the middle of the corridor for close to half an hour and not moving. To be honest, he's lucky that it's just an attendant in front of him and not airport security. 

"Uh, no, thanks," Davey says, summoning up the closest he can manage to a smile. 

The attendant raises an eyebrow, obviously not convinced, and Davey can't even blame him. "Do you need help finding your flight?" 

His flight. He glances up at the illuminated board of flights and sees the bold, red 'FINAL BOARDING' flashing beside his flight. This is it - last chance. 

"No, I'm good," says Davey, and he crumples the boarding pass in his hand. "Thanks." Turning on his heel, he starts back toward the main terminal and digs his phone out of his pocket.

"Hey, Davey," Sarah picks up on the third ring. "Did your plane land already? I thought you weren't going to be home for a bit." 

"I skipped my flight," Davey says, drawing in a breath to steel himself. "I'm about to go do something completely stupid and insane, but I could really use some help. Do you know what flight Katherine's on?" 

Sarah lets out an excited squeal that she hurries to stifle. "I dropped her off at seven," she says, and Davey glances at the clock - just after nine. "She should be landing any minute now. Flight 492." 

"Thank you," Davey says gratefully. 

"Go get him, tiger," Sarah replies, and he can hear her smile. "Good luck."

Davey tucks his phone away and scours the closest display board until he finds it: Flight 492 from BOS to JFK. According to the sign, they are currently deboarding. Davey hikes his bag up onto his shoulder and takes off running. He reaches the right area just as the first people filter out of the door from the plane, and he hovers, searching the crowd. 

A flash of red draws his eyes, and Davey darts forward to intercept the woman walking toward the terminal exit. "Katherine?" he asks hopefully. 

The woman stops and looks up from her phone, and he immediately recognizes her face from the photos in her apartment. She glances at him in surprise before her eyes suddenly widen. "David?" she guesses and smiles. "What are you doing here? Sarah said you were going to be heading home."

"I made a huge mistake," Davey admits, heart hammering, "and I know I don't have any right to ask this of you, but I could really use your help."

The backstage of Medda Larkin's theatre is more familiar to Jack than any other place on earth. It was the place he spent most of his teenage years, doing homework in the catwalks or practicing painting on the stretches of canvas backdrops. It was the first place in his entire life that felt like home, and even years later, that feeling hasn't faded. As he lingers among the ropes and pulleys, the last of the kids clearing out and still bounding with post-performance adrenaline, he finally feels balanced again for the first time in days. 

He knows that Spot and his fiancé are around here somewhere, probably flattering Miss Medda over another spectacular show. Katherine texted him to say she would be there, but he hasn't seen her yet, so he assumes she got caught up in the chaos of the audience. Charlie is still in the dressing room getting changed, so for a minute, Jack is alone with his thoughts.

All of which have been stuck, rather inconveniently, on one Davey Jacobs.

Truth be told, he's been obsessing about their fight since the moment it happened, replaying the entire thing in his head and wondering how things went so horribly wrong so fast. He's not stupid, Jack knows he crossed a line and he hates himself for it, but it'd be a lie to say he hadn't been hurt, too. 

Still, hurt or not, there's no escaping the fact that Jack feels distinctly like something important is missing. It shouldn't be possible, not after only two weeks, but somehow Davey managed to get a good grip on Jack's heart and won't let go. It was Charlie who drove the point home this afternoon while Jack was helping him get ready for the play. With all the bluntness and simplicity of a child, he said, "You don't look at other people the way you looked at Davey." The dozen sketches he did at work instead of actually working are only further proof of that fact. 

The familiar rhythmic clicking pulls Jack out of his head, and he looks up at the dressing room doors as Charlie comes out, beaming excitedly. It's the kind of smile that Jack can't help echoing. "Hey, kid," he says, pushing up off the backdrop he was leaning against. "You did awesome." 

"Yeah?" asks Charlie. 

"Don't tell the other kids, but you were definitely the best," Jack says conspiratorially. 

Charlie snorts, but he's still grinning proudly. "You're just saying that 'cause you're my brother," he says. 

"Hey, don't dismiss my opinion," Jack says in mock indignation. "I've been watching shows in this place longer than you've been alive. I know a thing or two about acting. And you did awesome." Jack slings an arm around Charlie's shoulders. "C'mon, whaddya say we go see what food Medda got for the after-party?" Charlie whoops eagerly as they make their way to the front of the stage and slip around the curtain. 

Clusters of people hang around in the theatre, parents proudly gushing over their kids as the typical after-party starts to get going. Jack's eyes immediately pick out Miss Medda, her natural charisma making her stand out in a crowd even when she's not trying. She's conducting Spot and Race through setting up tables for the food at the back of the auditorium. The familiar bustle of noise and happiness is a tradition in Medda's theatre, the typical celebration of opening night. 

"Charlie!" Katherine's gleeful shout cuts above the noise for a moment, darting through people toward them. Jack steps aside as she throws her arms around Charlie, pulling him into a hug. "Oh, you were so good," she says and plants a kiss on his cheek that makes him wrinkle up his nose in mock-disgust. 

As Kat enthuses over Charlie's performance, though, Jack feels the bottom drop out of his stomach. Walking up the aisle in her wake, nervous and clutching a small bouquet in a white-knuckle grip, is Davey. Jack's ribs contract, his breaths coming sharply as he swallows against the sudden lump in his throat. 

"Hi," Davey says tentatively when he reaches the steps up to the stage where they're standing. 

Charlie gasps delightedly. "Davey! You came!" The boy practically falls into Davey's arms in his enthusiasm, and Davey laughs as he returns Charlie's hug. 

"You did such a great job, Charlie," he says when the boy finally gets his feet back under him. Davey offers out the flowers with an embarrassed smile. "I know you probably don't think flowers are cool, but my mom always told me when you go to a play, you have to bring flowers for the star." 

"Nah, it's cool," says Charlie, grinning, and he leans his weight onto one arm so he can take the flowers. "Thanks, Davey!" 

Jack clears his throat and finds his voice. "I thought you were going home."

"So did I," Davey admits. He licks his lips before he meets Jack's gaze determinedly. "But then I got to the airport, and I realized that this was where I really wanted to be. So, even though it's a huge risk and completely insane, I'm here because I realized that the risk I was taking by leaving was a million times worse." 

Jack's heart catches in his throat, but he can't ignore the thoughts rolling in the back of his head. "So, what, you think you can just walk right back in like nothing?" 

"No, and that's not what this is," Davey says, shrugging. "Because this isn't just about you." Next to them, Charlie hastily turns his laugh into a cough. "You were right about one thing, though," Davey goes on, lifting his chin. "I've been playing it safe for way too long, in a lot of things. So, Katherine's been helping me put together my portfolio and reaching out to some of her newspaper friends to see if anyone is hiring." 

"Yeah?" Jack asks, glancing at Kat for confirmation. 

"You were right, he's got talent," says Kat. "And it never hurts to have a contact on the inside, of course. His newest piece is already getting a lot of attention." 

Jack looks back at Davey, who is blushing at this point, but Kat is the one to hold her phone out with an article pulled up on the screen. The title reads Steps to Stardom, and below that is a video of Charlie singing onstage, clearly recorded on someone's phone. If the video wasn't a giveaway, it only takes a few lines for Jack to realize the article is about Charlie, how he's challenging norms by being on stage despite his leg, and the fight they've been having with the insurance companies. 

"I wasn't going to publish it, originally," Davey says bashfully. "It's just what I do when I've got something on my mind, writing it out like that. But then Katherine saw it. It was her idea to put it on the site." 

"Site?" Jack asks, and he scrolls up on the phone to read the site address: GoFundMe. 

"You were right, it isn't fair," Kat says firmly. "And I'm kind of mad I never thought of this before. He shouldn't have to wait. And apparently, a lot of people agree." Jack scrolls the page again—under the heading of Help Charlie get a life-changing surgery, the progress bar is over half-filled. Sixty-two percent funded in nine hours. "It's gone up another eight percent just since we added the video. Dad's also going to try pulling some strings with the insurance," Kat adds. "He told me to let you know that. Apparently, he's gotten a couple of phone calls since the article went live." 

"And I still have a job?" Jack asks incredulously. 

"Of course," Kat says. "You know how much circulation went up when he hired you? Not to mention the web traffic. You're not going anywhere. He also made his own contribution, said to consider it your year-end bonus." 

Jack grimaces. "Kat, you know how I feel about charity." 

"I do," agrees Kat. "But I also know how you feel about Charlie." 

"Me?" Charlie pipes up, confused. "What'd I do?" 

Jack takes one look at Charlie, face earnest and innocent, and the knot in his chest loosens. "Nothing, kid," he says, glancing down at the phone screen again. Those numbers, they're already so close, closer than Jack could ever make it on his own. "It's just - Kat and Davey are tryna raise the money for your surgery." 

Charlie's eyes widen to almost comical proportions, his face brightening hopefully. "For reals?" 

"Yeah, for real," Jack affirms. Charlie yelps excitedly and throws his arms around Katherine, nearly knocking her over as she catches his full weight. As Charlie lets loose a stream of thanks, both to Kat and over her shoulder to Davey, Jack determinedly doesn't acknowledge the sudden tightness of his throat. 

After a moment, Davey turns his attention back to Jack, and he licks his lips nervously before stepping closer. "I'm sorry for what I said the other day," Davey says resolutely. "I got overwhelmed by everything, and I took it out on you, and that wasn't fair. I don't really think like that. I think everything you're doing, especially everything you do for Charlie, is brave and selfless and incredible. So, I'm sorry." 

Jack winces and swallows around the lump in his throat. "Me too," he says. "I shouldn't've said what I did, and really shouldn't've done the thing with your phone." He cringes at the memory alone, and the way his recklessness was the catalyst for everything that followed. "Wasn't my business doing that, and the stuff I said was shitty too. Sorry." 

"Thank you," Davey says, offering a small, tentative smile. Taking a deep breath, he shuffles a little closer. "Jack, my life is in absolute shambles right now. Every plan I ever had in place has fallen apart. It's gonna take me a little while to get back on my feet, but when I do - and I know I have no right to ask this after everything - but when I do, if you're still available and if you're interested, I'd like to take you to dinner. On a date. A real one." 

Heart flipping over in his chest, Jack is momentarily dizzy. He hasn't been involved in a serious relationship in years. The most commitment he's given anyone is that he doesn't duck out on most of his hook-ups before they at least wake up the next morning. Jack doesn't even know how to be in a real relationship anymore. 

Except the last two weeks felt different than anything Jack's ever known. Davey meshed into his life so easily. There was a natural domesticity to it, sharing dinners and helping Charlie with homework. Jack's terrified by the risk of a serious relationship, knowing that it could end and he'll be left broken-hearted and abandoned—not just that, but it would also hurt Charlie, and that's the last thing Jack wants. And yet, somehow, Jack still wants to try. For the first time, he thinks he's found someone worth taking that chance on. 

Jack startles out of his thoughts when something squashes his foot. Yelping, Jack glances down in time to see Charlie's crutch retreating to the boy's side. Charlie fixes him with a look too serious and wise for a ten-year-old, and he jerks his head in Davey's direction. "Don't be an idiot, just freaking kiss him already," Charlie hisses. 

The comment surprises him enough that Jack bites back a laugh, and when he looks to Davey again, the other man smirks beneath a blush. It's such a blindingly endearing expression that there's only one good response. Jack almost trips down the last two steps off the stage in his haste, and Davey meets him halfway. They reach for each other at the same time, and Jack rises onto his toes to give him that extra inch he needs to crush his mouth to Davey's. 

In the background, Jack hears Charlie cheering enthusiastically, and Kat joins in, laughing and clapping her hands. The rest of the auditorium hums with voices of the lingering families, some of them murmuring questions as the noise draws their attention. But all of it is nothing more than a haze in the background for Jack as he melts into the kiss. 

They are both breathless by the time they separate, although Davey keeps his forehead propped against Jack's. "So," Davey starts, and when Jack opens his eyes, there's a faintly teasing grin on the taller man's lips, "was that a yes?"

Jack laughs and smacks Davey's shoulder. "Yeah, it was a fuckin' yes," he agrees. Davey's smile widens, warm and bright and hopeful, and something swoops in Jack's stomach. "You know, you really fucked up this whole vacation thing," he jokes. "Pretty sure you're supposed to go home after the trip ends." 

Davey shrugs. "Maybe I realized the place I was headed back to didn't feel as much like home as the place I was leaving," he replies. Lowering his voice, he tenderly adds, "Or the people I was leaving." 

It hits Jack like a punch in the chest, and he promptly surges up to kiss Davey again. "You're a sap," he says. "Anyone ever toldja that?"

"Not really, but I'm looking forward to hearing about it some more," says Davey. Finally stepping back so they're not leaning on each other anymore, he grins. "But first, I've got one last day of vacation before I have to figure out what the hell I'm doing with my life. Got any suggestions on what to do with the rest of my night?" 

"Stay for the party!" Charlie interjects. "Miss Medda always makes lotsa food, and it's real fun, and Uncle Spot and Racer is here! C'mon, lemme show you." Charlie moves smoothly, glancing to make sure that Davey is following before he takes off up the auditorium toward the tables set along the back. 

"Well, that was entertaining." Jack shoots a look sideways at Kat, finding her smirking playfully. "He's a nice guy," she goes on, softer. "I like him. We had a good, long talk today. I can tell he cares a lot. Honestly, I think he cares about Charlie even more than he does you." 

Jack snorts. "I'm used to that," he admits. "Everyone likes him better. He's too fuckin' cute, and he knows it. Gonna be hell when he gets old enough to stop thinking girls got cooties." Laughing, Kat loops her arm through his and leans into his side. "Welcome home, by the way," he adds, bumping her with his hip. "How'd your trip go, Kitty Kat? Feel better?"

Exhaling, Kat nods, even while she shoots him an unimpressed look at the old nickname. "I just couldn't be here with everything going on with Dad," she says, and Jack understands. The relationship between Kat and her father has been contentious for years now. The sudden announcement that he proposed to his new girlfriend, barely a year after Kat's mother died, put another crack in the fragile balance. 

"But it was good," Kat continues. "Better than I expected. It was nice just to have some time to do nothing, you know? Just relax and not stress about everything, get my head sorted. And seriously, Jacky, you should've seen that bathtub, I could've stayed in there the whole trip and been happy." 

Jack laughs, shaking his head. "And that new friend you made up there, that have anything to do with it?" 

"You're one to talk," she counters, giving him a sly look. "And it was lovely, if you must know. Sarah's a very kind, caring woman, and very intelligent." Dropping her voice, she finishes, "She's also an accomplished gymnast. It was an enlightening week." 

"Ah, gross, I didn't need to know that part," Jack protests. "Now I've got images in my head. Ugh!" 

"That's what you get for being nosy," says Kat, grinning. "Like you haven't told me worse things before." Jack grudgingly concedes that's probably true. Kat blushes a little when she adds, "But you can meet her and judge for yourself. She's flying in tomorrow to see Davey since that's the whole reason she was in Boston to begin with." 

Jack snorts. "Oh, so you're not the only one who took off without telling anyone?" he asks. Kat ducks her head, embarrassed, so Jack nudges her with his elbow. "Hey, I get why, just maybe next time you decide to run off, least send me a text or something, wouldja? Was worried 'bout you." 

"I will," she vows. "Although, it looks like it didn't turn out too bad for you in the end." 

Grinning, Jack glances up at the back of the auditorium. Davey stands with Charlie off to the edge of the food tables, chatting with Medda. Davey wears a soft, affectionate smile as he listens to Charlie's excited rambling. "Yeah, guess so," he agrees. "Speaking of, I can see Spot and Racer headed their way. I better get up there and make sure they don't tell him nothing too embarrassing." 

"If Miss Medda hasn't already," Kat points out in amusement. 

"Oh, Jesus," Jack murmurs, the probability of that sending a lurch of nerves through him. "Shit, c'mon, can't have them scaring him off. The kid's too attached." 

Kat laughs, still hanging off his arm as they start up the stairs. "Yeah, sure, it's Charlie who's attached," she teases. "Really, though, I'm happy for you, Jacky. If I'd known this is all it would take to get you to date again, I'd have taken a last-minute vacation years ago." 

"Eh, wouldna mattered," says Jack. Davey spots them coming up the steps, and he smiles, broad and warm, sending Jack's heart skyrocketing again. "It wouldna been him." 

That sends Kat into a fit of bright giggles. "And to think you called David the sap." 

Jack elbows her again, but he doesn't get a chance to respond before they've reached the others. Davey immediately slides closer to Jack's side. "You didn't tell me your foster mom was Medda Larkin," Davey says emphatically. 

Bemused, Jack glances at Medda and then back. "Didn't know you'd know who she is," he admits. Sure, Medda made a name for herself when she was younger, appearing in a good handful of Broadway shows, but that was over even before Jack met her, and her name has faded into the fringes of theatre history. 

"Are you kidding?" Davey says. "I love the soundtrack for Bowery Beauties. Sarah and I were obsessed with it in high school, we listened to it all the time. She's gonna flip when she finds out I've met her." 

Medda smiles, meeting Jack's eye. "I like this one," she approves fondly, her dark eyes twinkling. "You should keep him." 

Jack laughs and slips an arm around Davey's waist. "Planning on it. But no random vacations, yeah?" he adds to Davey. "Can't have you running off and finding some other fella you don't wanna go home from." 

Blushing, Davey rolls his eyes. "Thanks, but I think I'm good," he says. "One vacation was enough for me. Don't think another one could ever top this one."

Chapter Text

David Kelly-Jacobs is not, by nature, an athletic person. He's never been particularly interested in sports, more content to spend his time curled up in an armchair with a book or his laptop. For most of his life, the closest Davey came to serious exercise was either playing with his younger brother when Les was little or sprinting to catch a bus. 

He's still thinking about how much he doesn't do this sort of thing as he jogs down the streets amid the crowd of other runners in the New York City Marathon.

It surprised Davey as much as anyone else when he decided to take up running three years ago, although it probably shouldn't have, considering the catalyst. The process was long and arduous, slowly building up stamina and endurance over several years as he trained his body to adapt to the exercise it was so unused to. As Davey glances sideways at his running partners, though, he can't begrudge the work in any way. 

In the five years since they met, Charlie has grown into a fresh-faced teenager. The most noticeable change, of course, comes from his legs; gone is the twisted, crippled limb, his right calf replaced by a sleek, metal prosthetic. Growth spurts put him almost up to Davey's chin now, and the traces of baby fat in his cheeks are fading into high cheekbones and a strong jaw. His hair is now worn shorter, and it only makes him look even more like his older brother-slash-adoptive father. 

On Charlie's other side, Jack Kelly-Jacobs is still unfairly attractive even while flushed and sweaty. Despite the years, the shadows and lines that used to haunt his features have smoothed away. He catches Davey looking and flashes a playful grin at him, eyes sparkling brightly.

Davey returns the smile before he turns his attention back to the race. They aren't pushing for speed or time; they're just aiming to finish. Davey's body aches despite the training; his legs burn, and his feet throb. His shirt clings to the ribbons of sweat on his back, and his ribs ache from breathing so hard. But none of that matters because Davey can see the finish line ahead. 

"Almost there, buddy," Jack pants. "Gonna do it." 

Breathless but determined, Charlie laughs, and he eagerly picks up his pace just a bit, forcing Davey and Jack to speed up to keep stride with the teen. The brisk November morning air stings against damp skin like needles. Cheering people line the street, family, friends, and random supporters, applauding and shouting encouragement to the runners. Each pounding footstep brings the banner at the end closer and closer. So close... They're almost there... Just one more block...

People cheer so loudly they're practically screaming as the three of them cross the finish line amid the blinding flashes of camera bulbs. Charlie laughs and throws his arms in the air, his expression so ecstatic that Davey's heart aches with joy. They slow their jog, easing out of the run until they can finally stop without hurting their muscles more. The moment they're not moving, Jack sweeps Charlie into a bear-hug. 

"You did it!" Jack cheers delightedly. "You did it, Charlie, you just finished a fuckin' marathon!" The brothers both laugh with tears coursing down their cheeks. It's beautiful to watch them celebrating something that, five years ago, seemed like little more than a pipe dream. Davey doesn't even care that he's crying now, too.

Still shaking with excitement, Charlie breaks free from his brother to throw his arms around Davey. "We did it!" Charlie gasps. 

"We did it!" Davey echoes, hugging the boy back tightly. "You did it, kid. I'm so proud of you." 

A flash of red darts free from the horde of reporters, and Kat Plumber sprints to them. "Oh, Charlie, I'm so excited!" she declares, bouncing on her toes. "You did it!" When Charlie turns and wraps her in a hug, she laughs and squeezes him back. "You're all sweaty and gross, and I don't even care because I'm so happy!" 

It doesn't take long for an entire group of people to elbow their way free of the cheering spectators on the sidewalk, charging over to pile onto Charlie and Kat in an enormous group hug. The boy is swarmed by his uncles, Spot and Race, his grandmother, Medda Larkin, and Davey's sister, Sarah. Charlie giggles delightedly as his entire, mish-mashed family heaps him in praise and affection.

"I'm pretty sure I'm gonna die, but I don't even care," Jack proclaims from Davey's side, beaming. "Jesus Christ, he just did a marathon." 

"Knew he could do it," Davey says, nodding in satisfaction. "Nothing our boy can't do when he wants to do it." 

Jack's smile softens, and he tugs Davey into a kiss. It's clumsy, both of them dry-mouthed from running and skin sticky with perspiration, but it still manages to be tender. Even after just over eighteen months of marriage and some adoption paperwork, Jack always gets so thrilled when he hears Davey call Charlie 'theirs.' 

Not that Davey has much room to judge—Charlie calls him 'dad' on occasion, and every single time makes Davey dizzy with love for the kid. 

A news reporter with a cameraman behind him pops up just as the group hug is finally breaking up. Addressing the camera, the reporter says, "The finish line of the New York Marathon is always full of celebrations, but each year there's always a few hidden gem stories from all over the world among these masses. One particular story this year comes from our very own city, a triumphant conclusion to a story that first began almost five years ago." 

Jack snorts. "Ah, great, the vultures found us," he grumbles distastefully. Kat hears it because she glances back and shakes her head, making a pacifying gesture with one hand. She must know the reporter, and the silent reassurance is enough to stop Jack from interjecting, at least for the moment. Still, both Jack and Davey watch shrewdly in case the guy oversteps.

Smiling that weird, practiced smile all news reporters wear, the man turns to Charlie. "So, Charles, you just finished the New York City Marathon," he says. "How's it feel?" 

"Sweaty," Charlie responds cheekily, prompting laughs from all of them. "But awesome," the teen amends, more genuinely. "Was always my dream, you know?" 

"And you just did it at fifteen years old," the reporter says. "Which is impressive enough on its own, but even more for you." Glancing back at the camera, the man says, "For those of you who don't know the story, Charles Kelly first gar-"

"It's Kelly-Jacobs," Charlie interrupts, catching the reporter by surprise. Davey's heart skips a beat, and he ducks his head into Jack's shoulder to hide the tears that threaten the corners of his eyes. "Sorry," Charlie finishes, flashing the reporter that sweet, sunshine-innocent smile that melts anyone. "Just - my last name's ach'lly Kelly-Jacobs."

The reporter blinks before quickly slipping back into focus. "Of course, sorry about that," he says, inclining his head in a shallow nod. He clears his throat and launches back into his monologue. "Charles Kelly-Jacobs first garnered attention five years ago when an anonymous GoFundMe campaign was opened in his honor. A childhood accident shattered his right leg and left him permanently on crutches, but that never stopped him. At the time of the fundraiser, the ten-year-old was starring as the lead in a local musical.

"That GoFundMe went on to raise over a hundred and thirty percent of its goal," the reporter finishes. Jack squeezes the arm around Davey's waist, giving him a warm smile, the way he always does when the topic comes up. Even Davey hadn't anticipated the online fundraiser to go as well as it did. They raised more than enough to pay for both the surgical specialist and several months' worth of the physical therapy that followed. "Charles, what did you think when you found out about the fundraiser? Do you know who started it?"

Charlie's grin is a bit mischievous, and his gaze darts to Davey for a split second before he masks it; they decided early on to leave the whole thing anonymous to avoid drawing more attention and scrutiny. "By the time I found out about it, it was already half over," Charlie admits. "I always thought when I finally got surgery, I was gonna lose my whole leg, but then we find out they raised enough I got a good doctor who fixed it up. All I know is it definitely wasn't my brother that started it - he gets grumpy about charity."

Several of them laugh and glance at Jack, who shrugs unconcernedly. If there's anywhere where it's relatable for people to be proud, stubborn jackasses, it's New York. "And now, five years later," the reporter says, keeping them on track, "you've gone from unable to walk without crutches to finishing the biggest marathon in the world. That must be an incredible feeling."

"It is," Charlie agrees. "I'm a lucky kid. Not just 'cause that GoFundMe, but 'cause I got a really great family that's always there for me." He casts an adoring look around the cluster of people circling him. "I couldn't have done this without 'em, and especially not without my big brother and his husband." 

All of the tough New York exterior slides of Jack's face, and he smiles, looping an arm around Charlie's shoulders. "Love you too, kiddo," Jack says softly. 

Davey steps up to Charlie's other side and ruffles the kid's hair. "Which is pretty obvious since you managed to convince us to do all this exercise," Davey adds with a laugh. Charlie giggles and squeezes Davey in a side-hug. 

"So, what's next for you, Charles?" the reporter asks. "Any other grand plans in the future?"

"Well, got another play opening up next month," Charlie says. "And then it's Christmas. But after that, I dunno. Just doing what I wanna do 'cause now I can. So, guess we'll see, huh?" 

The reporter's plastic smile cracks as he laughs openly, and he nods. "I guess we'll see," he agrees. "And I, for one, can't wait to watch what happens next. Congratulations again, Charles. It was a pleasure to meet you." 

"You too," says Charlie. 

"And there you have it, folks," the reporter says, turning his full attention back to the camera.

While he wraps up his broadcast, Jack jostles Charlie playfully. "Okay, drama queen, now your fifteen minutes of fame is up, whatcha say we head home? It's getting cold now we're not moving, and I also really wanna sit down 'cause I'm ready to fall over." 

Medda hums. "I do recall that I promised to make dinner if you boys finished," she says. Charlie perks up eagerly. "Well, that's decided then. Let's see if we can get out of this crowd and find ourselves a cab."

It's late into the evening before the three members of the Kelly-Jacobs family are left alone, sprawled on the sofa together in their pajamas. They're all sore and exhausted, but full of Medda's delicious lasagna and flushed with satisfaction. Charlie stretches out between Jack and Davey, his back propped against Davey's side. The teen's right leg sits in Jack's lap while his brother carefully checks the stump of his calf for any tenderness or sores. 

"I'm so tired, but I'm too excited to sleep," Charlie moans dramatically, dropping his head back onto Davey's shoulder.

Davey laughs. "Really? 'Cause I'm just exhausted," he replies. "My everything hurts."

Snorting, Charlie elbows him in the ribs. "Thanks for doing it with me," he says sincerely. "I know you don't like running, but it was nice having you guys there." 

"Wouldn't have missed that for the world," Jack says, glancing up from massaging the muscles around Charlie's knee. 

"Besides, I'm pretty sure my heart thanks you for making me get off my ass," Davey adds with a smirk. "I'm gonna live ten years longer now from all this exercise." Charlie grins, distinctly pleased with himself. "I really am so proud of you," Davey adds warmly. "You're incredible. Every time I think you can't amaze me more, you go and do something like this." 

Charlie beams and blushes. "Thanks, Dave."

"And good news, kiddo," Jack says, patting Charlie's knee. "You just ran a fuckin' marathon and still managed not to get no sores or nothing. Little bit red, but looks like that's it. I dunno how you do it, 'cause even I got a blister on my heel." 

"And I think I got a rash on my sides from my shirt or something," Davey chips in, nose wrinkled. 

"That's why you're supposed to wear tight shirts, so it doesn't rub," Charlie says with a laugh. "They told you that when we started training." 

Davey chuckles. "No one wants to see me in spandex," he counters. "I'm getting too old for that." 

"I disagree," Jack says, smirking lecherously. 

Charlie makes a gagging noise. "Old doesn't have anything to do with it," he points out. "That guy running in front of us had to be like seventy or something, and he was wearing real running gear. You ain't that old yet. And Jacky's still older than you." 

"Like three years," Jack protests. "Spot and Racer are almost six years apart. Stop making me sound like some cradle-robbing grandpa. And on that subject, a grandpa is something I better not be for a long time." 

Laughing, Charlie rolls his eyes at the now-familiar conversation. "I ain't even kissed a girl before. Outside a play, I mean," he amends when Jack raises an eyebrow. "And you know those don't count. So I think you're safe."

"Yeah, well, don't think I haven't seen the looks you been giving that Jo girl," Jack says. Charlie blushes and whines a protest. 

"And I've seen the looks she sends back," Davey says slyly. 

"For real?" Charlie asks hopefully. 

Jack frowns. "You ain't helping, Dave. We's tryna convince him not to date, remember?" 

"No, you are," Davey responds with a grin. "He's fifteen, Jack, he's in high school. It's totally normal to start dating at his age. If I remember right, you said you had your first girlfriend when you were not much older than him." He glances down at Charlie. "So long as you're smart and safe about it, of course."

"Course," Charlie agrees immediately. 

"Gonna give me a heart attack, the both you," Jack mutters. "This conversation's gonna make me go gray." 

"Least then you'll look your age," Charlie teases. The next second, Jack's got an arm looped around Charlie's neck, ruffling his hair over the teen's yelping protests. "Ah, Davey, help!" 

Davey snorts and settles back into the cushions, propping his feet on the coffee table. "Nope, you brought this one on yourself, buddy."  

The brothers tussle for a minute longer, pushing and shoving as Charlie tries to get Jack off him. Charlie finally manages to wriggle free and flops back across Davey's lap. "Traitor," he humphs, although it's not convincing with the smile on his face. "Thought you're supposed to be on my side?"

"You're a big kid," Davey says. "If you start it, you can finish it." He grins at Charlie's faux-petulant whine, reaching out to smooth down the spikes left in his hair from rough-housing. "So, now that you've got marathon checked off your list, what should we do next?" 

Charlie hums, considering. "Ooh, we should go ice skating," he says excitedly. "Henry said I should be able to. Can we try that?" 

"Sure thing," Jack agrees. "That'd be fun, I ain't done that in a long time. And it'll be fun watching Davey fall on his ass." 

"Shut up," says Davey as Charlie breaks out in giggles again. "I bet I'm better than you. We used to skate all the time back home. Les played hockey after we moved to Michigan, so I took him to the skating rink a lot." Jack smirks in challenge. "Okay, kiddo, it's on. We can go try skating at Rockefeller, and I'll prove that your big brother's all talk." 

Snorting, Charlie shakes his head. "I've known that for a long time."

"What happened to 'Kelly boys don't disappoint?'" Jack asks indignantly. 

"You got married, and now I got someone else to back me up that you're a dork," Charlie answers with a grin. At the same time, he nudges Jack's knee with his leg to show he's playing. 

Davey licks his lips, rolling over the idea he and Jack have discussed a few times. "And speaking of your list of things to do," he starts, "we were thinking that this spring, we could go see the Grand Canyon for your birthday. There's not a marathon through it, but it's still gorgeous scenery." 

Charlie lights up like a Christmas tree, sitting up and glancing between the two of them with wide eyes. "Seriously?"

"If you wanna," Jack says, nodding. "We've always wanted to go see it, you know? Thought that'd be a fun thing since you're turning sixteen and all. And now you just ran a marathon, figure some walking trails shouldn't be a problem, right?" 

"Fuck yeah!" Charlie cheers. Laughing, he flings his arms around Jack's neck, hugging him so tight it cuts off the man's breathing for a second. Charlie turns and hugs Davey just as hard, laughing. "This is so awesome, thank you! You guys are the best." 

"Hey, after all the hard work you've put in getting here, you deserve it, buddy," says Jack. "Just gonna be you and me, though. Davey ain't allowed to go on vacations in case he finds someone and decides to stay again." 

Davey scoffs. This is another habitual joke in their house. "No, remember, we agreed I can go on vacations, just not without you," he teases back. "Otherwise our honeymoon would've been a little inconvenient." Jack chuckles, conceding the point. "And besides, even if I did find some guy less annoying than you, I wouldn't stay. I can't leave Charlie." 

"Ha, toldja Dad loves me more!" Charlie says triumphantly, and he sticks out his tongue in his brother's direction. Meanwhile, Davey's heart flips over again the way it does every time Charlie calls him 'dad.' Part of him hopes it never stops affecting him so much. It's a beautiful reminder of what he's gained in his new life, so many things he never imagined he even wanted, but now can't imagine life without. 

"Yeah, well, only keep him around 'cause he makes all the money," Jack tosses back. "Now he's a big-shot, I don't gotta work so hard. Could quit and be a kept-man if I wanna." 

Davey rolls his eyes; that's far from true. Sure, Davey has risen through the ranks at the Tribune since starting there when he first moved (deliberately turning down the offer at the World because he didn't want to work the same place as Jack,) but it's not enough to support them single-handedly. They'd never survive without the money from both Jack's political cartoons and his paintings, which are starting to gain traction again now that he has more time to devote to them with Davey helping with the house and raising Charlie. They did agree that if Jack's art takes off the way his new agent is predicting, though, Jack might quit the paper and work on his paintings full-time instead. 

"I wouldn't trust you home alone all day," Davey says. "You're worse than a toddler. I'd come home and find out you burned down the place or something." 

Jack laughs and doesn't contest that point. Stretching, he groans and scrunches up his face in discomfort. "Alright, you might be a running machine, but this old man needs to lie down," he says, shooting Charlie a pointed look. The teen muffles a laugh unsuccessfully. 

They exchange one more round of proud smiles and hugs before splitting off to their bedrooms for the night. Their apartment actually has two bedrooms now, real rooms with doors. It was one of Davey's requirements before he agreed to move in with them. After trying to date and having to either be very quiet or only be together at Davey's place, no one had put up an argument. Charlie, whose bedroom was directly beneath Jack's, was particularly eager about it. 

"Christ, I'm so fuckin' tired," Jack moans as he flops onto their bed. Davey laughs as he flicks off the light and joins him. "Can't believe folks do that for fun. I mean, not Charlie, 'cause I know why he likes to do it, but all those other folks? Who just wakes up one day and decides running for hours is a good idea?" 

"People in a lot better shape than us," Davey says in amusement. "God, we've been training for like two years. You'd think we'd be used to it by now. How am I still so sore? My ass hurts to even touch, it's so sore." 

Jack snorts, and he rolls to drape his arm around Davey's waist. "Pretty sure we were both saying that by the end the honeymoon, too," he jokes, his laugh a puff of warm air on the back of Davey's neck. Davey jabs an elbow back into Jack's stomach. "Oh, hey, that spot hurts, too. Be nice."

"Then don't be a pervert," Davey responds without any heat. He sighs and slumps back against Jack, his aching muscles shuddering from just that little effort. It's a good thing they planned ahead and took the next few days off work—he's looking forward to remaining horizontal for at least a full day. "I still can't get over it," Davey admits, quieter. "We all just ran a marathon. Charlie just ran a marathon." 

"I know, right?" Jack replies. "Kid's a fuckin' miracle, don't know how he does it." He nuzzles Davey's neck. "Seemed excited for the Grand Canyon, too. That was a good idea." 

"I'm glad he liked it," Davey says, relieved. "I was worried he might not be interested in that anymore." 

"Nah, dreams like that don't go away, even if they change a bit," says Jack. "I'm excited, too. I don't wanna move there anymore, we got a good thing here, but that doesn't mean I don't wanna still see it. You've been before, right?" 

"Couple times, yeah, when I was a kid," Davey agrees. "Back when we lived in Arizona. But I haven't been in probably twenty years." 

Jack hums. "It's pretty as they say, though, right?" 

"Absolutely. You and Charlie are gonna love it. I bet you'll come back with a million new painting ideas." Davey traces his fingers over Jack's arm on his waist for a minute while he thinks of how to phrase the question. "Does it bother you that Charlie calls me Dad but not you?" 

Pushing up on an elbow, Jack cocks his head as he looks down at Davey in the dark. "Nah, course not," he says. "Why would you think that?" 

"Because you've basically been Charlie's dad for pretty much his whole life, and then I come in, and he starts calling me Dad, but still only calls you Jack," Davey points out. 

"You know he does it on purpose, right?" Jack asks. Davey turns his head, brow furrowed in confusion. "When he calls you Dad. He told me. He does it on purpose 'cause he knows it makes you happy."  Davey's heart melts all over again. "He calls me Dad sometimes, or introduces me to folks as his dad, but it don't make a difference. I don't care what he calls me. Me and him's always known that he's my kid, even if it ain't biological. 

"Reason he never called me Dad growing up is 'cause he didn't like the word. When he was little, Dad wasn't a good thing. Dad was just the guy that hurt him." Wincing, Davey threads his fingers with Jack's. There's never a day that goes by that Davey doesn't hate the Kelly patriarch for every horrible thing he did to his sons—it's a very good thing they've never met because Davey would not be held accountable for his actions if he did. "He was only five when I got him, you know how things like that can hit li'l kids. So he called me Jack because that's a safe name. He was scared of having a dad again in case it was like last time, so I was just big brother Jack instead." 

"I never even thought of that," Davey says. "But he calls me Dad now." 

"'Cause now he ain't scared," Jack supplies. "He's grown up, and he knows that just 'cause his first dad was bad, doesn't mean they all are. I'm his dad, and he knows he's safe with me. And now he's got another dad, too." 

Pausing, Jack licks his lips and squeezes Davey's hand. "Think he does it to make sure you know he sees you as part of our family, too. You know, since me and him's related. He can call me Jack and whatever because we got blood, but now we've got you, too, and that's his way of letting you know he knows that. That you're not just his big brother's husband. Don't matter if it's just 'cause marriage, he's your son now, too, and you're his dad." 

Davey takes a shaking breath, slipping his hand free to wipe his eyes. That's such a Charlie thing to do, but Davey's never had it laid out for him like that. He's thought of Charlie as his since even before the adoption. He never realized that this was Charlie's way of telling him he feels the same. 

"God, what'd I do to deserve you two?" Davey asks with a watery laugh. "I never really thought I even wanted kids, and now I've ended up with the greatest possible kid on the planet." 

"He is pretty amazing," Jack agrees, sliding down to curl himself around Davey again. "Guess you're just lucky." 

Rolling over, Davey grins and kisses Jack. "I really am," he says sincerely.

"Man, you really are such a sap." Jack chuckles and kisses him again. "M'kay, go to sleep. We gotta get all rested up so we can go ice skating, and then whatever else crazy things that physical therapist puts in his head. Henry keeps that shit up, next thing you know we're gonna be doing rodeos or something." 

"Like you don't secretly wanna do that anyway, Cowboy," Davey teases. Both giggling, they settle down, and Davey immediately feels the exhaustion starting to crawl over him. 

Davey Kelly-Jacobs is not, by nature, an impulsive person. 

He grew up always living his life by The Plan, and he was comfortable with that. Davey never expected to tear up The Plan and leave it behind. He also never expected that his once-in-a-lifetime impulsive decision about taking a trip to New York would turn out to be the best thing that ever happened to him.

Davey's never been more thrilled to be wrong.