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It’s seven-forty-five in the morning when Jeremy pulls Jean aside, and says, “Can I ask a favor?”
They’re two of the last three in the locker room. Jean glances over at the third—Shane, waiting to walk with him to their first class of the day—and motions for him to hold on a moment longer.
Shane nods. Jean nods back.
“Yes,” he says to Jeremy. Easy as that. Easy as breathing. Jeremy has been doing him favors since he arrived in L.A.. It is only right that Jean do him one back. “What?”
“I need to go somewhere,” Jeremy says. “A doctor. And I—don’t want to go alone.”
Jean studies him. He doesn’t look hurt, or sick, and he doesn’t smell distressed, but he’s been acting strangely enough recently that the admission gives Jean pause. Jeremy’s been moodier than usual, and complaining about his back, and once, earlier in the week, he ran out of a scrimmage game to be ill in the bathroom.
It’s not Jean’s business. It’s not.
…except it would be, if this behavior continued to affect Jeremy’s performance on the court.
A thin line to walk, but Jean would have to walk it anyway. And besides, Jeremy did say he could ask. “Are you alright?”
Jeremy offers him a thin smile. “I will be.”
It’s nowhere near comforting, but Jean can take a hint. “When do you need to go?”
“Tomorrow,” Jeremy tells him. “Around ten? I’ll pick you up.”
Jean nods once. “I will be ready.”
Ten a.m. the next morning, Jeremy is at the door of the apartment.
The closed off stance he has says he doesn’t want to come inside, but Jabberwocky doesn’t let him get away with it. The minute Jean turns the knob, the dog is behind him, squealing and wiggling in excitement.
It helps a bit, the sight of the dog. Jeremy brightens up a fraction, and bends down to ruffle Jabberwocky’s fur between his hands. Jean watches as Jabberwocky licks a stripe up his cheek, and Jeremy laughs, delighted.
The girls’ bedroom door swings open wide. “Jeremy?”
Jeremy winces, and then schools his expression into a smile at an alarming speed. “Morning,” he chirps. “I’m just here to steal Jean.”
“Oh?” Cat says, and turns toward Jean. “I thought you were coming with us.”
Jean opens his mouth. Cat waves him off. “Should’ve known better, I guess. But if we would’ve known you were able to come over, we wouldn’t have made plans. Why didn’t you text?”
Jeremy shrugs. “I only have a few hours, and it was a last minute type of thing. Enjoy your day. I’ll try to get away another time, okay?”
Cat doesn’t look pleased, but she doesn’t argue either. “Laila’s in the shower,” she says. “Are you two leaving now, or…?”
“I think so,” Jeremy says, and it’s so oddly dismissive Jean can only stare at him. “Have fun, and maybe I’ll see you guys later, okay?”
He heads for the door before Cat can say anything else, and Jean frowns after him, bidding Cat goodbye and following him out. Jeremy’s already halfway down the stairs by the time Jean gets there, though, and Jean lengthens his stride to catch up.
Maybe Jeremy knows what’s coming, or maybe his dismissal is bothering him, because the moment Jean’s at his side again, he says, “No need to worry them, you know?”
Jean does not know. As far as he is concerned, the three of them have no boundaries. He knows of only one thing Jeremy has kept from them, and if this is anything like that…
“Should they be?” Jean asks. “Worried?”
Jeremy doesn’t answer that right away. He glances at Jean, the inside of his cheek caught between his teeth, and Jean feels his stomach roil.
“Not after today,” Jeremy says.
Whatever that means. Jean’s head reels with the possibilities, but it’s obvious Jeremy does not want to talk about this, so Jean will allow him peace, at least until they get wherever they need to be. Surely, there will be a sign or other, something he can use to piece this out instead of forcing Jeremy to explain.
And a sign there is.
The drive is short, tense. Jeremy turns on the radio, but Jean isn’t listening. How could he, when after twenty minutes, Jeremy is pulling into an Omega Health clinic, of all places.
Jean blinks at him, at the sign. He doesn’t know much about Omegas, has never spent this much time with one until Jeremy, but he knows enough to know what these places are primarily for.
But that can’t be right, can it?
Jean thinks of the strange way Jeremy’s been acting, of the illness, aches, and moodiness. He thinks of the way he lied to Cat and Laila, the way Laila hates all the men he sleeps with. He thinks of all the checks he’s given Jeremy in the past couple weeks, the times he’s thrown him off his feet, and feels his confusion, his shock, turn to growing horror. “Jeremy.”
“Don’t look at me like that,” Jeremy says, and puts the car into park. “I didn’t know until a couple days ago. And I’m not keeping it, so.”
Jean runs through all the responses he could possibly have to this—questions about the coaches’ reactions, the team’s, the girls’; concerns about the effects this would have on Jeremy’s career if anyone ever found out—and wonders how he missed this. Jeremy is his partner. To fail to catch something so obvious as this—
But how was he to know? Omegas were barred from the Nest, and Jean had never encountered one outside of the court. He didn’t know the signs. Didn’t know what to look for. The others, though. What was their excuse? How had the nurses let him play? How had the Alpha who’d done this—
The Alpha.
Anger flashes hot in Jean’s veins. It’s unhelpful, but it’s blinding, and Jean can’t see past it. “Who?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Jeremy says.
“It does,” Jean presses. “He slept with you. He got you pregnant. And then he left you to deal with it alone.”
Jeremy eyes him over. Debating lying, maybe, but he promised to tell the truth, and as he bites the inside of his cheek and looks away, he seems to remember that. "He doesn't even know.”
"Then it won't matter if I do," Jean says. "Who was it?"
He's expecting pushback, expecting Jeremy to run away, to tell Jean he can't give him a name, like he had that night in Arizona back in August. But instead, Jeremy only looks troubled, and suddenly, Jean catches on.
"You don't know," he says.
He doesn’t mean to sound so shocked, but it comes through anyway, and Jeremy notices.
“Please don’t,” Jeremy says, with such despair in his eyes that Jean can only stare. “Please, just—I can handle a lot of things, Jean. And I can handle being called a slut. But not like this. Not by you.”
“I wasn’t going to—“ Jean starts, and stops. His heart is suddenly in his throat. He remembers a senior, a junior; Tetsuji’s voice before the cane came down with a crack. “Who called you that?”
“Does it matter?” Jeremy asks. “It’s true.”
Jean opens his mouth. Jeremy holds up a hand. His tone is easy, but the smile he turns Jean’s way is wry. “I don’t even know who knocked me up, Jean.”
He turns away, then, and back toward the clinic. Wraps his arms tight around his stomach. “Look I’ve gotta—I just wanna get this over with. Are you okay to sit out here?”
Jean frowns at him. “You said you didn’t want to go alone.”
“You came with me,” Jeremy says, “that’s enough.”
“Is it?”
The question strikes a nerve. Jean watches Jeremy’s expression crumple, but it’s there and gone again, quick as a flash. “People might assume you’re the father, if you come inside.”
“People have assumed everything about me,” Jean says. “I care more about you than what they say. And you are my partner. My friend. If you want me to come in, I will come in.”
That expression comes back again, quick and devastating. For a moment, Jeremy looks younger than Jean’s ever thought him. Not a captain, just a man, not much older than Jean himself. It’s as startling as it is comforting, in its own strange way.
“Are you sure?” Jeremy asks.
“I am sure,” Jean assures him.
Jeremy offers him a grateful smile, but it’s small, and closed mouthed, and doesn’t meet his eyes. “Thank you,” he says, and gets out of the car.
Jean follows him, through the parking lot and into the lobby, and then hovers awkwardly while Jeremy checks in. It’s swift from there—they’re seated for about five minutes while Jeremy fills out a patient intake form, and then, the moment he’s finished, he’s ushered down a hallway, and out of sight.
Jean stares after him. He wonders if Jeremy will be okay, and how long this will take, but he doesn’t have to wonder long. Soon enough, the nurse who took Jeremy away is back, and waving Jean in the same direction.
Jeremy’s in an examination room, sat on the very edge of a table lined in wax paper with his ankles crossed and his hands beside his knees. He glances up when the door opens, face carefully blank, but Jean can see the tense line of his shoulders, the faraway look to his gaze, and knows what he needs to do.
As the door shuts behind him, he shuffles over, until his thighs are brushing the edge of the table, and Jeremy is looking up at him, confusion written plain across his face.
“Jean?” He asks.
Jean doesn’t answer. Instead, he holds out a hand, palm up, a few inches away from the top of Jeremy’s own thigh. An offering.
“Oh,” Jeremy says. “Are you…?”
Jean nods. Jeremy’s expression crumbles again, and this time, he almost can’t pull it back. Jean watches his nose scrunch, the corners of his mouth tug down, and then school back into blankness as a knock sounds on the door.
Jeremy interlocks their fingers, and squeezes hard.
A woman walks in, a Beta clad in a white coat with a clipboard in hand. She smiles at them politely in greeting, eyes darting from Jeremy to Jean to Jeremy again. “Mr. Knox,” she says, “I’m Dr. Fatreese. I’ll be doing your consultation and procedure today.”
Jeremy’s grip grows a little tighter. Jean runs his thumb over his knuckles, a slow, grazing sweep.
Dr. Fatreese glances down at their hands. “And this is…” she says, “the father?”
“A friend,” Jeremy tells her.
Dr. Fatreese accepts that easily enough. She walks them through the visit slowly—takes Jeremy’s vitals, and performs an ultrasound, during which Jean holds Jeremy’s hand and casts his eyes at the far wall.
Jeremy is around eight weeks, Dr. Fatreese says, which gives them several options. Jeremy listens to them all, even though he isn’t obligated, and then politely insists on the termination.
Dr. Fatreese accepts that as well, and then turns to Jean. “I’m afraid you can’t stay with him for the procedure,” she says. “But it shouldn’t take longer than half an hour, and we’ll bring him right out to you when we’re finished.”
Jean nods. Jeremy doesn’t let go of his hand.
Jean turns back to him, tipping his head in silent question, and finds the answer plastered across Jeremy’s face. And he looks so—distraught, so out of sorts, that for a moment, Jean doesn’t know what to do.
And then suddenly, he does.
He isn’t thinking, really. He just moves, tugging himself toward Jeremy and pressing his lips to his temple, the way Cat does when she thinks he’s unraveling, the way he does when he thinks she’s unraveling.
Jeremy tenses, and for a second, Jean wonders if it was the wrong move. But then Jeremy sags against him, letting out a a shuddering sigh, and letting go of Jean’s hand after a quick squeeze.
“I will be in the waiting room,” Jean says, and waits for Jeremy to nod before letting Dr. Fatreese usher him out.
Thirty minutes later, Jeremy returns to him.
He looks—normal, if a bit tired. Jean checks him over as he crosses the distance, and stands before Jeremy can reach him.
“It went well,” Jeremy tells him softly. “But I’m not supposed to drive for a bit. Sorry, are…are you okay to take us back? I can direct you.”
Jean nods. He takes Jeremy’s keys and Jeremy’s hand again, and leads them out to the car.
The ride is silent. Jeremy stares out the window the entire way, and Jean stares at the road ahead, glancing over at Jeremy at every red light. But Jeremy doesn’t look back, and he doesn’t speak.
Jean wonders what he’s thinking, but he doesn’t know what to ask. Doesn’t know if he should. Surely, if Jeremy wanted to talk about it, then Jeremy would bring it up? But then, when had Jeremy ever offered up his own vulnerabilities? Jean found out about Bryson through Cat, found out about Jeremy’s inevitable exhaustion from their ceramics classmate. If Jean wanted to know something, then Jean would have to ask him outright.
And the moment they step inside the apartment, Jean does.
“Are you okay?” he asks, and when Jeremy opens his mouth, insists, “The truth.”
Jeremy sighs. His shoulders sag, his fingers twitch at his sides. He catches Jean staring, though, and tucks one into his pocket, rubs the other into his eye. “My stomach hurts,” he admits. “And I’m tired. But I should be going soon. My mother will expect me back, and—“
“You’re not supposed to drive,” Jean reminds him. “I will hide your keys if I must.”
Jeremy levels him with a look. Jean levels it back. “Go sleep,” he says. “Your mother has not missed you for hours. She will not miss you for a few more.”
It’s a gamble, but Jeremy doesn’t protest. He also doesn’t move. Jean frowns at him, wondering what the problem is, and offers, “You can take my bed.”
Still, nothing. Jeremy opens his mouth, closes it. There’s a flush to the tips of his ears now, uncharacteristic sheepishness as he glances away from Jean.
“Would you mind?” Jeremy asks. “If I stayed out here with you instead?”
Jean blinks at him, and then nods. He gestures toward the couch, and when Jeremy moves around to take a seat, follows after him.
The second he sits, Jeremy shuffles closer, and then the heat of him is unmistakable. Jean would know the weight of him blind. But Jeremy is sitting upright, pressed to Jean’s side from shoulder to thigh with his head tilted over the back cushion. There’s no way this is comfortable. There’s no way he can sleep like this.
“You can lean on me,” Jean says. “I do not mind.”
It takes a moment, two. Jean prepares for Jeremy to ask him if he’s sure, the way he has been all day, but maybe his pain is too large, maybe his fatigue is too great, because instead of asking, Jeremy shifts, and angles his body toward Jean’s. He lays his head on Jean’s shoulder, tucks his hands between them.
“Is this okay?” Jeremy asks.
Jean stills. The weight of Jeremy is heavier than the last person who had laid on him like this, and for a second, Jean doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how to do this. To comfort someone. To take care of them.
But that’s not true, is it? There’d been a time it was like second nature to him, being the one pillar of softness in an otherwise hard place. He knows how to do this. He is just…out of practice. He is just…not allowed.
But Jeremy is his partner, his friend. And right now, Jeremy needs him.
Carefully, Jean lifts his arm. But it isn’t careful enough. Jeremy shuffles off him at the movement, and the rejection that flits across his face is almost too much to bear. Already, he is moving back, away, assuming Jean had been pushing him off, that Jean didn’t want him there—
“Sorry,” Jeremy says. “I—“
“No,” Jean says, cutting him off, putting a little too much force behind the word. Jeremy stares at him. Jean rushes to explain. “I was just—I was just moving my arm. Come here.”
Cautiously, Jeremy leans in again, hesitantly resting his head back in its former spot. Jean wraps his arm around Jeremy’s shoulders, tugging him impossibly closer, holding onto him a little too tightly.
But Jeremy doesn’t seem to mind.
He sighs softly, the way Jab does when he’s comfortable, and Jean—Jean just moves. He turns his head to the left, and presses his lips to Jeremy’s forehead, the way he had at the doctor’s, a there and gone kiss to let Jeremy know he’s here.
Jeremy sighs again, and fists a hand in the side of Jean’s shirt. “Thank you,” he says. “For coming with me today.”
“I wanted to,” Jean tells him. “I will always be there for you. For whatever you need. Whenever you need it.”
Jeremy’s breath hitches. The hand in Jean’s shirt tightens slightly. “Jean—“
“I know,” Jean says, because he does, because he would not let Jeremy make this day about him. “Thank you, too.”
Jeremy quiets down for a bit. Jean feels his breathing slow, and starts to doze himself, until some time later, Jeremy shifts, and says, “It’s weird, you know? I never wanted it, and I was scared out of my mind when I found out, but now that it’s gone it just kinda feels like…I lost something.”
Jean opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. “Do you regret it?”
“No,” Jeremy says. “If I ever have a baby, I want it to be with someone I care about. Someone good. Not…not anyone I’ve been with.”
Jean’s heart picks up inexplicably at the words. It is not the time, nor the place to be entertaining such ridiculous, out of reach fantasies, especially after the events of the day. But his heart beats anyway, fast and loud against his rib cage. He wonders if Jeremy can hear it.
If he were Jeremy’s Alpha…
No.
Jean clears his throat, tightens his grip a little more. He doesn’t know if he trusts himself to speak, but he opens his mouth anyway. “They do not deserve you,” he says. No one did. And Jean isn’t sure he ever will, either.
But by the time the words are out, Jeremy is already asleep.