In the Rain--a Dawson/Jared fanfic

More con stories tomorrow, if I can remember them. In the meantime, this is for a friend, who might need it:

In the Rain--a Behind the Curtain Ficlet

A funeral, on any day, was the worst day ever.

The rain and the mud didn't even made it worse--it just reassured everybody that the small coffin was just as painful, just as tragic, as any onlooker could imagine.

Dawson stood next to Jared in the pouring rain and held the umbrella over their heads, while Jared clutched his cane and scowled into the gray muddle of somber faces. Dawson had no idea what he was thinking.

The child had been in Jared's special night class--her heart had given out suddenly, and her parents were devastated. Dawson hadn't known her--he volunteered with another class--but Darian had, and she was sobbing in Benji's arms next to them.

But Jared wasn't crying. Just that impassive scowl into the rain.

For the last week, he'd been like that. A ghost dancer in their apartment. He'd made dinner when it was his night, he'd done the dishes, paid the bills--even come to a show Dawson and Benji had been running.

But there had been no sudden smiles, no quiet laughter.

It was like the heart of him had always been meant to be here. In the rain. And Dawson wanted to scream.  He didn't though--just held the umbrella over his head and shivered.

The graveside service ended, and people trudged back to their cars, Dawson keeping the umbrella steady as Jared concentrated on not slipping in the mud. When they got to Dawson's car--a Chevy Impala as an upgrade to the Toyota that had pretty much rolled over and died--Jared got in silently and Dawson closed the door behind him before moving around to the driver's side. Once he sat down and started the car, he asked, "Whereto?"

He expected to hear, "Home!" but Jared surprised him.

"The zoo," he said.

"Really? In this--"

"Please?"

"Alrighty then."  Dawson didn't mention they were both in their best wool suits, or that their overcoats had soaked through. He didn't mention the umbrella still sopping wet in the back of the car. He just drove to the freeway and then the fifteen minutes to the zoo.

Of course it was practically empty, and Dawson had no idea what the person at the entrance thought of two grown men in funeral suits buying tickets, but he followed Jared as he walked to the giant bird pond near the front. After a moment of trying to figure out what his boyfriend was thinking, Dawson looked out at the birds.

And was surprised.

"This is the best day in the world for them," he said, surprised a little. Flamingos, it turned out, gave zero fucks about the rain. The ducks loved it. The other birds were fairly amused.

"Glad it's good for somebody," Jared said, also sounding surprised. He turned then and walked, to ignoring the reptile cage--thank God, although there was a giant gorilla in a sweatshirt and jeans with a teeny excited girl heading that way, because apparently Dawson and Jared weren't the only nut jobs in the rain.  Instead, though, they went to the red panda enclosure--and the pandas were draped about in the rain, seemingly oblivious.

The monkeys didn't mind it either.

In fact, nobody seemed to mind the rain, not even the two dumb humans trying desperately to stay under the umbrella.

At the end of the walk, Jared turned toward the bonobo cages and smiled a little. "She always wanted to dance like animals," he said randomly--maybe the second thing he'd said all day.

"Yeah? Which ones?"

"Depended on the day. Some days she wanted to dance like flamingos. Some days it was leopards. Some days it was zebras. And she'd tell me and Darian stories about why she was making her body go like the leopard or the zebra or the flamingo. And we'd look forward to it, you know?"

"I bet," Dawson said, heart aching. He'd heard them talking about this kid, Megan. But he hadn't heard this.

"And that last day, she wanted to dance like a turtle. Slow. and she wobbled her body back and forth. And she might not have felt s good, because she was slow all day, but we said it was okay, everybody got a turtle day."

Oh Jared. "You couldn't have known," Dawson said softly.

"I know. I mean, me and Darian, we were one part of her life, all week. But... but I like to think we were a part she looked forward to."

"Of course you were."  All the kids loved their studio. They had enough students that Jared was hiring another former dancer to come in on the nights he couldn't. Elena was a nice lady, with an orthopedist husband and a new daughter and an impossibly big Italian family--but she hadn't been there for this.

Jared let out a sigh, and wrapped his free hand around Dawson's waist, leaning his head on his shoulder. Dawson wrapped his arm around his shoulders and nuzzled his hair.

"I'm going to miss her," Jared said, voice breaking.

"I know, baby. I'm so sorry."

"Thanks for coming," Jared whispered.

"Where else would I be?"

There was nowhere else to be.  They stood there until Jared started to shiver, watching the monkeys play in the rain.

"Come on, baby," Dawson said, tugging gently. "Someday you'll see a kid dancing and it'll be a monkey day or a flamingo day, and you'll be okay again. And you'll remember Megan and it won't hurt."

"Yeah."

But Jared didn't move until Dawson cupped his wet cheek and pulled him in for a salty kiss. Dawson pulled back. "Someday, we'll come back here in the sunshine, and we'll teach your other kids how to dance like a turtle."

Jared nodded. "Promise?"

And Dawson heard it, the need to know that not all days would be this sad. Dawson had always been the one who could see sunshine in their future. He hadn't ever realized that was a gift, that it would define him, as an adult, as a lover, but here, now, looking at Jared's mercury blue eyes pleading for solace, he realized that it was his most precious commodity. His professor had once said he'd "earned his charmed life"--he hadn't ever known what that meant until now.

He found optimism and hope on this shitty day, and breathed it into Jared's tired heart.

He pulled back and smiled. "I promise. Let's go get warm, baby. Let's watch Animal Planet videos and make up dances for all your kids, okay? Your friend doesn't have to be gone forever, not when she's bringing you joy in your heart, right?"

Jared nodded, shaking a little. "Right."

Dawson guided him back to the car and when they got home, he set water heating for hot chocolate before he joined Jared in the shower.

Warmth seeped into their bones gradually, and soon the two of them were on the couch, cradling their chocolate, doing what Dawson had promised. Amber joined them, having spent the time after the funeral with Darian and Benji, and as they watched bonobos gambol across the screen, she looked up at Jared. "Why don't you ever make a dance like that?" she asked.

"Planning on it," Jared told her, leaning his head against Dawson's chest. Later, they would make love, very quietly, and Dawson would remember those moments, looking at the animals in the rain. The world sucked sometimes, in the cruelest ways. The fact that the human heart could be patched together again and again and again every time it was broken was one of the only reasons Dawson's lover was still walking around.

Dawson was grateful that he was the one with the duct tape and the glue to help Jared patch things up again. He didn't trust anybody else with the job.

You Know Who You Are

ZoomBoy sang in choir tonight, and that was sort of neat-- it was a combined choir of the junior high and all the high school choirs-- but I must say, my mind wandered HORRIBLY during the singing. (I'd heard a lot of it before.)

So, I was wrestling plot bunny after plot bunny, and in the meantime, SOMEBODY posted a meme SOMEWHERE specifically where I would see it, and intimated I MIGHT know what she wanted.

So you know who you are.

This is for you.

*  *  *

It took a year and a half before Jared could walk without a cane, but he did a lot in that year.

Physical Therapy, every day. Gym, pool, personal trainer--he did it all--even though Dawson whined bitterly about the diet it took for him to not gain wait, it was worth it. Someday--someday--he would fly again. And if he didn't fly high enough or fast enough to perform professionally, that was okay. That wasn't why he flew in the first place.

He found studio space, and, with the help of Dawson, Benji, Daria, and Amber--and Dawson's dad, of course-- managed to lay hard rubber for the stage, layer the walls with acoustic tile so the sound didn't echo, and, one pane at a time, install the giant mirror and the barre.

The space was small--but two classes a day paid the overhead, and three classes a day let him pay for rent.

He advertised at the local grammar school, gave fliers to the special ed teachers, talked to the local community centers--by six months, he had outreach classes at the community centers and needed to hire Daria to teach after school classes there.

Six days a week, he came home to Dawson, exhausted, sore, and... oddly enough, happy.

He wasn't counting on the mom-ager and her superspawn to walk into the studio when he had his 8-12 year old class of moderately to severe handicapped students at the barre.

There were only eight of them, but they were challenging enough that he'd recruited volunteers from the college physical education programs to come help. It was something for their resumes, he'd said, and he'd been blessed with three young and able people, two young men and a young woman, who seemed to genuinely like the kids and read his cues for how to help them adjust awkward, stiff-tendoned, loose-muscled limbs into the stretches that would help them while dancing.

If the studio could just do a little better, be a little more in the black, he'd maybe get salaries for them all.

So when the obviously well-heeled woman in a business suit walked in, his first thought was "Sponsor!" and then he saw her son, wearing jazz pants, with a dance bag over his shoulder and a superior smirk on his face, and the thought changed to, "Douchebag!"

Suddenly, he wished for Dawson.

Dawson could awkward his way through this situation no problem. He could stand up for Jared's kids and get this woman to sponsor a class without pausing for breath. But all Jared could do was push himself over, cane in hand because it was the end of the day, and wait until the musical selection ended.

"Everybody, take five, but don't stop moving!" he ordered. This was actually the fun part, because the kids would do what they thought was dancing--whirling in endless pinwheel loops, leap with heavy bodies in jumps with no name, execute simple pedestrian maneuvers no dance teacher had ever seen before--it was dancing without the rules, and sometimes his kids needed that with everything in their souls.

"Hi," he said, remembering the days when a quiet smile at a cocktail party would get his manager into his next gig. "Welcome to Emory-Barnes studio, I'm Jared Emory." He smiled softly as Hannah, a sweet little girl with springy pom-pom pigtails and a soft, pear-shaped body did a passable pirouette to music only she heard. "What can I do for you?"

"This is a dance studio?" the woman said, lip pulled back.

"Yes," he said with dignity. "This particular class is for children with moderate to severe mental and physical handicaps."

"And you teach them to dance?" The skepticism in her voice started his stomach churning. His little sister had loved dancing--nobody told her that kids with Downs Syndrome couldn't dance, so she never had to doubt herself.

"Everybody should dance," he said with a quiet, determined smile. A little desperately, he caught the boy's eye. "Don't you think?"

And he saw it--the moment when the boy recognized him.

"Jared Emory," he said blankly.

"Yes." Oh hell.

"The Jared Emory."

"Yes."

"I... I own three DVD's with your performances," the kid burbled. "I've seen every YouTube video ever made with you. I've..."  He looked at the cane then, eyes wide. "I saw you fall."

It took a lot for Jared to take the next breath. "The whole world saw me fall," he said ruefully.

"That's why you never came back?"  He must have been fifteen, this kid, with dark hair and green eyes. Black brows arched expressively over dark lashes, and a little bow-stung mouth made him a stunner, probably even without makeup from the stage.

"I could have come back for a season," Jared admitted, "but I never would have danced again. So I decided to build up the knee--I might not dance professionally again, but someday, I'll dance."  He tried not to admit to Dawson how much being earthbound weighed on his bones. In the pool, or when watching his students dance, he could fly.

"But..." The kid bit his lip and looked around at Jared's twirling, giggling students. "Why... why..."

"Everybody should dance," Jared told him, believing it. "Everybody should fly."

The kid's face lit up. "Yes." He looked at his mother, who seemed to smell something bad. "Do you... do you have any advanced classes?" he asked apprehensively. "I... my last teacher was..." He shuddered.

"I've had those," Jared said, understanding that. "I used to throw up before practice."

The boy nodded, his neck suddenly thin and vulnerable. "I puked blood," he whispered.

"I'll tell you what," Jared said, gauging the way the kid seemed to smile indulgently at his students. "If you want to help me out, I can help you out."

"What do you mean?" his mother asked, suddenly engaged.

"I mean my interns are doing this for semester credit, and I won't have a helper here over the summer. My boyfriend can come in some days, and his best friend, and my other employee--but it's not locked in stone. If--"  He looked at the boy meaningfully.

"Todd," the boy said, smiling like he got it.

"If Todd can come in, this day, this time, and help me out through the summer, I'll stay after for two hours and instruct him special. I have an advanced class three days a week, but the two hours of lessons is only open to a few kids. I want to start having recitals next summer, and I need some dancers who can lead the rest of the studio."

The idea had been fermenting in the back of his head since they'd opened in January, a year after his fall, but it hadn't fully coalesced until right now.

"Couldn't I just pay you--" the mom began, but Jared shook his head, and, surprisingly, Todd cut her off.

"Everyone should dance," he said shortly. "Mom. He's right. Everyone should dance."

They finalized the particulars after Jared stretched the class and had them cool down, but he had such hope burning in his chest--he couldn't even articulate it, not to himself.

But he found, later that night, as he and Dawson were stretched out in front of the television, he could find the words.

"I don't even know where we'll perform," he said, his voice catching at the end of the spiel. "But I'm giving those private lessons, and the other kids know who the superstars are, and all they want to do is perform, and--"

"That's a great idea!" Dawson exclaimed, waking up from a semi-stupor on Jared's chest. "You can petition one of the local high schools to use the gym and I can run the lights and the sound and the curtain and--"

And just like that, Jared saw where his hope came from, where the faith that this was a good thing. He captured Dawson's mouth with his own, holding his cheeks until the slow burn of passion replaced Dawson's enthusiasm, and he fell into the kiss with fervor.

Jared turned him, until Dawson was sprawled on his back, grinding up agains Jared, stripping off Jared's shirt because not being skin-to-skin would hurt.

"Where's Amber?" Jared panted.

"At her girlfriend's," Dawson answered. That was happening more and more--they were starting to feel bad taking Amber's rent money, but reluctant to break up the terrible trio.

"She'd better knock if she comes back," Jared panted. He fumbled with the button to Dawson's 501's and Dawson helped by lifting his ass up and then pulling his knees up to his chin so Jared could strip them off, along with his underwear.

And there he was--pale and slender, surprisingly muscular, but still not filled out. His pink little nipples stood up from his white chest like a surprise, and flat moles still marked him in unusual places.

He was beautiful, like a swan, or the clouds from eye level.

Jared lowered his head to take a nipple into his mouth, and felt the leadenness of earth fall from his limbs. Dawson grunted and flailed, still not graceful when they made love, but it didn't matter. As Jared worked his way down that soft-skinned body to the wealth of hair--and of cock--at Dawson's groin, he guided Dawson's hands back to his own nipples so they'd have something useful to do.

He wanted to take that cock into his mouth and play it unmercifully. He wanted Dawson to come down his throat so hard he saw stars and sailed in the night sky for hours.

He planned to thrust inside that willing body while Dawson wrapped long arms and legs around him, and together they would hit the stratosphere and float gently down.

His knee would never be perfect--but this man, this love, this happiness between them--this would let him fly. When he healed completely, and could dance with his kids and in his own performances, he could fly again on stage.

But here, in Dawson's arms, he could fly forever.

He stripped and found Dawson's entrance, pushing in as Dawson told the entire apartment building, again, that they were having sex.

Swans were mean creatures, sometimes carnivorous in their urge to be the strongest, the most elite, the most beautiful.

Jared would find joy flying with the ducks.

No Ducks Yet--Fanficlet from Behind the Curtain

So, I sent out a query for suggestions, and besides SuperBat which I just did, this one seemed to come up a lot. (There was a request for Shane/Mikhail, but since I'm currently writing them a cameo for a book coming out in September, I thought it was safe to ignore that.)  Anyway-- I think they're right. Dawson and Jared from Behind the Curtain probably have a lot of adventures left to explore.

Including moving in June...

*  *  *

"Dawson make him stop."  Amber regarded Dawson from unfriendly kohl-rimmed eyes. "Please. Four months in the pool and he thinks he's fucking Captain America."

Dawson let out a growl and strode into the apartment to kick his boyfriend's ass.

True to the plan, they were moving down to Sacramento for Dawson's last few years in school, in the apartment over Benji and Darian's.  Jared showed up on Dawson's porch in February, exhausted, in pain, and still recovering from knee surgery-- doctors had given him a year, minimum, before he could go without crutches and a brace.

Jared had pitched in for rent out of his savings and spent his time in the pool with a trainer, trying really hard to fix himself before then.

On the one hand, sex, company, and general domestic madly in love bliss.

On the other hand, "Jesus, Jared, calm the fuck down already!"

Jared had one crutch under his armpit and a gathering of clothes on hangers held up in the other hand, and Dawson reached for the suits with a little bit of force.

"Yikes!" Jared yelped, hopping up and down on his good leg. "Dawson, you're gonna knock me over!"

"What was your job!" Dawson demanded.

"I am fully capable of--"

"What was it?"  Augh! It was bad enough Jared had only barely relaxed on his dancer's diet, carefully counting calorie and gelatin content in just enough ratio to help him heal faster while he continued to stomp ruthlessly on carbohydrates so he didn't gain weight. It was bad enough that he spent the time Dawson was in school researching teaching positions and taking business classes and doing cost analysis spreadsheets.  It was just fucking bad enough that he couldn't seem to relax long enough to get better--he had to try to help with the move, when that was the one thing he seriously could do very little about.

"I was supposed to sit at the table, study the road maps, and help you get to and from your new apartment with a minimum of wandering around lost," Jared said with a beat-down sigh.

Dawson nodded sincerely. "That's a good goal."

"I know."

"Because I get lost."

"I am aware."

"Because there are one way streets down there!" Dawson said, his voice dropping with the horror.  Jared had been there the time Dawson had been driving in San Francisco and what had formerly been a two way street had turned into a one way street, and they had been very very lucky Dawson had not shit his pants.  Even Jared admitted he peed a little, although Dawson thought he was just being nice.

"I know," Jared said wearily. "But I already know that part of Sacramento, Dawson. It's not that big a place."

Dawson sighed. "I am aware," he muttered.  He threw the suits on the couch and pulled out one of the kitchen chairs so Jared could sit down amid the boxes stacked with their dishes. He sat down at the table and waited for Jared to situate his crutch, and then took his hand.

"Jared," he said softly, "baby. I am aware that it's hard for you to wait for your body to get better. Don't think I'm not."

Jared closed his mercury blue eyes, his black lashes fanning along his cheekbones.  "It's taking--"

"Exactly as long as it should," Dawson said, feeling this grownup thing in his groin.  Yeah, he wanted the old, mobile Jared back. He remembered what it had been like to watch Jared dance on a darkened stage, the melding of grace and body in music almost spiritual.  But for once, he had patience.  "I want you to think--how stupid would you feel if you tacked another two months on to your sentence by helping us shift a pile of clothes my Dad is coming by to move anyway."

"Dawson..."  Jared scowled some more. "I just... I mean, I just wanted to help."  He grimaced then. "That sounds stupid, like a little kid said it."  He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm..."

"If you say useless, I'm stealing your crutch."

Admittedly, progress had been slow in the "Jared is a real boy" department--but the lines in the corners of his eyes and his mouth that indicated he was smiling--those were a lot more frequent.

"You'd do it, too."

"You bet your ass. Now my dad's pulling up as we speak, and Benji's coming to help load. So you sit here and do the computer thing, and we'll be out of this shithole in a couple more hours."

Jared regarded him levelly. "I'm going to miss this shithole."

Dawson looked around at the bare walls-- they'd rolled up the butcher paper with the show fliers on it and packed it in a special poster tube already.  The burned spot on the carpet was still there, the dents on the walls from various moves, the one in the formica from when Dawson dropped the big glass casserole dish in March-- they'd left their marks on this place, quite literally, that was for sure.

Dawson swallowed, feeling nostalgic.  "Yeah," he admitted. "I will too."  But Dawson had perspective now.  "But I didn't talk to you for nearly six weeks, and that was bad. Missing you then? That... that's going to leave a hole in my chest for a while. So this place? Yeah. It's got some memories. But you and me, we've got memories to make."

Jared nodded. "Amber bought a bead curtain for her room the other day." Amber's room didn't actually have a door on it.  Dawson wasn't sure what they were going to do if Amber got herself a significant other in the next three years, but for now, the beaded curtain was the privacy she wanted.

"We may have to get a sound proof curtain for her," Dawson said seriously. He had not gotten any quieter during sex.

Jared laughed his quiet, constrained laugh and nodded. "I promise I'll be good," he said, taking Dawson's knuckles to his lips and kissing softly.  "You've got things to do."

Dawson stood up gratefully.  "Put your brainpower to figuring out what we're going to eat tonight," he said seriously. "We ate the last of the cereal with the last of the milk and the last of the fruit this morning, and if my dad brings In&Out like he promised, we're still gonna need sustenance."

Jared grinned.  He was being handled, he knew it, but he apparently appreciated the effort. Good, because Dawson had some nervous energy to expel by moving all of their worldly possessions to a new place.

They didn't have much, actually, and a lot of Jared's stuff was still boxed from when Benji and Dawson had moved him when he'd been half out of his head in the hospital.  A few hours later, Dawson's dad pulled the rental truck up in front of the new apartment, and Benji and Darian got to work helping them move and unpack.

Jared got to sit on a chair in the kitchen and answer Darian's questions about where to put stuff, and Dawson and Benji got to give each other shit about being neighbors.

"Yeah, Dawson, I've been getting lots of sleep since we moved away. Have you thought about how you're never going to have sex again since you've moved here?"

"Yeah, I"m going to invest in some earplugs and duct tape them to your head while you're sleeping.  And I can tell when that starts because you scream 'Points ME!' and start snoring."

Beni started laughing so hard he almost dropped the couch, and Darian, his Disney Princess beloved with giant anime blue eyes and a sweet little heart-shaped face actually spit soda out all over her generously proportioned chest.

"Does he really?" Jared asked, apparently recovered from his need to help to the point of getting in the way. "Does he really yell 'Points me?'"

"Yes!" Darian crowed. "Or at least he would, if he'd thought of it. Last night he yelled 'Touchdown'!"

Dawson's father snorted as he walked in with a big box of books. "That beats 'For three!'"

"I thought you liked basketball," Jared chided gently.

"I do, but if you're saying 'for three', well, there's a lot of those scores in that game. That'll get exhausting quick!"

Dawson had a vision of the last time he and Jared had been in bed together, Jared behind him, thrusting that spot again and again and again until Dawson had made that sound people swore could be heard three counties away.

"We've played that game," he said seriously. "We both won."

Jared blushed and laughed and covered his eyes.

"Thank God I was gone for that one," Amber said seriously. "That... that would not have been fun for me."

"Well, it would be fun if it happened to you," Darian said practically. "We're just going to have to make sure that happens soon."

"For all you know I'm a-sex," Amber muttered, blushing.

"You're not a-sex," Dawson told her. "Not that you couldn't be, but you aren't."

"How would you know that?" she demanded, but smiling.

"Because I've seen what happens when someone you think is cute walks by. There's heavy breathing, flushing, and you make this little 'mnnnn' sound when you get within smelling distance."

"Cedar," Amber muttered. "Girl, boy, doesn't matter--cedar turns me on."

"Yeah," Benji said, patting her shoulder. "But I don't think there's such a thing as perfume-sexual, so you just need to find the right person who smells right."

For a moment there was silence as everybody looked around the new apartment and tried to remember if there was anything else they needed to bring in from Dawson's car, Amber's car, or the moving van.

It was new-- slightly bigger than the old apartment with big bay windows, hardwood floors, and a view of Sacramento that Dawson had to admit was sort of pretty. God, this place had a lot of trees, and the buildings weren't all uniform either--at least not in this part.  It wasn't their big piece of property yet, and Jared was still carving out a place, but it would be a good home for them for the next couple of years.

He felt hope for a new adventure welling up in his chest--he hoped Jared did too.

At that moment, his stomach grumbled, and right after that, there was a knock at the door.

"Pizza?"  The delivery girl was short and chesty, a lot like Amber, but her hair was bobbed around her face and her eyes were blue and guileless.

"Yeah," Jared said, struggling to his feet. "That's us."

"I"ll get it," Dawson told him, and he recognized enough about pride to take Jared's offered wallet.

"I'll help," Amber said, sounding surprisingly engaged.

After they took the pizza and the sodas from the delivery girl, and she and Amber had exchanged pleasantries and a wish to meet again, Amber hummed happily to herself.

"What?" Darian asked, setting paper plates out on the table, which was the one thing not covered with boxes.

"She smelled like cedar."

There was general laughter, and underneath it, Dawson nudged Jared on the shoulder. "Pizza," he said quietly. "Good move!"

Jared smiled around a bite of the thin-crust flat-bread he was eating. It wasn't pizza, no--but it was a good attempt to blend in.

"You told me to rustle up food," he said mildly.

"You know, there's a gym nearby," Dawson said, chewing on his actual pizza. "And a pool--"

"And a dance floor, and a way to get certified teaching aerobics--yeah, Dawson. I did my research too."

Dawson had the grace to blush.  "This is a good place," he said, willing Jared to believe with him.

"No ducks yet," Jared said apologetically.  "But, you know--"

"We can practice scaring them until that happens," Dawson said. This was serious. Dogs and ducks--they would get there, one step at a time.

"Practice is important," Jared said, smiling that quiet smile.

Dawson had never loved practicing anything as much as he loved practicing scaring imaginary ducks.