Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Orange, California
15 May 2023

Jon bounded into the living room with a large hard plastic bowl full of freshly-popped microwave kettle corn tucked into the crook of his arm, and two cold cans of Diet Coke arranged awkwardly in his free hand. Ronan sat at the desk he kept in the far corner of the living room, acting as his office, with a single desk lamp shining a ring of light down on the middle of the desk. The only other light in the room came from a handful of emergency taper candles that Jon bought to keep in their emergency preparedness kit, flickering from the coffee table they had brought from their first apartment. Electricity rationing was no longer in effect, but since their house was not connected to the grid, whatever power they used was borrowed illegally from their neighbors.

Both Jon and Ronan quickly learned how to operate in the darkness.

With a wholesome smile on his face, Jon padded across the room on just the balls of his feet. He set the bowl of popcorn and both cans of Diet Coke down on the coffee table before sauntering up behind Ronan. He pressed a sweet kiss to the back of Ronan's head, nuzzling the faded and shaggy blonde hair that was long enough to brush the back of Ronan's neck, and the top of his shoulders.

"What's going on?" Jon asked, the curiosity in his voice thick. His husband's work often intrigued him, though not enough for Jon to glance over Ronan's shoulder to the screen of his laptop without permission. The last thing Jon wanted to seem was nosy. But as Jon spoke Ronan said nothing, his laser focus fixated on the computer screen in front of them. Ronan had both hands on the keyboard, furious fingers flying across the keys. Words appeared so quickly on the screen that, even if he were completely focused, Jon would be unable to keep up with what was being written.

Jon had no idea if Ronan was writing a new story, or continuing the same research that was essentially the only thing that either of them could really think about for the last several months.

The only think the break Ronan's focus was the sound of a heavy vehicle rolling down the middle of their typically sleepy street. Ronan's fingers stopped, and he sat completely still at the desk. He could hear his heart beating drowned out by the sound of large tires crunching the dirt and loose gravel on the road beyond the front door.

"Ro-"

"Candles." Ronan slammed his laptop closed and jumped up from the desk. He switched off the lamp, while Jon dashed around the coffee table to extinguish the flickering flames as quickly as he could, little plumes of smoke emanating from each smoldering wick. Ronan ran to the window and shut the blinds, standing as still as possible as he peered through a minute crack in the venetian blinds.

The hulking armored personnel carrier came to an idling stop in the middle of the road, the air brakes hissing loudly as they were set. A light broke through the darkness, as the back cargo door of the armored personnel carrier slowly opened, a mechanical whir echoing down the line of now darkened houses on either side of the cracked pavement.

The neighborhood of Lemon Heights was relatively unusual, in that all of the families who lived along Willard Avenue kept their homes dark most of the time, in order to help the Unorthodox who lived among them to hide. The Unorthodox, who the Intelligence and Security Police were now fanning across the neighborhood in search of.

A single voice could be heard but not understood, barking out a coded order before a dozen men and women, heavily armed and armored soldiers, marched from the armored personnel carrier onto the cracked pavement, their heavy combat boots making a uniform sound as they marched; a sound which only grew louder as more joined their ranks on the street. The soldier's armor was surreal, like something out of a science fiction first-person shooter video game; unrecognizable to any civilian who was not accustomed to seeing any sort of military in their backyard. Each soldier carried more than one weapon; military-grade assault rifles and previously illegal blades, which could now be purchased at any gas station. The final soldier stepped from the armored personnel carrier. More hushed words were spoken, as the lead soldier who previous barked out orders motioned for the other soldiers to spread out and search the neighborhood.

It was immediately clear to Ronan. Watching the scene from behind the cracked venetian blind, Ronan knew that this was not a routing search and capture. These Intelligence and Security Police shock troops knew what they were looking for, and knew that it would be on or near this block. Now all they had to do was search, and before the night was over, their target or targets would be acquired.

The sound of the venetian blind snapping closed echoed loudly through the jet black of their living room. Ronan closed his eyes and spun around, pressing his back to the sliver of wall between the windows and the heavy cherry door. He sunk down onto the floor and pulled his knees up under his shin, making himself into as small a ball as he could manage. Across the room he saw his husband, trying his best not to appear more terrified than he was. Then either of them were.

Though Ronan could not see it, Jon trembled in the darkness. Curled into his own tight ball, face pressed into his knees. Jon closed his eyes and said a silent prayer to whatever deity was still listening and looking out for them. "Please, "Jon whispered into the night. "Please let all of this pass. Please let us... let everyone get through this."

"Jon," Ronan said at the same moment he inhaled. His voice was quieter than a whisper, but pierced through the night like a sharpened katana. Jon jumped without making a sound, and stared across the room to Ronan. He was still seated with his back pressed against the wall.

Beams of light from external sources, most likely flashlights attached to the soldiers' high-powered assault rifles, cut through the venetian blinds and drew absent designs on the carpet between Jon and Ronan. They looked to one another, silently asking for support from the other, genuinely afraid that whatever was happening outside the door would make its way inside and take both of them. Through the darkness Jon could see Ronan's pale blue eyes, wide and petrified, and knew that it was all about to come crashing down around them.

"Attention Lemon Heights residents." Thought the voice was tinny and coming through some kind of detached loudspeaker, both Jon and Ronan thought they recognized it. Their eyes remained wide and frightened, as they stayed focused on one another. "The Regime has informed us that they themselves received... an anonymous tip that there were Unorthodox residing in the neighborhood." The announcement sounded so formal, so rehearsed. "While we would like to believe that this information is inaccurate, every threat has to be investigated-" The words were momentarily interrupted by the sound of something large and mechanical moving in the street outside. "-door to door, and will ask every family if they have had contact with the person or persons that we are looking for. If you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to fear."

Hearing that, both Jon and Ronan started to wonder just what their neighbors were thinking. Ronan closed his eyes tight and buried his face into his tented knees. He knew the neighborhood was friendly, and in general disliked how The Regime now ran things, but at the same time he would never expect these strangers to pretend that there was nothing wrong in the neighborhood. To pretend that there was not a queer couple living in that unremarkable house in the middle of the block.

The seconds felt like hours as they ticked by. Footsteps, quiet at first, could be heard out in the street, followed by the sounds of distant voices. Glass, a window possibly, shattered in the middle distance, but nothing else could be heard. Their neighbors, who were probably just as horror-stricken as they were, stayed silent. Everyone in the neighborhood knew that if they spoke up, everyone would be arrested without any real cause, and brought to whichever detention center that these particular soldiers were based out of.

Jon crawled across the floor and wrapped his arms around Ronan. They both let out a soft, but still terrified sound, and curled against one another as tightly as possible.

Their breathing stopped when Jon and Ronan both felt the knock at the door. A thought ricocheted through Jon's mind; if they pretended that they were not home, or that the house was otherwise deserted, perhaps that could be reason enough for someone not to answer the knock. The Regime were, in his own opinion, not a brain trust, and might easily believe that this ultimately was an abandoned building in the middle of an upper middle-class neighborhood, surrounded by somewhat affluent families who had no problem with an abandoned house in their neighborhood.

Ronan and Jon jumped simultaneously when they felt a second knock at the door behind them. They held another breath and bundled up closer. Jon tucked his head under Ronan's chin and whimpered softly into the folds of their collective bodies. Ronan closed his eyes and pet a hand down the back of Jon's head and neck, doing whatever he possibly could in that particular moment to try and comfort his husband.

In the back of Ronan's mind, he had already come to terms with the fact that this was the end. They had a glorious run; a beautiful life together, one that included love and loss on a scale that was Shakespearian in magnitude. But this was it. They had lived in hiding long enough, and were now about to be found out.

Jon pressed his head to Ronan's chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat. It was slow, calmer than Jon could have ever imagined.

They both took a breath and filled their entire bodies with oxygen before slowly looking into each other's eyes. Jon could see the surrender in Ronan's eyes, and shook his head gently. Ronan may have wanted to just give up, but Jon wanted nothing to do with that particular choice.

A third, and far more violent knock at the door; the crack of a military-grade combat boot hitting the dark cherry wood door. Voice could be heard on the other side of the door. Ronan shook his head and pressed his ear to the wood behind them, trying desperately to hear the conversation happening on their front step.

"...ridiculous. Stop knocking and just break the fucking door down, Q." The first voice had a familiar pitch, but Ronan could not narrow from where he recognized it.

"And what if they're wrong?" The second voice was far deeper, booming and soulful, and enough to make one's skin erupt in goosebumps.

The doorknob above Jon's head rattled, sending Jon scrambling to the middle of the room. Fear was the only thing now controlling Jon's body. Ronan's eyes widened at the sight of Jon now sitting only a few feet from him. Ronan tried to reason with Jon without saying a word, but it was now obvious to him that Jon was truly beyond terrified. In the back of his mind, Ronan knew if he moved away from that door, the people outside who were trying to get in would instantly know that they were there.

And that they had found their target.

Another violent kick at the door, and this time Jon was unable to stop himself from shrieking in fear. Ronan quickly debated the move, but crawled away from the door to grab Jon and cradled him close. They were both trembling, whimpering, when the final blow splintered the door's deadbolt lock, knocking it loose from the dark cherry wood, and making it simple to throw the door open.

Chapter Text

Tribeca, New York City
15 June 2021

Jordan Klepper climbed out of the sleek, smaller sport utility vehicle that was now double parked in front of the Brandy Library. It was a familiar spot that had gone through periods of heightened popularity, but still remained well-liked by a specific crowd. Though Jordan was himself not a member of that particular social caste, he did consider himself a regular of the Library. The bartender saw Jordan this way as well, recognizing him the moment he walked up the handful of steps and through the front door. He wiped down the glass in his hand in a very stereotypical bartender image, and gave Jordan a nod. Jordan smiled at the familiar bartender in return. Without saying a word, the bartender sat the glass back down on the bar and poured Jordan his usual Ardbeg, with a single stone resting on the bottom of the glass. He sat the filled glass on a coaster in front of an open stool at the bar before Jordan took a seat. Conversations were going on around him, but Jordan was less interested in what everyone around him was saying, and more interested in simply enjoying his drink. After a long week he was ready to just sit back and relax, and to get a good start to his weekend.

From across the room, a pair of caramel-colored eyes remained focused on Jordan's long and lean body, sitting at the bar and staring off into the middle distance as he sipped his simple drink. The man looked up from his own drink, an añejo tequila with lavender syrup stirred into the bottom of a martini glass. He smacked his lips and wiggled his eyebrows at Jordan, though from where they both sat Jordan was completely unaware of this. The waiter, who appeared to be far too young to be working at a bar legally, came over to where the man sat back in a banquette and asked if he wanted a refill. The man nodded, and returned the question with his own; he wanted to send the very same drink order over to Jordan. Jon pointed as subtly as he could manage to Jordan, perched at the bar, still sipping his own drink and staring off into nothing. The waiter nodded in agreement, and within a few minutes there was another drink sitting in front of Jordan.

The familiar bartender looked down at the martini glass set there by another bartender and raised his eyebrows. "Interesting," the familiar bartender said quietly to himself. Both he and Jordan were now looking at the glass, watching the syrup start to separate and settle at the bottom of the glass. The bartender looked across the room toward the darkened banquette, and with a little snicker he shook his head. "I know this drink, too."

Jordan raised an eyebrow and looked up at the bartender. "You... do?"

The bartender nodded slowly. He shifted to refill another customer's drink, but did not take his focus away from Jordan. "Oh yeah. He's in here a lot, and always orders the same thing. But he-" The bartender paused for a beat and let out the softest laugh. "He's usually in here for more than just a drink or two."

Both Jordan and the bartender shared a little laugh, though Jordan was not entirely sure why they were both laughing. He pinched the glass stem of the martini glass between his thumb and index finger and gave the full glass a little spin. He shook his head lightly, his soft ginger hair bouncing as he moved. Jordan glanced over his shoulder toward the darkened corner of the room, and saw his head shifting back as he took a long drink from his own martini glass. Jordan gave him a nod, and raised his own martini glass in the man's direction.

Jordan’s attention was still focused on the curly-haired man in the dark. The bartender cleared his throat and leaned in so that Jordan could hear him. “You know, you should go say hello,” he all but commanded. “But be careful. I cannot be held responsible for what happens after he promises to change your life.”

Jordan let out another laugh. He was not entirely sure just what his friendly neighborhood bartender was getting at, but took the soft warning with a grain or two of salt. With a shake of his head, Jordan deftly slid from the barstool and walked over to the banquette where the curly-haired man sat in the subtle darkness. The curly-haired man smiled over the rim of his own martini glass, watching as Jordan cautiously took a seat on the opposite side of the banquette without being invited to.

They sat in a somewhat ill at ease silence for several seconds, both giving each other a quick once over, elevator eyes enhanced by the shared alcohol. Jordan cleared his throat to break the silence. “Thanks… for the drink,” he was finally able to say, his voice so quiet that it barely broke through the din of the bar around them.

The curly-haired man with the caramel eyes finished his sip and smacked his lips hungrily. “Well. Thank you for the show.”

Jordan felt a soft blush fill his cheeks, and raised his eyebrows curiously. “The… show?” he questioned in return.

The curly-haired man nodded. The tight leather of the banquette squeaked as he slowly shifted around the curved bench to sit closer to Jordan. “See, I don’t know if you know this, but… you are an incredibly attractive man. And I’ve really enjoyed sitting here just… watching you.”

“Watching me?” Jordan blushed hotly and turned away from the curly-haired man, whose name he still did not know, as best he could. When he looked back at the other man in the banquette, a wave of recognition suddenly hit him. This curly-haired stranger was not a stranger at all. Jordan did not know this man personally, but the man’s reputation certainly preceded him. “Now, why… would you just be sitting there watching me, Mr. Lovett?”

Impressed, Jon Lovett tented an eyebrow and tilted his nearly empty glass in Jordan’s direction. “Well,” he said through a soft chuckle. “For the first time in a long time, I am at a loss for words.” Jon let out another gentle chuckle. “So here we are. You know my name, and yet I have no idea what to call you.”

Jordan cleared his throat. He took another sip of his own añejo tequila and lavender concoction, flinching just a touch before setting the glass back down in front of him. “If that’s a line, it’s kind of a weak one.” Jordan cleared his throat again, and with a bright smile on his face, he sat back with his body pressed into the hard leather. “I… guess you can call me Jordan.”

Jon nodded slowly, and repeated the name slowly as if he were committing it to memory. The leather of the banquette squeaked again, as Jon inched closer to Jordan, near enough to be heard just by whispering. “Tell you what, Jordan. How about we… finish our drinks, and maybe find some place a little more… intimate.”

Jordan’s entire body blushed when he caught Jon’s use of the word intimate, rather than private. Jordan had been to more bars and clubs that he care to cound, and had been hit on by enough men to know how the game was played. But Jordan could not recall a time when his pursuer was so forward, and so swift. He laughed nervously and rubbed at the back of his neck. “You mean… like… your place or mine?”

“Something like that,” Jon hummed in response. He pressed a hand against the base of his empty martini glass, before nudging it toward the middle of the round table. “Or, I don’t know. The bathroom?” Jordan nearly spat the now lavender-flavored tequila across the table, causing Jon to titter with laughter. “What? Too forward?”

“Um… maybe, um… yeah, just a little bit,” Jordan replied, still coughing from the tequila that ended up burning in his sinuses. “A little bit.” He laughed softly along with Jon, but one glance told Jordan that Jon was being more serious than not. “Wait, you… you really mean… like right here right now?”

Jon shrugged his shoulders. “Why not?” he returned flatly, and for a moment he seemed offended that Jordan would question his sincerity. He paused for a heartbeat before a little smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. “I don’t know about you, but it… wouldn’t be the first time for me.”

Jordan laughed singularly and folded his arms across his chest. “That doesn’t make me feel all that special, Mr. Lovett,” he teased. But in the back of his mind, Jordan quickly imagined being pulled into one of the lavish bathroom stalls by the man who stood nearly a foot shorter than he did, a hand clutched into the front of his distressed Michigan Wolverines T-shirt. Jordan closed his eyes and thought he could feel his back hit the chilled glass and wood of the floor-length door on the bathroom stall.

Jon watched Jordan’s reaction to whatever was happening in his own mind. Under the table, Jon slipped his hand onto Jordan’s thigh gently; if he were to be rebuffed it would be easy for Jordan to do so. But Jordan did not move, except to nudge his thigh further into Jon’s touch. “Wow,” Jon hummed. He rubbed his palm against Jordan’s thigh, feeling the muscles twitch beneath the denim of his dark blue jeans. “You’re… really kind of into that, aren’t you.”

Jon’s question made Jordan’s entire body tense up. His eyes flew open and he sat perfectly still under Jon’s touch. Jordan swallowed hard, desperate to dislodge the lump that quickly grew in the back of his throat. “Maybe,” he stumbled over the single two-syllable word. “Maybe I… I am, kind of? I mean, okay, yeah. It’s a huge turn on for me, but honestly who… wouldn’t be into that?” Jordan paused and chuckled, the sound more nervous than anything.

Jordan gasped when Jon squeezed his thigh. Jon laughed softly, and leaned in closer. As he spoke, his whispered breath blew across Jordan’s ear; a rather sensitive spot on the older man’s body. His eyes fluttered closed, and he could feel a chill vibrate throughout his entire body. Jon pulled himself closer, as close as he could manage to get to Jordan without climbing into his lap. He cleared his throat gently.

“I know of a… few people who aren’t,” Jon admitted. Jordan tried to turn to Jon, but Jon’s hand stopped him. he brought his hand up from Jordan’s thigh to rest on the back of Jordan’s neck, holding but also absently massaging at the same time. “But if you are, this can absolutely be arranged.”

Jordan’s eyes fluttered closed. He smiled and chuckled, and much to his own surprise, he shook his head. “Not here,” he said in return.

Jon pulled back a bit, surprised overtaking his body. For a moment, Jon honestly thought that he and Jordan were going to settle up with the bartender, and disappear further into the darkness. Instead, Jordan licked his lips and reached out to pull Jon’s hand from the back of his neck. He turned and gave Jon a little smile, the sweetest expression spreading across his face.

“No?” Jon asked, his voice quieter than a whisper.

Jordan continued to smile and shook his head. “No, I… think we could do better than a stall in the bathroom at the Brandy Library, don’t you?” he asked, wondering how rhetorical his voice sounded. It was a serious question, on that Jordan was still mulling over when Jon pressed against him.

Jon tittered and bounced just a little in his seat on the hard leather banquette. Where Jordan had never met someone as forward as Jon, Jon himself had rarely run into anyone who was as willing to play his little game as Jordan was. He wondered if, the instant they both left that banquette and stepped out of the building, that this magical moment would be irreparably damaged.

“Only problem.” Jordan cleared his throat, and sat back, straight and upright, with his hands folded softly in his lap. His folded handing over the slight bulge in his jeans, subtly trying to hide his arousal from the situation as a whole. He cleared his throat into a clenched fist that he brought up to hide his mouth. “My place? It’s in Brooklyn.” Jon gasped and gripped a hand into the front of his own shirt, pulling back in mock horror from what Jordan just told him. Jordan watched this reaction and laughed, rolling his eyes in the proces. “Oh you laugh, but for some reason it… can be a deal breaker.”

“That is because they have no sense of adventure,” Jon quipped. “But if… you’d like, we can absolutely head uptown to my place. I mean, if you would like.” Jon visibly winced, preparing himself to hear Jordan tell him that he was out of his mind, to laugh and just get up from the table without saying another word.

But the complete opposite happened. Jordan finished his drink in one gulp, and with a slight nod he looked back overh is shoulder, and then back to Jon. “Then settle up,” Jordan commented. “You did buy me this drink, after all.” Jordan winked, a playful twinkle caught in his eye. Jon watched Jordan walk back through the bar and out onto the street, pulling out his phone and staring down at the screen. Jon would have killed to know who or what Jordan was looking at on that little screen, but he had no time to think about that. He reached into his wallet and pulled out more than enough cash to cover the tab that both of them had run up, and all but ran through the bar to catch up with Jordan.

Jon stood on the pavement of the sidewalk and finallty got a good look at Jordan. The evening sun was still bright enough in the sky to shin down on them both, highlighting the ginger coloring of Jordan’s hair. Jon did everything he could to keep from swooning, but could not silence the little moan that caught in the back of his throat. Jordan pretended not to hear the little sound, but could feel it reverberate throughout his entire body. Jordan was still looking at his phone, but the screen shook as his hand trembled, both nervous and excited.

Jon stood on his toes, as if he were trying to look at whatever was on Jordan’s phone that had him so transfixed. “Everything okay?”

“What?” Jordan asked, his voice squeaking as he spoke. He cleared his throat to dislodge the lump growing there. Jordan caught sight of Jon peeking at his phone and showed him the screen without hesitation. “I, um… I was trying to call and Uber, but completely forgot that… that I had no idea where you lived.”

Jon smiled, and his entire body lightened in relief. He pressed a hand to his chest and took a slight step back, as if he were catching his balance. “Oh thank god,” he said with a quiet chuckle. “I thought you were… nevermind. Here.” Jon snatched the phone out of Jordan’s hand and typed in his own address. He sent the request for a ride, and tented an eyebrow at the screen. “Your default is set up for Uber Black X?”

Jordan’s cheeks flushed. “My… it’s… it’s just a perk of the job. My boss… well, my first boss, set it up for everyone before he left.” Jordan cleared his throat, as if this were a proper explanation for everything, but still vague enough to keep Jon asking questions. But Jon remained quiet until the dark Chevy Tahoe pulled up to momentarily double park in front of the bar.

In the backseat of that oversized sport utility vehicle, Jordan felt as if Jon were trying to sit as far away from him as possible. Their hands, both on the buttery soft leather bench between them, inching together like two nervous teenagers being chauffered on their first date. Jordan pulled in and held a deep breath, and after a second or so he turned to look at Jon. His eyes opened completely when he saw that Jon was staring right back at him. Jordan tried to speak, his lips trembling as the words failed him completely.

“Sorry,” Jordan felt himself involuntarily whisper. He shook his head as if he were trying to break some kind of trance. “I, I’m sorry. I just…”

Jordan’s train of thought was stopped when Jon lunged across the backseat and scooped him up into a hot embrace, and an even hotter kiss. Jordan froze, letting Jon kiss him for half a heartbeat before letting his own hand come to rest on Jon’s thigh.

When the kiss broke it was Jon who pulled back first. He looked down, eyes still closed, licking his lips softly before a little laugh came from his nose. “Don’t,” he whispered. “Don’t apologize for anything, because you have absolutely nothing to apologize for. At least, not yet.”

“O-okay,” Jordan chuckled softly in return. He gently bit at the inside of his bottom lip and apprehensively kept his hand on Jon’s thigh. “What, um… what would I be apologizing f-“ Jon reached out and pressed two fingers to Jordan’s lips. Jordan quieted immediately, his eyes flying open, and he sat back with his shoulders pushed back just a touch.

Jon closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He let the breath out slowly, and felt most of his body relax. “Nothing,” he spoke softly. “You have absolutely nothing to apologize for. If anything, I… I’m the one who should be apologizing to you.”

Jordan clucked his tongue softly, and felt a little smile pull at the corners of his mouth. “For what?” Jordan questioned curiously. He sat back, and was pleasantly surprised when he found he had more than enough room to cross his legs at the knee. Jordan cupped one hand over the other and rested them both on his stacked knees. Jon watched this, watched the expression on Jordan’s flushed face turn to nothing but playful, and blushed from head to toe.

“Well, um… I mean…” It was now Jon’s turn to stumble over his words. Never, in all of his years in the dating pool and out on the prowl, seeking the companionship in another man if only for one night, had Jon been so nervous. And he was not completely clueless; Jon knew exactly why being around Jordan made him so nervous, but it was the last thing he wanted to say out loud. The last thing he would want to admit out loud, let along to anyone but himself.

Jon cleared his throat into a closed fist.

Before he had a chance to continue with his train of thought, the dark Chevy Tahoe pulled to the curb in front of 15 Hudson Yards; an ornate, modern apartment block beside what had become known as one of the biggest tourist traps in the entire city. Jordan slid out of the hulking SUV first, stepping out of the way just enough to let Jon join him on the sidewalk. Jordan stood there with a look of mock amazement on his face, looking up at the massive building that had not been there a few years earlier.

The moment the oversized sport utility vehicle pulled away, Jon reached for Jordan’s hand, lacing their fingers together. Jordan gasped softly and looked down at their hands, and then into Jon’s eyes with a bright smile. Jon said nothing in response to the somewhat intimate gesture, but gave his shoulders a gentle shrug. The smile on Jon’s face dissipated when he looked up and saw the burly bald man sitting behind the security desk. Jon sighed and rolled his eyes, and without saying another word he reached for the set of keys in his pocket, to which a key card was attached. Jon waved the card in front of a nondescript black box, and the front door made of heavy metal and thick glass clicked open.

Jordan raised an eyebrow and made an impressed noise. Jon looked back up at Jordan and rolled his eyes, before tugging the door open and holding it for Jordan.

Both shared a glance with the burly man sitting at the security desk, watching as he fiddled with the walkie-talkie that rested on the counter in front of him. Glances, more like glares, were shared by all three men until the elevator arrived at the lobby. Jon reached out and grapped Jordan’s wrist, tugging him into the elevator. Jon kept his back to the burly security guard, as he punched the button that closed the door. Jon flashed the key card in front of another piece of nondescript black plastic and pressed the button for the penthouse, which caused Jordan to make a small noise.

“Very posh,” Jordan commented, his voice relatively quiet. “My building has one of those… almost… service elevat-“

For the second time that night, Jordan’s train of thought came screaming off the rails by Jon’s mouth, lips pressed hotly to his own. Jon grabbed him by the front of his shirt and tugged him down, kissing him ravenously. Jordan braced himself against the far wall of the elevator car, so as not to collapse completely on top of Jon. Jon cupped both hands around Jordan’s face, breaking the kiss just long enough to catch his breath before returning for more of the frenzied kiss.

“Don’t apologize,” Jordan whispered, gasping for whatever air he could manage to get into his lungs. “Whatever you do, please. Don’t… don’t apologize for that.”

Jon, his eyes still closed, licked his lips and hummed. “No?” he asked, his voice delicate.

They were quiet for just a moment, the elevator coming to a stop on the floor where the penthouse apartment that Jon called home was. The doors of the elevator opened onto a private foyer, where an original Star Wars movie poster hung, ornately framed, on the wall above a metalwork console table from the Finnish design house, Vitra. On the table, a large goldfish bowl filled with colorful aquarium gravel. Jordan stood just inside the foyer, watching with a smile as Jon unlocked the set of double doors and dropped the keys into the large goldfish bowl.

Jordan took a small step forward when Jon pushed the rather ornate double doors open and stepped into the brightly lit apartment. Jordan’s jaw dropped at the sight; not only at the stark white, swanky apartment itself, but the spectacular view that its lofty heights afforded. On a clear day you could see right across the river to the Weehawken Dueling Grounds, where on warmer days, dozens of tourists argue over which one will be Hamilton, and which one will be Burr. The idea of Jon watching these tourists making complete fools out of themsleves, just for the sport of it, made Jordan giggle.

“Take off your shoes,” Jon ordered gently. “And… go ahead and make yourself at home. You want anything? Another drink? Maybe-“ Jon toed off his sneakers and padded back through the vast apartment. Lights automatically came on as Jon walked by the electronic motion sensors that were linked to each of them. Jordan did the same, leaving his old-school Saucony running shoes near the door next to where Jon deposited his own. Jon turned to see Jordan standing just inside the apartment, nervously closing the double doors behind himself. Jon watched Jordan’s eyes dance around the apartment, and silently hoped that Jordan would come up with any one of the thousands of questions about the decor that Jon was in no position to answer.

“That-“ Jordan pointed back out the door behind himself with his thumb. “That poster, hanging in the front there, that… that’s obviously yours, right?” He felt a little laugh catch in the back of his thrhaot, a sound that caught Jon off guard. Jon was in the kitchen, grabbing a couple of wine glasses from the cupboard and setting them on the kitchen center island.

Jon snickered. He reached into the wine chiller under the kitchen's center island and grabbed the corkscrew from the drawer above it. "What... what makes you say that?" he questioned softly in return.

Jordan slid both hands into his thigh pockets, eyes focused up at the ceiling above the second floor. He smiled at the fixtures he saw hanging. When he finally looked back at Jon he shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know, I mean... the rest of it?" Jordan shrugged his shoulders again. "It just... doesn't seem like it belongs to you, that's all."

Jon popped the cork out of the bottle and tossed it and the corkscrew into the sink in the kitchen's center island. "Well it is," he snapped back at Jordan. It was a reaction that Jordan did not expect, and caused him to fall back just a touch. Jon closed his eyes, and with his eyes closed his poured them both a significant glass of the red wine he pulled from the chiller. "I mean, I know it... that I don't give off the..." When Jordan looked back at Jon, he stood on the other side of the kitchen's center island, smiling though he was still a little put off by Jon's outburst. Jon sighed again, noting Jordan's apprehension, and with a chuckle he shook his head. "Sorry, just... just ignore me."

Jordan took one of the glasses and folded his hands around the stem. He was not really looking for anymore alcohol that evening, but he was not about to mention that to Jon. Jordan just smiled and shrugged his shoulders. "Okay," he responded. "But ignoring you could mean that I'm going to need... a relatively long, cold shower." Smirking, Jordan raised the glass up to his lips, but stopped to clink it with Jon's.

Jon paused, his lips around the rim of his own glass, and a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. "I... think I can help you with that kind of problem. In fact?" Jon announced, as if he knew that he could, in actuality, take care of Jordan in any way that he could possibly need to be taken care of that evening. Jon took a long drink from his wine glass before setting it down and slowly making his way around the kitchen's center island to stand beside his tall companion. Jon rested one hand on Jordan's arm, chuckling seductively as he walked the tips of his fingers up along Jordan's forearm. "I bet I can help you with that... right... now."

Jordan glanced down at Jon and raised an eyebrow. "Are... are you sure?" he asked, his voice both soft and desperate in the same breath.

Still smirking, Jon's hand came away from Jordan's forearm to rest on the buckle of his belt. He licked his lips and nodded slowly. "Oh absolutely," he replied. "Jordan, I... really was ready to take you into that bathroom and suck you off right there at the bar." Jordan's cheeks flushed hotly with the return of Jon's confidence and forwardness. "If you recall, you were the one who got nervous at the thought."

Jordan scoffed and rolled his eyes. "In the Brandy Library!" he nearly shouted in return. "If we'd met at, like, Atlas or Eastern Bloc? I probably would've begged you to do it right there on the dance floor! But the Brandy-"

Jon's laughter interrupted Jordan. "How do you know about Atlas or Eastern Bloc?" he questioned, now folding his arms loosely across his chest.

Jordan desperately tried to hide the blush in his cheeks, but the color still filled them, and spread out to the tips of his ears. Her nervously rubbed at the back of his neck, and found himself trying to look away from Jon. "I, uh... it's not my first rodeo," he answered, hoping to sound more serious than corny.

A little smile pulled at one corner of Jon's mouth. He shifted himself to stand directly in front of Jordan, one hand still playing with the buckle of his belt, the other running up the front of Jordan's soft T-shirt. Jon's voice came through a low growl. "You've got a dirty streak, don't you," Jon commented, as he gripped his fingers into a tight fist, pulling the soft cotton of Jordan's T-shirt in the process. Jon's mouth formed words that he was unable to speak. With a gentle shake of his head, Jon peeled the soft cotton shirt up over Jordan's head. "Jordan, completely self-conscious of every aspect of his physicality, could feel his entire body blush. He wondered if Jon could see the blush, and wondered how much like hives it all looked like.

Jon growled softly, and nodded his approval at the sight of Jordan, standing bare chested before him. The cotton sloughed from Jon's fingers down to a pile on the floor between where they stood. The same rumbling sound came up from the back of his throat as Jon slid both hands up Jordan's bare chest, the tips of his fingers teasing each nipple before pressing forward and doing the same with his tongue. Jordan gasped, letting his head fall back as one hand came to grab the back of Jon's head. He swore under his breath, and tangled his fingers into the soft curls, only to pull Jon's body closer to his own.

"That's it," Jon whispered harshly. "Tell... no. Guide me." He licked his lips softly. "Put me exactly where-"

Jordan tightened his fist into Jon's hair, and with a rough tug he shoved Jon down onto his knees. He looked down along his body, the sight of Jon kneeling before him, ready to do anything, to give anything to him. The sight made Jordan's cock twitch beneath the rough material of his jeans. "You want it in your mouth?" Jordan purred. He panted softly and tented an eyebrow. "Then get it in your mouth."

Jon gulped, a truly overdramatic reaction to the entire situation. He chuckled and looked up at Jordan. "Right... right here?" Jon's voice was a playful tease, one that Jordan could read immediately. Jordan slid his fingers back through Jon's curls, and with the faintest groan he pulled Jon's hair. The almost primal sound that Jon made was enough to get Jordan rock hard, his whole body silently begging for release.

Jordan shifted his fingers just a touch, tightening his grip on Jon's hair. "Did I stutter?" he growled, as he pulled Jon's face into his crotch. He rolled his lips just a touch, letting Jon's lips rub against the hardening shaft of his cock. Jon wrapped one hand around Jordan's thigh to steady himself, the other around the base of Jordan's cock to guide it to his mouth.

Jordan gasped and moaned at the same time, eyes closed, head rolling back. He fought not to push his hips forward, but the smallest pinch of Jon's nails into the meat of his thigh made him realize that it was what Jon wanted. A faint smirk tugged at one corner of his mouth, and he pushed himself into the warm wetness of Jon's mouth, feeling just the hint of teeth scraping against his incredibly sensitive skin.

Jordan swore under his breath. He grabbed a handful of Jon's hair and tugged approvingly. He said more without saying a word, the words eluding him completely as Jon sunk his mouth further down around Jordan's hard cock. Jon stilled himself, relaxing his throat enough not to gag with Jordan seated in his mouth. He closed his eyes and grabbed at the counter behind Jordan, the other hand giving Jordan's ass a rough smack, the sound echoing throughout that kitchen.

"Sweet... merciless... fuck." Jordan's voice was rough, catching on the gravel that coated the back of his throat. He gripped both hands around the edge of the counter he leaned against, using it to brace himself as he rolled his hips forward, gently fucking deeper down the back of Jon's throat.

Jon wrapped a hand around the base of Jordan's cock and pulled his mouth away, breathing heavily with both hands now resting on Jordan's thighs just about his knees. "Shit," he hissed. He spit back some of the precum that lingered in his mouth back onto Jordan's cock, using it as lube to stroke him. He smacked his lips and looked up into Jordan's glazed-over eyes with a smile on his face. "Top or bottom?"

The question caught Jordan by surprise, and he stood there motionless and without making a sound. Jon pinched the back of Jordan’s thigh, right under the curve of his ass, bringing Jordan back to reality. “Earth to Jordan,” Jon said with a laugh.

“W-what? Oh.” Jordan cleared his throat. He heard Jon’s question, but had yet to process it. “Well, I… I mean it… it’s not something I really thought about before, but.” He cleared his throat again. “I’ve done both, I mean.”

“Good,” Jon said with a firm nod. He reached out and grabbed the edge of the counter just next to Jordan’s hip. He hoisted himself up onto his feet. “Because I want… no… need. I need you to fuck me.” Before Jordan could say anything, Jon took his hand and led him back through the penthouse to a rather large bedroom, tucked away under the floating staircase that went up to the second floor.

Jon spun on the balls of his feet and walked backward into the room, the lights coming on the instant that Jordan crossed the threshold. The backs of Jon’s legs hit the edge of the bed, and he found himself laughing, a nervous sound that filled the space between them. But Jordan was no longer nervous. He heard what Jon wanted and knew that, in his current state, he was more than eager and willing to give it to him.

With a little snicker, Jon pressed a hand to the middle of Jordan’s chest, keeping him just at arm’s length. He let out the softest moan and gently scratched Jordan’s skin. Still chuckling under his breath Jon started to undo his pants, pausing only when he felt Jordan tug at the hem of his T-shirt. “Take this off,” Jordan ordered, a growl under his breath. When Jon took that pause he looked up at Jordan. The taller man nodded firmly. “Let me see the whole thing, Jon.”

“Really?” The tone of Jon’s voice was more timid than it had been only a few moments before. When Jordan said nothing in response, a smile pulled at one corner of Jon’s mouth and he took his hand away from the button and zipper of his pants to peel the T-shirt up over his head. Jon stepped back, the bed once again hitting the backs of his knees and legs again, tripping him up. He fell down to the mattress, bracing himself with palms pressed into the mattress behind him. “You… you like?”

Jordan nodded slowly. “Very much so,” he purred in response. “But you’re… still wearing entirely too much.” He pointed to Jon’s pants. “Take them off. Now.” His fingers trembled just a touch as he lifted his hips from the bed enough to slide the nearly skin-tight maroon pants off of his hips and down to his knees, Jon’s own cock springing free. Jordan swore under his breath, no sound coming as he crudely spit into the palm of his hand and grabbed Jon’s cock. Jon choked back a scream, hands back on the mattress behind him, gripping the blankets as tightly as he could manage. The length of Jon’s cock slid along Jordan’s palm with every stroke.

“Now that’s better,” Jordan growled, his voice filled with nothing but lust and need. He flicked his tongue against his lips and took a breath, trying to speak before Jon seized him by the back of the neck, and pulled him down for an incredibly rough kiss. Jordan broke the kiss just long enough to push his index and middle fingers into Jon’s mouth. Jon moaned softly, but just loud enough to be heard as he wrapped his lips around Jordan’s fingers. Jordan groaned in approval at the lapping tongue against his fingers. “Good boy.”

Jon pulled his mouth away from Jordan’s fingers with a pop. He twisted away from the taller man just long enough to reach for one of the handful of half-used bottles of lube that lived in the bedside table. He tossed one bottle onto the bed, and after rummaging through the drawer for another moment, pulled a condom from the bottom of the drawer and let it fall beside the bottle. He turned back to Jordan with a playful little smile on his face. “Well.” Jon cleared his throat. “One must be prepared.”

Jordan nodded slowly, and a thought suddenly occurred to him. How could Jon not have someone special in his life? Was this what Jon did? Frequent the bars in the lower part of Manhattan, trolling for someone to show him a good time? Jordan was in no position to judge, but the thought did make him sad. Jon seemed like a great guy, who deserved more than a few random hookups in his life.

Jordan took both the condom and the lube, looking down at both with an expression of curiosity on his face as Jon climbed back onto the bed and crawled across the vast surface. Jordan’s attention was immediately drawn to the perfect roundness of Jon’s ass. With a low growl, Jordan reached out and gave Jon’s ass a little slap. Jon yelped and pushed forward, looking back at Jordan with a raised eyebrow. “Oh I’m sorry,” Jordan started with a hand pressed to the middle of his chest. “Was I… not supposed to smack this ridiculously luscious thing being presented to me so deliciously?”

“No.” Jon licked his lips and shook his head. “But you could…” The words trailed off, and before Jon could finish his train of thought, Jordan had untwisted the cap from the bottle of lube and was squirting the room-temperature solution onto his fingers. He rubbed his thumb and index finger together, looking from them to Jon’s ass. He took and held a breath, pausing for several moments before reaching out and rubbing the tips of his fingers against the tight pucker of Jon’s asshole. Jon groaned wordlessly in pleasure, and rocked back just a bit against Jordan’s fingertips. “You… is that okay?”

“Yes,” he hissed. “Oh my god, yes. Jordan. Good. Perfect.” Jon licked his dry lips once more. “More, please. Trust and believe, I can handle more than just one finger.”

“Oh, so you want…” Jordan added a second finger without removing the first. Jon cried out softly and rocked back against Jordan’s fingers, feeling them both sink into him to the knuckle. “Oh, fuck. You are incredibly needy, aren’t you.”

“Y-you… you have no idea,” Jon exhaled. Jordan could feel Jon’s ass clench around his fingers, and still for only a moment before starting to scissor him open. Jon hissed in pleasured approval, and spread his knees further apart for a touch more leverage. “But you… y-you should keep doing that.” Jon nodded as if Jordan needed the encouragement. But Jordan needed no encouragement.

All Jordan needed was permission.

As Jordan’s fingers worked inside Jon’s ass, stretching him open and doing their best to relax the muscles. He tore the condom packed open with his teeth and spit the wrapper across the room. Jon bit the inside of his bottom lip and wiggled his ass back against Jordan’s fingers. He whined when Jordan pulled his fingers away, and was pleasantly surprised when the loss of Jordan’s fingers was replaced by the fullness of Jordan’s cock. Jon swore out loud, chin pressed down against his chest, as he reminded himself that he needed to breathe. He swore again, and was finally able to look back at Jordan with a little laugh. “Easy, cowboy.” Jon licked his lips and twisted himself to be on all fours, looking straight ahead. He closed his eyes and swallowed around the lump lodged in his throat. “You… you’re a lot bigger than I’m used to.”

“I’ll go slow.” Jordan nuzzled the softest kiss back behind Jon’s ear and leaned in closer. “Oh, I… I’ll try to go slow, but… but it’s going to be hard.” He gripped a hand over Jon’s hip, thrusting his hips forward once, hearing Jon grunt in response. Jordan held his hip so hard he knew that bruises would show up on Jon’s skin. “You’re so-“ Jordan had to stop himself from finishing that thought; in his mind he was moving much too fast, and needed to stop himself before he went completely overboard.

Neither of them heard the elevator come up to their foyer. Neither of them heard the keys in the front door, nor did they hear one of the double doors swinging slowly open.

Neither of them knew they were about to be found out.

Chapter Text

“Hello!” a voice called through the apartment. “Jonathan? I saw the keys in the bowl and assumed you were home.” Footsteps, loud at first and then softer after the removal of shoes, paused only a few feet inside the penthouse apartment and continued moments later back toward the bathroom.

Jordan’s entire body froze in place, hands pressed into the bed on either side of Jon’s torso, cock still very much inside Jonathan. Jordan’s mouth hung open, eyes wide at the sight of the gorgeous blonde standing in the doorway. The man stood there with his arms folded across his chest, leaning against the door jamb, grinning from ear to ear.

“O-oh.” Jon looked up and was finally able to see what, or more importantly who, made Jordan suddenly stop. Jon smiled back at the man standing in the doorway. After a long second both Jon and the gorgeous blonde shared a laugh. “Fuck.”

The gorgeous blonde nodded. “Fuck indeed,” he said back. He dropped the dark leather mailbag that was slung over his shoulder just inside the bedroom door, and with a little nod to Jon, transferred his attention to Jordan. “Don’t stop on my account,” the blonde man continued. “He gets… awfully cranky when he gets all worked up and then forced to stop.” He was quiet for only a moment, the wheels in his brain turning, and then he felt himself smile. “And this? This is kind of hot. Actually… you wouldn’t mind if I… joined you, would you?” As he spoke the blonde man started undoing the buttons of his pale blue shirt, shedding it quickly.

Jordan knelt with his shoulders pushed back, a little surprised by this question. Jon caught his breath, and reached back when he felt Jordan move. He leaned up on one elbow, grabbing Jordan by the hip to keep him from moving away any further. Jon took a breath and smiled back at the other man in the room. “You want to fuck me too, don’t you Ronan.”

Ronan. Jordan’s entire body tensed up the instant he realized what Jon just called the other man in the room. There was a flash of recognition when he walked into the room, but Jordan’s mind was still very cloudy from the fact that they were in the midst when he walked in. But when Jon said the other man’s name aloud, it all made sense.

Now he recognized Ronan.

Ronan clucked his tongue and shook his head softly. “I think we broke him,” he said, watching Jordan’s eyes glaze over as he got lost in a torrent of his own thoughts. Ronan chuckled once and reached over to brush the tips of his fingers along Jordan’s jaw, which immediately snapped him back to reality. “You okay, cutie?”

“Am I-” Jordan cleared his throat and then coughed softly. Jon felt Jordan’s entire body tremble when he coughed. Ronan reached out and stroked his fingers down the middle of Jon’s back. “I… I’m good. Definitely… definitely good.” The softness of Ronan’s fingertips was replaced by the sharpness of his nails, causing Jon to hiss. Before either he or Jordan could say anything, Ronan cupped a hand around Jon’s jaw and brought him up for a rough kiss. They both moaned, Jon’s eyes fluttering closed as he rolled his hips back, sinking further down around Jordan’s cock.

Jordan was officially on autopilot as Ronan let Jon’s face drop from his hand. Off balance for one thrust, Jon guided Ronan’s already half-hard cock to his lips. Jon pressed a sweet kiss to the weeping tip. Ronan clucked his tongue and stroke his fingers back through Jon’s hair. Jordan watched, his mind trying desperately to comprehend the situation he now found himself in.

He was fucking Jon from behind while Ronan Farrow fucked his mouth. And Jon gladly devoured them both.

Jordan came first, so hard and quick it genuinely surprised him. He felt dizzy, as wave after wave of ultimate pleasure rocketed throughout his entire body. Jon rode back on Jordan’s cock, milking every drop of his release, feeling the squish of the condom wrapped around Jordan with a hand cupped gently over his shoulder, and let out the sweetest laugh. “S’good, isn’t it?” Ronan asked softly. Jordan’s reaction was a frantic nod, which caused Ronan to laugh again. Ronan’s chuckles dropped off when he cleared his throat and gazed down at Jon’s swollen red lips, wrapped hotly around the shaft of his cock. “S’my turn.”

Panting, Jordan raised an eyebrow. He could hear little more than his own heartbeat, and Ronan’s voice was a distant echo. Ronan smiled and combed his fingers back through Jordan’s hair. Slowly, Jordan understood what Ronan wanted. He took a breath and slowly let it out, and with a faint nod he pushed back from Jon. Jon cried out at the loss of Jordan’s cock inside him, and from Ronan pulling out of his mouth. “Y-you… you two are going to be… the death of me.”

A smile pulled at the corner of Ronan’s mouth. He bent down and kissed Jon frantically, shifting him without breaking the kiss. They both panted, eyes closed, foreheads pressed together. It was a truly tender moment shared by two men who obviously meant a lot to one another. The tenderness never subsided, even as Ronan took over Jordan’s position, pushing into Jon slowly but with a bit more urgency.

Jordan shook just a touch, as he slid from the bed and padded over to the bathroom. He paused just inside the door of the lavish washroom, one hand resting on the door jamb. He took a deep breath, filling his entire body with much-needed oxygen, and turned to watch them over his shoulder. Just the sight of them — and the feeling that they were, in fact, an actual couple — was beyond intriguing to Jordan. He stood there, his hand light against the frame of the door, and could not stop the little smile that crept across his face.

Jordan’s first instinct was to get cleaned up and get the hell out of there. The logical center of his brain told him that this was the only correct course of action. He would get home and crawl into his shower, to wash away any physical evidence while reveling in the memory of the night’s encounter. But Jon reached out, stretching though there was zero chance that Jon would be able to touch him. He whimpered desperately. “Don’t,” Jon choked out. “Don’t… go anywhere, Jordan. Please, just… just w-“

Ronan cupped a hand around Jon’s throat, pulling his lips up for a rough, raw kiss. He fucked harder, Ronan’s thighs slapping against Jon’s ass with every violent thrust. They both grunted and moaned with every twist of their bodies. Jordan, his eyes firmly set on the two men on the bed, stumbled from the bathroom doorway to the armchair catty corner from the bed itself. He fell into the cushion, knees splayed and one hand fallen between his legs. The tips of his fingers brushed the side of his cock, and every muscle in his body twitched.

“Fuck,” Jordan hissed. He slid his fingers around the base of his cock and felt his eyes flutter closed.

Both Jon and Ronan let out a little laugh. “Look,” Jon purred, panting over at Jordan sitting in that armchair. “B-babe, look. He… he’s already hard as a rock again.” Ronan shallowed his thrusts, and bent over to nibble sweet kisses along the shell of Jon’s ear. “S’too bad,” he whispered. “I think we should just make him watch.”

Jon nodded, grinning from ear to ear. He reached back and slid his fingers through Ronan’s hair and drew Ronan’s lips to his own. “I think you should fuck me harder,” he growled against Ronan’s lips. “F-fuck… fuck me harder, make him sorry he… blew his wad way too fast and had to give up this…” Jon’s words were halted by the echo of a loud smack, Ronan’s hand hard against the warm flesh of his ass.

Ronan smacked his lips. “Oh, he’ll ride again,” he commented, turning his wry smile to Jordan. “If he’s a good boy.”

“Stop,” Jordan hissed. He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Stop… fucking talking about me like I’m not in the room.” His eyes still closed, Jordan flicked his tongue against his lips, letting out the softest moan. He gripped one hand into the arm of the armchair, bucking his hips up from the cushion.

Jon scooted himself further up onto his knees, and reached back for Ronan’s hand. Jon’s eyes slid closed, a rough moan coming up from the back of his throat as he curled Ronan’s hand around his aching cock. He cried out, the only word out of his mouth was the name of his lover, his hand still over Ronan’s. In that moment, no one else in the world existed to them. Panting harshly, Jon looked back over his shoulder, mouthing and biting for kisses. Neither could do much of anything except silently remind themselves to breathe. Their bodies moved in perfect unison, and when Jon came like a shot all over his and Ronan’s hands, Ronan’s body twitched as his own release shattered him to the core.

Jordan, still incredibly wound up, stilled himself and put both hands on the arms of the chair. He was ready to come a second time, without even being touched. He took several deep breaths, calming himself down as best he could with his eyes closed tightly. But when he opened them again he saw both Jon and Ronan on their knees on the floor in front of him, one on either side of his knees. Jon had his hand around the base of Jordan’s cock, Ronan licking his lips at the sight of his leaking member.

“Allow me,” Ronan said with a soft growl. Before Jordan had a chance to protest, Ronan took his cock completely down the back of his throat. He gagged, having to pull back just a touch, but Jon’s hand around the back of his neck kept Ronan’s mouth firmly in place.

Jon turned to Jordan, his eyes so dark and wild. “Fuck his mouth,” he barked, the order echoing through protest. Ronan took a breath and slid his mouth down, sucking Jordan’s cock completely down. He gagged, pulling back just a bit to keep himself from gagging again. Jordan could barely give a warning before a second less intense orgasm rocketed through his body. Ronan’s eyes fluttered closed, and with a moan he swallowed around Jordan’s cock, drinking every drop of his release.

Jordan nearly came a third time, just from the feel of Ronan’s throat tightening around his cock.

Fully sated, all three men collapsed down onto the bed. At some point in the night either Jon or Ronan awoke to fetch a warm washcloth, and gave all three of them a proper rubbing down. None of the men wanted to wake up as a sticky mess. But Jordan was fast asleep, already slumbering deeper than he could remember in the longest time. He and Ronan and Jon all slept in that oversized bed, in what amounted to a tangle of limbs that were so warm that Jordan thought he might sweat to death before the morning came.

And when the morning came, and the sun peeked through the curtains that were drawn across the floor to ceiling windows that surrounded the bedroom, Jordan was the first to wake. He was the first to realize that he was a complete stranger to this strange apartment, and had shared this strange bed the night before. Jordan gasped silently and felt himself twist against the bed beneath Jon and Ronan, praying that he would not be the one to wake them from their own deep slumber.

Jordan held his breath and braced himself for the inevitable. But the inevitable never came. Jon and Ronan rolled into one another, momentarily leaving Jordan to his own devices. Jordan had no idea how long this was going to last, nor did he want to test those limits. Take a deep breath, Jordan rolled out of the bed, careful not to disturb the mattress too much as he did. He padded as quickly as he could manage across the room, scooping up his clothes as he went.

In the open air of the vast living room, Jordan quickly pulled on all of his clothes and tread across the room to where he left his sneakers on the floor next to Jon’s. He stumbled, standing as he pulled them on, quietly stamping his foot when he got them both on without struggling with the lacing. One of the double doors squeaked when Jordan opened it slowly. He held another breath and bit his bottom lip, looking back over his shoulder toward the bedroom to make sure that neither Jon nor Ronan stirred at the sound.

Jordan finally breathed once he was in the elevator. He waited until the door slid closed before hitting the button for the lobby. There was a pause, which made Jordan wonder whether or not he would need some kind of key to make it descend. When the car started moving Jordan closed his eyes and let out an incredible sigh of relief. he slumped back against the back of the elevator car, opening his eyes when an automated voice much like the one that played over the PA system of a newer subway car, announced that they were now in the lobby.

It was Saturday. Jordan closed his eyes and swallowed hard, and silently prated that no one would be awake and milling about the building; no one would be there attempting to figure out just why Jordan was there in a building, where he obviously did not live in the first place. The only other person in the lobby was the very sam burly man who sat cumbersomely behind the security desk when Jon and Jordan arrived the previous evening. Jordan felt himself blush, and scratched the back of his neck as he looked away from the man behind the desk. Jordan continued to look away, and strode through the revolving door on the opposite end of the lobby from where they entered the building the evening before. Jordan walked swiftly to the corner and crossed a side street before easily hailing a cab close to the middle of the next block. The vivid yellow Prius came to a stop only a foot or so from where Jordan stood nervously on the sidewalk. He opened the door and paused, looking back at the building he just came from with a curious expression on his face. He took a deep breath and slid into the back seat of the vibrant yellow Prius, and silently wished that the driver would pull away from the curb before he got a chance to change his mind.

The drive glanced up and Jordan’s reflection in his rearview mirror, and could see a hint of anguish in the man’s eyes. For only a moment they sat in complete silence, until Jordan gave the driver his address, and an explicit instruction to get him there as quickly as possible.

Even though, in that moment, leaving Hudson Yards was truly the furthest thing from Jordan’s mind.

Chapter Text

Jon was the first to wake after Jordan unceremoniously disappeared. He rolled onto his back and stretched his arms up over his head, letting out a soft incoherent noise. Though he was not yet fully awake, Jon grinned as the memory of the night before came flooding back into the front of his mind. With his eyes still closed, Jon continued to grin and shifted to throw his arm across Jordan’s body.

But the bed beside him was cold. Jon stretched out his fingers and touched the soft fitted sheet, rubbing his palm against the jersey cotton. He whined, the sound echoing up from the pit of his stomach. He rubbed at his eyes to clear the sleep from them, and blinking once he could see that it was only he and Ronan together in bed. Jon sat up and propped himself against the headboard, hands folded over the blankets that were pulled across his lap. Ronan continued snoring lightly into the pillows beside him. Jon sighed softly and turned to his lover, feeling the slightest smile creep across his face as he reached over and brushed back a few strands of his soft blonde hair; strands which were not matted to his body by sweat.

Jon sighed, a touch of sadness to the breath. He thought that Jordan would still be there in the morning, when all three of them would wake together. Before his body finally shut down for the night, Jon had this vision of himself waking up first and sneaking down into the kitchen to make them all breakfast. Jon was a so-so cook, but he was getting better at it every day, and he simply wanted to show off.

Ronan could feel the mattress shifting beside him, and slowly began waking himself up. He groaned sleepily and rolled over to find Jon not laying down, but rather sitting upright. Ronan rubbed his face into the pillows, and before doing anything else he reached for his glasses. When Ronan lifted himself up onto his elbows and glanced across Jon’s thighs.

It was only then that Ronan noticed what had Jon awake so early.

Ronan let out a sigh of his own. He forced a little smile and looked up at Jon. “He… left?” Ronan asked, referencing the blatantly obvious.

“Yeah,” Jon exhaled. He rubbed a hand over his face, letting it linger over his mouth to try and stifle a laugh. “Yeah, he… he did. Didn’t even try to wake either of us up to say goodbye, either.”

Ronan rolled onto his side so that he could face Jon. He let out another sigh, and reached out to cup a hand over Jon’s thigh. “Babe?” he whispered. When Jon did not respond right away, Ronan leaned in close and nuzzled a soft kiss to Jon’s warm skin. He heard Jon sniffle, and then quickly clear his throat to hide the sound.

“M’gonna… make some coffee.” Jon tossed off the blankets, and before Ronan could protest his leaving the bed, Jon was already putting on the nearest pair of pants and making his way through the bedroom and into the kitchen. Ronan closed his eyes and let out a groan, burying his face into Jon’s pillow to keep the displeased sound from being heard out in the kitchen.

Ronan had a feeling that this was going to happen, the moment he walked in the night before and saw his lover getting fucked by another man. That was how it typically went when the person who was brought home learned that Jon was not, in fact, single. And Ronan knew that Jon went out looking for someone to play with, and Ronan was more than okay with this. Jon never lied about what he did when Ronan was not around, and made it very obvious that Ronan was free to do the same, so long as the same level of honesty was achieved.

But there was something different about Jordan. Ronan saw it in Jon’s eyes, and in every one of his actions. To Jon, Jordan was not just some random hookup. There was, beyond any doubt, something unique about Jordan.

Jon had fallen for him.

Unable to hide the smile on his face, Ronan slid out of bed and pulled on a pair of soft cotton pants from the chest of drawers tucked away in the closet. He snuck out of the bedroom and stood there for only a moment, watching Jon pouring the coffee beans into the grinder connected to the coffee maker. He pulled a couple of bagels from the bread basket and sliced them before setting them in the toaster oven.

“Jon,” Ronan spoke softly. He stood on the far side of the kitchen’s center island, watching Jon pull two mismatched coffee mugs down from the cupboard and setting them on the counter beside the coffee maker. Ronan immediately noticed that Jon was trembling, and that he was cautious and trying hard not to drop whatever was in his hands. Ronan took a breath and walked around the center island. He waited for Jon’s hands to be empty, and wound his arms around Jon’s middle from behind. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Jon said in response. His voice was flat, a tone that Ronan just barely recognized.

Ronan nervously bit the inside of his bottom lip. “You’re mad,” he said under his breath.

Jon paused, and rested both hands on the edge of the counter in front of him. He scoffed and shook his head. “Mad?” he asked aloud. “Why would I be mad?”

Ronan cleared his throat gently. “Because?” he asked, the single word more rhetorical than anything else. A small part of him hoped that Jon would not continue with his single-worded answer, and just let the rhetorical question live in the air between them.

Jon twisted in Ronan’s arms, breaking the grip without fuss. “Because… what.” He scoffed and quickly moved to pour himself a full mug of coffee. “Because Jordan was gone when we woke up and didn’t even have the nerve to say goodbye? Or, or thank us for the night of unbridled passion that he… that I so desperately needed which he knew because he saw it in my eyes at the bar? He took my hand and gave me what I’ve been looking for, and just… abandoned me in return.” Jon let out another scoff, and with a shake of his head, he sipped his coffee. “Why would any of that make me mad, Ro?”

Ronan tightened his lips and thought for several long moments before speaking again. “Honestly?” He let out a long breath before continuing his thought. “Because I know you, Jonathan. I know that you get this… look in your eyes when you see something you really want. And regardless of whether or not it might be out of your reach, you intend to pursue whatever it is until it becomes yours.”

Jon sighed sharply. “Or he,” he muttered.

“Right!” Ronan responded with a little laugh. “Or he! In this case, a rather tall, ginger-headed… journalist? Improv comic?” Jon was taken aback by Ronan’s assessment of Jordan, and looked to see him shrugging his shoulders up to his ears. “What are we calling him?”

Jon sighed again. “You mean, aside from really cute?”

A smile swiftly made its way across Ronan’s face, and before he spoke he nodded. “Aside from really cute,” he said in response. Even if Ronan did not thoroughly believe that Jordan was all that cute, he knew that Jon felt this, and believed it in the bottom of his heart, and Ronan was fully supportive of his lover. Ronan remained still for several moments, the gears in his brain spinning at a furious pace. Without so much as a blink, he stood back from the kitchen’s center island, and took the stairs two at a time up to where his home office was tucked away from the main penthouse.

Jon watched with fascination, sipping from his coffee mug as Ronan ran up the stairs and remained in his office for nearly an hour. When Jon looked up from his now empty coffee mug, he watched Ronan descend the stairs, grinning like a fool. Jon narrowed his eyes at the sound of Ronan giggling from the bedroom.

Ronan stuck his head back out of the bedroom. “Well?” he questioned. “Are you coming or not?”

Jon raised an eyebrow. “Coming?” he asked in return. “Where are we going?”

Ronan disappeared for just a moment before sticking his head back out of the bedroom. “308 North 7th Street in Williamsburg,” he responded. He turned to face Jon completely and grinned. “I do believe that is in Brooklyn.”

Jon sighed in a truly overdramatic fashion. “Brooklyn,” he exhaled. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Ronan, who did you just-“

Ronan sighed and rolled his eyes. “Are you going to as questions, or are you just going to put on some real clothes and come with me?”

Jon drank the last of his coffee and hopped down from the barstool which he perched himself on. He set the mug in the sink in the kitchen’s center island and poured a little water into it so that the coffee stain on the bottom of the mug would not set. He followed Ronan into the bedroom and let out another heavy sigh. “Looks like I’m putting some real clothes on.”

An hour or so later, Jon was truly beside himself, sitting in the backseat of that hired car with Ronan grinning. Ronan felt wholly proud of himself. “All it took was one phone call, and a simple explanation that had the person on the other end of the phone call laughing happily more for Jordan than anything else.” The car stopped in a line of traffic making its way through the Queens-Midtown Tunnel. Ronan took a deep breath and turned to Jon with a bright smile on his face. Jon narrowed his eyes just a touch, feeling Ronan staring at him with that somewhat goofy expression on his face. “Can I help you?” Jon asked, keeping his voice calm an as together as he could manage.

The smile on Ronan’s face brightened. “Admit it,” was all he could say. When Jon gave him another quizzical look in return, Ronan simply nodded; in his opinion, nothing else had to be said.

“Admit… what?” Jon asked with a subtle shake of his head. “Ronan snickered. He shook his head and turned to look out the window at the traffic coming out of the tunnel.

“Admit it,” Ronan repeated. He folded his arms across his chest. “Admit that you’re falling for our tall friend.”

Jon slapped both hands down against the soft leather of the seat they sat on. “That’s crazy!” he shouted back at Ronan, loud enough to make the driver glance up at the rearview mirror to steal a look at both of them. Ronan smacked Jon on the knee in an attempt to get him to quiet down. Jon hissed through gritted teeth. “That’s absolutely crazy, Ronan. Seriously. Fucking. Crazy.”

Ronan raised a single eyebrow. “Is it?” he asked, again folding his arms across his chest. “I don’t know, Jonathan. I’ve seen that look on your face once before, and it was when you and I met.” Jon scoffed and rolled his eyes. Ronan continued before Jon had a chance to say anything else. “The very instant our eyes met. It was kismet. And something tells me that, when you saw Jordan?” Ronan smiled ,and gave his head a little shake. “Same thing.”

Jon was still for a moment before folding his arms across his chest in response. He clucked his tongue and shook his head. But his hard expression softened when the hired car came to a stop in front of the building that Ronan was given the address for.

Jordan’s apartment building.

Ronan opened the door out onto the curb, and before he climbed out of the the black SUV he turned back to smile at Jon. Ronan said nothing, but rather nodded his head to signal for Jon to follow him. Jon rolled his eyes and groaned, but slid out of the SUV down to the sidewalk next to Ronan. He coughed into his closed fist and shook his head. “I still think this is crazy,” Jon said under his breath.

“Yes,” Ronan finally admitted. “But you would do the same for me.” As he spoke, Ronan looked at the screen beside the door under the number that he was given. He saw the name he was looking for among the residents of the building and pressed the digital button, a quiet buzzer going off both in the box, and hopefully the apartment it was connected to.

When he got home, Jordan jumped to take a quick shower. Before that Jordan even debated going for a run, but his entire body told him just how exhausted his body was from everything. Everything but his mind were in agreement on this very simple fact. Not to mention that this was a completely different kind of exhaustion, one that Jordan had not felt in quiet some time. Jordan poured himself his usual glass of lavender melon kombucha and dropped himself down onto the couch. His eyes were barely open, gazing at the blank television that hung on the wall opposite of the couch.

Jordan could never be sure if he had fallen back to sleep, or whether or not the sound of his door buzzer was part of some dream. He closed his eyes and gave his head a rough shake, stilling for a heartbeat before the buzzer sounded again. Eyes wide, genuine confusion rolling through his entire body, he turned toward the door where the buzzing came from. Taking a deep breath, Jordan stood from the couch and padded over to the speaker box.

“Hello?” Jordan said into the speaker, now talking to whomever it was that was down at the front door of the building, trying to get his attention at this hour of this particular day.

“Hi!” Ronan’s rather cheerful voice came through the speaker, nearly knocking Jordan off of his feet on the other end. “Well, I’m glad Trevor didn’t lie to me about where you lived.”

Jordan felt all of the color drain from his face. He closed his eyes and frowned before taking a breath to speak. “Ronan?” was all that Jordan could manage to say, hoping that he recognized the voice correctly.

“And Jon. Jonathan’s here, too.” Ronan laughed softly. “Listen, can we come up? We have a couple of questions to ask you, and… let’s be honest, having me standing on your doorstep while people are walking by will get people talk-“

Jordan did not wait for the knock, but rather pulled the door open and simply stood there, slumped against the frame of the door, arms folded across his chest. Jordan’s eyes were focused on the elevator, and when the hatch opened he felt the slightest chuckle catch in the back of his throat. “How… did you know where I lived?”

Jon and Ronan shot each other a glance. “He-“ Jon began, pointing to Ronan. “I don’t know fi you know this, but he’s a pretty good investigative journalist. He’s won awards for it and everything.”

“And your boss was very forthcoming with the information,” Ronan continued. “Something about you… desperately needing to get laid?” Jordan looked over at Jon, who simply nodded in agreement with Ronan. “But also.” Ronan cleared his throat softly. “Trevor wasn’t about to argue with Ronan Farrow.”

Jordan narrowed his eyes at Ronan and let out the softest chuckle. “Do you do that often?” he asked. He stepped back but remained in the doorway as if he were acting as a barrier, keeping Jon and Ronan out in the hallway if only for a moment. “Use your name like that?”

Again, Jon and Ronan shared a glance. “No,” Ronan admitted softly. He cleared his throat and shook his head. “No, not… not unless it’s really, really important. And this?” Ronan opened his eyes wider and nodded firmly. “This was really important. It bordered on an emergency, Jordan.”

“Yeah.” Jon cleared his throat, dislodging the lump that had grown there since leaving their apartment on the far side of Manhattan. He coughed up the remains of the lump into his fist and looked away from Jordan, the blush in his cheeks unable to remain hidden. Ronan reached back and took Jon’s had, giving it a sweet squeeze. “Look, I-“

Jordan sighed and nodded tersely. He stepped further back into his apartment, allowing Jon and Ronan to enter unhindered. Jordan felt a tingle travel through his entire body when Ronan, as he walked by, gently stroked the tips of his fingers against Jordan’s jaw. Jon slipped his hands into his pockets and looked at his feet as he walked by Jordan, allowing Jordan to close and lock the door behind them all.

“I, um… I wish I could offer you two something, but I… haven’t really done any shopping in, well, in weeks, really.” Jordan laughed nervously. He watched as Ronan wandered around the apartment, but Jon stood only a step or two from where Jordan was. Jon turned to face Jordan, and Jordan felt a playful smile flash across his face. A little chuckle crept up from his chest. “But still. You two should make yourself at home.”

Jon turned back to the apartment, and after only a second he shook his head. “Figures,” he commented. He now had Jordan’s attention with the little laugh that he let out. “Of course you went to IKEA and stopped at Urban Outfitters on the way home.”

Jordan felt the tension starting to build. He stepped closer to Jon, arms folded across his chest. He cleared his throat gently. “Is that a read?” he asked in return. “About the decor. Is that a read?”

“A read?” Jon snickered. He cupped his hand over his mouth and shook his head. “Just… merely making an observation, Jordan. That’s all.” He held up one hand, as if he were taking an oath. “Honest.”

Jordan was quiet for a brief moment before clearing his throat again. “Because I… I don’t know. Last night I walked into your apartment and essentially accused you of not-“

“Ronan’s the decorator,” Jon interrupted, shrugging his shoulders as he spoke. “So I… I don’t…” He closed his eyes and let out a heavy sigh. “I wasn’t ready to answer any questions. Normally when I bring someone home they don’t really want to talk, especially about the decor. They usually just want to-“

“Fuck,” Jordan interrupted in return. Jon froze at the monosyllabic word. A quick smile pulled at the corner of Jordan’s mouth. “Yeah, I… I kind of gathered that.” He narrowed his eyes slightly, and turned to face Jon. “Which is why I’m… kind of surprised that you’re here right now.” He looked up and over at Ronan, who had gone and made himself at home. He was sitting with his legs folded underneath himself on the couch, his sneakers removed and in a neat pile on the floor in front of him. “That you’re… both here, actually. Because I really thought that… maybe…”

“Jonathan wouldn’t be here without me,” Ronan said matter of factly. He turned to Jon and nodded, who in turn gave his shoulders a shrug. “And not just because I was the one who called Trevor and got your address, but because Jonathan is… well…” Ronan folded his arms across his knees and leaned forward. A devilish smile crept across his face.

Jon watched Ronan shift into position. He shook his head. “Well I’m not going to say it,” he announced in response.

Jordan, having very little idea of what was now happening in his own apartment, stepped back from Jon to move into the living room. He took a seat in one of the armchairs, keeping his eyes focused on a spot on the floor the entire time.

“Oh, but I think you should,” Ronan goaded. “Otherwise I am, and I don’t think you would appreciate that.”

Jon closed his eyes and let out an angry sigh. He pinched the bridge of his nose, hoping to stop the headache that grew right behind his eyes before it got worse. “I-“ Jon paused and exhaled sharply. “I really have no idea what’s going on right now.”

Ronan focused on Jon. He sat back, arms folded across his chest, and scoffed. “Really,” he said flatly.

Jordan shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. “I… I’m with Jon on this one. I… have no idea what is happening right now, and at this point?” Jordan paused for a moment and let out a little chuckle. “I’m kind of afraid to ask.”

Ronan sighed and felt his entire body loosen. His legs fell, his feet slumping to the floor, both hands falling to the couch cushions on either side of his hips. “Okay,” he said through a very heavy breath. He rubbed both hands over his face and felt himself chuckle into his palms. “Okay, you two. Sit. I’ll tell you both a story.”

With Jordan already seated in that armchair, Jon rolled his eyes and reluctantly joined Ronan on the couch. Ronan nodded at Jon, a silent thank you for not getting all dramatic and simply doing what Ronan asked of him. Jon took a deep breath and let it out slowly, rubbing his hands against his knees in a somewhat calming fashion.

“Last night, I nearly fell asleep at my office,” Ronan started. The admission made Jon smile, and threatened to giggle, but he refrained. Ronan all but ignored Jon, and instead nodded at Jordan. “It’s true. I was… in the middle of researching my latest handful of tips and I closed my eyes for three minutes.” Ronan held up three fingers. “It was then that I knew I should go home and go to bed.” Ronan paused for just a moment and, with a loving smile, he reached over at took Jon’s hand in his own.

“And when I got home-“ Ronan squeezed Jon’s hand, which made Jon smile at him in response. Jon’s smile was warm and kind, and full of the same love that Jordan saw the night before; a love that he himself believed to be such a rarity in this world. “I saw something… I wasn’t expecting. I mean, I wasn’t not expecting it. I know Jonathan enough to know if he’s feeling a certain way, and is left to his own devices, that sooner or later…”

Jon rolled his eyes and groaned. “You’re making me sound like such a whore,” he muttered.

“Whore?” Ronan chuckled. Still holding onto Jon’s hand, he reached up and cupped a hand around Jon’s jaw. He moaned and licked his lips softly, before leaning in to capture Jon’s lips in a sweet kiss. Both Jon and Ronan moaned a low sound that vibrated between them.

Inseparable, Jordan nodded. He watched them both with a slight curiosity, but also with a hint of jealousy. There was a small part of him — small but certainly growing larger — that wanted to be part of what Jon and Ronan had.

Not a relationship of his own. But rather being the third member of Jon and Ronan’s little family.

“Never,” Ronan whispered against Jon’s lips, once they both came up for air. Ronan slid his hand around the back of Jon’s neck, foreheads pressed together before he could steal another sweet kiss. “Love of my life? Definitely. But whore?”

“Maybe once in a while,” Jon interrupted with a little shrug of his shoulders.

“Stop!” Jordan shouted. He closed his eyes and held out both hands, as if his palms could actually stop them from being the adorable couple that they so obviously were. “Stop, okay? Stop. I get it. You’re sickeningly adorable, and… I’m going to say you had a lot of fun last night screwing around with me-“

Ronan gasped audibly, but it was Jon who spoke up first. “Is… is that why you think we’re here? To… to rub an almost ten-year relationship in some random hookup’s face?” He shifted away from Ronan just a bit, and folded his hands in his lap. Jon sat up as straight as he could manage. He shook his head feeling more than a little disappointed in Jordan at that particular moment. Because Jon knew that Ronan was only partially right; Jon was not currently falling for Jordan, he had already done so.

Ronan motioned silently for Jon to continue speaking, even though Jon was extremely hesitant in doing so.

Jon took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He rubbed both hands against his knees, and without saying a word he got up from the couch and walked over to where Jordan sat. Jordan’s hips were narrower than the width of the armchair, which allowed Jon to climb up and straddle Jordan’s lap, knees pressed into the cushions on either side of his thighs.

“W-what… what’re you…” Jordan’s stuttered words were silenced completely when Jon cupped his jaw in both hands and pressed a sweet kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“We’re here for you,” Ronan whispered, his voice just loud enough to be heard over the white noise generated by the apartment itself. He scooted himself up slowly, and readjusted himself on the couch to make himself more comfortable. “Not… not to rub your face in anything, or even to scold you for leaving without saying goodbye.”

Jon sat back on Jordan’s knees, both hands cupped over his shoulders to keep himself just at arm’s length. “I… might be here to scold you for not saying goodbye this morning,” he said with a gentle nod. “Or to scold you for just… not being there this morning.”

Jordan felt his chest blush under the soft cotton of the same T-shirt he wore the night before. He looked away from Jon and cleared his throat. “R-really?” he stuttered once more.

Smiling sweetly, Jon cupped both hands around the back of Jordan’s neck and nodded. He tucked a crooked finger under Jordan’s chin and brought Jordan’s gaze to meet his own. “Really,” he replied with a soft nod. “Really… really really.” Jon swept his thumb across Jordan’s bottom lip. “And Ronan… he essentially had to drag me out here because I was terrified that you wanted nothing to do with me.”

Jordan swallowed hard, dislodging the solid lump in his throat. “That’s crazy talk,” he whispered. “Fuck. L-last… last night was incredible, Jon.” As Jordan spoke, Jon carded his fingers through Jordan’s hair, and leaned in to nuzzle a soft kiss to the side of his neck.

Jon moaned, and nuzzled another kiss to the side of Jordan’s neck. “Do you want more?” he whispered, feeling both of their bodies vibrate with the words. He slid one hand up the back of Jordan’s neck, guiding him just a bit, just enough for Jordan to offer him a little more skin.

Jordan closed his eyes and licked his lips, as he nodded in response to Jon’s question. Jon chuckled against Jordan’s skin, laughing at the taller man’s incoherence. “I do, but… but I want you both,” Jordan was finally able to whisper, his words soaking in a bit more confidence.

With his eyes closed, Jordan did not see that Ronan was up off of the couch, and now stood behind the chair that both Jordan and Jon were seated in. Ronan bend down and ran one hand down Jordan’s clothed chest. “One condition,” Ronan whispered, startling Jordan simply with his presence.

“N-name… name it,” Jordan rasped.

Ronan curled his hand around Jordan’s face and pulled his lips away from Jon’s, capturing them with his own. Jon sat back on Jordan’s knees, one hand pressed to Jordan’s chest as if he were still bracing himself. “You fuck me first,” Ronan demanded, his voice just as quiet and raspy as Jordan’s before.

Soft thoughts were shared aloud, as Jon slid down from Jordan’s lap and Jordan stood from the chair with Ronan’s hands still resting delicately on his body. Ronan whimpered as Jon reached out and smacked his hands away. Jordan glanced down to watch Jon’s hands possessively swat that Ronan’s, and immediately worked his T-shirt off. Jordan would his arm around Jon’s back, and with the faintest chuckle he bent down and kissed the top of Jon’s head, eliciting a whimper from the shorter man.

The smile slipped from Jordan’s face, and he immediately looked up at Ronan. “What’re you waiting for?” he questioned, nodding at him to acknowledge the fact that Ronan was still fully clothed and asking for something that required him to at least take his pants off. When Ronan said nothing in response, Jordan shook his head and reached out to grab Ronan by the belt loops. “These need to come off, Ronan. Now.”

Ronan swallowed loudly. Jordan nearly yanked him over the back of the chair, and he had to brace himself to keep from falling over. Ronan nodded frantically and shuffled around to stand between Jordan and that armchair. Ronan’s fingers fumbled with the top button of his pants, and he gasped when Jordan reached out and grabbed the button, as well as a handful of denim. Jordan stepped back and pulled Ronan closer to him, smirking as he watched the color in Ronan’s cheeks brighten. Ronan let his hands fall to his sides, giving Jordan almost complete control over the situation.

But Jordan’s hands were not the only ones that were busy. Jon had stuffed both of his down into Jordan’s soft pants, chuckling softly at the fact that Jordan had not bothered to put anything on under those soft pants, and took Jordan’s cock in one hand. Jordan gritted his teeth and hissed, turning back to look at Jon for only a second, as Jon tightened his grip and began pumping his fist at a deliberate pace. Jordan closed his eyes and rolled his head back, growling in the air between them.

Still growling softly in the back of his throat, Jordan bit the inside of his bottom lip. He cupped both hands over Ronan’s hips and spun him to face the armchair. Jordan leaned in, his chin resting on Ronan’s shoulder. “I said… take. Them. Off,” Jordan ordered, his voice firmer than before. It took Ronan only a second before he did as he was told, nudging the jeans down from his hips to his knees. Jordan paused, waiting for Ronan to step out of the denim and kick the pants aside. Jordan hummed and slowly ran one hand up Ronan’s thigh, before giving his ass a playful smirk.

With a hand around the back of Ronan’s neck Jordan forced him forward, bending him at the hips. Ronan grabbed the back of the armchair in front o him, and turned back to look at Jordan over his shoulder. Ronan narrowed his eyes, watching Jon whisper into Jordan’s ear. A few seconds later Jordan murmured into Jon’s ear in response. Jon pointed off in the opposite direction and after Jordan nodded he disappeared into the back room of the apartment.

Jordan turned his attention back to Ronan, unable to hide the ridiculous smile that was now plastered across his face. Ronan felt a little laugh catch in his chest, a little sound that was silenced the instant he felt Jordan grab a handful of his hair. Ronan’s eyes widened and he gasped when he felt just one of Jordan’s fingertips press against his constricted asshole. Ronan’s fingers shook, as he reached back for Jordan in some way or another. But Ronan was unable to touch; Jordan had slipped out of Ronan’s reach.

Both Jon and Ronan silently noted that Jordan was playing a little rough, and it made them both a touch nervous. Jordan held onto Ronan’s hair, tugging just hard enough to make Ronan’s eyes fill with tears. He swore under his breath, and when he tried to look back over his shoulder, Jordan loosened his grip. Ronan saw Jordan biting the inside of his bottom lip and sighed gently. “S’okay,” he whispered, nodding as if he knew that Jordan needed this particular affirmation. “It… it’s good, Jordan. If it’s not, I… trust me, I’ll tell you to stop.”

Jordan licked his dry lips and nodded. That was all he had to hear.

A gasped breath caught in the back of Jon’s throat as he watched Jordan bend further down and promptly run his tongue around the tight pucker of Ronan’s asshole. The soft, eager noises that came out of Ronan’s mouth only urged Jordan to continue. Jordan’s hand came up to spread Ronan further open, making it easier for him to push his tongue deeper. Jordan gripped both hands over Ronan’s ass, and could feel his body trembling beneath his touch. Ronan swore under his breath, and again turned to watch Jordan eat him out.

“That’s hotter than it has any right to be,” Jon said from his perch on the couch. Jordan paused, pulling back to catch his breath but also to keep himself from gagging. With a little snicker he looked at Jon, smiling with his eyes, noticing that Jon was rubbing his growing an erection through his jeans.

“That-“ Jordan nodded to Jon palming his cock through the denim. “Is hotter than it has any right to be.” As he spoke, Jordan sucked his fingers into his mouth and, without any hesitation pressed his index and middle fingers inside Ronan. Ronan cried out, Jordan’s name a plea that dripped from his lips. Jordan buried both fingers to the knuckle inside Ronan, and with his free hand he grabbed Ronan’s shoulder. He leaned in close enough to whisper roughly against Ronan’s ear. “You like that?”

Ronan licked his lips and nodded. He opened his mouth, but could only moan as Jordan scissored his fingers apart. Jordan’s free hand fumbled to get his pants open, desperate to free the straining erection hidden within. He growled, angry at himself for being clumsy and needing two hands, but still he refused to pull his fingers away from Ronan’s tight hole.

“Fuck,” Ronan was finally able to whimper. Biting at the inside of his bottom lip, he turned to face Jordan. “Do it, Jordan, just… just do it.”

Though he still had the lube within reach, Jordan spit crudely into his palm once more before pressing the tip of his cock against Ronan’s asshole. Ronan gripped the cushions of the back of the armchair so tightly that his knuckles went white. Jordan stood motionless, letting Ronan rock back on his cock, whimpering in slight pain as he moved. Jordan rested one hand on Ronan’s hip. “You okay?” he whispered, needing at least that kind of validation in that moment.

Ronan closed his eyes and nodded frantically, his soft hair bobbing as he moved. “Y-yeah?” he said in return, his voice catching in the back of his throat. “Jon… Jonathan’s right.” Ronan licked his lips and nodded again. “You’re a lot bigger than either of us are used to.”

Jordan leaned in, his chest pressed to Ronan’s back, his chin resting on Ronan’s shoulder. He held steady for a breath before thrusting his hips forward just once, burying himself to the hilt and staying there with that single thrust. Ronan closed his eyes and cried out low. He arched and threw his head back, moaning Jordan’s name with such need, such a desperate desire, the sound itself made Jordan moan in return.

Moans, primal and wanton, emanated from where Jon sat on the couch. Jordan softly bit the inside of his bottom lip and glanced back to see Jon rubbing himself through his pants. It was obvious that he was struggling not to do or even touch anything without Jordan’s permission. In a single act, Jordan filled the entire room with a sense of his own dominance; a feeling that neither Jon nor Ronan had given off themselves.

Jon whimpered. He had a gut feeling that Jordan would quickly put an end to everything if he sensed that one or the other was about to misbehave. So when he took in a deep breath and stood from the couch, he knew he was taking a risk. Jon rubbed both hands against the fronts of his thighs and slowly walked up behind Jordan. Jon curled his fingers around Jordan’s hips loosely, holding him as he thrust his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt inside Ronan with every twist of his body.

Jordan was a little, but not completely surprised by the feel of Jon’s hands on his hips. He clucked his tongue and turned back to see him licking his lips, a hunger on his face that Jordan recognized from the previous night. “You feelin’ left out?” he asked, his voice rough and thick like chunky peanut butter. Jon opened his mouth to speak, but was unable to put a coherent thought together. A little smile tugged at one corner of Jordan’s mouth, and he gave Ronan’s ass a little smack. The blonde bent over in front of him let out a yelp. “You want-“

Jon shook his head slowly. He wound his arms around Jordan’s middle and pulled himself close, slowly Jordan’s thrusts in the process. “To watch you tear that ass up,” Jon finally said, finishing Jordan’s thought. He flicked his tongue against his bottom lip and let one hand reach out to trace the curve of Ronan’s ass. Jon let his palm come to rest on the red mark left by Jordan’s smack, and proceeded to leave his own.

Ronan cried out and swore under his breath the instant that Jon spanked him. This was not something that happened often if at all. Though Jon was never timid, physicality had never been his strong suit. So when Jordan showed signs that he was more than willing to fill that role in their relationship, Ronan knew that this was going to last.

And he was suddenly willing to do what it would take to protect it. Even if it meant sharing the love of his life.

Chapter Text

733 11th Avenue
Two days later

Jordan slid out of the backseat of the nolita gray Range Rover Evoque, and with a quick thank you to the driver, he closed the door and let out a long sigh. He yawned and rubbed the sleep, or complete lack thereof, out of his eyes. Jordan fumbled around in his messenger bag for the set of keys that would open the door to lead up to his second-floor office. Usually it was relatively quiet this early in the day, save for a handful of people who were milling around the studio audience entrance downstairs, hoping to either get tickets in general for that night’s taping, or hoping to score a high lottery number for better seats than the ones they already had.

Jordan took out one Bluetooth earbud and stashed it back in its charging case before keying into the building through the nondescript side door. From where he stood the office seemed quieter than usual, and it had Jordan wondering if he could catch a nap before everyone else clocked in for the day.

“Klepper!”

No such luck, Jordan thought to himself. The familiar click of Trevor Noah’s accent through the entire building. Jordan glanced up to see Trevor standing in the door to this office, arms folded with an elbow propped against the door frame. And he was grinning from ear to ear.

For a moment, Jordan wondered if Ronan had placed another call to tell Trevor about the fact that he and Jon had not left Jordan’s apartment in Brooklyn all weekend. About the fact that the three of them hardly left the bedroom for more than answering the door when Postmates rang.

Smiling kindly, Jordan removed the second Bluetooth earbud and set it back in the case alongside the first. “Hey boss,” he replied softly. He held one finger up, keeping Trevor in his office for the time being, as he ducked into the office that he shared and tossed his aging Timbuk2 messenger bag under the desk he called his own. When Jordan turned around Trevor was standing behind him, both hands settled on the frame of the door that opened into Jordan’s shared office.

The bright smile on Trevor’s face could keep the neighborhood electrified for days.

“Hey boss,” Trevor returned with the slightest chuckle, tenderly mocking his friend and co-worker. Trevor continued to laugh, and stepped aside to let Jordan out of his office. Trevor smacked his lips and followed Jordan down the hall toward the break room. Trevor popped his tongue, breaking the silence that filled the room around them. “So.”

Jordan pulled one of the coffee mugs down from the cupboard and plucked one of the lighter roast coffee pod boxes from another cupboard. He set the machine to brew, and with both hands flat on the counter Jordan hung his head and let out a long sigh. “So?” he questioned back, wondering how long Trevor was going to draw this conversation out for.

Trevor laughed and rolled his eyes. “You’re really going to make me ask, aren’t you.” He stepped into the break room and leaned against the counter beside Jordan, arms folded gently across his chest. For the moment, Jordan ignored Trevor’s presence, which irritated his friend and boss only slightly. Jordan was not an idiot; it was obvious that he knew that Trevor was just trying to find out everything that he missed, with regards to Jon and Ronan and anyone else who may or may not be involved. But the last thing Trevor wanted to do was ask Jordan for the details in a straightforward manner.

He wanted Jordan to divulge that information willingly.

“Yes,” Jordan said, after what felt like a silent eternity. He nodded again, firm in his answer, as he reached for the coffee mug under the spot and added his usual oat milk and sugar. He stirred slowly with a clean spoon found in the dish drying rack. With an almost evil smile on his face, Jordan turned slowly to Trevor. “But first, I’m going to ask you something.” Jordan blew across the rim of his coffee mug before taking a tester sip. “What… what made you think that it was okay to give a complete stranger my address?”

Trevor was completely thrown by Jordan’s seemingly innocuous question. His eyes were wide with surprise. “I… to be honest, I didn’t know what to think when I picked up the phone and heard hey Trevor, it’s Ronan Farrow on the other end of the call,” he admitted. Jordan took another slow sip of his coffee, his gaze still focused on Trevor. “I was actually a little worried. I thought maybe you did something really and truly ridiculous, and that you were going to be cancelled or something crazy like that.”

Jordan hummed and licked the coffee from his top lip. “Probably the opposite, after he and Jon came to my apartment, and… well.” Jordan sipped his coffee once again, taking his time and savoring every drop. He knew that the suspense would drive Trevor absolutely mad.

“So Ronan and… the boyfriend who picked you up in that trendy Tribeca bar,” Trevor persuaded.

Jordan hummed, and with a shake of his head he turned to exit the break room, making his way back to Trevor’s office. “Boyfriend? I don’t even know if that is truly the case.” Jordan took a seat on the incredibly comfortable — and longer than average in order to accommodate Trevor’s own tall and gangly husband — sofa that took up almost an entire wall in Trevor’s office. “Honestly? Labels never came up. I just know that they live together in this… insanely swanky penthouse apartment over in Hudson Yards, because that’s where you live if you happen to be Ronan Farrow.”

Trevor sighed and rolled his eyes. “Jordan, you can afford that kind of thing, too,” he gently reminded. Trevor nudged the door closed just a bit behind himself, on the off chance that anyone else decided to slink into the office that early, and took a seat behind his desk.

For the briefest of moments, silence hung thick in the air between them. Jordan continued with his morning coffee, genuinely enjoying the tortured expression on Trevor’s face. He longed to hear more, all of the spirited and vibrant details of Jordan’s sexual encounter with these two gentlemen whom he just met, but Jordan was not about to simply give it away.

He himself was still very much trying to figure out just what it was that he was very much getting himself into.

Jordan finished the coffee in his mug and, setting it on the corner of Trevor’s desk, cleared his throat. In that instant Trevor leaned forward, immediately excited for more of Jordan’s story. He closed his eyes and drew in a long breath letting it out slowly. “Trevor,” Jordan began, his words both slow and quiet. “This weekend has been-“

“Weekend?” Trevor interrupted, having to make sure that he heard his friend correctly.

With a faint smile on his face, Jordan nodded. “It’s been completely unbelievable,” he concluded. Joran sighed and sat back in the deep couch, crossing one leg over the other at the knee. “Even in my wildest dreams, which as you know aren’t really that wile when you get right down to it. Never could I ever have imagined that something like this could ever… ever happen to me.” Jordan paused, and snickered once. “God, I sound like a ‘90s letter to Penthouse, don’t I.”

Trevor smirked and gave his shoulders the slightest shrug. “Maybe, a little bit,” he said in return, gently teasing his friend. “But, like you said. Shit like this never happens to you, so it’s completely forgiven.”

Jordan sighed and sunk even further down into the lavish sofa cushions. “This never happens unless you’re married to a hot-ass, international rock star-“

“Which I am,” Trevor reminded, as i Jordan needed a little prompting.

Jordan rolled his eyes and sighed angrily, as if he was not the one who started this whole conversation in the first place. “Yes, yes, yes. Which you are.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. In a flash, Jordan knew he would take this opportunity to ask about Trevor’s husband and felt himself grin merely at the thought. “Speaking of your rock star husband.”

“Oh no,” Trevor said with a little shake of his hands, as if he were trying to physically wave off Jordan’s train of thought. “No no. This isn’t about me, Klepper. This conversation that we’re having right now, right this second? This is solely about you. You-“ Trevor paused, and the small smile on his face curled into a devilish grin. “And your boyfriends.”

Jordan was taken aback by Trevor’s comment, and felt his entire body blush a dark red. “My what!?” he all but shouted in return.

Still smiling, Trevor shrugged his shoulders in a truly dramatic fashion, keeping them pressed to his ears for a very long moment. “Your boyfriends,” Trevor repeated. “I mean… they aren’t aren’t they?” Jordan was flummoxed and unable to respond, which only prompted Trevor to continue. “Unless you haven’t gotten that far yet. Either way, I am even happier for you, because it has been too damn long since you’ve even gone on a date, let alone went home with someone.” Trevor let out the faintest snicker. “Hell, I bet even your Tinder misses you.”

Jordan rolled his eyes and groaned. The few times he did try to connect with someone through Tinder were absolute disasters. He barely got out the door to meet up with whoever messaged him to make plans, either deciding that it would not work out so it was not worth the effort, or simply chickening out at the very last minute. Jordan was lonely, but it was a act that he did not freely admit to himself, let alone to anyone else, and certainly not to anyone out loud.

Yet, somehow, his best friend was able to pick up on this vibe immediately. Trevor read his friend like a book, and knew in his heart of hearts that Jordan deserved to be happy.

“Eh, I don’t think Tinder really misses me,” Jordan returned. “And plus.” He paused and sat further back into the couch, his back pressed firmly to the cushions. He folded his hands in his lap and looked down at them as if he were both afraid and ashamed of what he was about to say. “Plus, y’know when… when I left this morning, Jon and Ronan were still at my apartment. Where we’ve been all weekend.”

Trevor raised both eyebrows in what appeared to be genuine surprise. “All weekend?” he asked softly in return. Trevor leaned forward across his desk, unable to stop the smile that materialized on his face. “So they… came over after I gave Ronan your address, and by all accounts haven’t left yet?”

Jordan stilled for the longest moment before giving his shoulders an overdramatic shrug. “They might not be there… right now,” he replied. “I know that Ronan had to go to the office to make some phone calls, but Jon… well… I think Jon is on a little hiatus from his podcasting duties, so I’m not sure if he’s doing anything right now. There’s a pretty good chance that he’s still at my place.” Jordan cleared his throat. “But I, y’know, I wouldn’t put bets on it or anything.”

Trevor’s grin widened to the point where Jordan wondered if his face was pained. “Jordan!” Trevor’s voice was certainly loud enough to alert anyone in the office to their presence. Jordan felt a soft blush fill his cheeks; he was happy and he knew that Trevor was happy for him, but Jordan was not sure if he was ready for the rest of their world to know that he may, or may not, have a boyfriend.

Or two.

Jordan waved both hands at Trevor, in a vain attempt at quieting him. He glanced over at the door and saw no movement, letting out a little sigh of relief. “I know!” Jordan was finally able to contain the excitement that was bubbling up inside him just below the surface. “I… fuck, T. I know. I know, this… it’s exciting and terrifying, and I… I don’t know.”

Still grinning, Trevor took a breath and sat back in his own chair. His closed his eyes and took another breath, this one more calming than the first, and nodded at Jordan. Relationships were difficult, and even more so for those who were so rarely in one. And for as long as they had known one another, Jordan had never been in a single relationship. “Okay,” Trevor said softly. “What do you know?”

The soft blush in Jordan’s cheeks darkened. “I don’t… really know anything about any of this!” he nearly shouted again, his teeth gritted as he spoke. He whimpered and, with his elbows on his knees his buried his face in his hands. “Trevor. I don’t have a clue about any of this. The last relationship I was in was back in college. And now?” He snorted once. “Now I have two incredibly hot men essentially throwing themselves at me. Is… be honest, is any of this really real? And-“ He paused an took several deep breaths, resting one hand against his chest as he felt his heart pounding in his chest. “How do I not fuck this up?”

Trevor was remarkably quiet just for a moment. The smile remained on his face, but was far softer than it had been previously. “Jordan,” he all but whispered, compared to the elation he had been expressing just moments earlier. “You… you’re really worried about this, aren’t you.” Without saying a word, Jordan whimpered and nodded only once. “Are… did you…” Trevor swallowed a little chuckle. “Jordan. Did you catch feelings for those two already?”

Jordan remained silent for several moments. He buried his face back in his hands and let out another whimper. “Maybe,” he responded, his words muffled by the warm skin of his palms. He rubbed both hands over his face before pulling them away. “Maybe, okay? Maybe I did. And yeah, that was definitely too quick, but you know what?”

Trevor sighed sharply and shook his head. “This never happens to you,” he said in response. “You… you catch feelings or get your feelings hurt. Or you don’t catch the feelings and miss out on something incredible.” Jordan snapped his gaze back to Trevor, who could do nothing but shrug in response. Jordan knew that Trevor was right, but was not really ready to admit it out loud.

The truth was that Jordan had felt something about both Jon and Rona that he had not felt about anyone else before, possibly ever, in his life. He would not go so far as to call it love, but in his mind it was as close as he was going to get. Jordan was falling in love with two men at the same time, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

Chapter Text

6555 Barton Ave.
Los Angeles, California

It all started with a podcast. A simple podcast, created in bold defiance of a media that normally oscillated from the right, not to the left, but simply to the center. However after the election of a Republican real estate broken and businessman, with no prior political experience whatsoever into the highest political position in the country, the oscillation ceased. The media, who saw the popularity of a non-political politician do nothing but rise, followed nothing but the angry rantings and ravings of an aging white man baked in a fake tan that made him look as though he was brushed from heard to toe in Cheeto dust.

It was this that prompted Jon and his two best friends from his previous job, as a speechwriter for the now former President of the United States, to take that one podcast and spin it into their own media empire. And as the new rule of the right-wing idiots who held almost every high-level political office in the country proved to be absolute chaos, Jon and his two best friends used their voices. Their voices, and the voices of those closest to them, all helped to keep the masses of the vocal minority informed at all costs.

With the straps of his backpack pulled snuggly over both shoulders, Jon stepped off of the elevator and waved his ID badge in front of the sensor that opened the main doors to Crooked Media. It was early afternoon when Jon strolled into the office, around the same time that he always appeared at work when he happened to be on the west coast. He waved hello to both new and familiar faces sitting at cubicles without walls, and everyone smiled right back at him. Jon had not been in the office for several weeks, and it seemed that he was, much to his own surprise, missed.

Jon was a sucker for all forms of attention, and was happiest when he was being recognized and appreciated. Unable to stop smiling, Jon ducked into the break room area, where the help yourself cereal bar had recently been restocked. He began pouring himself a bowl of Froot Loops when he heard a door click open somewhere behind him.

“Hey, can someone check to see if- Lovett!”

Jon looked up from the cistern filled with the sugary colorful cereal, and in the direction of the voice that called out his name. Jon grinned, spotting his best friend and business partner, Jon Favreau, standing at the far end of a hallway lined with smaller offices on either side. Jon’s eyes were wide and bright. He snickered in a futile attempt at keeping himself calm in the presence of one of his closest friends. But Jon also knew that Favs could see right through him.

Jon clucked his tongue and smiled sweetly, slowly his stride as he made his way down the hallway. “Awww,” Jon cooed. “Did you miss me?”

Favs laughed softly and strode completely out of the shared office to embrace Jon tightly. Jon did not often hug people; he needed to have an intimate relationship with someone in order to feel comfortable being that close. But Jon always felt that close to Favs. Theirs was a friendship that Jon treasured.

Jon clapped a hand on Favs’ back, signaling a release of the hug. Favs waited a beat before letting him go. He closed his eyes and sighed. “Glad to have you back,” Favs said through his sweet smile.

The matching smile on Jon’s face began to fade, and he pulled down the brim of his hat in an attempt to hide that fact. “Yeah, well…” Jon’s voice trailed off. He shifted the brim of his hat up away from his face, his eyes now bright and filled with the same smile that was painted across his face. “It’s just a visit.”

“Oh?” This sounded like breaking news to Favs. He stepped back from Jon, spinning on the balls of his feet, slipping back into their shared office. Jon took a deep breath and slowly followed after him, nudging the door closed gently behind them.

A little smile pulled at the corners of Jon’s mouth, and with a little sigh he nodded. He set the bowl of dry Froot Loops and his phone down in the middle of his nearly empty desk, and draped the straps of his backpack over the back of his office chair. As he sat so did Favs, and they stared at one another across the tops of their desk, and the empty space between them.

A silence, normally filled in comfort, sat pregnant with anxiety.

“Yeah,” Jon felt himself whisper, completely unaware of whether or not he was actually being heard. “Yeah, I mean… don’t get me wrong, I love you guys, but…”

Favs closed his eyes and breathed slowly. He flipped open his 15-inch Microsoft Surface laptop and ran his finger along the power button to bring the tablet to life. Jon Favreau was one of the few people that Jon knew to actually shut off their electronics when they were not in use, and had to wait for the laptop to boot up before he could get his day started. “No, I… I get it,” favs said, as the laptop in front of him silently came to life. He looked over at Jon and saw the sad expression on his face. Though he appeared sad, a smile crept slowly across his face. “I do.” He shrugged his shoulders gently. “Believe me, if… if Emily’s job had her living on the other side of the country most of the time, I don’t know if I could stay here in L.A. for very long, either.”

The sweet little smile on Jon’s face was genuine. He knew that Favs did not simply say that he understood, but that he actually did. Favs truly understood how Jon felt. He understood how it felt for Jon to be away from Ronan for months at a time, and was honesty a bit relieved when Jon made the decision that he would be spending more time on the east coast.

Their shared moment was interrupted when Favs looked up and saw a long-haired, chocolate brown goldendoodle barreling down the hallway toward their office at full speed. The smile on Favs’ face softened when he saw Tommy, sandy white Sennheiser MOMENTUM headphones hanging around the back of his neck. Tommy carried a handful of mail as he followed the galloping dog into the office. Favs cleared his throat and shifted in his chair, just as the dog came into the room and launched herself up onto the couch.

She let out a single bark, which all but forced Jon to stand from his own desk and pad over to the couch to properly greet her. “Lucca,” Jon cooed, scratching under her chin in a futile attempt to get her to calm down just a touch. The chocolate brown goldendoodle, Lucca, barked twice at the sound of Jon’s voice, and proceeded to attack him with kisses all over his face. Jon continued to showed the precious pup with love and affection, as if she were seriously starved for both.

“I swear I am the only one who actually checks that mailbox downstairs.” Tommy’s voice carried into the office a few beats before the man himself appeared. “Hey, Jon.” He spoke to Favs without looking up from the handful of nondescript white and goldenrod envelopes he carried in from the downstairs lobby.

Without hesitation, Jon spoke before Favs could even think of what to say. “Hey yourself, Tommy.”

Tommy froze, a few feet from his desk, and turned to see Jon sitting on the couch with his dog lounging beside him. They shared a look, an expression that spoke volumes without making a single sound. It was obvious to Jon that Tommy was genuinely surprised to see him, and for a moment it made Jon wonder if Tommy ever thought that he would see Jon in person again. Tommy’s expression was not only surprised, but a little hesitant.

Tommy tossed the handful of nondescript envelopes onto his desk and cleared his throat. “Well well well,” he started. Tommy dropped his bag beside his desk, and everything else next to the stack of unread mail in the middle of his desk. He turned to face Jon, leaning back against the front edge of his desk, arms folded tightly across his chest. “Look what the cat dragged in.” Jon laughed sarcastically and rolled his eyes, amused by Tommy’s weak attempt any any type of humor. “And… to what do we own this pleasure?”

Jon mouthed the words silently, and let out another sarcastic laugh. “Well my badge still works,” he said, his quick-witted response enough to make himself smile genuinely. “And since I’m still technically employed here, I figured I might as well make an appearance before you start to wonder whether or not I’m alive or not.”

Tommy paused, thinking about what Jon just quipped. He held his chin in a thoughtful manner before moving to sit behind his own desk. “Damn I knew I forgot something,” Tommy finally said, having to take a few moments in order to come up with a proper response to Jon’s seemingly playful jab.

But Favs knew that neither Jon nor Tommy were being entirely playful with one another. He often felt the heat, the rising tensions in the office, before anyone else could. The instant that Tommy sat behind his desk his phone was in one hand, in his lap and just out of anyone’s line of sight. In this position, he could easily text with just one thumb. Favs glanced down at the screen of his own laptop and saw a slack notification pop up in the corner. Without having to read it, Favs knew that it was a personal message from Tommy.

OGWorldo: Well isn’t THIS a surprise.
OGWorldo: Be straight with me. Did you know that he would be here today?
FavsRunsOnDunkin: No!
FavsRunsOnDunkin: No I didn’t. But, honestly? I’m kind of glad that he is.
OGWorldo: …really?
FavsRunsOnDunkin: Yes! You’re seriously going to tell me that you haven’t missed him? Even a little bit?

Jon looked up at Favs, and then across the office to Tommy, who simply shrugged rather than texting out a response to Favs’ question. Jon stood from the couch and cleared his throat, grabbing both Tommy’s and Favs’ attention. “Don’t talk about me like I’m not in the room,” he said sharply. Jon folded his arms tightly across his chest, and strode over to close their office door with a rather clamorous thud. The sound startled Favs, but somehow Tommy expected the dramatic outburst.

And everyone else in the office knew that, when the founders’ office door was closed, something was about to happen that could easily affect everyone in the building. It was a sign that no one ever wanted to see.

Arms still folded across his chest, Jon walked over and took a seat behind his desk. Again he looked from Favs to Tommy, back to Favs, and finally back to Tommy again. Tommy’s gaze shifted to Jon for only a moment before immediately returning to the screen of his laptop. “If you have something to say, Vietor. Just say it.”

Tommy was quiet. The tension in the room was palpable, and so thick that you would need a lighthouse to see through it to the other side. Tommy remained silent, his gaze still focused on Jon. The only sound that could be heard in the shared office was the soft clacking of the keyboard of Favs’ Microsoft Surface tablet laptop. And still, Tommy and Jon stared at one another; a stare down that seemed to last forever.

Tommy was the one to break the awkward silence. He cleared his throat, and in the inaction of both himself and Jon, he pulled his laptop from the bag that came in with him and booted it up.

“So that’s it?” Jon’s voice was quiet and his words were ultimately careful. The last thing he truly wanted to do was to create even more drama between himself and the other two founders of their upstart media company. Jon stood from the couch and shifted to brush imaginary dirt from the tops of his knees. When Jon stood, Favs immediately looked up from his Surface to make it clear that his attention is with the two men in the room, and only the other two men in the room with him.

“What’s it, Lovett?” Tommy questioned in response. Soft keystrokes echoed up from Tommy’s desk, and he was automatically logged into the company’s closed network.

Jon groaned and rolled his eyes. “You know what?” He paused and smacked his lips loudly. The sound of Jon smacking his lips made Lucca the chocolate goldendoodle lift her head up from where it was laying on Tommy’s foot under his desk. “I’m not even going to… no.” He closed his eyes and shook his head, and almost immediately sat back down at his desk. “Nope. I’m just going to do what I came out here to do, and just be done with it.”

“And what’s that?” Tommy’s cold voice asked without any inflection. Jon turned to look at Tommy slowly, who shrugged his shoulders calmly in response. “C’mon, Lovett. Let me in on the secret. What is it that you came here to do?”

“Tommy,” Favs said from behind his own computer screen. While Favs’ voice was calm and quiet, there was a warning to his tone that both Jon and Tommy recognized immediately. Favs was always the quiet one, always the first to smile and try to laugh, and to try and diffuse a situation before it had a chance to escalate. But this particular circumstance had surged before either Jon or Tommy had even walked into the room. And though Favs had a vague idea as to why that was, he was not going to be the first to speak it out loud.

“What?” Tommy snickered once. He sat back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. He turned his attention back to Jon and snickered again. “No, I… I want to hear the reason that the great Jonathan Ira Lovett has graced us with his presence.”

Jon glared back over at Tommy, his eyes narrowed into cold slits. He sat slowly back at his desk in his lap he crack his knuckles loudly. Lucca the chocolate goldendoodle lifted her head up again, ears perked at the sound of Jon cracking his knuckles. She wagged her tail, thumping roughly against the floor, but the sound stopped when Tommy rested his foot on the tail beating the floor.

Favs’ phone vibrated where he dropped it on his desk beside his laptop. All three sets of eyes shifted to the iPhone that started to spin in place on the smooth surface on the desk. The sound did not seem to break any silence, or relieve any tension whatsoever. The vibration stopped, only to restart a few seconds later. Jon’s sigh sounded angry, and he rolled his eyes all the way into the back of his head.

“Oh my god. Favs. Just answer the fucking phone.”

Favs closed his eyes and drew in an incredibly deep breath. He picked the phone up from the smooth surface of his desk and stood to leave the room, making sure not to close the door entirely behind him. The tension that was crammed into their shared office had seemed out into the rest of the office. Favs felt every set of eyes now in the office focused on the door of that shared office.

And every set of eyes instantaneously looked away the moment he stepped out into the common area.

Tommy and Jon were now left to their own devices. Favs pressed the phone to his ear, half listening to the voicemail that was left the first time the caller could not reach him, and turned to looked back through the crack in the door at whatever space in the room he managed to focus on.

Tommy sucked his teeth and looked up across the room to Jon. “So.” He cleared his throat softly before continuing to speak. “What, uh, so.” He cleared his throat again. “What brings you out here?”

Jon paused for a long moment. Tommy’s tone was not hostile, nor was it angry in any form whatsoever. It appeared, if only for a brief moment in time, that Tommy called an imaginary cease fire in the argument that he and Jon were having. Jon turned away from Tommy to try and hide the little smile on his face. He cleared his throat gently before focusing back on Tommy. “Would… would you believe that I missed you?”

Tommy stopped typing, looking up from his laptop and shook his head slowly. “Nope,” he responded flatly. “No, Lovett, I wouldn’t, because-“ Tommy stood from his desk, disturbing the chocolate goldendoodle who tried to sleep at his feet. Arms folded tightly across his chest, Tommy strode over to Jon’s desk. He sat on the front edge of the desk, his back rigid and facing Jon. Tommy turned slightly and picked up one of the toys that Jon kept on his desk — a Funko Pop character of John Wick that he purchased at a convention either in San Diego or New York City, Tommy could never remember which — giving it a little grimace before setting it back down on the desk. Tommy closed his eyes and sighed. He rested his chin against his chest and shook his head.

“Because?” Jon folded his hands on the desk and leaned in closer to where Tommy leaned against the piece of furniture.

Tommy closed his eyes and let out another sigh, this one heavier and more vexed than the ones that came before. “Because! Because that’s… an emotion, Lovett.” Tommy paused for a beat and pushed himself away from Jon’s desk. He spun on the balls of his feet to face Jon, arms folded harshly across his chest, in a truly defenseless manner. “That is a human emotion, and I honestly don’t think that you’re-“

Tommy’s words stopped when Favs came back into the shared office. He smiled at Jon and Tommy before sitting back at his desk. Tommy rested both hands flat on the top of Jon’s desk, and when he stood himself up straight he balanced on the tops of his fingers. He kept his eyes focused on Jon, who stared right back at him. But it was obvious to Tommy that Jon was looking at him, and still he was not seeing a thing.

Tommy sighed and rolled his eyes. Shaking his head, he turned and crossed the office to take his seat behind his own desk. The office phone on his desk rang, and he answered the inter-office call. It was then that he noticed he had a number of missed messages, not on the company’s Slack channel, but direct ones from Favs. Tommy quickly finished the inter-office call, answering the questions without hesitation, before going to open the small novel of messages that Favs sent had sent him.

It was back to business at usual, work being done without Jon Lovett needing to be in the room.

Jon said nothing. His cheeks burned, in the way he always felt before he was about to break down in tears. He inhaled sharply, and with a little shake of his head he stood from his desk and quietly pushed his laptop into his bag. Favs glanced over and watched Jon’s actions, and though he did try to get Jon to stay in the office with them, Jon ignored the quiet plea.

Jon paused just inside the door of their shared office, his back still to the other men inside. He took a breath, feeling the strap of his backpack shift with the weight of that single breath. He gripped his hand around the strap still clinging to his shoulder, and with another long breath he stepped from the office. He made his way down the hallway to a bank of unoccupied cubicles, ignoring everyone around him. He dropped his backpack onto the long desk and took a seat at the table. He pulled his laptop and a pair of Skullcandy Riff Wireless 2 headphones out of the backpack, and se them both on the table in front of him.

Jon closed his eyes and sighed into both of his palms, taking several deep breaths to calm himself, and the thoughts that were now racing around in his mind.

Chapter Text

FavsRunsOnDunkin: Tommy. C’mon. Be fucking nice.
FavsRunsOnDunkin: It’s not going to kill you to be the tiniest bit civil to him.
FavsRunsOnDunkin: I know he’s hardly here, but you know why he’s hardly here. And you get it. We both get it. You can’t tell me that you wouldn’t be doing the same if Hanna wanted to stay out in D.C.. And it’s not like he’s neglecting his duties, he’s just not in the office.
FavsRunsOnDunkin: So… please. For the sake of the company. Be fucking nice.

The slate grey iPhone 14 Pro Max vibrated in a circle as another phone call came in. Favs snatched the phone and immediately sent this call to his voicemail box, before setting the phone back on the desk next to his laptop. He put the phone down screen first to further hide any notifications that might pop up. He closed his eyes and pulled in an incredibly deep breath, and brought both hands to rest on the thin keyboard connected to the tabled computer.

OGWorldo: Wow. Two personal phone calls in one day. What’s THAT about?
FavsRunsOnDunkin: He feels left out.
OGWorldo: What? Who keeps calling you?
FavsRunsOnDunkin: What? No! Lovett! Lovett feels left out of things!
OGWorldo: What!? Did he tell you that!?!
FavsRunsOnDunkin: He didn’t have to, Tommy.
FavsRunsOnDunkin: He came back from New York to do what? For work? He can do that from his own apartment, or Ronan’s office, or wherever he records from. That’s easy for him to do in another time zone. I feel like he just wanted to spend some time with us, y’know, as friends.
OGWorldo: Friends. Is that what we are? Friends?
FavsRunsOnDunkin: Yes, Tommy! We ARE friends! And you essentially jumped down his throat for no good reason at all!
OGWorldo: Jumped down his throat?
OGWorldo: Hang on, Favreau. I did not jump down his throat.
OGWorldo: I am just as upset as he did. He shows up unannounced and expects us to roll out the red carpet? He barely sends me a fucking text just to say hi, but I guess because Lovett is here so seldom, I’m not allowed to be upset.
FavsRunsOnDunkin: Did I say that? Nobody said that, Tommy. Of course you’re allowed to be upset. But you didn’t say anything about being upset. You just launched into something about him gracing us with his presence rather than, I don’t know, using your adult words.
OGWorldo: Look, if I have to keep using “adult words” around him like he’s a child, then there is definitely a bigger problem than a handful of hurt feelings.
OGWorldo: Wait.
OGWorldo: Okay, I promise all of that made sense in my head.
OGWorldo: But seriously, Favs. We do have a problem with him, and I am really getting tired of ignoring that particular elephant in the room.

The iPhone on Favs’ desk vibrated once more, a quick double vibration that let him know who sent the message without Favs having to look at the notification. He reached nervously for the phone and let his eyes read just the preview of the message. His eyes widened, and Favs could feel all of the color drain from his skin. He perceived the temperature change in the room, and momentarily wondered if this quick chill was real, or something that he was simply imagining.

OGWorldo: You okay? You look pale.
OGWorldo: Well… more pale than usual.
OGWorldo: We both know it’s weird if you get more than a Twitter notification on either or your phone or your laptop, so.
OGWorldo: What’s up? What’s going on?
FavsRunsOnDunkin: That was Rhody. On the phone.
OGWorldo: Rhody? He actually called? What for!?
FavsRunsOnDunkin: He heard something out of Washington that… apparently I needed to hear. That we all needed to hear.
OGWorldo: Then tell me! What was he on about? Please tell me he didn’t make some beer that he’s been brewing on his kitchen counter a national security, because that isn’t news.
FavsRunsOnDunkin: No, that… that’s not it, Tommy.

The longer he waited, the longer he let the thought fester and churn in his own mind; the more he was allowed to cogitate on it all by himself. It was quite the opposite; it did not just affect him, but affected nearly everyone around him.

Up to and including Jonathan Lovett.

Favs closed his eyes and held his breath. In that instant a scene behind his eyelids, one that could easily be the opening act of some nightmare-inducing independent film. He closed his eyes tighter and shook his head.

FavsRunsOnDunkin: Rhody’s heard some things.
OGWorldo: Rhody always hears some things. It’s been his job since forever. That’s one of the perks!
FavsRunsOnDunkin: Tommy, I’m serious.

Favs took another deep breath. He paused, and reached for his sticker-clad 32-ounce Hydro Flask, and took a long drink of the ice cold water inside. His mouth was dry, as if he had actually been speaking rather than texting the conversation via a direct message thread in Slack.

FavsRunsOnDunkin: This wasn’t even an official channel he was monitoring. It was some… right-wing message board where all of those crazies get together and share their ideas?
OGWorldo: You mean Reddit? Or, no. Wait. It’s 4chan. You’re talking about 4chan, right?
FavsRunsOnDunkin: Yeah, sure. Something like that. I feel like it might be something a little more underground than that, but yeah. Yeah, something like that.

From across the room, Favs heard a little chuckle. He looked up to see Tommy staring at him with a little smile on his face. Tommy sat back in his desk chair, arms folded across his chest and shook his head.

FavsRunsOnDunkin: You laugh. But you’ve seen those bits on The Daily Show. These conservative Tangerine Dreamers are still at it. Hell, I don’t know if they’re ever going to stop.
FavsRunsOnDunkin: And if what Rhody told me is true? This is only the beginning.

“You’re being paranoid,” Tommy said aloud to Favs. But Favs was still not speaking aloud; giving the thoughts volume meant that they now had life. And Favs did not want to be personally responsible for that.

FavsRunsOnDunkin: They’re putting together a list.
OGWorldo: A… list?
FavsRunsOnDunkin: A list.
OGWorldo: You’re not going to elaborate on that? Or are we just going to play twenty questions?
FavsRunsOnDunkin: Apparently it lives under the heading “enemies”, but from what Rhody was telling me, it’s essentially the “first to die when the revolution takes place” list.
Tommy laughed before responding to Favs’ message.

OGWorldo: Whatever you two are smoking, you need to share. Seriously.
OGWorldo: A first to die when the revolution takes place list? What revolution are you talking about!?
FavsRunsOnDunkin: You’re messing with me right now.
FavsRunsOnDunkin:Tommy. Do you actually read the crazy stories we send you?
OGWorldo: I tend to ignore most of the emails that come down the pipeline around here if I’m being honest with you.

Both Favs and Tommy could hear each other roll their eyes at both of their comments.

FavsRunsOnDunkin: The alt-right has their own social network.
OGWorldo: Yeah, it’s Patriot. Or CircleJerk. Something like that, yeah?
FavsRunsOnDunkin: Patriot. What started out as some by invitation only Facebook group has turned into something far more complicated. There’s an app for it now and everything.
OGWorldo: We should get someone on there to monitor all of the insanity lol
FavsRunsOnDunkin: It’s not funny, Tommy! None of this is funny! We could all be in deep shit if even an inkling of what Rhody is saying is true!
OGWorldo: Okay, okay. Calm down, Favreau.
OGWorldo: I was only partially kidding about getting someone in there. We should hire a mole, someone to do some research without being outed as being essentially a spy.
OGWorldo: I would say that we could ask Ronan, but even those alt-right douchebags know who Ronan is, mainly because all of their heroes are being outed as deviants by the guy.

The conversations paused for just a moment, and in that moment Favs believed that it was either over, or they would pick it up and resume it later. But after a few minutes another chime sounded, as another private message arrived from Tommy.

OGWorldo: Or… y’know, I could just do it.
FavsRunsOnDunkin: Excuse me? You could do what now? Go “undercover” as some dude named Colton from Alaska who has 50-gallon drums of grain and beans in his basement, just waiting for the grid to fail.
OGWorldo: LOL just waiting for what, Favs?
OGWorldo: Keep talking, I’m taking notes.
FavsRunsOnDunkin: You’re taking notes?
OGWorldo: Yes, you moron!
OGWorldo: I’m going to craft a persona for this Patriot nonsense.
FavsRunsOnDunkin: Oh you most certainly will not.
OGWorldo: Why not? It’s the Internet!
OGWorldo: You can be whoever you want on the Internet, Favs. It’s a scientific fact.

After several long minutes of silence, Favs sighed and pushed him back from his desk. His vision blurred, strained from focuing so intensely on the screen in front of him. He folded his arms across his chest and let out an incredibly sharp breath.

OGWorldo: We can make it into a whole new podcast.

Favs glanced down at the screen of his tablet laptop, and had to read the message twice. A faint smile tugged at one corner of Favs’ mouth.

FavsRunsOnDunkin: A new podcast. Based on… what, on conversations that you the weirdo prepper from Alaska has with the rest of the conservative right?
OGWorldo: Like what’s his nuts from The Daily Show, only with less actual face time.

Another pause in the conversation, before Favs cleared his throat and stood from his desk. He cleared his throat once more before finally speaking. “If we’re going to propose a new podcast?” Favs walked around to the front of his desk, arms folded again across his chest. “We have to talk to Lovett about it.”

“Fine!” Tommy said through a grin.

Favs glared at Tommy, eyes narrowed in genuine surprise. “You-“ Favs was barely able to get another word out before Tommy leapt up from his own desk and ran to pull open the office door.

Chapter Text

Jon sat at one of the round tables surrounded by four or five chairs that you would buy in bulk Target around the time that college kids were moving back into the dorms. He had his headphones on, and was silently debating the steam coming off of the microwaved cup of shrimp-flavored ramen in front of him. Nothing was playing through the headphones at the moment, but it was an unwritten rule — Jon wanted it written into the company’s bylaws, but was ultimately vetoed — that when Jon had headphones on he did not want to be disturbed. For any reason. Even when he was not listening to anything but the silent humming brought to him by the noise cancelling headphone technology. Jon kept those headphones on to avoid talking to anyone else.

The silence brought to him by the Skullcandy headphones was broken by the sound of Favs clearing his throat. Both he and Tommy took a seat at the table with Jon without being invited to do so. Jon closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Without saying a thing he took his headphones off and folded them up on the table beside the microwaved cup of noodles.

“Hi,” Favs said to break the silence.

“Hello,” Jon returned.

It was Tommy’s turn to speak. He cleared his throat gently. “I’m sorry,” he was finally able to say. “I’ve been kind of a dick to you recently, and it’s for no good reason.”

Jon raised a curious eyebrow. “Are you sure it’s for no good reason?” he asked in return. He folded his hands around the hot Styrofoam cup of noodles. “That you’re being a dick for? Any… reason in particular, or is this just a phase that you’re going through.”

Favs sighed. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, hoping that this conversation would go in another direction and soon, otherwise he was going to have to firebomb the entire block to get them to stop.

Where Favs expected some kind of angry blow back, Tommy just let out a gentle laugh. “No,” he said in return. He shrugged his shoulders. “No, there… there’s really no reason for me to be being such a jerk, especially to you.” He cleared his throat again. “And I… I’m sorry.”

Jon raised his eyebrows in bona fide surprise. He turned to Tommy and laughed once. “You… just…” With a little chuckle Jon shook his head. “You know what?” Jon paused long enough to take a deep breath, and felt a wide smile creep across his face. “Apology accepted.”

“Good!” Favs said rather cheerily. He clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “Good. We’re all friends again.”

“Friends.”

“Again.”

Jon and Tommy stared over at one another, and after a long moment they both laughed once. “What are you, six?” Jon asked softly. He closed his eyes and shook his head once. “Anyway.” He paused to clear his throat. “Something tells me that you two are up to something.”

“Us?” Tommy pressed a hand to his chest and sat back in his chair. “Up to something? Why would you think that?”

“Because that’s how you are!” Jon said with a playful laugh. “Because I’ve met you two, and I know that shenanigans are sometimes… most of the time, that’s how you two play the game.” The little smile pulled at one corner of Jon’s mouth. “Now I have to ask… what’s the game you’re playing.”

Favs and Tommy shared a little glance, before Favs gave Tommy a little nudge.

Tommy sighed and rolled his eyes. “Fine. Okay. I’ll-“ Tommy could not help but let out the faintest laugh. “So, I was kind of thinking… we should start a new podcast.”

Jon’s laugh matched Tommy’s. “A new podcast?” he questioned in response. He turned to Favs to see if Tommy was speaking truthfully, When he saw Favs shrug, Jon’s curiosity was further piqued. “And… what would this new podcast entail?”

Favs and Tommy shared another look before Tommy cleared his throat. Tommy scooted his chair a touch closer to the circular table. “I don’t… even know how we got to this topic,” Tommy began.

“No, same. I have no idea how we arrived at this conclusion,” Favs responded with a modest shrug of his shoulders. “But… we did, and young Thomas thinks-“

“Young Thomas,” Jon commented, interrupting the rather weak stream of consciousness that Favs was in the middle of. “When cleared he is the old man of the group.”

Tommy paused. He groaned and rolled his eyes. “Are you done?” he asked, the words and tone pointed in Jon’s direction.

Jon sighed dramatically. He sunk back into the plastic and metal-framed chair and nodded once. “Okay, okay. I promise I’ll behave,” Jon said in response. “Please continue with your idea.”

Tommy nodded his head in a silent thank you before proceeding. “So, as Favs was telling me-“ Out of the corner of his eye, Tommy noticed that Favs was fidgeting. Tommy had an idea as to why, but the last thing he wanted in that moment was to change the subject. He really did have what he thought was a good idea, and he wanted to get it all out in the open before either he or Favs lost their nerve.

Tommy cleared his throat again. He opened his mouth to speak, but instantly stopped when Jon stood to shuffle across the large space and pull a bottle of SmartWater out of the fridge. He handed the bottle to Tommy with a friendly smile before retaking his seat. “Seems like you’ve got something caught in your throat,” Jon said plainly.

Tommy nodded another silent thank you, and twisted the cap off of the bottle of water. He took a long drink before putting the cap back on, and setting it onto the table between his hands.

“Tommy has an idea,” Favs blurted out, as if his quick words would get their conversation back on the right track. “For… y’know, a new podcast. Tommy has an idea.”

Tommy nodded as he spoke. “I’m going to join Patriot as some guy crazy pepper from Alaska named Colton.” The ease of which Tommy made that statement sent a chill down Jon’s spine. “I think it would be interesting, you know. To really observe just how absolutely out of their mind the other half is.”

Jon sat quiet, and motionless, for several moments. “So… you basically want to steal Jordan’s thunder,” he commented, almost under his breath.

Favs slapped his hand against the table, startling both Jon and Tommy in the process. “That’s the guy!” he yelled out. “Jordan Klepper, that… that’s the guy, on The Daily Show. The one that goes to all of the rallies all over the country and mocks the fuck out of all of those idiots.” He chuckled softly and looked over at Tommy, before turning his attention back to Jon.

“Yeah,” Jon said with a little laugh. His soft laughter grew, and he sat straight up in his plastic and metal-framed chair. “Man, it… wow, it is odd that you mentioned him.”

Tommy narrowed his eyes at Jon. “Why… do you say that?” he asked, his voice dripping with curiosity.

Jon could feel his entire body blush deeply. The last thing Jon wanted to do, regardless of the fact that both Favs and Tommy were his good friends, and were both tolerant of his lifestyle, was to kiss and tell. Not to mention that he himself was not entirely sure just what he and Ronan, and now Jordan, were even calling their relationship. “I-“ Jon coughed, and without hesitation he reached for and snatched the bottle of SmartWater away from Tommy.

“Having a little trouble?” Tommy teased.

Jon chugged the rest of the water in the bottle. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, followed by the softest laugh. “I just… it’s funny that you mention Jordan Klepper because… I, I met the guy at a bar a few nights ago.” Jon spoke so matter of factly that it seemed to be the end of his contribution to the conversation.

But Favs, himself tragically unable to read a room though he was judgmental of those who could not do the same, smiled at Jon. “Did you?” he asked, gently urging his friend to continue.

Jon smiled and nodded, and felt himself sigh and roll his eyes. “And we… we hit it off,” he replied. He rested both hands on the table in front of him and shrugged his shoulders. “And… y’know one thing let to another, one drink turned into a handful of them, and he… he ended up coming back to my place.”

Both Favs and Tommy gasped, as if what Jon was saying was the most scandalous thing they could ever imagine. Tommy and Favs were the straightest, most monogamous people that Jon had ever encountered. That was the life, and the lifestyle, that they and their wives often promoted, and though they were very aware of the fact that Jon was openly homosexual, it was not something that these particular friends advertised about him. They loved and respected him, but whether or not they appreciated him, there were certainly facets of his life that they truly did not understand.

Now Jon was going to have to explain a new aspect of his Ronan’s life together, and he was almost positive that neither Tommy nor Favs would truly understand. Or, even understand at all.

“He-“ The words choked off; neither Favs nor Tommy really knew how to proceed with their line of questioning. Favs did not want to seem critical of Jon’s choices, but at the same time he wanted to make sure that Jon was able to handle whatever it is that he was getting himself into.

If Favs only knew what Jon was getting himself into.

Tommy, on the other hand, did everything that was in his power to keep his lips tightly shut. Jon knew just how overcritical Tommy could be, and knew that the more he said the harder it would be for him to keep his mouth shut.

“So, you-“ Favs started and instantly stopped himself with one hand cupped over his mouth. Without moving his head, he shifted his eyes to look around himself. He was suddenly nervous about where this conversation was going, and who might have been listening. “Did you-“

The faintest smile pulled at one corner of Jon’s mouth. “Have unbelievable, mind-blowing sex with him?” Jon asked, interrupting Favs’ train of thought. Jon laughed softly, watching every drop of color drain completely from Favs’ skin, which only made Jon laugh louder. He cupped a hand over his mouth and leaned back in his plastic and metal-framed chair sinking down until both feet were flat on the floor.

With a heavy sigh, Tommy closed his eyes and shook his head. “Oh I’m so glad you think that’s funny,” he commented, almost under his breath, as if he were ashamed of making the comment in the first place.

Jon continued laughing for several moments, before finally having to stop to catch his breath. He rested one hand on his shaking middle, the other up to wipe a tear from his obnoxious laughter from his eye. “I… I’m sorry. You know what? I’m sorry. You’re right.” Jon cleared his throat, removing the remaining laughter from his tone. “It’s not funny. But Favs’ reaction-“

“What about-“ Favs cupped both hands over his mouth, his voice far too loud for the rather little space they were sharing. “What about you and Ronan!” he hissed through gritted teeth.

Jon’s eyes widened and he shook his head slowly. “What… about me and Ronan?” he asked in return. He shifted to Tommy, who simply shrugged his shoulders in return. His interest in Jon and Ronan’s relationship was minimal, when it was going well.

“Are you two… okay?” Tommy asked in response. “Are we… going to have to…”

Jon shook his head very gently. “No,” Jon returned with a faint snicker. “Though, I…” He pressed a hand to the middle of his chest. “I cannot tell you how touched I am at the thought of you two going after Ronan for breaking my heart. But-” Jon slid both hands onto the circular table. “No, I… I think that Ronan and I are okay.”

Jon stood from the table and went back to the large refrigerator. Moments later he came back to the table with a can of Diet Coke. He saw that both Tommy and Favs were trying to speak, but the words were all jammed up behind some kind of mental emotional block.

So Jon continued.

“In fact?” Jon popped open the can and took a small sip. “Ronan was there when I was… with Jordan.” Jon tried to censor himself for the sake of the straights in the room with him. “I might even go so far as to say that Ronan… joined us.”

“What!” It was Tommy’s turn to shout, but Tommy had no intention of quieting himself. Jon cringed at the sound, and volume, of Tommy’s voice. “So you… you and Ronan both, you-“ Tommy closed his eyes and roughly pinched the bridge of his nose. “Let me just… see if I can get this in one go.” Tommy paused and drew in a long breath. “Are you and Ronan both fucking that guy?”

Jon was quiet for a long moment. He brought the can of Diet Coke to his lips, and before he drank he nodded once. “Ain’t that some shit?” Jon questioned softly. He took another long drink, the acid brown liquid sliding down the back of his throat. “But that isn’t what this conversation is ultimately about, is it.”

Favs and Tommy turned and glared at one another, remaining remarkably quiet as the gears in their brains all spun much too quickly.

“The podcast?” Jon interrupted the silent cogitation between his two friends.

“Oh right!” The… the podcast,” Favs continued with a slight nod.

“Right,” Tommy croaked slowly. “The podcast. With… with Patriot. I was thinking of creating an online persona that I could go on the network and spy.” Favs nodded, and both he and Tommy turned to one another and continued nodding.

“Right,” Jon nodded. “Well, I… I tell you what. You’re not nearly as hot as Jordan is, but… if you think our fanbase is interested in hearing about how you infiltrated the other side and came out smelling like lavender?” Jon cracked a genuine smile. “I say go for it.” Without saying another word, Jon stood from the table with his Diet Coke in hand. “I don’t know why you thought you needed it, but-“ He took the last drink from the can and tossed the empty can the empty can across the room, into the recycle bin filled with can and bottles. “You have it.”

Jon picked up the rest of his things, and, in anticipation of the cease fire, went back to his desk in the shared office.

“Well.” Favs smacked his lips. “That’s that. Looks like Colton from Alaska is going undercover.” He reached over and gently cupped a hand over Tommy’s, in a strangely intimate gesture. “Just… promise me that you won’t fall in, okay?”

Tommy chuckled, and raised his hand as if he were taking an oath. “I promise.”

Chapter Text

143 Commercial St.
Provincetown, Massachusetts

Jordan was the kind of boyfriend who always gave you a ride either to or from the airport, regardless of the mode of transportation. Though Jon said it was wholly unnecessary, it was easy for Jordan to hire a needlessly luxurious car for the ride out to JFK’s Terminal 5, where the nonstop JetBlue flight out to Los Angeles would depart from. Jordan wanted to make sure that Jon would be seen off in style, rather than just dumped out of the back of an aging Prius with cracked leather seats, and a driver who was more focused on how long it was going to take to get back over the bridge back into Manhattan.

And in the unnecessarily luxurious car, Jordan and Jon were allowed just a bit of privacy. They both took full advantage of that privacy, working themselves into a light frenzy, with hands in places that the average passerby would not be able to detect.

When the car pulled up alongside the uncovered sidewalk, Jordan climbed out of the car alongside Jon. Jon shot Jordan a sweet look, and wondered aloud whether or not Jordan was coming with him. But Jordan simply handed Jon the backpack containing his laptop and everything else that he was not prepared to stow in the cargo hold.

“So.” Jon smacked his lips and let out the faintest chuckle. Jordan’s own little laughter matched Jon’s, and for a quick moment neither knew where the next words would be coming from. Before either could open their mouth, Jon reached for Jordan’s hand and laced their fingers together. “Is it… too soon to say that-”

“I’ll miss you?” Jordan interrupted. The smile on his face was so sweet, so sincere, that Jon felt he might explode simply from happiness. He closed his eyes and shook his head only once. “Nah. I mean… well… maybe. But at the same time? Who gives a shit.” Jordan nodded firmly. “I’m… ecstatic to actually have somebody to miss, and who misses me just as much in return. And I am not going to let that feeling go for any reason whatsoever.”

“That’s fair,” Jon spoke softly. “I’m just-“ He paused and let out an incredibly long, but incredibly sweet breath. “I’m happy. I’m happy that you’re happy, because I’m just as happy.” He squeezed Jordan’s hand and stood on his toes to slid both arms around the back of Jordan’s neck. “Every morning I wake up, and I see you laying there with your floppy hair on the pillow, and I just… giggle. I am in a state of constant giddiness that…” He paused to take a breath, but the breath came out as a sigh. “A-anyway. What’re your plans for when I’m gone? I hope it involves sitting in a dark room listening to something sad and mopey.”

Jordan knew what Jon was going to say. Jordan knew that Jon and Ronan were in actual love, but that a certain spark had gone missing from their relationship. And Jordan knew that he truly was the key to bringing it all back.

“Oh.” Jordan drew the monosyllabic word slowly, popping his lips at the end. “I had a few ideas, but I think I’ve finally decided on bringing Ronan to the beach.”

Jon paused in his response, letting the automated security announcement playing over the public address system finish before continuing. “The beach?” he asked in return. Jordan raised both eyebrows and nodded prompting a soft laugh from Jon. “I just… you don’t know Ronan that well, do you.”

Jordan smirked and shrugged his shoulders so slightly. “Well… no,” he replied, his words soaked in honesty. “But I would kind of like to get to get to know him a little better, if-“ He paused to clear his throat, dislodging the lump that quickly grew there. “I know I’m the novice at this whole relationship thing, but I think if it’s going to work out we should all know something about each other.” Jon smiled and distractedly licked his lips, amused by just how sincere Jordan appeared to be. “And you two have this…”

Before Jordan could continued, Jon hopped up onto his toes and threw both arms around the back of Jordan’s neck. He grinned, stealing several kisses. Jordan wound both arms around Jon and hugged him close. “You’ll be fine,” Jordan whispered, his lips brushing against Jordan’s ear as he spoke. “You’re a sweetheart, and Ronan… once you get him away from his work, he’s kind of a sweetheart, too.” Jon settled back on his flat feet, and slid one hand to rest against the middle of Jordan’s chest. “I would say be patient with him, but he… may need a little poking and prodding, and I’m afraid that’s going to be up to you.”

Jordan laughed silently and rolled his head bak. “Okay, okay,” he said with a soft sigh. “Listen. Don’t let the Massachusetts bro-tatoes give you any shit, okay?”

Jon exhaled sharply and rolled his eyes. “Never,” he responded. Jon’s body seemed to shake, and in that moment he turned on the balls of his feet, and with a nod he picked up his bag and slipped into the airport terminal.

Jordan closed his eyes and let out a long sigh. He truly did dislike having to watch Jon leave him for any reason. If he were being honest with himself, Jordan was a little worried about being alone with Ronan. Of course, Jordan did not really even have to be alone with Ronan if he did not want to if he did not want to, but Jordan really did want to. He figured that he should spend time with Ronan alone, to get to know the third member of what he was calling their polycule.

Jordan smiled, and with a firm little nod he climbed back into the unnecessarily luxurious vehicle that brought them both to that rather sad airport terminal. Jordan sat in the backseat for several moments, as the driver naviaged away from the terminal, toward the highway the led back to Manhattan.

“Are we heading back to that apartment building?” the driver asked, as he lowered the privacy partition.

Jordan thought on that question for a long moment before shaking his head. “Nah, let-“ He quickly pulled his phone from his back pocket and did a swift Google search, not knowing the address off the top of his head. “Actually, let’s head down to One World Trade.” The driver paused for half a second and then nodded, and when the traffic heading back over the Whitestone Bridge came to a halt, the driver punched the address into the luxury car’s in-dashboard navigation system.

Jordan’s small smile turned to a wide grin, and he looked out the window at the city’s skyline, growing as the hired car inched along with the line of traffic heading back into Manhattan. “I have to go pick up my other boyfriend first,” Jordan commented, just loud enough for the driver to hear through the lowered privacy divider.

It was a nearly six-hour drive from the penthouse in midtown Manhattan out to the far end of Cape Cod on that Friday afternoon, but neither Jordan nor Ronan seemed to mind. At least, out loud to one another. Jon’s midnight silver Tesla Model S had been charging for most of the day, and had a relatively full battery when Jordan and Ronan tossed their overnight bags into the trunk and set a course for the beach. Jordan did not even mind that Ronan had a little work to finish up on the ride.

Jordan pulled the Tesla Model S off the Connecticut Turnpike and into the Madison Service Plaza on the northbound side of the road. Jordan navigated through the parking lot back to the bank of Tesla Superchargers which were largely being unused at that particular moment in time. Though the car did not need much of a recharge, Jordan silently decreed that he himself did. After they each got a coffee and something to snack on from the Dunkin’, they sat in an awkward silence on the curb next to their charging Tesla, both out enjoying the last of the early evening.

Why Jordan was so nervous about this trip, he would never be able to explain to anyone who did not live inside his own mind, with his own thoughts rattling around. The relationship between himself and Jon was a natural one; it happened spontaneously, almost as if whoever was in charge of that sort of thing in the universe wanted them to be together. But his and Ronan’s relationship would always be a little different. After all, Jordan was the third wheel; the glorious third wheel who both Jon and Ronan adored. But Jordan could feel a sense of both nervousness and awkwardness when it came to him and Ronan. And it was the last thing that he wanted. The last thing that would make this whole thing between the three of them work.

And Jordan wanted, needed, it all to work out.

Jordan navigated the Tesla back onto the highway and quickly got the sedan up to speed. He glanced over and saw Ronan rubbing both hands against his knees, and silently wondered when Ronan stopped working. Ronan closed his eyes and let out a long sigh. “I… I’m sorry,” he said softly.

Jordan took his eyes off the road for only a moment, to acknowledge Ronan’s soft apology. A very small tugged at one corner of his mouth, but the little smile was extremely short lived. “Okay, but… why?” Jordan questioned in response, though immediately regretted the question.

Ronan shrugged his shoulders imperceptibly. He folded his hands in his lap and picked at the cuticle of one thumb with the nail of the other. “I don’t know,” he replied, his words soaked in honesty. He looked up from his thumbs and back over to Jordan. “I don’t… really know what’s going on right now, if… if we’re being honest with one another.”

Jordan nodded simply. “Which I think we should be,” he returned.

Ronan mouthed a silent response. He let out a long breath, and shifted uncomfortably in his bucket seat. “You… you really like Jon, don’t you?” he questioned out loud. He looked over at Jordan and could see a bright smile beaming from his face. This smile was really all that Ronan needed as an answer. “Of… of course you do. I mean, everyone does.” He let out another sigh. “And… and me? What about me? Do… do you like me?”

Jordan both felt his entire body blush, and all of the blood draining from his skin simultaneously. He went cold from head to toe, and had to shake his head to avoid becoming too dizzy to see anything. “What!” Jordan shouted in return, startling Ronan in the process. “Are… are you being serious right now? You can’t be serious.” But when Jordan met Ronan’s gaze, he saw an intense seriousness staring back at him. “You… are being serious.”

“I’m usually being serious,” Ronan replied softly. “It… I mean, I’ve been told that it can be a problem.”

“It’s not a problem,” Jordan returned. When Ronan turned to him, Jordan shook his head. “It’s not! I… I don’t know who is telling you that, but they ultimately need to keep their mouth shut.” He shrugged his shoulders, as if everything he said not only made perfect sense, but was absolute fact. Jordan saw the soft smile on Ronan’s face, and felt a touch proud of himself.

“Unless it’s Jon telling me that,” Ronan commented, all but under his breath. “Because he… he has, from time to time, mentioned that I am… a touch too serious. From time to time.”

“Right,” Jordan said slowly, nodding as he drew the single word out. “Which-“ Jordan drummed all of his fingers around the steering wheel and sucked in a sharp breath. “I guess that makes sense, because he isn’t always as serious as you in the grand scheme of things. And me? Well.” Jordan chuckled once. “I’m… essentially an improv comic.”

Ronan shrugged his shoulders again. “Maybe,” he started. “But I absolutely think we need that… and you… in our lives.” Ronan gingerly reached over to take one of Jordan’s hands, which Jordan offered willingly.

And Ronan held Jordan’s hand for the rest of the trip to Provincetown.

The one-bedroom waterfront condo in Provincetown’s historic West End appeared to be rather old from the outside. The neighborhood itself was quaint to say the very least, and held its own old world charm. The condo was covered by worn grey shakes, sunbleached and battered by the salty spray that blew in off of Provincetown Harbor, and from behind across the land by salty spray coming off the Atlantic Ocean. When Jordan reserved this particular condo, he made arrangement to have the keys waiting for them in the mailbox hanging on the railing that lined the small deck facing the water.

Ronan grabbed the small overnight bags from the Tesla’s trunk, and from where they parked in the one on-street parking space adjacent to the waterfront condo, Jordan all but ran to find the keys to the front door. Ronan closed the trunk, and with his eyes fixed on the water just beyond the front yard, he let out a long sigh.

Suddenly his own nervousness matched Jordan’s. What if they got to talking, to really talking, and came to learn that they had little if anything in common? Their mutual adoration of Jon was apparent, but would that be enough?

“Ronan?” Jordan’s face appeared in one of the back windows, that looked in on the combination kitchen and dining area. He smiled sweetly, and made a nodding gesture, silently urging Ronan to join him inside.

“Nice,” Ronan said with a little nod. He dropped his laptop bag just inside the front door, and smiled at the sigh of Jordan holding a leather-bound book with something written in Swedish on the cover. “What-“

“A guestbook!” Jordan exclaimed happily. He closed the book and set it back on the table where he found it. “We should definitely write them a novel in this book. A nice long note…” As he spoke, Jordan slowly walked over to where Ronan stood, and lazily draped both arms around the back of Ronan’s neck. “After we fuck on every surface of this adorable little cottage.”

Ronan’s cheeks blushed a dark crimson. The nervous laugh that came from his body sounded beyond anxious. As a reaction, Ronan brought a hand up to rest against Jordan’s chest, ready to shove him away at a moment’s notice. Ronan laughed again, and felt himself turning away from Jordan without physically pulling away. “Is… is that what this weekend is?” he finally asled, using all of his strength to keep his voice from breaking.

Jordan caught Ronan’s nervousness with ease. He let out a single laugh of his own and nearly released Ronan, shifting to cup both hands over Ronan’s shoulders. “Well… n-no,” Jordan answered sincerely. “No, this… this weekend is really about just… you and me, getting to know each other a little better.” He shrugged his shoulders and took a step back from Ronan. “I just figured, with Jon out in California, you and I should get out of town, too.”

Ronan swallowed the large lump that accumulated in the back of his throat. He sighed roughly. “Man oh man,” he started to say. “I… I am really just stepping in it all over the place, aren’t I.” Jordan smiled coolly, and foced himself to shake his head; a completely opposite reaction to the thoughts that were racing in his mind. “Can we… start this whole thing over again? Clean slate and all of that?”

Jordan cleared his throat and raised one finger. “On one condition,” he began. “You can’t check your email until we leave. And just to keep you honest-“ Jordan paused, and felt the softest blush fill his cheeks. “I sort of anticipated this, so when I booked the condo I requested that the owners disable the Internet for the duration of our stay.”

Ronan felt the air leave his lungs, as if someone had just kicked him in the gut. “N-no… no Internet?” Ronan gulped again, and held a hand against his chest. “How… how will we even!?”

Jordan sighed, and rolled his eyes in a truly mellowdramatic fashion. “I think we’ll get by,” he replied with a slight nod. He carded his fingers back through his hair and turned on the balls of his feet, and head back through the condo to the single bedroom, tugging both of the overnight bags with him as he went. Ronan exhaled sharply, and laced his fingers together in a web behind the back of his head. “You know.” Jordan cleared his throat and leaned back so that his voice was more easily heard outside of the bedroom. “You could put your anguish and everything to good use and see if you can find us something for dinner.”

Ronan chuckled once. “And how am I supposed to do that if we have no Internet access?” he questioned in return.

Jordan remained quiet for only a moment. Clapping his hands, as if to knock away any dirt that came from unpacking the two simple overnight bags, he made his way into the modern living room and took a seat on the couch. He looked over to Ronan, and before he could say another word Ronan had his phone in hand, his thumbs sweeping across the screen in earnest. Jordan smirked. “See?” he questioned in response. “I think you’ve got this all figured out, don’t you.”

“I like to think underneath it all I’m actually pretty smart,” Ronan replied, a little snap to his voice as he spoke. “But just between us girls I’m just looking for a place that might deliver so that we don’t have to venture out into town.”

Jordan frowned but nodded in understanding. He leaned forward and slid his phone onto the wooden coffee table. When Jordan sat back he crossed one leg over the other at the knee, and tossed one arm along the back of the couch alongside him. Ronan, still staring down at his phone, came to sit on the stubby couch next to Jordan. Ronan was so focused on the task of finding a suitable dinner option for them, he barely noticed that Jordan had slipped that arm around his shoulders.

A gentle smile played across Ronan’s face, as Jordan leaned over and brushed a soft kiss to the curve of his jaw. Ronan barely reacted to the kiss, prompting Jordan to give just a touch more. Jordan twisted around, pulling himself closer to Ronan. He laughed under his breath and gently, teasingly, ran the top of his nose along the shell of Ronan’s ear. “Any luck?” he whispered, trying to sound as seductive as he could manage.

“Any…” Ronan responded. His train of thought was immediately derailed by the feel of Jordan’s playful nuzzling. “I found this… well a, a couple of really cute restaurants in town proper, but if-“ As Ronan spote, Jordan closed whatever distance existed on that narrow couch between them. He tightened his arm around Ronan’s shoulder, and slipped his free hand onto Ronan’s knee.

“Quickly,” Jordan purred. He nipped at Ronan’s earlobe and let out another sweet chuckle. “Before I…” He imperceptibly moved his hand up along Ronan’s thigh. “Automatically decide that you… are what’s on the menu tonight.”

Ronan whimpered softly. “No, please. I’m begging you, don’t… don’t eat me,” he whispered. He sat relatively still, allowing Jordan’s hand to inch its way further up his thigh. Ronan was careful not to twist his body into Jordan’s touch, not just yet. “You can do… whatever you want to do to and with me, but please don’t eat me.”

Another little laugh caught in the back of Jordan’s throat. “Not even… recreationally?” he asked, his voice a touch lower than before.

“Recreationally?” Ronan laughed sweetly in return. His laughter softly trailed off, becoming an almost silent moan. He closed his eyes and bit his bottom lip, another moan escaping from the back of his throat. “If that… means what I think it means…”

Jordan moved his hand to rest on Ronan’s abdomen, and with a little chuckle he whispered against Ronan’s ear. “What it really means is that I would love to get you on all fours and eat you out,” he said with a single nod. “Just… finger you, maybe fuck you with my tongue.”

Ronan closed his eyes and bit his bottom lip harder, an incredibly rough moan coming from his chest. “M-maybe,” he whimpered. With his eyes still closed he finally leaned into Jordan’s touch. “Maybe you can do… a-all of that. Maybe-“ Ronan gasped when Jordan pulled Ronan up into his lap, slipping both knees down to the couch, effectively straddling Jordan’s hips. He gripped both hands over the cushions in the back of the couch, and with a gasped moan Ronan rolled his body down against Jordan’s, grinding roughly against him.

“Fuck,” Jordan whimpered, sliding both hands onto Ronan’s hips. One hand remained on Ronan’s hip, the other around the back of his neck. Jordan growled and pulled Ronan down for a rough kiss, moaning wordlessly against Ronan’s lips.

“What… what about dinner?” Ronan growled against Jordan’s mouth.

Jordan held himself perfectly still, and sighed deeply against Ronan’s lips. “We are going to need to eat, aren’t we.”

Ronan nodded before Jordan could say anyting else. “Which… really kind of sucks because I… I really don’t want to move,” Ronan announced. He curled his hands around the back of Jordan’s neck. He closed his eyes and with a heavy sigh he rested his forehead against Jordan’s. “I just… want to stay right here with you.”

Jordan’s eyes shot open and he gasped. Ronan’s soft comment made his entire body warm with happiness. “Really?” he whispered, before stealing a series of quick little kisses.

Ronan exhaled softly. His body reacted in such a way, it was as if a huge weight was lifted from his shoulders. Ronan’s own words put him at ease. “I mean-“ As Ronan spoke, he delicately slid out of Jordan’s lap, and twisted himself around to sit with his head against Jordan’s thigh. He let his legs drape over the arm of the couch, and with two soft thuds he kicked his worn running sneakers to the floor. “Can… can I be honest with you?”

“Always.” Jordan stroked his fingers slowly through Ronan’s hair, and he smiled down at Ronan.

Ronan drew in a deep breath and held it for a long moment. “When I saw you show up at the office today, I… I really didn’t know what to expect.” Ronan pulled out his phone and let it rest on his chest. He folded his hands over the phone and let out a quiet sigh. “I was just… glad, really glad, that you weren’t going to tell me that… you wanted to end things.”

Jordan frowned at the mere thought. “Why-“ He immediately stopped that train of thought. He knew that he could very easily be opening a fresh wound with this particular stream of consciousness, but remembered what he told both Jon and Ronan; he wanted to get to know them both, warts and all. “You two have… probably been through some stuff with… with other guys, haven’t you.”

Ronan thought on his answer before he shook his head against Jordan’s thigh. “See, that’s the thing.” Ronan pressed his head back into Jordan’s thigh, and was able to look back up at him. “We… haven’t, really. Jon and I haven’t… I mean, we’ve had fun with others in our relationship, but we’ve never… wanted someone like we want you with us. Ever. We’ve never been in… complete agreement about someone the wat we are when it comes to you.”

Jordan smiled with his entire body. He tried to speak, but felt himself stumble over every word. This was not the first time that Ronan had said just that to him; Jon had mentioned to him as well. Jordan teased Jon the first time they met that he was going to have to do something to make him feel special. But Jordan never expected to become the object of not one man’s, but two men’s desires.

“Then it’s settled,” Jordan announced to the modern living room, but mostly to himself. “We’re officially a threesome.”

Ronan and Jordan were both quiet for a brief moment, before each let out very loud laughter. “W-wait,” Ronan started. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, still very much laughing in the process. “I… I’m pretty sure there’s another term for what we’re doing here, and that… that’s not it.”

Jordan shrugged his shoulders, and his own laughter continued softly. “Polycule,” Jordan responded quickly. “That… that’s the term that keeps coming to my mind when I think about you and Jon.” Jordan cleared his throat softly. “And… trust me, I… I think about…” Jordan’s gaze drifted down to Ronan, and his words stopped. He closed his eyes and sighed softly, watching Ronan reach for the phone that still lay on his chest. Jordan remained quiet for just a beat, and craned his neck so he could make out just what Ronan was looking at on his screen; the menu for the local sandwich shop that was at the end of the block where the rented condo stood.

Ronan paused and twisted to look up, seeing Jordan watching him play with his phone. A gentle blush filled Ronan’s cheeks, and he cleared his throat softly. “I, uh… I was just going to… order some sandwiches,” he replied honestly. “I figured, even if we didn’t eat them tonight, we could stash them in the fridge for tomorrow.”

A little smile pulled at both corners of Jordan’s mouth. He let out the faintest whimper, and stroked his fingers back through Ronan’s hair. “And, um… did you have other plans in place? In the event that we aren’t eating these sandwiches?” he asked quietly.

The blush in Ronan’s cheeks darkened. “Well, I… I mean there…” He closed his eyes and sighed. In one fluid motion, Ronan contorted his body around so that he sat again, upright, beside Jordan on the couch. “Why am I so nervous all of a sudden?” Ronan’s question made Jordan think, mainly back to the ride up from the penthouse in midtown Manhattan, to just how nervous he himself felt almost the entire time.

Jordan took a breath, and when he let it out he pushed his shoulders up to his ears. “Can I confess something to you?” he asked of Ronan, but did not wait for Ronan to give him an answer before he continued. “I’ve been… just as nervous this whole time. Because the idea of you and I together, it… it kind of scares me. Not in a bad way! Just… in a way that makes me fidget, and forget essentially every single word I’ve ever used.” Ronan could not help but laugh at that, knowing full well that it was the same reaction that he himself was having to be alone with Jordan.

It again put both Jordan and Ronan further at ease with one another.

Ronan closed his eyes and let out a sharp breath. He opened his eyes, and with a smile he looked over at Jordan. Ronan clucked his tongue and felt the smile sweep wider across his face. He shook his head and stood from the couch, and with the faintest laugh Ronan strode to the front door and disappeared through it.

Jordan stared at the closed door curiously. He pushed himself gradually up from the couch, and with his eyes narrowed he folded his arms tightly across his chest. “Did he just… leave?” Jordan asked aloud, to absolutely nothing or no one in particular. He was now alone in the quaint little waterfront condo, standing in place and left to wonder what just happened. He shuffled across the modern living room to the door that Ronan just walked through, and pulled one of the venetian blinds aside to get a better look out on the street. He was a bit surprised to see Ronan walking away from the condo, still staring down at the screen of his phone.

Jordan closed his eyes and pulled in an incredibly deep breath. He laced his fingers together and cupped the back of his head. What had he said to make Ronan run away without saying a word, and without taking any of his things with him? And why would Ronan have left without at least grabbing the keys to his boyfriend’s Tesla? It was not as if Jordan really had a claim to anything aside from the four walls that he was now standing inside of. Jordan had simply borrowed the vehicle from Jon, and the borrowing really only consisted of him just giving Jon a head’s up that he was going to be taking the car, and Ronan, up to Massachusetts for the weekend. Technically, he did not have permission to have the car in his possession, and in the back of his mind Jordan realized that either Jon or Ronan could have him arrested for stealing the car.

Jordan closed his eyes, and with both hands now tightly clamped over his mouth he screamed into his palms. This weekend that could have been a wonderful time getting to know his boyfriend’s boyfriend, his own second boyfriend, the third and final member of their beautiful polycule. But Jordan said something - and whatever that was he was still not clear on - and now Ronan had disappeared out of view with only his phone to protect him from both locals and tourists alike.

And he was not even wearing anything on his feet!

Jordan sighed into his cupped palms. He spun in a complete circle on the balls of his feet. He steadied himself and looked back out the window through the vertical venetian blinds, and saw that the streetlights were only now starting to come on. With no Ronan in sight, Jordan went back to the couch and stared at the table where he dropped his own phone earlier. He reached for it hesitantly, half expecting to see an essay’s worth of texts from either Ronan, Jon, or both.

But the screen was devoid of any notifications at all; not even a hint of news or an email, or any noticed at all. It made Jordan wonder whether or not either of them were getting any signal in that waterfront condo. He swept his thumb across the screen and let out a long sigh. It was a stupid thought to have, but then it made Jordan wonder even more. Perhaps Ronan wandered further into town to get a better signal, and that was the only reason why Ronan vanished from the condo.

Jordan lifted his head when he heard the knob on the door leading out to the street wiggle, followed by a soft but insistent knock on the wood. He glanced over his shoulder at the door, and smiled sadly. He tossed his phone down onto the couch and went to answer the knock, thinking that it could only be two people; either Ronan, since he did not have a key, or the police, telling him that something terrible happened to Ronan while he was out and about in Provincetown. Jordan pulled the door open rather swiftly and was a touch startled by the sight of Ronan standing there before the open door, holding a paper bag with the top rolled down enough for him to grab it.

Ronan smiled at Jordan and cleared his throat softly. He lifted the bag and gave it the slightest chuckle. “I, um…” He cleared his throat again and felt a gentle laugh catch in the back of his throat. “I just went down the street to grab those sandwiches. And-“ Ronan raised his other hand to reveal a six pack of locally-brewed beer, a six pack that he picked himself from a selection in the cooler at the same place he picked up the sandwiches. “Terry, the man behind the counter, said he doesn’t usually stay open this late, but could make an exception for someone as adorable as me.”

Jordan rolled his eyes and snickered. “Adorable,” was the word he chose to repeat. He sighed and reached out to loop one arm around the back of Ronan’s neck. He hugged him close, all but pulling Ronan into the condo. Jordan snaked the other arm around Ronan’s back and spun them both to nudge the door closed. “I… I was worried,” he finally admitted.

Ronan gasped silently, and pulled back enough to look up into Jordan’s eyes. “Worried?” he questioned in return. “Worried about what?”

“You-“ Jordan loosened his grip on Ronan just enough to let Ronan slip away and make his way into the compact kitchen. Ronan set the brown paper sack full of sandwiches on the counter, and put the beer in the refrigerator for the time being. Jordan came over to the elevated breakfast counter and leaned across the top, arms folded against the surface. “Ronan, you just took off. I had no idea what was going on.”

With his back turned to Jordan, Ronan could feel his entire body blush a soft scarlet. “Yeah, I-“ Ronan snickered, and looking up from the two large deli sandwiches he pulled from the paper bag, he opened two cabinets to reveal a set of unbreakable-looking white dishes. He brought the dishes down, and unwrapped the sandwiches as he spoke. “I have a very nasty tendency to have these fleeting thoughts that… well, if I don’t act on them, they either disappear immediately and without any chance of return, or they fested into something that has me in the car, heading to some place I know doesn’t exist in the city, only to come home three hours later with one bag of groceries to make a specific type of sandwich.”

Jordan narrowed his eyes so slightly, and after a moment of silence he chuckled once. “Where, um… where did you end up?” he questioned, unable to hide the little smile that came up on his face.

Ronan snickered. “Connecticut,” he responded, a sense of pride in his voice. “I ended up at the Stew Leonard’s on Federal Road in Danbury, Connecticut. I know, my sense of wanderlust knows no bounds.”

Jordan laughed at Ronan’s comment. He stood, slipping both hands flat against the polished stone countertop, and sucked in a breath to keep from laughing louder. Ronan looked over at Jordan, watching him laughing, and found himself mimicking the sound. “That… sorry, I don’t mean to laugh, Ronan. It just… reminds me of that one time I got a job on one of those… Viking river cruises, just so I could see Europe.”

“Oh?” Ronan turned to face Jordan with a bright smile on his face. “What were you doing on a cruise ship?”

Jordan closed his eyes and sighed. “Improv,” he admitted. He looked down at the polished stone countertop and shook his head. “I know, it’s kind of pathetic.”

Ronan shook his head slowly. “No, Jordy why… why would you say that? Or even think it?” Ronan wanted to talk about this. He desperately wanted to have this conversation, any conversation, with Jordan. Ronan wanted to know him, to know exactly what he and Jon were getting themselves into before it was too late.

“Because!” Jordan said with a faint laugh. “Because I know that… that you and Jon have these-“

Ronan reached out and pressed two fingers to Jordan’s parted lips. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” he returned with a firm nod. He leaned back, and with the faintest sigh Ronan stepped around the breakfast counter and looped his arms around Jordan. “Do you really feel that way? Like… like on and I think less of you because of your job?”

“You don’t?” Jordan responded, another laugh catching in the back of his throat. “Because you know I… I would. I mean, I’m me and I’m laughing-“

Ronan cupped both hands around the back of Jordan’s neck. He sighed through a sweet smile, and pressed a kiss to the corner of Jordan’s mouth. “From now on, I don’t want to hear that nonsense,” Ronan stating with an unyielding nod. “You’d better get all of that self-deprecating gobbledygook out of your system right now, because I will not-“ Ronan’s words trailed off at the sound of Jordan’s boisterous laughter. “What… what’s so-“

“Gobbledygook!” Jordan repeated, unable to contain his laughter. He cupped both hands over his mouth and laughed behind his fingers. “You… who says that!”

Ronan paused silently for only a moment, a wide grin playing across his face. He brought his hands around Jordan’s jaw, and stood on his toes to brush a sweet kiss to Jordan’s lips. “Me,” he whispered against Jordan’s mouth, before kissing him again. “I say that.”

“You do,” Jordan said through his own happy smile. “And you know what? It is so… uniquely you.” Jordan nearly cracked, and felt those words that he did not dare speak, for fear of ruining everything.

And he certainly did not want to say it to Ronan before he said it Jon.

Chapter Text

Jordan groaned, and with a start he cracked one eye open. He glared through that one bleary eye in the direction of the jangly echo of a duck quacking. Ronan’s phone was plugged into its charger on the bedside table alongside Jordan’s, as well as the wireless changing mat that Jon simply had to have. The wake-up alarms that Ronan scheduled were always set to the sound of a duck quacking; he further explained that the ducks woke him up without fail because it was a sound that he never expected to hear in his bedroom.

It made sense in a way that only Ronan Farrow could explain.

The longer the ducks quacked, the more awake Jordan became. He lifted his head and rubbed at one eye, as if he were looking around the room for the source of the quacking. And even though Jordan was only half awake at this point he knew exactly where those ducks were coming from.

“Ro,” Jordan grumbled. He turned and rubbed his face into his pillow. He waited a few seconds before calling out again. “Ronan!” Jordan lifted his head up from the pillow, and with both eyes half open, Jordan finally saw that Ronan was no longer in the bed beside him.

And neither was Jon.

With a curious expression on his face, Jordan rolled onto his back and pushed the blankets toward the middle of the bed. He swung his legs around and slid out of the bed, steadying himself with a palm pressed into the mattress. He paused and stood up straight, arms up over his head, back arched as he stretched as far as he could. He caught the faint scent of freshly-brewed coffee, and stepped out of the bedroom just as Ronan was coming back in.

“Oh!” Ronan said, both hands up to catch himself before running face first into Jordan’s chest. “Sh… hey, Jordy.”

Jordan reached for one of Ronan’s hands, and with the softest smile he pressed a sweet kiss to Ronan’s palm. “You keep running away,” he whispered. He closed his eyes, and with a sweet sigh he rested his forehead against Ronan’s.

“I-“ Ronan closed his eyes and laughed once. “No, I-“

Both Ronan and Jordan jumped when the alarm went off again, the digital ducks reverberating through the bedroom and into the rest of the penthouse. Jordan found himself laughing with a hand pressed to his chest. He stood up with his shoulders pushed back, and with a little nod he spun on the balls of his feet and went back into the bedroom. Jordan came back with Ronan’s fully charged phone still quacking in his hand.

“Thanks,” Ronan said with a hushed voice. Without hesitation he muted the alarm and tucked the phone into the pocket of his flannel lounge pants. He smiled without saying another word, and took a half step back from Jordan.

Jordan narrowed his eyes and followed Ronan’s movement, taking a step back himself. “Is… is everything okay?” Jordan asked, a nervous tone to his voice.

“Yep,” Ronan responded swiftly, nodding once as he did.

“Ro?” Jon called out from where he still sat at the little breakfast table. He looked around and saw Jordan standing with Ronan, and with a little sigh he smiled. “Oh! Mornin’, Jordy. Did we wake you?”

Jordan shook his head. “No,” he replied honestly. “No, actually-“ Jordan pointed to the lump in Ronan’s pants left by the phone. “Ronan’s ducks woke me up. But it was lonely in that bed, so I decided to come and find you two.” He cleared his throat softly. “Wherever you might be.”

Jon smiled sweetly and shrugged. “We’ve been here the whole time,” he replied. He kept his smile focused on Jordan. “Just…”

“Talking,” Ronan interrupted. The response came too quickly and made Jordan instantaneously nervous.

Jon sighed and rolled his eyes. “Not… to sound incredibly ominous, but we were sort of… discussing the future.”

The content expression on Jordan’s face slipped away. “The future?” Jordan questioned curiously.

Jon licked his lips and nodded just once. “But not in a sinister way,” he returned. With a slight nod, Jon nudged one of the other chair around the table away from it for Jordan to join him. “I promise, we were just…” He glanced over at Ronan, and motioned for Ronan to join them both at the table.

Jordan shuffled into the kitchen and made himself a cup of coffee in the mini Keurig pot that hid under the cabinets. “Think I’m… going to need this,” he said with a gentle nod.

“Maybe,” Ronan said. He shifted to take a seat next to Jon at the table. “But… but he’s right, Jordy. Scout’s honor, it’s nothing bad.”

Jordan nodded slowly. He slipped the Starbuck You Are Here mug from Niagara Falls under the spout of the mini Keurig, and with a soft sigh he pressed the button to brew the twice-caffeinated light roast coffee.

“So.” Jon dragged the simple word, hissing as he cupped both hands around his own coffee mug. Jon’s eyes shifted to Ronan, who watched Jordan still standing at the counter, waiting for his coffee to finish brewing.

“So?” Jordan repeated. Jon and Ronan’s hesitancy made him a tad nervous.

Jon but the inside of his bottom lip and turned to face Ronan completely. Ronan gave his shoulders a soft shrug. Both of them remained silent, and did nothing to assuage Jordan’s growing fear.

“Guys!” Jordan nearly shouted, startling both Jon and Ronan in the process. He popped open the Keurig and pulled out the used pod, tossing it into the smaller trash can that was used for recycling and composting. Jordan poured the white chocolate creamer into his coffee and came to sit at the table with Jon and Ronan. “The future?”

“Right!” Ronan exhaled. “The… the future.”

Jordan stirred the white chocolate creamer into his coffee slowly. “Are you… going to make me guess what you two are talking about, or-“ He sipped his coffee slowly, slurping in the process. “Or are we just going to ignore the fact that you two were one hundred percent discussing-“

Jordan immediately stopped talking, and brought his coffee mug back to his lips. He sipped, slowly and without making a sound. In the back of his mind, Jordan was putting together an escape plan. He still had his apartment in Brooklyn, and had yet to bring more than a backpack or so worth of items to the penthouse. While he spent most nights at the penthouse with Jon and Ronan, if only because being away from them was far too painful.

Painful. Jordan could not keep from snickering at himself, which made Jon and Ronan smile at him.

“Sorry.” Jordan paused and took another long sip of his coffee.

“Jordy,” Jon began to say. He reached across the table and drew Jordan’s hand away from his coffee. “We’ve been talking about it, and… I think…”

Jordan narrowed his eyes further. “Spit it out,” he barked. “Whatever has you… both of you… so fucking nervous, just spit it out.” He pulled in a deep breath and let it out sharply. “Just… just say it.”

“We’re getting married!” Jon’s voice was sickeningly sweet, and floating among a sea of happiness.

Jordan’s eyes flew open, and for several long moments he held his breath. “What?” he asked, his voice nearly silent. The single worded response was all that he could manage to utter.

Both Jon and Ronan took a breath to steady themselves. Ronan reached for Jon’s free hand and kindly slid their fingers together. “We’ve decided to get married,” Ronan returned. “Just… y’know, legally.”

Jordan took a moment, letting every thought swirl around in his mind virtually unchecked, hundreds of thousands of mental pictures racing. After several moments, Jordan closed his eyes and silently prayed that his mind would finally stop.

And when his racing mind ultimately came to a halt, he rolled his eyes and growled angrily. “So… I guess that’s it then,” he started. Jon and Ronan shared a look, eyes narrowed at one another. “Jordan rubbed both hands against the table and exhaled sharply as he pushed himself up to his feet.

“What… what do you mean?” Ronan asked.

“Where’re you going?” Jon asked simultaneously.

“Where am I going,” Jordan questioned in return, choosing to simply acknowledge Jon’s question. “Home. I… am going home. If you two are getting married, something tells me that you aren’t going to want your third wheel around anymore, unless you get mad at each other, or… whatever the fuck happens when married couples are alone together. So I’ll just go. I’ll go ahead and pack up my shit and go back to Brooklyn.”

“No!” Jon leapt up out of his chair with such force that it knocked the chair over onto the floor. He stumbled over the fallen chair, and found Jordan just as he turned. Jordan caught Jon before Jon fell to the floor. Panting roughly, Jon slid both hands along Jordan’s arms, head hanging between them. “No, w-wait. Wait, Jordan. Please, just… don’t go anywhere, okay? We can explain this.”

Jordan rolled his head back and scoffed. “Explain?” He laughed again. “You need to explain this? Oh. Okay.” He bit the inside of his bottom lip and nodded. He pulled away from Jon, shoving his hands out into the air. “Okay, Jon. Explain. Explain… this to me. Explain how you and Ronan getting married will still involve me somehow.”

With his arms still folded across his chest, Jordan turned and slowly made his way back to the table. He sat with his arms tightly wrapped across his chest. He took an incredibly deep breath and hissed as he exhaled. Both Jon and Ronan turned to one another, then back to Jordan.

“It-“ For the first time since they met, Jon was truly at a loss for words. He wanted to reach across the table and grab Jordan and scream wordlessly at him. How could Jordan think that this, that anything, could change their relationship?

Before Jon could say anything else, Ronan put his interviewer voice on, and continued with what he felt would be Jon’s next thought. “It’s about dynamics, isn’t it,” Ronan questioned calmly and rationally. “Which… makes sense. Right now the three of us are more or less on even ground with each other, when it comes to our relationship.” Ronan nodded softly, as if he had said all that needed to be said.

“That’s definitely part of it,” Jordan said in return, with a big dramatic shrug of his shoulders. “But I’m also positive that, if and when you two get married, I will officially become the odd man out, regardless of what either of you tell me.” Jordan was more forthcoming with his thoughts than either Jon or Ronan had ever been with their own. He shared his thoughts, his feelings, without batting an eye.

“But there… there’s more to it than that.” Jon nodded, clearing his throat before speaking again. “When I was out in L.A., Jon and Tommy… told me something.”

Jordan’s eyes widened in mock surprise, and slowly shook his head. He sat back and pressed his palm flat against his chest. “Golly, I hope it was that they’re secretly flaming homosexuals but only for each other!” Jordan’s words were drowning in bitter sarcasm, and Jon immediately picked up on it. “Oh, was… was that not it?”

Ronan folded his hands on the table in front of him and cleared his throat. “I… I mean, it…” Ronan paused and looked over at Jon. He was still for only a moment before giving his shoulders a slight shrug. “Is that even a secret? I mean, it’s pretty-”

“They’re not fucking!” Jon screamed, his eyes clamped shut. He slammed both fists down on the table, causing everyone’s coffee mug to rattle. “Why the fuck does everyone assume that those two are in bed together!”

Jordan paused for a moment before shrugging his shoulders. “Dunno,” he responded. “I mean, I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting either or both of them, but… but you have. And it seems to me that you would know better than me about whether or not-” He paused and closed his eyes, and let out a deep breath. “Sorry. Never mind. You know what, I’m just… going to stop talking for a while, and go ahead and let you explain everything in as much detail as you can manage.”

“Jordan,” Ronan breathed, the exhaustion so plain on his face and in his voice.

“Ro.” Jon held one hand up, palm facing Ronan, stopping his train of thought in its tracks. “Go into the office. I… I’ve got this. I promise.” Ronan remained silent, but nervously seated at the table with them. Jon turned to Ronan and nodded once. “Please. Trust me on this.”

Ronan’s eyes slid closed, and with a deep sigh he nodded. He stood from the table slowly, and with his eyes still closed, he pressed a soft kiss to the top of Jon’s head. “I love you,” he whispered into the soft curls. Ronan opened his eyes slowly, and smiled at Jordan. But Ronan’s smile was sad, and in the back of his mind he truly worried. He wondered whether or not Jordan would be there when he got home.

Jordan started to speak, but Jon sighed and shook his head. “Wait,” Jon whispered with another shake of his head. “Wait, just… wait until he leaves.”

Jordan tented an eyebrow. “Why,” he asked flatly.

“Well… because,” Jon responded. He turned to watch Ronan head back to the bedroom, and remained quiet until he, uncharacteristically, pushed the door closed behind him. Jon’s entire body sagged, and he let out a large sigh. “Because Ronan is now in full investigative mode. And the conversation would be without any real emotion, and-” Jon paused at the sound of the shower coming on. “And I need him, not the journalist who shares his name.”

“Fair,” Jordan nodded. He folded his hands on the table in front of him. “He-” Jordan’s words stopped, and he nervously looked over his shoulder. He was worried that Ronan turning on the shower was a ruse, and that Ronan would be sneaking out of the bedroom to either interrogate him, or worse.

“So.” Both Jon and Jordan were suddenly beyond nervous. Neither of them said another word until Ronan left the penthouse; they even remained silent for a few moments afterward.

“Hey,” Jon finally whispered. “Are… are we okay?”

Jordan was quiet for another long moment, before letting out a very long sigh. “Yeah, I mean… I guess we are, sure.” He shrugged his shoulders, and let out the faintest laugh. “Even though, you know, if you two get married, I… I really won’t be as protected when it comes to-” Jordan said back and stretched his arms out to his sides. “All of everything. And it…” He exhaled sharply. “It scares me, Jon. Okay? It scares me a lot.”

Jon reached across the table and placed his hand flat on the surface. He gave Jordan the saddest puppy dog eyes that he could manage, and tapped his hand against the table. He silently begged for Jordan’s touch, and he smiled when he reluctantly got it.

“Don’t let it,” Jon whispered with a little nod. “Please. Jordy, don’t let it… anything, don’t let anything scare you. I promise you, if Ronan and I get married, you’re still with us. One hundred percent, you’re still very much part of this.” Jon flipped his hand and laced their fingers together.

“I hope so,” Jordan returned, giving Jon’s hand a squeeze. “Fuck, I really… really hope so.”

Chapter Text

Los Angeles International Airport
Los Angeles, California

“…turning to Washington now, where this morning the President announced that he would be laughing in the face of tradition, unquote, and adding a few names of his own choosing to the short list of justices and judges to be considered for the next Justice of the Supreme Court. Following the tragic and untimely death of Justice Greg Atkinson…”

Jon chuffed. “Untimely death,” he said under his breath, to the tower of television monitors that they passed, which were all playing the same news channel simultaneously. He shifted the straps of his backpack further up onto his shoulders. “Just say suicide, because we all know that is exactly what happened. We all know that Atkinson killed himself because of all of the bullshit nonsense that he knew he was about to endure.” He looked over at Jordan, who silently shrugged his shoulders in Jon’s direction. Between the three of them, Jordan had the least political experience, and only partially understood what was happening in the news.

Ronan sighed calmly. “We don’t know that, Jonathan,” he replied, struggling to keep his voice calm and quiet.

Jon rolled his eyes and groaned. “Ronan, are you fucking crazy? What else could’ve happened?”

Ronan continued with his train of thought, ignoring Jon’s question for the time being. “And, yeah. There were a lot of rumors and bad news coming out of that building about what was about to happen with the President and his own additions, but there was no way that it would happen without some kind of act of Congress-“

“Which we both know is under the complete control of the assholes in the White House!” Jon interrupted. To keep things from becoming too heated, just as he offered to do on the plane regardless of how physically uncomfortable he would have been, Jordan now slipped himself between Jon and Ronan. Jordan reached over and subtly took Jon’s hand. He gave it a squeeze, hoping just the simple touch would help to keep him calm.

And much to Jordan’s surprise, it did calm Jon down just enough for them to get through the terminal and outside without further incident.

“I-“ Jon sighed again. “I don’t understand why we have to do this.” He grumbled, as he followed both Jordan and Ronan out of the baggage claim and into the brilliant sunlight that shone down on the busy thoroughfare that circled the terminal hub.

Ronan huffed. “Jonathan,” he responded.

Jon stopped at the edge of the curb an sat the rolling suitcase upright. “No, Ronan. I really don’t understand why we have to do this,” Jon continued. “Or, the even bigger question on my mind is, why did you personally decide that if this needs to be done, it needs to be done in person? This meeting could have easily been a Zoom call. Or an email. Hell, even a text!”

Ronan stopped short at the red signal alerting pedestrians that traffic was about to start up again, and sighed. This time, the sign was far angrier than before. “Jonathan, you can’t just… text your best friends and tell them that you’re getting married.”

“Um…” Jon scoffed, and folded his arms tightly across his chest. “Yes, I believe you can. Especially if those friends aren’t really that sure whether or not my relationship is even real.”

Both Jordan and Ronan reacted in the same confused manner. “You… wait, really?” Jordan was the one to ask first. Jon nodded simply, but remained quiet. “Well.” Jordan took another pause and cleared his throat. “That’s kind of a dick move, I mean… you two have been together for how long?”

“Many moons,” Ronan responded, a weak attempt at shedding humor on this situation.

Jon coughed into his fist. “That… that isn’t the relationship I’m worried about,” he replied, his voice so flat and calm that it almost scared him.

“O-oh.” Jordan was stunned into silence. “Well I guess-“ Jordan’s words paused when he felt Jon’s hand slide into his. “No, I… it makes sense. I mean, I am the outsider here, right?”

Jon squeezed Jordan’s hand. From his other side, Ronan would his arms around Jordan’s hips and pressed a sweet, loving kiss to his shoulder. “Nope,” Ronan said in return.

“Not to us you aren’t,” Jon said, continuing Ronan’s thought himself. The pedestrian light changed, and though Ronan continued across the street, Jon held Jordan back with him for a brief moment. “I’m going to need you to show me just… how inside you can get.”

Jordan closed his eyes and felt Jon’s words travel through his entire body. He closed his eyes and bit back a soft moan, and had to run to catch up to he and Ronan.

All three of them crammed into the backseat of the hired car, ready to take him to their swanky hotel roughly a mile and a half from the Crooked Media offices; a brisk walk, Ronan mused, if the weather held. Ronan put himself in charge of booking their accommodations for this particular trip, considering just how obvious it was that neither Jon nor Jordan were all that interested in taking this trip in the first place.

With a little sigh, Jordan positioned himself between Jon and Ronan, again, in another attempt at keeping the peace. Along the soft leather of the seat between he and Jon, Jordan reached over to take Jon’s hand. Jordan could feel the tension and anxiety through Jon’s hand, and gave a little squeeze in response. Jordan could not help the little smirk across his face.

It was then that Ronan cleared his throat, and again made his presence known to the rest of the car. “If… if you want, Jordan and I can stop at the hotel, and you can just head to-“ Ronan’s well-meaning words were silenced by the sound of Jon sighing in displeasure.

“So what you’re trying to say is,” Jon began, pausing only for a moment to cough into his closed fist, attempting to clear his throat of any obstructions before speaking. “You want to chicken out of the conversation that you all but demanded that I have, in person, with these two-“ Jon’s minor rant was stopped when Jordan squeezed his hand. Jon closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. “With Jon and Tommy. I mean, I get why you wouldn’t want to be there, but at the same time, I-“ Jon stopped talking altogether. With a deep sigh, Jon closed his eyes and shook his head. “Never mind.”

Ronan narrowed his eyes. “Jon,” he nearly whispered.

“No,” Jon said with another scoff. “Don’t… no. Don’t worry about it. Whatever it was that I Was about to say? Doesn’t matter. Let’s just… get you two back to the hotel, and I can just… go see the boys and get it over with as quickly as possible.”

Thinking that he could avoid a scene by going out for lunch rather than ordering into the office, Jon made a reservation for three at Salt’s Cure, a quaint artisan restaurant not far from their offices. In the back of his mind, Jon figured that it would be better to wait, until after a round of drinks and possibly a small plate or two, before dropping the news that Ronan made him fly all the way to Los Angeles to drop.

Jon received for the Diet Coke in front of him and took a very long drink before clearing his throat. Tommy and Favs easily picked up on the anxiety that radiated off of their friends in waves. They turned to look at one another briefly.

“Jon.” Favs was the first to speak. He cleared his throat quietly, and reached for one of the complimentary glasses of water on the table.

“I know,” Jon breathed. He rubbed a hand over his face and exhaled sharply. “I have no idea why I’m so… well, no. No, that isn’t true.” As he spoke, Jon began rubbing his hand along the tablecloth, in the hope that he could smooth out any number of imaginary bumps in the fabric. “I just… wanted to call or text, but Ronan…” He sighed heavily, with a sound that bordered on angry. “Convinced me that I needed to do this in person.”

Tommy took in what Jon was saying to them, and after seconds he narrowed his eyes. “You’re not… dying, are you?” His question, his tone was so matter of fact, that Jon worried about whether or not Tommy had completely disassociated from reality.

“No,” Jon responded in the same flat manner. “But I am getting married.”

“You-“ Favs stumbled over his words, feeling them all catch on his tongue simultaneously. “Really?” Again he concentrated on Tommy, who sat frozen in complete silence. “Well, that-” Favs had to take another drink of his water, feeling a sudden dryness fill his entire throat. “I… now, Jon, I’m sorry. I know it sounds like I’m in complete shock.”

“It’s because you are,” Tommy interrupted. He turned to glare at Jon and exhaled sharply. “I think we’re both a little shocked right now, considering the current state of your relationship.”

“The current state-“ Jon gasped and clutched a set of imaginary pearls hanging around his neck. “Oh, please. Please don’t tell me that you’re all of a sudden scandalized by me and my lifestyle.”

Tommy opened his mouth to speak, but Favs swiftly reached out to stop him from continuing with whatever thought he was about to have. They turned to one another, eyes wide in silent conversation, sharing thoughts with one another before Favs, the diplomat of the duo, finally spoke.

“Congratulations?” Favs commented, the statement sounding more like a question than anything else.

Jon forced a smile. “I feel like… you’re both trying really hard to be happy for Ronan and me, but I-“ He paused, the last word he spoke coming with a high-pitched squeak. “I also get that you’re both having an incredibly difficult time actually being happy for me here. Me, one of your oldest friends in the whole world.” Jon playfully batted his eyelashes, and in the process he tried to laugh. But the attempt was just sad. He closed his eyes and sighed again.

“So you’re getting married,” Tommy said, repeating the statement that Jon made moments earlier. In the moment that Tommy repeated Jon, Jon felt the temperature in the room, and in his body, drop significantly. “Like-“ Tommy folded his hands in his lap and shifted his body under the table. “You’re… really going through with this.”

Jon, who after years and years of working and growing with his two best friends, started to feel a crushing wave of nervousness. All of a sudden, his comfort level plummeted. “Please,” he snapped. Jon pressed both hands flat to the linen tablecloth draped over the table and leaned back in his chair. He hissed with the breath he let out. “Please, for the love of everything that you both hold sacred and holy, tell me that you aren’t all of a sudden going to be weird about the whole gay thing.”

Again, Tommy and Favs shared a look. It was no secret that Tommy and Favs struggled with Jon’s openness when it came to his sexuality. It was only over time that they became comfortable with the fact that he was gay in the first place. Over time they, at the very least, had some sort of gentleman’s agreement in place about the whole thing.

“No.” It was Favs who broke the silence.

Tommy cleared his throat and shook his head before speaking. “No, it… it’s not that.”

“Right,” Favs continued. He also cleared his throat. “I mean, if you two are getting married? Great. But, uh… what about…”

“Jordan,” Tommy and Favs said in perfect unison.

Jon gave his friends and co-workers both a long look. He felt himself closing his eyes and taking a very deep breath. “I know,” Jon said through an exhale. He cupped both hands over his face and after a few more deep breaths he shook his head. “Believe me, we… we’ve discussed it at great length. Over and over, a thousand and one times over, we’ve gone over this. And, yeah. At first Jordan was a little skeptical. But he-“ Jon sighed heavily and shook his head again. “Jordan seems to think that it’s the only way.”

Favs narrowed his eyes and shot Tommy a look. “The only way… for what.”

Tommy clenched his jaw before responding to a question that seemed to exist just between them. Tommy took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “There’s… talk,” he responded. When he was met with a curious silence from both Jon and Favs, Tommy continued. “About rewriting the Defense of Marriage Act, to make certain relationships… not necessarily illegal, but-“

“To make it impossible for anyone who isn’t already legally married to have the same rights as those who aren’t,” Jon swiftly interrupted. He shot Tommy a look, and was a little surprised when he got no pushback.

“So… again.” Favs cleared his throat, needing a bit of water to lubricate his mouth and throat. “What happens to Jordan in all of this? Does he just… get hung out to dry? Are you two breaking up with him to get married?” He sighed and took another drink of water. “I… I’m so confused.”

“At least you’re trying,” Jon said softly, his focus now fixed on Tommy.

Tommy’s eyes went wide, and he sat back in his chair. “What. Do you think I-“

“Really and truly don’t give a shit?” Jon sat back, arms folded tightly across his chest. “I don’t think that, Tom. I know it. I know that you really, really don’t give a fuck about anyone that isn’t you. You weren’t always like that, but recently?” Jon chuckled once. He paused and pushed his chair back away from the table giving himself enough room to stand. “I don’t know what happened to you, but I feel like you aren’t my friend anymore. You certainly aren’t the Tommy Vietor I used to know.”

“Jon,” Favs whimpered, nothing but complete surprise in his voice.

But before Favs could say anything, Jon shook his head and sighed. “No,” he interrupted, shaking his head as he spoke. With his eyes still closed, Jon stepped aside and pushed his chair back under the table. “I knew, in the back of my mind, that coming here to talk to you two in person, was a huge mistake.” Jon cleared his throat and pressed a hand flat to the middle of his chest. “But never, in my wildest dreams, did I imagine that this would be-“ Jon paused. He drew in a deep breath and held it in for what seemed like an eternity.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jon could see that Tommy’s attention was being drawn away from the conversation. Tommy pulled his phone out of his back pocket, checked the wall of notifications that he was met with, and set the phone back on the table with the screen facing down.

Jon exhaled acridly. “And… you aren’t even paying attention to me,” he hissed in Tommy’s direction. He pinched the bridge of his nose, and with his eyes closed he laughed once. “You… are an absolute fucking asshole.”

“Jon.” Favs stood quickly from the table and tried to grab Jon. Instinctively Favs knew that, if he let Jon leave, he might never see his friend again. Favs could see the hurt in Jon’s eyes. After everything that he and Tommy had experienced together, their friendship was about to be destroyed by a single conversation that was haphazardly thrown together, almost in the heat of the moment.

Jon took another deep breath, and exhaled with a single laugh. “Listen, I… I appreciate you, Jon.” Jon reached out and cupped a hand over Favs’ shoulder. “And, I will continue to appreciate you until we both agree that we’re sick of one another, but.” He clapped his hand over Favs’ shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze. He turned to Tommy one last time. “But as far as you and I are concerned, I’m done. Finished.” Jon stepped away from the table, both hands raised as if to admit defeat. “I’ll continue to do my thing, and to be part of the team until Rolf here-“ Jon paused for effect, and pointed over to Tommy with a thumb. “Decides to buy me out.”

“Jon.” Favs’ voice nearly broke from the emotion that coursed through his body. Jon said nothing, but forced a smile. He could see that Favs was truly resisting an urge to reach out and grab him, to physically keep Jon from getting away.

Still smiling, Jon raised both hands, again in mock defeat, and waved to Favs. He did not say another word, and turned on the balls of his feet to disappear from the restaurant.

Jon pulled his phone out, and was about to call up a ride, but remembered what Ronan mentioned about the hotel being a brisk walk from the Crooked Media office, and realized that it would be much quickly to walk to the hotel, rather than to wait on some stranger to come and pick him up. The sun was shining, an with the breeze blowing own the streets to keep him cool, Jon made his way from the restaurant up to the iconic Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel. Jon knew, especially at this time of day, that there would be hundreds, if not thousands of people wandering around aimlessly up and down Hollywood Boulevard, looking not up and ahead at where they were going, but down at the stars embedded in the sidewalk, searching for a name they might recognize. Jon came around the corner, eyes up in an attempt to avoid colliding into a group of foreign tourists all crowded around Vin Diesel’s Walk of Fame star.

Jon knew that Ronan would spare absolutely no expense when it came to their lodging, regardless of how long of a trip they were taking. When Jon saw the name of the hotel in Ronan’s text, he knew they would be staying in either one of the cabanas, or a larger suite in the hotel’s tower block. But when Jon went to the front desk and mentioned his name, the concierge slipped an actual key to him, opposed to an electronic keycard to open the door with. Jon held it up for a moment and stared at the clunky keychain that hung from the key; an older keychain from a bygone era that could have easily doubled for a Hollywood souvenir. He closed his eyes, and with a little smile he sighed.

“The penthouse,” Jon whispered. He turned on the balls of his feet and walked away from the front desk. “Of course you’d book the penthouse, Ronan Farrow.” Jon shook his head as he spoke, unable to hide the soft laughter that hitched in the back of his throat. He stepped onto the elevator and, having to use the actual key to activate the button for the penthouse, he rode up to the top floor of the hotel’s tower block.

The elevator did not open out onto the penthouse room itself, but rather into an alcove where a large round table, with a vase filled with silk flowers sat, decorating the otherwise empty space. Directly across from the elevator was a set of double doors, and hanging from one of the knobs was a sign that said, in a beautiful golden brush script, to not disturb those inside the room. Jon scoffed, and with a shake of his head he unlocked the door and all but burst into the room.

Jon stood in the doorway, still holding the knob to keep the door from closing automatically behind him, and listened. Through the silence, the hum of the air conditioner was joined by soft grunts, and a slurping sound that was unmistakable. A smile pulled at one corner of Jon’s mouth, and he closed the door behind himself without making a sound. He toed off his sneakers and kicked them aside, padding further into the penthouse, following the obvious sounds as he went.

Ronan, seated on the plus couch situated at the foot of the king-sized bed; one hand curled around the back of the couch, the other around the back of Jordan’s neck. Jordan was on his knees, a pillow taken from the head of the bed under him as a cushion, with Ronan’s jeans down around his ankles. Ronan’s eyes were barely open, mouth open as he attempted to breathe without moaning, as if he were afraid to make a sound. Jordan, however, was not worried about making noise, taking Ronan’s length down the back of his throat with every stroke. Ronan swore under his breath, and tightened his fingers into Jordan’s hair.

Jordan pulled his mouth away with a pop, replacing it with his hand around Ronan’s shaft. He panted softly, catching his breath as he pumped his fist. He glanced over his shoulder, and saw Jon standing only a few feet away. Panting softly, Jordan motioned for Jon to come closer. “Join him,” Jordan whispered roughly. With his free hand, Jordan gave the plush cushions next to Ronan a little pat. “I bet you could use a little release, too.”

Raising an eyebrow, Jon quickly did what Jordan asked and slid onto the couch next to Ronan. “Maybe,” he felt himself say in response. He inched closer to Ronan and pulled Ronan’s arm down from the back of the couch and around his shoulders. He pressed the tips of his fingers to Ronan’s chin, and when Ronan’s eyes were finally open, he drew Ronan’s lips to his own.

A sweet kiss that deepened rapidly. Jon moaned against Ronan’s mouth, letting the tip of his tongue rub against Jon’s bottom lip. In the back of his mind, Ronan knew that Jon had a lot on his own mind, and probably should have talked about it to get it all out in the open, and out of his system.

The kiss broke when Jordan’s mouth replaced his hand around Ronan’s cock. He gasped and swore in the same breath. Jon could not help but grin and grabbed Ronan’s face in both hands. “Fuck that’s hot,” Jon whispered, nodding as he spoke. “He really… really is very good with that mouth, isn’t he.” Ronan had no chance to respond, but instead licked his lips and nodded. Ronan closed his eyes and let out a long breath, as he brought a hand back down to rest on the back of Jordan’s neck.

Jon watched Ronan’s reaction for only a moment before the strangest wave of jealously rippled through his body. Without saying another word, Jon stood from the couch and shimmied out of his pants, tossing them across the room as close to the bedroom portion of the penthouse as possible. Jordan watched out of the corner of his eye, as Jon shifted to straddle Ronan’s thighs. Jordan pulled back just a touch, enough to keep from getting kicked or kneed in the face, and let Jon settle in Ronan’s lap.

“Tell me,” Jordan purred. Before either Jon or Ronan could say anything in return, Jordan leaned in and ran his tongue up the underside of Ronan’s shaft, letting the hardness settle between Jon’s ass cheeks. “Give… give me-”

“You’ve got it,” both Jon and Ronan said, almost in unison. Jon cleared his throat, and glanced back over his shoulder and down at Jordan, still on his knees, waiting to make his next move.

“What… whatever it is that you need?” Jon nodded only once. “It’s yours, Jordan.”

“Good,” Jordan returned with a faint node of his own. “Because I really-” He paused for just a beat, sucking one finger into his mouth. “-really-” Another beat, and Jordan rubbed the tip of his finger around Jon’s asshole before pressing it inside. He kept his eyes closed, and let his head gently fall back. “-really want everything humanly fucking possible. Even-”

“Stop,” Jon hissed. He reached back and grabbed the back of Jordan’s head. “Whatever you’re… about to say, I’m… not sure I want to hear it.” As he spoke, Jon started rocking back against Jordan’s finger, rubbing his ass against Ronan’s cock in the process.

Jordan nodded, and without saying another word he leaned in and pressed the tip of his tongue to the puckered muscle. Jon cried out wordlessly, and reached forward to grab the couch cushions behind Ronan. Ronan gripped both hands over Jon’s hips and kept him from moving, allowing Jordan to continue fucking him with his tongue.

“M-more,” Jon whimpered desperately.

Ronan snickered. “More?” he breathed, lips brushing against Jon’s ear as he spoke. Ronan gasped himself, feeling Jordan’s warm hand retake his cock, stroking him slowly. Jordan was being methodical; taking his time in the hope that he could make this evening last. Ronan almost signed, and combed his fingers back through Jon’s curls. “You want me to fuck you, baby?” Ronan clucked his tongue softly. “You want Jordan to?”

“Yes,” Jon hissed. He gripped a hand tight over the plush cushion behind Ronan’s head and kissed him harshly. “Yes on both counts.”

Jordan stilled for just a moment, the wheels in his brain spinning at Jon’s gentle request. He could not help the smile that spread across his face, and though he did not want to move, Jordan stood and removed his own pants. Ronan looked around Jon’s shoulder, watching as Jordan took a glob of saliva in his hand and slicked up Ronan’s cock. “You first,” Jordan hummed to Ronan. Ronan swallowed hard and nodded, and remained as still as he possibly could, as Jordan pushed the top of Ronan’s cock into Jon.

“So hot,” Ronan whimpered, shaking his head as he gently pulled Jon further down into his lap, easing deeper inside him. “Fuck, he… he really is hot when he’s-”

“Takes charge,” Jon interrupted, nodding as if he were perfectly completing Ronan’s train of thought. “Absolutely fucking love it when he… takes charge like this.” Jon rested one hand on Ronan’s and pressed his knees into Ronan’s thighs, riding him a bit harder. “Fuck,” he hissed, folding an arm around the back of Ronan’s neck.

Jordan nodded once. “That was the plan,” he hummed, standing with his back straight. Panting sounds were joined by the sound of Jordan removing his own pants. Before rejoining Jon and Ronan, Jordan disappeared into the bathroom, returning with an unopened bottle of lube. He squeezed a dollop onto his fingers, and with a methodical swiftness, Jordan worked two fingers into Jon’s ass alongside Ronan’s pumping cock.

“W-wait,” Ronan felt himself whimper. He curled a hand around Jon’s neck and nudged him aside enough to see Jordan, watching him add his fingers to Jon’s ass.

“No!” Jon shouted, though his voice was so quiet neither Ronan nor Jordan knew whether or not he wanted Jordan to stop, or wanted more from him. Jon panted softly. He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Don’t… Ronan, please… please don’t ask him to stop.”

“Jon,” Ronan whimpered.

Jon gripped one hand around Ronan’s jaw. In that instant, Jon’s eyes opened wide and focused solely on Ronan’s. He took a deep breath and nodded simply. “I want this,” he returned, his voice both calm and desperate. “I need this. I need both of you, right now, just like-”

Jon did not get the opportunity to finish his thought. He gasped and pressed both hands to the soft couch cushions, balancing himself on Ronan’s thighs. As Jon and Ronan had their little conversation, Jordan took the opportunity to remove his fingers, replacing them inside Jon’s ass with his own hard cock.

Now both he and Ronan were stuffed inside Jon.

Jordan remained as still as he could, one hand on Jon’s shoulder. He could feel Jon’s body trembling around him, and could feel Ronan’s pulse through his cock. Jordan swore under his breath, pressing his forehead down again Jon’s shoulder. He only started to move when Jon reached back fo his hip. Jon’s fingers trembled, as wave after wave of pain ripped through his body.

“You okay?” Jordan whispered to Jon.

Jon swallowed hard, and with his eyes closed tightly he nodded. “Y-yeah,” he whimpered. He nodded. “Yes, Jordy. I-I’m good. Wonderful, even.”

“Good,” Jordan said through a slight smile. He exhaled softly, and rested his check against the back of Jon’s shoulder. Jordan and Ronan both moved, though it took a few thrusts for them to find their rhythm. The more they moved, the closer to release Jon grew. He swore through each breath, groan both Jordan’s and Ronan’s name, unable to put any real words together, to string together a single coherent sentence. “Baby…”

“So close,” both Jon and Ronan whispered together. Release without being touched, that is what Jon was about to achieve. A release so intense, it splashed both Jon and Ronan almost to the chin. Ronan followed shortly after, filling Jon with a slick yet sticky offering that made it easy for his cock to slip out.

But not Jordan. Jordan was nowhere near his own release, nor was he sure that he even wanted it. He was not even sure that he needed it.

When Jon was able to regain control of his body, he squeezed every muscle, working Jordan’s cock as roughly as he could. Jordan wrapped an arm around Jon’s chest. He bit his bottom lip so hard he drew blood, fucking into Jon as swiftly as he could, managing to come with very little friction.

Moments turned to hours, and the three lovers found themselves passed out on the penthouse’s large canopied bed. Cell phones chimed and vibrated from every corner of the room, but no one seemed to care. The only thing that truly mattered was the two other people in the bed.

Three people in this world who truly loved one another. Absolutely nothing else mattered.

Chapter Text

The instant they stepped into their shared office space, Tommy unplugged his laptop and headphones, and disappeared down the hallway. Favs called after him, wanting to grab his attention without alerting the rest of the office to the fact that they were back from their lunch with Jon. And that Jon was not physically with them. Favs stopped halfway down the hall, surprised that Tommy pushed the door closed behind himself. In the back of his mind, Tommy fully believed that, because the door to his borrowed office was closed, that he would be afforded a modicum of privacy. But because the wall facing inward was nothing but windows, privacy was not something to be had.

Favs never once thought to ask Tommy how he was doing, or how everything he saw was affecting him. Favs was aware of the premise; Tommy had created a persona on the Patriot social media platform, as an up and coming right-wing nut job. Tommy was fortunate that he got onto the platform right before it became by invitation only. Favs told himself a number of times that he should have gotten more information, not only as Tommy’s close friend and confidant, but also as the person in the company’s hierarchy who was in charge of new projects. Though Tommy was himself one of the company’s founders, that did not exclude him from “protocol”; giving Favs updates on how the project was going.

Tommy opened his laptop and closed his eyes, taking several deep breaths in an attempt to center himself somewhere else. He exhaled sharply and pushed his headphones onto his ears, pulling up the playlist he created specifically to listen to whenever he was on Patriot. Music to get him into a certain mood. He took another deep breath and opened the app, savoring the few second it would take before he became fully immersed. Tommy had a feeling that he would have a few dozen unread messages, and debated leaving a chunk of them that way for the time being.

r/preppers: ColtonAK has entered the chat.

ColtonAK: hey
TheWokeSky: COLTON!
Donny_Mac: Buddy, what is up!
MicDropper1985: We thought you finally went completely off grid, man!
ColtonAK: nah, just had some shit to work up topside. what’s good?
Donny_Mac: Just figuring out our own shit here in MI. Tried to do a little weatherproofing on the bunker and it failed miserably.
MicDropper1985: LOL isn’t your shit completely underground? How could you fail to weatherproof it?

r/preppers: BigRick007 has entered the chat.

TheWokeSky: Ricky!
ColtonAK: now there’s a familiar face :)
BigRick007: fellow patriots, I must tell you.
BigRick007: the missus and I tried some of that freeze-dried mac and cheese from RH, and it was NOT good.
Donny_Mac: It may be underground, but it still isn’t completely safe at the moment. The Homestead still needs a LOT of work.
Donny_Mac: Oh God. Rocky, what compelled you to eat that shit!?
TheWokeSky: Also, what compelled you to buy RH in the first place?
TheWokeSky: I know not everyone is “that guy”, but it’s so easy to put together your own dehydrated meal kits, without having to give your $ to phonies.

Tommy sat back in the chair, and for just a moment he felt himself smile. This was the one chatroom on this particular platform where he actually felt comfortable. The people that he, as Colton from Arkansas, interacted with were, for the most part, harmless. The people that Tommy encountered on this particular forum seemed genuinely interested in survival, and what to do in the event that modern society as we knew it broke down.

And as much as he hated to admit it, Tommy found himself learning things that could someday prove useful.

Tommy abandoned the conversation with the relatively harmless preppers, and jumped to another forum that he, at first, followed merely for the sake of his research.

r/theories: ColtonAK has entered the chat.

GodGunsGoldGlory: it’s all part of the process, fellas.
GodGunsGoldGlory: especially when you follow the paper trail that they try NOT to leave.
ALM1488: It’s almost impossible not to leave a paper trail, regardless of how hard you try. Trust.
FreedomKaren: hahaha
FreedomKaren: are you suggesting that we should trust you?
ALM1488: Absolutely fucking not, Karen.
LORD_TRUMP: I THINK HE HAS PROVEN THAT HE IS THE LEAST TRUSTWORTHY PERSON IN HERE.
LORD_TRUMP: WHICH DOES MAKE ME WONDER WHY WE ALLOW HIM TO STAY IN THE FIRST PLACE.
ColtonAK: Sometimes he makes a really valid point.
ALM1488: see? Colton likes me.
GodGunsGoldGlory: Colton’s a puss.
FreedomKaren: Hey! What did we say about that language!
FreedomKaren: Sorry, Colton.

Tommy let his hands rest on the keyboard for just a moment, surprised that someone was coming to his defense. He thoroughly believed that Patriot was a somewhat lawless place, regardless of the fact that there were rules and guidelines in place. Tommy never saw any of them enforced, and wondered why they were even there in the first place.

But he was starting to see just how the so-called lawless were in fact policing themselves. It would have normally frightened him, but he slowly came to realize that there was nothing frightening about them as a whole. “Sure,” Tommy thought in an attempt to reason with himself. “There is that element here, but isn’t that element everywhere?”

Tommy was lost in thought, until he heard the chime that sounded whenever his account was mentioned directly.

FreedomKaren: @ColtonAK so what’s up? It feels like you’ve been missing for a while…
ALM1488: nearly 19 hours, by the look of things.
ColtonAK: 19 hours? Whoa. Hang on, ALM. Have you been tracking me?

Tommy chuckled nervously out loud, and found himself looking around physically, as if he was now afraid that someone in the office was watching him. He chuckled again and rubbed the back of his neck, waiting for a reply.

ALM1488: no deep dive here. just a quick search of your last messages.
ALM1488: of course, that’s just the last time you posted anything. I am *very* aware of the fact that you could just be lurking without saying a word.
GodGunsGoldGlory: Punk ;)

Tommy could not stop himself, and rolled his eyes so hard that he was afraid that he gave himself a migraine.

ColtonAK: Eh, I’m sorry, y’all. Work has been so crazy, and most of it doesn’t even involve work.

Tommy’s finger trembled as he wrote his next post.

ColtonAK: I actually just got done with a meeting that could’ve easily been an email, but I guess you could say that my boss… has a flair for the dramatic.
ALM1488: I fucking hate that.
ColtonAK: Truly, truly unnecessary. Like, please. Please just leave that shit at home. Especially when it comes something that *really* doesn’t concern me.
GodGunsGoldGlory: What was the meeting about?
ColtonAK: Oh you’re going to laugh.
ColtonAK: But apparently my boss is getting married… to the man he’s been dating for, I guess, the better part of the last decade.
GodGunsGoldGlory: Really.
GodGunsGoldGlory: This the same guy who fucks around with everyone and their brother?
ColtonAK: Bingo!
LORD_TRUMP: HE KNOWS IT WON’T BE LEGAL FOR MUCH LONGER, RIGHT? IT’S ALREADY OBVIOUS THAT HE DOESN’T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT GOD AND JESUS.
ColtonAK: I don’t know if he’s a religious fella, but he’s a Jew anyway.
ALM1488: It just keeps getting better and better!
ColtonAK: But wait. Go back a piece. What d’you mean it won’t be legal?
LORD_TRUMP: THIS IS WHAT I’VE HEARD. I’M HOPING IT’S TRUE. FAGS ARE SECOND-CLASS CITIZENS AT BEST AND HAVE NEVER DESERVED RIGHTS.

Tommy was not stunned by the language, but by what was being said. And that these members of the Patriot social media platform were now confirming what his own connection in Washington was telling him.

ColtonAK: Not only are they getting married, but there is another *actual* boyfriend in the mix.
FreedomKaren: …wait.
FreedomKaren: So, wait. Hang on. This boss of yours is going to marry a man, but also has *another* boyfriend on the side?
ColtonAK: Not only THAT! But this second boyfriend is actually both my boss’ and his now fiance’s boyfriend, too.
ALM1488: It’s called a polycule.
LORD_TRUMP: IT’S UNNATURAL AND JUST FUCKING WRONG IS WHAT IT IS!
GodGunsGoldGlory: How do you know that, ALM?
ColtonAK: That’s a good question, ALM? How *do* you know that?
ALM1488: I read, you assholes. Maybe you should all do the same.

r/theories: ALM1488 has left the chat.

FreedomKaren: Well that was uncalled for.
LORD_TRUMP: HE IS ONLY PROVING THAT KNOWLEDGE CAN BE DANGEROUS.

The sun had gone down before Tommy finally closed his laptop and made the decision to head home. He glanced up from the table where his closed laptop say and rubbed his eyes. They were bloodshot and stung. Tommy rubbed them again, and in the back of his mind wondered if he had eyedrops in his actual desk.

Tommy picked up his things and carried them back to the large shared office. The only light still on in the office was the one on the corner of his desk; most likely left on by Favs when he realized that Tommy was still in that borrowed office. The rest of the office space was illuminated by soft overhead lighting, left on more for the cleaning staff than for Tommy.

Tommy stared down at his phone, waiting for the hired Tesla that he called to take him back to his house. As he read through all of the messages he missed while spending his time on Patriot, he read through them but did not really pay much attention to them. Under normal circumstances, Tommy would wince at the thought; spending hours with the conspiracy theorists, the doomsday preppers, everyone who frequented that particular social networking site. Before, the conversations had among those forums would have easily made Tommy more queasy.

But his stomach was no longer in knots. Tommy was no longer ignoring what he read, and often participated in, but rather thinking on it seriously. What if everything they were saying made total sense? And what if his so-called friend was making a huge, life-changing decision to marry a man? Tommy would ultimately be remiss as a friend if he did not try to stop the wedding altogether.

Chapter Text

The Williams Inn
Williamstown, Massachusetts

The venue for the wedding was the one thing that neither Jon nor Ronan could agree on. Ronan was set on having their wedding at the Loeb Boathouse, a jewel nested on the lake in Central Park. But at this time of year, trying to do so without much notice would have been relatively difficult, even for someone with Ronan’s pedigree. The number of people jockeying for one of the coveted weekend spots as soon as the snow started to melt increased dramatically. Jon, on the other hand, thought this was a ridiculous idea. He wanted to have their wedding somewhere warm and tropical; on a white sandy beach with crystal clear water gently lapping against the shore. The admission completely baffled Ronan, since Jon fully believed that destination weddings were not only passe’, but the dictionary definition of tacky. Asking anyone to spend hundreds if not thousands of dollars just to attend a wedding was an atrocious thought, and Ronan simply could not believe that Jon would even consider it.

Jordan, whose opinion on the matter meant very little in the grand scheme of things, especially when it came to Jon and Ronan’s wedding, made a suggestion that seemed to soothe the maelstrom, if only for a little while. Jordan brought up the notion of having the wedding somewhere neutral; somewhere that neither of them chose directly, yet somewhere that meant something special to both of them.

At first, Jordan was not sure how this would go, given the bickering and infighting that was already happening between the betrothed. But the bickering died down as Jon and Ronan spoke of their memories, and after only a few hours they came to a decision.

A place that Jordan mentioned in passing the place where they first met. Almost.

Jon was a sophomore in the mathematics department at Williams College, and ready to spend half a semester abroad in England at Oxford. He had never been that far away from home before, even on a vacation with his family, and was both excited and nervous about the opportunity. He was truly going to be on his own for several weeks. Jon knew he was going to get into some trouble, that was a given, but he had no idea just how far down the rabbit hole he was going to fall.

At the ripe old age of 16, Ronan was already a college graduate, on his way to becoming one of the youngest doctorate students in the political science departments at Oxford College. He worked through a mountain of teasing and ridicule to get to where he was, and was not about to let anything undermine all of the progress that he made to date, including the students in the political history seminar he was in charge of that semester.

A seminar that one Jonathan Lovett was already signed up for.

What the young Jon Lovett was not prepared for was the even younger instructor standing in the front of the room. At first glance, this young blonde man could not have been his own age, let alone old enough to be teaching a class at such a prestigious, world-renowned university. On the first day of class, Jon sat somewhere near the back of the room, not wanting to be in the middle of everything but still wanting to reap the benefits of attending the class. But the moment that Ronan Farrow walked into the room, Jon’s entire body perked up and started paying attention.

It only took a week to feign ignorance, and for Jon to start showing up at Ronan’s office hours whenever possible. Ronan, who was already a college graduate at an age where most people were still struggling through junior and senior high school, though he rarely exhibited much in the way of common sense, he was no fool. He could tell that this student of mathematics was trying to get to know him outside of the academic arena, but Ronan could not for the life of him come up with any reasons as to why.

Jon dropped subtle hints like breadcrumbs; bringing a second coffee to office hours for his teacher, asking if he would like to join him for dinner somewhere off campus. Other requests that, to the average person, would seem like flirting or something like it. But to wunderkind Ronan Farrow, it was merely a number of friendly gestures, with absolutely no underlying connotation.

“But… wait.” It was Jon and his own logic who spoke to Jordan first, after Jordan recommended them having the wedding and reception in northwestern Massachusetts, rather than Oxford. “Why Williams?”

Jordan smiled. He sat back with his arms folded loosely across his chest. And after pausing for several moment, he cleared his throat. “Because it was there, back at Jon’s dorm, where you two fucked for the first time,” he responded, nodding firmly as he made his bold, but otherwise true, statement. He turned to Jon and then to Ronan, and surprisingly saw them both blushing at the same time. Jordan closed his eyes and chuckled through a grin.

After a few moments, Jon found himself laughing along with Jordan. “We should absolutely find that dorm again,” he said with a nod, playfully wiggling his eyebrows at the same time. “Though from what I remember that bed was-”

“Awkward,” Ronan nodded once. He shifted to Jordan, and with his arms folded across his chest he shrugged his shoulders. “You lived in a dormitory, Jordy. You know those beds aren’t really made for fucking.”

Before Jordan had a chance to respond, he snickered and felt his entire body blush. “I, um… I never had the… pleasure of having anyone in my bed.” He cleared his throat softly. “Back in college.”

Jon clucked his tongue and shook his head. “Poor Jordy,” he said quietly. “Good thing you’ve been making up for lost time.”

The blush in Jordan’s cheeks darkened and he kind of turned away from both Jon and Ronan. “Yeah,” he said under his breath. “Making up for lost time, and… and all that.” He cleared his throat, and before he could speak he felt a little laugh catch in his chest.

With a garment bag slung over his shoulder, Jon paused in front of the door leading to the king-sized suite reserved for the grooms and patted himself down in search of the key card that was just handed to him by the middle-aged woman standing behind the front desk. He sighed, and with a little chuckle Jon keyed into the room, and shoved the door open before dragging the rest of his luggage inside.

Jon let out a short sigh and hung the garment bag in the closest nearest to the entry. He closed his eyes and spun on the balls of his feet, and with both arms stretched, he fell back onto the bed. “Nice,” Jon exhaled, grinning from ear to ear. A few seconds later he heard the lock click open once more, and he turned to see only Ronan, carrying his own luggage in tow. Jon narrowed his eyes slightly and scooted to sit himself up at the end of the bed, legs dangling over the edge. “Where’s-”

“Jordan?” Jon asked softly, clearing his throat to try and make his voice louder.

Ronan dropped his own bags right by the door, letting the door nearly slam closed behind him. “Jordan-“ He closed his eyes and exhaled sharply. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Will be spending the weekend in his own room.”

Jon narrowed his eyes and raised both eyebrows. “He’s… I’m sorry.” Jon shook his head. “He’s doing what?”

Ronan shrugged his shoulders, holding them up over his hears. “He’s staying in his own room, Jon,” Ronan repeated. Jon’s lips parted in an attempt to speak. With a little grunt, Ronan held a hand out to keep Jon from talking. “Yeah, I… I overheard him telling the woman at the front desk that he was… I guess affiliated with the wedding in some way, but.”

It was several moments later before Jon was able to speak, able to formulate the proper words. Jon scoffed, and took a seat on the cushioned armchair in the near corner of the suite’s bedroom. He exhaled, and rubbed both hands against his knees. “You’re messing with me,” Jon finally spoke. “You-“ He chuckled softly, the smile on his face hiding the internal sadness that came from Ronan’s words. “Jordan didn’t really-”

“That’s what I heard,” Ronan said with a gentle shrug of his shoulder. “Or thought I heard. Either way, he’s not here. We… may not even see him before any of the ceremonial nonsense.”

“Because he’s… merely affiliated with the big gay wedding here,” Jon said, a sad laugh catching with each of his words. “Just… part of the scenery, right? Like the fake flowers on the tables downstairs? Or maybe the department store artwork on the walls.”

“Jon,” Ronan warned. With no Jordan there to soften any of the blows, whatever the other would have to saw would undoubtedly cut deeper than either would want.

But without saying a word, Jon closed his eyes and let out a deep breath. “Sorry,” he whispered under his breath. “Sorry, I… I know. You’re right. I really need to just-”

With the softest smile on his face, Ronan sunk to a squatting position in front of where Jon was seated. “Stop thinking,” he returned through that very same smile. He slid both hands onto Jon’s, both now resting on his knees. Ronan whimpered softly, and rested his cheek to the inside of Jon’s knee with his eyes closed. “I know your anxiety is through the room right now, and I get that. And he-” Ronan sighed grumpily, but only for a moment. “Whatever he’s going through right now-”

“He doesn’t think he belongs.” Jon’s hushed voice cut through every other sound in the room. “He… Ronan.” Jon sighed and looked up and into Ronan’s eyes, his own starting to water in the corners. “We’re going to-”

“No,” Ronan snapped, albeit quietly. He gripped both hands over Jon’s knees as if to squeeze both for assurance, but also for emphasis. “Look. I know exactly where that train of thought is going, and you need to stop it. Right now.”

Jon sniffled back all of the tears that threatened to fall down his cheeks. He closed his eyes, and with a deep breath he rubbed his eyes. “You’re right,” Jon nodded in response. “You’re right, Ro. I’m sorry. I need to snap out of it. After all-” Jon reached over and lovingly cupped a hand around the back of Ronan’s neck, drawing their foreheads together. “We’re about to get married.”

Ronan grinned from ear to ear. “Yes,” he hissed softly. “Yes we are.”

An hour or so later, after both Jon and Ronan cleaned up and got more relaxed than they were when they arrived at the inn, they finally heard from Jordan. He said that he would be down in the bar, and that it would be wonderful if Jon and Ronan could join him.

Relief washed over both Jon and Ronan as they caught Jordan’s message in their little family group chat. More of their own friends and family would start to arrive at the inn that evening, and they would be right there, front and center, to greet everyone who came in. But when they walked into the lobby, they were both greeted by a kind of silence that filled in the gaps between them.

Jordan was already at the bottom of one glass, dark liquid clinging to melting ice cubes. He sat slumped in a square armchair, both hands resting on the arms of the chair, the sweating class sitting on a coaster at the end of one.

“I’m…” Ronan narrowed his eyes and pointed to the bar. Jon nodded at him, silently assessing the rest of Ronan’s thought. Ronan made his way to the bar, and Jon took a seat next to Jordan. It felt strange, sitting so close, and yet so far away, all at the same time.

Jon cleared his throat gently before speaking, keeping his voice so quiet that he had to lean in for Jordan to hear him. “Is… everything okay?”

Jordan stared straight ahead, focusing on absolutely nothing but the space directly in front of him. He nonchalantly shrugged his shoulders, the only indication that he had actually heard Jon, or was even aware of his presence. “Honestly? I don’t know,” he replied, as he brought the empty glass to his lips, the ice clattering around loudly. He sighed, and made a sound that most closely resembled a growl. “I need a refill.”

Jon raised an eyebrow. He sat back in his own, matching square armchair, and rubbed both his hands against his thighs. He exhaled sharply; for as long as he had known Jordan, he knew that Jordan was not good when it came to holding his liquor. The first time they met Jordan had only a couple of cocktails, but was just barely sober when they got back to the penthouse. “Jordy, I-”

“Please.” Jordan’s voice was cold, but also sad at the same time. When Jon remained quiet, he shook the glass, letting the melting ice clatter against the sides of it. Jon sat motionless, signaling to Jordan that he was on his own. Jordan sighed and rolled his eyes, and hopped up out of the chair just as Ronan returned with a drink in each hand.

“Did I miss-”

Jon grumbled into his palms. “No,” he snapped back at Ronan. “No, you… didn’t miss a thing.” He shifted to get out of his chair, but Jordan beat him to it, nearly throwing his empty glass onto the floor in the process. “Jor-” But Jordan was gone, already leaning against the bar with his glass between his hands. The bartender reached for the same bottle of whiskey he poured from the first time Jordan ordered. Jordan motioned for him to leave the bottle, but with a gentle smile on his face the bartender shook his head and turned his back to Jordan.

With a heavy sigh, Jordan returned to his square armchair and fell into it. He set the base of the glass right back near the edge of the chair’s arm. “Help yourself, Jordy,” Ronan commented.

Jordan’s expression was flat, but behind that expression was a hint of sadness. He raised the glass just a bit, and paused for only a moment before taking a drink. “Don’t mind if I do,” Jordan responded. “I hope you two don’t mind, but… I full intend on getting completely black-out drunk tonight.”

Both Jon and Ronan looked at one another with a look of genuine concern on their faces. Ronan cleared his throat softly. “I, um… I mean, if…”

“No one’s coming,” Jordan stated flatly, interrupting Ronan’s train of thought as he spoke.

It took both Jon and Ronan a solid minute to take in what Jordan was telling him. They sat there in shock, unable to speak, while Jordan coolly finished his second drink. Jordan swallowed hard, and smacked his lips before setting the glass back down.

Jon was the first to speak, his own voice hard and relatively cold. “What… do you mean no one’s coming,” he stated in return. Jordan paused for half a beat, and shrugged his shoulders rather dramatically. “Do you know something?” Jon paused, and turned to Ronan for half a beat, before looking back to Jordan. “Do you know something that we don’t?”

“Jonathan,” Ronan mumbled under his breath, in an attempt to get him to stop talking without making physical contact.

“No!” Jon snapped, his voice rising. “Stop... just fucking stop telling me to calm down, or whatever it was that you were about to say. Because I really don’t want to hear it.” Ronan could feel the words building on the tip of his tongue, and did everything in his power to keep quiet. Jon needed to get everything out of his system and off of his chest, and needed to do so without any further interruption. “I’m really... I don’t know. I’m just tired of being told to shut up.”

Ronan closed his eyes and sighed softly. “Jonathan, no one is telling you to shut up. Honestly, if anything, we want you to keep talking. We both want to hear what's on your mind, at all times."

Jon pulled in a deep breath, and fought the urge to scream. But in that instant, all of Jon's anger dissipated into the atmosphere. Jordan watched as Jon got angry, grew angrier, and then nothing came. With a little sigh of his own, Jordan shook his head and rattled the glass before taking the last sip of melted ice and whiskey sitting at the bottom of the glass. "Say it," Jordan purred. "What... whatever is on your mind right now, Jon? Just say it."

Jon sighed. "Why," he questioned in return. He sat still for several moments, staring at his hands folded in his lap, and let out a very deep breath. "Why say anything. It's not like it matters." Jon slowly turned to Jordan, and all of the ire in his body swiftly returned. "It's not like you're even part of this, right?"

All of the color drained from Jordan's entire body. He sat still for a long moment, before falling back into the chair, his back hitting the cushions hard. "You know what I meant," Jordan said through a sharp sigh.

“Do I?” Jon doubled down with a single, two-syllable sentence.

Jordan closed his eyes and exhaled through his nose. "Well, I'm not," he said in return. "When it comes to to your marriage, my opinion means nothing. Absolutely nothing."

"Except... you are part of it," Ronan said with a gentle shrug of his shoulders. "Maybe not legally, but certainly emotionally."

"And physically," Jon snapped. "Unless-" Jordan could feel Jon's body start to recoil, and tried to brace himself for whatever came next. "Unless you don't want-"

"Don't be ridiculous," Jordan said under his breath. "Of course I do. Would I be here if I didn't want to be? To be here with both of you?"

"I don't know," Jon mumbled. "Part of me really, really hopes that, yeah. You absolutely would. Because you love both of us with all of your heart." Jordan said nothing but simply nodded once.

"I don't know, either," Jordan continued, and shrugged his shoulders again. "I don't know what I'm saying right now." He sipped at his glass, milking as much whiskey as he could from the melting ice cubes. "Listen, I am just as nervous as you two are right now."

"Are you?" Jon asked, raising an eyebrow as he spoke.

Jordan smacked his lips and nodded once. "Absolutely," he replied. "You know, my... my life is about to change too, you know."

"How?" Jon snapped again. Once again, an anger filled his entire body; one that, this time, Jon was not sure that he could control. "How is your life also about to change, Jordan?"

"Because if anything happens to you, to either of you, I won't have any say in anything from here on out!" Jordan's own ire, uninhibited by the alcohol coursing through his body, grew exponentially. "Because you two will be legally linked, and I'll just be the fucking boyfriend!" Jordan slammed both hands down against the arms of the chair, sending the glass and its melting ice flying.

Ronan pushed back from where they all sat, and took several breaths to calm himself. "Jordy, if... if you felt this way, why did you say that you were okay with it?"

Jordan sighed. He pushed himself out of the chair, and started fumbling around on the ground to pick up the ice cubes. "Because it was going to happen regardless," he responded, juggling the ice cubes in his hand to get them back into the glass. "So, again. My opinion really does mean very little in this matter." Jordan stood straight, his shoulders pushed back, his back to both Jon and Ronan. "I'm ordering another drink and taking it back to my room." Jon scoffed and rolled his eyes at that. "I'll see you in the morning."

Morning came, and Jordan could feel his heart beating between his ears. At some point in the night, Jordan bought the rest of that same bottle of whiskey and let it a few shots short of empty on the bedside table. He groaned, and through his raging headache he grabbed his phone to see that he had not even set an alarm. Several notifications from text messages that both Jon and Ronan sent were left unread, as Jordan crawled blindly across the room to empty the contents of his stomach into the toilet.

A knock, soft at first, grew louder and more persistent. Kneeling before the toilet, Jordan reached out to flush the soup floating in the bowl before him. He wanted to shout out to whoever it was at the door to lead him alone, but just the idea of shouting made his entire body crumple. When he was finally able to get to his feet Jordan shuffled, still fully clothed in what he wore the night before, and opened the door without looking out the peephole.

"No one's here," Jon announced, pushing his way around Jordan and into the smaller room. Ronan remained in the hallway for just a moment, hands folded near his waist, eyes focused down at the floor. Both he and Jordan looked at Jon, who stood facing them with his arms folded tightly across his chest.

"Good morning, Jon," Jordan growled. Without looking back at Ronan, Jordan motioned for him to join them. Ronan mouthed a silent thank you, and let Jordan close the door.

Jon threw his hands up, rumpling the thick curtains hanging over the window in the process. "No one is here!" he shouted again.

Jordan groaned and closed his eyes tightly. He pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. "I know you're... upset right now, but if you could keep the shouting to a minimum, that would be great."

Jon closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Sorry," he exhaled. "Sorry. I know you're probably incredibly hung over right now, and I would apologize for being loud and obnoxious but now is not the time for peace and fucking quiet because no one is here!"

Jordan winced once more, and with a little shake of his head he turned to Ronan. "Please translate," he whispered, his voice rougher than usual.

Ronan tried to force a smile, at least for Jordan's sake, but the smile was just sad. "None of the wedding guests are here," Ronan reiterated. "Not... not even our mothers."

Jordan's eyes were wide. His entire body tensed up, both from another wave of crippling nausea, but also from genuine surprise. "Wait. Really?" Of all of the people who were aware of the fact that Jon Lovett and Ronan Farrow were getting married, of all of the people who were actually invited to the intimate ceremony and reception to follow, both of their mothers were the most excited for this event to take place. Both Jon's and Ronan's mothers were the biggest champions of their relationship, and even though they were still trying to understand Jordan's part of it, the important part was that they were trying to understand, rather than simply judge.

Their absence scared Jordan. He pressed a hand to his chest and felt his entire body tremble with every breath he took. "Really," was all that Jordan could manage to say. Without saying a word, Ronan nodded only once.

"Mom isn't even answering her phone," Jon said in return. "And that scares me."

"No I get it." Jordan sighed sharply. He closed his eyes, and though his brain was still incredibly cloudy, he tried to imagine a scenario in which everyone was okay, but at the same time were able to offer up a simple explanation. But Jordan was at a genuine loss as to what that simple explanation might be. "You want me to try?" Jon shrugged his shoulders, and immediately pulled his phone from his back pocket. Jordan sighed and shook his head, and without falling over her stumbled to where his own had landed earlier.

Rather than calling, Jordan opened a message to Jon’s mother. He sat on the bed, and could feel the room starting to spin around him. Ronan moved to join Jordan, but reached for the bottle of whiskey on the bedside table instead. “You overdid it,” Ronan commented.

Jordan chuckled. “I told you I would,” he reminded. “Now, do I regret it? Absolutely. It’s official, I… am getting too old for this shit.” Ronan laughed softly, and sat on the bed beside him, careful not to jostle the mattress, and Jordan with it.

"Poor Jordy," Ronan cooed. He leaned over and softly rested his head against Jordan's shoulder, and was about to speak when they all heard Jordan's phone vibrate. Jordan flipped the phone over to read the message, but the expression on his face was really all that Ronan needed to see.

"What... what's that look for," Jon snapped. Before he could finish his statement he grabbed the phone out of Jordan's hand and read the reply from his mother; once to himself, and then again out loud to make certain that he was not misinterpreting what he was reading.

"I am truly sorry that all of this is happening, Jordan. And if there is anything I can do, please don't hesitate.

"Tommy told us everything that our sons were too afraid to, about the end of the relationship and all of the reasons why. We're all just surprised that it came from him and not Jon."

Jon took a breath, and his whole body visibly shook. Neither Jordan nor Ronan could move fast enough to keep Jon from responding. "What... exactly... has Tommy... been... telling you?" Jon's heart stopped beating the moment he saw the three chat bubbles pop up, before his mother's response arrived.

"He told us that you felt nervous about upcoming pieces of legislation, and that Jon and Ronan felt almost bullied into getting married when they actually wanted nothing to do with it.

"I just wished that, if they DID actually break up, that one of them would have mentioned something to me, that's all."

Jordan's phone slid out of Jon's hand and hit the ground with a gentle thud. Several awkwardly silent moments passed before anyone in the room could even move, let alone speak. Jon turned away from where Jordan's phone lay on the floor, vibrating again and again as more notifications went off.

"Tommy," Ronan managed to whisper, but the softness of his voice pierced the silence so sharply, Jordan was positive that he actually felt it.

Jon closed his eyes, tightly enough to see a universe of stars explode behind his eyelids from the rage that filled his entire body. "That miserable fuck," Jon spat out. Jordan and Ronan both noticed that Jon's body was notably still, though his hands were still clenched in tight fists. He shook his head just once, before turning to face the windows. "Ask her what he said."

Jordan and Ronan shared another look. Without saying a word, Ronan slid from the bed and shuffled over to where Jon dropped Jordan’s phone. Rather than give him the phone back, Ronan took control of the conversation. With as level a head as he could manage, Ronan let his thumbs ask the relevant question.

Ronan waited in great suspense, as the three chat bubbles on the other side of the screen disappeared then reappeared a number of times before the message finally went through.

“Tommy mentioned that Jon and Ronan were both nervous about all of the anti-LGBTQ rhetoric coming out of Washington.

“Maybe nervous is the wrong word.

“But nervous enough for them to call off the wedding.”

Ronan paused for a moment and felt himself taking a deep breath before moving to show Jon the screen of Jordan’s phone. Jon squinted for a moment, trying to focus on the wall of text that his mother already sent, and continued to send.

“Tommy also mentioned that you-” Jon was reading the message aloud, and the words caught in the back of his throat. “Th-that you… were already considering leaving them.”

“What!” Jordan shouted, regardless of how much his head hurt from the force of his voice. He closed his eyes and groaned. He lifted himself up from the bed, wobbling for just a second before straightening himself up. He snatched his phone back and read through all of the messages from Jon’s mother, before he was finally able to conjure up a response of his own.

“I don’t know what Tommy has been saying, but

“I hate to tell you this, but you have been grossly and tragically misinformed. Ronan and Jon are with me, right now, at the venue up in MA, ready for them to get married.

“They’ve been waiting for ANYONE to show up :(

And, no. I’m not going anywhere. I love both Ronan and your son too much to just abandon either of them, especially now.”

Jordan was positive that he wanted nothing more to do with this conversation. With his eyes closed he tossed his phone aside and stomped off to the bathroom, to be sick once more. Catching his breath, Jordan sat on the tiled bathroom floor with one leg folded underneath himself. While the door was not completely closed, it was closed enough to allow both himself, but also Jon and Ronan, a bit of privacy.

Even so, Jordan heard every word of the conversation between Jon and Ronan.

“Jon,” Ronan started.

“No,” Jon replied. “I… I’m going to kill him, Ronan. Plain and fucking simple.” Ronan sighed, but did not say another word, allowing Jon to continue. “I mean, where… where does Thomas Vietor get off, thinking that, that he has the right to tell, not only the guests of a wedding that he wasn’t invited to, but the parents of the grooms! He-” Jon folded his hands together around the back of his neck. “He lied. To everyone, Ronan. Tommy, someone who I genuinely believed to be a friend, told everyone he knew… everyone we mutually know, that you and I were-” Jon paused and bent down to pick up Jordan’s phone. “Afraid. Afraid! Ronan we are a lot of things, but afraid to get married?” He scoffed, and Jordan could feel it in his chest.

“Not only that.” Ronan cleared his throat softly. “But he essentially told-”

“Everyone that we broke up!” Jon was visibly trying not to scream. Ronan came up to Jon and cupped a hand over his shoulder, which Jon instantly pushed away. “Next time we’re in California, I’m going to kill him. With my own two hands, Ronan, I swear to gods.”

Taking a deep breath, Jordan rolled to his knees and flushed away the remains of whatever came up from his stomach. He rolled back up to his feet, and with a heavy sigh he pulled open the bathroom door. He leaned against the frame and let out a sharp sigh. “But you’re getting married anyway, right?” Ronan and Jon shared a silent look, before both nodding in agreement. Jordan grinned. “Good. Now get out of here so I can shower.”

Chapter Text

Macomb County Community College
Warren, Michigan

“Who would have thought that our elections are so rigged and broken? You know, I don’t believe we’ll ever have a fair election again.”

Jordan’s eyes widened and he felt both laughter and bile creep up into his throat. He rubbed his throat in an attempt to at least keep the bile down. “Did... did he really just say that?” Jordan asked, speaking aloud but mostly speaking to himself. Aside from the crew that often accompanied him on trips like this one, Jordan found himself surrounded by supplicants. One glanced and Jordan saw the crowd nodding in assent. He held his breath, and could feel the color starting to drain from his face.

The crowd was filled with the same people that Jordan had come to know from his subsequent months on the road. Traveling from city to city, state to state, following the schedule of events that were designed to feed a narcissistic megalomaniac’s ego. At one point, Jordan felt that he had the script memorized, that he knew exactly what the man on the dais was about to say. And when he changed it up, that was when Jordan told himself he needed to start paying attention.

“Look at what we’ve been through together. Russia, Russia, Russia. Ukraine, Ukraine, Ukraine - never would any of this happened if I was president.”

Jordan laughed out loud just once, and cupped a hand over his mouth when he saw a number of people turn to glare back at him. He saw a hint of recognition in one pair of eyes, and with a hand still over his mouth he gave his shoulder a little shrug. Where else did they expect him to be? Jordan made a career out of following this dog and pony show around the country, and knew that he would eventually run into people who would recognize him because of it. Jordan snickered again behind his hand, and lean in closer to one of the members of his crew. “But he was president,” Jordan reminded the members of the crowd who surrounded him, as if the words truly needed to be said.

Jamie, Jordan’s traveling cameraman, shrugged his shoulders. “You think he remembers that?” he asked in response.

Jordan gave his shoulders a single shrug, and folded his arms tightly across his chest. He cleared his throat into his fist and shook his head with the slight disbelief that he was now starting to feel.

“You can say anything you want. You can give me the worst, toughest, most horrible question. Who cares, right? Who the hell cares? For seven years, our movement, our MAGA movement, the greatest movement in political history, there has never been anything like this. It has been taking on all of the evil and sinister forces trying to destroy America’s future.”

At this point in the ridiculous speech, Jordan was biting his bottom lip so hard that he was sure he could taste the copper of his own blood. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, and found himself taking a step back to reach into the backpack at his feet for the small Tupperware container with a handful of ibuprofen. He pulled out two and dry swallowed them, knowing that he would absolutely have a migraine by the time this rally was over.

Jordan and his crew could not believe that, after what felt like several hours of speeches from what he could only describe as amateur politicians, the crowd gave every single person on that stage a five-minute standing ovation. As the crowd stood with thunderous applause, Jordan and his crew all shared looks with one another and slowly, carefully, made their way out of the auditorium.

The people standing outside, the crowd overflow they often referred to themselves as, especially when talking to the media, were the masses who simply had to attend the event regardless of whether or not they had gotten tickets. Though they were unable to be in the auditorium, they all stood firmly in place and stared blankly up at the large monitor, which were always supplied to the venue, applauding the smiling faces that flashed across the screens.

Except for one. One man, with a long, grey beard and matching scraggly grey hair that was pulled back into a ponytail under an American flag bandana, tied atop his head like a babushka. He was still applauding, reacting to the faces on the screen like a robot. But the second his eyes caught sight of Jordan and his crew, his applause slowed before stopping altogether. Jordan’s eyes met his and Jordan felt his body temperature drop immediately.

“Fucker.”

Jordan stood relatively still, and out of the corners of his eyes he attempted to find who uttered the single two-syllable reaction. He manage to avoid the rest of the conversation but had the strangest feeling in the back of his mind that it was all directed at himself at the rest of his crew. He stood straight, pushing his shoulders back to make himself appeared as tall as he, in fact, was.

As if he were trying to assert himself.

“Jordan,” Heidi, the young writer who Jordan hand-picked to come out to events like this with him, hissed and grabbed him by the wrist in the process. “C’mon, we… maybe we should…”

“Hey!” the man with the long grey beard called out. He pushed his way through the crowd to where Jordan and his crew stood. Jordan turned to face this man, just to see what the bearded man wanted to get his attention for. Jordan felt two hands against his chest, shoving him back a step or two. “Hey. What the hell’re you doing here, huh?”

“I-” Jordan tried to speak for himself, but the man with the long grey beard shoved him again. He steadied himself, resting one hand against his chest, and felt a soft laugh catch in the back of his throat. “O-okay. Okay. I-”

“Did you hear me?” the man with the long grey beard interrupted. “I said-”

“He asked you a question!” Another man, who closely resembled the man with the long grey beard, interrupted as well. The man with the long grey beard reached for and grabbed the front of Jordan’s shirt, pulling him back from where he was shoved. Jordan stood silent with both hands up and away from the man holding onto him.

“Answer him, dick!”

“Yeah, answer him, Antifa!”

Jordan took a moment and looked around, and saw that his crew was also surrounded; the crowd was now ignoring the screens and focusing all on them rather than the rally happening inside.

“Shit,” Jordan whispered roughly. He swallowed hard, hoping to dislodge the lump that started to grow in the back of his throat. “Look, I… I’m not here to start trouble. Or to start… anything, I-”

Nods, not of assent but of anger, traveled through the crowd. The man with the long grey beard adjusted his grip on Jordan’s shirt, making it easier to hold him relatively steady. While Jordan was easily a head taller than the bearded man, he was a good bit heavier and most likely carried at least one weapon.

The prospect made Jordan’s entire body cold.

“So you’re tell me that you aren’t filming us? Huh? You’re not going to put us on the YouTube and make fun of us?”

“Yeah!”

“That’s what this fag does!”

Jordan closed his eyes and winced. While his relationship with Jon and Ronan was not entirely a secret, they did have a tendency to discuss it in circles that these people did not necessarily run in. The only question rattling around in Jordan's mind at that very moment was did they know that he was in not one, but essentially two homosexual relationships? Or was this man just trying to insult him in the only way that troglodytes knew how?

“But that isn’t-”

“We have no equipment!”

Jordan heard his crew trying to come to his rescue, but knew that the words were falling on mainly deaf ears. The man with the long grey beard, who held Jordan so tightly that his knuckles were white, shoved him back against the wall as roughly as he could. Jordan let out a soft yelp when the back of his head hit the wall, and immediately brought both hands up to grab the hands that were holding onto him.

Stars flashed across his vision. Jordan heard nothing but the shouts of the crowd that gathered around them. Again he tried to speak, to diffuse the situation, but every time Jordan opened his mouth, the crowd just became angrier.

Hands, grabbing at his clothes, clenched into fists. Hitting him on the arms, in the chest, in the sides. The man with the long grey beard shoved him against the wall, this time with more force than before. Jordan’s head bounced off the way one more time, and though the logical center of his brain was telling him not to close his eyes, not to fall asleep in that very instant, the rest of his body grew heavier and harder to keep awake.

But with one more hit, one more fist thrown to make contact with his jaw, Jordan’s consciousness slipped away. He would have fallen to the ground if the man with the long grey beard had not been holding onto him, holding him up so that the rest of the mob around them could get a few more punches in before campus security could intervened.

Jordan woke slowly, his vision blurred to the point where all he could see were colors. Light colors, which were accompanied by the sounds of rhythmic beeping. Jordan brought one hand up to try and rub his eyes, attempting to bring his vision back into focus. A sharp pain shot through his entire body, and the beeping sped up as the pain grew.

“Jordan?” He heard an unfamiliar voice call out from the opposite side of the room. He opened his eyes wide and breathed heavily, struggling to catch his breath. “Hey. Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay.”

A nurse. The unfamiliar voice belonged to a nurse. Jordan was in the hospital. With a comforting hand on his own, Jordan’s breathing, and the accompanying alarms, slowed until the alarms finally quieted. After catching his breath, Jordan closed his eyes and sighed.

“Wh-where… where am I?” Jordan asked softly. “What happened?”

The nurse checked all of the machines, and the IV tubes that were connected to Jordan’s arm and the back of his hand. She took the chart from the foot of his bed, made a single note, and smiled up at Jordan. “Well.” She cleared her throat softly. “You… were brought here from that rally up at M-triple-C.” The nurse nodded once more. “You got jumped.”

Jordan was still, holding his breath for several long moments. “I… I’m sorry.” He cleared his throat. “I… I got jumped?”

The nurse nodded. “Bunch of bruises, but… hopefully nothing’s broken.” She gently rested her hand on Jordan’s arm, causing him to wince. “They took some X-rays, but they haven’t come back yet.” She sighed lightly. “How’re you feeling? You definitely have a concussion. They… hit you pretty hard.”

“Yeah,” Jordan returned, trying not to laugh. The laughter made his head, and the rest of his body, hurt far too much. “Yeah, that… I don’t remember being grabbed, and… essentially thrown against a wall.”

The nurse let out another soft sigh and took a step back. “You’re lucky,” she announced. “I’m sure they would have killed you, given the chance.”

“What!?” Another sharp pain rattled Jordan’s entire body, causing him to close his eyes tightly. “Oh… fuck, please… please, tell me… did anyone-”

“Oh! Oh, no. No, Jordan. Your-” Both Jordan and the nurse turned to the door, as a doctor and police officer both walked into his room. The nurse paused and cleared he throat. Jordan watched her, and with a little touch of understanding he nodded. The doctor began to explain to him what had happened, but Jordan’s mind immediately began to wander, still very much blinking in and out of consciousness.

Just as the police officer pulled a small notebook out of the pocket of his dress shirt, Jordan finally spoke up. “Can someone call my partner?” he asked as calmly as he could manage. Jordan’s attention was more focused on the nurse than anyone else in the room.

The nurse nodded, and pointed behind herself and out the door. She got the information from one of the crew members, and called Ronan’s cell from the hospital.

Jon and Ronan were on a flight from New York to Detroit within hours. From the airport they took a cab up to McLaren Macomb, the hospital where Jordan’s crew insisted they were taken to. The hospital was a bit further from the auditorium than the paramedics would have wanted, but after the crew explained what had happened, they wanted to get Jordan somewhere where his safety could be better guaranteed.

Jon ran from the elevator and down the hall to Jordan’s private room. Jordan lay there in the bed, one arm in a sling and a purple bruise under his chin and jaw, and his eyes blackened and swollen, though Jordan could still see out of it. Jon said nothing, as tears quickly filled his eyes.

“You… you should see the other guy,” Jordan commented in an attempt to make a joke.

Jon sniffled back a tear. “Is… is the other guy dead? Because that’s the only way I’m going to laugh at that.”

Jordan frowned. He closed his eyes and sighed. “I’m… okay, Jon. Honestly.”

It was then that Ronan strode into the room, and saw that the same sight that Jon was just met with. He nudged the door closed behind himself. “Holy shit,” he managed to say through an exhale.

“But you should see the other guy!” Jon teased, his voice breaking as he spoke. He laughed once, but the sound was pained beyond comparison.

“Jordy,” Ronan breathed. “Fucking… what happened?” The chair scraped across the floor, as Ronan pulled it closer to the bed.

“I… we got jumped,” Jordan replied. “There was overflow outside of the auditorium. They recognized me and told me that-” Joran changed his voice, and put on an over-exaggerated southern accent. “We don’t take kindly to your kind around here.” He shook his head. “Not sure if they meant Antifa, or fags. I mean, probably both, but those were the two insults I remember more than… anything else.”

Ronan pulled himself closer to the bed, and reached for Jordan’s uninjured hand. He whimpered softly, and pressed a gentle kiss to his palm. “Jordan,” He whispered against his lover’s skin. “Baby, I… I am so sorry.”

“For?” Jordan felt himself question gently in return. With a little smile Jordan shook his head. “Ronan, please don’t. Don’t… don’t apologize. Especially for this, this… this…”

“If you finish that thought with anything that resembles this is what happens when you go to these events, I-”

“But it is,” Jordan said with a long sigh. He pushed his hand further into Ronan’s and gentle laced their fingers together. “It is, I mean… I guess it is now, anyway. The new normal, et cetera.”

Jon rolled his eyes and shook his head. “The new normal,” he repeated. He spat the instant the words came out of his mouth. “Jordy, this is not normal, okay? Nothing about this is even remotely normal. You-” He closed his eyes and scoffed, and in a blink found himself turning away. He was unable to even look at Jordan, the bruising on his face getting worse, even as they spoke.

“Jon.” Jordan paused to clear his throat, and reached for the flimsy plastic pitcher filled with room temperature water. Ronan watched for a split second, and shifted to poor some into a cup for Jordan to sip. All of a sudden Jordan was beyond thirsty. He silently thanked Ronan for the water, and let out another sigh. “Listen to… hell, look at me. Those supporters? They were out for floor. I’m actually a little surprised that I wasn’t shot! And I know that disturbs you, or whatever. It disturbs me, too. But I can’t-”

Jordan closed his eyes and drew in a very deep breath. He had so many thoughts racing through his mind, so much that his conscious mind now had to catch up as quickly as it could manage. Jordan slowly let out the deep breath that he was holding. “Someone has to. I… I have to. I’ve been doing this for too long not to see it through.”

Ronan felt the tension in the room thicken, and reached over to take Jon’s hand. In the back of his mind, Ronan silently prayed that Jon would hold back on whatever it was that he himself was about to say.

Because Ronan knew exactly how Jordan felt. Ronan knew what it was like to be the lead, the first voice to tell the story that needed to be told. And there was no way that Ronan was going to try and tell Jordan that all of a sudden, he could no longer be the storyteller. Ronan was not going to be the one to tell Jordan that this job was getting to be too dangerous for him, for anyone, to be out doing unprotected.

“We need to make a plan,” Jon announced to the room. He sat back and rubbed both hands against his knees.

Jordan clucked his tongue, and though one eye remained relatively swollen he rolled them both. “You two already have a plan,” he said with a soft nod. “I-“

“Jordan knock it off,” Ronan started. He sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I thought we were over this.”

“Over this?”

Ronan closed his eyes and sighed. “That… shit, that’s not-”

Jordan raised his good hand. “No,” he started to say. “We are not over this. This right now is something we have to address, because I am pretty sure that they were only going to let one of you in here as my…” The words settled on the tip of Jordan’s tongue, and soured before he had the chance to speak them.

“Your next of kin?” Jon interrupted, continuing Jordan’s stifled train of thought. He folded his arms tightly across his chest, and after visibly struggling with a thought, he finally spoke. “Because you were gravely injured. And the hospital staff didn’t know-”

“I have you both listed as emergency contacts,” Jordan chimed in. “They didn’t know who to call, which… which one of you held all of the paperwork, because I-”

“Jordan,” Ronan felt himself whisper. Neither Ronan nor Jon had spoken to the doctor who was primarily in charge of Jordan’s care. Jordan himself had not said much to the doctor, but knew from his own personal experience that he was in bad shape when the paramedics brought him into the emergency room.

Jordan knew that he was still in bad shape.

Jordan closed his eyes and groaned loudly. “Can… can we just… sit here quietly for a minute?” he asked, his voice nearly shattering in the process. “Please, I just-” He sighed, and through his closed his eyes, tears burned and rolled down his cheeks. “It… it’s been a long day, I… I really just want to go home.”

Both Jon and Ronan sighed, their own feeling of defeat coursing through their own bodies. They turned to look at one another and nodded. After a moment or so, Jon reached for the call button attached to Jordan’s bed, and within a minute or so a nurse came into the room. “Is the cafeteria still open?” he asked, as he pushed himself up into a standing position. “I think I need some coffee.” He walked to the bed and gently rested his hand on Jordan’s uninjured shoulder. “I have a feeling it’s going to be a long night.

Chapter Text

“What was the phrase I heard the other night?” Jon asked from his position on the couch in the living room. He paused for just a moment before snapping his fingers. “That’s right. Anderson Cooper called it a cataclysmic nightmare.”

With a mug of warm coffee between his hands, Ronan shuffled back into the living room. Jon pulled his legs up and folded them underneath himself, staring at the television hanging on the wall opposite the couch. The sound was off, and the closed captioning struggled to keep up with the dialog happening between the pundits and other talking heads in the street-level news studio. Jon’s eyes moved with every word, every line that popped up on the screen, but it was difficult to keep up with everything he read.

Ronan took a slow sip from his warm coffee and settled on the couch next to Jon. His own eyes were now focused on the closed captioning on the screen, but when he reached for the remote Jon snatched it back. Without taking his eyes off of the television, Jon shook his head. “It just sounds like they’re all screaming at one another.”

“It’s CNN,” Ronan said in return. Ronan painted to the television with his thumb, hands still wrapped around the warm mug of coffee. “Shouting is absolutely their default setting.”

“Oh you’re really one to talk,” Jon reminded. He thumbed through the guide and found another news channel, one that Ronan was, at one point in his career, very connected to. Jon unmuted the television and pointed to the screen with the remote. “They’re screaming just as loudly here as they are everywhere else.” Jon quickly hit the mute button again, and with his eyes closed he let out a little sigh. “The world didn’t used to be this shitty.”

Ronan raised a curious eyebrow. “Are you sure about that?” he asked, not fully aware that the words were coming out of his mouth.

Before Jon got the chance to react a flash came across the screen. A graphic announcing that the news channel had some breaking news that it was about to release into the world. Though they could not hear what was being said, the chyron beneath the featured talking head said something that took both Jon and Ronan completely by surprise.

“Wait,” Jon spoke the single word a solid octave deeper than his usual voice. The remote fell from his hand and he stood slowly from the couch. “Does that say-“

“It does,” Ronan interrupted. He paused, just long enough to dislodge the lump that settled in his throat with his mouth hanging wide open. Ronan stood to join Jon. Jon bent down to grab the remote with one hand, and took Ronan’s hand with the other.

“... again, this is not speculation...”

“No it is not speculation.” The voices of the pundits were now overlapping; less angry and more concerned by the news that they were now forced to deliver. The camera, and all eyes, were now focused on the middle-aged man with a full head of dark hair, who had one pressed to the glass-topped table with his only fingertips, still holding the pen between his thumb, index, and middle fingers. “Okay? None of this is speculation. This is what is happening in today’s Washington. They have officially overturned one of, if not the most important, and dare I say controversial, Supreme Court decisions in the history of the court. They-“

“The courts-“

“-have essentially taken away all of the rights that they were legally going to give to anyone who identifies as a woman.”

A shuffle of papers echoed over countless microphones as there was a lull on the conversation. A singular pundit, a woman who was made up to look a good bit younger than she was, straightened the pages in front of her an, looking genuinely perplexed and concerned, shook her head only once. She remained quiet, and after blinking slowly she cleared her throat. Everyone on that set remained silent until she again spoke.

“What... a-again, what we’re hearing out of Washington at this hour is that the Supreme Court of the United States has... has overturned the landmark decision of Roe v. Wade, which in 1973...”

All of the color drained from both Jon’s and Ronan’s entire bodies. Ronan, still holding onto Jon’s hand, sunk down onto the couch behind them. As the woman on the screen continued her monologue, the chyron flashed with different pseudo headlines about the history of the decision, both controversial and not, Jon and Ronan were completely unable to speak.

“Shit.”

Both Jon and Ronan gasped softly when they realized that Jordan now stood behind them, with one bag of groceries resting in the crook of his arm, and another sitting upright on the floor by his feet.

“Jordan,” Ronan whimpered. “H-how... how long have you been-“

“Just a second or two,” Jordan quickly interrupted. “I, I heard people just... just chatting at the store. I thought it sounded crazy, like people were being... weird and, and paranoid, but I... I guess they weren’t being weird and paranoid.”

In a moment of unprecedented athleticism, Jon leapt over the back of the couch with the form of an Olympic hurdler. Jordan stood perfectly still when Jon wrapped him up in a tight hug, staring off into the middle distance, seemingly not paying any attention to anyone or anything. Jordan closed his eyes and shook his head. He stood in Jon’s arms for only a beat before twisting away. He grabbed the bags of groceries and disappeared into the kitchen.

Jon watched, and nervously chewed on the inside of his bottom lip. He wound his arms around his own body in Jordan’s absence, and nervously turned back to Ronan. He said nothing, and Ronan could tell just how anxious Jon now was.

Jordan stood in front of the open refrigerator, staring blankly at the shelves of the half-filled takeout containers from all of the restaurants within a ten-block radius of their building. This, Jordan thought, was the main reason that he went to do a bit of shopping. The store was a little crazy, given the numerous conflicting weather reports about a storm that was churning several miles out to sea. The last time he checked, Jordan saw that this particular tropical cyclone, or whatever the local meteorologists were fixing to call it, was going to churn for a minute or two and then make its way completely out to sea, where it would most likely dissipate over the cold waters of the north Atlantic.

Or it could turn back. The Atlantic storm system could catch a warm current back to the mainland, where it technically would not be classified as a tropical system, or anything close to it, but a rather violent wind and rain event. It would still be just as dangerous, though few would heed the warnings.

And this, Jordan realized, was now the perfect analogy. A storm that people ignored until it was too late to do anything but shelter in place and hope that everything turned out alright.

“Hey.” Jon’s soft voice pulled Jordan out of the trance he was falling under. Jon pulled in a long breath and let it out as he nervously slipped his arms around Jordan from behind. Jon rested his cheek against the spot between Jordan’s shoulder blades, and could feel Jordan sigh through his entire body. “You’re okay,” Jon whispered. “We... we’re okay.”

Jordan scoffed, and rested with both hands settled on the edge of the counter. “Are we?” Jordan exhaled in return. He turned back to see Jon snuggled up to him, and his resolve to stay angry melted away.

Jon stood up on his toes and pressed a sweet kiss to the back of Jordan’s neck. “Sure,” Jon returned, his voice cracking softly as he spoke. “Yeah. Of, of course we are, Jordy.” Jon turned to rest his cheek back against Jordan’s back, his shoulder shuddering as he looked at Ronan, hoping for some kind of reassurance from Ronan.

But Ronan nervously chewed at his bottom lip, and with a subtle shake of his head he shrugged his shoulders. From what Ronan saw, he could never lie like that to the men he loved. Ronan had no idea what something like this meant for them in the long run. How could he know, truly know what the future had in store for any of them? How could anyone?

“There... there’s a storm coming,” Jordan said softly, and as calmly as he could manage. “And... and not just whatever is brewing outside right now.” When he was finally able to look at both Jon and Ronan, he saw a wave of panic on both of their faces.

A wave of panic that Jordan tried to decipher without saying a word.

With a deep breath, Jordan returned to the minor task at hand. But his hands, his arms, everything felt as if it were moving in slow motion. Standing there in that penthouse apartment in a rather ritzy corner of the city, Jordan was suddenly left to wonder just what the future held for him and him alone.

After all, he was just the boyfriend. Legally he has no say in any matters that pertained to the situation that he was currently in.

And no matter what anyone said to him, no matter how much his friend tried to put his mind at easy, Jordan was always going to worry about the future, and his place in it.

“Jordan.” He heard Ronan’s voice echo deeply in the back of his mind. He felt a hand on his shoulder but quickly shook it off; he did not know if it was Jon or Ronan who was now trying to get his attention.

“I... I have to go,” Jordan felt himself speak before he could stop the words. Jordan said nothing else, and grabbed his phone before heading out the door. He could hear both Jon and Ronan calling after him, begging him to either stop, or come back, or both. Ignoring the voices, Jordan took one more look at the screen of his phone before turning the device off completely.

Jordan was beyond furious. As he left the building, he started talking to himself, but the words made very little sense. He mumbled incoherently, hands stuffed into his pockets, eyes focused on the stoned beneath his feet. He was so blinded by everything, all of the feeling that gathered in his mind became a thick fog; one that Jordan could not walk out from under.

A half an hour later, Jordan arrived at Bryant Park, among tourists who gathered in the green space behind the main branch of the New York Public Library. He heard the sky growl, and in a singular moment of clarity Joran turned to look up at the sky. Thunder, rolling slowly through the clouds, echoing down along the towering skyscrapers until reaching all of the people standing at street level.

Jordan found a place to sit, secluded among the crowd that still populated the park regardless of the threat of inclement weather looming overhead. He stared up at the overcast sky, and found himself wondering if this was all part of that subtropical storm hovering out to sea, or just the remnants of the latest round of showers and thunderstorms that came in on the jet stream. In a few minutes it would start to rain either way; slowly at first, as a warning to those still unaware, before falling in drenching sheets and soaking everyone that remained uncovered.

Jordan sat back against the tree, and with a cool breath filling his lungs he pulled his knees up and tucked them under his chin. He closed his eyes tight, and felt his entire body shake. Worry turned to fear, as his thoughts began to show. Maybe he was overreacting, and that once he calmed down, he could go home and they could all simply discuss whatever it was that was actually going on.

Jordan closed his eyes and let out a soft sigh as he rested his head back against the tree behind him. He had no idea what was happening, or how it would affect him, both in the future but also in the present. He groaned, a rough sound that was covered by another rumble of thunder, this one shaking the entire city from the top down. The weather was turning quickly, and though Jordan did not mind a little rain, the last thing he wanted was to be caught out in whatever torrential downpour was being predicted.

Jordan groaned, his joints stiff thanks largely in part to the changing weather but also his age, and had to stretch once he was finally on his feet. He saw that the rest of the people still in the park were also starting to seek refuge, which for the most part meant hiding out in the library. But Jordan really wanted to just go home. Home would be awkward for a while, but being there with Jon and Ronan was certainly better than the alternative.

Heading west on 42nd Street, Jordan felt a single drop of rain fall on his face. He squinted and turned his head to look up at the sky. At the same time he reached into his back pocket, forgetting that he turned his phone off as he left the penthouse earlier that day. He could not help but laugh at himself, and how truly dramatic he was being.

Ever since the wedding, the level of drama that Jordan achieved was staggeringly high. In the back of his mind, Jordan knew that he was being ridiculous, but for some reason he could not stop himself.

Snickering, Jordan shook his head and turned his phone back on. It took a moment for the phone to find a signal, and another moment for all of the message alerts to stop loading. It seemed that Jordan was more popular whenever he turned off his phone, regardless of the fact that most of the messages were from Ronan, or at the very least from Ronan’s phone.

“Where are you?”

“Jordan, we’re worried. Please answer :(“

“Be careful.”

“It’s starting to rain. You should come home.”

“OMG you turned off your phone, didn’t you.”

Jordan let out another huge laugh and shook his head. In that instant, he could not imagine ever being mad at either of them for any reason whatsoever. He was so in love, and knew that even if Jon and Ronan were legally married to one another, they were both very much in love with Jordan as well. And Jordan would not be left out of anything unless it was his own will.

Jordan found himself at the corner of 43rd Street and 8th Avenue, across the street from the always bustling Port Authority, when another text, this time from Jon’s number, came in.

“I have no idea what he’s on about, but I’m about to get to the bottom of it.”

The smile slowly faded from Jordan’s face. Another clap of thunder, echoing all around them, caused both tourists and locals alike to move quickly. Jordan remained stationary, standing more in the way than anything else. He brushed another drop of rain from the screen of his phone with his thumb.

“What’re you talking about?”

When Jordan did not get a quick response, or even see the three dots that signaled that Jon was attempting to reply, he started to wonder if the message that Jon sent was even meant for him.

But something in the back of his mind told Jordan to check his social media feeds. Something told him, warned him that the answer he was seeking would be there, but he may not want to hear it. Taking a deep breath, Jordan opened his Twitter feed and refreshed so that the latest posts would appear at the top. Scrolling through Twitter was once a comfort to him, now Jordan dreaded having to do it for work, let along doing it for his own pleasure.

And there it was. Jordan nearly scrolled right past the one-word post, but found himself asking a number of questions when he saw it.

“Finally.”

Jordan sucked in a sharp breath, and took a screen shot of Tommy’s one-word tweet, and attached it to the next message he sent to Jon. “Is this what you’re talking about?”

A single clap of thunder, followed immediately by a cloudburst that soaked Jordan, and everyone else who was now running for cover. He still got no response from Jon, not even a hint that Jon saw that last message.

Whatever joy Jordan felt only moments earlier was quickly being replaed by a rage; a rage that, in an instant, was completely misplaced. But Jordan did not care. In that moment he was not thinking about anything logically. He was barely thinking about anything at all.

All he knew was that Jon knew Tommy both personally and professionally, and could talk to him to find out just what the hell was really going on.

“Tell me that this is all really a surprise.” Jordan stormed back into the penthouse, dripping with the leavings of the storm he had been caught out in. He let the door fall closed behind him, arms folded tightly across his chest, eyes wide and filled with an anger he had not felt in the longest time. Jon sat half asleep on the couch, but was startled away completely by the sound of Jordan’s voice booming through the penthouse. At the same time, Ronan appeared in the doorway of his home office, a hand gently resting against the door frame. Jordan nodded once again for emphasis. “Go on. Tell me.”

Jon and Ronan glanced at one another. Ronan gave his shoulders a gentle shrug. “Who-“

“Either!” Jordan shouted. “Or, or both! Honestly, I do not give a shit which one of you responds right now, but I need an answer and I need it right now.” Jordan pulled his phone from his back pocket and unlocked the screen. He showed the screenshot that he took earlier to Ronan first, then to Jon. He did not wait for either to actually read the message. “I sent this to you earlier, Jon. Do you have any idea how this reads? Like he knew. Like he knew, and you know what? Like you all knew, Jonathan.”

Jon groaned under his breath and rolled his eyes. “Jordan, I don’t... why would I know what Tommy’s up to?” he asked, irritation thick in his voice.

“Uh-“ Jordan folded his arms tightly across his chest, and before he continued he clucked his tongue. “Because he’s your business partner?”

“Technically, I guess,” Jon said in return.

“Legally,” Ronan added. Jon turned to look at him almost in disgust. But the expression did not stop Ronan from speaking. “I mean, I know that you two haven’t said anything to one another since... hell, since even before the wedding, when you-“

“When he essentially admitted that he hated absolutely everything about me.” Jon pointed to himself with his thumb. “You.” He pointed to Ronan. “Not to mention you.” He pointed to Jordan and laughed. “He never even tried to understand your role in my life, Jordy. Never. Not... not fucking once.”

Jordan paused and drew in a deep breath. “Jon,” he exhaled.

Jon held a hand out to stop Jordan from speaking. Jordan’s anger petered out so quickly that he felt exhausted by the sharp change in his emotions. Jordan cupped both hands over his face and exhaled sharply. Jordan shook his head and closed his eyes when he felt Jon’s hands grabbing his own to pull them away from his face. “Look at me,” Jon all but ordered, doing his best to keep his voice as quiet and calm as he could manage. “Jordy.”

“What,” Jordan whispered back, his eyes still closed.

Jon sighed with his entire body. “Jordy.” Jon’s voice broke, his own emotions, from the events of the day, but also past events with former friends and and current colleagues. “You... we’ve had this conversation, multiple times. I can only... hope that you-“

Jordan scoffed and turned away from Jon, knocking his grip loose in the process. “I get it,” Jordan spoke, interrupting Jon’s train of thought as he did. Jon watched Jordan as he left the room, pausing for just a moment in the doorway to their shared bedroom. He sighed, letting his head hang down, chin pressed to his chest. “I do. I get it. I’m just really tired, and probably going to catch some-“ Jordan paused long enough to let a crash of thunder rattle the building around them. “Crazy cold or pneumonia from being out in this weather, so I should... get out of these clothes.”

Ronan and Jon gave each other a look, and both felt a playful smile creep across their faces. But their expressions soured immediately when Jordan disappeared into the bedroom and, much to their genuine surprise, pushed the door closed behind himself.

“Shit,” Jon exhaled. He closed his eyes and rubbed both hands over his face.

Ronan came up beside Jon and reached out to take his hand. “I know,” he replied through a little sigh of his own. They turned to one another, and with a little smile Ronan squeezed Jon’s hand softly. “I... I know.”

Chapter Text

6555 Barton Ave.
Los Angeles, California

Tommy sat back from his desk and rubbed the strain and exhausting from his eyes.

It was Sunday evening, and Tommy had been sitting at his desk since before everyone left for the weekend. When he first started this, the idea of going undercover in some right-wing, conspiracy crazy social media maelstrom, he often felt shame when reading his messages or interacting in any of the room he frequented. Before logging into the Patriot platform, Tommy found himself disappearing into an abandoned office, or otherwise empty room somewhere where he could be alone with the thoughts and words that would come screaming over the Internet. It was partially shame for the fact that he was engaging in the activity to begin with, and partially wanting to spare everyone around him from all of the filth.

But now, Tommy was watching something happening around him and in real time, and no longer cared if anyone saw him bearing witness. When he first set out to become Colton from Arkansas, a minor-league doomsday prepper with major-league aspirations, he never imagined becoming part of the conversation. And as he sat there at his desk, in his office that he still shared with Favs, he knew that, somehow, this would be the culmination of weeks and weeks of Patriot research. He mainly interacted with them all; listening to what they all had to say without really contributing much to the conversation.

But as of late, Tommy found himself contributing more to the conversation. Tommy still spoke with a number of contacts on both sides of the aisle in Washington, and that allowed him to add to the dialog in ways that those he interacted with on Patriot could not.

Cluttering the space around him were empty Starbucks cups, cartons of warm Chinese food, and a number of empty, and not so empty, cans of random energy drinks. For three or so days, Tommy left his desk just long enough to visit the restroom down the hall, and even then he felt as if he should probably take the laptop with him. Tommy felt that, if he became disconnected from the reality in front of him, even for a second, that he would lose the thread entirely. And that simply could not happen. He had to know what was being said about everything all at once, even before it was said.

Tommy had his reasons. He had to know.

r/theories: ColtonAK has entered the chat.

TheWokeSky Colton! Colton I was JUST thinking about you!
ColtonAK Sorry. I’ve been here. I needed to find a Red Bull or something and I
think I got disconnected or something.
FreedomKaren Have you gotten any sleep?
FreedomKaren Last time we talked you’d been up for... what?
ColtonAK Few days. Doesn’t matter.
ColtonAK Listen.
ColtonAK My boss is currently freaking out in a way that I cannot fully
comprehend.
TheWokeSky I’m pretty sure it’s because queer rights are about to disappear.
ALM1488 Whatever rights they thought they had to begin with.
ColtonAK Yeah.
ColtonAK No I really wish I knew what the actual fuck he thinks is going to
happen.
But I know it’s not going to be good.
FreedomKaren No. No, Colton, I’m afraid it’s not good.
ALM1488 For him. Good for the rest of us normal, warm-blooded Americans.
GodGunsGoldGlory Your boss is a fag, Colton. Plain and fucking simple. He seems like
a dumbass fudge packer and you don’t need him. So let
whatever’s going to happen to him happen to him, and his... I
guess his husband.
ColtonAK And the boyfriend. Don’t forget about the boyfriend.
TheWokeSky Oh shit! I forgot all about that!

r/theories: LORD_TRUMP has entered the chat.

LORD_TRUMP MY FELLOW PATRIOTS!
ALM1488 All hail!
TheWokeSky All hail!
LORD_TRUMP PATRIOTS, HEAR ME THIS EVENING. THIS EVENING WAS A
THRILLING VICTORY FOR THE RIGHTEOUS!
ALM1488 Hear hear!
ColtonAK I know that I’ve been away and... more or less out of it lately, but
what is all this about?
ColtonAK Did we have an election I don’t know about? Is @LORD_TRUMP
our Fearless Leader?
GodGunsGoldGlory Maybe you have been AFK for a bit, but you’re still aware of the
news, yes?
ColtonAK Acutely, yes.
ColtonAK But I have... zero idea what you’re talking about.
LORD_TRUMP COLTON, YOU HAVE MISSED THE MEETINGS, BUT HAVEN’T
MISSED THE BEGINNING.
LORD_TRUMP FELLOW PATRIOTS, TODAY IS WHAT WILL FOREVER BE
KNOWN AS THE RED LETTER DAY.

“The Red Letter Day?” Tommy asked aloud to the empty office around him. He paused, hands still on the keyboard, momentarily unable to say anything. He did his best to keep up what the user LORD_TRUMP was rattling on about, but the words moved so quickly that Tommy found it to be a touch difficult.

The same chime that sounded whenever Tommy’s alias was mentioned went off, causing Tommy’s attention to refocus on the laptop, as he started searching for what set it off.

Incoming direct message from The_Lieutenant.
Accept/reject?

Tommy did not recognize the user, and was a touch nervous about responding to any messages from users he had not previously interacted with. For all he knew, this user could have been someone who knew him, who knew that Tommy was essentially an undercover journalist trying to learn everything he could about this so-called right-wing revolution that was supposedly brewing before him.

Tommy sat back from the laptop, fingers still resting on the keys. The use of the word revolution in his own relatively intrusive thoughts did not frighten him, but certainly took him by surprise. Was this truly a revolution? Is that what Tommy was witnessing? Was this what his research was about to culminate in?

With his eyes closed, Tommy pulled in a deep breath and accepted the direct message from the unknown user.

The_Lieutenant Hello, Colton.
ColtonAK Hello.
The_Lieutenant You’re nervous. I get that.
The_Lieutenant But I have to confess, we’ve been following your movements.
ColtonAK My movements? Like, here online or in the real physical world?
The_Lieutenant Honestly? A little bit of both.
The_Lieutenant We’re impressed by the... spider’s web of satellites and other
connectors that you’ve been using to keep your bunker in
Arkansas hidden.
ColtonAK ...Alaska.
The_Lieutenant HA! Guess you’re better at masking your location than we
thought... Tommy.

Tommy’s entire body froze, and a nearly violent chill ran through him. Did this completely random user, who Tommy had never once interacted with, or even heard of from any of the other users in any of the other forums that he frequented, actually know who he was? They did say that they were following Tommy, but never actually specified whether or not it was online, or in real life.

Now Tommy knew. Tommy knew that his paranoia was justified; he was being followed, being watched, being tracked.

ColtonAK What?
ColtonAK Who is Tommy?
The_Lieutenant Oh, Mr. Vietor. Don’t play coy with us. We know it’s you.
The_Lieutenant We know a LOT more than you think. More than you could ever
imagine, if I can be honest with you.
The_Lieutenant And I know that I can be honest with you, wholly honest with you,
because you are now a believer.

Tommy was still cold, and could no longer feel the tips of his fingers as they rested on the keyboard of his laptop. Tommy thought he could try to trick this so-called Lieutenant and convince him that he was mistaken, but in the back of his mind, Tommy knew that he was caught.

Tommy took another deep breath, and started typing blindly.

ColtonAK Okay. So, let’s say that I am who you claim me to be. What do you
want from me?
The_Lieutenant All in good time, young Thomas.

“Young Thomas!” Tommy shouted, his voice breaking. He readied himself for a response, but The_Lieutenant had already signed off. Tommy pulled his hands back and gasped at the sight of the other user’s name going a pale grey. He stood and slammed the lid of the laptop closed, and with the tips of his fingers pressed to the warm metal surface he finally exhaled.

His heart nearly stopped when he heard the office’s landline ring.

Chapter Text

Tommy said nothing, holding his breath as he lifted the slim plastic receiver to his ear, waiting for the called to speak first. It was a handful of long, awkwardly silent moments before Tommy heard a voice coming down the line.

“You don’t believe us.” The voice on the other end of the call was distorted, obviously being run through some kind of filter.

Tommy’s body shook as he took another deep breath. “No,” he started to say. “I didn’t say that I don’t believe you. I just think it’s... well... it’s a little creepy, don’t you think?”

Tommy was met with more silence as he sunk slowly down into his chair, whose cushion was flattened by the fact that he had spent nearly an entire weekend sitting in it. He kept the receiver pressed to his ear, waiting to hear whatever the voice was going to tell him next. The Patriot paranoia, a phenomenon that he first heard about and experienced second hand through the users he interacted with, had finally become his own.

“Downstairs,” the voice echoed down the line. “Black Escalade. Oklahoma plates.” The line quickly went dead. Tommy remained as still as possible, his knuckles now white from how tightly he held the phone. Whatever just happened, both on Patriot and through that short phont call, Tommy knew that this was either the end of his research, or the beginning of its next chapter.

Tommy never could have imagined that it would be the beginning of something else entirely.

Slowly, Tommy’s senses returned. He took a long, deep breath, and replaced the hard plastic receiver back on its base. Without logging off like he usually did, Tommy closed the lid of his laptop and unplugged it from the power source. Though he had a million thoughts all clamoring through his head, Tommy’s voice remained silent. He said absolutely nothing, as he quickly but calmly gathered up all of his things, neatly pushing them into his bag.

He stepped into the elevator, and as the doors slid closed, Tommy turned his phone completely off. He looked down at the dark screen, and with another long sigh Tommy pushed the phone into his bag. He cleared his throat and curled both hands around the single strap of his bag, draped across his chest. The elevator chimed and opened out into the building’s sparse lobby. Tommy saw that it was dark, only barely dark enough for the lights at street level to come on and shed a touch of light on the dark sidewalk below.

Tommy took a breath and glanced out at the residential neighborhood beyond the tall wooden fence. On the opposite side of the street, parked cars were not common after normal business hours. Tommy saw the black Escalade, and with a raised eyebrow he took a step closed, noting the vehicle’s out-of-state plate. “Oklahoma,” he mumbled to himself.

This was it, Tommy thought to himself. This would either be an ending or a new beginning. Either way, he would never know unless he got into that large black sport utility vehicle.

Tommy took several steps closer, and when he was within a few feet of the vehicle the back door automatically popped open. “Get in,” a voice, unedited and not garbled, called from the backseat. Tommy narrowed his eyes, and for the briefest moment he thought he might have recognized that voice. Tommy climbed up into the backseat and pulled the door closed behind him, draping his bag across his lap. The driver slapped his foot down on the accelerator, and Tommy was pushed completely back into the soft leather.

“Sorry,” a voice said from the front seat, the same voice that called for him to get into the vehicle. “He’s... a little excited.”

“Excited,” Tommy mouthed, and nodded simultaneously.

“It’s just that... well... you’re kind of the biggest get,” the voice continued, a little laugh catching behind his words.

“Jacob.” The man seated next to Tommy, covered mainly by the darkness of the vehicle’s interior, reached out and touched the back of the passenger seat’s headrest. “Calm down. We don’t know who or what we have right now, and we don’t want to be jumping the gun.”

Tommy let this man’s words fill the cabin, fill the air around them, and filter into his mind. Synapses fired, and after a short moment of thinking, he recognized that voice.

“Colton,” the man beside him spoke. He chuckled once. “That really is a great name. Where did that even come from, by the way?”

Tommy cleared his throat, and nearly squeaked in the process. “I don’t know,” he replied honestly, giving his shoulders a slight shrug. “It... it was just something I came up with I don’t... back when I decided-“

“To go undercover,” the man interrupted. “Or, whatever it was that you were doing. I mean, at first I think... it was undercover. Research or something to that effect.” Tommy swallowed hard and came to a somewhat painful conclusion; they knew. Whatever he thought he was doing to protect his identity was for absolutely nothing. They knew who he was, and what he was doing, probably right from the beginning. “But I think... the undercover went away and you... you became yourself there for a while.”

Tommy’s first reaction was to lie. But the words, whatever lie he was trying to formulate in his mind, sounded more ridiculous to him than the actual truth. “I think you’re right,” he admitted, with just a hint of defeat in his voice.

Tommy did not see the smile on the other man’s face, but could hear it in his introduction. “They call me The Lieutenant,” he began to say. Tommy tried to hide the little snicker in his nose, but it did not go unnoticed. “But I think you know me by a different name.”

“Yeah.” Tommy cleared his throat softly. “Yeah, I definitely do.” He paused, and felt a little smile tug at one corner of his mouth. “You know, I have to ask. Were you, like, a lieutenant from the beginning, or did you have to work yourself up to it?”

The smile, though Tommy could not see it, faded from the other man’s face. “From the beginning, Tommy. I’ve been part of this from the beginning.” He laughed once. “For someone who is part of the so-called enlightened left, you really can be dumb. But-“ He immediately caught what he was saying, how it could have been interpreted, and sucked his teeth. “You’re starting to learn, and that’s really the important thing here, Tommy.” The man leaned over and cupped a hand over Tommy’s shoulder, showing Tommy his face. And in an instant, everything was confirmed.

Tucker Carlson. Fox News and the conservative media’s golden calf. The man who everyone on the right would blindly follow regardless of what he said or did. Tommy had, over the course of his own professional career, written a number of scathing reviews of just such things, both said and done, either on air or in some form of print. Mostly, Tommy helped the liberal media either debunk or simply insult nearly all that he said or did. And now here he was, seated in the backseat of that darkened black Escalade with out-of-state plates, with the very same man he once tried to dethrone.

Tommy closed his eyes and pulled in an incredibly deep breath. “Okay,” he exhaled. “Okay, so... what, um...” His eyes remained closed and he pinched the bridge of his nose. “So, what exactly do you want with me?”

Tucker said back, and through the slightest smile on his face he tittered softly. “All in good time,” he replied with a nod. “First we have to get down to Orange County. Then we’ll explain everything.”

Tommy narrowed his eyes slightly. “Orange County?” he felt himself ask before the words actually came out.

Tucker nodded just once, and after a moment he shrugged his shoulders. “Look, between us, it’s where all the money is,” he commented, without a hint of anything but sincerity in his voice. “And while it does have some perks-“

“What,” Tommy said with a scoff. He shook his head and turned to face Tucker. “What has some... perks.”

The smile, seemingly more devious than before, crept slowly across Tucker’s face. “Being us,” he responded. This time, Tucker’s voice was soaked in honesty. “This is the right side, Tommy. We... are on the right side of history. Regardless of whatever happens in the coming weeks and months, we will come out on top.”

Tucker’s words continued to make Tommy curious. He had a number of thoughts racing through his mind, but all he could do was watch the cityscape pass by them at highway speeds, as the black Escalade traveled south to Orange County. The city became more suburban, and among a sea of orange cones and construction workers, the Escalade pulled off the highway and traversed a number of roads that seemed to constantly be going further and further up a set of mountains that never ended. Bright white city lights gave way to warmer streetlights illuminating their way to what appeared to be an abandoned office park. There were no cars visible in the parking lot from the state highway they exited, and only a sign or two on the side of the building that signaled that it was not an abandoned office park, but rather just one that did not operate twenty-four hours a day.

The black Escalade pulled around the complex, and Tommy leaned into the middle to look out the windshield, seeing a few cars parked closest to the building, near an entrance that had no signage on it whatsoever. He sighed softly and sat back against the soft leather, his body tensing up when he heard Tucker laughing at him. “Patience,” he said, reaching over and patting a hand on Tommy’s knee. “Trust me. All will be revealed shortly.”

“This just... I don’t know.” Tommy settled into the soft leather, and felt himself wiggle in the process. “Something about this feels kind of sketchy.”

“Yeah.” Jacob, the young man in the front seat, looked back at Tommy and nodded once. “Tell me about it. When they got me off the train and brought me down here the first time, I was definitely a little freaked out. I mean, it’s not quite a horror movie, but it’s definitely kind of close.” Again, Jacob got another look from Tucker, and slowly pulled away to sit in his own chair, staring blankly out the windshield.

The Escalade parked in a reserved spot closest to the nondescript door, and the driver immediately cut the engine. Both the driver and Jacob hopped out of the vehicle, but when Tommy went to open the door, Tucker reached across him and pulled the door closed. “Wait,” Tucker all but ordered. Tommy pulled in a breath and felt himself melt just a bit further into the soft leather, desperate to pull further away from Tucker himself. “Before you go in there, hear me out.”

Tommy’s eyes narrowed for the briefest of moments. He took a deep breath and held it for only a moment before nodding once.

Tucker took his own deep breath before starting. “This isn’t just... a couple of people who met on a social networking site meeting up in real life to hang out and have drinks or whatever. This?” Tucker pointed out the windshield at the building. “It’s the start of something... big. Revolutionary, even. That’s a good word to use for what’s happening in there, to be honest with you.”

“Revolutionary,” Tommy said slowly, nodding as he spoke. “Right. Because nothing I saw on Patriot seemed all that revolutionary.”

Tucker snickered and rolled his eyes. He chuckled once. “That’s because you weren’t looking in the right places.” Tucker plucked a tablet computer from the pocket on the back of the bucket seat in front of him and powered it up. The pale blue light illuminated both he and Tommy, and without saying a word, Tucker handed Tommy the tablet.

Tommy saw the familiar layout of the Patriot platform before him, only he was logged in as another user. Tommy could now see not just the rooms that he was a member of, but of every room that called Patriot home. He scrolled through the dozens of rooms on the sidebar until he found the only one that had no new postings. He turned to Tucker with a rather curious expression on his face, and with a little nod from Tucker he clicked into the room.

r/Plans: The_Lieutenant has entered the chat.

SgtAtArms: Where have you been?
ZeroKool: Requisitioning airline tickets, as requested. Remember? We’re all going on “vacation”.
SgtAtArms: It’s not really being all sneaky like if you use quotes around the word.
ZeroKool: Yeah, yeah. I know. I’m sorry.
ZeroKool: But I have all of the tickets. They should be electronically sent to the addresses that you gave me.
SgtAtArms: Excellent. What about the IDs?
ZeroKool: Patience. I’m only one man.
ZeroKool: They’ll be ready tomorrow afternoon at the earliest. We hit a snag with the printing equipment, but fear not. We’ll have the new printer before dawn.
SgtAtArms: And where is that going to come from?
ZeroKool: Joshua at Micro Center. I trust him, he’s good people.

Tommy turned to Tucker, confused by the conversation he started to read. Tucker said nothing, but simply nodded and reached over to scroll up a little deeper into the conversation that already transpired. Posted under a number of screen names that Tommy did not recognize, including the moniker ZeroKool, Tommy saw what appeared to be maps. Street maps, but also something that resembled blueprints.

Tommy clicked on one of the images and saw that it was not just a blueprint, but a very elaborate floor plan. The building looked familiar to him, like something out of his not-so-distant past, but for a brief moment he could not place which building this may have belonged to. He stared at the image for a few moments, and closed his eyes in frustration, unable to place exactly what he was looking at. Tucker could feel the tension radiating through Tommy’s body, and gently took the tablet from him.

“It’s The Capitol,” Tucker added, knowing exactly what Tommy was getting hung up on.

Tommy closed his eyes, and turned his head slightly away from Tucker. “Why do you have a floor plan of the Capitol?” he asked, his teeth gritted together.

An almost playful smile pulled at both corners of Tucker’s mouth. He licked his lips, looking more like a hungry feline than anything else. “An interesting question,” he said with a very soft chuckle caught in the back of his throat. “But I’m going to throw it back to you. Why do you think we have one? Now-“ Tucker cupped a hand over Tommy’s shoulder, making Tommy’s entire body cringe visibly. “You’ve been on the Patriot boards. Even if you aren’t following them closely, you have from time to time read through all of them.” Tucker gave Tommy’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Think back on all of that time you spent lying to yourself, and tell me. Why would we have a map of The Capitol.”

Tommy remained quiet for a long moment; a pause so thick he was certain that he would choke on it the moment he tried to speak. Though he was pretty sure that Tucker was taunting him, Tommy took a pause and started to think about the reasons why Tucker Carlson would have a floor map of The Capitol Building in Washington. He recalled a number of instances on the Patriot boards where a small group discussed what could only be described as a coup, an act of overthrowing the government and replacing it with something of their own design. But this was a splinter group, a minute number of Patriot members just talking shit on the government. Tommy noticed just how common that truly was.

Tommy snickered once and shook his head. “You-“ He turned to Tucker and shook his head again. “You aren’t-“ The smile on Tucker’s face widened, and he let out a single laugh. All of the color drained from Tommy’s blushing cheeks. “Holy shit.”

“That’s right,” Tucker said, his laughter continuing. “See, we know you’ve seen the chatter about a rebellion-“

“Insurrection,” Tommy interrupted.

Tucker pulled his hand away from Tommy’s shoulder and tented his fingers together. He shrugged his shoulders and walked back through the larger room into a smaller office that was tucked away in the back of the office space. Tommy remained still for just a beat before quickly following after Tucker. “You say one thing, we say another. But everyone is saying the same thing.” Tucker turned back to face Tommy, falling immediately into the comfortable-looking chair behind the heavy desk. “Whatever is happening in Washington right now needs to be stopped. Immediately.”

Tommy stood perfectly still, watching Tucker rocking gently in his chair, fingers still tented together. He cleared his throat and leaned forward, folding both hands together and sitting them on the desk between them. “Fuck,” was all that Tommy could manage to say, his voice a breathless whisper. He took a seat in one of the chairs on the opposite side of the desk from Tucker.

Tucker sat back and pressed both palms flat to the top of the desk. “See, the mainstream media, and every liberal outlet on the planet, all firmly believe that we the Patriots are, well, a bunch of right-wing crazies who can’t get their heads on straight, and couldn’t get organized to save their souls. And... I, mean, in some instances that may be true. But for the most part?” Tucker shook his head side to side just once. “For the most part we are very, very organized. And, contrary to the popular belief among... the most important of us, we’re ready.”

Tommy narrowed his eyes slightly. “Ready?”

Tucker smirked and nodded slowly. “Ready,” he replied. “Ready to go. Ready to pull the trigger, ready to get our hands dirty and take back what should rightfully be ours.”

Tommy sat still and silent for several moments, long enough to hear the air conditioning click on. The mechanical sound echoed between his ears, along with everything that Tucker had told him since messaging him on Patriot earlier that evening. He closed his eyes and let out a long, deep breath. Tommy rubbed both hands over his face and massaged his temples with two fingers, and found himself sighing almost angrily. Tommy swore again, and threw himself further back into the rather uncomfortable chair that he chose to sit in.

Tommy opened his eyes and stared across the desk at Tucker. A hundred million thoughts raced through his mind, but only one seemed to want to make itself heard.

“What do you need me to do.”

Chapter Text

The National Mall
Washington, D.C.
January 6

A stiff breeze came seemingly out of nowhere, surprising Jordan by blowing up under the bottom of his Canada Goose parka, sending a shiver through his entire body. He paused for just a minute, long enough to pull his personal backpack out of the back of the minivan they rented before leaving Union Station. He threw the bag onto his back, pulling the straps tight over his shoulders. He reached for the dark blue knit beanie hidden in the pocket of his down parka, and with a smile he tugged it onto his head, pushing the errant strands of faded ginger up under the cap.

Before leaving the penthouse, Jon grabbed Jordan by the hand and pulled him into an extremely tight hug. In that tight hug, Jon slipped this hat into Jordan’s pocket; a little going away present that Jon hoped would remind Jordan of the fact that he had someone, two someones, back home waiting for him.

Jordan had to remain safe, and come back home to his lovers.

With a slight smile on his face, Jordan reached up and touched the soft wool of that gifted hat.

“Klep!” Jordan looked up from the point in space where he stared off into, and turned to one of the crew members that he was traveling with. They wordlessly shared a thought, one that was meant to subtly remind Jordan about his time in Michigan. Not a day went by that Joran did not think about regaining consciousness in that hospital, bruised and bloody and thankful that nothing was broken.

It was the first time in his career that Jordan realized that he was not just a comedian, but not quite a journalist, either. Ronan and Jon both reminded him that being a satirist in this day and age was probably a more dangerous profession than being a journalist, but it was a comment that made Jordan laugh, even in the wake of his stay at that Michigan hospital.

But here he was again, covering a story that was only a story because of rumors that he, as well as Jon and Ronan, were hearing through their own personal channels.

It was being billed as a rally, to support the former president as the peaceful transfer of power from one regime to another, proceeded as scheduled. But Jordan knew, from his own previous experiences, that this crowd could go from peaceful to riotous very quickly, and without any real provocation.

“Where should we set up?”

Jordan lifted his head and glanced around at the faded green space, muted mainly due to the change of seasons around them. He pulled in a deep breath and let it out slowly, and with his eyes narrowed he noticed a spot on the eastern end of the space, closer to the Washington Monument, closer to the Capitol Building. Though this was where the alleged rally was going to be held, Jordan figured that they could stay out of the way; watching the event, rather than becoming part of it.

Jordan cleared his throat and grabbed another case from the back of the rented minivan, before making his way to the spot where he decided that they would be, not necessarily the safest, but certainly safer than some. The crew that was with him followed a few steps behind, almost having to run to keep up with Jordan’s long-legged stride. As the walked, the crew noticed the small crowds that were starting to gather around them, assembling in packs to keep warm but also to simply exchange information.

“There’s something off here,” one of the crew members following Jordan commented, when they all finally came to a stop. Jordan set down the case that he grabbed from the rented minivan and let out a soft groan.

“What?” Jordan asked, curious about his crew member’s somewhat random observation. He stood with his shoulders pushed back looked around, saw what everyone else saw, and gave his shoulders the faintest shrug. “Maybe a little bit, but it’s also The Mall. Things have been a little off around here since 2001.”

“Maybe,” the crew member commented back. “But I-“ They sighed, bit the inside of their bottom lip, and shook their head. “I don’t know, Jordan. This is... weird.”

“Like I said,” Jordan repeated. He cleared his throat into his fist, and felt a chill roll through his entire body. He could feel the hairs on the back of his neck starting to stand up, but the last thing he wanted to do was to say anything about it. He was the last person who wanted to raise an alarm; after all, this whole being at this ridiculous rally was kind of his idea. He knew that people could get injured, and that was absolutely the last thing he wanted. “Since 2001.”

The crew member rolled their eyes, but continued with their own unloading. Jordan let the backpack fall from his shoulders and set it on the cold ground at his feet. He heard the unmistakable squeal of a megaphone being turned on for the first time, and knew that they were moments away from something happening. What that something was, Jordan might never truly know, but in the back of his mind he knew it was going to be something epic.

“Ladies and gentlemen...” The words trailed off, as the person speaking them into the megaphone had not had nearly enough experience with such a device in their lifetime, and was constantly pulling either it away from their mouth, or their mouth away from it. “...this day, though not the bright sun... promised, but still a good day in the eyes of God...”

Again Jordan stood, pushing his shoulders back to make himself a bit taller than usual. He groaned, and rolled his eyes in the process. This was turning out to be something far different than he heard it was going to be. Perhaps Jordan’s sources were no longer as accurate as they once were, and that this trip to Washington would turn out to be just a huge waste of time.

“Jordan.”

The crew’s attention was no longer focused on the smaller crowds gathering around them, but the dozens if not hundreds of people coming onto The Mall from the streets that surrounded it. Some of them carried signs, signs that at first glance appeared to be protest signs, only protesting in the completely opposite direction.

They were not there to stop the evil from coming, but rather to aide it.

Without saying another word, Jordan grabbed the handheld camcorder from his backpack and threw it back over his shoulders. “We’re in the wrong place!” he all but shouted, as he took off in a sprint across the muted grass to the crowds that were now marching on the Capitol Building. Jordan pressed record and though he knew that he was not yet in focus, none of that mattered. He needed to get even the slightest bit of this on tape, even if it never made it to air, even if it never made it out of Washington. Jordan needed to record this to make sure that someone else witnessed it.

The crowd chanted “RECOUNT! RECOUNT!”, shaking their poster board signs with words hastily scribbled that read like some kind of conspiracy theory psychobabble. Jordan had to stop running, both to catch his breath, but also to take in everything that was happening all around him.

“The election was stolen!”

“Fraud!”

“Give us back our White House!”

Behind the camcorder in Jordan’s hand he could not help but smile. This was not the rally that his contacts promised, but something even better. This was just happening, all around him, and it all seemed to be popping up out of nowhere.

“RECOUNT! RECOUNT! RECOUNT! RECOUNT!”

Another loudspeaker squealed to life off in the middle distance, and immediately caught Jordan’s attention. This time the voice was clear, and the person behind the voice knew exactly what they were about to say, not reading from a script or pulling away from the microphone that they were speaking into. This person knew exactly what they were doing, and what was going to happen the moment that they stopped talking.

“Attention please! Please, can I have everyone’s attention!” At this, a hush seemed to fall over the crowd, and everyone’s head turned to face what appeared to be a makeshift stage that was so quickly assembled that no one in the crowd noticed that it was happening. Jordan continued to move the camera, to scan the crowd gathering around him, but focused his own attention in the direction of the makeshift stage that went up right before his eyes.

“Ladies and gentlemen, patriots of all ages. Today... is a new day. The first day in what we hope... no, in what we promise will be the rest of your lives. We gather here today not to share ideas among ourselves, but to share those idea which have been cultivating for years and years, and have finally become something... more.”

Jordan snickered to himself. “Not much of an orator,” he said quietly, though loud enough to be heard by those closest to him.

A woman with a shock of grey hair that stuck out from under a hat brightly emblazoned with both the American flag, and the mantra of the former president and his followers, narrowed her eyes and turned to look up at Jordan. “Don’t you know who that is?” she asked, answering his snide comment with her own brand of sarcasm. Jordan said nothing, knowing the moment that he engaged anyone that it could be completely over for him. But he shook his head, responding to her question without words. The woman shook her head in disbelief at Jordan, and returned her attention to the stage ahead of them.

The woman’s anger at Jordan in that moment made Jordan wonder just who it was on the stage, talking to the crowd, doing his absolute best to try and roust those who were still gathering. Slowly pulling his camera back, Jordan tried to walk away from the crowd, back to the so-called safety of the meeting place he had unconsciously created with the rest of his crew. He tucked his chin against his chest, hoping to hide his identity. Though he was wearing the beanie, he was still a good-bit taller than most of those around him, and knew that he would be sticking out and easily identifiable.

And this was officially the last place that he wanted to be.

He was nearly free of the crowd when he heard it. A roar, a rush coming through the crowd that could really only mean one thing. A new speaker had approached the dais, and it was a voice that he recognized immediately.

“Patriots, this truly is a red-letter day. It’s so wonderful to see you all here, so wonderful, great crowd. Big crowd today. They can’t tell me that no one showed up because I clearly see you all here, and it’s beautiful. Beautiful. And look at this weather, it could have been so much worse. Snow and rain and everything that winter brings. But no, it’s-“

Jordan coughed into his fist. “Please don’t say it’s-“

“-sunny, the sun is shining on us today.” A soft rumble filtered through the crowd, as if the crowd in its entirely was starting to believe everything this man was telling him. Jordan paused for another moment, his fist still balled nearly his mouth, the slight smile disappearing from his face. The crowd was eating up every word, hanging on every syllable as if the next one would be the most important ever spoken in the history of their language.

“Folks, I have been saddened.” A soft murmured radiated through the crowd at this statement. “Saddened by the state of this country, America, the land of liberty and freedom and independence. A country where you can achieve the goals of greater men just by dreaming them. And folks, I don’t say this lightly, I believe that every single one of you can achieve something greater... just by being here. Just, just by showing up, which is the first step in achieving anything and everything, you all have proven that anything and everything can be possible.” A pause in the speech, followed by the softest roar coming from the crowd around them. Jordan wondered if perhaps the crowd was not as enamored with their speaker as he previously thought, and that maybe there was hope for this crowd yet.

But the speech continued. “Fellow patriots, today is not a day for us to fight. No, today is not a day for us to fight. But to continue the fight that we have previously started. I told you once that I would make this country great, and in my tenure as president I did just that. I made this country into something that it once was. And now these people-“ He paused, and pointed across The Mall toward The Capitol Building. “All of the men, and all of the women, working in that building are working toward tearing it all down! We the patriots, the true patriots, have struggled and worked our way up from nothing, to create the paradise that they are systematically working to destroy!”

Jordan’s entire body went cold. Those words were certainly not the speaker’s own; far too intelligent and far too put together to simply be something that sprung from his own consciousness. And for once, Jordan noted, the speaker was not going off the script, but seemed to be following it to the letter.

And the energy the crowd grew tremendously. They were not only excited, but in a way that Jordan felt was more chaotic than not.

“Patriots!” The speaker’s shout echoed off of every building around them. The echoes made the entire crowd hush, and nearly cower at the same time. “Patriots, it is time to reclaim this country. To snatch it back from the jaws of defeat. You’ve all seen the numbers, seen all of the reports where it’s clear that the radical left not only did not win, but stole the election from us. Stole! The election, the presidency, the highest elected office in the land, the man in charge of the free world. Democrats, and their liberal friends and allies, have done some creative things with the numbers that claim that we lost that election.

“And they tell us that our side is the one that meddles. That we are the ones who have created nothing but trouble, but chaos, not just at home but all over the world. Is that true? Do you see chaos here?” Quiet murmurs filtered through the crowd. “Not chaos that we created, but chaos that was thrust upon us. Did we ask for any of this? Absolutely not. Absolutely not, we did not ask for, nor are we going to settle for any of this. No, no patriots, we cannot settle. We-“ Louder roars from the crowd, fists raised and shaking in both anger and agreement, as the speech continued.

“We cannot rest while the fake bureaucrats in this building behind us meet up and decide how they are going to cement this lie into the history books! No!” Applause rolled through the crowd, and the sounds of the people just grew louder and louder. “No, we mustn’t just stand here and wait for our future to be written for us!”

Jordan had not caught the fact that so many people assembled in this crowd were carrying more than just simple protest signs. Some of them carried the sticks that often accompanied those signs, but some even carried baseball bats, and other seemingly inoccuous objects that could easily be turned into weapons if and when the situation called for it.

The crowd remained in place for the duration of the speech. Jordan stood on the outside of the crowd, but managed to fix his camera on the stage until the speaker was finished, recording the entire thing so that he could reference it whatever story that he and his crew were about to film. He closed up the camera and stuck into one of the large pockets of his Canada Goose down jacket, and after glancing around to make sure that he was not being followed, he made his way back to where his crew was already waiting for him.

It was quiet for a long moment, a nervous silence that passed through and around all of them. The crowd was not dispersing, but rather slowly moving further down The Mall, though in the moment no one really thought anything of it. This was, after all, The National Mall, where all of the nation’s most prominent museums lined the park on either side, welcoming all to come in and enjoy all of the treasures within. Perhaps they were all moving on, that they all gathered for what they initially came to Washington for, and now they were off to enjoy the rest of what the city had to offer.

“RECOUNT!”

A howl carried through the crowd. The single voice echoed off of every surface it touched, making Jordan and his crew flinch. Along with the single word, came an even loud roar, like a tidal wave of sound rushing down the faded green and brown grass. The crowd, which started moving at the pace of a general saunter, picked up speed. Those are the front were now running, sprinting, toward The Capitol Building, bats and sticks raised as if they were a charging army storming the center of government.

Jordan’s eyes went wide as his own thoughts caught up with him. “Shit,” he said not only to himself, but the members of his crew. “Okay. Okay, this... this is not-“

“Good?” a crew member interrupted. “No, this... this is the opposite of good.”

“We should get out of here.”

The crew started to pack up their belongings, to pick up the small camp that they made as their own safe place there in the middle of that rally. But Jordan stood with his shoulders straight and pushed back. “No,” he said firmly. “Y’all can go, but I’m staying put.”

Three sets of eyes all went wide at the same time. “Are you crazy?!” Everyone turned to the now frightened member of Jordan’s crew, and they gave a little shake of their head. “Am I the only one who sees what’s happening right now?”

“No,” Jordan replied, shaking his head as he did. “No, you aren’t. This-“ He turned to face The Capitol, seeing that the crowd was quickly approaching its front steps, and the line of simple Capitol Police standing behind a very simple barricade. The Capitol Police were dressed as if they were ready for battle, all of them holding loaded assault rifles across their chests.

The police were ready for a war.

Jordan closed his eyes and pulled in a long breath. “This is no longer a rally,” he said, interrupting his own thought in the process. Jordan turned to face The Capitol Building and let out another deep breath. “This is a coup.”

Hours passed before Jordan and the crew finally made their way to the Washington Hilton on Connecticut Avenue. While their initial plan was to get the footage they needed and go back to Manhattan, the activity in and around The Capitol Building threw a huge wrench in the machinery of that particular plan. Jordan made sure that everyone that was with him got their own room, a place where they could ruminate for the night without being bothered by anyone else, but did so mainly because he needed the space for himself. He let the door of his suite fall closed, and dropped his backpack on the floor just inside the small closet space, toeing out of his sneakers as he wandered without much light further into the room. The curtains were open, allowing all of the flashing lights from the police activity to flicker into and across the surfaces of the room around him. Jordan stood there at the window and sighed, still staring not at The Capitol, but in the direction of The White House, where the current president, the very same man whose speech incited a crowd to essentially riot, was now for all intents and purposes under house arrest.

Or, Jordan thought, that is what should be happening.

Jordan closed his eyes and rubbed both hands over his face. He stepped back from the window until the bed caught the back of his knees and forced himself to sit down, hands still cupped over his face. His palms caught the start of tears, the emotional release of the last few hours’ events and the toll that they took on him.

Jordan felt his phone vibrate in the inner pocket of his Canada Goose parka, and took the device out of the jacket before he took it off and tossed it to the ground. It was a FaceTime call, accompanying a number of missed calls, and text messages that he had yet to read, but he did see the message preview, and was not caught completely unaware. He closed his eyes and pulled in a breath before answering this call, not seeing but hearing both Jon and Ronan on the other end of the line.

“Hey!” Jon’s voice was the first that Jordan heard over the call. Jordan’s eyes were still closed, as he reached over the turned on one of the light fixtures hanging over the bedside table. “You look exhausted.”

Jordan felt a little laugh catch in the back of his throat. “If I look half as exhausted as I feel then I’m in deep trouble,” he said through another laugh. Both Jon and Ronan let out a little laugh, and Jordan felt himself relax just a bit. He sat with his back pressed against a stack of pillows and the padded headboard, and was finally able to open his eyes. He caught sight of his own face in the camera, and could see the dark circles forming under his bloodshot eyes. He laughed at himself again and rolled his head back, pinching the bridge of his nose as he continued to laugh, the sound more sad than anything.

Jon and Ronan were both quiet for a long moment, and shared a quick look, before Jon started to speak. “I know... this is a dumb question, but-“

“Are you okay?” Ronan asked, interrupting Jon’s train of thought. Jon sighed and rolled his eyes so slightly at Ronan, but looked back at the camera, at Jordan, and nodded.

“Am I okay,” Jordan repeated, the words rolling around in his mouth for a brief moment. “That... is kind of a loaded question right now. Am I okay physically? Yes. No bumps, no bruises. We didn’t get into any altercations, nor did we have to fend off any of the...” Jordan’s train of thought immediately trailed off. What was he supposed to call the crowd that formed around him. Rioters? Looters? Insurrectionists? “What’s the news saying about all of this.”

Ronan’s eyes narrowed so slight. “What d’you mean?”

“I haven’t seen a TV since yesterday and I’m curious what the talking heads are calling those who were at the rally,” Jordan said in return. “Rioters?”

Jon sighed softly and shook his head. “No, they... they’ve been calling...” He sighed again. “They’ve been bouncing between insurrectionists-“

“I figured that,” Jordan said with a nod, a little proud at himself for drawing that conclusion simply based on what he saw.

“-and terrorists.”

Jordan was still, and was not sure that he was even still breathing. He felt cold, a chill rush over his entire body. “Terrorists,” he said in response. “Really.”

“Really,” Jon said back.

Ronan took the phone from Jon and sort of turned away so that his was the only face that Jordan could see. “What’s going on in the city right now? Where are you? Are you safe?” Ronan had officially gone into investigative journalist mode, doing everything he could to put his emotions aside and hear all of the facts of the story.

Jordan closed his eyes and sighed heavily. “Yes, Ronan. I’m safe.” He exhaled and sat himself back up. “Me and the crew were trying to get to Union Station, to get back home, but that place was locked down. Amtrak told me that the station was closed until further notice, but I doubt it’s just the train station. Something tells me no one’s getting in or out of the city without a police escort tonight.”

“Good!” Jordan heard Jon almost shout from just beyond the camera’s lens. “Jordy, this whole thing is so... bat-shit insane, I cannot believe that you’re there right now.”

“Yeah.” Jordan cleared his throat. He absently reached for the room service menu and flipped open to the dinner menu. He has not eaten all day and it was finally catching up with him.

“Jordan,” Ronan said, hoping to draw Jordan’s attention away from the menu now in his hand. “Talk to me for a minute. What did you see?”

Jordan lifted his head and looked straight over the top of his phone. He tossed the room service menu into the middle of the bed and sat on the edge of the bed, his feet on the floor. “What did I see? Anarchy.” Jordan paused for just a beat and nodded once. “Okay? It was anarchy. That group heard what they heard, or really, heard what they wanted to hear, and took off for The Capitol to do God knows what.”

“Overthrow the government,” Ronan cut in. “That... that is what the news is saying. This was a coup attempt disguised as a rally.”

“Attempt!” Jordan almost shouted. His voice sounded partially relieved, but was partially filled with disbelief. “It was just an attempt, you mean they weren’t successful?” Ronan shook his head slowly. “Well that’s a fucking relief. I don’t think any news report could possibly put into words just how close... these people...” Jordan’s voice shook as he spoke. He paused and held his breath, counting to five before speaking again. “I can’t explain it. But he... that speech. It was... something else, it was so moving that even I... I don’t know, I really don’t. The words definitely weren’t his, and he didn’t go off script all that much, but he... it was what he was saying.”

“What did he say?” Ronan asked, the question cutting through the silence on the other side of the phone call.

“Well, a... a lot of it was the same nonsense. That the Democrats were tampering in the election, and they were changing the election results so that he would lose when he clearly won. And he-“

“Jordy,” Jon’s quiet voice came through the call. “Jordy. Hey.” He carefully took the phone away from Ronan and turned so that it was just himself and Jordan. “Look at me, love. Are you really okay?”

“No!” Jordan announced in return. “No, are you fucking crazy? Of course I’m not okay! I’m not-“ Words failed Jordan when he needed them the most. He closed his eyes and pulled in an incredibly deep breath, whimpering as he exhaled. He had to put the phone down, resting it on the bed so that the front camera was staring at the ceiling of his hotel room.

“Jordy?” Jon’s voice came over the call a few seconds later. A quiet sob was heard on the other end of the line; Jordan sitting on the bed with his elbows on his knees, face in his hands, palms masking his quiet cries.

“Jordan,” Ronan’s voice called from the phone.

Jordan sniffled loudly and wiped at the tears on his cheeks before reaching again for the phone. “Hi. Yeah. Sorry, I-“ He coughed, another sad sound vibrating in the back of his throat. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that. Just needed a moment.”

Jon sighed softly. “Take all the moments you need, love,” he said with a nod. Jon felt Ronan stirring beside him, but did not seem to notice when Ronan stood and moved out of frame. Jon’s eyes just followed him for a long, silent moment, and he remained quiet until he heard a door close. “We’re both really worried, Jordy. And... and not just about you. But about everything.”

Jordan narrowed his eyes and shook his head gently. “Why, it-“

“No,” Jon swiftly interrupted. “Jordan, turn on the news while you can.” Jon stood and turned around so that the camera was facing the screen that hung on the wall in the shared office of their penthouse apartment. Jordan narrowed his eyes at the screen, wishing that it would come more into focus. From what Jordan could see on the news program appeared not to be local news, but from somewhere else in the world where a war was raging on. “Chicago,” Jon responded, as if he could hear the silent questions bubbling in Jordan’s mind. “That... that’s Chicago, Jordan.”

“Chicago?” Jordan could not help but ask, knowing that it was ultimately a ridiculous thing to say. Of course that was what Jon said. Jon knew that Jordan had a history with the city of Chicago, and knew that he came to think of the place almost like a second home. Before Jordan could say another word he scrambled to his feet and grabbed the remote for the hotel’s television, powering on the flat screen and immediately searching for anything related to national news. Most of the channels that the hotel got were local, as the local news was more interesting to anyone staying at this particular hotel than anyone else.

When Jordan finally landed on CNN, he could not believe his eyes. He gasped loud enough for Jon to hear him through the phone, and sat on the edge of the bed.

“...the riots began not long after the president made the announcement that his staff fully believed that the election held in November was, in fact, a fradulent one. He made several allusions to the possibility of there needing to be a recount of the votes before the transfer of power next week. If this recount is order by the Supreme Court and by the Congress, the president would remain in power until the results are certified. However, supporters of the president took matters into their own hands, especially in the nation’s capital where a rally for the president devolved into what can only be described as an insurrection.”

Jordan’s thumb fumbled around on the remote until he looked down and found the mute button. He watched in horror as scenes, not just from Chicago but from other major metropolitan centers around the country, doubled as the beginning of one of those movies where everything suddenly becomes legal overnight. “What... what’s happening up there?” he asked, his voice as calm and flat as he could manage. He was still watching the television but speaking to Jon through the phone.

“Nothing yet,” Jon replied softly. “Ronan... I think he just left to check it out, but so far it’s been quiet in the neighborhood.” Jon cleared his throat softly. “But it’s mostly tourists around here, you know, so-“

“I need to get out of here,” Jordan quickly interrupted. “I mean, I think... the crew’s safe in the hotel for now, but I can’t... be here anymore. I can’t be here and not with you two anymore.”

Jon sighed sharply. “I don’t think you can get out of Washington right now, Jordy. The place is locked down.” Jon absently pointed to the television behind him. “That’s what Anderson Cooper’s been telling us. It’s obvious that he’s been chomping at the bit to get out town and see all of this first hand, but something tells me he’s going to be at One World Trade for a while.”

“Jon,” Jordan said, a firmness returning to his voice that Jon had not heard in quite some time. “I don’t care if I have to hitchhike, I-“

“And I need you to be safe.” Jon’s tone pulled Jordan’s attention back to the phone. He could see nothing but sincerity, but also a little bit of fear, in Jon’s eyes. Jon swallowed the lump that started to form in the back of his throat, and he nodded once. “Right now, there’s nothing any of us can do. Right now it... I don’t know, it... it feels like these nutjobs are doing it right for once, and this one’s going to be different. And.” Jon paused and cleared his throat again. “I don’t know if you remember this, but there was that one time that you ended up in the hospital in Michigan because they recognized you as essentially being the enemy, so unless you’ve got a really good costume I think you should lay low for a little while.”

Jordan was silent for what felt like an eternity. The last thing he really wanted to do was to acknowledge that Jon was right, but he was. He was absolutely right. At this point Jordan would have to hide out in the hotel. He said a quick good night to Jon and told him to make sure that Ronan was being just as safe as he while he was out and about trying to get the story, and with a deep breath Jordan set his phone on the magnetic charging pad next to the bed.

He was going to need a stiff drink and a long bath if he had any hope of getting any sleep.

Jordan’s entire body trembled as he pulled in a deep breath and stood to walk to the windows. In the not-too-far distance, Jordan saw the floodlights from hovering helicopters shining not just into the streets, but also into the open courtyard behind The White House, and The National Mall where they had been when everything began.

Chapter Text

The next morning Jordan woke to the sound of the molded plastic hotel phone, shrieking its shrill electronic ring through the deluxe king room. He fell asleep in the fluffy bathrobe that hung on the back of the bathroom door, which he pulled on only hours earlier, and awoke nestled in the warmth of that same bathrobe. The clothes he peeled off the night before were in a tight pile on the bathroom floor, exactly where Jordan left them. His clothes still radiated that same chill that Jordan felt throughout his entire body, before finding the relative safety of that hotel.

After making an attempt at squeezing his long frame into the bathtub in his room, Jordan snuck up to the hotel’s indoor hot tub, bubbling just inside at the far end of a paved courtyard. He was grateful, both that there was no one else around, and that the hot tub was not directly connected to the rooftop pool, which was closed for the season. On his way through the lobby, Jordan swiped a bottle of wine from an abandoned chiller bucket in the hotel’s restaurant, and brought it with him up to the hot tub. Even though it was supposed to close at a specific time, the staff working overnight at the hotel, already overworked and underpaid, really did not care what Jordan Klepper did to try and relax on this already taxing day.

Jordan even offered to buy the staff a round of something, anything, just for being kind to him. But the staff turned him down with a sweet thank you that obvious came from the heart.

The phone continued ringing, over a dozen times until Jordan rolled over and picked up the receiver. He growled into the mouthpiece, unable to find the words, unable to find any words, that early in the morning.

“Mr. Klepper?”

Jordan groaned and rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his free hand, desperate to wipe some of the sleep and exhaustion from his face.

“Mr. Klepper this is Sasha down at the front desk. You requested a wake-up call for 7:00am, but our automated system is currently down. This is just-”

“Thanks,” Jordan grumbled, the fatigue thick in his voice. He said nothing, and reached over to place the receiver back in its cradle. Within seconds the phone ran again, and Jordan answered without making a sound.

“Mr. Klepper? Sasha at the front desk again.” The young woman, who was unusually chipped for the early hour, especially considering the night that everyone had, giggled just once before continuing. “When you asked for that wake-up call, you also asked if we could check to see if the trains were running again.” She paused for a moment, and a shuffle of pages could be heard over the phone. “We made some phone calls, and were able to get you on the Acela leaving around 8:55. It wasn’t easy, but we managed to make some arrangements-”

“Arrangements?” Jordan interrupted, all but moaning into the phone. He rubbed a hand over his face and slowly opened his eyes. He twisted around on the bed to sit with his legs now dangling over the edge. “You mean reservations, right? There’s nothing… weird or wonky going on here, is there?”

Another chuckle came from the young woman on the other end of the call. “We… did what we had to do, sir. A car will be ready to take you all to Union Station in about twenty minutes.” The line went dead. With only one eye still open, Jordan pulled the receiver from his ear and glanced down at it. In the back of his mind, Jordan wondered if he had imagined any part of the last 24 hours. If the riots he saw being portrayed on the news were just in his mind, just part of his overactive imagination working overtime because of the fact that he was beyond exhausted.

Jordan had his backpack slung over his shoulders and stepped onto the elevator, riding it just a few floor down before being joined by the rest of his crew; all looking just as tired, just as sleep deprived as he was. They all gave each other a look and a tired wave, but no one said a word. Not until they were all in the hotel lobby, handing in their room keys and thanking the staff for simply being open and having rooms available the night before.

“Did… anyone else hear them mention arrangements?” Jordan turned to the newest member of the crew, and was not surprised when she shrugged her shoulders. “Not… not reservations. Arrangements.” When silence continued to greet him, Jordan prattled on. “Yeah. No, I definitely heard that. And it… I thought it was, I don’t know. A dream, maybe? But then again-”

Jordan and his crew stepped out of the lobby onto the rotunda that acted as the main thoroughfare in and out of the hotel property. All of them stood motionless, unable to breathe, taking in the sight that surrounded them.

The hotel was just a handful of blocks north of Dupont Circle, in one of the less busy, but still bustling sections of the nation’s capital. But there were no cars on the road. Not even cars that were parked. Traffic out on the main road was also nonexistent. Given what they all witnessed the night before, every one of them felt that there should at least have been some kind of police presence. But even that was absent. It was so quiet, save for the sounds of the heating units in the buildings around them booting up. Jordan held a hand up to keep the rest of his crew from following him, and he slowly started walking from the hotel’s rotunda to the main road.

His eyes went wide again.

Businesses were not open. Windows were dark all up and down Connecticut Avenue in both direction. He made a mental note that the traffic lights were out, but linking yellow to signal that power was not. Without turning around, Jordan stepped back toward the hotel, remaining off the curve and staring straight ahead.

“Did… we wake up in a zombie movie?”

A little titter traveled through the rest of the crew; it was Jordan who spoke first. “If that zombie movie happens to be that funny one with Simon Pegg, then yes,” he replied honestly. “Except nothing’s open. Like, nothing. If martial law really was declared, I feel like they’re doing it wrong.” He glanced around from side to side. “No police or military presence to be found.”

“Maybe it’s because the police are no longer a thing.”

Jordan’s eyes flew open in surprise and he, along with the rest of his crew, turned to see a man in a hotel uniform standing against a column with a cigarette hanging between his lips. “I… I’m sorry. What?” Jordan asked, to the man who seemingly appeared out of nowhere.

The hotel worker took a long drag from his cigarette and exhaled sharply. “That’s what I’m thinking, anyway,” he continued to explain. “Yesterday, all that bullshit that happened down at The Mall-”

“We were there,” the youngest member of the crew interrupted, as if this piece of knowledge was somehow going to impress the hotel worker. But the man in the hotel uniform just rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“Whatever,” the man muttered. he took another drag off of his cigarette. “Everything that happened down there? That was just the beginning. I mean, did you see the news last night? The midwest is burning down, man. And it ain’t stopping there.” He paused and took another drag from his cigarette. “You think what went down at The Capitol was the main event? Nah. That was just the beginning. A distraction, even.”

“But… they stormed The Capitol,” another crew member muttered, somewhat incoherently. But Jordan was urgently trying to keep the attention of the hotel worker away from the members of his crew.

The man in the hotel uniform took the final drag off his cigarette and shrugged his shoulders up over his ears, and tossed the cigarette butt into the street in front of them. “That happened,” he said rather plainly. “Sure. Did people get hurt? Absolutely. Was that crowd armed?” Without really thinking about the proper response, Jordan shook his head. The man in the hotel uniform threw his head back and laughed. “You really don’t think so?”

Again, Jordan shook his head. “I mean, I didn’t…see any real weapons. No firearms or blades or anything like that.”

The man in the hotel uniform nodded slowly, and folded his arms across his chest. “But how many of those so-called protesters had signs? With sticks that could easily double as some kind of club in a pinch. Every single one of them, even if they never made it to the building itself, were ready to fight for their cause. Like, absolutely ready to throw hands.”

Jordan paused for only a moment, but it was the youngest member of his crew who spoke first. “Honestly? I didn’t watch much news last night,” she admitted. She shrugged her shoulders as if it were a very common response to a situation like this one. She looked around at the group standing around her, and after a moment or so she looked down at her feet and scuffed one show against the sidewalk concrete.

“Really?” the man in the hotel uniform asked. He looked around at Jordan and his crew, looking for anyone to have a different response, but was met with mostly blank stares.

“I… watched a little,” Jordan responded softly. “My, um, my partners up in New York, they’d been watching all night. They were worried about us. Said that they weren’t sure if we’d be able to get out of Washington, which… at the time I thought was kind of ridiculous, but now that I’m seeing all of this-”

The man in the hotel uniform nodded and pointed to Jordan. “It’s a good thing you decided to spend the night here,” he returned, sweeping his hand toward the large building behind them. “Because they just happen to have a guy who works in the bar who’s willing to get himself arrested just to get your asses to the train station.”

The expression on Jordan’s face softened dramatically. he let out a low breath and felt a laugh vibrate in his chest. “Nice,” he exhaled. “Don’t want you to get arrested, but really… really, really appreciate you doing this for us.”

The man in the hotel uniform just nodded once at Jordan, and then off toward one of the hotel’s airport shuttle buses were parked. He turned on the balls of his feet and started walking off toward the bus, pulling another cigarette out of his pocket in the process. The sun was not shining particularly brightly, but he fumbled in the inside pocket of his jacket and slipped on a pair of sunglasses. He climbed up into the driver’s seat of the bus and opened the door for Jordan and the rest of his crew.

They drove in relative silence from their hotel on Connecticut Avenue the three or so miles to Union Station. Their driver navigated through the deserted streets with ease, running through intersections without so much as glancing down the cross streets. Jordan and the rest of his crew found themselves looking, gawking around at the fact that one of the biggest and busiest cities in the country was all but abandoned on this particular January day. Jordan sighed and sat back in the bus seat, rubbing both hands against his knees, shaking his head in complete disbelief.

Jordan pulled out his phone and sent a quick text message to Jon, and not the group text between he and his two parties. There was something in the back of his mind that was telling him to not involve Ronan; that he would have more going on than just dealing with the fact that Jordan was not home yet. Ronan would be at the office, fielding phone calls and emails from sources and operatives from all over the country, hoping to find out more and more and more about the stories that were surely pouring in from all major metropolitan areas.

He smiled down at the screen, and sent Jon a quick message.

“I’m okay. We’re heading to the train now.”

Seconds ticked by before the three dots appeared, disappeared, and reappeared a number of times before Jon’s message went through.

“Are you sure you’re okay? Things don’t look good from here.”

Jordan frowned. “What’s CNN saying about DC?”

“CNN went off the air some time last night. AC signed off and the signal cut to, ready for this? A test pattern.”

Jordan tried very hard to laugh at Jon’s comment, but the laughter that came was nervous to say the very least. He looked up from the screen and around at the rest of his crew, before returning to the conversation. “CNN went dark?”

“Among other channels. Ronan tried to find out what happened. He’s still at the office.”

“You’re alone right now?”

The three dots appeared and disappeared, and it was a long moment before Jordan saw Jon’s response. “I don’t think it’s as scary as it looked everywhere, but yes.”

Jordan pulled in a deep breath and turned to the window to try and take a quick picture of the street around them. Still deserted, with scraps of trash blowing around. Storefronts were not only closed, but appeared to be completely shuttered. Jordan wondered how many of the windows behind those heavy shuttered had been broken the night before; the very thought made him laugh just once. He sent the pictures to Jon, which garnered an immediate response.

“Yeah, it’s essentially martial law down there, isn’t it.”

“Except there’s nothing martial about it. It’s like everyone’s just fucking disappeared.”

“It… it’s fucking terrifying. I’ll be glad to get out of here.”

The heart emoji was the last thing that Jordan received. He closed his eyes and sighed softly, as their driver swiftly pulled up in front of the station’s main entrance. For a brief moment, everyone in the bus looked out at the building, just to see if there were any signs of life. Jordan thought he saw people moving inside, the first sight of anyone who was not inside of their hotel that morning.

It was the driver who made the first move, jumping from the driver’s seat and running around to the back door. He tugged the door open and nodded with his head for Jordan and his crew to disembark. “End of the line,” the driver said with a slight nod.

Jordan landed on the sidewalk with both feet and tightened the straps of his backpack over his shoulders. He took a step toward the building and looked up along its façade. He flinched when he heard the back door of the shuttle bus slam closed behind him, and felt a hand clapped over his shoulder from behind. “I’m outta here,” the driver announced.

Jordan turned to him and nodded. “Thank… thank you,” he said through a slight smile. “For… breaking every law imaginable to get us here. Seriously.”

The driver, their savior in disguise, just grinned. He gave Jordan’s shoulder a slap. “Get that train,” he said with another nod. “Go now, get a seat, and get the fuck out of here. I don’t know what’s about to happen, but I know it isn’t going to be good. I’m taking this bus and I’m heading west. I figure I can get somewhere in Virginia where I can lay low myself until all of this blows over.”

Jordan felt a soft laugh echo up from the back of his throat. He wondered whether or not this young man was in his right mind to begin with, and whether or not he really had a handle on the situation taking place around them, but he quickly realized that it did not matter. Jordan watched his crew picking up all of the bags and cases that they were traveling with, and rushed across the sidewalk and up to the front doors of the station, which opened with relative ease.

Jordan let out a sigh of relief. He turned just long enough to watch the shuttle bus speed away from the station and down a side street, and he just nodded to himself.

Inside, the station was far less chaotic than Jordan anticipated it being. He thought for sure that it would be filled with passengers struggling to get from destination to destination, trying to get themselves on any kind of transport that would remove them from this otherwise crazy situation. But what Jordan saw was quite the opposite, though it did have were in neat piles between benches filled with people; people who were obviously there for quite some time. Some of the passengers on those benches and on the floor around them were still sleeping, bundled up in coats and using suitcases for pillows, doing their best to try and get some rest, not knowing what the rest of their day might bring.

“Right,” Jordan said through a long exhale. He nodded and turned toward what appeared to be a ticket counter. He was a little surprised to see both someone standing behind the glass partition, but also only a few people standing in a queue leading up to it. “Guys, find somewhere to hang out for a few minutes. And if there’s a coffee shop open, stalk it until we can get some.” Jordan took his spot in line, at the ticket counter, hoping that this would be a fruitful as the young woman at the hotel promised that it would be. He pulled an envelope with the hotel’s return address on it out of the inside pocket of his Canada Goose parka, and opened it to see what appeared to paper Amtrak boarding passes.

“Next customer, please.” The voice coming from behind the glass partition sounded defeated, the definition of fatigued. The dark circles under the woman’s eyes suggested that she had yet to sleep, and that her day was only beginning.

Jordan cleared his throat gently and approached the partition. “Yes, hi.” He slipped the old-looking boarding passes from the envelope and slid them into the metal tray under the glass partition. “We have… these. We were supposed to be on the Acela last night, but-”

“Yeah,” the woman behind the glass partition said with a little nod of her own. She turned and picked up the sugar-free energy drink beside her and took a long swig. “We’ve been hearing that a lot. Do you have proof of that reservation?” As she spoke, Jordan reached for his phone and produced proof without hesitation, showing the screen of his phone with all of the relevant booking and ticket numbers showing. The woman looked up at Jordan’s phone, typed something into the computer in front of her without taking her eyes off of the phone, and let out a soft sigh. “Okay, Mr. Klepper, it appears that you and your party have been rebooked on the Acela heading to New York’s Penn Station.” Jordan closed his eyes and exhaled a huge sigh of relief. “Unfortunately, there are a large number of travelers who are still waiting for the next train to arrive, and we cannot guarantee a seat on it.”

Jordan raised his eyebrows in surprise. He rested both hands on the shallow counter in front of the glass partition and absently rubbed both palms against the smooth surface. “I-“ Jordan wanted to scream, to let every emotion that bubbled just below the surface erupt through his skin. Instead he took a deep breath and held it until he felt lightheaded. “Understand. I understand. It’s just-” Jordan exhaled sharply again. “It’s just incredibly frustrating, that’s all.”

The woman behind the glass partition, who looked every bit as tired and fed up as everyone else who spent their night in that station, sighed and rolled her eyes. “Tell me about it,” she began. “Some crazy assholes decided they needed to start a revolution, and I’m the one who gets stuck at work for the duration.” She clucked her tongue, and again reached for her sugar-free energy drink, all but draining the can in the process. “And you know we’re not getting any overtime for this, on account of it being a city-wide state of emergency. Like I wouldn’t have made it home last night on my own. Like those straight-ass white boys scare me.” She sucked her teeth, and with her chin in the palm of one hand, she started drumming her nails against the counter.

And it occurred to Jordan that this woman had been the more forthcoming with any knowledge out of anyone they had run into yet.

With a little nod, Jordan thanked the woman behind the glass partition, and turned to join the rest of his crew. They found a relatively quiet spot on the perimeter of the main lobby, a cavernous room that was filled with a number of unpleasant benches, and lined with shops that sold books and magazines, and other assorted travel knick-knacks. Jordan saw that every shop surrounding them was shuttered, closed off from the general public by lowered corrugated steel doors.

Jordan closed his eyes and shook his head. He sighed, and finally set his backpack down on the floor between his feet, pausing for only a moment before sinking down to the floor beside the bag. He groaned, his entire body feeling the effects of the cool tile beneath them, as he sat with his legs crossed and his knees tented. He continued to look around, the actual journalist buried somewhere within him finally starting to come out. “What the hell happened last night?” Jordan asked, his voice quiet and curious at the same time.

Two members of the crew emerged from a stairway, each holding two bright blue cups with white travel lids on them. “Blue Bottle’s open downstairs,” they both said in unison, each handing off one of the cups. “They only have drip coffee left, but-”

“Doesn’t matter,” Jordan said, with a very slight nod. He took a cerulean blue cup in both hands and inhaled the scent of steam coming from the lid. For only a moment the world seemed relatively normal. He was simply setting in a train station early in the morning waiting for his departure time. But it was too quiet; much too quiet to be a relatively normal day. No one in the station was talking louder than a whisper, conversations unheard by anyone they were not directed at. He sighted again and took a sip from his coffee, which was hot but ultimately weak by any coffee standards. He winced at the flavor, but licked his lips in an appreciative manner regardless. “Thank you for hunting this down.” He let out a soft breath and set the cup on the tile beside him.

The rest of Jordan’s crew settled onto the floor around him, all four sipping at their absolutely horrible coffee, warming their bodies from the inside out. Jordan took another sip and choked the coffee back, and after a moment he set the cup back down and cleared his throat. “Okay,” he said finally. He voice felt much too loud for the space they were in, and he looked around at the groups around them. “So, do… does anyone have the vaguest idea what happened yesterday?” Jordan glanced around at his crew, who all in turn shared looks with one another, sideways or otherwise.

“I haven’t been able to find anything out,” one crew member said, swallowing their mouthful of coffee hard, and with a loud gulp. “In fact, I haven’t even been able to get onto any news… well… any credible news sites, anyway.”

“Probably have some kind of block on any IP address that is physically inside the city limits,” another crew member commented, his voice certainly loud enough to be heard by anyone around them. Jordan paused, and narrowed his eyes both at the member of his crew, but also the young man who was now staring at them with some level of intensity.

The young man, who was in a little group of his own, cleared his throat and inched his way closer to Jordan and his crew. “There are rumors,” he started to say, as he folded his legs up underneath himself to make his footprint on the tile floor as small as possible. “About everything that’s been going on lately.” Jordan raised an eyebrow, curious about what this young man was about to tell him, but he said nothing and simply nodded to let the young man know that he was listening.

“What’s the news saying?” Jordan questioned, nodding to the young man as he spoke. He glanced around at his crew before turning his full attention back to the young man. “We… we haven’t been able to get any information aside from the fact that-”

“There were riots,” the young man said with a nod. “And not just… here in Washington. All over the damn country.”

Jordan raised another eyebrow. “Riots? Here?”

The young man nodded. He turned and reached back for his own backpack, completely joining the other crew that surrounded Jordan. “I’m Tristan, by the way.”

“Jordan,” he introduced himself, reaching to shake Tristan’s hand.

Tristan smiled, and continued with his explanation. “We’ve been in the station for… hours. We got here last night, thinking we could grab our train to Cary, North Carolina? We came up here for a school trip, and were supposed to head back last night. Unfortunately, we got stuck.” Tristan paused for just a moment and nodded simply. “I’m sure you ran into the same problem.”

“We also had a rental car, but even the roads were closed,” Jordan explained. “We… there was no way we were getting out of here.”

“Right.”

“And we were heading north.”

“Right.” It was obvious on Tristan’s face that he was enjoying the fact that Jordan did not seem to be hanging on every word, but also seemed genuinely interested in holding a conversation with him. Jordan had no idea who this young man was, but it was apparent that this young man knew more than anyone else around them. And even if Tristan did not have any real knowledge of what happened, he at least had something for them.

All conversation stopped when the public address system crackled to life. A few seconds later, a rather concerned voice spoke to everyone in the main room of the station. “Attention all passengers. We appreciate your patience as we navigate through this difficult time.” The public address system squealed once more, and the speaker continued. “Amtrak 89, The Palmetto, continuing south to Alexandria, Fredricksburg, Richmond, and Petersburg, Virginia, will be arriving on track 17 in approximate 25 minutes. The train will be stopping at Union Station for 15 minutes. So passengers, if you-” The voice continued over the public address system, but was drowned out by the sounds of numerous passengers standing and gathering their things. Every single person who stood at that moment either spoke up or let out a cry of elation; their nightmare was finally drawing to an end.

“Jordan,” Tristan said, as he himself climbed to his feet. “I may see you. I may not. We don’t know if we’re getting on this train, but I will say one thing.” Tristan held up one finger, as if emphasis were required. “Patriot.”

Jordan mouthed the single word in return, eyes narrowed as he watched Tristan turn on the balls of his feet and nimbly run from where they sat to catch up with the rest of the people that he was traveling with. He watched Tristan throw the backpack he held up and over his shoulders, tightening the straps as if he were getting ready to make a mad dash for the platform that was just announced for the arriving train. Jordan would have laughed if his own train reservation was not in jeopardy, and he did not think for a second that he and his own crew would have to sprint themselves in order to make the train that would take them back to New York.

Chapter Text

The instant the doors of the train were closed at Union Station in Washington, Jordan pulled out his phone and sent both Jon and Ronan a message. “We’re leaving,” was all that the first message said, followed by “we’re out”. And that was it. The battery in Jordan’s phone was on the verge of running out of charge for what felt like hours, and he did not have the energy to go digging through his backpack to look for a charging cable. The outlets on the train were few and far between, and already full of other people’s electronic devices, all of which were desperately trying to find some kind of signal, to gather some kind of news.

his was not the first Northeast Regional train to leave Washington that morning. Nor was it the second. It was only when the third train arrived on that same platform, that Jordan and his crew were able to even get onto the train. As if slowly left the station, his crew found themselves standing in the aisle of the plain coach car; Jordan stood in the vestibule between two connecting coach cars, hanging onto what appeared to be handles every time the train hit a hitch in the tracks and tossed violently from side to side.

While the train itself was not typically a local, the conductor who was deftly able to navigate through the crows announced that they would be stopping at every single stop after a certain point. No one asked what the certain point might have been; everyone on the train assumed that it would be once they left the District of Columbia.

After a few extra stops, Jordan was able to get himself a window seat facing away from their direction of travel. He made sure that the rest of his crew were as comfortably situated as they could be before getting that seat, and once he got it he was eternally grateful. They stood, crammed along the aisle of each passenger car, holding onto the rough cloth of the seat backs they stood between, before they were able to find themselves seats scattered all around the car.

“Riots,” Jordan found himself saying aloud. Everyone still on the train could have easily heard him over the sound of the train rattling along the track, but no one reacted to his voice. His voice was the only one that seemed to be breaking any form of silence inside that train car, but everyone else was occupied by some task to keep them busy, or simply lost in the ocean of their own thoughts.

When Jordan was finally able to borrow a charging cord that was plugged into the outlet under the window, he immediately navigated to the virtual private network that Jon and Ronan recommended that he downloaded to his phone long before heading down to Washington. He closed his eyes and drew in a long breath, and when he tried to log onto the network, he was thoroughly surprised when he was able to connect on the first attempt.

He immediately opened the news app that he downloaded along with the virtual private network. Jordan’s eyes glazed over momentarily, overwhelmed by the number of stories that were coming to him in living color. He found it almost impossible to focus on any one headline, and shook his head in an attempt to loosen the cobwebs from his mind.

“Riots,” Jordan spoke again, only this time his voice was far softer.

“…an unknown number of counter-protesters were arrested on the front lawn of the White House, and have been charged with criminal trespassing. Though according to civil rights lawyers, criminal trespass will be the least of their concerns. A spokesman for the Metro Police in Washington have stated that the counter-protesters may be charged with treason or sedition, and may remain in jail without bail.”

Jordan brushed his thumb across the screen, and brought up a story from the international free press. Already in Europe they were weighing in on everything that happened over the last 24 hours. This time, a short clip from some talk show where a number of people dressed smartly were speaking another language.

“If Americans don’t think that this has not been coming for some time, they are delusional.”

“Are you saying that America is truly in its decline?"

“Sir, America is not in decline. America has been in decline for years, decades even. Even before the events of September 11th, American sentiment had… essentially been in free fall.”

“Free fall!?”

“Free fall, that’s correct. That- if last night is any indication, the movement leading up to the so-called rebellion has-"

Jordan closed his eyes. He held his breath and counted to three, and without opening his eyes he scrolled up through the long list of articles and video clips that he was still being presented with.

“-last night’s outrageous attempt at overthrowing the federal government, may not have been so outrageous after all. Stories coming out of the United States right now are spotty at best. And those that are not being intercepted by those responsible for the coup attempt, are incredibly grim. Arrests are being made, but observers are telling us that these arrests are not being performed by the police, but rather by the unofficial militia who are policing the so-called protests.”

“Riots.”

“What?”

“No so-called protests. Riots. Just call them what they are. They’re riots. These… this is much more than a few people getting together to air their grievances. This is… I guess we can call the vague attempts at taking out a system that they formally, and full-throatedly, supported. It’s not anarchy, but if it continues like this, it could be well on its way to-”

“-gton was not the only city to sustain minor to moderate damage in last night’s display of what some are calling controlled violence. Riots have been reported in the cities of Atlanta, Georgia, in Chicago, Illinois, and in Austin, Texas. Local reporters on the ground have described the violence as being not random but calculated, and certainly premeditated. Fox News, however, reports that the protesters are peaceful, and that they are being met with heavily armed resistance.”

“Riots persisted well into the night in and around the nation’s capital, and were only stopped when the local branch of the National Guard activated itself.”

“Can… can they do that? Does the National Guard have the authority to activate itself, in any situation?”

“I doubt that. But… listen. Whoever has the guns makes the rules, right? If the weekend warriors want to play soldier, and are strapped with AR-15s and all sorts of ammuntion, who is going to step in and int-”

Jordan opened his eyes and stared blankly at his phone before closing out the app and looking the screen. With the sunlight shining in through the window, Jordan caught his reflection in the dark screen, and was finally able to see the exhaustion that was obviously plain on his face.

Somewhere between Baltimore and Philadelphia, the train lost all power and came coasting to a stop on some stretch of track that cut right through a residential neighborhood. Darkness started to fill the car, the only light naturally filtering through the trees that surrounded them. Winter meant that the sunlight would disappear quickly, and without power going to any of the train cars, heat would also not be an option.

“What… the actual fuck is happening right now.”

Jordan looked up and saw the older man sitting beside him, the hood of his sweatshirt pulled up over his head, the greying beard with every word he spoke. The man turned to Jordan, but instead looked behind him out the window, and scoffed loudly. He shook his head in disbelief. “They probably cut the lines.”

Jordan shifted himself to glance out the window through the corners of his eyes. “Who did?” he found himself asking aloud.

“Whoever the fuck stormed the Capitol!” The older man shook as he spoke, and he balled his hands together in two tight fists. “Nothing that happened yesterday was a coincidence. It couldn’t have been. They have absolutely been planning that. It… it wasn’t just a rally, son. It was the first shot.”

The color drained from Jordan’s face, and he settled back into his seat. The older man was both making sense and making very little sense all at the same time. Jordan grew weary of hearing the same irrational rationalization over and over, and over, again. He simply could not believe that any of it happened, nor that any of it continued to happen around them. But the stationary train that he now sat on was yet another in a series of incidents that he utterly could not believe.

And he was living through them.

Jordan closed his eyes, and with a heavy sigh he slumped over and let his head hit the cool window glass. He rubbed a hand over his face and let out a heavy sigh, his own body trembling in the process. “Fuck,” he hissed. His single swear caught the older man’s attention, though he said nothing at first. “Fuck, man I… I just want to get the fuck out of here. I want… I just want to go home.”

The older man closed his eyes and let out a soft breath of his own. “Where’s home?” he asked curiously.

Jordan cleared his throat gently into his closed fist. He continued looking away from the old man, eyes still searching out the window for an answer, to the predicament they all found themselves in. “Manhattan,” he replied. “But… who knows i that’ll still be the case tomorrow.”

The older man scoffed and shook his head gently. Though a chill was beginning to race through the train car, he pushed the hood back from his head. He revealed that his head was wrapped in what appeared to be some kind of field dress; gauze pressed to the side of his head, and wound around to keep the gauze in place. “Blood, dark and old, seeped through the gauze. It was drive, but making itself known for what it truly was; a battle wound.

Jordan stared at the man’s wound and cleared his throat again. “What, um… what happened?” he asked, pointing absently to the gauze pressed to the older man’s head.

The older man pulled in a breath. “I could say that I fell, but… that really would be diminishing the whole damn thing,” he said in response. Jordan felt a little laugh catch in the back of his own throat at the other man’s comment. He still got flashes of memories of the moment back in Michigan where he, and even some of his crew, were assaulted for expressing an opposing opinion. Jordan nodded only once, silently signifying that he completely understood what the older man was trying to say.

“Who did it?” Jordan asked, keeping his voice quiet in the process.

“Police,” the older man responded without hesitation. Both he and Jordan were quiet for a beat, and both turned to look at one another. “Yeah. I was just as surprised. I thought it would’ve been the… what’re we calling them. Rioters? Insurrectionists?”

“Terrorists,” Jordan spoke calmly.

“Right,” the older man continued. “That makes sense. Though, I guess… maybe it doesn’t make sense. I mean, if they were terrorists, that would mean that the other side, our side, won. Right? That our side, we, emerged from this thing victorious because we’re the ones writing the history?” Jordan looked out the window, but nodded just the same. “Or maybe that’s just for now.”

Jordan closed his eyes and exhaled sharply. “I really hope that’s not true,” he said, his voice a little stronger this time. “I really… really hope that, after a few days, some semblance of sanity will prevail, and things will start to return to n-”

“Normal?” The older man shook his head and laughed. “There is… absolutely no normal. Not anymore. The normal that you’re thinking about? The one that you’re trying to get yourself back to?” He sighed and shook his head again. “Simply. Does not. Exist.”

“Normal does not exist,” Jordan whimpered, before resting his forehead against the glass. He closed his eyes, and from behind his eyelids he saw the faded yellowing lighting running along the tops of the windows return to life. The sound of the train’s electronics also hummed around them, and everyone on the train simultaneously breathed a sigh of relief.

Normal does not exist.

Chapter Text

Nineteen hours later, Jordan was finally back in Manhattan.

It was nearly two in the morning when the Amtrak train, the now local Northeast Regional squealed its way into the Daniel P. Moynihan Train Hall, under the old post office across the street from where Penn Station once stood. The train, though traveling slowly underground, came to a sudden and abrupt stop. Some were knocked off of their feet, even though every single passenger on that train was given plenty of warning and knew that the abrupt stop would be coming. Conductors came through twenty or so minutes later, alerting those who were getting off in Manhattan that the stop would be a short one. They would not be picking up any passengers between Newark and and their final stop in Boston, so they did not have to account for that time once they got to the platform.

The train hall was in near total darkness, and only the receding footsteps of other passengers on his train could be heard echoing off of the vaulted glass ceiling. Jordan’s eyes were open, but so dry and bloodshot that even blinking became painful. All he really wanted, more than anything in the entire world, was to just get home.

Once outside, Jordan strolled tp the corner of 33rd Street and 8th Avenue, and immediately hailed a cab. At this time of night, the number of hirable cabs should have been few and far between, with bars and restaurants and even some theaters all letting out at this extremely late, or extremely early, hour of the day. But the first yellow Prius that spotted Jordan and his suitcase pulled up to the curb and waited patiently for him to all but collapse into the backseat.

Jordan closed his eyes and let out a long, labored breath. “Home,” he said aloud.

The driver looked up into the rearview mirror at Jordan and reached out to press the button to start the taxi’s meter. “Love to,” the driver said through a thick accent. “But… where is that?”

Jordan had to pause, and sit there in relative silence for several moments before he was able to give any kind of coherent answer. “Hudson Yards,” he managed. “The… y’know, with the weird nest thing? Anywhere around there, I… I should be able to find it once I get there.” Jordan cracked open one eye and was finally able to get a look at the driver, and let out a little sigh of relief. He was not even sure why he was relieved to see the man sitting behind the wheel of that yellow Prius, but it warmed Jordan’s heart to see him.

Jordan sat himself up a bit straighter, as much as his knees and the backseat of that Prius would allow, and cleared his throat. “So,” Jordan spoke, though the single monosyllabic word came out as a coherent sound. He cleared his throat into his closed fist and tried speaking again. “How have things… been.” In the back of his mind, Jordan knew he sounded crazy. He spoke to this random taxi driver as if he had known him for years, as if the man sitting behind the wheel of that yellow Prius would know exactly what Jordan was trying to ask him without having to speak all of the words.

The driver looked up into the mirror at Jordan once again, before closing his eyes and letting out a long sigh of his own. “Things aren’t good,” the man replied through his thick accent. He shrugged with his entire body, taking only his fingers off of the wheel in the process. “We all saw what happened, all sat back and let it happen. And now? Now city is quiet.”

“Yeah,” Jordan exhaled. He sat back against the soft leather of the backseat, and rested his head against the ledge behind the backseat as best as he could. From that angle he could watch the shadows of the towering buildings around them pass by. Lights were still on, some decorations still up on the occasional fire escape or balcony. Life, at least in Manhattan, was doing its best to continue. He pinched the bridge of his nose to fight the oncoming headache; Manhattan felt like the only place in the world that was returning to normal. “Was it bad?”

“Here?” Again, the driver shrugged, with only his shoulders this time. “Maybe. A little. Wall Street burned, but they put it out.”

This made Jordan sit forward and start listening intently. “I… I’m sorry did… did you say that Wall Street… burned?”

The driver kept his eyes on the road ahead, but his attention was focused on the conversation. He nodded. “Yeah. Wall Street. Stock Market. They went in and started fires, right there on the… what you call it, the… the floor! You know, the floor!” The driver became agitated when he could not find the right word, but still the conversation progressed. “Police say no one die, but can you believe them?” He laughed once, but the sound was not a happy one. “One brawl turns into a riot. It’s a good thing that isn’t where home is, otherwise you wouldn’t be going there tonight.”

The color drained from Jordan’s face. There were riots on Wall Street. The rioters, same as those who stormed The Capitol Building, set fire to the trading room floor of the New York Stock Exchange. They were still rioting on Wall Street. Jordan’s heart raced at the thought. The last he heard, Ronan was still at work in his office high up in the new tower that stood at One World Trade. The Freedom Tower and the New York Stock Exchange were only a handful of blocks apart, a distance that a rioting crowd could cover with ease. It was too close for comfort. Jordan’s fingers trembled as he reached for his phone, momentarily forgetting the passcode required to unlock the screen. He sighed and tossed the phone into the seat beside him, folding his arms across his chest like a child who was gearing up to throw a tantrum.

Jordan said nothing, as the driver pulled the yellow Prius up alongside the curb outside the main entrance to the odd tourist attraction that now defined their upscale neighborhood. Jordan paid the fare, giving the driver double the fare as a tip, and slid out of the backseat of that yellow Prius without saying another word. Jordan barely got the car door closed behind him, one strap of his backpack tight over his shoulder. He nearly ran along the sidewalk toward the building where the shared penthouse apartment was, fumbling through the smaller pockets of his backpack for the keycard that would gain him access to the building. Jordan could have screamed when he could not find the card right away.

“Jordy!” Jordan froze in place, only a few feet from the front door of 10 Hudson Yards. His head throbbed, heart beating between his ears rather than in his chest. He turned slowly on the balls of his feet, and through the darkness he saw Jon standing on the sidewalk in front of their building, all by himself. Jordan braced for Jon launching himself into Jordan’s arms. Jordan threw his arms around Jon’s back and picked him up off of his feet, swinging him around with the momentum from Jon’s running at him. Jon folded his arms around the back of Jordan’s neck, kissing him everywhere he could see and reach.

“Are you real?” Jon whispered against Jordan’s lips. Jordan set Jon back down onto his feet and nodded, rubbing the tip of his nose along the line of Jordan’s bearded jaw. “I mean, are… are you really here right now?”

“Yes,” Jordan whispered breathlessly. He cupped both hands around Jon’s jaw and kissed him sweetly, nudging Jon back a step or so, immediately following after him. “Yes, love. I am really here right now, with you, with you right here in my arms!” Jordan squeezed Jon a bit harder, and they both let out a loving little laugh. “Oh my god I’ve missed you.”

“Missed you too.” Jon’s voice was nothing more than a slight whimper. He stood on his toes and gently carded his fingers through Jordan’s already flattened hair, and clucked his tongue sweetly. He shook his head, a look of complete disbelief still in Jon’s eyes. He slid one hand into Jordan’s, lacing their fingers together. Jordan closed his eyes when he felt the chill of Jon’s wedding ring against his skin, and did everything he could to shake off the feeling of that chill without Jon seeing him do it.

Jordan took a deep breath and let it out very slowly, suddenly grinning from ear to ear. “Jon, what’re you doing out here?” he felt himself ask.

“Me?” Jon asked, pointing at his chest as he spoke. “Oh, I… um…” Jon coughed softly and shook his head, laughing in the process. He suddenly found it difficult to speak to Jordan, as if the words completely eluded him. “I’ve been… waiting for you!” Jordan stopped them both and looked down at Jon with his eyes narrowed. Jordan’s expression made Jon laugh, but it was an incredibly nervous sound. “What? You don’t believe me?”

“You had no idea when I would be getting in,” Jordan commented, a little frown creeping across his face. “You couldn’t have known I didn’t even know.”

Jon let out a soft laugh and shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve been out here for hours,” he commented, continuing the story that was coming together in his mind. He nodded and grinned. “It’s true. Ronan… said that he could be coming home soon, but I bet he fell asleep at the office. And there is absolutely no way that I’m going down there to find out.” Jon stepped back from Jordan reluctantly, and with his arms folded across his chest he shook his head.

Jordan breathed deeply. “I have been out of every single loop for the last few days,” he reminded. He reached back and pulled his phone from his pocket. “This? I’ve barely had any sort of signal for hours.”

Jon looked at Jordan with a slight confused expression on his face. “Why?” he felt himself ask, through he was not sure why he found it necessary to ask that particular question. “Because the capital was invaded!” Jordan nearly shouted in return. His voice, his entire body, started to shake. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, and pulled himself back from Jon. “Can… can we just go inside? I would really like to take a shower, and maybe get something to eat that doesn’t come from a small package.”

Jon laughed sweetly, and with a nod he looped his arm through Jordan’s, guiding him back up to their penthouse apartment. The instant that Jordan was inside that warm space, he could feel his entire body collapse beneath him. The backpack dropped to the floor and Jordan nearly followed right after it. Jon did what he could to keep Jordan from falling to his knees. “Easy,” Jon spoke softly. He held Jordan by his arm and steadied a hand on his elbow, and guided him back toward the primary bedroom of their penthouse. “C’mon. Let’s get you washed up.”

“Thank you,” Jordan whimpered, his voice continuing to break further. His body trembled as he peeled his clothes off with Jon’s help, and made his way into the bathroom where Jon had already started to draw a hot bath. In the back of his mind, Jordan wanted to turn off the water and simply drain it; just take a long shower and slide into their giant shared bed. But Jon’s hand on his shoulder steadied him further. “I… I don’t…”

Jon shook his head. “You need to relax,” he said firmly, though kept his voice as soft as he could manage. “Your entire body is so tense, Jordy. And you’ve been through a lot the last couple of days.” He sighed softly. “I doubt you’ve even given yourself time to think… to just think it all through, have you.” Without saying anything, Jordan closed his eyes and simply shook his head, answering Jon’s question. “Yeah. I didn’t think so.”

“I wouldn’t even know where to start.” Jordan closed his eyes, and could feel tears starting to form in the corners of them. He turned away from Jon, as if Jon had never seen this man cry before in their time together, and wipe away one of the tears that threatened to roll down his cheeks. “It… it’s stupid, isn’t it.”

Jon narrowed his eyes and shifted so that he was now standing in front of Jordan, with one hand gently pressed to the middle of his chest. “What’s stupid?” he asked softly.

Jordan sniffled back a tear before allowing himself to face Jon again. “All of this,” he replied. He swept one hand up into the air as if he were motioning to the entirely of the world outside. “Not something we should be crying about, is it.”

Jon clucked his tongue softly. “Oh I don’t know.” He sat on the edge of the tub and reached out toward a small basket filled with bath bombs, that ranged from simply scented to the kind of bubbling and tingling that could easily put someone completely to sleep. Jon floated his fingers over each of the differently-shaped and differently-colored clumps of soap before landing on an orb that had a single leaf sticking out of the top end. “Truth be told-” Jon turned and dropped the bath bomb into the water and reached out to turn the faucet off. “Whatever’s really going on out there is bringing up all sorts of emotions, and I think the most healthy thing is to, y’know, let it happen. Don’t hold it all in because you’re under some delusion that you’re supposed to. If you want to cry, just cry. If you want to scream, do that instead. If you want to go out there and throw hands, I bet you could do that if you wanted, too.” Jon turned to look at Jordan over his shoulder and flashed a little smile at him, but Jordan was not paying any attention.

Sitting in the water, which was now covered in a fine film of lavender soap that made the water more opaque than anything, Jordan pulled his knees up to his chin and wrapped both arms around his folded legs. He closed his eyes and sat his chin on his knees, and exhaled heavily. Jon remained seated on the edge of the tub, absently playing with the water for only a moment before shifting to sit, not on the edge of the tub basin, but rather on the floor closer to where Jordan had taken up his own residence in the water.

“You’re not okay,” Jon announced, after several seconds of careful dedication. Jordan closed his eyes tighter and shook his head, answering Jon’s question without saying a word. “But you will be,” Jon said with a nod. He leaned over and gently stroked his fingers back through Jordan’s hair. “We’ll all be.”

“When,” Jordan questioned into the air that surrounded them both. “When will I be okay. When… when will any of this be okay.”

Jon sighed exhaustively. He folded his arms along the edge of the tub and rested his head on his arms. “I don’t know,” he returned in a hostile tone. “I… I hope soon, because all of this… is genuinely terrifying, and I wasn’t even down there. You… you were definitely in the thick of you, weren’t you.”

“I don’t even know if I should be talking about it,” Jordan spoke, his voice trembling even more.

“Yes you should.”

Both Jon and Ronan lifted their heads and saw Ronan standing in the bathroom doorway. He smiled at both Jon and Jordan, his expression softening at the sight of Jordan soaking in the tub. Ronan sighed sweetly and folded his arms across his chest, leaning against the frame of the door. The smile on Ronan’s face seemed to fade immediately, and he strode into the bedroom to sit on the edge of the tub where Jon had perched before. “When did you get home?”

“Not long ago,” Jon responded in Jordan’s place. “I happened to be downstairs waiting for you-” Jon glanced up at Ronan and raised an eyebrow. “And I was about to come back upstairs when I saw this one getting out of a cab.”

Ronan smiled at that, but knew that Jon had a number of questions that he was now waiting for ask. He stood and walled to where Jon and Jordan were huddled up together as best as they could be with one in and one outside of the tub. He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the top of Jon’s head, and leaned on one foot to do the same to Jordan. He turned and went back into the bedroom, with both Jon and Jordan watching him move.

Jon and Jordan continued sitting in the bathroom in relative silence. Jordan’s eyes widened slightly and he turned to see Jon narrowing his eyes in Ronan’s direction. “Are you okay?” Jordan asked, after a moment or so of thick silence. Jon scoffed only once, but nodded in response to Jordan’s question. Jordan could tell that Jon had more to say than his little vexed laugh, but was in absolutely no position to ask Jon to elaborate, due to his own emotional state. Jordan sighed, and with a little nod he reached one hand out of the water and rested his hand on Jon’s arm. “Go. Get some rest.”

“Jordy,” Jon tried to speak up.

But Jordan pressed two soapy fingers to Jon’s lips and shook his head. “Go,” Jordan said through a smile. “I’ll be okay. Honest. I, I’m home right now. And you have absolutely no idea just how good it is to be home, regardless of what… what might be happening downtown right now.”

Jon nodded and sucked in a deep breath. He stood slowly from his spot on the floor. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Jordan felt himself say. “Yeah, no, I… I think I’m okay here. I’m just going to soak until the water gets too cold and then I’ll be right to bed.” He held one hand up, three fingers as if he were swearing like a Boy Scout would. “I promise.”

Jon clucked his tongue softly. “Okay.” With a nod he leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to Jordan’s lips. He turned on the balls of his feet, and with a nod he went back into the bedroom with Ronan, closing the bathroom door behind himself in the process. Jordan nodded at the closed door, knowing full well that Jon and Ronan would be having an uncomfortable question on the other side of the door. An uncomfortable conversation that they did not want Jordan to hear.

And in that particular moment, Jordan wanted nothing to do with it. Under normal circumstances a quarrel between his two lovers would not trouble him, but in this instance all Jordan really wanted to do was close his eyes and sleep away the last few days. The lavender scent of the soap, the calming fizz of the dissolving bath bomb around him; all of it doing its job in calming him down. That was all Jordan really wanted, really needed in that moment. To simply calm the fuck down. A lot had transpired, and Jon was right. He had not had any time to unpack it for himself, had no time to even think about what the truth about everything that happened might have been.

Now he was home. He was no longer sitting on a cold tile floor in a train station 230 miles away. He was no longer riding at breakneck speeds through the streets to get to said train station, through a city that felt more abandoned than it should have ever felt. He was home, home with the two people who he loved and adores more than anything in this world, and in the back of his mind Jordan knew that everything was going to be okay. Deep in his heart, Joran knew that, so long as he was home with Jon and Ronan, things would work out.

At least he hoped.

Chapter Text

10 Hudson Yards
One month later

The chill of the mid-February winter did nothing to deter Jordan from standing out on the balcony that almost completely encircled their penthouse, long after the warmth of the sun disappeared below the horizon. A cold wind blew in off of the Hudson River and found its way swirled up under the bottom hem of his Canada Goose down jacket. But the wintry weather came nowhere close to bothering Jordan. If anything, Jordan almost welcomed the cold. His Midwestern bones still, from time to time, craved a good freeze. He folded his arms along the metal railing, and found himself staring blankly across the river, searching for something to draw his focus.

Jordan had been unable to focus on much of anything since returning home from Washington, and the rally that devolved into a full-scale attempted coup in front of The Capitol. And even before that, after he and his crew were attacked at another rally in Michigan, another even that was being touted by the right-wing media and those who followed both the right-wing and even the centrist media as being a nonviolent demonstration, when it clearly was the opposite, Jordan’s mind had a tendency to wander, both in the middle of, and around every single thought he had. Jordan truly believed that he was doing a fine job keeping his cool, and was able to keep these dissociative movements of his a secret from Jon and Ronan.

But neither Jon nor Ronan were fooled. Every time Jordan stopped in the middle of a thought, Jon and Ronan both took notice. Neither realized that Jordan was barely aware of what was going on in his own mind, let alone what was happening in the world around him. Jordan was always acutely aware of what was going on, even when whatever was happening had nothing to do with him.

But regardless of how aware Jordan was, the awareness was in the negative when it came to his own dissociative episodes. And when he did become aware, he did his absolute best to try and ignore it. And the more than Jon and Ronan realized that it was going to get worse before it got better, the more they both sank into worry.

Jordan closed his eyes when he heard the heavy sliding glass door open, and then almost immediately close, behind him.

“Hey,” Jon’s voice called across the balcony to Jordan. Jon was bundled up in his own heavy winter parka, and held a steaming mug of tea in each hand. He smiled and approached Jordan cautiously, as if he were and injured and frightened animal. “I, um… I didn’t know if you wanted any tea, but I… I figured it would keep you warm.” Jon paused for just a moment before finding a chuckle escape from his lips. “You know, I…” Jon lifted both mugs. “I was a little surprised to find two mugs from the same… collection with relative ease in that cabinet. Not a one of them was in the dishwasher, if… if you can believe that.”

Jordan heard every word, knowing that this was Jon’s relatively weak attempt at some kind of small talk. He smiled but still turned away from Jon, as he approached the railing and gently nudged Jordan’s arm with the mug closest to him. Jordan nodded just once and shifted just enough to take the steaming mug from Jon. “Thanks,” Jordan spoke, his quiet voice having to hitch a ride on the wind for Jon to hear him.

With the same sweet smile on his face, Jon nodded and leaned his head tenderly against Jordan’s arm. “Anything,” Jon whispered in response. Jon closed his eyes and cupped both hands around his own mug. “I… I don’t know, a… a caffeine-free peach thing that… I think Ronan must’ve gotten from someone he knows at… at work…” Jon pulled back and looked down at the tea bag still half floating in the water. He nervously bit at the inside of his bottom lip before letting out a quiet sigh.

“Jon,” Jordan felt himself speak. He cleared his throat and took the smallest sip of his steaming tea. He closed his eyes and let out an incredibly sharp breath. “Fuck. I… I have no idea how to even-”

Jon swallowed around the lump growing in the back of his throat. He turned to Jordan and gently cupped a hand over Jordan’s arm. “What… whatever’s on your mind right now? Just… just say it.” Jon cautiously, nervously, reached out to lace his fingers with Jordan’s. Jon frowned when Jordan jerked his hand away, and placed them both around his warm mug of tea. Jon sighed with his whole body. “Jordy, please.”

“What!” Jordan nearly snapped. He spun around to face Jon, eyes wide and cold at the same time. Jon brought the mug to his lips and took a small sip. He kept his focus on Jordan, still sipping his tea, while he took the slightest step back from where he and Jordan stood together. Jordan closed his eyes tightly and whimpered without making a sound. “I-”

Smiling nervously, Jon brought a finger to his lips. “Don’t,” he responded, shaking his head as he spoke. “You don’t have to say a word. I promise, you don’t have to tell me… um, us. You don’t have to tell either of us anything until you’re ready.”

Jordan returned the nervous smile, and mouthed a silent thank you. Jon reached out, his hand trembling as the tips of his fingers connected with Jordan’s arm. They both stood facing one another, the tension hanging thickly between them. Jon looked down and shuffled his feet, pressing his thumb to the curve of the mug’s handle. After several moments of silence, Jon closed his eyes and felt a tremble travel through his entire body. “S’cold out here,” Jon commented through the same nervous smile on his face.

Jordan nodded in agreement but remained quiet. There were a number of thoughts running through his mind, but Jordan did not say a word. Jon was so willing to hear him, wanted so badly for Jordan to tell him everything, but that was something Jordan was not even remotely ready for. A conversation for another day, something in the not-too-distant future.

Without saying another word, Jon took a sip his tea and nodded toward the heavy sliding glass door. Jordan nodded, understanding what Jon was trying to say without him having to actually say it. “Go,” Jordan said with a faint nod. “I… I won’t be out here long, I promise.”

Jon smiled, the happiness in his expression genuine. “Good,” he returned sweetly. “This apartment can get so lonely when it’s just me shambling around.”

Jordan frowned and looked down at the mug he held between his hands. “Where’s-” Jordan paused and cleared his throat loudly. “Oh. Wait, no. That’s kind of a-”

“Stupid question,” Jon said, in almost perfect unison with Jordan. “Yeah, no it… I mean, it isn’t really a dumb question, but.” Jon stopped, and with his mouth still open he just shrugged his shoulders. He drew in a deep breath and held it for several seconds before extending a hand to Jordan. “C’mon,” Jon said behind a smile. “Come inside.”

Jordan did not hesitate, and tucked his fingers between Jon’s, allowing Jon to lead him back into the warmth of the penthouse.

Jon continued back into the apartment, holding loosely onto Jordan’s hand, knowing in the back of his mind that Jordan was liable to let go of his hand at any moment, and without any notice. Jordan made sure to close the sliding glass door behind them, and paused just long enough to set his mug of tea on the glass-topped table nearest to that sliding glass door.

They both wanted to talk, but in the moment the words seemed to fail. Jordan was about to shed the heavy down parka, when Jon’s hand clutched the material. Gasping softly, Jon tugged Jordan down for a kiss, moaning sweetly against Jordan’s lips. “Fuck,” Jordan felt himself growl, as his own hands came down to push the heavy parka away from Jon’s shoulders.

Jon smiled, and snickered against Jordan’s lips. “Well, I mean that… that was kind of the plan,” he responded with a nod. He wiggled his shoulders and let his heavy parka fall to the floor in a pile around his feet. He bit at the inside of his bottom lip and let out a little moan. Slowly he ran one hand up along the front of Jordan’s shirt, feeling the warmth of his chest through the cotton.

Jordan chuckled softly, almost under his breath. “So, what you’re saying is… you want me?” he asked, trying to play as coy as possible. Jon groaned and rolled his eyes, and with his own little chuckle he took a half step back. “You’re so silly,” he teased in return. “I’m going to tell you something, and-” Jon swallowed around something caught in the back of his throat. He sucked in a deep breath and stepped closer to Jordan. Jordan braced himself and stripped off his own outer layer of clothing in the process. Jordan gasped silently when Jon stood on his toes and wound his arms around the back of Jordan’s neck.

“Tell me,” Jordan whispered. He pursed his lips, and with a smile he cupped both hands over Jon’s hips.

Jon curled a hand around the back of Jordan’s neck and, swallowing a little moan, pulled Jordan down for a long kiss. “Want you,” Jon whispered, before melting into another kiss. “I… I’ve always wanted you. From the first moment I saw you at that pretentious fucking bar, Jordy. It’s been you.”

Jon’s words made Jordan’s heart race. A wicked half smile crept across his face, and he held tighter onto Jon’s hips. Jordan hoisted Jon up from his feet, helping Jon to wrap his legs around Jordan’s waist, as Jordan carried them both completely into the bedroom. He tossed Jon onto the middle of the bed, and moaned softly as he climbed, fully clothed, on top of Jon.

This was perfect. While it was not a conversation, their being together was more therapeutic than words could have been in that moment. And even if they wanted to have that conversation, it would have been difficult to do so with their mouths both full of one another.

Both Jon and Jordan moaned with each breath as they lay, sated and tangled up in on another. They both shifted only somewhat when they heard the front door open. Jon twisted in Jordan’s arms, officially making his taller partner the big spoon. He closed his eyes and whimpered when he felt Jordan’s cock slide out of him. “Fuck,” growled Jon, angry at the physical loss of his lover.

“Again?” Jordan replied with a little laugh. He pressed his entire body against Jon’s, and wrapped his arm around Jon’s soft middle.

“No,” Jon chuckled. He cupped a hand over Jordan’s wrist and held his hand still. “I, I mean, yes. Of course yes. But, no.” He snickered softly. “I also think… Ronan might be… home. A-and, and who knows. He may want in on the next round of snuggling.”

Jordan heard Jon’s voice trail off, and felt his entire body go cold and rigid. Though he was physically still in bed with Jon, in his mind’s eye he was no longer in Manhattan. He was back in Union Station, in the retail concourse, where there had been a bit more room to move among those who, like himself, had been stranded. Jordan found himself pacing back and forth, in the midst of the uneasy silence. Every person in the station, regardless of what they were doing, froze in place when they heard police sirens screaming down the street. Everyone, Jordan included, found themselves unable to move, or even breathe, until the uneasy silence returned.

Once uneasy, the silence became a comfort.

Jordan closed his eyes tight, and could hear his heart beating as a siren blared off in the distance, loud and close enough to be heard throughout the penthouse’s thick windows. “Jordy?” Jon’s voice was a far-off echo that slowly grew loud enough for Jordan to hear, as a proper part of his hallucinations. “Hey. Where’d you go?”

Jordan’s eyes were still wile, though the bright green of his irises were now fading back to their normal hazel green. He could hear Jon calling for him, but was not sure of where the voice was coming from. Jordan closed his eyes and shook his head roughly, rubbing his forehead against the softness of Jon’s curls. “W-wait. What?”

Jon felt himself smile, but the smile felt tired. “Stay with me Jorday. Okay?” He took another deep breath, one that Jordan could feel against his chest. “You okay? You… went somewhere. Where’d you go?”

“Oh. Um. Nowhere,” Jordan said shortly in response. Jon knew that the shortness and tone of Jordan’s answer spoke more to his frame of mind than his emotional state, and Jon knew not to read too much into it.

Jon closed his eyes and took a long, slow breath. “I know,” he said as he exhaled. “I know, baby. Just… don’t let go, okay? I’m right here, here in bed with you. We’re home. So just… just don’t let go, and-”

“You have my word,” Jordan growled softly against Jon’s ear, interrupting what Jon thought to be one of his sweetest pep talks. Jordan had not been back in Manhattan for long, but already Jon had a good amount of experience talking him down from whatever ledge Jordan found himself on.

“Don’t let go,” Jon simply whimpered back. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard, wondering if he was the only who could hear the sound that it made. “And everything will be alright.”

Jordan closed his eyes and felt himself smile subtly against the thick curls on the back of Jon’s head. In that moment, neither Jon nor Jordan were aware of the rapidly-changing atmosphere in the apartment around them. In that moment, all that truly mattered was the fact that Jonathan Lovett did love him.

And no matter how hard he tried, Jordan could never get the same read on Ronan’s emotions. After a while, Jordan found himself simply giving up. Deep down he knew that Ronan did care for him, but Jordan would never know if love, true love, would ever factor into that.

Nor did he even care. He was there for Jon; getting to share a bed with Ronan Farrow was simply a bonus.

Ronan flipped the light switch just inside the bedroom door, and after letting his eyes adjust to the new brightness, he smile at the figures lying together in the bed. Ronan was quiet for a split second before letting a laugh bubble up from the middle of his chest. “Oh my god,” he spoke, continuing to laugh as he did. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You know.” Ronan twisted around and dropped his messenger bag on the floor, nudging it aside with his foot. “This is how I first found you two together.”

Jon snickered, and could feel Jordan’s arm tighten around him as he spoke. A little smile flashed across Jon’s face. “Ah. But the first time you found us, he was actively fucking me.” Jon slid a hand along the back of Jordan’s hand and up along his arm, hoping to comfort his lover with a simple touch. Jon twisted around to try and get a look at Jordan, for their eyes to meet and for Jordan to know that he was protected.

Ronan shrugged his shoulders with a little smile and disappeared into the bathroom, turning on a light and closing the door behind himself in the process. Jon closed his eyes and let out a huge breath of relief, and with his eyes still closed he rolled onto his back and pulled Jordan’s arm over his chest. Jon folded a hand back behind his head and turned to see Jordan lying beside him, nearly cowering, his eyes closed to tightly that line appeared near their corners.

When Jordan did not tug away, Ronan appeared and with a soft cluck of his tongue he rubbed Jordan’s shoulder. Ronan sat gently on the bed beside Jordan, who now lay between he and Jon. Ronan was usually a man of many words, but when it came to Jordan the words were often stunted. Even before Jordan went through several traumatic events in somewhat rapid succession, Ronan was never quite sure how to talk to him. It was a genuine problem; a problem that Ronan feared would never had a solution.

Jordan’s body trembled with every deep breath he took. He closed his eyes again, hearing the far-off sounds of trains rumbling beneath him. Not the familiar roar of the New Jersey Transit’s Raritan Valley line on its way into Penn Station. But the vibrations of Amtrak, Maryland Area Rail Commuter, and Washington’s Metro trains, arriving at the station at random intervals, and for only a few minutes at a time. No one was getting off of those trains; simply getting on and hoping that they could get out of the city unencumbered.

He was back at Union Station again.

Jordan rolled onto his back and cupped a hand over his eyes. Jon and Ronan both watched this with a touch of relief, but Jon knew that this episode was far from over. Under his hand, Jordan found himself smiling, then laughing softly. His soon hysterical laughter made both Jon and Ronan pull back from him.

“Jordy,” Jon said, the apprehension thick in his voice.

“It’s so ridiculous!” Jordan loudly proclaimed. “It… everything. It’s all absolutely fucking ridiculous!” Swiftly, Jordan sat bolt upright in bed, taking Jon and Ronan completely by surprise. Jon narrowed his eyes slightly, and turned to give Ronan a rather concerned look, before focusing back on Jordan. “What… what’s ridiculous, Jordy?”

Jordan let out a soft laugh, his shoulders shaking from the force of it, and with the same crazed expression on his face, he turned to Jon. “Everything,” he responded, his voice remarkably calm in the moment. He smiled at Jon, who sat motionless before Jordan. “There… there was no coup on the Hill.” Jordan closed his eyes and shook his head, laughing silently as he moved. “There wasn’t, I… I made it all up.”

“Jordan,” Ronan’s soft voice cut through the thickening tension that surrounded all three of them.

Jordan snapped his head around to stare at Ronan with his wild eyes. “No. Ronan. Trust me. I was there. And it… all of it? Made up. Completely made up. None of it… really… happened…”

Another shared look, and Ronan cleared his throat. Without taking his eyes off of Jon, he stood from the bed slowly, and slipped off into the bathroom. The faucet ran for just a moment, and Ronan returned with a glass of water in one hand, and a couple of pills in the other. Jordan watched this, and in that moment Jon was not sure whether or not Jordan was fully aware of anything happening around him. “Here,” Ronan said to no one in particular, smiling as he offered the pills and water to Jordan.

Jordan glanced down at Ronan’s hands, then back up into his eyes. “What’s-”

Ronan shrugged his shoulders with the faintest laugh, and nervously glanced over at Jon. “It’s to help you sleep,” he replied without hesitation. Ronan shifted his focus, back to Jordan but caught a glimpse of Jon out of the corner of his eyes. He immediately met the look he received with a reaction. “I think you’ve had… a rough few days-”

“Weeks,” Jon swiftly interrupted, nodding once for some kind of emphasis. Ronan paused and cleared his throat softly. “I think we’ve… all had kind of… a rough few weeks, really.” Ronan offered the pills to Jordan once more, this time with more insistence than before.

Jordan took a deep breath and let it out very slowly. He looked up from the pills that Ronan deposited in his hand and sighed sharply. His eyes focused on the pills resting in the palm of his hand, before he turned his gaze to Jon first, and then to Ronan. Jordan shrugged his shoulders and tossed his head back, swallowing the pills with the water, and exhaled softly. “There.” Jordan paused and cleared his throat before swallowing again. “You… you’re right. It’s been a, a rough few days. Maybe a good night’s rest, is… is what we all need.”

Ronan sighed almost silently through a gentle smile. He took the glass back from Jordan and stood up from the bed, still smiling down at Jordan as he slipped back into the bathroom with the now empty glass. Jon watched Ronan with slightly narrowed eyes; Ronan was moving as if Jordan were a child who really just needed a good nap. Jon knew that Ronan had very little, if any, idea how to treat Jordan when he slipped into this particular frame of mind. He wondered if Ronan had any desire to learn how. Jon stayed vigilant, watching as Ronan helped Jordan shift around in the bed, getting him as comfortable as possible before tugging all of the blankets up around him.

Ronan, being the best mother figure that he knew how to bed, tucked the blankets tightly around Jordan’s body, folding him further into a comfortable sleeping position.

Ronan sighed softly, and pet a hand along Jordan’s ginger hair, and with a little smile he stepped back from the bed and made his way out of the room as quietly as he could. Jon remained motionless on the far side of the bed, waiting long enough for the sleep aid that Ronan gave Jordan to take effect. He waited until he heard gentle snores coming from Jordan before finally standing to leave. Jon pulled on a pair of soft cotton maroon joggers, and one of Jordan’s heavily worn T-shirts that never quite made it to the hamper, and gently closed the bedroom door behind him.

Ronan was already in the kitchen, propping the refrigerator door open with his elbow, twisting around to see the Tupperware container of left-over pasta and meat sauce on the counter between the refrigerator and the radiant cooktop. Jon stood on the opposite side of the kitchen’s center island, leaning forward with his hands folded on the stone countertop. Ronan stood with his back to Jon for only a moment before he paused whatever it was that he found himself doing, Ronan stood up straight, shoulders pushed back just a bit, and he sighed sharply. “Yes?” he found himself asking into the silence of the entire penthouse. Without seeing the expression on his face, Ronan knew that Jon was flustered, and that his bewilderment bordered on genuine anger.

“Yes?” Jon questioned in return, his voice flat but certainly not calm. Jon stood back, arms now folded tightly across his chest. When Ronan said nothing in return, but went back to preparing himself something to eat, Jon laughed harshly just once and shook his head. “Don’t treat me like I’m some… source or someone you’re… psyching yourself up to interview, okay?” Ronan continued busying himself with his back square to Jon, which made Jon’s entire body tense up. “So you’re not going to tell me what that was all about?”

“What what was all about?” Ronan asked in response. He turned to glance back at Jon over his shoulder, still for a long moment before replacing the now half-empty container of leftovers back in the refrigerator.

But Ronan knew. Ronan knew that Jon had approximately nine million questions for him, and knew that he would not be able to avoid answering them forever. Ronan closed his eyes and drew in an incredibly deep breath, steadying himself before finding the exact words that he was looking for.

Ronan turned to face Jon, holding a cereal bowl full of cold leftovers before setting it down on the stone countertop between them. “Trazodone,” he finally said, releasing the name of the prescription medication he had given to Jordan.

Jon remained quiet for only a second, before he turned away from the kitchen’s center island and walked around Ronan to grab a Diet Coke from the refrigerator. “You sedated him,” Jon said with a slight nod. He took a seat at the breakfast table and popped open the Diet Coke, the sound ringing through the penthouse.

Ronan sighed sharply, and with the cereal bowl of cold leftovers in his hands, he moved to join Jon at the breakfast table. “I did,” he said with the faintest nod. Before Jon had a chance to ask another question, Ronan continued. “But it’s prescribed for Jordan.”

Jon snorted. “Oh! Oh, well, that makes it all better,” he commented with a firm nod. He cupped both hands around the can of Diet Coke and stared down at the opening in the top of the can. He clucked his tongue and shook his head before lifting the can and nearly emptying the whole thing in one gulp. “You drugged him.”

Ronan closed his eyes and let out a deep breath. “Yes. I did,” he said, the tone of his voice starting to mirror the anger in Jon’s voice. “It’s a medication that he’s supposed to be taking, and I’m willing to bet he isn’t.”

Jon slammed the empty can back down on the breakfast table, and smacked his lips loudly. “Because drugging him was the right thing to do,” he responded somewhat flatly. Ronan sighed and sat back in the high-backed dining chair, and folded his hands in his lap. “I didn’t say that,” he muttered. He cleared his throat before he snapped his gaze up to meet Jon’s. “I didn’t say that, but you know what? Maybe in this situation it was the right thing to do.” Ronan leaned forward and swept a hand back, motioning behind himself toward the bedroom. “The poor man needs to fucking sleep, and I know for a fact that he in’t getting more than what? Two, three hours of sleep a night? If he’d been taking it like the doctor said he should, he should be down for twelve hours at the absolute least.” Jon sighed, huffing in his own high-backed dining chair. Ronan took the opportunity to launch into a retaliatory tirade. “Look. I know you don’t think I’m worry about Jordan, but right now? I am terrified for him.”

Jon swallowed the large lump growing in the back of his throat. “You are?” he questioned, a subtle softness returning to his voice.

Ronan widened his eyes and nodded at the same time. “How can I not be?” he asked back, shrugging his shoulders as he spoke. “He may not-” The words caught in the back of his throat. He closed his eyes and cleared his throat, desperate to dislodge the imaginary blockage that prevented him from speaking. “Jordan may not like… me as much as he likes you, but… you know what, that isn’t the important part here. The point that I’m trying to make is that you love him. It’s obvious that you love him, and that you are very much in love with him. And you’re my husband, who I love and who I am in love with. You… you’re my world, Jonathan. The absolute center of my universe. And having Jordan around?” Ronan paused for a heartbeat, before letting out a gentle chuckle. “Well, that’s really just a bonus.”

Jon forced a smile, and felt his entire body tense and go cold at the same time. His stare was wholly unfocused, as Ronan’s words began bouncing around in his head. From the beginning, Jon was always a little worried that Ronan’s feelings for Jordan were not as real as his own, or were simply manufactured for his benefit. But to hear confirmation from Ronan directly that Jon had been right all along made him truly wonder.

The distressing smile remained on Jon’s face, and he began absently playing with the empty soda can on the table. Jon remained quiet for what felt like an eternity, and found himself looking up from the darkness inside that empty Diet Coke can, to Ronan across the table. Ronan had seemingly lost interest in their conversation, his hunger taking over and guiding him to dig into the cold leftover pasta and meat sauce. Jon watched for several long moments, eyes narrowing as he slowly realized that Ronan was somewhat unbothered.

Jon parted his lips to ask Ronan a question, but instead just closed his mouth and let out a long breath. He gripped one hand around the empty Diet Coke can and stood from the table, stopping only when he made it to the kitchen’s center island. Jon took a breath, his shoulders shaking as he exhaled. He set the empty Diet Coke can gingerly down on the stone countertop beside him. “But do you? Do you really care?” Jon found himself asking, though not being the question he really did want to ask. However, it was the first one that came to mind, so it was the first one to come out. Jon turned to look back at Ronan over his shoulder and held his breath, waiting for whatever answer Ronan would be willing to offer him.

Ronan speared a single piece of penne pasta, and a single crumble of browned ground beef, onto his fork and took the bite without hesitation. He sat there at the breakfast table in silence and relative calm. In the awkward silence that came between them, Jon could hear Jordan’s soft, albeit present and steady, snoring emanating from the bedroom. He closed his eyes and sighed deeply. For the moment, Ronan’s point was being made. Jordan was not only safe in the comfort of their own home, but he was fast asleep there as well, at least for the time being. Ronan’s one-sided decision to give Jordan a sedative was, at least in this instance, a good one.

Maybe not the right one, but a good one nevertheless.

But that was the last thing that Jon wanted to say. The last thing Jon wanted to do in that moment, more than ever, was to admit that Ronan was right, and that he really made a valid point, regardless of the lack of emotion that went with said decision.

The argument they were having was, without warning, made completely null and void.

Jon closed his eyes and let out another long breath. “Sorry,” he exhaled. He sighed again, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I… I’m just sorry.”

Ronan pierced a number of pieces of sauced-covered penne pasta and took a bite before responding. “For what?” he asked, his mouth still full of half-chewed pasta. Ronan was starting to visibly relax, both from their heated discussion but also from just returning home from work. Under normal circumstances Ronan had a routine that he would follow when he would come home from any time of work, whether it be a day at the office, or a day in and around the city researching or tracking down sources. Getting into an argument over whether or not he cared for the third member of their polycule was never once part of that routine.

Jon kept his eyes closed and pinched the bridge of his nose a bit harder, grunting sharply as he let go. “I don’t even know,” he said through another sigh. Shaking his head he turned to face Ronan, still seated at the table. Ronan set his fork down in the sinkhole of pasta and meat sauce in his cereal bowl, and turned himself ot face Jon with one arm up over the back of his high-backed chair. Jon shook his head, and with his eyes still closed his shrugged his shoulders. “Honestly? I really don’t know.” Jon shuffled over to where Ronan was still seated, and leaned in to press the softest kiss to the middle of his forehead. “It’s late, Ro. I’m worn out.” He turned away from Ronan and licked his lips. “I, um, I’m going to try and scoot Jordan into the middle of the bed.”

Ronan snickered at that, and could not help the playful little smile that came across his face. “He’s probably in full starfish mode right now, isn’t he,” he found himself commenting.

Jon forced a little smile, and nodded just the same. “Oh absolutely,” he replied to Ronan’s playful comment. He strode back toward their shared bedroom and paused just outside the door, resting both hands against the moulding surrounding the door frame. Jon let out a long, slow breath, and could tell without looking back at Ronan that he had already forgotten about the conversation that Jon himself was certainly involved in. Ronan’s attention was already focused back on the cereal bowl half filled with leftover pasta and meat sauce. Jon sighed again with his whole body, and gently nudged the bedroom door open with his foot.

Jon entered the bedroom and closed the door silently behind himself in one smooth, practiced motion. He stood with his back pressed against the now closed door, giving himself just a moment to adjust to the absolute darkness of the bedroom. Floor-length blackout curtains were draped over the picture windows that normally let in light that might reflect up from the street, as well as from buildings surrounding them. The same doctor who prescribed the mild sedative to help treat Jordan’s anxiety mentioned that blackout curtains would be helpful in the fight against Jordan’s insomnia.

And Jon did not hesitate to buy and install whatever was necessary in order to help Jordan.

Jon closed his eyes and drew in another long breath. He rubbed both hands along his arms, and exhaled as he walked toward the bed, shedding his soft T-shirt and kicking off his slippers before finding the mattress with his outstretched hands. He pressed his palms to the mattress and smooth the crumpled blankets, as he inched toward the middle of the bed, feeling for the solid form of his lover.

Chapter Text

Jon woke the next morning, spooned around Jordan from behind. Neither he nor Jordan took the initiative to set an alarm before either fell into the bed the night before. Jon first rubbed his face against Jordan’s back and lifted his head in a rather sleepy attempt to gauge their situation. But with the blackout curtains pulled across the picture windows, it was impossible to determine just what time of day it was; impossible to judge just how long either of them had been asleep for.

But what Jon did notice was that he and Jordan were still alone in that bed. Jon yawned against the back of Jordan’s shoulder, and with a soft smile on his face he pressed a gentle kiss to the top of the curve. He shifted onto his back and scooted away from Jordan in the most delicate way, not wanting to jostle him out of his slumber. Jon sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed a hand over Ronan’s pillows, crisp and unheated from not being slept on the night before.

Except Ronan was nowhere to be found; if he had slept that night, it had not been in their shared bed. Jon frowned at the thought of Ronan, still in the pale blue dress shirt, and professionally-pressed khakis that he wore to work the day before, sitting slumped down in the cushioned gaming chair in front of the desk in his personal home office. The loveseat sofa in his office space was much too short for Ronan to sleep on, but if his heart was set on it, Ronan would not be deterred. And this would crumple him even further.

Jon stood and cupped a hand over his mouth to restrain his noisy yawn. He stretched his arms up over his head and twisted around to look back at Jordan. He cupped his hand back over his mouth, this time to restrain a whimper. Though Jordan was still steadily asleep, he was hugging the edge of the bed, laying as close to the edge of the bed without falling to the floor. Jon pulled in a long breath and let it out slowly, as he turned on the balls of his feet and made his way out of the bedroom just as quietly as he entered the night before.

Jon groaned and squinted at the brightness of the natural light cascading through the windows and bathing the penthouse from all sides.

“Morning.”

Jon gasped, startled by the sound of Ronan’s voice coming from the breakfast table; the exact place where Jon left him the night before. The cereal bowl was sitting in the sink basin, replaced by a plate covered in crumbs, and an oversized coffee mug surrounded by empty Diet Coke cans. Jon paused, narrowing his eyes in Ronan’s direction, and slowly approached him. “Please,” Jon began, a somewhat doubtful tone in his voice. “Please… tell me you’ve slept.”

Ronan looked nervous, but smiled nonetheless. “A little bit,” he replied honestly. He looked away from Jon, and nodded toward the closed laptop on the table. “I kind of just… nodded off right here until my phone went off around… 2:15 this morning.”

Jon closed his eyes and sighed sharply. “That’s never good,” he commented. Jon proceeded into the kitchen to pour himself some coffee. He took a moment and pressed the back of his hand to the pot to make sure that it was warm, and that Ronan was not drinking the leftover coffee from the night before.

“No.” Ronan paused and shifted again to sit with his legs tucked up under the table. He reached out and nudged away an empty Diet Coke can to pull the oversized coffee mug closer to himself. Ronan sighed sharply and cupped both hands around the oversized mug. “It’s not.”

Jon swallowed hard. He swore under his breath, steadying himself, preparing for whatever bad news that Ronan was about to share with him. Jon pulled in another deep breath and took a slow sip of coffee. With a little sigh, Jon came to sit at the breakfast table with Ronan. “What’s with the face? Did someone die?” Jon felt himself ask, cupping a hand over Ronan’s wrist.

Ronan closed his eyes and let out a little deranged laugh. “I wish,” he teased, though to Jon it did not sound like Ronan was being playful. He looked up from Jon’s hand and sighed, and felt the smile slide from his face when he saw that Jon’s expression did not match his own. “I… I hate putting it like this, but… I feel like a death might be easier to handle than this.”

Jon paused for just a moment, and raised a thoughtful eyebrow in Ronan’s direction. “That sounds absolutely insane,” he returned with a slight nod. “Ronan, what could be worse-”

Ronan sucked in a sharp breath and pressed both hands flat to the top of the breakfast table, using them as leverage to push himself up out of the chair that he sat in for the better part of the night. He wobbled on his legs for a beat, steadying himself long enough to slid the laptop off of the table and tuck it under his arm as he walked it back to his office. Jon watched before jumping out of his own chair and followed Ronan across the penthouse. Jon ducked into Ronan’s office just in time to watch Ronan set the laptop down on his desk and pull the charging cord from the hand of the original LEGO spaceman standing on the edge of hid desk, acting as a holder for a number of charging cords, making sure none of them fell back behind the desk.

Ronan flipped open the laptop, whose battery consequently died while Rona nwas reading at the breakfast table, and pressed the power button to bring the laptop to life. A faint smile quickly tugged at the corner of Ronan’s mouth, as he watched Jon looking around the room for another chair. Jon clucked his tongue and shook his head, muttering something about Ronan’s minimalistic tendencies when decorating his own spaces. Jon tucked a chair from the kitchen under his arm and half carried, half dragged, it to the office to take a seat beside Ronan.

At the same time Ronan called up his email and started scanning through a long list of new messages that arrived after the laptop’s battery lost the last of its charge. Jon watched the expression on Ronan’s face shift from somewhat emotionless to almost happy.

Jon gripped the chair and scooted himself closer to Ronan’s desk. His eyes narrowed at Ronan’s laptop, trying to read the words printed there. Ronan turned to face Jon for just a moment, and laughed gently at the sight. “I think somebody needs glasses,” Ronan called out in a sing-song voice.

Jon clucked his tongue and rolled his eyes. “Excuse me, but I do not need glasses,” he said with an affirmative nod. “You know, maybe if you cleaned this screen once in a while it would be much easier to-”

“Read over my shoulder?” Ronan asked in return, raising an eyebrow in the process. He sat back, with both hands still resting on the keyboard, and turned to face Jon with a distrustful expression, and his arms folded tightly across his chest. “Also, you know, between you and me, you really shouldn’t be reading over my shoulder to begin with.”

Ronan continued to speak, but Jon’s attention was almost immediately drawn to a handful of words on the screen that seemed to pop out at him simultaneously. Jon leaned over and pressed two fingers to the corner of Ronan’s laptop, twisting the whole thing to face himself. Jon squinted at the screen, leaning in closer to try and properly read the document loaded behind what gave the impression of being several years’ worth of oily fingerprints.

“Jon,” Ronan called out, though he knew that any attempt at grabbing his husband’s hand would ultimately be fruitless.

But Jon said nothing, as he stood from his own chair and managed to nudge Ronan and his rolling gaming chair aside. He grabbed the laptop with both hands and pulled it closer to himself, to properly read as much of the entire document that Ronan pulled up as he could.

With eyes wide in genuine surprise, Jon stood as tall as he could manage, and cupped both hands over his hips. He turned and glared down at Ronan, who pulled the laptop back in front of himself. He opened his mouth to speak, to say anything, but Jon instantly spoke and interrupted Ronan’s train of thought.

“What the hell did I just-”

Ronan closed his eyes and sighed heavily, slowly closing his laptop to let it charge. “I don’t-” he began to say. His words cut themselves short, before he ha the opportunity to say anything else, because Ronan knew exactly what Jon had just read. Ronan knew because it was just the attachment, and that the rest of the email explained everything that Jon’s brain was only now trying to reason through. He took another breath and rubbed both hands against his knees before pushing the tall gaming chair back from the desk, and turning himself and the chair to face Jon. Ronan looked up into his husband’s eyes, and knew from their both surprised and frightened expressions, that there was simply no way of explaining the rest of the contents of that email.

Ronan took several deep breaths, in a vain attempt at keeping all of the raw emotion out of his voice before simply blurting it out. “It… it’s a list, Jon,” he tried to explain, trying to remain calm. Without taking his focus away from Jon, Ronan swiveled slightly and pressed a tented hand to the top of the closed laptop charging on the desk. “And… whoever compiled that list is calling them, the people and everything else on said list… the Unorthodox.”

Chapter Text

Jon heard the words, and gave them a moment or so to properly sink in. He narrowed his eyes at Ronan and folded his arms across his chest. “The Unorthodox,” he repeated, hoping that Ronan would interpret his confusion and continue to explain it. But Ronan said nothing; just shrugged his shoulders in a subtle fashion. Jon rolled his eyes and sighed, nearly growling as he exhaled. “Just… what the hell is that supposed to mean?” Ronan drew in another breath and merely sat there silent, his gaze now focused on a spot on the wall some distance behind Jon. To Jon it seemed as though his husband was merely staring off into space.

The one time that Jon desperately needed Ronan to be paying attention to him, and Ronan’s attention was absolutely somewhere else.

Jon close his eyes and sighed sharply. He pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “Well… I mean, do we know who… the compilers of this list here are?” Again, Ronan shrugged his shoulders, only further frustrating Jon with his absolute lack of answers. Jon squeezed his arms, still folded across his chest, and mocked Ronan’s shrugging shoulders. “What. What’s that. What does that even mean, Ronan?”

“I don’t know!” Ronan shouted in return. Jon stepped back as Ronan bounded out of his high-backed gaming chair, sending it flying back into the desk, making everything shake. “I don’t fucking know, Jon. Okay? I don’t have a fucking clue who compiled the list.” As Ronan spoke he approached Jon, no longer standing up straight but somewhat hunched, his hands up and out in a defensive state. Jon never knew Ronan to be violent, but there was something in the way that he stood made Jon wonder if there was a first time for anything.

“I have a theory.”

Both Jon and Ronan started at the sound of Jordan’s voice, croaking from sleep, resonating from the door of Ronan’s office. They looked over to see Jordan slumped but still standing, with one shoulder pressed to the door’s frame, the opposite hand resting against it at the same time. Jordan lifted his hand and looked over to Jon and Ronan, his eyes watery and very obviously straining to focus. Jon felt a sweet smile come across his face, and a wave of relief shuddered through his body. “Jordy,” Jon exhaled, a hand pressed gently to his chest. Jon stood himself up a little straighter and began to walk toward Jordan. But Ronan absentmindedly held a hand out to stop him.

Ronan sighed sharply, and after clearing his throat, carded his fingers back through his hair, pushing strands of blonde away from his face. “Mornin’,” Ronan said through what was obviously a forced smile. “How, um… how’d you sleep?”

Jordan shrugged his one shoulder which was not pressed to the door frame. “If I can be honest with you? I don’t really remember,” he responded, still whispering as he spoke. He cleared his throat into his fist, and after a long breath he pushed himself up from leaning against the door frame. “I know I didn’t dream, so.”

Ronan nodded slowly. “That’s probably a good thing,” he commented. He shifted his focus to Jon and shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. Last I heard he wasn’t having dreams anyway, but nightmares. Terrors, even.”

If Jon had the ability to kill with only a thought, Ronan’s blood and entrails would be all over the walls around them. Neither Jon nor Ronan believed that violence ever solved anything, but Jon had grown so fiercely protective of Jordan, that he would have done whatever necessary to keep Jordan from harm. Jon rested both hands on his hips and stared at Ronan, shaking his head slowly before twisting away from his husband entirely. In that moment, Jon was more focused on Jordan than anything else in the world, including the email that he had not read, and the document that he had started to.

Jon and Jordan met in the doorway, Jon’s arms wound tightly around Jordan’s back, Jordan’s arm in place around Jon’s shoulders. As they embraced, Ronan faded into the background, no longer as a person in the room but rather just another piece of haphazardly cobbled together furniture. Ronan watched their embrace, and could feel the warmth and love and care and respect radiating from both Jon and Jordan. Jon stood on his toes and nuzzled a soft kiss to Jordan’s cheek.

Without saying a word Ronan returned to his laptop, lifting the lid and rubbing a finger against the trackpad to wake it from its groaning slumber. He glanced over his shoulder across the room to a small Micke desk from IKEA, a shade of black that really did not match anything else in the room, including the all-in-one LaserJet Pro printer sitting in the middle of the narrow surface. Ronan nodded to the printer, as if to communicate with the device before returning his attention back to the screen. Moments later the printer screamed to life, pulling Jon and Jordan’s attention away from one another.

Ronan cleared his throat softly. “You… said you had a theory,” he commented in Jordan’s direction, without pulling his gaze away from the laptop screen when his inquiry was met with nothing but silence. Ronan raised an eyebrow and slowly turned to face Jordan.

Jordan narrowed his eyes quickly, looking away from Ronan for half a second before the memory of his own words came back to him. “Oh.” He paused and cleared his throat again. Jordan looked down at Jon with a little smile, and could see that, with his back to Ronan, Jon was discernibly a bit more free to show his true emotional state. Jordan smiled, and cupped a hand over Jon’s shoulder. “No, it’s true. I do… have a theory.” Jordan nodded and pointed to Ronan’s laptop. He took a step closer, and was oblivious to Ronan’s recoil.

Jordan felt his entire body tense, and altogether freeze, when he felt Jon’s fingers curl around his wrist. Jordan swiftly looked down to see Jon’s hand, then looked back up into his eyes. Jon shook his head subtly, silently cautioning Jordan for some reason that was only known to him.

Jordan nodded with the same subtle response, and instead started to walk toward the printer. “Patriot,” Jordan found himself saying, as if he were finishing an internal thought aloud, without giving Jon and Ronan a clue as to what the rest of the internal thought was.

“Patriot?” Ronan asked.

“That crazy right-wing social media thing?” Jon added to Ronan’s question.

Jordan nodded in response. He approached the screeching printer and saw the pages that it was spitting out. Jordan reached for one of the pages and finally saw what Jon and Ronan had already seen earlier that morning. Thirty-two pages of pundits, journalists, comedians, actors, activists, authors, and anyone else with an opinion that differed from those who seemingly compiled the list. “Holy shit,” Jordan felt himself saw, the words vibrating in his chest. The color drained from his face. Jordan closed his eyes and took several breaths, finding himself losing his already weak grip on this reality. “If… if this is what I think it looks like…”

Ronan clucked his tongue. “What do you think it looks like?” he snapped, as Jordan replaced the single sheet back in the printer tray. Jon was about to speak up, to warn Ronan about the sardonic tone he was taking, but stopped when he heard Jordan laugh only once.

“Uh, well, I mean… it’s a list,” Jordan replied without missing a beat. The printer went silent, and Jordan snatched all thirty-two pages from the printer tray. He cleared his throat as if he were about to read the list in its entirety out loud. The color drained from his face, from the rest of his body, as Jordan began to fully realize just what this list truly was. “O-oh.” He cleared his throat, hearing how contracted his voice sounded in that instant. “Oh, shit.”

While Jordan came to terms with the pages he held, and the fact that his own name was not just on the list, but relatively close to the top, Jon’s brain began spinning in circles. The mention of Patriot made Jon wonder; about the list itself, about how Ronan came to be in possession of it, and just who compiled the list even where. With both hands balled into tight fists, Jon stormed out of the office, muttering angrily as he searched the penthouse for where he dropped his phone the night before.

“Jon?” Ronan called out after him. When Ronan was unable to grab Jon’s attention, he screamed out a touch louder. When a third attempt at calling for Jon failed, Ronan stood from his gaming chair and darted out of the room after his husband. Ronan came to a stop near the middle of the expansive great room, staring at the back of Jon’s head, watching him tremble as he thumbed through his contacts, searching for one in particular.

“Vietor,” Jon growled, his body vibrating under the sound of his own voice. He gripped the phone so tightly his knuckles glowed white.

“What?” Jordan asked from where he stood just outside Ronan’s home office.

“Vietor,” Jon cried once more. “He… he and Favreau were…” Jon closed his eyes and shook his head, as if he were trying to physically shake the thoughts out of his head. But the thoughts remained steadfast, and simply festered long enough to allow them some coherence. “They had this… really stupid, really… really fucking stupid, fucking… crazy idea for a new podcast.”

Ronan shrugged his shoulders. “That doesn’t sound crazy,” he began. “I mean, that’s… what you guys do, right?” Ronan chuckled, and for a moment he thought he could feel the growing tension in the penthouse begin to dissipate just a little. He smile and continued to chuckle, but the sound quickly trailed off when it was obvious that neither Jon nor Ronan felt the same way that he did. “Sorry,” Ronan said, clearing his throat before continuing. “It’s just… I mean, I know that you’re all in the business of podcasts, but… the idea of Tommy Vietor coming up with, then executing an original idea without either yours or Favreau’s help is just-” Ronan snickered once more. “I mean, it is kind of preposterous.”

“Have to agree with him there,” Jordan said, nodding simply to add to the conversation. “I mean… I know that he’s your…” Jordan’s voice trailed off. When he first met Jon, he knew that Jon considered Tommy a friend, and at the very least considered him to be a trusted colleague. But one fissure after another made Jordan realize that perhaps Jon and Tommy were not as close as Jon once thought they were.

“Okay. Yeah. Sure. If it’ll make us all feel good right now, then let’s do it. Let’s dump on Tommy.” Jon closed his eyes and snorted like an angry bull. “But we all know that won’t solve anything. He came up with this idea that, well, that sounded like something that Jordan would do.” Jordan, curious to hear his name in this specific instance, narrowed his eyes and walked further into the open living room space. He sat on the couch, arms folded across his chest, one leg crossed over the other at the knee. “You know. How you… go deep behind enemy lines to mock and insult the shit out of them by lobbing facts back in their faces?”

Jordan took a moment, staring off into space, not seeing anything but obviously seeing memories flashing before his eyes at the same time.

“Wait. Tommy was doing that?” Ronan’s voice was more surprised than anticipated, and nearly squealed as he spoke.

Jon rolled his eyes and exhaled sharply. “No!” he screamed back. He pressed his face into his palms and shook his head. “No, dammit, that isn’t-” Jon had to stop talking altogether, and found his body still trembling, anger and rage bubbling over into something else entirely, something that verged on calm. “Patriot. Tommy found a way to get onto Patriot, probably before it became invitation only, and created a crazy prepper persona to communicate with those psychos through. And now?” Jon snapped his attention to Jordan and pointed to the pages that Jordan seemed surprised to still be holding. “Now Tommy’s essentially gone AWOL, at least that’s how it seems to me. Then again, I myself haven’t really been in the loop, either.” He quickly showed the screen of his phone to Ronan then to Jordan, but the screen had long gone black.

Ronan nodded slowly, as if he saw what Jon was trying to reference, and held his chin between his thumb and index finger, thinking carefully about Jon’s ranting and raving. While Jon was truly an emotional being, and wore that proudly on his sleeve, it was obvious that there was some kind of truth to whatever Jon was saying.

But it was Jordan who spoke, shaking all thirty-two pages in his hand as he did. “So, you’re thinking that… Tommy put this list together?”

Jon was still for a long moment, the penthouse so quiet that they could hear the mechanical whirring of the building’s elevators screeching to life just outside of their apartment. He looked down at the dark screen of his phone, completely unsurprised by the fact that Favs had not sent him anymore messages, and therefore had no further answers for him. He sighed and tossed the phone into the couch beside Jordan, and took a seat on the second couch across from him, a metal rectangular coffee table situated between the two couches. Jon shifted a bit, twisting before folding his legs up underneath himself. “Maybe,” he responded. The anger in his body had vanished, leaving Jon a tired shell of himself.

Ronan came to sit next to Jon, hoping to comfort him simply by sitting beside him. But Jordan remained on the opposite couch all by himself, staring down at the list in his hands, page after page of names that he both recognized and did not all at the same time.

“Unbelievable,” Jordan muttered under his breath. “This… this is just unbelievable.”

Jordan’s voice was unnaturally calm. He read the first page a few dozen more times, as if the next time the words on the page would change. The names, now fully committed to memory, would hopefully change. Jordan needed to know whose protection was necessary, and who would be on their side, during whatever fight there was now so obviously coming.

Because Jordan knew, in his mind but also throughout history, that nothing good could ever come from a list like this. Absolutely nothing. And this city had become his home, where everyone he loved more than anything else in the world lived and worked alongside him. Now he had to be ready to do anything to keep them, and everyone like them, safe.

Chapter Text

r/Main_Branch: The_Communicator has entered the chat.
MTGreene: Why, young Thomas. You’ve joined us.
BennyTheJet: Yeah. Shouldn’t you be out somewhere overachieving?
The_Communicator: Perhaps.
The Communicator: Why aren’t you out hitting the bricks with me?
BennyTheJet: SOMEONE needs to stay here and hold down the fort.
The_Communicator: Answer the phones…
BennyTheJet: Hey. That’s not me. That’s @MTGreene.
MTGreene: Fuck you, BS.
BennyTheJet: LMFAO
BennyTheJet: No, but seriously, Tommy. Where are you right now?

Tommy smiled and brought the to-go cup holding his warm oat milk latte to his lips. He took a healthy sip and smacked his lips before setting the cup back down on the table beside his laptop. Whenever he was in a public space like this one, Tommy always made sure to protect himself as best as he could. Though his personal Patriot account was anonymous, and kept that way by a number of cybersecurity hoops, that he himself helped put into place, he could still never be too careful.

Tommy licked another drop of his oat milk latte from his top lip and brought both hands back to the keyboard of his laptop.

The_Communicator: Here, there, and everywhere.
BennyTheJet: What’re you, a fucking poet?
MTGreene: Ignore him, T. He’s just jealous that you have a soul, and he fucking doesn’t.
BennyTheJet: It’s overrated, having a soul. Or being a sensitive prick.
BennyTheJet: Some might even say that it’s a weakness.
The_Communicator: Or a strength, if you know what you’re doing.
BennyTheJet: You mean like when you ruined that fag wedding?
The_Communicator: Ruined it? Fuck. I stopped it entirely.
The_Communicator: Or, at least, I thought I did.
BennyTheJet: But that was just one. And don’t get me wrong, Tommy. It was a wonderful start. But you and I both know that’s definitely not enough.
The_Communicator: Sounds like you may have something planned.
The_Communicator: Which, I mean, to totally be that guy, would definitely surprise me. If you had something planned.
MTGreene: I was JUST going to say.
BennyTheJet: Man, both of you can seriously fuck right off.
r/Main_Branch: Canadian_Vice has entered the chat.
The_Communicator: I can go into the theories room. See if anything new and exciting has come up lately.
BennyTheJet: Hey, Gav.
The_Communicator: Gavin! What’s up? You still out in Larchmont?
Canadian_Vice: Of course LOL where the hell else would I go?
Canadian_Vice: It’s my home.
Canadian_Vice: My asshole neighbors can leave.
r/Main_Branch: The_Boog has entered the chat.
The_Communicator: BOOG!
The_Boog: Vietor! Fuck am I glad to see you.
The_Lieutenant: I take it you have good news.
BennyTheJet: SHIT! Where’d you come from?!
The_Lieutenant: You’re so clueless, Shapiro.
The_Communicator: Seriously. He is ALWAYS here, just… lurking.
The_Communicator: Watching.
The_Communicator: Waiting.
BennyTheJet: Alright, alright. Calm down, both of you. Boog. What’s going on?
The_Boog: I, well well. We’ve been working on something that we’re going to need Tommy’s help with.
The_Communicator: That’s why I’m here. What do you need?
The_Boog: Access.
BennyTheJet: Doth mine eyes deceive me? Did Boog just say they needed access? I thought you could access anything you wanted whenever you wanted.
The_Boog: Under most circumstances, sure. That is a true statement.
The_Boog: But this… is something entirely different.

Tommy reached for his oat milk latte, which by now was at that temperature where it bordered on disgusting to drink. He winced and frowned down at the black plastic lid of the single-use cup, and gave the drink a gentle shake. He set the cup back down on the table and cleared his throat just as the Patriot direct message desktop alert went off.

The_Boog: I know this might be a stretch, but when you were still working with The White House, how high did your clearance go?
The_Communicator: When I left the National Security Advisor’s office I was still at Tier 3. Moderate risk, non-critical sensitive.
The_Boog: Okay. Um… what?
The_Communicator: Yeah. Haha. Yeah, listen. I honestly couldn’t explain it to you, no matter how hard I tried. I mean it was basically a step below top secret, but I was allowed to sit in on those meetings in the Sit Room on a regular basis.
The_Boog: Think that had anything to do with your boyish charm and good looks?
The_Communicator: I mean… I know you’re teasing, but… maybe? Who knows why shit happened the way it did back then.
The_Boog: Every administration has their own… method? Their own way of doing things, I suppose. But what I was actually wondering is whether or not you still… I know you still don’t have the clearance, but do you still remember all of your login information?

Narrowing his eyes, Tommy navigated away from the Patriot app and back into his archived emails. At first, he was not sure whether or not this would work at all. Of course, in Tommy’s mind, the easiest way to make a system secure was to block the access of all former employees to said system. But when Tommy logged onto his email account from his time as an assistant to the National Security Advisor, he was able to access the account without any further authentication. He stared at the screen, reading the archived emails almost in complete disbelief.

The_Communicator: Um… well, fuck.
The_Communicator: Color my ass surprised.
The_Boog: You… didn’t expect that to work, I take it.
The_Communicator: Actually… no. No, Boog, I really really did not expect that.
The_Boog: Well, then. Mission fucking accomplished.
The_Communicator: LOL what? What’re you talking about?
The_Boog: We went ahead and scoured the past records until we found at least one set of credentials that looked familiar. Believe it or not, yours was the first that we came across.
The_Boog: Your creds were already set up, by the way. We didn’t have to try and reregister them or anything.
The_Communicator: You… wait. Really?
The_Boog: Apparently!
The_Boog: All of that being said, we have reinstated your credentials thoroughly, should you need to access anything inside the State Dept.
The_Communicator: Wait.
The_Communicator: The… State Department?

Tommy leaned in close, making it easier to read the conversation, as if that would make any of it make more sense. But Tommy knew that there was very little, if anything, he could say or do to help any of this make more sense. Tommy did know their group’s plans that not many others knew about, but what Michael Vanderboegh was telling him made little sense, even to him.

Tommy sat back in his seat and cleared his throat with his arms folded across his chest. He sat silent and motionless for only a moment, before navigating away from the Patriot all on his laptop, to the browser where his prepper persona was still logged in.

r/theories: Colton AK has entered the chat.
FreedomKaren: …unbelievable.
FreedomKaren: Colton! Is that really you?
ColtonAK: No you are not hallucinating, ladies and gentlemen. Colton has returned.

Tommy found himself genuinely surprised by the fact that, not only had the members of the group remembered him, but had even noticed his absence. A sweet smile crept swiftly across his face, and a playful laugh caught in the back of his throat.

GodGunsGoldGlory: C’mon, he hasn’t been away THAT long!
FreedomKaren: Okay. Well. Regardless. It’s wonderful to see you again.
GodGunsGoldGlory: You know, I heard a rumor about you.
ColtonAK: Oh?
GodGunsGoldGlory: Yep. Heard that you were part of that whole… January crew. But also that you have some kind of doomsday bunker hidden in the woods somewhere.
ColtonAK: Well… the second part of that is 100% accurate. I do indeed have a doomsday bunker hidden in the woods.
ColtonAK: A little something that I’ve been working on for years.
FreedomKaren: Really?
ColtonAK: At first, it was more of a… well, something is afoot and something may be happening here in the very near future. So I told myself that it was time to start getting ready.
ColtonAK: Turns out that the very near future came faster than I thought it would. So I had to seriously step up my bunker-building game.
GodGunsGoldGlory: LOL
GodGunsGoldGlory: So now that the future is upon us, you’ve gone to ground?
ColtonAK: Almost.
ColtonAK: There are still a few things that need to be taken care of, but aside from that I’m ready to head to the bunker full time.
ALM1488: Care to let us in on the secret, Colton?
FreedomKaren: OMG! I didn’t even realize you were still here!
ColtonAK: Seriously. Last time I was here you rage-quit so hard it was ridiculous.
ALM1488: Really.
ALM1488: That… wow. That was a while ago, wasn’t it.
ColtonAK: Sadly, it was. But like I said. I’m back… for now, at least.
FreedomKaren: For now??
ALM1488: Ah ha! See, I knew you knew more than you let on ;)
ColtonAK: haha you caught me. It’s all been a ruse to suck you in. A pre-indoctrination, if you will.

Tommy found himself laughing softly at that comment, not fully realizing just how true that single statement was. Tommy’s laughter trailed off and he immediately started to backtrack.

ColtonAK: You didn’t know I had my own cult?
ALM1488: No…
GodGunsGoldGlory: No, but in retrospect that does kind of make sense.
ALM1488: I mean, it may not be true, but it may not be entirely false, either.
ALM1488: After all… that is why we’re all here. To speculate on data that we’ve both created and received from other sources. To talk amongst ourselves and find the real truth.

Tommy started to type up a response when his Patriot app sounded in the background.

ColtonAK: Hold that thought and watch this space. I’ll be back with more info soon, I promise.

Tommy cleared his throat and closed the browser to partially log Colton off. He picked up the now empty cardboard cup and groaned softly.

r/Main_Branch: The_Communicator has entered the chat.
The_Communicator: Mission, I do believe, has been accomplished.
MTGreene: Wait, really?
MTGreene: That took… like… no time at all.
The_Lieutenant: That’s because Tommy here knows the importance of a deadline.
The_Lieutenant: Tommy knows exactly what has to be done in order to finish a job on time.
BennyTheJet: Yeah, unlike SOME people who are assigned tasks and then… I guess get sidetracked by some hijabi across the aisle.
The_Lieutenant: You have been busy, though. Haven’t you, Tommy?
The_Communicator: Busy? Nah. No, I was just doing the job that was assigned to me, that’s all.
MTGreene: Um, excuse me, BS, but that dumb hijabi IS part of my job.
BennyTheJet: Guess you really did learn something working in that bitch-ass White House, didn’t you.
The_Communicator: LOL!
The_Communicator: You know what the worst part about that is? I wasn’t even the communications guy on the staff! Really, I started as one of those interns who knocks on doors and shit, and worked my way up to the National Security office. I was just some kid they went ahead and let into the Situation Room, because THAT’S fucking safe.
BennyTheJet: See, Greene? Put your back into it, fire up that alter ego, and get shit done!
BennyTheJet: Don’t crumble like a ditzy blonde whenever things get hard, OR! whenever someone gets in your face.
MTGreene: But she’s going to become a problem, BS. You’d know that if you took your head out of your ass once in a while.
r/Main_Branch: ChairmanTarrio has entered the chat.
BennyTheJet: Either way, I’m pretty sure that she’s on the list, and therefore will be taken care of in no time. That list is absolutely massive, and there is no end to it in sight.
MTGreene: You know, speaking of the list, I’m still not sure why we didn’t try to recruit EM.
BennyTheJet: You know you really are dumb.
BennyTheJet: He isn’t even an American. And it would be counterintuitive to have a foreigner at the head table, agree or disagree?
The_Communicator: I mean, maybe. He does have a handle on how to communicate properly.
BennyTheJet: And let’s not forget that he open-sourced those Tesla plans, instead of auctioning them off to the highest bidder, like a good capitalist.
The_Communicator: Sure, we have Patriot right now, but we need to be honest with one another. Twitter… X… whatever the fuck they’re calling it right now.
The_Communicator: If we controlled that, we could allow all of the users to remain, and still stay on message. Telling the users that, yes. They can stay. But the terms and conditions are going to change.
The_Lieutenant: Fear not, Tommy. Fear not. Believe me, Twitter is next on the list of acquisitions.
The_Communicator: Chairman! *bows*
ChairmanTarrio: Eh, knock that shit off.
ChairmanTarrio: Except don’t. Subjugation looks damn good on you, Blondie ;)
BennyTheJet: Ohhhh my God.
BennyTheJet: That is EXACTLY how you got into the Situation Room, Vietor. Your fucking boyish good looks!
The_Boog: LMFAO Tommy omg
The_Communicator: STFU Shapiro. That’s really not as funny as you think it is.
BennyTheJet: Oh we’re gonna have to disagree on this one.

As the conversation continued to devolve from what they were gathered to discuss to what they were discussing, Tommy slowly came to realize that this was it. This was truly the beginning. And he would always remember, and be remembered, for being part of it.

Chapter Text

There were only two things that Jordan loved more than Jonathan Lovett; finding new underground electronic and hip-hop artists from the Midwest, and sharing said underground electronic and hip-hop artists from the Midwest with everyone he knew. And, always wanting to make and keep Jordan happy, Jon welcomed the addition of this personally-curated collection of Jordan’s underground and otherwise lesser-known musical artists to his own Spotify collection. And though Jon himself was not the biggest fan of music in general, from time to time he found himself not just listening to, but thoroughly enjoying Jordan’s eclectic musical tastes. Jon was not entirely certain that he knew how Spotify worked at all, but he was certain that Jordan could see when Jon was listening to one of his playlists that was connected to both of their accounts. It was, in a way, Jon’s subtle way of keeping an eye on Jordan at all times.

Having that subtle connection to Jordan put Jon’s mind at ease, and with the current state of the world, anything that put his mind at ease was welcomed.

When Jon found himself stepping off of an early inbound Metro-North train from White Plains, walking through the mass of people coming up the platform and into the storied hall of Grand Central Terminal, he was more tense than usual. After Jon’s rather abrupt departure from the flagship podcast put out by the media company that he helped to found, he found himself booked to do an interview on the radio station at Purchase College. In the back of his mind, when he sat down to be interviewed, he hoped that these college student were more interested in his personal life rather than his professional one. After all, there was more gossip connected to his marriage and unconventional relationship. But all of the questions seemed to ask one simple thing: what exactly happened at Crooked Media?

What Jon did not realize was that, not long after his departure as one of the more beloved on-air personalities, the company itself began to fall apart. He received the weekly email reports from the company’s officers, but had not heard much from the two men who he founded the media company with. At first this bothered Jon very much, at least when it came to Favs. Jon really thought that he and Favs were, at the core of it all, friends. Or at least respected one another enough to try and keep in touch.

Jon came to a stop beside the large information booth in the center of the expansive main concourse, and reached for the phone in his back pocket at the same time he glanced up at the famous clock, just long enough to read what it said. Jon smile down at the screen of his phone, the Spotify track changing to an electronic instrumental featured in a movie that Jon was certain that Jordan, and Jordan alone, had ever seen. Jon closed his eyes, and with a little smile on his face he gave his head a gentle shake. He was about to slide the phone back into his thigh pocket when he felt it vibrate; not the customary vibration that came with a typical notification, but the extra burst of vibration that accompanied any notification from any of his productivity apps. Jon let the phone rest in his palm, and squinted down at the screen, taking in the words before finally exhaling, and letting his body relax somewhat.

FavsRunsOnDunkin: Heard that interview btw
Jon snorted and shook his head. He was just thinking about Favs, and here came a message from the man himself.
HookedOnMath: Oh, sure. Not even a hello, how are you, haven’t heard much from you in a while, just wondering how you’re doing. Just… launch right into the professional crap.
HookedOnMath: How did you even know about the interview?
FavsRunsOnDunkin: You’re still on the schedule here. Becks and all of them really do run a tight ship.
HookedOnMath: Don’t you mean a tight ship… wreck?
FavsRunsOnDunkin: haha… yeah.
HookedOnMath: Nice. Nice to see some things really haven’t changed.
FavsRunsOnDunkin: Yeah. But… some things really have. And the things that HAVE changed? The shift has truly been dramatic.
Jon closed his eyes and sighed with his entire body, his shoulders coming up over his ears and staying there, marking the tension he felt returning.
HookedOnMath: I can believe that, but what’s been going on?
HookedOnMath: I’m sorry I haven’t really been all that… active? Retroactive? I haven’t really been in tune with whatever’s been happening at the office. Home isn’t the most stable place on the planet these days.
FavsRunsOnDunkin: Well… good news and bad news on the office front.
Jon closed his eyes and felt himself snicker.
HookedOnMath: Uh oh.
HookedOnMath: Tell me why I actually heard those words in your voice?
FavsRunsOnDunkin: Awww, don’t tell me you miss me, Lovett.
HookedOnMath: You? A little bit. Honestly, I really do miss you a little. But… that other one. Rolf. The Hitler Youth.
FavsRunsOnDunkin: You mean Tommy
FavsRunsOnDunkin: ?

Jon rolled his eyes at the second message that Favs sent; a message containing a single question mark, and began to snicker at the entire conversation. For someone who claimed to be a master at communicating with his fellow man, Favs truly did have some shortcomings in that department.

HookedOnMath: Duh, Favreau. Of course I mean Tommy.
HookedOnMath: I haven’t heard a peep out of that prick since I told him to fuck off.
FavsRunsOnDunkin: Did you… expect to hear from him? After everything that went down? After everything you said to him?

Jon closed his eyes once again and pulled in a deep breath, holding it and using the fresh oxygen in his lungs to help his resisting the urge to let out an unholy scream of rage that had been pent up since his and Tommy’s last conversation. Jon hoped to spare the whole of Grand Central to the brunt of his anger, at both Tommy and at the direction that this particular conversation was about to take.

HookedOnMath: HE. RUINED. MY. WEDDING.
HookedOnMath: He ruined my fucking wedding, Favreau. Do you really not get that?
HookedOnMath: But you want to know what’s worse? Whatever story he told to, I don’t knoe, every single person on the guest list, including both mind AND Ronan’s parents?
HookedOnMath: Even YOU! believed it!
HookedOnMath: For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve been the one with a sensible head on your shoulders. The one who could easily, so EASILY see through the bullshit. But when it came to Tommy you that mine and Ronan’s relationship imploded overnight?
HookedOnMath: Favs, you didn’t even bother to ask what happened!

The productivity app remained quiet for several moments, and Jon thought that either Favs left the conversation altogether, or that his phone was no longer connected to any network, regardless of the fact that he was above ground, and probably even in the eye line of one of the public wireless Internet stations.

FavsRunsOnDunkin: I’m sorry, Jon. I really wish I knew what to say here.
FavsRunsOnDunkin: Tommy’s story was just… believable. And convincing. I know that’s no excuse, but right now it’s all I have.

Jon felt himself now gripping both hands around the phone, and in that moment, had the strength to rip the device in half and hurl both pieces across the concourse. Instead he closed his eyes and took in a large breath, and in the back of his mind debated whether or not he should respond to what Favs was saying at all.

HookedOnMath: I need you to tell me something. And I want you to be 100% honest with me no matter what, okay?
FavsRunsOnDunkin: Okay.
HookedOnMath: No, not want. Need. I need you to promise to be honest with me right now. Promise!
FavsRunsOnDunkin: I promise.
HookedOnMath: Favs!
FavsRunsOnDunkin: Jon! I can’t say anything except for yes, I promise. With 100% honesty. I’ve always given you that, and I won’t stop now, okay?

Jon closed his eyes and took a deep breath before he could continue. He had a lot that he wanted to say, wanted to ask, but also did not want the words to come out with any hostility, knowing how Favs would react if they did.

HookedOnMath: What exactly did Tommy say that day? What had you so convinced that Ronan and I had called the wedding off?

As he watched for Favs’ response, Jon lifted his head and glanced around at the crowd of complete strangers now surrounding the twenty-sided information booth he was leaning against. His quick glances caught sight of a number of people looking down at their phones, wrapped up in their own conversations, their own dramas, their own lives.

Jon’s attention was ripped away from a handful of teenagers who were obviously not from the city, but visiting at a rather terrible time, by the phone vibrating in his palm.

FavsRunsOnDunkin: Tommy told us that you talked to him, which even at the time made very little sense to me. But you know how much I love to fly, so I was already pretty much stoned when I got the message. He told me, told us, that you’d been having second thoughts for weeks prior, and were really not all that sold on being Ronan’s wife. That… was how he put it. That you were going to be Ronan’s wife.
FavsRunsOnDunkin: Fuck. Now that I see it written out, that really makes the least amount of sense.
HookedOnMath: …and you believed him.
FavsRunsOnDunkin: Honestly, I didn’t know what to believe. I’d already taken an Ativan for the flight, and wasn’t exactly lucid. Sure, in that state of mind, it made sense. The fact that you hadn’t called me directly and told me that you were having those second thoughts, it… it didn’t even cross my mind.
FavsRunsOnDunkin: Jon, I’m sorry. I really, truly am sorry. And I still
FavsRunsOnDunkin: Just
FavsRunsOnDunkin: Cannot believe that Tommy would say something like that. I mean, it wasn’t like he was jealous.
FavsRunsOnDunkin: Well I HOPE we’re being honest with each other, since you essentially made me pinky swear over the Internet.
HookedOnMath: har har
HookedOnMath: But I suppose you’re right. And that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.
HookedOnMath: Have you heard anything from him lately?
FavsRunsOnDunkin: Not… really, no.

Jon’s eyes widened in genuine surprise, thumbs trembling as he attempted to respond to the conversation.

HookedOnMath: You said not really. What… what does that mean?
Jon waited, his patience with the silence coming from the other end of the conversation growing increasingly thin. He closed his eyes and pulled in a long, deep breath.
HookedOnMath: Jon. What does that mean, “not really”?

The three dots appeared, disappeared, then reappeared in force, blinking in succession as Favs did his best to type up a response at a pace that would not send Jon off into a spiral of rage and any other emotion that he may or mat not have bottled up in that moment.

FavsRunsOnDunkin: It means I’ve had contact with Tommy recently. And that contact… I mean, it was contact, but it was strange to say the very least.
HookedOnMath: Favreau.
HookedOnMath: What. Does that. Mean.
FavsRunsOnDunkin: It means that Tommy wasn’t acting right. He wasn’t… acting like himself, not like the Tommy Vietor I know.
Jon closed his eyes and scoffed out loud.
HookedOnMath: That’s hilarious, and let me tell you why.
HookedOnMath: Because I truly believe, even from the beginning, that the Tommy you know and the Tommy I know are two completely different people.
HookedOnMath: So just tell me! Tell me what he’s been telling you!
FavsRunsOnDunkin: Tommy’s gone rogue!

Jon was quiet for only a moment, pulling the phone away from his face, squinting at the screen before twisting around and pressing his back against the solid wall of the information booth.

HookedOnMath: …okay. Explain that to me.
FavsRunsOnDunkin: Okay.
FavsRunsOnDunkin: You know about the podcast that we were putting together.
HookedOnMath: I do.
FavsRunsOnDunkin: Where he was going undercover with the right-wing crazies on Patriot.
HookedOnMath: I KNOW, FAVS!
FavsRunsOnDunkin: So… okay. So, Tommy went ahead and went undercover on that app. He had a fake persona made up and everything. It… it was kind of funny, when you think about it.
HookedOnMath: Jonathan, nothing is funny about this.
FavsRunsOnDunkin: I know. I know it’s not.
FavsRunsOnDunkin: But I kind of had to laugh about it.
FavsRunsOnDunkin: haha
FavsRunsOnDunkin: HAHAHA!
FavsRunsOnDunkin: The world is legitimately falling apart, and I’m pretty sure that Tommy doesn’t just know why, but probably has his foot in the door with the group or groups that are in charge of it.

Jon narrowed his eyes at that comment. He looked up and around, wondering if anyone near him had been watching him in that moment, and paranoia soaking throughout his entire body.

HookedOnMath: Why would you think that? What did he say?
FavsRunsOnDunkin: You mean, aside from the fact that he started agreeing with some of the nonsense that he found on Patriot? The fact that he hasn’t been in the office for weeks? And hadn’t submitted anything to be either reviewed or edited in that time? We had a project that we were working on, and all of a sudden Tommy just stopped working altogether on it. He just stopped participating altogether.
HookedOnMath: He hasn’t been in the office?
HookedOnMath: He did that when he and Katie broke up, too.
FavsRunsOnDunkin: This… this is different, Lovett.
FavsRunsOnDunkin: He came back and cleaned off his desk. But, like, did it in the middle of the night, because nobody saw him come in or leave.
FavsRunsOnDunkin: This is some secretive shit that is next level, and it’s scaring me.
HookedOnMath: Ah, Favreau. I love you. Truly. I love you like a brother, but you’ve got this inflated view of Tommy that no one else has.
HookedOnMath: I really doubt that Tommy is capable of anything that big.
FavsRunsOnDunkin: I don’t think it’s just Tommy on his own.
FavsRunsOnDunkin: Like I said, I think Tommy made some friends on that Patriot thing, and they’re ALL in on it together.
HookedOnMath: Okay.
HookedOnMath: Sounds like you’re truly worried about this.
FavsRunsOnDunkin: I AM! I am truly worried about this.
FavsRunsOnDunkin: I don’t know if you or Ronan have heard about this, but… there’s a list.

Jon closed his eyes tightly and pulled in an incredibly deep breath. He held onto it until he could hear his heart throbbing in his ears. The list; thirty-two pages filled with his friends and colleagues, people and organizations that Jon had worked with throughout his career. The thirty-two pages that included both his husband and his lover, and not necessarily in that order.

The list that Favs also knew about.

HookedOnMath: I know about the list.
FavsRunsOnDunkin: Have you seen it?
HookedOnMath: I have. Someone sent it to Ronan. I don’t know who they got it from, but Ronan got his hands on it.
FavsRunsOnDunkin: How many pages did you get? I’ve only got one or two, but it can’t be much longer than that, can it?
HookedOnMath: We printed it out. What Ronan got in his email was just over 32 pages long.
HookedOnMath: And Jordan’s pretty close to the top of that list.
HookedOnMath: And I don’t even know if that’s the whole thing.
FavsRunsOnDunkin: …holy shit.
HookedOnMath: Yeah. Holy shit, indeed.
HookedOnMath: I’m pretty sure Jordan has gone through the entire list. But once he saw himself near the top? I know I’d be pretty freaked out if that were me.
HookedOnMath: But… I don’t know. I don’t think he was really surprised by it, you know? He was assaulted at that rally in Michigan, and was a witness to the attacks in Washington. You can’t tell me he’s not being followed, as much as I hate to say that out loud. Because I know if he’s being followed, then so are Ronan and me.
HookedOnMath: And Ronan’s already had people following him thanks to all of the stories he wrote about the men.
FavsRunsOnDunkin: lol the men
FavsRunsOnDunkin: Sorry. I’m sorry, I know. I shouldn’t laugh. But the way you put that was just funny to me.
HookedOnMath: Under normal circumstances I would be mad at you for laughing, but right now I could use a laugh or two. Or even a smile.

With that, Jon found himself laughing out loud. The soun was not jovial, but not said either. The laughter was nothing more than a short release of emotions. Jon cradled the phone in his hand, and smiled softly at the screen in his palm. He was in the process of responding to Favs, hoping to make a joke himself, when he received a notification at the top of his phone from the New York Times. He read the words in the notification bubble once, twice, and then clicked on the article to quickly read the rest of it.

HookedOnMath: Um… did you just get that headline?
FavsRunsOnDunkin: I was JUST going to ask you the same thing!
“Twitter’s new parent company, TPN, has threatened to sue a nonprofit that tracks hate speech, saying that its research hurt the social network, and led to decline in its use.”
HookedOnMath: TPN? Do we know them?
FavsRunsOnDunkin: I do.
FavsRunsOnDunkin: True Patriot Network. They… that’s Patriot.
HookedOnMath: Patriot.
HookedOnMath: Son of a bitch.
FavsRunsOnDunkin: oh my god
HookedOnMath: When did they buy Twitter? I mean, when did that happen? Shouldn’t the sale of Twitter have been bigger news?
FavsRunsOnDunkin: Maybe that’s the point. The silent attack.
FavsRunsOnDunkin: This is absolutely ridiculous. I mean, Twitter was never really a truly safe space, but it has gotten worse recently. A LOT worse.
FavsRunsOnDunkin: It wouldn’t surprise me if they started deleting accounts for no reason.
HookedOnMath: You mean, the accounts of everyone on that list? Ha. They’ll let you keep tweeting until they can find your physical location, then come and get you and put you in a camp or something.
FavsRunsOnDunkin: ha ha… that’s really not funny, Jon.
HookedOnMath: I know. Because it’s true.

Jon felt his phone continue to vibrate as he slipped it into his back pocket. The music had gone silent, yet Jon still had the AirPods in. He made his way back through Grand Central down to the subway tunnels and over to the mammoth station underneath Times Square. He came to a stop among a cluster of tourists at the corner of 44th Street and 7th Avenue and, for the first time in what felt like decades, he looked up from the street ahead of him to see all of the flashing neon lights and signs of Times Square that surrounded him. A little smile pulled at one corner of his mouth, as he pushed aside every indignant little comment he could think up, and took everything in all at once.

Every screen, every news ticker, every surface that Jon saw that could display a streaming video was now showing the news that not only had Twitter been purchased by the same people who ran Patriot, but they were now essentially allowing all forms of hate speech on their platform. When Twitter first arrived on the scene, it was very easy to get someone who was either bullying you or threatening you in a very real way cast off of network permanently. Now it seemed as if Twitter was the place to go if you wanted to let the entire universe know just how much of a racist you were.

Jon closed his eyes and pulled in another incredibly deep breath. He caught himself from falling into a garbage can bolted to a light post on the corner, only to have to be pulled out of traffic by a random stranger who was trying to cross the street with him.

Everything was happening so quickly, Jon felt as if his head were spinning. He had every intention of staying in Midtown, but in that instant his own thought was to get home as quickly as he could. In the back of his mind, in the pit of his stomach, Jon knew that something was going down, and it was going to be bad. And if he had not come up with a plan by the time he arrived at the penthouse, he hoped to any divine power that was listening that either Jordan or Ronan had.

Chapter Text

238 Benefit St.
Providence, Rhode Island
Three months later

Jordan heard the sound of a phone ringing in the near distance, and rubbed his face against the pillow he slept on. He pressed both hands into the mattress on either side of his sleeping self and lifted himself up as if he were doing a push up. He groaned, the headache that was building behind his eyes in the middle of the night now starting to grow as he let himself drop back down to the mattress. With his face one again pressed against the pillow, Jordan shifted and opened one eye to see a glass of water and a bottle of Advil on the dresser beside him.

“Oh good,” Jon’s voice called from the doorway. It was obvious by the tone of his voice that he was smiling from ear to ear. “You aren’t dead.” The sound of Jordan’s groan was muffled by the pillow that he was groaning into, causing Jon to laugh just a bit. Jon sat on the edge of the bed closest to Jordan and reached for the bottle of Advil, twisting open the cap and pouring three pills. “Take these.” Jordan groaned again, causing Jon to roll his eyes. “You aren’t a spring chicken, you know. A hangover could last for days.”

“Hangover?” Jordan grumbled in return. He moved slowly, shifting to sit up with his back pressed against the padded back headboard they had purchased after moving out of the penthouse in New York City. Jordan took the Advil from Jon without question, and reached for the glass of water that sat beside the bottle on the bedside table. He sighed, and let both hands drop to his lap.

Jon hummed and nodded. “Yeah, you… and Trevor, and… Trevor’s husband whose name escapes me for the moment.”

“Ville,” Jordan interrupted.

“Right,” Jon nodded. “Ville. The tall and incredibly thin Finn.” He paused for just a moment and cupped a hand over his mouth before laughing softly. “Sorry. Every time I say it, out loud or in my head, I giggle a little.”

Jordan snickered. “That’s okay,” he spoke softly. “You’re allowed to laugh, you know.”

“Yeah,” Jon essentially mouthed. “Yeah, no I… I know that. Deep… deep down I know that. But it just… feels so weird, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Jordan whispered in return. They sat in relative silence, and could feel the tension seep slowly into the room. Jordan closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. Jon reached over and cupped a hand over Jordan’s knee through the blankets he burrowed under earlier that morning when he returned home.

Trevor Noah came to Providence with his husband at Jordan’s request. Jordan knew that Trevor and his husband, Finnish rock icon Ville Valo, were heading back to Finland to take up a more permanent residence. Jordan knew exactly what the reasoning behind the move was, even if neither Trevor nor Ville were admitting it out loud. People who knew both Trevor and Ville knew that they were making arrangements to either move from their current location, or to leave the country entirely, before everything went pear-shaped. John Oliver left the country with his wife and children, heading back to the United Kingdom, leaving only a few rather cryptic notes for those who knew him well enough to receive those messages at all.

Trevor Noah. John Oliver. Both men who spoke negatively about the powers that were now in control, who in turn put their names on a list of what appeared to be renegades. The Unorthodox. Jordan heard the term being used in public, and in some news stories from mainstream news sources. Every time he heard it he felt sick to his stomach.

All of the movement made sense to Jordan. He could sense even more tension radiating off of everyone he saw, everyone who was out on the street at any given moment, surrounding the Ivy League university they now lived within a block or two from. They themselves sold off the luxurious penthouse apartment in their up and coming Hudson Yards neighborhood and retreated to somewhere that felt, as Jon often put it, safer. Jordan had no idea what Jon meant by safer, knowing in the back of his mind that nowhere was going to be considered safe in the near future. But he was certainly not about to argue that fact with Jon, or with anyone. Now they lived in a converted apartment home in a neighborhood that acted as off-campus housing for Brown University students.

Though unofficially, Rhode Island became what some media enjoyed calling a sanctuary state. Sanctuary from what, Jordan asked himself. It became a question that, while people had theories, no one had a real answer for.

“Hey.” Jon gave Jordan’s knee a gentle shake, snapping him right back into the reality that they were facing. Jordan found himself disassociating from that reality more and more often, his mind racing with the thoughts and the memories of everything that happened on that fateful January day. At the time, Jordan thought very little of it. This was just something that happened in this new America, if they were going to continue calling it that; run by a president who, by all accounts, should no longer be in office. But Congress and the Supreme Court, in order to stave off any further incidents like the ones that occurred in January, set forth the election recount that would change everything.

Three months later, data scientists and election examiners were still unable to determine the outcome of the most recent presidential election. Three months of counting up, recounting, tabulating, re-tabulating, finding votes that mysteriously went missing the first time around, filing court orders to unseal records in counties where that was the practice, and nothing came of it. They were at a complete standstill. At least, this is what the election officials tasked with recounting the votes told the media. No one on either side of the equation truly believed this, and nearly everyone in the country, and possibly on the planet, had some kind of opinion on the subject.

Jordan shook his head, and turned to Jon with a little smile. “Hey.”

Jon returned the smile, and reached out to gently stroke his fingers through Jordan’s fluffy hair. “You’re back,” he said calmly, through the sweet smile plastered on his face. Jordan narrowed his eyes and shook his head again, a motion that Jon mirrored slowly. “You go somewhere. You kind of… freeze and your eyes glaze over and you just… go somewhere that isn’t here.” Jon shrugged his shoulders, the words to describe how Jordan zones out failing him.

Jordan shook his head in disbelief, and shifted to tug the blankets up under where Jon sat, and tossed them onto the other side of the bed. Jon finally stood and let Jordan do the same. Jordan had to pause, his head still spinning from the hangover that he now suffered from. Jordan cupped a hand over his eyes and laughed softly. “Damn, I… I’m really not a spring chicken anymore, am I.”

Jon shook his head just once. “Nope,” he replied honestly. “And that Ville character could easily drink you under the table, and he doesn’t even drink anymore.”

Jordan let out a single laugh. “I think he was drinking last night.”

“Maybe,” Jon said with another shrug of his shoulders. “Or maybe you were just drinking all of his, too. I mean, your best friend’s leaving the country, and there’s a good chance-” Jordan held his hand out to silence Jon, to stop his train of a thought before it got the chance to gain a head of steam. Jon sighed and frowned, and looked down at the floor as Jordan, still wearing his jeans and distressed Star Wars T-shirt he put on to go out in the night before. Jon bit the inside of his bottom lip and watched Jordan amble toward the en suite bathroom, and very gently nudged the door closed behind himself. Jon sighed and rubbed both hands over his face. “Okay. Well, anyway. Ronan’s already at the office and I’m hungry, so I was thinking-”

“Breakfast? Ow.” Jordan called out from the bathroom. He immediately regretted raising his voice, feeling the throbbing in his head intensified as he did.

“Yeah.” Jon popped his head into the bathroom, curling his fingers around the frame of the door to hold himself steady. “We can either order in, or go out.”

Jordan turned to look at Jon over his shoulder. “Do we need groceries?” he quickly deduced. When Jon did not answer right away, Jordan felt himself laugh and roll his head back. “We could do that, too.”

“You’re hung over,” Jon reminded. He stepped back and folded his arms across his chest. “And I would never ask you to do such a thing.”

“You love me,” Jordan hummed. “But unless we can find a diner that is both open and not crawling with college students who may or may not want to talk both of us to death, I think either ordering in or going grocery shopping might be the way to go.” Jon quietly turned away from the bathroom, nodding at muttering to himself about how Jordan did have a point, though Jon was not about to admit that to Jordan in a way that he could actually hear it. Jordan was still talking about where they could dins the best food that would be delivered at that hour of the day, possibly something that was not a breakfast food, but Jon had stopped listening. He was sitting on the end of the bed, staring down at the phone in his hands. Jon heard Jordan’s voice as a far-off whisper, as his eyes scanned the notifications that came down from the top of the screen.

Jon stared wide-eyed at the screen in his hands when Jordan emerged from the bathroom. Jordan paused, leaning against the frame, watching his thumbs move furiously across the screen. “Is… everything-”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Jon interrupted without looking up from his phone. Jon cleared his throat and sent the message that his thumbs seemed to be composing all on their own. “Don’t finish it, Jordan, because I know you really don’t want to hear what’s going on.” Jordan narrowed his eyes at Jon and cleared his throat, folding his arms tightly across his chest. He remained silent, waiting until Jon lifted his head to look up at Jordan. Jon shrugged his shoulders and immediately hit the button that turned his phone screen off. “And, lately, I feel like… well…” Jon shrugged his shoulders again, this time followed by a laugh. “You don’t.”

Jordan folded his arms tighter across his chest and snorted. “Is that so,” he asked, though the tone of his voice made it seem like more of a statement than anything.

Jon shrugged his shoulders once more, this time keeping them up near his ears for a long moment before letting his body settle back down. “I… you…” Jon sighed with his eyes closed he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jordy, I love you. You know that, right? Right? I love you. So damn much. But for the last three months you… you’ve been…”

Jordan closed his eyes and shook his head. “You know what? I… I should’ve just kept my mouth shut,” he returned. He strode through the bedroom and slipped out into the rest of the apartment. Jon stood from the end of the bed slowly and watched Jordan make his way to the coffee make and pull the canister of dark roast coffee beans from under the cupboards. Jordan stood there with the pot in front of him, both hands pressed flat to the stone counter top, feeling its chill travel up through his arms. “I should’ve just kept my damn mouth shut.”

“No,” Jon snapped Jordan looked up and saw Jon standing just outside of the bedroom door, shaking his head slowly as he spoke. “No, you shouldn’t. In fact?” Jon strode up behind Jordan, standing in close enough to feel the chill radiating off of his body. “Jon drew in held a deep breath, and with his eyes closed he pressed his cheek softly to Jordan’s back. Jon exhaled softly and slipped his arms gently around Jordan’s middle from behind. “You need to keep talking. About everything.” Jon turned to press a soft kiss to Jordan’s clothed back. “I’m worried about you.”

Jordan breathed deeply, and softly dragged his nails across the hard stone of the counter. “And Ronan?” he felt himself whimper. He turned to look back at Jon over his shoulder, but only saw him out of the corner of his eyes. “What about Ronan? Is he worried about me, too?”

“I-” Jon tried to say. His train of thought immediately stopped and simply exhaled, not knowing how to finish that sentence without causing some kind of commotion.

Jon had no idea how to respond to that question, mainly because he truly was not sure what Ronan had been thinking. Since the events of that pivotal January day, even Ronan was in a different mindset, one that was dissimilar from anything that Jon had seen from him before. He tried to figure out what was going on in Ronan’s mind, and even attempted to ask him from time to time, but was often met with resistance. Ronan’s excuse for not talking to Jon was that he did not want Jon to worry any more than he knew Jon would. Jon knew that Ronan was working in secret with a number of other journalists in forms of media that were not intended on staying undisclosed, but for the time being needed to stay that way in order to keep everyone working on them safe.

When Jon hesitated to respond, Jordan closed his eyes and chuckled once. “Yep. That’s what I thought,” he said with a slight nod. He clucked his tongue and rubbed both hands over his face, continuing to laugh into the meat of his palms. He turned to glance back at Jon, forcing a little smile for only a moment, one that would be missed if Jon had blinked. “It’s okay. He… he isn’t very good at hiding that particular feeling.”

Jon narrowed his eyes and leaned back, keeping a hand cupped over Jordan’s shoulder. “What’re you talking about?” he questioned, keeping his voice calm, but still very curious as to what Jordan might have been talking about.

Jordan shrugged his shoulders and turned to face Jon, knocking Jon’s hand loose from his shoulder in the process. “I love you,” Jordan said straight away. He reached for Jon’s hand and pressed Jon’s palm to his cheek. Jordan closed his eyes and nuzzled Jon’s palm before turning to press the sweetest kiss right to the middle. “I think I’ve loved you right from the beginning. At first sight, maybe. But Ronan?” Jordan snickered once. “That man is an enigma that I don’t think I will ever be able to figure out. Ever.”

Jon closed his eyes and felt himself laugh. Without realizing that he was doing it, he pulled himself closer to Jordan, slipping both hands up under the front of his shirt, feeling the warm clamminess of his skin. He pressed his cheek flat to the same spot on the middle of Jordan’s back and let out a quiet whimper. “I know,” Jon said through a whispered breath. He rubbed his face against the middle of Jordan’s back before pressing a sweet kiss between his shoulder blades. “I know,” Jon said through a sigh. “Believe me, I know.”

Both Jon and Jordan were still for what felt like hours, standing there in front of the coffee maker, neither wondering whether or not the coffee was actually brewing.

With his eyes gently closed, Jordan smiled and brought one hand up to touch Jon’s hand through the soft, worn cotton of his T-shirt. He sighed and shook his head. “Let’s not go anywhere,” Jordan said with an imperceptible nod. Jon hummed wordlessly against Jordan’s back, and Jordan felt another laugh catch in his chest. “I just… don’t want to go anywhere right now. I don’t want to talk to anyone who isn’t here right now.”

Jon groaned and sucked in a deep breath. In the back of his mind he knew what that meant, and knew that it would ultimately lead to another uncomfortable conversation that he knew they both needed to have.

But it was a conversation that Jon feared, because deep down he knew, immediately, what the consequences of said conversation would be. He knew in the dark recesses of his mind, that he would be forced to give Jordan up, simply because he and Ronan were legally married. And neither Jon nor Ronan knew how long that would last. The political climate was changing so rapidly, that in the blink of an eye most rights of every citizen who was not a heterosexual cisgendered white male had been all but abolished.

But Jon’s refusal to have said conversation was not an immature one. It was one of survival. They all had to get along, to not be ripping out one another’s throats, in order to survive whatever it was that was still very much happening around them.

“I… understand,” Jon finally said back, nodding slowly as he spoke. He stepped back and let Jordan turn with his back to the coffee maker on the counter. Jon rested both hands on Jordan’s hips, and with his eyes closed he stood on his tip toes, letting his forehead rest against Jordan’s. “How about I-” Jon paused and licked his lips sweetly, giggling before clearing his throat. “I finish putting this coffee together, and you-”

Jordan sighed deeply, and pressed a soft kiss to the middle of Jon’s forehead, both hands cupped around the back of Jon’s neck. “I know,” he exhaled. “Go back to bed. Sleep it off.” He sighed again and let his head hang, his hands still in place around the back of Jon’s neck.

Jon felt Jordan slip away from him, and struggling to reach out for Jordan’s wrists, wanting to keep him as close as possible. “No,” he returned, shaking his head in the process. “No, that isn’t what I was going to say. I was going to say that you should try and find somewhere that sounds appetizing to order in from and we can do that. We… you.” He cleared his throat loudly. “You don’t have to go back to bed ever again if you don’t want to.”

“Jon.” Jordan rolled his eyes and shook his head.

Jon cleared his throat silently and pressed a hand flat to the middle of Jordan’s chest. “Nope,” he quickly interjected, wanting to stop Jordan’s train of thought immediately. “You… you know, you’re really been through it lately, Jordy. And I don’t think it’s right of any of us to tell you to do anything, so I’m not going to.” Jon nudged Jordan out of the way and set about to make the coffee.

Over his shoulder, Jon watched as Jordan slumped over and looking thoroughly broken and defeated, shuffled from the kitchen into the living room. He curled up on the couch, seated in the far corner, and brought one of the fleece-lined throw blankets around his shoulders. The coffee maker screamed, the sound vibrating throughout the apartment, causing Jon who stood behind it to wince.

The built-in grinder came to a stop, and a hiss sounded in its place. Jon found himself laughing and shaking his head, both hands resting on the edge of the counter in front of him. “This poor thing,” he commented, shaking his head as he spoke. “We… I know that Ronan loves the coffee that comes from this thing, but I really think this poor machine needs to be retired.”

Jon turned to see Jordan, wrapped in the grey fleece-lined blanket, knees pulled up under his chin, his eyes focused out on the window behind him. Leaves were now just starting to sprout on the trees, both along the street and across the way in the grassy area that separated their neighborhood from the university grounds.

“Jordan,” Jon whispered, speaking just loud enough for his lover to hear on the opposite end of the apartment.

“Nothing,” Jordan responded instinctively. He wrapped both arms around his legs and pressed his face into his knees. “I… I’m just-”

“Disassociating?” Jon asked, finishing Jordan’s thought without hesitation. He looked over at Jordan and found a little smile flash across his face. But Jordan remained facing the window, staring off into the distance, a spot on the horizon that only Jordan could see. “Yeah. Yeah, you’ve been doing that a lot.” He paused for only a moment and cleared his throat, pulling two mismatched coffee mugs down from the cupboard and setting them both down on the counter to fill them both with the freshly brewed coffee.

Jordan closed his eyes and drew in a long breath. “Have I?” he asked, his voice a hushed whimper.

Jon nodded slightly, and brought both coffee mugs from the kitchen to rest on the same heavy-duty steel coffee table that was in their Hudson Yards penthouse. He brought both legs up underneath himself as he sat on one end of the couch, far enough away from Jordan to give him space, but close enough to be there should Jordan need him. Jon sipped his coffee slowly, wincing from the flavor on the unfamiliar beans. He groaned. “I don’t know why we keep letting Ronan order the groceries,” he muttered.

Jordan blinked slowly, and for the first time in a few days, he actually laughed. “Because we’re lazy,” he reminded, speaking to Jon without looking back at him.

“Hey.” Jon choked back another sip of coffee before setting the mug back down on the coffee table. “I am not lazy.” He paused for several moments, as if he were waiting for Jordan to contradict him. When Jordan remained silent and still, Jon huffed and rolled his eyes. “It’s just easier for him to do it because he is always keeping lists-” Jon immediately stopped his stream of consciousness, and cupped a hand over his mouth, his eyes wide in somewhat surprise. Jon inhaled sharply and pushed his shoulders back, watching to see if Jordan was going to react to the very mention of any sort of list.

“Sorry,” Jon whispered under his breath.

With his eyes narrowed slightly, Jordan finally turned away from the window to look back over his folded arms at Jon. “Good grief, what’re you apologizing for now?” he asked in response, his words a bit more sarcastic than he had intended. Jon sat there for a moment, seated against the farm arm of the couch, staring blankly back at Jordan as he reached for the second mug of coffee and took a long drink. Jordan winced the same way that Jon had at the freshly-brewed coffee, and immediately set the mug back down on the steel coffee table. “There’s something wrong with the coffee.”

Jon shook his head imperceptibly so. “No,” he said sharply. He closed his eyes and took a breath to steady his voice, and to calm his nerves. “No, it… it isn’t the coffee. it’s whatever’s been run through the machine before. Like… it was cleaned with vinegar and has never really recovered from it.”

Jon did not expect Jordan to laugh at that, but the sound of gentle laughter resonated from his corner of the couch. Jordan continued laughing, and rubbed his forehead against his knees. “We aren’t exactly the most… domestic people on the planet, are we,” he commented into the pit of his lap between his chest and his tented knees.

“No,” Jon said after a moment of silent reflection, of his own silent laughter. “No, I’m afraid we’re really not.”

Chapter Text

Ulysses S. Grant Memorial
Washington, D.C.

The stage was situated on that paved sidewalk in front of the white marble pedestal, atop which stood the bronze statue of former President and Commander of the Union Army, riding his horse either into battle or out of it, depending on whoever was telling the story. The stage was as rickety as it was temporary; a number of metal and plywood risers lashed together with a handful of zip ties around their legs, the rubber feet mashed against the stone walk in front of the memorial statue. A podium had not been constructed, but rather wheeled to the spot where the stage was still being erected. The podium was most likely taken from somewhere in the Capitol Building across the street, by someone who had no business being in the building in the first place. A long line of flags, the red and white stripes rippling with every gust that blew down the street running between the memorial and the lawn just behind the Capitol Building, seemed to frame the scene.

The former scene of the crime, where this very same group of people, now calling themselves the True Patriot League, tried once to overthrow not the whole government, but certainly the legislative branch of it.

Though the event was not set to begin for several hours, a crowd was already starting to gather. Metro Police were creating a cordon along the sidewalk in front of the memorial, but also in front of the Capitol Lawn, allowing traffic to pass down the street that separated them. But the number of officers swiftly shrank in proportion to the number of those who were gathered to hear the speeches that would be given on that very stage in only a few short hours.

Without warning, and without any introduction whatsoever, a women with brassy blonde hair hanging to just below her shoulders and climbed onto the makeshift stage and stood behind the podium. She glanced around, seeing the men who were still working to get the rest of the stage, as well as the sound equipment, set up for that afternoon. She smiled across the podium in response to the sound of light applause and a handful of cheers in her direction.

“Thank you,” she said through that smile. She tapped the microphone, making sure that she could be heard before continuing. She spoke only to test the microphone, to make sure that the public address system was working to begin with. Instead, she launched into her own ad-hoc speech. “Ladies and gentlemen, fellow members of the True Patriot League.”

As soon as those words came out of her mouth, the crowd both went silent and uproarious in the same move. She grinned, and cleared her throat just out of the range of the microphone. “Nation, you are being lied to. I know, you’re probably getting sick of hearing it, but it’s the one truth that absolutely bears repeating. You. Are being. Lied. To.” She paused, as if she were waiting for the crowd to react. When they did not react in the way she intended, she continued with her speech. “Republicans, who have stated that they agree with what we have been saying for years, who have told us that we would have their backing for the legislation that we would try to pass, have gone back on their word. And, Nation, I do believe it is time to tell those so-called Republicans-” She punctuated that thought by thrusting one finger out toward the lawn, and the large domed building on the opposite side of it. “That we have had enough.

“But how. How are we supposed to tell them that, if they won’t even let us in the building?” This question raised a few questions among the growing crowd, almost enough to cause a visible and audible stir.

This was when the cameras started rolling. Television cameras, stationed at regular points just behind where the Metro Police created their cordon on the same side of the street as the Capitol. From smaller network channels that only streamed online to a number of paid subscribers, to the major networks that were seen by millions of viewers around the world. Cameras were now rolling, recording the circumstances before them.

But this was no longer a normal circumstance. Because the speech, which initially began as a way to test the microphone, turned into a warming up of the crowd. And when the blonde woman finished her ten or so minutes at the microphone, another found their way to the podium. A man, unfamiliar to nearly everyone in the crowd, set a piece of paper on the podium before him and adjusted the microphone so that he was speaking directly into it.

Jordan was asleep on the couch when he heard his phone vibrating on the steel coffee table. He reached over to grab it before it fell onto the floor, if only to silence it. Sleep started coming easier for him, and he was not about to ruin a good midday nap by staring at his phone for the rest of the early spring afternoon. A notification from Twitter; the post of a user that Jordan did not follow was going viral, and now the program wanted him to either read the post, or follow the user. Jordan groaned and sat himself upright on the couch, and swept his thumb across the screen to unlock it.

The post read that a rally was now taking place in Washington. A rally, growing both in numbers but also in intensity, was gathering in almost the same place that it had three months earlier. Jordan swallowed around the lump growing in the back of his throat, and he very gently set his phone aside. Rubbing both hands against his knees, Jordan closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. He leaned forward and reached for the television remote. Though he hesitated, Jordan turned to one of the major news networks.

No one was speaking, save for the young man standing behind the podium. For the moment, Jordan could not hear what he was saying, but he could read the graphics that were now displayed on the screen. Jordan’s eyes widened at the words flashing across the screen, as if they were being typed in real time.

“President?” Jordan questioned, his eyes narrowed at the screen as he turned the volume up enough to be able to hear the speaker. Jordan felt himself fall back against the back of the couch as the sound of the roaring crowd came through the television’s speakers. “What the-”

The camera cut away from the podium to spot a limousine coming down the street that ran between the Capitol Building and the Grant Memorial, trying to get as close to the monument itself as it could. Jordan rested both hands in his lap and squeezed his hands together as he watched the large, elderly man climb awkwardly out of the back of the limousine. He was surrounded, not by the typical Secret Service detail that follows present and past presidents, but nearly half a dozen fully armed militia men. The streamlined black suits were replaced by dark greens, with even darker bulletproof vests strapped across their backs and chests. They held military-grade assault rifles in both hands, the barrels aimed down at the ground as they followed the elderly man to the stage.

The moment the elderly man appeared on stage, the enormous crowd erupted in a sound of absolute elation. A roar that bordered on insanity.

“Thank you very much. Thank you. This is incredible. Folks, this is truly incredible. The mainstream, leftist, Democratic media would never show the magnitude of this crowd, and would never believe us when we say that there are thousands, tens of thousands, maybe even hundreds of thousands of you, all gathered here today. Even I, when I came up onto this stage today, did not expect to see so many of you standing here, standing up for our just cause. They don’t want the country to see this. It really is remarkable. You know what? Turn… turn the cameras. Turn them all. Show them. Show-”

As the man spoke, cameras panned around to film the crowd that he was addressing. And though he was famously known for exaggerating the size of the crowds who gathered to hear him speak, this time there was no exaggeration. He was almost downplaying the size of the crowd gathered to hear him speak; both on the Capitol lawn, and the vast grassy area of the National Mall behind the monument that the makeshift stage was situated around. All vehicular traffic was officially stopped, just by the sheer volume of people standing in the middle of the road, but also by an official police blockade, some mile or so in either direction from the site.

Even the Metro Police were on their side.

“Now I want to see. I want to see how the leftist media, the Democrats, the fake news, I want to see how they cover this event, this little rally of ours.”

Jordan had not heart the speech that this man had given on that cold afternoon in January, but had a sinking feeling that this particular speech was going to end on a completely different note.

“Their media, the fake news they are in the business of spreading, is the single biggest problem facing this country today. Fake news and big tech. Big technology, big tech, are coming into their own. Well guess what? We beat it four years ago, and we’ll continue to beat it. Campaigns against our cause, from within and without, were so strong, but you know what? We were stronger. We are stronger. But they didn’t like that. We won that election, you know. We won it.”

The elderly man speaking paused for a moment, for a round of applause from the crowd, succinct and precise, as if it had all been part of some rehearsal.

“And, everyone, every single one of you who is here today, do not want to see this, or any other election, stolen by the radical left, and the fake news media. That’s what they want. They want us, they want you, to give up. To concede. You never give up when theft, blatant and so in your face theft, is involved. We will not let them silence your voices. We’re not going to let it happen, I’m not going to let that happen.

“The lawyers, we have such an amazing legal team behind us, who have fought day in and day out to stop the steal and to find the true answers, who really won the election. So brilliant. It’s a tough act to follow, that team. They looked out on this dismal swamp and said what an absolute disgrace that this can be happening to our country, to our Constitution. The Constitution itself was, and still is, being violated each and every single day.”

The elderly man, now so flushed from the words and movements included with them that the color red could be seen through the orange of his makeup, smiled and laughed as the words continued.

“This country has had… about all that it’s willing to take, am I right? We will not take it anymore, and that right there is what this is all about. We won this election, fair and square, and balanced as it was. Our opponent, he tried. They all tried. They tried to work their computer voodoo on us, but those so-called computer votes don’t count. We all know-” The speech paused again, this time for the thunder of unexpected and raucous applause and cheers.

“Thank you, thank you. But thanks to you, our loyal followers, we no longer have to worry about that. They stopped the recount, and do you know why? Because they all knew that it was a fake. It was a scam. And states… you know, some of the states wanted to throw the vote out. Just throw it out, call a mulligan, and do it all over again. They want a second election, but they aren’t going to get it, because we won this one. We won this won. We already won this one.”

An unintelligible chant erupted in the middle of the crowd, and continued to spread as the elderly man continued with his speech.

“Don’t worry, I know you’re back there, all the way back to the Washington Monument. I know you’re there. We won’t take the name off of that, believe me. We will not cancel culture. You know they wanted to get rid of the Jefferson Memorial? Either take it down or just put somebody else in there. I don’t think that’s going to happen, not with our administration in place. They’ll try to know our Lincoln down, too, by the way. They’ve been taking his statue down-”

“Is that true?”

Jordan jumped out of his seat at the sound of Ronan’s voice behind him, tossing the television remote across the room in the process. Ronan stood behind the couch, both hands pressed to the soft cushions, leaning in and watching in both horror and academic curiosity, at the speech being presented not just on a single major news network, but on all of the networks at once.

“Jesus fuck,” Jordan growled, a hand pressed to his chest. He glared back at Ronan, who had an apologetic expression on his face and watched Ronan climb over the back of the couch to take a seat beside him. Jordan stood and grabbed the remote, which had paused the broadcast the moment it hit the ground, and let it continue.

“-all around the country, have you noticed that? Have you noticed, monuments all around the country, great monuments like this one, erected in the memory of our country’s greatest men, have been disappearing. But we-”

The elderly man paused again, if only to catch his breath, and you could hear a pin drop among the silence of the crowd that surrounded him.

“We’re putting a stop to that. You hurt our monuments, you go to jail. Period. Ten years, without question.”

Another raucous cheer erupted, and the crowd seemed to undulate under its own power.

“Folks, we’re gathered here in the heart of our nation’s capital for one very, very basic and simple reason - to save our democracy. No one has a clue who has won anything, and the leftist Democrats have been using the most ridiculous excuses as to why that has happened. A global pandemic? Is anyone here sick? I didn’t think so.

“If Republicans tried any of that with the leftist Democrats, there would be absolute hell to pay all over the country. Absolute hell. But remember this, patriots: you’re stronger, you’re stronger and smarter, you’ve got more going than anybody. They tried to demean everybody having to do with this, and you’re the real people. The people who built this nation. The people-”

The crowd noise grew so loud that the public address system was unable to cope, and for a moment the man paused. He stepped back, both hands gripped around the edge of the lectern. His expressionless face immediately changed, and a smile swept across his face, like the cat that finally caught the canary.

“The people who will take this nation back. By force, if necessary.”

Jordan’s hand shook, as he held the remote between both hands. He swallowed back a lump and a sound, and reached out to turn the volume down all the way. The room settled and then went quiet, save for the echoing sound of a lawnmower off in the distance. Jordan tossed the remote onto the steel coffee table with a loud clatter and threw himself back against the couch, cupping both hands over his face.

Jon whispered Jordan’s name, so softly that he himself could barely hear it. He reached out to press a hand to the back of Jordan’s shoulder, and could feel him trembling beneath his T-shirt. Jordan pulled in a sharp breath, and with the pad of his thumb pressed between his eyes, he turned to smile at Jon. “It’s happening again,” he announced, pointing toward the television with the same thumb.

Jon closed his eyes and also drew in a deep breath. “Yep,” he agreed, nodding as he spoke. “Looks, um… looks like it.”

Jordan nodded slowly, and glanced over at the steel coffee table to where his phone and the remote now rested side by side. He watched both devices, as if he were waiting for them to both get up and run away. He took a long, slow breath, and held it as he reached out for his phone and saw that he had one new message.

From Ronan.

Humming, Jordan read the message to himself, then aloud so Jon could hear, not knowing whether or not Jon received the message as well. “Something’s happening in DC,” Jordan began, as the message continued. “Not sure what this means, but I know it isn’t good. Something’s already happened. Have to make a call, but I can’t be entirely sure that Jon and I are even still married… right… now.” Jordan paused, and lifted his head to look over at Jon. the color had slowly drained from Jon’s face, and it was his turn to sit, bordering on catatonic, shaking his head slowly as if that would make whatever Jordan and Ronan were both saying false, a joke.

“What… does that even mean?” Jon finally found himself asking, courage seeping through his voice.

“I-” Jordan did not respond to Ronan’s message, but rather just locked the phone’s screen and set it back down on the steel coffee table. He exhaled and shook his head. “I wish I really knew.” Jordan’s eyes shifted to the television remote once more, then back up to the screen. The speech, the rally, was still happening. Jordan plucked the remote up from the coffee table and immediately hit the replay button.

“The people who will take this nation back. By force, if necessary. The weak Republicans, and that’s it. I really believe that’s it. I’m going to continue to use that term, just as Marge did earlier today, because some Republicans truly are just faking it. They’re faking it. They don’t believe in our cause anymore. I don’t… I don’t even know if they ever believed in it, if I can be honest with you.

But the weak Republicans, you’ve got a lot of them. You have great ones, sure, but most of them are weak. They’ve turned a blind eye, even as the leftist Democrats enacted even weaker policies that chipped away your jobs, sending them overseas, giving them to men and women and children who are here illegally. They have helped to weaken our military and throw open the borders, so that anyone who wants to be here can just become a strain on our resources.

“They have put America last. And that… I’m sorry, but that is not what the true patriot does.”

Another scheduled pause, another uproar that was far louder than the previous few, but also seemed to accompany a wave of violence that was being tenuously held back.

“You have to get your people to fight. And if they don’t fight, then they aren’t your people. And after this, we’re going back. We’re going inside, and I’ll be right there with you. We’re going back into the Capitol, and we’re going to intimidate our brave senators and congressmen-”

Jordan and Jon sat back in astonishment. With eyes wide they both turned to one another and gazed into each other’s eyes, genuinely surprised that they heard what they heard, and silently asked the other if they heard it as well.

“-you’ll never take back the country with weakness. You have to show strength, and you have to be strong. And that is why we’ve come here. We have come to Congress to force their hand, to force them to do the right thing. I know that everyone here will soon be marching over to the Capitol to patriotically make your voices be heard.

“Today, we will see whether or not those weak-willed Republicans stand strong for the integrity of our country. Our country has been under siege for a long time, far longer than the last four-year period. But starting today, the course has been reset. It is greater, and just, and we are ready to start working that course.

“Today we see a very important even taking place. Right over there, yes right there in the Capitol Building, history is going to be made. And I’m going to be watching. I’m going to be watching all of you watching them, making our great and courageous leaders take a stand, and make history themselves.”

The television screen went dark, and after a moment the broadcast returned with two anchors sitting at the large desk, broadcasting live not from Washington but from their own studio. For a long beat they were both quiet, hands stretched out on the desk in front of them, eyes focused on the cameras. Neither anchor had a clue what to say, and both appeared to be receiving instructions through the earpiece that was draped around the backs of their necks.

“Well.” The anchor on the left side of the screen broke the silence. The look in her eyes was one of a deer caught in the path of an oncoming Peterbilt. She cleared her throat and glanced across the desk to her colleague, who only shrugged his shoulders in response. “Our, um… our producers are telling us that we’re back on the air.”

“Yes,” the male anchor beside her continued. He held a hand out to silence her, a gesture which Jordan and Jon caught immediately. “Our producers are telling us that we momentarily lost control of our broadcast, but we are back now. And… what we have just seen… the words from our former and present-”

“Former,” the woman interrupted, scowling at her colleague for cutting her off. “The words of our former presi-” Without warning, her microphone was cut off. The man seated beside her cleared his throat, and pointed to someone or something off screen and nodded, and with a quickness two other gentlemen came and had the female presenter removed from the set.

“Whoa,” Jon said aloud. He stood from the couch and walked closer to the television hanging on the wall, his arms folded tightly across his chest. “She-” Jon turned to the couch to face Jordan, but Jordan had already gotten up and disappeared into their spare bedroom. He returned with a handful of pages, now stapled together, and was a few pages into the document before smacking the pages and shaking them at Jon.

“She’s on the list,” Jordan announced, nodding firmly as he spoke. Jordan pointed to the name of the woman on the thirteenth page of the printed list, and immediately pointed back to the television screen. “Jon. She’s on the list.” He turned the pages toward Jon, who immediately grabbed them out of Jordan’s hand.

Jon quickly read down the page to find the anchor’s name, and slowly looked up to see Jordan staring blankly at him. “Holy shit.” Bot Jon and Jordan now stood, frozen in place before the television, looking at one another but unable to see anything but the blur of words flying across the screen. One after the other, headlines popped up under the man who still sat at the anchor desk, now fully in charge of the broadcast.

“This isn’t-” Jon started to say, the list falling from his hand. As his words trailed off, his train of thought slowly coming to a stop.

Without taking his eyes off of the television screen, Jordan reached out and took Jon’s hand in his own. “Stop,” he whispered. “Stop, Jon. Just don’t. Don’t… don’t try to convince yourself that it isn’t or that it’s something that it isn’t. That-” Jordan closed his eyes and pulled in an incredibly deep breath. Jordan tugged at Jon’s arm and pulled him away from the television, away from the sound and back into the bedroom where they could close the door behind themselves.

Jordan sat himself down on the bed and pulled Jon down into his lap. Jordan rested his head against Jon’s shoulder and bicep and wrapped both arms around him, cradling him protectively. “You yourself said that’s why I’ve been in such a dark place lately. Because I’ve been in denial. I was there, remember? I was there the first time it happened and thought that it couldn’t really be. In this day and age? In our society? This wasn’t really happening, there was no way.”

Jon laughed, the sound coming with a little sob. “But it isn’t,” he interjected. Jon snaked one arm around Jordan’s shoulders. “It… it isn’t even our society anymore. It’s theirs.” “I know,” Jordan breathed. He pet a hand along Jon’s fluffy curls and sighed again. “I… I know.”