#thread: jacob.

      “ bijou told me you weren’t looking your best. so i knew i had to come and see you before tsa roughed you up too bad. ” when danny and his sisters were younger, they’d had a family cat run away, only to come back with his tail between his legs a few weeks later, much worse for wear. mom had helped them wash the little bastard, and he’d eventually moved on from whatever he’d seen out in the big world, but daniel had never forgotten the look on his face when he’d returned to the trewhella household.

           he supposes that this is a little like that. even for jacob, strung out is the only phrase that comes to mind, a far cry from the man who’d oozed easy living when they’d first met, who’d been confident enough to jump daniel’s bones an hour after meeting him. they’d done enough drugs and booze to kill a small child several times over, but this? dan feels the heady mix of concern and disgusted pity when he looks over the man he’d once loved–if he’d known that this sort of trouble was what jay was getting up to in mexico, he’d have intervened sooner. dan pictures hauling the man home by the scruff of his neck, bathing him just like that old cat, tucking him into bed (daniel’s bed, no doubt; scoot over, eliza).

then he remembers the reason he hadn’t known, why he hadn’t been in the loop: because jacob had lied to him. and for what reason? why bother lying when daniel couldn’t have chased after him, even if he’d wanted to? any sympathy he has drains out of his face like a stopper’s been pulled. he straightens up in the plastic chair they’ve given him, the clinical white walls of the airport where jacob had been detained closing in around them like a strangling noose. he’d flown out here to bring jay back with him to the white house, a lost toy reclaimed, but … with his new knowledge he considers leaving him here with the rest of the trash, a reminder of mistakes made. an abandoned toy, not wanted anymore. an unnecessary crutch. the vindication feels satisfying after the humiliation of knowing he’d been had by a man who, apparently, had far more guile than he’d ever let on. dan drums his fingers on the table between them, not letting up his icy stare on jacob, hoping to make him as uncomfortable as is physically possible. bastard, he hisses inside his mind, not wanting to give jacob the vindication of hearing dan’s rage out loud.

         “ she understated it. ” every word is cinched tight as a corset, as the set of daniel’s jaw. much as he’d like to hang jacob and throw him over the white house balcony for everyone to see, there’s the other thing, the thing he’s been gnawing on ever since jacob’s left: the loneliness. no one to make off color jokes with, to play a little bit too rough with. eliza’s, lovely and perfect as she is for the role he casted for her, is a poor substitute for the one sitting across from him. daniel had doubted he’d be able to find a replacement when jacob had gone, and that, unlike everything else, had been true.

            it doesn’t make him soft, not at all. but it eases the anger slightly, enough for him to ask, “ why didn’t you tell me? ”

jacob lifts a shaky hand to push greasy curls away from his forehead, sticky with sweat. daniel’s voice grates against his ears, in rhythm to the pounding against his skull. he feels a twinge of guilt for that - it’s not dan’s fault how he sounds. it’s jacob’s, because jacob is the genius who thought a little mexican black tar would ease his troubles. the guilt surges, twisting in his gut like a knife. or maybe that’s the withdrawal. the flickering fluorescent lights are doing little to help, and he tries to ignore the itch crawling over his skin like insects. he just knows that to scratch like that in front of daniel would doom him. more than he already is, by any shot.

his mouth twists at the thought. head hung in shame, there’s no way for anyone to read the expression smeared across his face like the hot tears of humiliation that threaten to spill out. what good is crying? he brought this on himself, all of it. sealed his fate when he bought that fucking plane ticket, made it worse with every job he took. his finger twitches on instinct, muscle memory betraying the ghosts at his back. maybe that, dan could forgive. what did dan care for anonymous dead mexicans? not one an american citizen, and therefore unimportant. half of them were already criminals. as much as jacob can call it a hazard of the career path, he knows that he could be just another nameless corpse in a ditch, abandoned to whatever scavengers find him. he feels like vultures are already pecking at him. he hacks up a horrible, phlegmy cough that echoes in the space between himself and the president of the united states of america.

“been worse,” jacob offers, thinking of the scar across his face for a start. of course, wounds and withdrawals are different things. one of them can be glamourised. the other is pitiable, sad, disgusting. his arms wrap around the wall of his own torso, still muscular and built for scrapping. the comfort that coated his bones when he worked for daniel is long gone, skin taught across lean muscles. he feels like a coiled spring, with none of the grace or form.  just unspent energy all focused on a single goal. previously, that goal had been getting his hands on daniel’s body. now, the idea of touching him makes jacob feel sick, sicker than he already is, entirely unrelated to the dopesickness wracking every inch.

like dragging weight from the floor, jacob forces himself to look at daniel. eyes like ice and an expression to match. he expected nothing less. maybe this time dan will cut the cord between them properly, and jacob knows exactly how he’ll respond. suddenly, the thought of being a nameless dead body in the wilderness is an appealing notion. “didn’t want you to know,” he leaves of the implied obviously from that statement. who’d love a junkie? he hid it well, but he still thinks in cycles of using, sleeping, waking, and scoring. the in-between tasks that separate each chemical sleep are unimportant and irrelevant. “thought i wouldn’t - see you again,” the phrases are splintered, his deep voice now caught by a tell-tale hoarseness. “an’ then... how could i?”

hi luv, yeah i’m good i’m just in the middle of injecting drugs into my arm and wanted to fall asleep to the sound of your voice. oh, what drugs? a nice little dose of heroin, babe, nothing to worry about! he can’t picture that flying. reaching for the water, he looks away from daniel and gulps it down. it’s cold in his stomach, chilling his battered veins. he feels like it might come back up, and prays that it doesn’t.

daniel had expected edward showing up to set off a nuclear explosion in the reception hall, but lisabetta had already beaten him to it. all there was left for dreaded dad to do was shake hands, congratulate, and bail with a glass of champagne. though dan’s glad for the lack of a scene, he can’t say how jacob’s feeling, or if it’s anywhere close to glad. “ hey. “ he nudges jacob’s shoulder to pull him back to earth, smiling a half smile. “ that was surprisingly pleasant. you gonna be okay? “

daniel's phone goes off at the same time that there's a rapid knock on the bathroom door. danny, we're going in five minutes! i'm not waiting on you to do your hair again, me and bijou are hungry!

i'm on my way! give me five minutes! yes, he's doing his hair, but he's also multitasking to smirk and tap away at the phone that he's not supposed to have anymore.

[outgoing sms: stupid man] god, you're old. do you know you don't have to sign these? your number is saved on this phone? [outgoing sms: stupid man] you should be careful. watching my speeches? checking me out in the papers? i'll get the impression you miss me. [outgoing sms: stupid man] but what's that stupid expression of yours? not in a month of sundays? i'm a busy ken doll, now. just like you said: everyone wants to play. [outgoing sms: stupid man] x or whatever. dick.

jacob throws the tequila down his throat, eyes shutting only briefly as the alcohol slides down like liquid fire. somewhere down the street, someone yells out in spanish, and jacob picks up a few swearwords and little else. his attention is focused on the small blue screen of his phone.

sheer force of will took jacob away from daniel, and sheer force of will is going to bring him back. he’s done everything the ritual took, bathed jacob head to toe, said the appropriate words with the appropriate level of magic. now it’s a waiting game to see if the spells will come to fruition. “ come on. “ out of habit, he takes jacob’s hand in his, though it’s cold and stiff. “ come on. wake up, you bastard. you are going to wake up and open your eyes. i command it. “

it feels - it feels. like swimming in ink, jacob becomes aware. the feel of air on his skin. he knows it’s nothing like the warmth of the sun, but he doesn’t know why. thoughts move through him like bubbles of air, pushing him onwards. a tightness in his chest feels like stinging, and all of a sudden he remembers - the sting of the musket ball that turned rapidly to a fire, spreading all over his skin and deep into his body. the hand tight in his as life dwindled out of him, rushing with the crimson blood that flowed out of him. he flexes his hand and finds fingers laced with his. eyes open and shut, not bearing the light that seems so foreign.

he knows that hand, knows it better than anything else that could possibly exist. he tightens his grip. his mind reels, but he reaches for the last thing he remembers, the word that was once whispered over his mouth.

Eliza confuses Jacob. When she’s not physically there, he feels sorry for her. She’s so beautiful, and so sad, like a Madonna from some Old Hollywood movie about gangsters. She smiles and bleats out whatever the people here want to hear, goes along like her own opinions don’t count. But when he’s in front of her, his confusion melts with the reminder that this is how Daniel betrayed him: with a pretty, young girl version of him, one with the same dark curls but with the perfect manners. She came to heel when Jacob never could; when Jacob never would.

He frowns at her, eyebrows drawing together and accentuating the purple bruises under his eyes. “That’s not true,” he says, too forcefully for the small space between them. He’s in a mood where his clothes feel too tight, the walls feel too close. He could take off on his bike, find some dirt road bar with cheap tequila. But he doesn’t. He sits relatively still, only stretching out long legs as old wounds start to ache. “Just because none of that shit is real, it doesn’t mean you don’t matter. ” Jacob is valued for his height, his fists, his talent in a brawl and the intimidating cut of his features. He’s valued for it by Daniel, sure, but he valued himself for it first. Built himself out of the rubble his father left, and made damn sure that he never looked to Edward Hawke for approval.

for @partloss​ / FROM A MEME I CAN’T FIND

Jacob isn’t sure when it happened, when Daniel’s confidence started crumble. He just knows that it’s happened, and that no one else is acknowledging it. Bijou still plots and schemes, the staff still book rallies and speeches and everything else. He feels like the only one in the room who can see the darkness seeping in at the edges, hovering over Daniel’s head. He’s tried his best, tried the little things that worked when his mum went into depressive moods. So far, no dice. This new doubt is a symptom of something Jacob makes no attempt to understand, but it’s something he has to deal with, all the same.

He zones in for the last lines of Daniel’s diatribe, the monologue having begun ten minutes earlier and only now coming to a close. “I mean, maybe it’s better if my opponent wins.” He tugs his hands through sleek, straight brown hair, and Jacob follows the movement like a circling bird of prey. There’s something haunted in Daniel’s expression, something that speaks of sleepless nights and silent fears. Jacob launches himself from the armchair almost without thinking, hands finding their spot on Daniel’s upper arms.

“Don’t say that. Don’t say that.” He’d be ashamed of how he sounds, if he could think of anything except the look on his father’s face at the last debate. Televised, the makeup sinking into the craggy lines of his face, the gravel of his voice deployed to imply authority and wisdom. Daniel looked young as it was, positively childlike compared to an old dog like Edward. And Edward played nasty. Jacob tried to tell them, tried to warn them the ways in which his father twisted things to his benefit. They hadn’t listened.

The debate hadn’t been bad.

But it wasn’t a clear cut win for Daniel, either.

“He’s a cunt. Sorry, but he is. He’s heartless and cruel and he’s obsessed with controlling everyone around him to be like the perfect extension of himself. The only important figure in his life is him, and if you get in his way it’s just - collateral. And the worst part is that he thinks that he’s doing you a favour by moulding you into what he thinks you should be. He decides your role in life and that’s it, no debate. If you don’t live up to it, then you’re out. Scorched earth policy. The man is a psychopath in an expensive suit.”

Jacob pants for breath, impassioned and gripping onto Daniel’s arms tighter still.

“I’m not the one shacked up with a girl too naive to realise that you’re fucking all three of us over!” The words come out sharp and full of fury. It isn’t even Eliza’s fault, she’s just the mechanism by which Daniel has chosen to hurt them all. Poor, ignorant little blade, held up against their necks. Jacob could stand his ground against Daniel, let those fists come against a solid wall of muscle honed in downtown bars and, more recently, Mexican cage fights and boxing rings. He doesn’t, he takes a half step back as Daniel approaches, teeth bared like a shark smelling blood. He snarls back, the scar cutting across his face sliding upwards. The skin there is blanched, stretched unevenly and raised. It’s an ugly scar, set into a handsome face pulling an even uglier expression. If Daniel wants a brawl, Jacob can give it to him. His patience for this display is over before Daniel has even begun, and there’s no false pretense of professionalism forcing him to hold back and back down.

“What makes you so fucking sure I’m bailing, unless you’d be getting the fuck outta Dodge too?” It comes out fast and defensive, bitterness sneaking between the lines. Because if Jacob had married someone and expected Daniel to remain a secret sidepiece, there’d be more than hell to pay by now. Instead, Daniel expects Jacob to put up and shut up, to be pleased by secret dates and quickies in cupboards. He had enough of sneaking around when he was on the payroll, but he keeps coming back, enslaved to the way Daniel whines in his ear and grips his arms. “For what it’s worth, I wasn’t trying to bail, Dan, I just wanted my fucking belongings. If that’s not too much to ask?”

He barely flinches at the lamp as it crashes against the wall. He stands in silence for a moment, mostly because throwing things and breaking things is his demonstration of choice, and Daniel’s just stolen his thunder. Amongst it all, he feels seasick and angry and confused. The past few weeks Daniel has been spinning wildly between moods, and Jacob is beginning to feel out of his depth. He had assumed that he would always have a handle on the man, but now he feels as locked out as all the others who whisper behind their hands. He steps across the floor deliberately, glass crunching beneath his soles. His large, calloused hand catches Daniel’s in a vice-like grip.

daniel pulls away from a long kiss regretfully, batting jacob off his neck like a pesky fly. then he slides off the latter's lap, settling into the backseat next to him, pulling down the overhead car mirror so he can fix his hair, swatting away jacob's hands. the partition between the back and front seat keeps the driver from seeing, but dan recognizes the road through the window. " we'll be back at the house soon. i'd prefer not to look oversexed when i see my wife again, thank you. "