WHO: Jack and Dave ( o/~little ditty... 'bout Jack and Daaaave!o/~ ) WHAT: the self-defeating bastard at work, words that will be eaten later, Jack sings! and a terrible lesson is learned. Warning: as per the norm, it's long. But yet, singing! WHERE: the laundry room WHEN: riiiight after this
There is something primally comforting about the smell of fresh clothes. The warmth of the dryer. The rhythmic sound of the washer. Dave was learning this the hard way but that was okay because somehow, it was working. If he just stopped thinking and went with 'the now', he could focus himself back into something of a relaxed state if not mortally embarrassed. He could hear his sheets chug through a rinse cycle and wondered how long he'd been on the floor since Janis left. How long it had been his muscles had revolted and curled up on him. How long he'd prayed for a slow and quiet death.
The funeral would be small, a tidy little affair.
Lying on the ground of the laundry room in a loose fetal position was David Samson, suffering through the last final touches of forcing his body to reject a change that had been secretly desired. Whether that was a change from man to monster or change from childhood friend to... well, nebulous ruiner of someone's life with a longing for more would be up for debate.
David sighed as his clothes spun.
The last time David saw Jack, Jack was clinging to a headless stuffed turtle and being relatively despondent about his miserable state of affairs. At the moment..? At the moment. Mm. Heh. He's doing all right. A little strange. A little ... off. He said what he needed to say, he did what he needed to do. So he and Phil are.. they're together. Again. Are they good? Jack's not quite sure. He thinks they're good, but once you argue in such a way it's hard to come back from it unscathed. Things are definitely different. But he can't just stay in bed with Phil and forget the real world----that means laundry. That means----oh, hey! Two birds with one stone.
"Davey." Jack sets his basket of clothes down and plops down to sit by him. "Whoa. Hey. Hey." A hand settles on his shoulder. "Dave... What's going on, what's the matter."
Dave had closed his eyes and had been enjoying the secret sounds of laundry when someone entered his warm and washed domain. He nearly told them to go away but it wasn't as if he had the authority to do so, so he'd just sort of lay there and hoped no one would trip over him. But there was only one man who called him Davey.
"Oh hi, Jack," Dave answered tiredly. "I'm in a great deal of pain. How are you doing?"
Jack's smile is kind of private. "I'm good," he says in a serene kind of way. Settled. "I'm good." He frowns and squeezes Dave's shoulder. "You're going to get stepped on here. I almost tripped over you."
"Ggood. Glad to hear your doing better." Dave's voice is tight, his muscles are even tighter as each one of them is tensed to his bones, but he keeps up a mild and casual conversation. Fancy meeting you here curled up in a small ball of pain. "That's great. And I don't mind, being stepped on would probably be a step up from here."
Jack's fingers are idly trying to work out the knots in Dave's muscles. Force of habit. He'd go all Daredevil-voodoo on him but Dave doesn't seem to be in the mood. Even if it would help. "Where's here? What happened?"
"I stopped mid-change, bad idea. Though it says wonders about my willpower, I suppose." Dave can barely feel Jack's fingers at all. as if he was nothing but one big knot, a solid mass. It's like trying to loosen an action figure. "I'm not doing that again, Jack."
"What? You're not doing what again? Stopping mid-change..?" Oh, God. Wow. Jack frowns, both hands coming in to work, trying to work through the muscle and getting nowhere. He's never felt such tension. "I didn't know you could."
"Neither did I, Jack. Neither did I." A weary sigh. "Desperate times call for desperate measures, eh?" His face winces for a moment, another one spent on a deep breath, Dave asks weakly, "So.. what's new? Did you talk to Phil?" Forcing yourself to act like everything's fine is hard work.
"Yeah," says Jack, with that same serene smile. "Yeah, I talked to Phil." He's not really one to offer up a lot of information, but Dave's one of the few people that he'd actually tell. Dave and May, really. "And we're good." For now. Forever? Who knows. He makes small talk to try and relax Dave. Put his focus elsewhere, maybe?
He sounds sincere. "Oh, good. Told you." Closing his eyes a bit, he wiggles his fingers with minimal effort but the moment Dave tries to stretch out his arm, he only gets it about half-way extended before there's a short, sharp hiss of breath and a little high pitched whimper. "Ahhhaaaaaaah sometimes just getting to what's really going on can cut down on misunderstanding and I'm not going to move anymore. Maybe you can just move my things in here and I can write with my teeth."
Other times getting to what's really going on turns you into a big ball of pain lying on the laundry room floor. His clothes have stopped and sit in the washer.
"Oh, God----Davey, stop it. Stop it, don't move." Jack's slowly, carefully, guiding Dave to find a comfortable position again, resting a hand on the small of his back. "I just want you to breathe with me, all right? Close your eyes, breathe with me..." And once that's established, Jack will make small talk. Anything to distract. Thinking about tension causes more tension. He'll ask about what happened once Dave can get up.
"You're exactly right," he says after a few seconds. "About getting to what's really going on."
Davis kind of does as instructed, kind of going off on his own little huffs and puffs of breath until he simply lies still and keeps his eyes closed. Things are quiet and he thinks of just the feel of the concrete and how nice that dryer sheet smell is until Jack's words sort of drift into his ears. "Yeah. It's common for a lot of things to sort of clog up communication. If you start from the center and work your way out, start with what you mean rather than what you're saying... people get along better that way in high stress environments. Dad says it all the time." Recitation is one way to put the brain on auto pilot.
"Does that work for you?" Jack asks. Quietly. Not sure if he wants to get into how Dave ended up on the floor. He's scared of Dave changing. Yeah. He's scared of the Hulk. Absolutely.
"Not in the slightest," Dave says in obvious defeat.
"You.. um." Jack gulps. "You wanna talk? About it? About this. You don't have to."
"About how it's not working for me?," Dave asks a little confused before the jist arrives. "Oh."
Things get quiet for a bit before Dave is just too tired to keep it up. "Oh, Janis got angry with me and I panicked."
"Janis got angry with you? Why--?" Jack blurts it out before he can stop himself. Oh, God, could they be any more screwed up? Oh, God, were he and Phil like this? They were, weren't they. Jack's sure they were. This is love, man. This is love, in all its horrible disgusting hideousness. Only this time it's a threesome. Boy plus girl plus big green stress-induced monster.
Dave is quick on defense, "Because I was a moron and told her that if she wanted to forget it all she could and that- it was just stupid. I took it back but she still thought I was serious and then.." A sigh. "Then I added 'completely pathetic' to my list of admirable traits." He winced a bit.
"Oh," Jack says like he's following. He's not following. He has a feeling that there's a better, more detailed version of the whole story, but the gist is that they're misunderstanding one another and they're both afraid to move in. The feelings are there but the bravery to jump in with both feet isn't. Trying to protect one another or... some bullshit like that. "I ... all right, so she left. But you didn't want her to leave, did you? Or did you want her to leave because you were afraid that you wanted her to stay?"
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves here," warns Dave weakly. "It's a lot less complicated than that." He doesn't want to get in to it, but what other choice is there? Sit on the floor and pray for death? Get better and hash it out as your father wrings it from your bones? See Janis? Talking to Jack is the easiest option he's got. "She wanted to talk. I gave her a way to opt out of the whole thing if it was ... if it wasn't what she meant at all. She took offense to this and... I panicked. Unsurprisingly, becoming a nauseous little little ball of pain on the floor did nothing for her and... she left." Obviously he's not going to recount verbatim of his miserable little attempt, but it's what he got.
So yeah, should add a little disclaimer: "Doesn't work all the time."
Jack tilts his head to one side. "But do you love her?"
"Yeah," Dave answers in defeat.
"And she loves you," Jack says, to clarify.
Dave's quiet, no return confirmation lest he be reminded that Janis could do a hell of a lot better than some curled up wimp on a laundry room floor.
"So." Jack rubs Dave's shoulder. "I remember two certain somebodies telling me that in the end that's all that matters."
"You'd think that'd be the case," Dave replies.
"You're telling me that's not the case? Are you telling me you're a special situation, David Samson?" Tch. Jack clucks his tongue, disapproving. "You did not just suggest that."
"Don't you 'tch' at me. If you haven't noticed, I just so happen to be a massive ball of pain on the floor here thanks to an attempt to be honest. And hopefully she's getting comforted and grapes fed to her by Wes," he notes dejectedly.
"Whoa! Whoa." Jack shakes Dave's shoulder rather roughly. "Honesty hurts! Honesty hurts. Life hurts. Love hurts. Believe me, I know! And you know what else I know? I know I spent a lot of time being in a metaphorical----and literal----ball of pain on the floor, wallowing in self-pity and believing I wasn't good enough for anybody. But you know what?" He crawls down around Dave so he can force eye contact. "I am good enough for somebody. Or maybe I'm not. Who knows! I don't know if I'm good enough for Phil or if he's good enough for me. And what the fuck does that mean, anyway? Shakespeare once wrote, there's nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so. And if he wrote that, and the Beatles once wrote, all you need is love, then you've got your fucking answer right there. You can't hate yourself so much that you end up pushing away your chance at love. Because then you push too hard and there it goes. And you'll lose it. Do you want to lose it, or do you want to actually stop being a God damn pussy neurotic Jew for five minutes and take a chance?"
Dave winces in pain as he's shaken, his shoulder moving like a rusty hinge as Jack lets him have it. Eye contact is hard to force but when Jack sets his mind to something, Dave is in little condition to put up a fight. So he hears it, he hears all of it from the great proclamations to quoting song lyrics and finally right on down to the personal insults. And when he's done, Dave lets him sit a minute on everything he's said while he himself feels his vision go swimmy.
"Jack, I know you're upset. You've been through a lot between you and Phil as of late. You're just as upset at me and Janis as you were when you and Phil were on the outs and I know there's a need to try and see things mended in order get a sense of security." The Voice returns. "The fact that you really do want to see people happy goes without question, so... why not stop yelling at me? Or... quoting song lyrics because I mean, really now...?"
"All you need is love." Jack's not quoting now. He's singing. Oh, dear. He never, ever, should have sat and watched Across the Universe with May. With May and copious amounts of popcorn and ice cream in a let's-forget-Phil coma. Yeah. Bad idea to watch old psychedelic romance musicals. But the point is: "All you need is love... all you need is lo-oh-oh-ooove... love is--- What is it, Davey? What is it..? Stop talking like a lawyer and start talking like a person." He affectionately smooths Dave's hair.
"Will you stop singing?," Dave asks with professional calm.
"Will you stop wallowing in self-pity and be a man?" Oh, you know it's bad if Jack Murdock is asking you to butch up.
Only so much a man can take. "Fuck you."
That's it! That's the spirit, David! Willful defiance! Jack squeezes Dave's shoulder. "That's all I'm going to say on the matter." He sighs softly, quiets down. "Um. Dave... I... Dr. McCoy's in Japan or something. And I don't want to leave you here in this tense little ball of nerves..." He chews the inside of his cheek. "Phil does this thing, it's relaxing... it might help you. It's a pheromone thing; I can get him, it might help."
"Ah, no Jack," Dave is quick to answer. He closes his eyes again. "You're not leaving. You have laundry to do." Like a fly pulling itself from flypaper, Dave gets an arm under him and pushes away from the ground. It's a struggle, but he gets himself up into a sitting position as every fiber of his muscles sting from the stress.
"I do have laundry to do and Phil could help if----mm." Jack shrugs. "Well, I don't know if he would. Just. It's an option if you're desperate, I really am worried about the way you're moving." But he's getting up, going about his laundry duties.
What's nearby, what's nearby... in something of a crawl, Dave lashes himself to the washer and strains to pull himself up. It's an ugly effort, but he's been shouted at and berated by the best today so his ego is far from looking for a glamor shot.
He'd had hoped talking to Jack would have made him feel a little better, just an ounce of commiseration but instead it all came down to insults and the Beatles. Janis thought less of him, Jack thought less of him... Dave gritted his teeth. "I am not desperate," he says in a strained tone of voice as he bails out the sheets and assorted laundry bits to fill out the load into his own basket.
"Hey----" Jack frowns and goes over. "Hey. Dave. I'm ..." He winces. There are times when he gives advice and it comes out the way his dad would have given it. Well, not entirely. The insult part, yeah. The singing, no. And then Matt would have included a smack on the back of the head. "I know it's hard for you. I'm just ... I want you happy. And I want Janis happy. Mostly I want you happy. And all. So. Maybe it's not supposed to work out, but I just figure if you love her and she loves you I don't see why that has to be complicated. Except for the Hulk thing, but." He smiles weakly. "I got a stuffed turtle with some serious neck injuries if you want something to hug."
Keeping a hold of the washer with one arm, Dave empties the load and takes a break. He takes a deep and tired breath. "Jack, I know you want people to be happy. I've known you long enough to know that's your nature." He misses the floor. "And come on. it can't be that hard to see. It's complicate because it's dangerous. Not metaphorically dangerous, but actual real live dangerous. Janis could get hurt." And oh, does his stomach turn at the thought of that. He slips a little from his hold on the washing machine. "I want her to be happy, Jack."
"And what..." Jack pauses for a second. "What if you make her happy, Dave? Hulk and all. What if you make her happy. I know it's dangerous. I know it's scary. Believe me. I ... I know. I'm terrified of him. But if she wants to take that chance, knowing full well what she's getting into... maybe you can risk it, for a chance at happiness? Even for a little while."
Giving in, Dave slumps to sit on the floor, his back against the washing machine as he deals with all of this. "You watch too many movies, Jack."
Jack smiles dreamily. "Maybe. Or you can go on telling me I'm wrong; that's okay, too."
Dave does not share the smile or the dreams. "I said what I could say without verging towards the absurd. She walked away." A sigh.
"She walked away? Maybe she was expecting you to push her away so she ended it early," says Jack softly. "She might be trying to save herself some heartbreak too, here."
Dave looked skyward. "Maybe I'm trying to save her some heartbreak," he mutters under his breath before letting out a deep breath. "Maybe that's best. Maybe I'm a growing a giant radioactive and temperamental monster inside of me so it's best not to list my number on match.com. Maybe I've known her since second grade and probably just jeopardized one of the longest friendships I've ever had. And maybe? Just maybe love isn't all you need, Jack."
He moves slowly but manages to make it to a dryer to throw his sheets-turned-architecture in to dry.
Jack looks a little beaten down. Ouch! Ouch. It takes a while for him to answer, and then: "...Friendship is love, too, Dave. That's love, too. So." He's not sure what point he's making but he accepts it.
David screeches to a halt in what he's doing and looks up, worried. "What did I say?," he asks testingly. Is he going 0-3 in bonehead moves today?
"I'm just... mm. I'm just saying. Maybe you don't have to be sleeping with her, but... as long as you've got friends, you've got love. The difference between... being a friend and being a lover is really very small when you think about it." Jack shrugs, smiles quietly. "I don't know what difference that makes but... there it is." Jack's just kind of bummed that Dave keeps shooting holes in his "all you need is love" theory. Especially when it seems to make Dave so miserable.
Since he was really old enough to understand, David Samson has been pitted against his father and his natural ability to be right nearly 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year. At first it might have been just willful adolescent rebellion but looking at himself now, a grown man who chose a job that would allow him to argue on a daily basis who finds himself debating against his own happiness...
"I have no idea what I'm doing," Dave admits with a sigh.
Jack smiles. "None of us do, Dave. None of us do."