Two Roads Diverged, Chapter 4
Title: Two Roads Diverged (4/12)
Pairing: Cory/Shawn
Rating: This is more relationshippy than sexy, but there's some description of blow-jobs and hand-jobs, so rate that how you will.
Length: ~50,000 words over 12 chapters
Summary: Years after a falling out, Cory and Shawn reconnect in New York City and help each other through some big changes. This takes place about eight years after the end of the series, so roughly 2008-2009.
Note: My earlier BMW stand-alone fics " Idiot Savant" and " Average Boy" can be read as the backstories to this story, but you do not have to have read those to follow this one.
~~~~~~
Cory and Topanga talk for a good amount of time that afternoon, surprising since he usually can't get her for more than fifteen minutes or so on a weekday. She talks a bit about the case she's working on, how things are taking longer than expected, but mostly she asks him about New York and wants to hear how Shawn's doing.
"Is he bald and fat now?" She asks.
"No, not at all."
"Darn. That's not fair. Still stupidly handsome, huh?"
"I dunno. He doesn't look great, actually."
"I guess we all get older."
"I guess." He wants to tell her that he's starting to feel like something's really wrong. Like there's something Shawn's not telling him. But it's so hard to talk to her about anything anymore. All their conversations are so surface-level. His fault as much as hers.
"Is he married now?"
"No. I don't think so. I didn't ask. Doesn't seem like it, though." God, I sound like an idiot.
"Well, is he seeing anybody?"
"I don't know. I didn't ask."
"What on Earth did you guys talk about?"
You. But of course he doesn't say that. "We went to the Natural History museum," he offers instead. Topanga will like that he went out somewhere and did something. She's always after him to enrich himself.
"Oh. That's nice. You think you're going to go any place else this week?"
"Maybe. I thought I might give Bill and Katie a call and see if they're free." He hasn't actually thought about doing this at all until this moment, but, again, it's the kind of thing he thinks she'll like to hear. He has no intention of calling Bill and Katie. They're even more boring than Cory and Topanga. Their boringness always seemed to multiply exponentially whenever they got together.
"You didn't set anything up with them before you left?" The irritation and judgement in her voice is unmistakable. Cory never does anything right.
"No."
"Oh. Well, hopefully they're available. That would be nice."
"Yeah."
"What are your plans for tonight?"
"Um, I think Shawn and I are having dinner."
"Wow, for being so rich and famous he's sure got a lot of free time for you." Christ. He's been back in touch with Shawn for less than twenty-four hours and already she's implying that they're spending too much time together.
"I guess." And then Cory changes the topic and brightens his tone because he's tired of feeling like an asshole. "What are you doing tonight?"
"Same old, same old. Paperwork and a Lean Cuisine."
"You should go out with somebody. What about Dean and David?"
"You hate when I go out with them. You always say I come home snobby."
"You do, but I'm not there."
Topanga laughs. It's a nice sound that Cory doesn't hear often enough. "All right," she says and he can hear her stacking things up on the desk like she does when she's about to wrap up a call, "I should get going. Tell Shawn I said Hi."
"I will."
"And tell him to keep some time open for me next week. I want to see what he looks like famous."
"A hobo. He looks like a hobo."
"That's very New York of him, isn't it?"
"Maybe that's it. Maybe he's just gone full-on hipster."
"Wouldn't surprise me a bit. All right, take care."
"Bye." Cory hits end on the call and immediately plugs the phone into its charger. He lays back on the bed, laces his fingers over his chest and closes his eyes. He's been pretty certain for a while that the romantic part of his marriage is dead. He's had years to come to terms with this reality. What he misses more than that, though, is having her as a friend. He could put up with being in a marriage that never should have been-he did, for years, because at the heart of it was a partnership with a friend. Then somewhere they stopped being friends most of the time. Not lovers, not friends, what does that leave them as?
Cory groans and forces himself to sit up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He notices then a sweater on the floor near the ottoman, one of Shawn's layers he must have missed. He picks it up and examines it. It's a nice sweater-rust colored, pure wool. Not terribly pricey but not cheap either. It's certainly not the second-hand crap Shawn used to wear before. He balls it up and brings it to his face. Inhales. Shawn has always smelled like home.
He remembers now a grubby old undershirt-Fruit of the Loom, size small. Shawn had forgotten it when he moved out and Cory kept it with his own things, even long after he could no longer smell Shawn on it. Then Topanga tossed it out with a bunch of clothes she decided had gotten too small for Cory. He'd actually moped and mourned the loss of that ratty undershirt.
Not sure why, Cory puts the sweater on over his own button-down shirt. He laughs. Shawn's too-big sweater is too small on Cory, but for some reason wearing it makes him smile. He leaves it on while he tools around Jim's apartment, browses the internet on his laptop and generally kills time until he has to leave for dinner. Even just with a stupid sweater for company, he doesn't feel so lonely.
Cory decides to walk to Shawn's place instead of spending money on a cab. God knows he could use the exercise. Mostly, though, he just wants fresh air and a clear head. The snow has eased up and it's nicer than it's been since he got here. He enjoys the brisk, chilly air. He misses having real seasons. California has never felt quite like a real place to him.
His phone rings and it's his parents' number. Cory always picks up a call from them no matter what these days. They're getting to that age and he worries. He's relieved to hear that his mom sounds incredibly happy when she greets him. "What's up, Mom?"
"I'm going to be a grandmother."
Cory's mind blanks for a second. He just talked to Topanga a little while ago. If she knew anything then, she in no way let it on. But why would she tell his mother before him? God, is this really happening? Then he comes to his senses. "Eric?" he asks, "Or Morgan?"
"Oh, god, Morgan? No. No. Eric. Eric and Sarah. They're due in August."
"Wow. Eric's gonna be a dad. That's wild."
"Oh, listen, Cory," Amy's voice softens, "I know this isn't easy news for you to hear. That's why Eric didn't want to tell you himself. He-"
"Mom, it's okay. It's great news. Really. I'm happy for him. I get to be an uncle. That's awesome. Topanga will be happy too."
"Children are a blessing whenever they come, Cory."
"I know."
"It'll happen for you when it's supposed to."
"I know."
Then Amy changes tone, puts on a brisk, cheery voice again. "How is New York? Are you having fun?"
"It's great, yeah. I saw Shawn, actually."
"I'm so glad to hear that. How's he doing?"
"Great," he says, maybe a little too forcefully, but he doesn't want to rain on his mother's good mood, "I'm actually on my way to see him again right now."
"Well, that's wonderful. I won't hold you up. Tell Shawn we love him and we're all so proud of him. And that he's gonna be an uncle too."
Cory forces himself to laugh. "I will, Mom. I love you. Tell Eric I'm happy for him."
After he slips his phone back into his pocket, Cory bows his head down and walks faster up the block. The wind no longer feels crisp and refreshing; it's back to being sharp and mean. As the pedestrians surge around him and Cory trudges forward he can't help but feel like he's been standing in the same spot for a decade while the rest of the world keeps moving past him.
The doorman lets him go right up, but it's a while before Shawn answers the door. He ushers Cory into the apartment with a distracted smile then leaves him standing in the kitchen.
"It'll be just a few minutes, sorry," he says over his shoulder, "We're a little behind schedule."
"Okay," Cory says, as if he knows what Shawn's talking about, and takes a seat at the kitchen bar. There's a bunch of paperwork and binders on it that weren't here this morning and he idly glances over them. Mostly it seems to be insurance stuff-Cory's worked in insurance for the past several years and he'd recognize those forms upside-down in the dark. Life insurance policies, two separate policies from the looks of it. He sets them aside and picks up one of the binders. Estate Planning. Fuck. Cory drops it back onto the bar, feeling like his heart has stopped. Then, quickly, he begins to page through it.
To his relief, the forms are straight-forward, giving no indication of anything imminent impending. They look pretty similar to the same ones he and Topanga filled out when she started at the law firm and they finally had assets. The only difference is the numbers. Cory's eyes grow wide at the figures listed. Shawn wasn't kidding about the money. He's earned a fortune in the past few years. But who's he leaving it all to?
Cory leans over on his barstool, craning his neck so he can see through the little hallway into the living room. Shawn is there with a middle-aged woman and an older man. None of them are paying any attention to Cory in the kitchen. The woman is sitting on the sofa, frowning over her Blackberry. The man and Shawn are standing on the far side of the room. The man's talking to Shawn and Shawn's nodding. Now Shawn's rolling up his sleeve (sleeves, Cory thinks, gotta be at least three sleeves) and the man is putting something on his arm. A blood pressure cuff. Huh.
Cory sits back properly on his stool, staring forward at the bar. What kind of a doctor still makes house calls? And who the hell is that woman? What the fuck has Shawn not been telling him?
To direct his mind away from the half million terrible possibilities that have just occurred to him, he resumes his examination of the estate papers, looking for beneficiaries. He finds a name but doesn't recognize it. Sadie Elizabeth Barnes. Shawn has left her everything, it looks like. Whoever she is, she's going to be one rich woman someday. And this doesn't appear to be some old girlfriend he's forgotten to update off the documents. All the forms with her name on them are dated within the past month. He continues flipping through the binder, looking for any other information that might indicate that he still knows anything about his friend at all.
Then Cory sees his own name and stops. Shawn has willed him all his personal effects. Including all manuscripts, notebooks, and electronic files. He flips the page back to find the front of that document. The one about the personal effects is dated well over a year ago. Cory just stares at the date, flips the page back and stares at his name. Then he closes the binder and pushes it away from himself, ashamed.
He stands up and helps himself to a beer from the fridge. He plays with the cap after he's removed it, takes a sip, then peers into the living room again. The doctor has set up one of those tall, mechanical scales and Shawn is glowering at it as he steps off it.
"God, I'd kill to weigh that," the woman jokes from the sofa, still fixated on her Blackberry.
Cory turns away and leans over to look at the life insurance forms again. This time he flips ahead to find the beneficiaries. Sadie, again, on the first policy. Who the fuck is Sadie? The beneficiary on the second policy is a corporation. Why the hell is a corporation taking out a policy on Shawn's life? And a huge one at that? Cory's never seen a policy payout that large that didn't involve a suspected mob boss. Shawn's life is apparently worth a lot of money to some people.
Then it sounds like the people in the other room are wrapping up, so Cory leans back against the fridge, casual-like and concentrates on his beer. The doctor nods as he passes him and lets himself out, toting his oversized case of equipment. Then Shawn and the woman follow a moment later, laughing about something as he helps her with her coat and holds her bag while she ties her scarf.
"Oh," Shawn says, stepping back and putting his hand on Cory's back, "Helen, this is Cory, my best friend since forever."
She smiles, nodding. "You're Kevin!"
Cory's confused, then realizes she talking about the books. He's Kevin. "Yeah," he says, accepting her handshake.
"This is Helen, my agent," Shawn explains.
"Nice to meet you," Cory says.
Shawn starts to follow Helen out but she waves him off and tells him goodnight. After he closes the door behind her, Shawn leans his back against the door and exhales with his whole body. "I'm sorry," he says, "That went a lot longer than I was expecting. I didn't even know that guy was coming. Thought I just had to fill out some forms."
"It's okay. What was all that?"
Shawn makes a face and gets himself a beer from the fridge. "Medical examination for a life insurance policy. My publishers are giving me a big advance for my next three books and they need some insurance in case I get run over by a bus."
"Must be some advance."
"Mmm," Shawn takes a long swig of the beer.
"That's a lot of pressure," Cory says, hoping maybe this is the root of everything. A simple answer with a probably simple solution.
But Shawn shrugs. "I've already written the first two manuscripts and I'm almost done with the third. They're not exactly Moby Dick." Then he cocks his head, looking at Cory with a gleam of appraisal. "You look amazing in that sweater."
Cory flushes, realizing he's still wearing Shawn's sweater. He'd meant to take it off before he left Jim's apartment. "It's too tight on me," he says.
"No, it certainly is not. You should wear more stuff like that."
"It's your sweater."
Shawn's eyes light up at this and Cory feels like he just admitted to wearing Shawn's underwear. "Keep it," Shawn says, "It looks better on you."
Cory gives him an awkward smile, just feeling self-conscious now. Shawn grins back at him, sets his bottle down on the bar and gives Cory a little peck on the cheek, letting one hand brush against Cory's stomach under the borrowed sweater. Tingles dance down Cory's body.
"Five minutes," Shawn says apologetically, holding up five fingers as he walks past him back toward the living room, "and I'll be ready to go. I have to close out some stuff."
"Sure," Cory follows him into the living room and stays there as Shawn continues on into the little back bedroom that he uses as an office. While he's out of the room, Cory scans the space, looking for clues. Clues leading to what he doesn't quite know. There are books and records galore on the shelves, but Cory can't really interpret any hidden meaning in these. Shawn has a pretty nice stereo, the only visibly expensive item in the whole apartment. He has a lot of classical on vinyl-Cory has always been surprised that was the thing that stuck with him from his relationship with Angela.
Glancing back at the office and seeing Shawn's silhouette still in front of the computer, Cory squats down and opens one of the cabinets at the bottom of the book shelf. There are a couple of SLR cameras in here and several boxes containing various lenses. Spying what looks like a photo album, Cory pulls it out and flips through it quickly. It's not filled with photos, though, just magazine clippings. Pictures from magazines. Fashion shots. Portraits. There doesn't seem to be much theme to the collection. He puts the album back, closes that cabinet, opens the next. This is the liquor cabinet. He closes it quickly and climbs to his feet.
Then he spies a little bowl on the bookshelf, ceramic, very handmade-looking. It's filled with what at first look like poker chips. Cory picks one up, though-something compels him to-and realizes they're Narcotics Anonymous chips. 1 month. 2 months. 4 months. 6 months. 1 year. 2 years. 3 years. He drops them back in and turns away. He doesn't feel like snooping anymore.
He goes to the office, about to poke his head in and see if Shawn is ready and nearly bumps into him as he comes through the doorway. "Ready to go?" Shawn asks cheerfully.
Cory wraps his arms around him and pulls Shawn into an embrace. Shawn is a little stiff-the hug has caught him off-guard-but he allows it. Cory holds him there for a long time. Shawn waits, arms pinned against his sides. Cory has his eyes squeezed shut, willing the intervening years to fall back and to never have happened. When this doesn't occur, Cory sighs. "I never stopped caring about you, you know," he says into Shawn's shoulder.
Shawn nods as best he can in tight quarters and Cory releases him. Shawn looks a little bit embarrassed but quickly plasters on his bright, fun-time-guy smile. "Let's go out already," he says, stepping past Cory, "I'm under doctor's orders to eat like a pig."
Cory follows him back into the entry and as they're pulling on their outwear, Shawn traces a finger down from Cory's chest to his waist.
"I like you in my clothes," he says.
And Cory laughs, despite the feeling of complete sadness inside his chest.
Shawn takes him way the hell uptown to a Chinese place that looks like it was frozen in 1962 and recently thawed out. It's charming, though, and Shawn seems really happy to show it to him so Cory lets himself relax. Cory sits back in the booth, grinning over the rim of some terribly fruity thing with a pineapple skewer in it.
"Don't poke your eye out," Shawn laughs at him. He looks younger in this dim lighting, almost like his old self as he gulps from his own oversized concoction. He's beautiful. Cory has always loved the sight of Shawn happy.
Shawn is describing in glorious detail a horror movie he caught on TV the other night. Cory's never known anyone who loved horror movies as much as Shawn and he's glad to find that at least this small thing is still the same. It could be 1994 again for all their conversation has not changed.
"And then," Shawn smiles as he pauses for suspense, "Demon Pig."
"Oh, god," Cory laughs.
"I mean, of course, right? What else would it be? Demon pig."
"Eric's having a kid," Cory blurts out, apropos of nothing.
"Wow," Shawn says after a second.
"I know. Why's it always the idiots who have no problem procreating?"
Shawn frowns slightly at this. "Eric's gonna be a great dad."
And Cory feels ashamed of himself. "I know," he sighs, "Of course he will."
"You know, I saw him a few years ago."
"You did?"
"Yeah, at Jack's wedding."
"Oh." Cory is perplexed. Eric never said a word about this to him. Cory didn't even know Jack had gotten married. "He never mentioned it."
"That's good," Shawn raises his eyebrows as he keeps his gaze fixed on his drink, "I was pretty fucked up back then. I'm glad he didn't say anything to you. Eric's a good guy."
Before Cory can ask him anything about this statement, they're interrupted by the waitress who comes bearing a tray of little fried things and wee cups of sauces. She seemed to know Shawn when they came in and now he flirts with her in Cantonese, which makes her giggle. She says something back to him and he gives her his ladykiller grin. Cory watches her as she departs and wonders if Shawn ever slept with her.
"When did you learn Chinese?" Cory asks.
Shawn laughs at him again. "I don't know Chinese. I can flirt and ask where the bathroom is. I wasn't there long enough to learn much more."
"What were you doing there?"
"Shooting pictures," Shawn says, "I did that for a couple years."
"How did you get that gig?"
"I was sleeping with a photo editor at Conde Nast. He hooked me up with a lot of assignments even though I didn't have much experience."
He. Cory holds his tongue because Shawn has picked up a little dumpling of some sort from the platter and it's gotten to the point where Cory's just desperate to see him ingest some calories that aren't alcoholic. When he swallows the dumpling, he looks up and notices Cory's dagger eyes and a little half-grin breaks across his face.
"Well, you didn't think I was just Cory-curious, did you?"
"No, I just...you always really liked women."
"I still do," Shawn shrugs, "I like a lot of people. And listen, about this afternoon," he reaches across the table and puts his hand on Cory's, "I'm really sorry. I know that was out of bounds. I know that's not why you're here and I understand that I had no business putting you in that position. I won't let it happen again."
Cory doesn't respond to that because he doesn't know what to say. He kinda does want it to happen again; he's wanted it to happen again for years. But it doesn't seem right to say that.
Shawn seems ashamed, though, when Cory doesn't respond. Shawn sits back in his side of the booth in silence and nurses his drink.
"You seeing anybody?" Cory asks as lightly as possible, helping himself to an eggroll as subterfuge. Sadie Sadie Sadie Who Is Sadie?
Shawn shakes his head. "Nah."
Sadie Sadie Sadie
"Nobody?"
"Well, I mean, I have people I go out with, but I sort of gave up on the idea of commitment when I walked away from you."
All Cory can think is that Shawn has willed an incredible fortune to some fuck buddy. And then he processes the second part of his statement. "What do you mean?" he asks, horrified.
Shawn is looking down at the table, tracing a puddle of condensation that's dimpled up his zodiac placemat. When he does direct his eyes up at Cory, it's clear that the pain is still fresh in his memory.
"Cory. There was never anybody in the world more devoted to a person than I was to you. Everything you wanted me to do, I did. Everything you asked me to do, I did. Even when you told me you loved somebody else more, I still stuck around just in case there was anything I could do to make you that little bit happier. If that wasn't commitment, I don't know what is. Anyway, I guess I decided I couldn't ever do that again."
Oh, god. Oh, god, Shawnie. Cory's heart has seized up with guilt and regret. He'd packed it all away all those years ago and here it is, fresh as ever. As if somebody's using him as a ventriloquist dummy, he hears his voice continuing this terrible conversation. "But...couldn't you even try with someone else?"
"Maybe you could devote yourself to someone else. I never could. You made it look so fucking easy. I was done after you. That's it."
Cory can't say anything. He watches as Shawn refuses to look at him, all the happiness of just a few minutes earlier evaporated. Shawn finishes his stupid fruity drink and slouches back in the booth. The tasty little fried things grow cold and unappetizing on the platter between them. The ting-tang-y recorded music that seems like some 1950s American ad man's idea of "the orient" continues to play inanely.
The waitress appears with their food. Shawn flashes her his fake charming smile and then it is gone as soon as she leaves.
Neither of them moves. The plates steam, untouched between them.
Then Cory sighs. "I cheated on Topanga."
Shawn furrows his brow. "What?"
"Three times."
Shawn sits up straight and stares at him.
Cory closes his eyes and lets the last part of his confession drop. In for a penny, in for a pound. "With men."
Two Roads Diverged
Previously:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Next:
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12