Despacito (Slowly)

Jake estaba en su… ¿cuarentava botella de tequila? No estaba seguro. Al final, seguía siendo solo parte de su propia imaginación, por lo que podía beber tanto como quisiera sin que su Esteban y su Marcos fueran a sufrir las consecuencias.

Author Note: You know the drill. Jake is VERY stubborn and demands that at least the beginning of his sections are still in Spanish. He won’t even look at the English courses in duolingo. As this section has at least two other changes of POV between Steven and Jake? This will be the only note about it. But basically, Jake’s section will always begin with a paragraph in Spanish -that will be translated in the notes- and then change to English for Clarity and Sanity sake. Your sanity, mine was lost a few chapters ago when Jake started dancing to Chayanne in my head while I was plotting this.

He knew that there was a simple way to know if Khonshu was really gone. All he needed to do was to wait for his Alters to fall asleep and then summon the suit. If Khonshu was trapped, or exiled into the Over void? The suit would be gone.

But Jake didn’t want to know. He was dying to know and didn’t want to know at the same time. He just wanted things back to how they were. Him spending the days serenading his adorados and then using the nights to protect the Travelers of Khonshu’s nights as he worked up his courage to actually meet his Corazón and his Vida.

As Diego Schoening finished singing about how his life was a disaster because his lover left him without notice, he heard a faint thump on the window outside, the window he used to check on Steven and Marc and make sure they were safe and looked up.

And his heart stopped because right there was whom should never be there. Banging on the window, trying to call his attention, was his adored Corazón.

“¿Estebancito?” he asked, confused. But it couldn’t be. It had to be a hallucination brought by the alcohol. Sure, it wasn’t REAL tequila, but Jake had worked very hard to make himself believe he was drunk, so he WAS.

But Steven seemed so real, his soft eyes looking at Jake with pity and sorrow, as he kept banging on the glass, that Jake doubted, just for a second. Was that really Steven? Had he been so broken hearted, so destroyed, that his softer Alter, the one who had always protected Marc from the pain brought by the emotional abuse of That Woman, had felt it… and managed to find Jake’s hiding spot?

Apparently, that little moment of doubt was all what his tenuous control of his corner of the inner world needed to break, as the next time Steven banged on the barrier, it broke, making the other man tumble into the floor of Jake’s world.

*          *          *

The moment that Jake saw him, the barrier disappeared taking Steven by surprise. In the most ungraceful way possible, as it seemed that the muscle memory that helped him fight when in the suit didn’t follow him to the inner world, he fell into the dilapidated apartment that he thought was Jake’s home. It was even more depressing inside. Not even a small rug to warm the floor, that showed cracks and holes in the planks. Seriously, it was unacceptable that Jake was living there when Marc and himself had so many amenities just upstairs, and Steven was going to fix that.

As soon as he could figure out what was wrong with Jake.

“Jake? Mate? Are you ok?” He asked, approaching the trembling and sobbing man as one would do a spooked wild animal. Which Steven figured Jake was in a way. All Steven knew of the man was still that he had the sexiest voice he’d ever heard, which was not helpful in that situation, and that like Marc? He was an excellent fighter. So it was probably better not to spook him.

“¿En serio eres tú? ¿O eres sólo una visión de tequila?” Jake said, and Steven blinked. He had no idea what his Alter just had said, and while he knew that Jake spoke Spanish, he hadn’t expected him to not speak English. He spoke English, so did Marc, and until five seconds ago, he had figured Jake would too. “Tienes que ser el tequila… Estebancito nunca estaría callado tanto tiempo.”

The last part, after what sounded like his name, was said in a tone that told Steven that Jake was making fun of him.

“I… I don’t understand… Jake,” Steven came a bit closer, as Jake still didn’t seem to believe he was there. AS he walked in, the empty bottles scattered around the ground started to disappear. But frankly, that didn’t do anything to improve how the sparse room looked.

“No hablo inglés,” Jake looked at him, his eyes still glassy as the tears kept coming down. Steven swore internally. He knew very well how Marc and Khonshu had interacted, so he was completely out of his depth with Jake right now. All he knew was that he needed to do something. “Siempre fue la mejor forma de no escuchar lo que ella decía, ¿Sabes?”

“Still have no idea what you’re going about, mate,” Steven finally reached Jake, who was still not moving, still obviously convinced that Steven was not there -which was a bit funny, no? having an hallucination inside your own mind where you know you share space with two others- and kneeled in front of him, still moving very carefully, giving Jake more than enough time to move away if he wanted. “Guess you were the only one who paid attention in Spanish classes? Because Marc doesn’t speak Spanish either…”

“Marquitos odiaba todas las clases,” Jake half hiccuped, half laughed. Steven once again didn’t understand anything except that the first word started like Marc’s name. But was it because Jake was replying to Steven’s quip, and thus meant he understood English, or just that he had heard Steven say Marc’s name and guess that he was supposed to answer something about him? Steven hoped it was the first. After all, Jake HAD to understand a bit of what was going on in their lives, no?

The horrible thought that Khonshu was taking advantage of their third because he didn’t understand English gripped Steven’s heart for a moment, but he let that go quickly. Khonshu was an Egyptian god who spoke perfect English. The old pigeon probably also spoke Spanish, and every language on the planet.

Maybe some from outside it.

But Steven was digressing, as he usually did when he found something that intrigued him and he couldn’t afford that. He needed to be there for Jake. And so, realizing that words wouldn’t actually help at this point, he did the only thing he could think of to show Jake that he was real, that he was there.

In one swift movement, the only fast one he dared to make since falling into the apartment, he reached out and pulled Jake into a hug. The other man gave a startled gasp as he fell into Steven’s arms… and then pulled on Steven shirts, desperate, and started sobbing again.

*          *         *

Jake no pudo evitar una risa entre los llantos cuando vio a su querido Esteban caer sin ninguna gracia o ceremonia dentro de su cuarto. Parte de él estaba horrorizado ante la idea de que Steven viera el terrible estado del lugar, pero el resto estaba convencido de que tenia que ser una visión tequilera. Jake siempre se había cuidado de que no hubiera forma de que Steven o Marc, sus amores, sus vidas, supieran que él estaba ahí.

Of course, the moment he said that out loud, the moment he asked if this meant he had finally reached the point of convincing himself he had been drinking tequila, the vision became even more realistic. It even rambled like Steven did, and that just made Jake’s heart hurt more.

Khonshu used to complain about Steven’s ramblings… but never about Jake’s constant singing. And now Jake would never have the chance to tell his fr… his god… that for Jake? Steven’s voice as he talked about everything and nothing was the most beautiful song that anyone could write.

Jake was not made for silence. From the moment he had gained awareness of himself, so long ago at the Spector’s household in Chicago while Marc had been watching a Cubs’ game as that woman just kept hurling insults towards Marc while on the phone, not caring if he heard or not. And suddenly, Jake was there, not understanding a word around himself, but finding comfort on the tone of the game sportscaster. It took a while for him to understand what was going on, why there were times in which time seemed to pass away in a blink, why he was living with two people who called him by a name that was not his own, why that woman hit him harder when he spoke up -oh, Jake had learned quite early not to speak out loud around her when he was fronting, even if he hadn’t understood the concept of fronting at the time-, or why sometimes he would just come to precisely as the woman hit him with the belt. But by then, he had already found his love for music, and had managed to save enough money doing different jobs for the Mexican man who owned the corner shop not far from the Spector’s house to buy himself a small radio.

So he always had his music. And when he was inside? When he learned that his role was to be ready to be there to sustain the abuse not even Steven could protect Marc from and he still hadn’t learned enough to get his music there with him? It was Steven’s voice what had become his music. Steven, who always talked to himself, explaining everything he did. Steven, who believed that he had a mother who loved him and was only strict when he made a mess in the room, or accidentally forgot time passing. He heard the stories that Steven told himself to explain away the times when Marc fronted, the brief moments where Jake took over; the way Steven talked about the things that were his passion, like ancient Egyptian tombs, adventure novels, old gods that no one remembered… and so, little by little and not even understanding how, Jake had fell in love.

And when he realized that? He also realized that even if his role in the system hadn’t been to protect Marc and Steven? He’d die before he let his Corazón, his querido Estebancito, be hurt anymore.

He had tried to reply to the questions his imaginary Steven asked, but he couldn’t, not really.  Sure, he understood English. He wouldn’t have been able to survive at all in Chicago without understanding it. But he had never learned to speak it. He just… couldn’t learn to speak the language that had been used by that woman to hurt his Vida and his Corazón. Not that Steven cared. He just kept talking, apologizing for not speaking Spanish, apologizing for not understanding Jake.

Trying to take care of Jake, when it was Jake’s job to protect Steven.

And then, just as Jake had almost been able to convince himself that this was not Steven, not his Corazón, his Cielo, his Alma, his Estebancito adorado… Steven touched him. Steven hugged him, pulling him close.

It was only then when Jake realized that this was not a hallucination brought by his brain, a second Steven who was a shadow of the real one. It was Steven, wonderful, amazing Steven, his Estebancito who had found a way into Jake’s place, just like he had found a way into Jake’s heart without even knowing it. Steven had felt Jake’s sorrow, and being how he was, being the perfect protector he had always been, had come to take it away.

And unable to say anything more, Jake grabbed Steven’s shirt and kept crying, crying for all the years he had spent alone, all the years where all he had was those brief glimpses of the cruelty that woman held over Marc, the few nods and smiles he gave to Steven’s friends, the few months when Khonshu had seen him, and talked to him and shared secrets with him; for all the lost opportunities, for all the time he had wasted. But, more importantly, he cried because right then, in Steven’s arms, he could almost feel whole.

As he cried, he felt himself drift away. It had been too much, all the emotions in his psyche from the moment he realized Khonshu had lied and was going to abandon him too. And so, Jake Lockley finally fell asleep as he cried in Steven’s embrace.

*          *          *

Steven realized the exact moment when Jake fell asleep, as his sobs quieted and his breathing evened into a familiar rhythm. But of course, that meant he was now in the floor with a sleeping man in his lap and with no idea how to move him into a more comfortable position without waking him up.

And he really, really didn’t want to wake Jake up. Steven had the feeling that Jake hadn’t had a good night sleep in a long time, especially if he was keeping a constant eye on him and Marc.

Which meant that yes, he had to call Marc. He just hoped that because the barrier that kept Jake hidden from him had broken, that Marc would be able to reach this place too. If not, he’d have to go back to waking Jake up.

And then there was the language barrier too.

“Enough stalling, Dr. Grant,” Steven muttered softly. “You’re supposed to be the fearless one, yes? So… be fearless.”

*          *          *

Marc was laughing at a silly joke Layla made when he heard Steven’s faint call and stilled immediately. Layla had been trying to distract him from worrying about Steven being alone with Jake by telling her stories of her childhood with her dad in Cairo. The subject was still a bit sore for both, but Layla had forgiven Marc for his role, however unintended, in Professor El-Faouly’s death -in fact, Layla had found survivors from the attack, and those survivors had contradicted Harrow’s story completely. Worse, Layla had managed to find Jean Paul… and Jean Paul’s version of the events was not quite how Marc remembered them and the end result was that now Layla knew that Marc had tried to save Abdallah and thus was convinced that he was not to blame for his death.

Seriously, Marc didn’t deserve her love. Steven did, of course, because Steven deserved to be loved. But Marc? Marc was blessed by the fact that both of them loved him.

“Marc? What’s wrong, love?” she asked, noticing the change in his mood. “Is Steven…?”

“He’s calling me… but… he sounds very far away,” He frowned looking at the closest mirror, where only his reflection greeted him. “We’re never away.”

Layla was already getting up as he spoke. “So? Go to him.”

“We’ve only left the body without someone fronting once…” Marc began, not adding that that time had not been voluntarily and had included being shot twice. “What if Jake comes up when I go to get Steven?” What if it’s a trap, he wanted to say, but he didn’t. Despite everything, despite his training and his mistrust, despite all he told Steven about why they couldn’t trust Jake if he was working with Khonshu… Deep down Marc didn’t really believe Jake was a danger to them. Not even to Layla, given how he had treated her the one and only time they had met.

“If Jake comes up? I’ll brush up my Spanish,” Layla placed a pillow behind Marc on the couch and kissed the tip of his nose. “Now go and see why our boyfriend has found a way to create long distance static inside your brain.”

Knowing that he couldn’t argue with her -and not really wanting to- Marc took a deep breath and just… let go, falling down into the ether, the peace of their inner world.

He appeared in his room in their shared place, the one that had once reflected his storage unit but now it was more a mixture of the room he had shared with Layla back at her place, the old apartment he had had in el Cairo when working with Duchamp, and yes, Steven’s room. A bit more homely, a bit more his. And Marc guessed that was because he had finally realized that he had a life outside his work as a mercenary, outside being Khonshu’s tool.

Steven wasn’t in the common room, and that immediately made Marc suspicious. But the window to Outside was open, just… not to the real outside. He went forwards to close it, when he heard Steven again. This time much closer, even if still very low.

As if he was whispering?

It took Marc no time to locate the emergency exit ladder, and he wondered how they had missed it so many times before. Perhaps it was because the window usually doubled as the Body’s eyes? In any case, now that he saw it, Marc could figure things out quite quickly and in no time he was standing in the middle of what he assumed was Jake’s place in the inner world.

Whatever he had expected was not it, especially not the part where Steven was sitting on the floor with a lap full of a sleeping Jake.

“What’s going on?” Marc asked, confused. “Did he tell you anything?”

“I haven’t got the foggiest,” Steven replied. “He… he was in a bad shape, Marc… and he doesn’t speak English.”

“Wait? What?” Marc looked around with more attention now, and he realized that the bottles on the only table in the room were starting to disappear. “There was more alcohol here?”

“Lots of it, as if he had been drinking for days, not just the time it took from when Layla arrived and I finally found him,” Steven sighed as he took off Jake’s newsboy cap off from his head. Like this, Marc thought, Jake looked… defenseless in a way that Marc hadn’t expected. All this time, he had built a very specific image of their third Alter. Jake himself had managed to turn it over his head a little with his dance routine, but even so, looking at him on the CCTV footage Marc still had pegged Jake as someone who did the protecting, not one that needed protecting. “He can’t stay here, Marc… but I can’t move us to our place without erasing this… I don’t think.”

Marc wanted to ask what would be wrong about erasing the incredibly depressing room they were in, when his eyes caught the photos taped near the bed. He could recognize some of those: Marc, in his early soldier of fortune days, when he still thought it was more noble than being in the army because he could choose missions that didn’t hurt innocents, his arm draped over the shoulders of an equally smiling Jean Paul Duchamp; Steven, in an awkward selfie taken by someone at the museum when they still think he was just shy and not a bit troubled; Marc again, in his wedding to Layla, smiling and covered in white flower petals… and one postcard, creased with folds, obviously imitating one from the Museum, of Khonshu’s ceremonial statue.

“This is all he has, Marc,” Steven interrupted his thoughts. “Those photos, the guitar. His clothes. We can’t take it away from him.”

“We can’t get him up that ladder without waking him up,” Marc replied, his eyes still glued to the photos and how they were positioned near the bed. If Jake was like him and Steven, and really slept at times when in the inner world? The photos were placed so that they would be the very first thing Jake would see upon waking up and the last thing he’d see when laying down to sleep.

So intimate, and at the same time, so lonely. Especially if their Alter had included Khonshu, of all people, among his trusted ones. And yet, Marc couldn’t bring himself to grab the pictures, not even to move them upstairs. Steven was right: this was Jake’s place, and they shouldn’t… no, they had no right to delete it just because it made them feel bad.

Steven… no, Steven’s love had helped Marc to accept himself and his place both in the outside world and in their inner sanctuary.  Who was Marc to deny Jake the same chance? Because Marc wasn’t a fool. He knew Steven as well as he knew himself and knew the other man’s heart. Maybe Steven didn’t realize it yet, but he was falling for their third too. And not just for his suave Spanish singing.

“Could we… at least give him a door?” Steven asked, his voice so small. Marc looked at him and he saw that yeah, Steven was caressing Jake’s arms and hair. And yet, Marc didn’t feel jealous. Instead, he wondered what Steven had seen before Jake fell asleep. “Something to give him the chance to come to us without feeling he needs to hide?”

Marc looked around, and determined, stood before the wall opposite to the bed. It was bare like everything else, but that meant that it was possibly the one place where Marc’s offer would be seen as an invitation and not an intrusion.

“You want to let him come to us?” Marc asked, as he concentrated. He had far more practice than Steven in modifying their inner world, even when Steven was the one who added most of the decoration, including the two fishes that swam in the perfect replica of their real-world fish tank.

It was high time they got a bigger fish tank, Marc thought, as the wall started to shake a bit, shifting and changing into what Marc had in mind. Which was only possible because in the inner world, things like supporting walls and space continuity didn’t exist.

“I don’t think he should wake up alone,” Steven continued, as Marc smiled as he realized that the floor beneath them was no longer bare. Instead, it was decorated with a knitted rug. That had to be Steven’s work, and his lover probably hadn’t even noticed, just wanting to make Jake a bit more comfortable. “Look around, he’s been alone long enough.”

Marc couldn’t disagree, as he looked at the door that he had just created. Yeah, the rug and the door were probably the only two things that they should create there. Everything else should be up to Jake, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t bring things from their place. Because it was Jake’s place too, wasn’t it? Yeah, they still had to talk, to meet, and to figure out what was Khonshu’s hold on Jake… but Jake was one of them. He was part of them, and Marc figured… well, he had a lot of ideas but most of them had to wait until they could talk to Jake.

He opened the newly created door, smiling as it opened exactly to the place Marc had planned to: Their shared living room, and in the same angle as his and Steven. Yeah, Steven had the right side, and Marc the left… but now, as he crossed the door, Marc saw that he had given Jake the center.  

Not closing the door, so that Steven could see him from his place in Jake’s room floor, Marc picked up a bright blue afghan, knitted in the pattern of a starry sky with a bright moon over them, that was draped in their couch. Seriously, Steven had conjured so many knitted items that Marc was starting to think it was a hint ONE of them had to learn to knit. It was thick and warm, and with it in his hands, Marc returned to his lover’s side.

“Scoot over,” he said, as he carefully sat next to Steven, trying to get Jake’s legs on top of his own, so that he and Steven became Jake’s makeshift human bed. Once he was somewhat comfortable, he covered Jake’s body with the afghan. “You are right… he shouldn’t wake up alone.”

With that, he laid his head on Steven’s shoulder and watched Jake sleep as he wondered how the self-assured cocky man who had seduced him so thoroughly in the space of a single song -because if Marc was going to be honest with himself and no one else? Jake had made his shared knees go weak- could be the same sad, lonely man who was now asleep on top of him and Steven now.