Author: Leigh
Theme challenge: A relationship that just doesn’t seem like it’s meant to be
Things to include: “When the cat’s away, the mice will play.”, a disposable camera, hiccups
Rating: PG-13 - R for adult themes/language
Warnings: This story contains incest. It is not explicit, but it is very much hinted at.
Author’s Notes: Enjoy

“Come on. My star is fading and I swerve out of control. If I, if I’d only waited, I’d not be stuck here in this hole. Come here. Oh, my star is fading and I swerve out of control. And I swear I waited and waited. I’ve got to get out of this hole. Come on. Oh my star is fading and I see no chance of release. And I know I’m dead on the surface, but I’m screaming underneath. Stuck on the end of this ball and chain and I’m on my way back down again. Stood on the edge, tied to a noose. You came along and you cut me loose. You came along and you cut me loose.” – Amsterdam – Coldplay

*Taylor*

Taylor wasn’t sure exactly what it was, but for weeks he’d had the nagging feeling that something was wrong. At night, after his girls were in their beds, he’d walk purposefully from room to room, double-checking the locks, turning the gas on the stove on and off, picking up toys from the living room floor. But even after he’d rinsed the dirty dishes in the sink and put them in the drying rack, even after he’d folded the load of laundry still in the dryer, even after he’d put out the last light in the last room in the house, he’d sit in his armchair in his darkened office, with the persistent feeling that something, somewhere was wrong.

Driving was the only thing that helped. He’d drive until the first blush of morning colored the sky, until his eyes were bleary from lack of sleep and his hands sore from clenching the steering wheel so tightly. He’d drive and drive, all the while inventing lies: lies for his wife, lies for his children, lies for his mother, lies for why things were the way they were. But most of all, Taylor lied for himself. He was driving to get a gallon of milk at the all-night convenience store. (They hadn’t really been out. He’d poured it down the sink drain after dinner and when Natalie had asked how they had drank it so quickly, he found another lie.) Or else, he was checking on the progress of the building on the corner of Detroit Avenue. (The blue-prints were locked in his office.) Or he was returning his mother’s casserole dish. (He’d had the dish in his trunk for weeks and it still had not been properly returned.) There were so many lies, Taylor forgot where the lies ended and his real life began. And no matter what lie he told himself, no matter how far he drove or how long, he always ended up at the same place, the place he had meant to go all along.

His old room, the one he’d spent the bulk of his adolescence in, was being used for storage now. But their old bunk beds were still there and the window next to their old dresser was never locked. Parking a block away to look inconspicuous, he’d climb the old tree outside his childhood home and crawl into the window. Going home wasn’t the same of course, not like it had once been. But then, Taylor had never really left. As his brothers, both older and younger, and then his sister, moved out, only Taylor remained. His life was like watching repeats of a show you’d loved as a child. No matter how many times you watched them, you could never recapture that feeling you’d had the first time. The scratchy feeling of the carpet under your stomach, the sounds of your mother in the kitchen and your brothers running Matchbox cars over the arms of the couch. It was the same feeling you had when you had your first kiss or heard your favorite song for the first time. It was impossible to hear it with the same ears as you once had or see it with the same eyes, but it didn’t stop you from wanting to reclaim it. All his life, Taylor had been looking for a way to get back to that time - when things had been fresh, when life had been invention and moments spontaneous, when he didn’t see everything coming from a hundred miles away. Predictable.

At night, his old room was like a scene from a history museum, still and depthless and untouched. Except for a few boxes in front of the closed closet door, everything was exactly as it had always been - a frozen state of perpetual adolescence. Taylor would lie on top of the quilt on his old bed and dream the dreams of youth, of possibility, of a future that was exciting in it’s impenetrability. Life now had no surprises. He went to work, he came home, Natalie cooked dinner. Sometimes he read the girls a bedtime story or helped with their bath. More often, he sat in his study with his blueprints spread out over his desk, staring at them until his eyes burned behind his glasses and nothing made sense anymore - not houses, not rooms and most especially not the people in them.

In his old bedroom, he dreamed of waking to everything as it was when he was fourteen or fifteen. He imagined his brothers breathing above him and below him, fixing him in time, in safety, in surety. But of course, they were just dreams and his brothers, both grown, were long gone now. It was just him, alone, awakened by the cold wind blowing in through the open window.

“Taylor?” His mother pressed the cool heel of her hand to one flushed cheek and he stirred slowly, trying to drag himself up from the syrupy depths of sleep. Her lips were pursed and she gave him that look, the look she reserved for when he showed up unannounced, just the right combination of pity and exasperation and concern. But instead of scolding him, she forced a smile like always. “I just made a pot of coffee. Why don’t you get cleaned up and come downstairs?”

Taylor nodded, too tired to argue, and trudged into the tiny bathroom he had once shared with his brothers. He grimaced at the reflection which stared back at him in the long mirror over the twin sinks. He looked old, which wouldn’t be a problem, except that he wasn’t old. He was young. He had only just turned twenty-five in March. Natalie and the girls had baked him a cake with pink frosting, which he didn’t have the heart to turn down, even though he hardly ate these days. He gave his reflection a well-practiced smile that showed his tiny, imperfect teeth. He hadn’t smiled a real smile in ages, so long that he couldn’t even remember how one looked on his face.

He held his Polaroid camera at arm’s length and unsmiling, depressed the button with his thumb. The shutter blinked, there was a quick flash and then his photo came out, milky white. He set it on the counter, writing the date across the white square at the bottom with a sharpie, not bothering to wait for it to develop. He set it in the shoe-box with the others and then buried it in his messenger bag.

Drawn by the smell of brewing coffee, Taylor stumbled down the carpeted stairs, idly tousling the back of his blond hair with one hand. His younger siblings were already assembled casually around the counter, eating breakfast. Taylor grabbed his mug from it’s spot in the cabinet without even looking, knowing just by touch where it would be.

His younger sister, Avery, looked up from her plate, her hair still wild from sleep. “You’re here again? Don’t you have like, your own house now?”

Taylor grunted in response, pouring steaming coffee into his mug, his eyes still slits against the bright light flooding the kitchen. He wouldn’t feel human for another three cups; that much he was sure of. And maybe…maybe then he’d have a long, hot shower.

He sat down on a stool and buried his face in the paper so he wouldn’t have to see that look his mother was giving him. He was so absorbed he didn’t even notice when his siblings got up to leave for school, until he felt his mother’s hand on his arm and realized they were alone together. “It’s not that we don’t like having you, Taylor….” she began, trailing off. “You’re always welcome here. You know that.”

Taylor frowned, setting the Travel section of the paper down on the counter-top. The last place he’d traveled was to Jenks to get a replacement part for his old Volvo. Some days it was impossible to believe he had been to Europe and Africa and South America, to anyone but here, in Tulsa, where he had always been. “But?”

“I just…wonder…I mean, is everything okay with you?” she pressed. “Are you and Natalie-?”

“Are we what?” he snapped. Sleeping in different beds? Hardly speaking to each other? He wondered wryly to himself just which “what” she was referring to.

“Taylor, I know there are hard times, believe me. Your father and I have had them too. But we got through them and we’re both stronger for it.” She paused, absent-mindedly smoothing the wrinkles from her dress. “I’m just saying, you’ve both gotten through worse together.”

“There’s nothing to get through mom. It’s just – it’s nothing,” he said, satisfied that “nothing” was a fair assessment of their relationship at the moment. No love, but no hate either. Probably some disappointment on her part that Taylor hadn’t amounted to anything more, maybe some occasional resentment, but they were both in it for better or worse. This just happened to be worse.

“I need you to be strong for me, Taylor, especially now. With daddy in the hospital-”

“Mom,” he squeezed the bridge of his nose, the pain distracting him for a moment. “I know all this already.”

“I know you do. But you seem-” She paused, searching for a word that wouldn’t offend. “Stressed. And I worry about you. The past few years haven’t been easy on anyone, but you’ve taken it harder than anyone.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Take more responsibility. Those three little girls are growing up without a daddy and I won’t have it-”

“I’m there for them,” he growled, biting off each word. “While Natalie disappears for weeks at a time to God-knows-where, I’m the one who gives them their baths and takes them to school and feeds them and does the laundry-”

“Taylor, that’s not what I’m talking about. You’ve always been very responsible about your duties. I mean, you’re not there. You’re not present. You’re somewhere else.”

“I’m doing the best I can.”

“Sweetheart,” she cupped his face in her hands. “I know you’re trying. I just…I want you to be happy.”

“People aren’t happy all the time.”

“But you can be happy some of the time.”

He averted his eyes, avoiding her gaze. “Are we done here?”

She nodded sadly. “There’s a spare suit in the upstairs closet. You can leave for work from here.”

***

It had been a whole year since Zac had left – a whole year without a phone call or a letter or an email. Which for normal people, people who hadn’t been as close as the two brothers had been, might not have been a long period of time. But for Taylor, it had been a year of agony, a year of wondering and not knowing. The first of the month was the only time Taylor even knew his brother was still alive. Each month, Taylor would look at the depleted number in his bank account and relief would flood his body, knowing that although Zac might not be okay, he was at the very least, surviving. Taylor always dreaded the day when a check he sent would not be cashed, when this last thread of Zac’s life would slip from his forever.

Zac looked great. Taylor had steeled himself for the worst, but of course no preparations he’d made could ready him for the actual sight of his brother. And the undeniable fact that he looked healthy and older and handsome made Taylor’s chest ache in a way he couldn’t have anticipated. Zac slouched against the bar, his ankles hooked under the bar stool, sipping a coke and watching the waiters disseminate through the crowd with platters of hors d’ourves. He still didn’t drink alcohol, which should have comforted Taylor, this small thing that had not changed, but instead it made him feel awful, for noticing, for remembering. All the little details he’d tried to forget over the past year - how Zac’s hair always smelled sweet and minty, how he tapped his fingers on things when he was nervous, how he sketched on things when he was bored, were still there. Taylor had convinced himself he was over Zac, but seeing him here sucked all the breath out of his lungs and made his vision blurry.

Sighing, Taylor rested his shoulders against the wall behind him, wishing not for the first time that the day would be over and done with. He couldn’t bear to shake one more hand, to hear one more person say their condolences.

“Tay.” Startled, Taylor glanced up at his mom’s hand on his forearm. He wasn’t even sure how long she’d been standing there. “How you holding up?”

“I should be asking you that.”

“Your brother’s here.”

“I know. I saw. I’m sorry, I’ll be right back,” Taylor said apologetically, pushing through the throng of people towards the bathroom. He was happy to find it deserted. It was cool and dark and quiet and for a few minutes, he just sat in a bathroom stall near the back with his head between his knees, breathing deeply. When his heart had stopped feeling like it would fall out of his chest, he got up and went over to the sink.

Taking off his suit-coat, Taylor splashed some cold water on his face and neck. He studied himself in the mirror for a moment, trying to see himself objectively. Some subconscious part of him recognized that he was still handsome and most of the wear on his face could be reversed by a healthy diet and sunlight and a shave, but it was still shocking to see himself, to see that it had gotten this far.

He didn’t notice that the bathroom door had opened, until his brother appeared in the mirror behind him, over his left shoulder. Taylor didn’t turn, but gazed at their joint reflection a moment. He still had a good two inches on Zac, but Zac had grown thinner since he had last seen him. Unlike Taylor, he didn’t look ill though - his cheekbones were sharp and his jawline more pronounced, but his eyes still had that mischievous same sparkle in them.

“I thought I’d find you here.” Zac leaned one hip against the sink, crossing his arms over his chest. Taylor was wavering a little in his drunkenness and the soft, silvery lighting made Zac’s features appear soft and blurred to him, as if he were underwater.

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

Zac bit his lip. “It’s good to see you.”

Taylor raised an eyebrow, the line of his mouth flattening. “Is it?”

“Of course.”

Taylor busied himself with lapel, as if he couldn’t stand to look at Zac. He moved the red straw to one side of his cup and took a sip from the other. “I thought maybe you were too big for Tulsa now.”

“Taylor, come on, not tonight,” Zac said wearily, taking the drink gently from his brother’s hand. Taylor let him, and watched, unconcerned, as Zac turned on the water, and poured the drink down the drain.

“I can just get another one, you know,” he shrugged.

“It’s Dad’s wake,” Zac reminded him gently.

“You think I don’t know that? I was by his side the whole time he was sick. Where were you?” he growled.

“This isn’t easy for me Taylor.”

“It isn’t easy for you? For you? It hurts me to even look at you. But that’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

“You know it isn’t.”

“I should get back out there,” Taylor said, trying to keep the hurt from his voice, unsuccessfully, as he pulled his suit-coat back on.

Zac’s hand on his back made him jump. “I’ve…missed you.”

“Save it for someone who believes it,” Taylor snapped, knowing Zac couldn’t hear him. He couldn’t help the tears from falling down his face as he pushed open the door and found himself alone in the hall.

*Zac*

Zac booted his kickstand down, sauntering over to the edge of the bridge, his helmet slung under one arm. His hair was wild. Dark, sweaty strands of it stirred in the cool breeze coming off the river. The night was strange and soundless and the vibrations of his now-sleeping engine still rumbled under his skin.

Taylor sat with his long legs dangling over the ledge, an open bottle of Jack Daniels wedged between his thighs. With a passive expression, he stared down into the dark water, watching the large, hulking barges pass silently in the night. He didn’t look up when Zac approached and barely seemed to notice when he plopped down a moment later, popping the kinks out of his back.

Zac couldn’t suppress that old feelings that arose in him upon seeing his brother again. It amazed him just how little had changed. He had been gone a whole year and yet the second he saw his older brother, they both lapsed back into their old roles. It didn’t matter how much Zac had accomplished or what his life was like now. With Taylor, he would always be the awkward, self-conscious younger brother. Knowing this unnerved him. He was a success now and most importantly, he had done it on his own, without Taylor. But that all seemed faraway and insignificant now. With Taylor, he would always be a child. Some things never changed.

“Thinking of jumping?” Zac tried to keep his tone playful, but he couldn’t hide the hard tinge of melancholy behind his voice. He couldn’t help but feel at a disadvantage. Taylor didn’t have to watch his face the way Zac had to watch his to understand what he was saying.

“What’s it to you?” Taylor grunted, taking a slug from the bottle. He grimaced as it burned it’s way down his throat, forcing a pink flush into his cheeks.

“It’s a long drop.” Zac nudged a small rock off the edge, watching it fall. They both waited for it to hit and seconds later it did. Taylor said nothing. Their breath came out in white puffs.

“It’s cold out,” Zac ventured.

Taylor shrugged noncommittally. “Guess so.” He sniffled and took another sip from the bottle.

Zac’s fingers brushed against Taylor’s as he reached for it and Taylor’s hand snapped back, as if stung. “Kai have some?” Zac asked gently, softening his eyes. Taylor studied him for a moment and then looked away.

“Whatever.” The bottle exchanged hands and Taylor sunk his fists into his pockets, slouching down. There were dark bruises beneath his blue eyes, which looked sunken and tired. Zac watched him, out of the corner of his eye, noting the changes. He hadn’t shaved in days and his hair looked messy and unwashed. His clothes were wrinkled and stained and even his green army surplus coat and red scarf managed to look rumpled. But the most unsettling thing was that he looked older. And not just older…but old.

Regret that was both awesome and profound, flooded Zac almost immediately. He knew he would feel bad about the decision he had made, but he had no idea just how bad it would feel. Not that it wasn’t entirely his fault. He’d been in no shape to stay. His old life…just reminded him of how much had changed. The looks everyone gave him, how Taylor hadn’t even tried to be accommodating. All Taylor seemed to care about was what would happen with the band.

It was because of Zac’s need to please Taylor that he’d tried to ignore it for so long. He thought maybe if he didn’t acknowledge it, it would go away. Back when the world was slowly going quiet, he tried to pretend nothing was wrong, to continue on as usual. He hid it as best as he could, until it was impossible to hide any longer. His drum beat was off, his response time was slow, he couldn’t hear people until they were right upon him. Only the doctor’s diagnosis had made it real to him.

Painting was what had saved him. Everything he had once put into music, he put into art. And he surprised himself by being good at it. Really good. So when the internship in New York came up, he jumped at the chance to both pursue his new talent and get away from everything familiar. Remembering it all made the back of Zac’s eyes sting with the threat of tears. He took a large swallow from the bottle of Jack Daniels, savoring the bite of the liquor. It made his eyes water and everything seemed sharper somehow. The breeze, the shimmering reflection of the moon in the water, Taylor’s heat beside him.

“How are the girls?” he asked, studying his fingernails before looking up at Taylor’s face.

“Big,” Taylor whispered.

“There were so many times I wanted to call, that I picked up the phone or started an e-mail, and I don’t know what it was, but I just couldn’t. And I’m so, so sorry for whatever pain I caused you, but staying here, everything just hurt.”

“You don’t have to explain, Zac.”

“No, I do! I mean…I want to.”

“Can we just…do it some other time? I’m sorry, I just…Dad…”

“He was my father too, you know.”

“I know.”

“Why didn’t you tell me he was sick?”

“I didn’t think you would listen…or respond. Every other time I tried to reach you, you-”

“Yeah. I know.” Zac grimaced, taking another sip, punishing himself.

“He asked about you. A lot. He missed you so much, especially in those last days, but he was too proud to call. He knew you had…your own life and he didn’t want to stop you from realizing your dreams.”

Zac’s eyes flooded with tears and he gripped the cement ledge, his knuckles turning white. He watched Taylor’s lips form the words, “He was so proud of you,” and he couldn’t stop himself from choking on the sob in his throat. He wondered if Taylor was telling him to hurt him or if he just thought Zac should know.

He barely caught Taylor’s next words through the film of his tears. “We should go home. Mom will worry.”

Zac didn’t ask how Taylor had gotten there, just got on his bike and wordlessly handed Taylor his helmet. Without his helmet, the wind was fierce against his face, drying his tears as soon as they streaked down his cheeks. He knew he could cry and not be heard over the sound of the engine and so he did. He cried until his body was quaking under Taylor’s arms and his breath came in hiccups. Mostly because he felt so undeserving - of Taylor’s arms around his waist, of his words back on the bridge. He had been selfish, he had thought only of himself.

And the worst part of it all was he had forgotten already - forgotten how Taylor’s voice sounded, how his dad’s voice sounded. And now he would never hear them again and it all seemed so unbearable to him. He had ruined Taylor’s dream, broken up the band and just disappeared into the night without a proper goodbye and this was his punishment. This was what he deserved.

***

Everyone was asleep when they arrived back at the house. Most of the beds and couches were occupied, but they found the bunks in their old room were empty. Taylor went into the bathroom to shower and Zac took the opportunity to study their old room. It was mostly how he had remembered it - maybe a few more cardboard boxes, but their dresser was still there, with the t-shirts they had worn when they were kids. Lifting one of Taylor’s old shirts to his face, he breathed deeply, but it only smelled like the cedar-lining of the drawer and disappointed, Zac returned it.

He tried to open the closet, but the door wouldn’t budge. Leaning his weight into it, he pulled harder and harder and was practically buried in an avalanche of canvas when it flew open. Startled, he stumbled backwards, freezing when he recognized an eye here and an earlobe there, entwined fingers, a rose, that had all come from his hand, his brush. These were his paintings, nearly every one he had sold since he had left. But it didn’t make any sense for them all to be here. He sat on the floor, rifling among them and Taylor took that moment to return, wet hair falling in his eyes, towel slung low on his waist.

Zac looked up, a stunned expression on his face. “What is this?” he demanded.

Taylor’s face fell. “Zac-”

“No. I can’t believe you! How could you do this to me?”

“Zac, I-”

“First the checks you sent and now this? You thought I couldn’t make it on my own? You thought I wasn’t talented enough? How could you go behind my back and buy all these? Do you pity me so much?”

“No. That’s not it at all. I admire you.”

“Admire me? Why couldn’t you let me have this? I finally find something I’m good at and you have to sully that. You have to control it like you controlled every other part of my life - music, the band, who I dated. You let me think I was independent, but all the while you didn’t trust me to survive on my own!”

“Zac, please. I bought them because-”

“Because what?”

“Because I couldn’t stand the idea of anyone else having them. Having you. And because…because I love them. Because I pull them out when I’m sad and I don’t feel so terrible and alone. For one brief second-”

Zac slumped over, holding his head in his hands. “I don’t understand you. You made me feel like a freak. Like I was ruining everything. Everyone else learned sign language but you! Why would you do something like this?”

Taylor knelt down, lifting Zac’s chin up to face him. Slowly he drew his hand across his chest, doing the gestures he had practiced so much in the time Zac had been gone, to himself, in the mirror. Because I love you.

Zac blinked a few times, a fat tear rolling down his cheek. Please don’t cry. Taylor signed.

I’m so sorry. For leaving you. Zac signed so quickly Taylor had to focus hard to keep up. I tried to forget you, but every face I painted was yours. Every brush-stroke I took to erase your face in my mind, every person I painted that wasn’t you, became you anyway.

Taylor nodded. I know. Wait. He held up a finger and stood abruptly, pulling a t-shirt and some sweats on under his towel. Zac watched him rummage through his messenger bag, producing a shoe-box. He set it in front of Zac. This is for you.

Zac cautiously opened the top, peering inside. He flipped through picture after picture and then looked up Taylor, questioningly. There was a photo for every day since Zac had been gone, so that if Zac ever wanted it back, those days of that lost year, they would be here for him, waiting. There’s one for every day you were gone. You can count them.

Zac laughed, tears streaming down his cheeks. All this time…I thought you hated me.

I could never hate you.

Zac leaned up and held his brother so tightly all the air was squeezed from his lungs. But he didn’t care. He had forgotten how it felt to be held. He’d hardly even touched anyone in the year he’d been gone. He’d hardly even left the apartment except for food and work.

They had both tried to cover the hole - Taylor by going back to school to finish his architect’s degree, having another baby, lying. Zac by painting over the frayed edges it had left. When the sound had been sucked out, when the center had fallen out, Zac had thought he was damaged goods. That no one could love him as he was being loved now. He felt like a burden on everyone and being away had eased the burden some, but it hadn’t changed how he felt about his family, about his brother.

He had run away from his deafness, from his family and from himself. But he had stopped running. And of all the places he’d been in his life, all the countries he’d seen and all the people he’d met, a place had never felt more right to him as this one did now.

Zac didn’t even flinch when a second later, Taylor’s lips touched his, sealing the space between them.

Written by Leigh. Betaed by Cailin and Dess