For Keeps

17. All Jon's sh*tty stories.

{Kurt}

Jon was very quiet in the car after the AA meeting, leaning his shoulder against the passenger side door, his fists closed tight under his folded arms.

The interior warmed up as Kurt drove and he pulled off his tuque and ran a hand through his hair, counting his breathing to try and settle his feelings. He'd worked his ass off to get here; that wasn't for no good reason, right? He could walk through this with Jon without flaking out on him.

In the drive-through, Jon spoke for the first time. "Just tea for me. Mint."

Kurt got a hot chocolate for himself, topped with a fluffy heap of whipped cream that he licked up with his tongue before sucking cautiously at the scalding beverage below. Jon held his paper cup close to his chest like he was still cold.

Turning onto the main artery running alongside the river valley, Kurt ventured, "So you survived your first AA meeting. How you doing, White?"

Jon took a deep breath. "I've never felt so fucking seen in my life."

Kurt laughed. "I know, right?"

"Ugh. Hated it." Jon rubbed his face, then slapped his cheeks. "Need it. Hate that." He slouched in his seat, glaring out the front window.

"You got more shitty stories for me?" Kurt asked gently.

Jon's toe tapped, quiet and constant. "Do you know how to tell when an addict is lying to you?" he asked.

Kurt hesitated. "Is this a trick question?"

"His lips are moving," Jon answered himself, soft and flat.

Kurt watched the night rush past as their car ducked into a tunnel under the river. "In my experience, that's only true when an addict doesn't want to get better," he said, glancing at Jon's down-turned face. City light and deep shadow alternated over his partner's still features. "Is this the part where you tell me the truth?"

"This is the part when I try." Jon shoved his shoulders more deeply into the seat, exhaling. "The truth is, I've fucked up in December. More than I ever told Cary. Or anyone." He took a sharp breath, eyes darting sideways for Kurt's reaction.

Kurt's face opened with empathy. "December's a slippery time for you; I can see that." There was a whole other layer on this month for Jon, the burden of grief that came with the days that marked his brother's passing, and the celebration of his own life in the midst of that. "Fucked up how?"

"All the ways," Jon said shortly. "That I've fucked up before." His voice was dry as the sound of their tires on the road. "There's opes in Tylenol 3s, did you know that? Cary keeps his in the truck. He doesn't...count them."

Jon cleared his throat. "It's been less than--what day is it?"

"December 11," Kurt said.

Jon blinked. "His birthday was yesterday. I made it over one year."

Overhwelmed, Kurt pulled into a parking lot overlooking the river and the chilly sparkle of city lights beyond, killing the car engine and turning his body to look directly at his partner. Jon eyed him sideways, pale as paper against the dark pressing on the windows.

"Start at the beginning, love," Kurt said.

Jon drew his tea cup up to his mouth. "I only know how to start at the ending," he whispered. "This has been my best December. With you." He turned his face aside so Kurt could only see the side of his cheek and the flutter of his pulse in the corner of his jaw, lit by the soft blue light of the dashboard.

"It's been--two years and a day since I last used. I never make it through this month without cutting. One year I relapsed with, um, Oxycodene and just about...wiped myself out for good." Shivering, Jon sipped his tea, obviously trying to hold the thread of the story.