Just another magical crack fic

The Collaboration

The next coffee-not-double-not-date was a few days after the brewery fiasco. Charlie was noticeably absent. Not just from the coffee shop on this Tuesday afternoon, but from the world as we knew it. I had seen him a couple of times at work, and he was actually working. He brushed me off, even, when I tried to talk, and claimed he was *busy* -- like I would ever believe that. I had to assume that the accounting department increased its productivity by 1/24th and pornhub decreased its traffic by a third in the past few days.

To say the aftermath was tense and confusing would be an understatement. Charlie drove me home after we left in the middle of the show at the brewery, and we spoke essentially ten words between us the whole way.  He left me on read all weekend and didn't even view my Instagram stories. I had zero memes or stupid animal names in my inbox. I had no ginormous adult male camping in my office uninvited, testing the load capacity of my office furniture. This is what I would have imagined my life to be like if/when Charlie died of syphilis. On the other hand, I received about 6,421 texts from Jack asking me inane questions about how Charlie "seemed" at a given time. Finally I agreed to meet, and I tried to make sure I had my big girl panties on. 

Swirling my coffee cup in my hand, I tried to recall if I had this little vacant spot in my existence before I ran into that gigantic oaf at lunch that one day. I realized how fucking soft I was getting, and I forcefully shook my head, wondering if Jack knew how often he talked to me when I was 100-percent not listening to him.

Jack seemed to have been receiving similar treatment from his boy, which was the reason he moved up our coffee appointment by a few days.The difference was that I understood why Charlie was angry, though I did not know why he was angry AT ME. Jack knew Charlie  was angry AT HIM (because that's what boyfriends do, according to Jack), but he didn't know why, and I REALLY did not want to be the one to give a detailed hypothesis on that subject. I don't even do my *own* relationships, much less get all up in someone else's. Also, given the option, I would have preferred to hang out with and console my friend (We're friends now? When did that happen?) rather than my nemesis and father-of-my-brainwashing-target, Jack Fucking Ritter.  Yet, here I am, expensive coffee in a to-go cup in hand, resting my cheek in my palm while he reviewed, for the second time, every interaction he had with Charlie that could have resulted in this "misunderstanding" they were having. FInally I let loose the groan that had been building in my chest for a while now, and scrubbed my face.

"Uggghhh. Why do you make me..He's disappointed that you didn't serenade him." I finally croaked out. Jack furrowed his brow. "What?" He pierced me with his confused gaze. "At the brewery. He thought you were going to make some big declaration through song." The merman's eyes went wide and his face went quickly from pale ash to vibrant crimson. "I thought I was! I looked at him through every single song! I was playing *for him* the whole time--well up until you guys bounced prematurely." "Yeah," I responded, spitting venom, "We left after there was a big ole hilarious thing about you making a special dedication, and it wasn't to him. Didn't you realize that he is a giant infant and didn't know Sweet Child O Mine? He's only heard it like, while shopping at Target. You were halfway through the song before he realized that he should be feeling like a dumbass for having such high expectations." Jack was defensive. "Look, I know he doesn't like that kind of music, so I didn't want to single him out!" He flexed his jaw and bit out, "But I put my heart into everything I played because he was there. That's why I invited you guys. So you all could see how much I lo-.." He instantly pursed his lips and looked down at his feet. Lacking any other way to react to my discomfort, I took a swig on my drink to hide my face as well as to keep from saying...well... anything. Jack released a big sigh.  "I think he really misinterpreted what I was going for there." I choked on my drink and replied, "Yeah, no shit, Sherlock."

I hesitated and carefully asked the most obvious question. "What do you think of Charlie being jealous of Lana?" Jack scoffed. "Well, I would think he's fucking crazy because he knows I don't fuck my daughter and I do fuck him. Or would, if he ever talks to me again." Those words from Charlie's intervention echoed in my brain, and without lifting my eyes to Jack, I whispered them now: "We don't say crazy here." Even though I have thought it plenty of times, I know Charlie is fragile as fuck and I would definitely not call him the C word. Maybe the other C word, if I had to get my point across. But after seeing how other people treat Charlie like he is only good for a laugh, like he is only acceptable within the parameters those people set for him, I want to hold space for him to be what he wants to be. Except for this whole bullshit about him ghosting me, hence why I have broken all my personal rules and gotten involved in his romantic life to try to mend fences.

Little did I know, Jack was sometimes an ok person and said the right things. "Well, look, I can't compare my boyfriend and my daughter. There's just no contest. If he's going to make me choose, it can never be him, but I just can't believe that's what he wants to do." I hummed in agreement, because, while I knew Charlie saw Lana as a cockblock, I also knew he didn't have any kind of ill feelings toward her. If anything, they were kind of similar in how they saw the world--as six year olds. I said as much to Jack and added, "I think he was just looking for some romance, and you all got your wires crossed. Regardless, you guys need to clear things up and you have to make it up to him." Jack nodded gravely, accepting his fate as the groveller in the situation. "And when you make it up to him, be sure to tell him how instrumental I was to the process." Jack grinned and the remaining pallor on his face dissolved. "When I make it up to him, you will be the furthest thing from his mind." I, of course, wretched dramatically at that remark to indicate my willingness to accept Jack's offer To lighten the mood. "Now that your mystery is solved, why is he not talking to ME?"

Jack looked thoughtful for a moment. "Maybe he's embarrassed? You were kind of the only person we both know who was there, since Tate was busy." A sour note immediately jarred in my brain. I didn't get laid this weekend, and hopefully Tate didn't either. "My first reaction is that it seems far too simplistic, and also, I've never known Charlie to be embarrassed about anything, ever." I responded.

We bartered. I would plot to help Jack win back his boy, and he would advocate for my forgiveness. Through a little of my own deviousness, Jack and I decided that the grand romantic gesture to get Charlie back would be for Jack to surprise Charlie with the beach vacation that Charlie had all-but-booked for a few weekends from now. Surely Charlie wouldn't be able to resist the naked swim-up bar. I perched over Jack's shoulder as I watched the text exchange with Charlie. In truth, none of Charlie's texts have any grammatical or logical sense, ever, but these seemed even more perplexing than normal. At the end, though, he started using more exclamation marks, so I took that as a good sign. He was pumped about the trip, and he began texting me directly at some point, probably when his conversation with Jack devolved into kiss emojis, and maybe more explicit ones.

After regaling me with the tale of how Jack was going to take him to a "dick palace" of a hotel and bragging about how Jack would put his tongue in all Charlie's crevices (crevasses is what he actually typed, because of course he did, but I chose not to point out the distinction for fear of the mental image), my friend told me, in so many words, "sorry for overreacting," and "let's have lunch and make up." There were no vowels and a lot of shrug and casket emojis.