Close Your Eyes, Come With Me

IX

((A.N. warning: This chapter uses the word queer. There is homophobia. From Jack.

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Jack Kelly was an idiot. If he was sure of anything in his life, it was that.

He had lied to himself. He did not have any self control, much less all of it in the world. One night of being a sentimental softie did ruin all his progress.

The worst part? Crutchie seemed so... Unaffected. It made Jack crazy. What was wrong with him that made him so exhausted and obsessive over, well, over what? He didn't even have an answer. Over the fact that his own actions had caused Crutchie to be physically appalled by him? That wasn't really it. Over wanting Crutchie to care about the time they spent together as much as Jack did? That didn't make any sense, either. Crutchie was always kind and grateful and enthusiastic. He clearly did care. So what the hell was Jack's problem?

"What the hell is my problem?" Jack grumbled, staring at his paint-covered hands.

"You're experiencing love, dear," Medda said. "It's what happens when you allow yourself to have a friend."

Jack sighed, long and heavy. "Guess so."

"Don't you love me?"

He looked up at her and smiled weakly. "With all my heart. But this is... Different?"

"Maybe because the other boys are involved? You and your pride--"

"No, it ain't like that anymore," Jack said. "I wouldn't give a second thought to none of 'em if they called me soft for it by now. I'd stand up in the penthouse an' holler it to all a New York."

Medda stared at him for a silent moment with a look he couldn't figure out. He was about to ask what she was thinking when she finally spoke, leaning in and growing quieter. "Jack... You don't think you're..."

Jack tilted his head. "Think I'm what?"

"You couldn't be... You know... Queer, could you?"

Jack spun about in a panicked circle, making sure they were alone. "Are ya really callin' me a queer right now?! What if someone heard ya and thinks you's serious?!"

"Jack--"

"Tryin' ta land a fella in jail? I got enough goin' against me!"

"I was not tr--"

"That's disgusting!"

"Is it?" Medda asked. "Why?"

Jack hesitated.

"Because everyone says so?"

Jack shook his head, taking his apron off and throwing it aside. "You's a crazed radical. Gettin' mad at folks for callin' crips 'crips' and now you's tellin' me you's a queer-lover."

"I want you to leave," Medda pointed to the door.

"I was just on my way out. Like I says, I got enough goin' against me as it is. I can't let no one hear me having this conversation," Jack said as he began to walk out.

"Don't you come back with that coward. You come back when you've got my Jack Kelly," Medda called after him.

Jack stomped his whole way back to the lodge. He couldn't believe he'd just been called a queer. He stood a little straighter, trying to appear more boyish. That had never happened before. Rat, scum, other such names, yes, but never queer. He didn't really take Medda for a radical, at least not in a bad way, but he was truly insulted.