Chapter Text
I’m sorry, Janey, I can’t see you as anything more than a sister.
The bar rattles as you slam your shot glass down onto it and demand another. And another. Any man who dares get close enough to you earns a threat of mace in their eyes through your gritted teeth, not that many approach you anyway. You’re fat (voluptuous, argues Roxy) and ugly (absolutely gorgeous, argues Roxy) and there’s nothing you’d rather do than drown your sorrows in alcohol right now (hell yeah, agrees Roxy).
You’re sitting at the bar on your twenty-first birthday. Your brand new ID is still made of paper. You had been convinced you wouldn’t have to use it until you got the plastic one in the mail. Sadly, you had been mistaken, because here you are, elbow on the bar, forehead in your palm, bitter tears dribbling uselessly into your shot glass. Beside you sits Roxy, who gazes at you sympathetically as she rubs your back and scratches you where it always itches just below your bra strap.
“Just let it out, girl,” Roxy says. Surprisingly, she’s sober, abandoning her own beer to comfort her friend. She’s such a good friend. The best friend you have. Good girl. Best friend. “Oh, Janey…”
You don’t realize that you’ve just let out a sob and a few people are looking at you strangely now. Great, that’s just what you need right now.
“I wasn’t even friend-zoned, I was family-zoned!” you wail melodramatically, the alcohol affecting your judgment as you bury your head in your arms. Roxy rubs your back even harder.
“I know, baby, I know, we’ve all been there!” Roxy says, and she sounds tearful, too. You peek through damp locks of curly hair that you had been crying on and sniffle up at your best friend.
“Wh-Why are you crying?” you blubber up at her, and Roxy pulls her ugliest crying face.
“Because you’re sad and I totally want to be you, you’re so fucking pretty,” she whines. There are people staring at you and a few of the douchier men are physically backing away from you two now.
“You don’t want to be me!”
“Yes I dooooo, like, your hair is so pretty and you’re so curvy and perfect and you have big boobs and I have little mosquito bites!” Roxy cries, and now she’s bawling too. Maybe she had more to drink than you originally thought.
“My boobs aren’t even big, I’m a C-cup!” you cry, throwing your arms around Roxy and crying loudly. Some part of your brain tells you this is ridiculous, but you don’t care right now. It’s lady’s night and you’ll cry like a baby if you want to.
“I know, they’re still gigantic!” Roxy sobs, honking your breasts.
The two of your cling to each other and cry until you’re kicked out of the bar. Locking arms, the two of you stumble tipsily onto the streets of Maple Valley, Washington. It’s dark and rainy and gosh, this is just miserable. The two of you are crying like drunken idiots and people are walking across the street to avoid passing you on the sidewalk. Normally this sort of behavior would be hysterically hilarious and, you suppose, in a certain light, it is. But right now, you are legitimately upset and the fact that your boobs are bigger than Roxy’s is breaking your heart. Oh, and also you had been rejected by Jake English under the terms that you are too much of a sister to him to deserve girlfriend status. Damn your deep friendship! Damn it to hell!
You don’t mean that of course, and the guilt of thinking that makes you cry more. Your glasses are all fogged up and you can barely see straight and your mascara is running and you have snot coming out of your nose.
“You’re a beautiful, sexy, Asian woman and you don’t need no man!” Roxy suddenly screams into the sky before inhaling a rain drop and doubling over to cough and dry heave onto the pavement.
“Yes I do!” you sob back, kneeling beside Roxy as she continues to cough and sputter and choke on her tears.
“Oh my gosh you’re totally accepting the oppressive and sexist stereotypes of your own race and it’s breaking my heart!” Roxy wails. You sit back on your heels and bawl right back.
“I know, I’m a terrible example of Asian culture!” you shriek. You’re pretty sure people are calling the police on the two of you now.
“I don’t even know if you’re Chinese or Japanese!” Roxy screams, sobbing and flopping forward to pound her fists on the sidewalk.
“I’m Korean!”
“I’m such an ignorant little slut!”
Quite suddenly there’s a clattering sound behind the two of you and you look over your shoulder to see Dirk Strider himself, his umbrella discarded on the ground and a flashlight in his hand, pointed at the two of you. He stares at horror at the both of you, but you don’t understand the weight of it until he whips his shades off and pure ice shoots out of his eyes. He’s furious.
“What. The actual. Fuck,” he says slowly. “What the hell are you two doing out here?”
Roxy sniffles loudly and looks over her shoulder.
“Janey’s a lightweight, Dirk,” Roxy whimpers. You slap her shoulder.
“I’m not even drunk!” you slur drunkenly. Dirk gives a fantastic roll of his eyes and tucks his shades into his coat pocket before coming forward and hoisting the two of you onto his shoulders in a double fireman’s carry. You start protesting about your weight and he roughly (and easily) jostles you on his shoulder to shut you up.
He tosses the two of you into the backseat of his beautiful, jet black sportscar like a couple of soaking wet alley cats before getting into the driver’s seat and speeding off.
An hour later you’re quite sobered up and feeling a mixture of nausea and discomfort from your drenched clothes clinging to your body. Right now, Dirk is delivering a passed-out Roxy to her mother, who accepts her with a knowing sigh. Afterwards, Dirk returns to the car and slams the door behind him, his knuckles gripping the steering wheel tightly as he silently drives.
“We were really fucking worried, you know?” he finally says. His usual deadpan is long gone and is replaced with words dripping with venom. You flinch. “Seriously, Jane, your father nearly had a panic attack. No note, no phone call, nothing!”
“…I’m twenty-one,” you say weakly, and Dirk slams his palms down on the steering wheel.
“That doesn’t matter!” he shouts. You’re crying again, feeling like garbage for treating your loved ones like this. Earlier, you had literally just disappeared. Downright up and left, and you think you accidentally left the garage door open or the front door unlocked or something, so obviously when your father had gotten home, he had probably flipped. Dirk continues the verbal lashing. “God, you and Rox were hammered when I found you, screamin’ about god knows what, y’all could’ve been killed, Jane!”
You know he’s really pissed when his southern accent leaks through. He’d been living in Washington to be close to you, Roxy, and Jake for so long now that it hardly ever comes up, but right now he’s pretty much emotionally compromised.
“I’m sorry,” you say, trying to make your voice strong and failing miserably. “Truly, Dirk, you have no idea-”
“Yeah, you would’ve been sorry, if anyone besides me had found you,” Dirk snaps. “God damn it all. You’re like a sister to me, Jane. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
You sob suddenly and Dirk’s hands loosen just a tad on the steering wheel. He whips his head around, looking at you with his bright amber eyes before turning back to the road. Slowing, he pulls off to the side and parks the car before turning in his seat and putting a hand on your knee.
“Jane? What is it?” he asks, his concern turned down from maximum overload to gentle in two seconds flat. “Did something happen?”
“It’s so silly and ridiculous, I can’t believe I let this affect me so much,” you weep softly, brushing your wet lashes. “Jake, he… well, I told him how I felt today. I felt like… well, it’s my twenty-first birthday, right? And I thought I’d be lucky, so I… and he…”
Dirk visibly softens and tilts his head.
“Oh. Oh, fuck. Jane. Jane, I’m so sorry,” Dirk whispers, rubbing your leg before reaching up and stroking a wet lock of hair out of your face. “Shit. Why didn’t you call me?”
“I didn’t think it’d be right,” you sniffle. “Because you…”
“I was an experiment for him when we were sixteen, jeez, Jane,” Dirk laughs. “I am so over that, like, it’s completely… yeah. Don’t cry. C’mon, chin up. You’re stronger than that. And English isn’t really anyone to cry over in the first place. The guy’s dumber than a bag of rocks.”
You cough out a laugh and Dirk quirks his lips at you before patting your thigh.
“There’s that smile. You’ve had worse, so suck it up and rub some dirt in it. Be a man.”
You laugh again and this time, the smile stays on your face even as the tears cling to your lashes.
“Can I wear my mustache, Mister Strider?” you ask in a mock-serious tone.
“Fuck yeah you can wear your mustache.”
You grin as you take a lock of your hair and tuck it under your nose so you can pinch it there with your lips. Dirk glances over his shoulder before returning to putting the car in drive.
“I have the weirdest boner right now,” he says, and you start laughing again, snorting a bit and smacking your hand over your mouth. “Good girl. Yeah. Don’t you ever think that I won’t be there when you need me. I could’ve given you a better time than some stupid, sleazy bar.”
“I know, I know,” you sigh. “You’re right and I’m wrong yet again, Dirk. I am forever in your glorious debt of rightness. Your rightliness.”
“You’re damn right I’m right,” Dirk says. “And don’t you forget it.”
By the time you get home you’re all nauseated again and, when Dirk helps you out of the car, you stumble on your feet. The alcohol that had been pooling in your belly while you had been sitting down spreads throughout your body and you want to puke, but you fight against it. Dirk ends up carrying you up to the house, not too keen on listening to you moaning and whining on the two minute uphill walk up your driveway. When you protest, he claims that he should’ve actually driven up the driveway. You’re secretly relieved that he’s such a gentleman.
At the doorstep, he sets you back down on your feet and puts an arm around your shoulders (he’s damn tall and you’re short, so putting his arm around your waist is out of the question) before reaching out to ring the doorbell. The door bursts open in record time and Dad Crocker stands there. One look from him and you know you’re in for a verbal whipping.
“Excuse me sir, is this yours?” Dirk asks as Mister Crocker reaches out and takes you by the arm. He’s firm but gentle at the same time, somehow.
“Yes, I’m afraid,” he sighs. “Thank you, Mister Strider. Please come in, I will make some hot tea. I have some cake too, if you’d like.”
“Sure,” Dirk says, and you bite back a groan. You’re going to get the indirect lecture now, and Dirk is going to be there for the whole thing.
But surprisingly, your father doesn’t say a thing, just silently ushers you to the staircase and wordlessly jerks his head towards your bedroom. You nod and go upstairs to dry off and put on some warm, fresh clothes. When you’re finished with that, you find your father and Dirk in the kitchen, sitting across from you at the kitchen table. Dirk’s shades are back on his face, giving him that cool, familiar look about him. It puts you at ease. Quietly, you go to the table and sit down adjacent to Dirk. You offer to pour him tea but he just laughs and does it himself, giving you a dismissive wave of his hand as he does so.
“Thank you for bringing my daughter home, Mister Strider,” Dad says. “I’m very relieved to have her home, especially on such a stormy night.”
“Yeah, it’s no problem, Mister C,” Dirk says, tipping back in his chair and putting his hands behind his head. “She was fine when I found her. Off being a proper lady and all that.”
You’re eternally grateful for Dirk’s lie, and a gentle bump against his jeans with your bare foot under the table promises him that you owe him one. He responds with a twitch of his lips.
“Really?” Dad asks, nodding. “In that case, I’m relieved. Very, very relieved indeed. Yes. What brought this on, anyway?”
“It’s silly,” you say just as Dirk says “Jake rejected her.”
You kick him fiercely under the table with a bang, and the rattling teacups have your father squinting.
“Jake? Mister English broke my little girl’s heart?”
“Dad!” you groan. Dad pounds the table with his fist with sudden fury that has tea sloshing onto the mahogany.
“The heathen! The bastard, excuse my French!” he cries. “He will rue this day!”
“Dad, no, stop, there is no need for anybody to rue the day,” you sigh as Dirk snickers beside you. “Like I said, it’s silly. It was a silly reason to go out and get drunk.”
“You’re darn right it is, but that doesn’t stop me from being angry at him. You are a fine young lady and beautiful and-” Dad cuts himself off because he’s getting choked up. Embarrassed, you hide your face and shake your head. “I just hate seeing my precious baby girl upset!”
He sniffles and snuffles before excusing himself to blow his nose. You glower at Dirk and he just grins right back at you.
“It’s fine,” you assure when Dad returns. “I’m just going to return to my studies and move on. I mean, it’s the only logical thing to do!”
“I’m so proud of you,” Dad practically whimpers, wiping the tears from his eyes. “So, so proud! I am undeserving of having such a perfect daughter-”
“Daaad.”
“Alright, alright. But I mean it! You are a wonderful young lady,” Dad says. You sigh.
“Okay, Dad, c’mon. Go to bed, it’s late,” you say, going to your father and leaning down to peck the bald patch on his receding hairline. “Me and Dirk will clean up.”
Dad nods and finally leaves to retire to his bedroom, leaving you and Dirk alone in the kitchen.
“Goodness. He can be so silly sometimes! I’m sorry for that,” you say. Dirk just shrugs at you and stands, smoothing down his white turtleneck sweater and picking up the teapot. He brings the dishes to the sink and starts cleaning while you dry them and place them carefully in the cupboard. Dirk wipes down the table, and in about five minutes, the kitchen is cleaned and sparkling. While you dry your hands on a dishtowel, you smile at Dirk. “And… thank you for tonight. For everything, including picking up me and Roxy! And being there for me. And pretty much everything. Thank you for being you, Mister Strider.”
“Anytime, Miss Crocker,” Dirk says, his voice low to avoid disturbing the now-snoring Mister Crocker in the next room. You smile brightly. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Yes, of course,” you say, hanging up the dishtowel on the handle of the stove and turning back to Dirk with your hands on your hips. “What, you think I can’t handle a little rejection? Tsk, tsk.”
“You couldn’t handle it earlier, which is why I’m concerned. Also, you’re going to have a wicked hangover in the morning. But you sobered up quickly, so maybe you’ll be fine. Just drink a ton of water, a’ight? And sleep on your side tonight.”
“Why on earth should I?”
“So you don’t puke and drown in your own vomit,” Dirk replies. You laugh and come forward to smack his chest, which brings a smile to his thin lips.
“That’s quite enough, Dirk!” you say. “Thinking about it makes me sick.”
“Ha. It’s your own fault. I have no sympathy.”
You reach out to smack his chest again and he snatches up your hand easily in his large one and squeezes, making your knuckles pop in protest. You squeal and he shushes you, making you giggle. He holds your hand for a prolonged moment. He’s warm despite his cool personality. You smile at him, tilting your head questioningly.
“I really am sorry things… didn’t work,” Dirk says quietly, holding your hand a bit tighter for a moment. Your smile fades slowly and you look at the tile floor.
“Yeah, well. You can’t always get what you want, I suppose! I just hope that after this we will continue to remain friends. I mean, he is my best friend, after all. He may be a complete and utter… well, wanker, sometimes, but he’s still my friend,” you say strongly. “Truly, Dirk, there is no need to fret. I’m okay! Just dandy, hoo hoo!”
“If you insist,” Dirk says, running his thumb over the top of your hand and sending warm tingles up your arm. Maybe you’re just cold? No, that’s not it. Striders are natural furnaces. It must be a Texan thing. He pulls you in for a hug, enveloping you in that perfect warmth, and you embrace him back, your arms sneaking under his and your hands splaying across his shoulder blades. You rest your chin on his shoulder and shut your eyes. You feel warm and bubbly and happy all over, even though you’re standing on tiptoes and it’s hard to keep balance. Dirk wouldn’t let you fall.
Too soon, he pulls away, then strokes a lock of hair behind your ears.
“Jake doesn’t know what he’s missing,” he says. “And by the time he realizes that, some lucky man is going to swoop down and sweep you off your feet. But knowing you, Jane, you’ll be the one doing the wooing, you charming young woman you.”
You blush and giggle like a fool, shaking your head.
“Oh, enough of the flattery, Dirk. Don’t you have a needy cat to return home to?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. Dirk rolls his eyes.
“Dave Jr. will live. He’s a needy little bitch but if I know anything about human Dave, he’ll be just fine by himself for a day or two,” Dirk says. “And before you ask, yes, Dave’s doing fine. Still off fucking around in L.A.”
“Annnnd?” you trail off suggestively.
“And what?”
“The question! When is he going to pop the question?” you ask excitedly, bouncing on the balls of your feet. Dirk groans.
“You nosy vixen. Don’t remind me of that. The fact that my older brother is potentially rolling between the sheets with Roxy’s mother is not my idea of romance in any way, shape or form.”
“But it is!” you whine. “You and Roxy would be step-siblings, it’d be just peachy!”
“Gross.”
You pout and Dirk just sighs at you.
“I don’t know when he’s going to pop the question. As far as I know, he’s nervous as hell and Rose of course already knows. She scares me. I have no idea how Roxy is her daughter. Rose is just passive aggressively dropping hints to him last I heard, and half of the reason he’s not coming up from L.A. to propose is because he’s formulating this totally complex and ironic way to ask her to marry him. It’s kind of fucked up. Both of them are fucked up.”
“Golly, that does sound like a pickle. Please fill me in when something happens! Won’t you, Dirk?”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Dirk assures you, patting your shoulder. “Relax, Crocker, don’t get your knickers in a bunch.”
“My knickers are quite straight and un-bunched, thank you very much.”
There’s a small silence before Dirk brings you into another hug and kisses the top of your head.
“Sleep well,” he says softly. “And feel free to call me whenever you need me.”
You snuggle him back and nod.
“Alright. You get some sleep, too. I know you haven’t been getting enough of it.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
With that, Dirk takes his leave, and you stand in the doorway to the house, waving as he drives away. Once he’s gone, you close the door softly behind you and stand there for a moment. You bring your hand to your face and just press it against your cheek, hoping that some of Dirk’s warmth will still be there. It’s not.
In search of something to get you out of the cold, you trudge slowly upstairs, go to your bedroom, and flop down onto your bed. Pulling up your quilt around you, you allow yourself exactly five minutes of tears before sniffing firmly and demanding your body to stop. Surprisingly, it listens to you, and you slip into a dreamless sleep.