misskass: (dw -- he's single and he works out)
[personal profile] misskass


I don't even care that it's not Wednesday yet for you. At least I don't think it is.

"Let go, just let go." The words were a never ending mantra in Jake's mind, an attempt to quell his racing thoughts. Ciarra was gone, that was for sure, and once more Jake had to wait for her return, hoping this wasn't the one she left him for. Of course there had been others before this new 'fling' of hers (because Jake refused to acknowledge the thought that one of these boys may spell the end to their marriage), and of course she had always come back to him. But until she did, the five words would flit through Jake's mind, that melody both tainting and healing his wounded heart.

- -

White and huge. Two words to describe the perfect wedding of Ciarra Ingles and Jake Gyllenhaal. And oh how it was perfect. A strapless Vera Wang gown on Ciarra, white as the driven snow, pearls cascading down her back. Her father led her down the aisle to meet her husband, his hand clasped tightly in her own blue-gloved ones. The gloves were given to her mother so long ago, passed along to her blushing bride daughter on the day preceding her wedding, fulfilling both the borrowed and the blue of the oldest love tradition.

Most eyes were on the gorgeous bride, but two pairs settled upon said bride's husband-to-be, he too clad all in white. A tailored Calvin Klein suit flattered Jake's form, purple silk handkerchief complimenting Ciarra's own splash of colour perfectly, drawing the excited eyes of Jonathan Fossil and William Moseley. Jonathan grinned at William from where he was situated upon the altar, standing proudly with Jess Taurins and the rest of Ciarra's bridesmaids, awaiting the arrival of Ciarra herself.

Jonathan and William were proud of their colour decision, as well as their decision about the designers for the clothing, their decision for the set up of the room... in fact, the duo were entirely responsible for the look of the wedding, Ciarra entrusting them to create the most stunning wedding the Plaza Hotel had ever seen. The New York hotel was coloured lightly, sunny yellow flowers adorning the already pale walls, contrasting with the dark colours the onlookers had been instructed to wear. Jonathan and William were the best dressed, of course, in their opposing white and black suits, with the rest of the family and friends in the best they could find... even if it wasn't quite up to par with what the Fossil-Moseley's were wearing.

Already some members of the audience had tears in their eyes, simply watching Ciarra walk down the aisle to meet her husband. Once she reached him, she pressed her forehead to his shoulder before grasping his hands, two identical looks of adoration upon the faces of the bride and groom. Jonathan and Jess smiled secret smiles at each other, both of them ecstatic that Jake and Ciarra were finally doing what the two friends had always known they'd do.

It seemed like such a short amount of time, but so soon after it had begun, the wedding had ended. Jake and Ciarra had said their vows to each other, to stay with each other forever, through sickness, health, and fights where they were forced to furiously throw vases at each other. They had to cover all of their bases, of course. Jess had managed to completely ruin her makeup, grinning though her eyes were red and puffy. She always cried too much and too often, but at the wedding of one of her best friends, well, tears had a reason to be shed. Jonathan, on the other hand, had two solitary tears running down his cheeks, from the sheer beauty of Ciarra saying "I do" to the love of her life. Again, Jonathan and Jess looked at each other, both thinking that something this perfect could never end.

- -

The first time, it was a verbal fight, the once completely happy couple throwing words like daggers. It ended with Ciarra storming out of the house, disappearing into the throng of people on the street before Jake could catch up with her. The next day the tabloids were covered in pictures of Ciarra's angry tears on the street, and a furious Jake on the porch of their house. The day after, Jake was worried, because Ciarra didn't come home. The day after that, she was photographed with another man. Some French kid, who could barely have been older than her, was in Hollywood for a film, but was instead filmed all over her, splashed across the front page of all the gossip magazines within hours of his arrival.

When Ciarra came home that night, practically skipping into the house, Jake pulled her into his arms, explaining how sorry he was for what had happened, and hoping that she'd come back to him. He knew it wasn't his fault, but Jonathan and William had trained him well, and what he did know was that apologising for the fight would make Ciarra stay. She sunk into the embrace, promising to never leave him again. And soon, the French kid went back to France, and everybody moved on with their lives.

The second time they fought mainly with words, but Ciarra threatened Jake with the knife she'd been using only moments ago to score a mango. She was shaking mango juice all over the kitchen, but that was the least of her problems. Their argument was ferocious, cutting words and a sharp blade all adding up to make Jake storm out of the house, Ciarra standing resolutely in the kitchen and refusing to follow him.

Jake didn't return home for days, the new gossip magazine photographs of their fight and the draining thought that his wife might again be seeking solace in another man... they were breaking his resolve. When he was able to get out of his hotel without the paparazzi following him like a pack of pathetic seagulls, Jake returned to the house, Ciarra having not communicated a thing with him since he'd left.

But perhaps that moment wasn't the best one to return home at. Ciarra was chopping fruit again, though this time it wasn't her husband in the kitchen behind her, but some skinny... thing with his arms around her shoulders. Jake vaguely recognised him from the television, he was in some rock band somewhere, where they either had no hair or an electric-shock mop, dropping the apology present he'd purchased on the way over and causing a clatter that forced Ciarra to turn around. For a moment Jake and Ciarra glared at each other, the other half-naked resident in their house looking confused when he glanced at Ciarra, and rather frightened when he dared to glance at the furious Jake.

When Ciarra pushed past the musician, though, launching herself into her husband's arms, Jake's anger melted away. All that was left in his heart was a mixture of confusion, and residues of the same feelings he'd experienced on their wedding day all that time ago. "Never again," he whispered into her hair, and she nodded her head against his shoulder, neither of them noticing when the other man left.

The third fight, though, that was a vase fight. And marked the start of Ciarra's longest time away from Jake. Jake realised that once he'd thrown the vase he'd gone too far, but Ciarra was already pelting him with the ceramic shards, walking out on him in only the clothes on her back, a murderous scowl on her face. Only one photographer dared to capture the expression on film, and it was mere moments later when his camera clattered to the ground, crushed under a four-inch Manolo Blahnik heel.

That night Ciarra ended up in a bar in a tiny town she'd hired a taxi to take her to, where hopefully nobody would know her name and she could drink away her sorrows in peace.

And I came here to make you dance tonight,
I don't care about my guilty pleasure for you.

Ciarra groaned as the song started, reminded forcibly of the day Jonathan ecstatically posted it on their LiveJournal pages, Jess quipping that if the world really was to come to an end, the three of them would be the one throwing the party. She sipped the alcoholic concoction in front of her, not particularly interested in the ingredients of the mix, because if she were in any other state of mind she definitely wouldn't have accepted this battery acid mess. She felt like her world was ending, and she was certainly not going to host that party.

"But I hope it's a good one." Ciarra jumped a little in her seat, looking around for the source of the voice. A light-haired man smiled charmingly at her from the next barstool, wearing a suit that instantly reminded Ciarra of her wedding day. She choked back a sob, composing herself before finding words.


He laughed. "I don't even know what kind of boy you're taking me for...?" When Ciarra just stared at him blankly, he was forced to elaborate. "The song. I was answering the song."

Ciarra was still a little out of it from the shock (and the horrendous amounts of alcohol she'd consumed), but it only took her a moment to realise which song he was talking about. "Oh."

He swivelled his chair around to face her, picking her hand up off the table so he could press a kiss to it. "Neil. And you?"

"Uh... Ciarra." Apparently this town was small enough that they'd never heard of the famous Gyllenhaals. And still kissed people on the hand to greet them. What was this, the nineteenth century?

Neil smirked at her, tugging gently on her hand, sans wedding ring for one of the first times since her wedding night. "Well, we'd better listen to the song. 'Cause if you don't know the kind of boy I am, I guess I'd better teach you... I came here to make you dance tonight, in case you didn't notice."

Ciarra chuckled, pushing the drink away from the edge of the bar, deciding to follow Neil to the floor. After all, he was charming, and attractive, and just that little bit womanizing. And when a little part of her brain said she was just trying to find another Jake, she pushed that thought away and kissed her mystery Neil, his blond eyebrows raised in confusion at how forward she suddenly was.

Pulling back, Ciarra felt instantly guilty, but didn't let it show on her face. Neil, however, was showing rather a lot of emotions contradictory to his womanizing façade. "Uh, sorry," Ciarra muttered, trying to pull away from Neil's grip on her hand, but he wouldn't let go.

It took a moment, but Neil's response did come. "Nothing to be sorry for, Ci." And while Ciarra was sure he'd said something after that, her stomach was too busy turning as her name fell from his lips the same way it fell from Jake's not so long ago.

- -

Her phone was ringing. Her head was ringing. Ciarra was warm and comfortable and just wanted to stay where she was, totally ignorant of all of these loud noises. But when the pile of bedclothes to her right nudged her in the shoulder, she was startled almost completely out of her warmth and comfort.

She poked the pile of sheets, but all she got was a mumbled and slurred "ygongetha'?", so she rolled over and looked at her phone.


The sheets moved to reveal the mystery Neil she'd met at the bar the previous night, and he was suspiciously sans clothes. "Why not?"

"Don't wanna." Ciarra was that little bit impetuous and stubborn as well as hungover, and talking to the husband she was ignoring was not on the top of her list of things to do. "You seem to not have pants."

Neil smirked. "We didn't do anything. Though you were pushy, to say the least."

Groaning, Ciarra rolled onto her back again, shutting her eyes to the world that was obviously conspiring against her. Neil stretched and got out of bed, shuffling in the direction of... some other room. Ciarra opened her eyes and inspected the room carefully, finding that she was indeed in some foreign house as well as with some foreign man.

A blond head poked into the room. "Breakfast?"

"Never," Ciarra replied, throwing her arm over her eyes.

- -

Five days later and they were still going through the same routine. Neil would take her home from the bar she was 'forgetting' at, Ciarra would wake up in his rather comfortable bed and suspect the worst of her new roommate. She may have been pissed at Jake, but still she couldn't do that.

"Lunch. Now." Ciarra raised her head from the bed to see that Neil was dressed (in a suit, of course), and was holding a dress.

"But 'm hungover."

Neil scoffed. "Hardly. You didn't drink anything boozey, I made sure of that."

Since she couldn't remember anything, Ciarra was suspicious of him, but rolled her way out of the bed anyway, searching around for her clothes. "They're being washed," Neil explained, shaking the dress at her.

"Then what do I wear?"

"Use your eyes, Ci." Neil had an unimpressed look on his face, one of the few she'd seen him wear over the week she'd known him.

"That?" She was pointing at the dress he was holding up. "How'd you know my size?"

Neil just threw the dress at her. "Guessed," he muttered as he wandered out of the room.

Twenty minutes later Ciarra was up, but she wasn't pleased about it. The dress fitted her almost perfectly, confusing her already rather addled brain, so instead of thinking about things she went to brush her teeth. On the first night in Neil's house she'd discovered that he had a lot of spare things, spare shampoo, spare hair brushes, even a spare toothbrush, leading her to believe that he brought girls back here often. Or he liked his bathroom items to be ridiculously fresh every time he used them.

Another twenty minutes and Ciarra decide she couldn't hide in his bathroom all day, and she resigned herself to the fact that she would finally have to go somewhere with Neil in the daylight hours. A pair of heels had appeared on that invitingly comfortable bed, but instead of putting them on she just flopped down onto the covers again. Mere moments later, though, Neil came into the room, pulled her up, and pointed at the heels. "I'm not taking no for an answer, Ci."

So, grumbling and complaining, she put the heels on and left the house. With Neil. Automatically shielding her eyes from the usual onslaught of camera bulb flashes, Ciarra was surprised to find that there were no paparazzi outside the house, until she realised that none of them knew where she was. She straightened her hair with her raised hand, blushing a little and hoping that Neil didn't notice anything. The last thing she needed was for him to think that she was anything more than a girl who hung around in a bar every night of her week.

As they walked to the restaurant, Ciarra realised how small this town really was. Coming from a place where you couldn't walk somewhere, even if you wanted to, the novelty of being able to walk to just about every establishment in town was... interesting to say the least. But foreign to her, definitely, and she was starting to get a little homesick. It only took fifteen minutes, and even when she stumbled across the uneven street corner, Neil was there to catch her, keeping pace with someone who hadn't properly walked somewhere since she'd run to a milk bar when she was six. Ciarra blushed, but accepted his arm, clutching maybe a little too tightly to it as they went into the restaurant.

"You go sit," Neil said kindly, "and I'll pay. I'm pretty sure you can't fit any money into that dress, anyway." With a jokingly sleazy wink, he left Ciarra standing alone, looking around in an attempt to find a free table that wasn't covered in garbage. When she finally found one, picking the empty box off the plastic table delicately and dumping it on a nearby bin, she slid into the chair, rather confused as to why anybody would want to eat in a place that was so... dirty.

Ciarra was picking through a menu when she felt a presence in the seat across from her, and she lowered the laminated paper to be confronted by her husband. It took her brain a moment to catch up, but once it did she was able to register the look of anger and hidden sadness on his face.

"Ciarra," Jake began, taking a deep breath and looking down at the table.

"Mmm?" Ciarra only had the thought capacity to make sounds at that time, the rest of her brain was trying to figure out how Jake had found her, and what Neil was going to do when he found her at the table with another man. But (and then more of her brain became occupied) why did she care what a guy she'd known for such a short amount of time thought about her sitting with her husband? Why did she want to hide him from Jake so nothing bad could ever happen to him?

Jake reached out to lower the menu, which Ciarra had raised so she wouldn't have to look into his eyes. "We have to talk."

Shaking the menu from his hands, Ciarra placed it on the table neatly and raised an eyebrow at him. "We have to talk? Now?"

"Yes, now." Jake spoke harshly in contrast to his body language, which was quite obviously worried, panicked, and still with that essence of sadness from when he'd first sat down.

Ciarra's retort fell dead on her lips and she stayed silent, waiting for her husband to say something else. A little part of her was still thinking about Neil, though, so she didn't quite realise when Jake had started talking again.

"... I don't care that Jess comes home to David with black and blonde hairs on her clothes and 'Ich liebe Dich' on her lips," Jake stated scathingly, scoffing. "And it's certainly none of my business when William is out of town, yet Jonathan still sits tenderly most days, his clothes slightly out of place when we go out to dinner.

"But this, Ci, this is my business. This is my life we're talking about. You are my life." Jake cleared his throat, unfaltering through his speech even as his voice cracked. Ciarra blinked back at him in shock, unable to formulate a response. What was she to say? Of course she knew Jess was sleeping with Bill, the flamboyant German lead singer was unexpectedly talented given his lack of experience with girls. And yes, maybe Jonathan needed comfort when William was away, but who wouldn’t? A million boys would die for the chance to meet Jonathan Fossil, so what if he gave one in a million something they'd always dreamed?

She opened her mouth to say something, maybe to defend her friends, maybe to defend herself, maybe to yell, but she was silenced before she could even begin to speak. Neil had returned from chatting to the restaurant owner, and was now looking confusedly between Ciarra and Jake.

"You know him?" It was like he was trying to defend her, and for that Ciarra almost laughed. But, seeing how serious he was, and how irritated Jake had suddenly become, she held her laughter in.

"Yeah." A pause. "He's my husband." Now Ciarra laughed, the sound dry and without feeling, leaning back in her seat. Jake looked hurt, and Neil looked more confused than ever, but with a shred of understanding dawning on him.

Neil pulled a chair over from another table and sat, placing his palms up on the table. "Take them."

"What?" An identical question came from both Ciarra and Jake, and they looked at each other, one's face blank, the other's devoid of the anger from before, now just hurt. And for a moment, Ciarra thought that maybe it wasn't the best idea to run away and befriend a stranger and not tell him that she was married to the best actor in the business.

"The hands. Take the hands." To emphasise, Neil raised his hands a few centimetres off the table, looking pointedly at the one closest to Ciarra. When she took it (gently, carefully, so she didn't show her husband how close she felt to the stranger), Neil looked to Jake, whose facial expression was now blank. Devoid of anger, sadness, panic - just blank. But, after a persistent stare from Neil, and just before Ciarra kicked him under the table, Jake took Neil's hand.

"Now," Neil started, like some kind of faux celebrant. His attitude and actions forcibly reminded Ciarra of her wedding, where a man had taken their hands and put them together and said that they were married. In many more words, and with many more tears, of course, but the end outcome had been the same as if they'd eloped and been joined in wedlock by Elvis. "You're married."

Jake quirked an irritated eyebrow at him. "Yes. We are. We didn't need some fling of Ciarra's to tell us that."

Ciarra's jaw dropped open, but the thoughts racing through her mind ('he's not some fling, Jake', 'he's been a better friend than you've been over the past week') never had a chance to come out, as Neil spoke first, laughing a little. "I'm no fling, Jake Gyllenhaal." He used the same intonation as Jake had, but that wasn't what clicked in Ciarra's mind.

"You know him?!"

"I know him. And you, Ci... arra Gyllenhaal."

Ciarra looked blankly at him.

"You thought I wouldn't recognise that face?" Neil smiled, almost kindly. "No town is that small."

"But you didn't say anything. You let me stay in your house, and sleep in your bed, and, and..." Jake looked aghast that Ciarra had slept in another man's bed, but Neil ignored him, focusing on Ciarra.

"And I didn't do anything." So much for womanizer. Neil was somewhat ruining his image with this, but it was clear it didn't mean as much as the other things he had to say. "I kept you safe. Fed you. Clothed you. Didn't take advantage of the near-naked millionaire hanging out in my bed every night.

"So when he finally arrived," Neil gestured to Jake, "you could go home with him."

For once, Ciarra couldn't find words. She looked from her hand, still clasped in Neil's, to Jake's hand, gripped in the same position just a little further across the table. She looked to Neil's face, grinning with just that little hint of sadness she found in all of her men, to Jake's face, framed in blatant confusion with the same slight understanding she'd seen in Neil not so long ago. And she couldn't think of one thing to say to either of them.

But Jake could. "Thank you."

"You... what now?" Ciarra's mind wasn't in the right place to accept anything that wasn't a fight.

"He's no fling," Jake said, extracting his hand from Neil's so he could take Ciarra's free one. "He's awesome."

Neil grinned, taking his hand from Ciarra's so only she and Jake were touching. "I'm just happy you didn't hit me," he muttered quietly beneath the smile.

- -

A whole year later, and there had been no fights in the Gyllenhaal household. Ciarra, Jess and Jonathan sat at the Gyllenhaal family dining table, which was remarkably big for a two-person household, still talking about the 'incident' from the year before.

"I sill don't get how he knew," Jess mused, speaking of course about her own 'incident' with Bill. "I mean, most of the time we were in Germany, and we were never photographed together... maybe the fans on the internet got fancy with the Photoshop."

"Jake?" Jonathan laughed. "Well, he works in mysterious ways. He's been taught well to observe." Jonathan been outed (well, in a way) by Jake as well, and it had taken quite a lot of working to make William take him back, completely opposite to Jake's quick acceptance of Ciarra and David's total amusement at Jess' infidelity (David Tennant was a strange man, to be sure). But since Jonathan was the one in the wrong, of course, he could understand what William wanted from him. And since he'd taught Jake all of his mysterious watching powers, he could understand exactly how Jake had known about everything. About all of them.

Ciarra winked at her friends. "Maybe it'll teach you to not be so obvious."

"Obvious?!" Jess choked on the water she was drinking, eyes wide. "You can't be serious. We were too obvious?"

Jonathan smacked her on the back until she stopped coughing, and then patted her shoulder. "You're a slow girl, Jess."

To that, Ciarra cracked a smile.

PS: MAY NOT BE CRACKFECTA CANON. Jon is not a whore laaaaaaawl but I would totally sleep with Bill kthnx.
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