Title: That Creepy Uppy Kinda Love (Stole from Tim Minchen)
Summary: Dan finds his feelings for Jones changing slowly.
A/N: This is my first fic and I'm so nervous about posting it. I guess this should be dedicated to Beansidhe Baby, because reading her stories about Dan and Jones and inspired me to write this. Hope you like it.
Dan was miserable but wasn't he always? Claire hadn't noticed he was anymore or less miserable than normal but Jones had. He'd spotted something that no-one else would, or even could. He noted the subtle changes; the very subtle changes that had led Dan away from being just another miserable old git and quickly into the morbid, forlorn man that people unconsciously put on suicide watch.
Jones had often tried to cheer Dan up but he wasn't very good with things that weren't music. He lacked the proper conversational tools needed to construct the adequate conversation in this precarious situation. Jones was about as subtle as his music and his way of dealing with the delicacy of the situation so far had been to bound up to Dan and state, quite brashly; "Don't throw yourself off a building Dan"
Amazingly Dan had responded to this, though usually he ignored Jones, apart from the polite 'hello' or odd curt nod of acknowledgement and said; "Why?"
And, although Jones had eventually come up with; "People would miss you.", they both knew he'd taken too long to answer.
It had been a few days after Jones initial attempt to cheer Dan up that a second, more brilliant, plan had come to him; ice-skating. Nobody hated ice-skating. It was fun and not too childish. It was perfect. Jones beamed up at Dan when he'd suggested it mid-song. He hadn't known how to go about bringing it up so he'd just disguised the question as a song. He'd first done this sometime ago when he'd suspected Claire of eating the last of his ice cream, though on that occasion - unlike this one - the question had been lost in the power of the tune.
This time, Dan stared at Jones like he'd lost his mind.
"Ice-skating?" he repeated back to him.
The DJ nodded.
And Jones looked immediately upset and turned back to the comfort of his music. Dan felt bad, a bit, not enough to make him apologize. Not until a lot later when Claire was at Nathan's.
"Jones." he'd said quietly when the DJ was taking a break from music to make himself a cup of coffee.
"Yeah?" he'd asked brightly, seemingly having completely forgotten about his previous knock-back.
"Ummm, I'mReallySorryAboutEarlierIKnowYouWereOnlyTryingToBeNice." he'd mumbled. It was the most pathetic apology ever. He'd not even managed to separate the words. It was a jumbled apology snake and any normal person would have shoved it, hissing and slithering, right back in Dan's face but Jones wasn't a normal person and he had just smirked lightly and said; "S'ok. I forgot all about it."
A low indistinguishable grunt was all Dan had been able to muster in response but it was all Jones had needed to pluck up the courage to say; "So, ice skating, wanna go?"
And, on a crazy, crazy whim, Dan had replied "Okay."
Jones' eyes had grown wide with surprise and he'd blinked several times before grinning broadly and saying; "Really? Great. I'll just go and get a coat."
Dan regretted it as soon as he'd said it. He didn't even know why he'd agreed. Ice skating for god's sake. Cold, hard, wet, miserable ice skating. But somehow, the sight of Jones leaping around excitedly looking for a coat and some money made Dan feel a little less lousy about life.
"Ready?" the DJ beamed. Dan nodded silently and Jones grinned again and led the way out the front door.
"Where are you two going?" Claire asked as Jones bowled her over at the door. Neither man bothered to answer and Claire had to make do with an embarrassed nod of the head from her brother as he virtually chased the excitable DJ down the street.
"You're going to love this." Jones said over and over again when they stood in the queue. In Dan's opinion, there were three types of people who went ice-skating; idiots, because going ice-skating is 'ironic, well ironic. And irony's cool.'; families, because they actually thought of the prospect of frozen ice, crying children and cold hands was a brilliant day out for the kids; and then, there was Jones. Jones didn't seem to fit into either of the above. He didn't think ice-skating was ironic and he certainly wasn't doing it for the kids; he just genuinely seemed to be enjoying himself.
Despite everything, Jones' enthusiasm was utterly infectious and Dan almost broke into a smile when Jones stepped on to the ice and fell straight on his arse, moaning loudly about the state of his now soaked jeans.
"Don't smirk." frowned Jones.
"You fucking are."
Dan just shook his head and took a tentative step onto the rink. He slid perilously and grabbed the barrier with both hands, a look of pure terror on his world-weary face. Jones' childish laughter from behind him only served to make him more angry. He glared at the DJ, a look so ferocious that Jones' squeaked - actually squeaked, like a damned mouse or something - and slipped straight over again, sprawled out like a defeated dying fly letting out a long drawn out groan of 'owwwwwwwwwwwwwww'.
Incredibly, it took Jones' over twenty minutes to get bored of sitting on his arse whilst the cocky kids in pristine white skates shot past him, prancing and pirouetting around like pros.
"Help me." he whined at Dan as he, slowly and steadily, pulled his way around on the railing with the Mum's and Granny's.
"You wouldn't need help if you didn't insist on attempting to race round like a speed skater."
"But it's fun."
"You're going to be bruised tomorrow."
Jones shrugged; "You gonna help me or not?"
"Because I'm not holding your hand. It'll look gay."
"Ooo Dan." Jones' giggled camping it up massively for the benefit of the surrounding skaters. Dan just gritted his teeth and pulled himself moodily away..
By the time he'd completed his next lap, Jones was clinging to the side frowning like a stroppy teenager, which in a way he was. Dan had never questioned the age of his flatmate but the DJ certainly didn't look more than about nineteen.
"This is shit." he moaned when Dan got close enough to hear him.
"My arse is freezing and my knee's are bruised. Can we leave?"
"Yep." Dan repeated in the same monotone way, not wanting to show how grateful he was.
As he dragged himself to the exit, he was alarmed to feel a pair of small hands grab his sides in an attempt to be towed to the side and was even more alarmed to find that he wasn't that bothered. He still batted the DJ away though, it wouldn't do for people to see them acting like that.
They were sat in a café. A nice café, a much nicer café than Dan would have gone to but Jones had insisted and had persuaded Dan with the immortal words; "I'll pay."
"This is disgusting." spluttered Jones, placing the overpriced mug of coffee back on the table. "What's in it?"
"It's proper coffee."
"It's disgusting coffee." Jones' face screwed up , like a child being forced medicine, and he look so comical that Dan almost laughed, almost.
"You don't have to drink it." he pointed out, when Jones forced the liquid down his throat for a second time.
"Paid for it now." was the gagging response.
"You're an idiot."
It had been said offhandedly. He hadn't even meant he was idiot, he wasn't. Yes, he dressed like an idiot and he talked like an idiot and he even lived like an idiot but he was… different. Dan actually quite liked him and he had a incomprehensible amount of tolerance for the DJ. But now the younger man looked thoroughly dejected and hurt.
"I didn't…" Dan started weekly, Jones cut him off with an angry sniff and a mumbled; "S'ok."
It was always 'ok' where Jones was concerned. He let everything Dan did go. Always had, always would. Dan knew he'd taken advantage of Jones' generous disposition for years but that didn't mean he didn't care a bit. He did. He cared a lot. Just no-one knew it, not even Dan.