Author:  Amazon X

E-Mail:  yankeestarbuck@yahoo.com

Website:  http://yankeestarbuck.tripod.com

Category:  Gen/Het

Rating: PG-13

Summary:  We need to know the other side of the coin.

Archive:  Anywhere, let me know where my babies live.

Disclaimers:  He gave up when he decided to cancel them on a cliffhanger, the wretched fool.

Notes:  This was written in response to Byers' POV in Jackie's fic entitled "Moving On".  We forget, Jimmy is from New York, or at least, I'd like to believe he's from there.  And he must have special feelings about this.  As I do, being here in the middle of it all.  This is for everyone in DC near the Pentagon, and for my fellow New Yorkers.

*******

I walked to my room. Football up, football in hands, football up, football in hands. Behind my closed door, I chuck it under the bed.  Byers is in his room. I think he's crying. Don't blame him. But I don't get it. Yeah, they're upset and all, but it's like, do they forget I'm from there? Did they forget that I been in those towers a hundred times, carting around family and friends and friends' family, playing tour guide?

Whatever. OK, I'm not old enough to know about JFK and all that. Frohike looks at me like I can't even form a whole sentence. They just make me nervous, OK, cuz they ARE so damn smart.  But I went to college. I DID have a real major and all.  Education, yeah, ok, I wanted to be a coach. And my frat brothers, Phi Delta Lams, yeah, those were the days.  Well, three went into finance from my class in the house. I wonder who was down there.

The phone rings. It's my private cell. I answer.  It's Taylor, the president of my frat for three of my four years at C.W. Post.  He tells me Bob Lamb is MIA.  He was in the south tower, 101st floor.  He sent an email at 9:03 AM saying the building across the way was hit, and he was checking the floor to evacuate.  No word since then, all day.  I lookout the window; I can see the sun dipping.  The clock reads 5:02 PM.  Was it that late?  How long was I sitting in his room before the phone rang?  I know what I have to do.  I don't care if the city is shut down.  I have to try.

I jumped up and grabbed my Ravens bag.  I started throwing things into it for the trip: clothes, a book, cell phone charger, CDs, whatever I see I think I may need.  I check my wallet; OK, Visa check card and my Dad's emergency AmEx.  Thank God we have the same name.  OK, I'm off.

I tear out of my room, almost knocking Byers over.  He's out of his room, red-eyed.  He looks at me.

"Sorry, Byers. I gotta fly, OK?  I'll call when I figure out what I'm doing."

Byers looks at me, but I don't wait for a reaction.  I'm down the stairs. I breeze past Langly and shout over my shoulder, "Later, dude!"

He looks up from his computer and shouts, "Hey, jockstrap, where are you going?"

I stop in my tracks. Why does he have to take the damn cheap shots today, of all days? I don't care if it makes him feel better, it makes me feel like crap. "Stow it, hippie. I'm in a hurry."

I shouldn't have stopped to speak to him.  It gives Byers and Frohike time to catch up to me.  I can feel Byers grab my arm.  I turn to him halfway, my bag still thrown carelessly over my shoulder.  I look down at them…I'm the tallest one here. Byers is concerned, Frohike is confused.

"Where are you going, Jimmy?" Byers asks me.

"Home, I gotta go home."

"I thought this was your home, Jimmy," Frohike says quietly.

"Yeah, well, as welcome as you people make me feel, sometimes I wonder.  Look, I gotta go."

"Where are you going?"  Byers' hand is still there.  Can't I just split?

"I have to go to New York. One of my frat brothers is missing."

Time seemed to stop.  They all looked at me.  Then it hit them.  That's right, know-it-alls.  You can walk around here like you're all the shit, but don't forget, I may be from Long Island, but it's still my town, too.  Byers drops his gaze, Frohike looks away.  Langly has turned back to his monitor.

Byers will just not let the hell go of my arm.  "Jimmy, can we do anything, go with you?"

"No, I have to be alone for this.  You guys, you think all this revolves around the government or this terrorist guy.  It's about people, those people in that building.  And hey, it's real for me.  I was there, in those buildings.  A lot.  And that's one of my buds.  Yeah, Virginia, Nebraska, Michigan, you have no idea how I feel.  So just back off for a while.  I'll call when I get a chance, if I decide to come back."

Byers is still clutching me like a mother. His hand is squeezing my biceps.  It's rhythmic, soothing, calming…eyes are burning.  What's dripping on my shirt?  Damn, I didn't want to cry.  I didn't want him to pull me into his arms.  I didn't want Frohike rubbing my back like that.  I didn't want Langly walking over to put his hands on my shoulders.  What the hell is going on? They don't do this! Has the whole fucking world gone crazy?

We turn back to the television.  The city is sealed, I couldn't get in if I tried.  I'll go tomorrow.  Byers pulls me to sit on the couch with him to watch.  My bag hits the floor with a thud.  I hate this whorehouse couch.  They all pile around me as we watch the tapes of all the collapses over and over.  The buzzer rings, I think.  Yves is here.  I can smell her.  She wedges in on the couch, her head on my shoulder.  Byers is holding my hand.  Frohike stands behind me on the couch, stroking my hair with a bare hand.  Langly hands me a beer.

The whole fucking world has gone crazy.

Then End