Well, my editor wanted me to write this, so here it is.

Disclaimer: I don't own The Great Gatsby

If you don't like the yaois, don't read.

And away we go!

Empty

"Y-you're lying," Nick stuttered, his fists clenched as he stared at man across the room.

Gatsby sat by the window, a glass of whiskey in one hand, a file folder in the other.

"Afraid not, old sport," He replied, setting the folder in his lap and flipping it open. "I honestly don't want you at my party tomorrow. I'd rather you weren't on our Egg at all. Perhaps you can go see Daisy."

"B-but-"

"Please, Nick. My butler will see you out."

Nick froze at this, taking far too long to get up and follow the butler when he arrived. Honestly, Nick didn't understand. It was simple as that. He and Gatsby had been getting on great and while the parties weren't all that big of a deal to him, the fact that Gatsby had gone as far as to uninvite him...

He had just been uninvited to a party that required no invitation.

~X~

Nick did as he was told and spent the night at Tom and Daisy's, playing card games and drinking in an attempt to forget Gatsby's words. It wasn't until noon the next day that the news reached their Egg.

A sort of mass murder had occurred at Gatsby's the night before, leaving every attendee dead. What hurt Nick the most though wasn't the murders. It was the fact that Gatsby was missing.

Daisy looked at him a look so sad, that for a moment Nick is convinced she's figured it out. But she keeps quiet, watching him as Tom paces and mutters a few feet away.

"What the hell even happened?! Suppose it's what the fool deserves, letting anything that moves into those damn parties." Tom says, crossing his arms. "Whoever did it better leave the Eggs alone. And they had better have taken Gatsby with them."

Nick flinches as this, ignoring Daisy's concerned glance. If Gatsby was missing, there was a chance he was still alive. If the killer had taken him, then...

Nick shivered slightly. That was a scenario he didn't wish to think about.

"I...I think I'll return home now." Nick said, standing up. Daisy gasped softly, tilting her head back to see him better.

"Nick, darling, I don't think that's a good idea. There was just a massive homicide, would the police even let you near?" She asked.

"I shall try to get in. I have an alibi and the murders didn't take place in my home. There's no reason for them to not let me in." Nick replied, pushing his chair back towards the table.

"Well...alright. But come back here immediately if they send you away. I don't want you wandering around with things how they are." Daisy ordered, leaning back in her chair. Tom came up to Nick, clasping his hand and nodding his head in agreement. A few more minutes worth of goodbyes and reassurances and Nick is gone.

~X~

Nick returned to his place on the West Egg to find it swarmed with police officers. Gatsby's yard was taped off and people from town were milling about, attempting to catch a glimpse of whatever was taking place inside.

Nick quickly paid the cab driver and got out, striding towards his house with his head down. He was stopped near the bushes that separate his yard from Gatsby's and after speaking with the police officer for a good fifteen minutes, he finally made it inside.

His house was dark and empty, since his Finn had the weekend off. Nick went straight to his room and fell onto his bed, determined to fall asleep and wake up to a world where Gatsby was still next door.

.

.

.

A memorial service was held a week later; Nick attending in Gatsby's stead. The people from town had been coming up to him since he arrived, asking why he had come. His answer was simple.

If Gatsby was still here, he would have come. It was Nick's duty, as Gatsby's friend, to take his place.

The police had only just released information about the incident the day before. Apparently the guests were not killed with weapons, but with poisonous gas. Many of those that had heard the story had come up to Nick, clapping him on the back and saying how lucky he was that he had been at the Buchanan's place. Even the police had told him that if he had been home the gas would have killed him.

There were rumors floating around town, mixing with the rumors already in existence. Most of the West Egg, and probably most of the East, believed that Gatsby had gassed his own guests and then ran for it. Nick didn't want to believe that Gatsby could be a killer...but he also didn't want to believe that Gatsby hated him. Because if the rumors were true, maybe, just maybe, he had sent Nick away so the gas wouldn't kill him.

By the time the service was over, Nick found that he had to believe in the rumors. As terrible as it was, the alternative was far worse.

Nick fell into a sort of slump after the service. Gatsby's house still sat empty and each day it stayed that way, Nick felt his heart die a little more.

He had never told anyone the truth.

He had never told anyone that he was in love with Jay Gatsby.

Nick knew that it wasn't the same gentle curiosity that he had felt with Jordan.

It was real, the kind of love where he was lost without Gatsby. Where the thought of the man never returning was so painful he couldn't stand.

So Nick slowly, silently, fell apart. He went to work when he had to, but he never spoke to anyone. He ate but didn't taste it. He would forget to lock the doors at night, or put gas in his car, or brush his hair, or shave his face.

He barely slept and when he did it wasn't restful. Instead, he'd spend his nights reading, or drinking, or staring out his window in hopes of catching movement next door.

He never saw anything.

Daisy stopped by only once, just to tell him that she and Tom were moving back to Chicago. Normally, Nick would have been confused. He would have at least asked why. But he was too torn up over Gatsby to do anything but nod and say goodbye.

A few days later, the Buchanans were gone and Nick was left alone in the East.

.

.

.

It was on one of those rare nights when Nick could actually sleep that it happened.

Nick was first roused around two in the morning. He sat up for a grand total of ten seconds before dropping back and falling asleep again.

He awoke again an hour later, managing to stay awake long enough to notice that there was someone in his room.

"Who's there?!" He cried, reaching for the pistol he kept hidden under his bed.

"Relax, old sport. It's just me." the shadowy figure said softly, taking a seat near the window. Nick froze at the voice, pulling away from his weapon.

"G-Gatsby? Is...that you?"

"Indeed it is. Has my house always looked this way?"

"You're...you've been missing for weeks, and you're worried about your goddamn house?!" Nick exclaims, his emotion getting the best of him.

Gatsby stays silent, his gaze locked on what was outside the window. The two sat quietly for a good few minutes before Nick climbed out of bed and hurried over to where the other man sat.

"Where have you been?" Nick whispered, his voice husky with relief.

"That doesn't matter." Gatsby replied, finally turning to look at him.

"Then tell me..." Nick breathed, moving closer to Gatsby. "Was it you?"

"I'm going to presume you mean the murders." Gatsby said with a sigh, sitting up. Nick gave a sharp nod, his fists clenching at his side.

"Well, old sport, I suppose I'll be honest with you...I was the one who released the gas. I was ordered too."

"By who? Who on Earth would ask you to kill all those people?!"

"People you will never meet nor know about." Gatsby snapped, his eyes glinting in the moonlight.

Nick flinched, moving to step back only to be stopped by Gatsby.

"Did you think I was dead?" the man asked, his voice much quieter now.

"O-Of course not. I... believed you had been taken. I...had too." Nick stammered, his face growing red.

A small smile appeared on Gatsby's face as he wrapped his arms around Nick's waist, pulling him close. Nick stood there in shock, watching as Gatsby buried his face his Nick's chest.

"Gats...by?"

"Shh. Just give me a moment, old sport."

Nick tried to wait but the warmth radiating from Gatsby, the fact that Gatsby was actually there in his room, was too much. Before he even knew what he was doing, he threw his arms around the other man and buried his face in Gatsby's hair.

"Did you miss me, darling?" Gatsby whispered, his voice muffled. Nick shuddered with unshed tears, his grip on Gatsby tightening.

"More that you know."

And then they were kissing like the world was about to burn and Nick wasn't sure where he ended and Gatsby began.

They stayed in each others arms until the sun rose, kissing, petting, feeling, hugging, and for a few brief moments, sleeping.

Nick groaned as the light filled the room, burying his face in Gatsby's shirt. The man laughed gently, holding their entwined hands up to the light.

"Don't you dare leave again, you hear me?"

"Of course, darling." Gatsby said, pressing a kiss to Nick's head. "When I leave, I'm bringing you with me."

At this Nick looked up in surprise.

"When?"

"Now would be best."

"What?! Why so soon?"

"I can't explain right now," Gatsby said, giving Nick an almost sad smile. "But as soon as we're away from here I'll tell you everything."

"Promise?" Nick asked meekly, blushing a bit.

"Promise. I...I love you, Nick Carroway."

"I love you too, Jay Gatsby."

.

.

.

.

"Nick! Have you seen my shoes?!"

"They should be by the door, Jay!"

"Ah yes, found them. Thank you, darling."

Nick grinned to himself as he loaded his gun; Jay was always misplacing something.

It had been five years since Gatsby had told Nick the truth. The story had been simple enough at first. Gatsby had still spent five years with Dan Cody but he hadn't spent them on a boat. Instead, he had been training to become an assassin.

He had moved to the West Egg a year before Nick had in order to kill his newest target.

Tom Buchanan.

Gatsby had believed that throwing massive parties would be the easiest way to bring Tom in but of course, it hadn't worked.

Gatsby always told Nick that he never regretted hosting those parties. It was how they had met after all.

Eventually Gatsby was given orders to "attempt" to kill Tom and run. Hence the massive homicide at his last party.

Nick discovered that he had been right all along. Gatsby had sent him to the East Egg to protect him from the gas. Gatsby had blushed while telling this part, saying that it had been the one of the hardest things he had ever done. He had begun to apologize profusely for the things he had said but Nick had cut him off with a kiss.

After a year or so of preparing, Nick began to join Gatsby during his missions. The two of them had become quite famous in the darker side of the world. They worked splendidly together.

"Your tie is crooked, dear," Gatsby said, adjusting Nicks tie. Nick grinned again, leaning up a bit to give Gatsby a kiss.

"Now, now, old sport, " Gatsby laughed, "If you start kissing me we'll be late again."

"Surely being a tad late won't hurt." Nick replied, slipping a gun off the table and placing it in one of Gatsby's holsters.

"Mmmm. Paris will just have to wait now, won't it?" Gatsby whispered.

"Indeed."

fin

I...don't know what to say about this

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