Moon/Fish--Surprise Visit--Part IV

Hey all!

Thanks for being patient--I am back in editing hell, but the good news is that Fish Four, Fish on a Bicycle is done, and Paint it Black is edited, and whohoo!  On to the super hard craft book, Fiction Haiku!

Mate's car is broke and my week is INCREDIBLY boring and yet I've been busy on my computer--ugh!  The upside is, it's a perfect time to escape into some Moon/Fish--enjoy!

*   *  *

Part IV

Jackson saw the shadow outside his window as Ellery got into the shower, and he hurtled past a surprised Lucy Satan and out the front door before Ellery's mother could so much as gasp.

A pink box sat on the stoop, and if Jackson hadn't paused to make sure it wasn't lethal, he might have caught Burton as he left from putting it there.

Don't throw away--I'll know.

He opened the box and took a deep breath. Mm... apple fritters. Ellery's mother's favorite.

And someone who'd know if he threw them away.

And someone who could leave them on the porch without triggering the alarm and get away like a ghost.

"Jackson?" Ellery's mother was not going to let him rocket out of the house without an explanation. "Jackson, what on earth--"

Jackson turned to her grimly, box in hand. "You and me have got to have a talk," he said quietly.

She pursed her lips. "Is that a donut box?"

"Apple fritters. Your favorite."

She looked confused. "Why is that a--"

"Remember Ernie?" he asked pleasantly.

Her eyes got big. "I do."

"He came to visit me and Ellery a couple of times when we were in the hospital. Smuggled me eclairs that would make a saint come. I never told him they were my favorite. He just knew."

"We should go inside," she said pleasantly. "I'll get some milk."

He took one more hasty look around his neighborhood and spotted the flash of something shiny behind the fence three houses down-- the neighbors who had gone to visit their daughter in Florida over spring break, the sadists.

He gave the shiny thing a two fingered salute and followed Ellery's mother inside.

"WE can't tell Ellery," Lucy Satan said softly as they neared the kitchen. The water was still running--Ellery could take an epic shower when he didn't have to be somewhere. Or when his mother was in the house.

"Can't tell him what?"

She grimaced. "When was the last time you swept the house for bugs?"

Jackson blinked. "Two days ago."  After they'd found them in January, he and Ellery did it once a week--vacuum, dust, scrub the toilet, check for bugs. It was the new housecleaning regimen.

"Oh," she said, nodding. "So nice to know you're sensible about things. But your friend--" she nodded toward the donut box, "--simply said I should come here and spend some time in your company." She grimaced. "In public. So I looked up some activities for the next week. How do you feel about craft fairs?"

Jackson's eyebrows went up to his hairline. "I actually don't mind them." He'd furnished his duplex with thrift store finds and the occasional handcraft, but he was the first to admit his taste was eclectic and... well, not suited for Ellery's gracious, masculinely furnished home. "But--"

"Good. Tours of the capitol building?"

"I'm not even sure they'll let me in--"

"They will if I"m there. How about sporting events?"

"I can get us some Kings tickets and some Republic tickets and some Rivercats tickets--"  It was late march. Everything was in season.

"Be sure to put them on my credit card," she said smoothly.

"I can pay for my own goddamned ballgame," he muttered. Ellery did the same thing, and it drove him batshit.

"But this time, I'm paying for it," she said with a pleasant smile.

"Not if I"m getting the tickets," he muttered. "Anything else you're on for? Wine tasting? A bus tour of San Francisco?"

"All of the above," she said, without blinking an eyelash. "You go to work on that while I unpack. I think today should be local, tomorrow should be San Francisco, Wednesday we should visit your brother--"

Jackson's eyes got big. "For fuckin' real?" Because Kaden loved surprise visits as much as Jackson did. Which was to say if Jackson hadn't walked by the hallway when Ellery opened the door, he seriously would have gone out the back door and over the fence and run across town in his boxer shorts so he didn't have to do what he was doing right now.

Which was anything Ellery's mother asked him to do, apparently without getting any answers as to why.

"Of course--I brought gifts for his wife and the children. The day after we should attend some sort of sporting event with your sister and her boyfriend--"

"Jade hates sports," he said blankly.

"But her boyfriend adores them. and of course we should eat out. Except for this morning, when I shall indulge in some lovely donuts."

As she'd been speaking she'd invaded Ellery's kitchen, poured two glasses of milk and put the apple fritters on a plate. Jackson cleared the table of everything except his laptop, which he put at the end, and helped her set breakfast up, and then looked longingly at the coffee pot, which he had been about to turn on when she'd knocked.

She ran a knowing look up and down his body. "How is your heart murmur?" she asked, and he grimaced. He'd acquired scars on  more than the outside in November when his heart had stopped, and since his and Ellery's return to Sacramento in February, he'd been trying to be good about seeing a cardiologist.

"Caffeine isn't forbidden yet!" He crossed his arms over his chest defensively. Not in small doses--that's what Dr. Keller had said. He had yet asked her to quantify "small doses." He assumed a pot a day was a small dose, if you eked it out with lots of cream and sugar with only one or two sodas on the side.

"Fine. I'll start the coffee and unpack, you start our itinerary and wait for Ellery so we can eat. You may commence."

Jackson sat down at the cleared and set table and grabbed his laptop. Yeah, he still had no idea why Burton wanted her there, but honestly, doing all that shit she had him planning was a damned sight easier than arguing with her, that was for sure. She was already talking about his caffeine intake and diet--he needed to comply now before she started making him kale shakes for breakfast and serving him nothing but tofu and fish!

*  *  *

She had arrived on a Wednesday which meant that they had a poetry reading at the local library in the late morning, a tai chi class in the afternoon, and a Kings game that night. As Jackson and Ellery fell into bed that night, exhausted by running around the town, and by just being with Ellery's mother, Ellery moaned, "She's got the entire week mapped out?"

"It's not my fault," Jackson mumbled. He'd liked the tai chi class, hadn't minded the Kings game, and had napped during the poetry reading. What had really knocked him out was Ellery's mother, who seemed determined to smooth out all of Jackson's... Jacksonness while she was there. "Jackson, do stand up straight, You'll ruin your posture." "Jackson, I understand you can use that word as often as you like, but part of being an adult is only using it as often as you need." "Jackson, I do believe if you and my son plan to work full time again, you should either procure a friend for this animal or find someone who doesn't mind feeding him while you are gone. I think he might be lonely if forced to live alone."

"I know it's not your fault," Ellery soothed. "I just don't know why we're doing this, that's all."

Jackson closed his eyes, thinking about the fritters. Ellery had been so discombobulated he hadn't even asked where they'd come from, and Jackson just didn't want to tell him that someone had put a hit out on his mother. That seemed rude somehow.

"Lucy Satan works in mysterious ways," he grumbled.

"Well I need her to work her way home," Ellery retorted. Then he sighed. "But while she's here, maybe we can have her look at some of the properties for the new office."

Jackson perked up. "So we don't have to go to San Francisco tomorrow?" Because driving the tank down there would cost a fortune, the parking would be horrific, and the car was so loud. 

"No, Jackson. I'll talk to her over breakfast. Do you think you can hit that donut place again? Those fritters were amazing."

"No," he muttered. "I'd rather have fruit." Ellery was warm next to him and Jackson kissed his shoulder through a softly laundered T-shirt. "And you," he said, meaning it.

Ellery kissed him chastely on the mouth.

And then not so chastely.

And then they were sliding their hands under each other's T-shirts and Jackson had a handful of Ellery's taut backside and was kneading and spreading and grazing the sensitive bits and then--

"Jackson?" Ellery's mother said as she knocked. "Jackson, your inappropriate cat seems to want to sleep with me. I insist you take him."

Ellery made sobbing sounds and Jackson rolled sideways. "You get the door," he whispered. "You can pull a t-shirt over your boner!" Jackson wasn't wearing one.

Ellery grunted--and pulled his T-shirt low over his boxers and went to let the cat in, because apparently the big loser was still sore about getting fixed and they hadn't known it until now.

*  *  *

The next day they ran all over town looking at office rental properties, which was actually pretty awesome, considering.

The one in the strip mall on Howe was a big no. The location was great--right next to a bail bond place--but it wasn't the sort of vibe they were going for.

The one a block away from the Capitol building was nice--but really pricey, and, in Jackson's words, "Built like a Republican was given a bunch of tan legos."

There was one off the river, in what had once been a residential building but was now separated into office spaces, but Ellery had balked at both the drive down the Garden Highway and the lack of amenities nearby.

The final one they looked at, on the edge of downtown around 9th and F street, had seemed okay--at the top of a flight of stairs, which might have been inconvenient if it hadn't been for an elevator to accommodate disabilities, The space itself was large, with four offices and a conference room, as well as a reception area that had a counter and a recessed kitchenette sort of space that Jade could definitely make her own.

The walls were a sort of muted beige that Jackson said had to go and the carpet was teddy bear brown, and Ellery wasn't going to live with that either. It needed paint and carpeting and a solid redecoration, and all of that might not have phased Jackson except...

"Parking," he said, looking out the window. "There's one parking space next to the building. Ellery..."

"But look at the ceiling in the corner office!" Ellery begged. "Look at it! And it's got moldings--"

"I don't actually give a shit about beveled moldings," Jackson told him. "Hardwood floors, yes. I can see some nice hardwood here. Moldings can kiss my ass. But parking..."

"We have six more offices to look at," Ellery's mother told them crisply. "Two more before lunch?"

Outside they heard the unmistakable sound of a car smacking another one, and then a rather ambiguous sound of what they found out later was a light pole collapsing for no reason at all.

"Maybe lunch now," Jackson muttered. "Somewhere across town."

He and Taylor Cramer met eyes and she nodded imperceptibly. "After you," she said, and he nodded, leading the way while Ellery's mother made peace with the real estate agent who had sat in the back of the room and let them bicker over this one.

"Ellery, take the rear," Jackson said, forgetting that Ellery didn't suspect what he did.

Later it would occur to him that Ellery did exactly what he asked without question, and continued to move like that, Jackson first, Ellery bringing up the rear with his mother and the clueless real estate agent in the middle. All day. He did that all day.

But of course there'd be hell to pay that night.

Waiting, Sweetheart, Waiting... A Jai/George Installment

"George... George? Hello, are you going to give me that tablet?"

George looked up from outer space and pulled himself back to the ICU. "Yeah, Amal-- here."

Amal Dara was George's supervisor--it was his job to check out George's paperwork from his shift. Off duty, they were friends. They'd tried dating--once--but both had agreed that their one kiss had been like kissing a relative. A female relative.

"Where are you? You've been somewhere else all week!"

George smiled faintly. "Going camping tonight. You know. Sort of..."

"Hoping you don't get stood up in the mountains?"

George had tried to explain--oh, he had. He'd tried to explain about Jai taking care of him, about how steady he'd been, about watching the sunset together, and the marvelous kiss. He'd talked about sleeping folded up in Jai's arms, like he was delicate and precious. He'd tried--he really had.

Apparently all Amal had heard was, "You threw up on the guy and you think he's coming back."

George grunted. "He texted me last night and said he'd be there." He couldn't seem to emphasize how much he thought this meant. "And Annaliese is watching the cat. So, you know. If nothing else, I've got my camping gear ready. I might as well go."

"Go and not get laid," Amal said.

"Don't be judgy. It wasn't like I was getting laid anyway."

"Yeah, cause you're too good for a threesome!" Amal laughed and George rolled his eyes.

"George, Harvey, and Gary," George reminded him. "Think about how boring that threesome would have been, with all those names. 'It's like, hey, I've got a small white penis, you have a small white penis, we all have small white penises! This'll be GREAT!'"

Amal smirked. "I've seen you in the showers. You have a medium white penis."

"So. Much. Better." If George rolled his eyes any harder, they'd sproing out of his head. "The point is, I don't care how big or what color his penis is, he's interesting. He's... he's kind. And he sat and watched a sunset with me with the sort of concentration other guys spare for sports. And he acted like kissing me was a big deal and not even you can pretend to do that."

Amal grimaced. "That may be true," he conceded. "But this doesn't mean I want to spend next week searching the mountains for your remains. You are going to be here Monday morning, aren't you?"

George smiled reassuringly. "Unless I get the stomach flu again, I promise."

Amal just shook his head. "Tell Annaliese to call me if you don't check in on your cat. What was this guy's name again?"

"Jai," George repeated. "No, I don't know his last name."

"That's reassuring."

"I think he used to be with the mob," George told him. "But don't quote me on that."

Amal was staring at him, so George snagged his tablet back just long enough to sign himself out and then gave it back. "Have fun looking for my remains!"

But as he hit the showers and then hopped in his truck for home, he wasn't thinking about being scared. He was thinking about seeing Jai again, and the way his brown eyes had been gentle and smiling as he'd kissed George goodbye in the dark of the morning.

He was wondering if they'd light up with joy when George showed up around sunset, and if George could get another kiss looking decent, when he'd gotten a couple of them looking like hell.

*  * *

Jai paced the campground for the third time, making sure everything was set up like it should be. He'd brought spaghetti and was reheating it on the camp stove, along with a small pot of hot chocolate, and some cut up apples in the ice chest. IT wasn't fancy, but Jai didn't eat fancy, and they were camping and...

And George had texted him back. Had reserved the camp site. Had double checked. Had told him when he was leaving. Had texted him from the gas station.

Every text had been like a little bell signaling, "We shall have sex now!" in the back of Jai's mind.

He tried to tell himself it was ridiculous--George would take one look at him, his giant body, his evil smile--and shrink away in revulsion. The Jai who donned coveralls and helped Ace and Sonny out in the garage was an ex-mobster. Hell, he still performed nefarious deeds if he was needed. His George... his sweet, gentle lost little soul--didn't need a Jai in his life.

But apparently Jai had hope, because the tend was up, the sleeping bags were zipped, and Jai had even remembered a little bit of eucalyptus mint freshener for the bags and the pillows.

The tent didn't smell like feet.

It was a miracle.

The only thing that remained was to see if George would actually show, and if he did, would he actually--

Oh no. There he was.

His truck hadn't been looked at since Jai had tuned it the month before, and Jai grunted. Why did people think they could abuse their vehicles and not have them turn rabid? He'd have to look at it while they were there.

But right now George was skidding to a halt, back end of the truck fishtailing as he came in to rest behind Jai's Toyota.

He slid out and practically ran across the campsite, and right into Jai's arms.

Jai caught him, surprised. He'd been expecting a moment of awkwardness that would enable George to beat his hasty retreat, but what he got was an arm full of George--more than that. George gave a small hop and wrapped his legs around Jai's waist and took his mouth.

Jai opened for him no question, so primed for this kiss they could have been in a firefight and it wouldn't have stopped him. He sucked on George's tongue or a moment and then let George free to plunder, to take his mouth to assert ownership, while Jai cupped his ass and pulled him as close as humanly possible with that much clothing on.

Finally, George wiggled and Jai let him slide down his body. "Into the tent?" he asked breathlessly, eyes huge, pale cheeks a mess of razor burn because Jai could shave three times a day and still sport stubble.

"I have dinner," Jai said, hoping that wasn't a deal breaker.

George straightened up and smiled. "Really? That's..." He bit his lip, the shyness from their last meeting not entirely gone. "That's wonderful. You cooked dinner?"

"Spaghetti." Jai shrugged. "Hot chocolate. Apple slices. Is not fancy."

"But it's thoughtful," George murmured. "It's thoughtful, and I'd be a heel to turn it down. Let's sit down and have dinner, Jai. Let's talk about the last month. And then let's go to the tent and..." Oh, that wicked smile he had, when he was letting Jai know sex was on the table. "Let's finish that kiss."

It was Jai's turn to bite his lip. "I thought the kiss was finished," he said with dignity.

"Oh, no. That kiss is just getting started, my friend. I have so many plans for where it will go!"

Batman's Hot Cousin--Part 4 --The Dream

Some fanfic tonight because I am DESPERATELY tired of editing.

* * *

Bruce--known as Bryson--Wayne surveyed his employees in the R&D division with exasperation. Joy Connors was a sharp woman, in her fifties, personable and kind--she was in charge of the beauty and hygiene departments and oversaw nearly a hundred employees. Carla Li--barely thirty with a Doctorate in chemical engineering-- ran the specialty pharmaceutical department underneath her, with nearly twenty people reporting.

Both women were looking at Ms. Wayne as though the poor dear just needed to go lay down for a little while.

"Mr. Wayne wants us to what?" Joy asked, surprised.

"Women's health, Ms. Connors. Mr. Wayne feels that there are not nearly enough painkillers and anti-inflammatory drugs made particularly for women. There is so much we don't know about the menstrual process. You do realize that a woman's cramps can be more painful than a heart attack, don't you? And that the protocol for addressing a woman with painful menstruation hasn't changed since the thirties, right?"

"Oh!" Carla said, excited. "I saw that on Samantha Bee! That's true!"

Bryson Wayne nodded. "Yes. Yes it is."

"But it seems to me that it's a big fuss about nothing," Connors snapped. "Women's products don't sell. Everyone knows that!"

"Well I understand that those pot blueberries for hot flashes do pretty good," Li confessed. "I mean, my mom, menopause? Now there's a thing we should research and develop. How come we've got five kinds of boner pills out there, but something to kill a specific kind of pain or discomfort in women is completely ignored."

"Right!" Bruce cried, because finally somebody was getting it. "This is the gap in our research that Mr. Wayne wants to address!"

"Why?" Li asked, arching a perfectly groomed black eyebrow. "Seriously. Who put him up to it? Is he seeing someone?"

Bruce fought a sob. "I did," he said, hating the irony. "It was one of the caveats of me taking over while he went to explore the water possibilities in the Sahara."

"So how would you like us to address this?" Connors asked, her eyebrows up in doubt.

"I would like you to hire a ten person team to look into the science, and one person to specialize in marketing," Bruce said. And then, feeling foolish because it needed to be said. "Please make the team 80% women. I mean, don't discourage any male geniuses invested in the project, but I don't care what his credentials look like, if you so much as see one of those assholes roll their eyes, they get blackballed from Wayne Industries for life!"

God, his lady parts hurt. He needed his own motrin and a nice warm cup of coffee. And some chocolate. And to curl up in a ball and die.

But he was going to settle for doing his part to make things right, dammit! He really was.

* **

The cramps had settled down a little by the time he got home, taking the recently repaired specialty elevator instead of the car so he could shower and put on sweats before he even walked through the front door.

Things had been "leaking" all day. He'd walked through his day fighting the urge to push his pad in from the back and fidget with the tampon that was currently scrubbing his vaginal walls raw.

He was pretty sure that there should have been more female mass murderers at this point in history. He wanted to become one.

But after his shower--and some cookies and a heating pad--he took some Motrin and went back down to work out in the gym, doing everything he'd do as a man just using smaller weights. He didn't think the bulkier muscles would work on his lighter frame--right now speed and agility were his strengths and he would play to them.

He was in the middle of giving the sand bag a workout when Clark flew in, standing behind the bag to hold it.

"Good day?" he asked, then grunted as Bruce leveled a roundhouse kick at it. "So, no."

"Cramps are better," he muttered, hitting the bag with some fast and furious jabs.

"That's good."

"We're working on a better cramp relief in R&D."  And hook and hook and jab and jab.

"Well done."

"The women acted like I was crazy just asking." Jab jab jab jab.

"They had to be tougher than the guys to get there," Clarke reminded him. "That's some damage to overcome."

"I still want to kill someone." Wham! Wham! Wham!  "In fact--" Kick!  "If I didn't know any better--" Hit! Pound! Pummel!  "I'd say I was horny!"

Full stop.

Oh my God.

"Really?"  He asked himself.

"Really?" Clarke asked him.

Bruce was so relieved to pinpoint the source of his moodiness he almost cried.

"YES!  Oh my God, I could fuck a tree right now!" He stopped and--swear to God--blushed. "I mean, you know.  A tree."  Still not any better. He leaned his head against the bag. "God, Clark. I just... you know..."

Clark--still in his uniform--leaned around the bag.

And whispered a suggestion in his ear.

Bruce straightened up. "That's true," he said.

Clark blushed. "I mean, if you don't want to. Your lady parts are sore and--"

Bruce shook his head. "No--no. I want to. I so want to. I'm just... you know. Surprised I didn't think about it. I mean, it's not like you haven't been there before." Although Bruce went there more often, with Clark. "There's nothing going on in that, uhm, department right now. I mean, for one thing, I eat like a flea. No food to process. But seriously--you, uh...wanna?"

Clark was nodding furiously. "Oh my God, do I wanna."

Bruce wiped his sweaty forehead on his shoulder. "Let me shower and, uhm, prepare." Finally, a reason not to throw all of the tampons into a giant incinerator for the sake of women everywhere.

"I'll be upstairs, also showered," Clark said, smiling prettily. "It's, an, erm, date."

And it was. It was a bare skin to bare skin, thrillingly invasive date with Clark's cock in Bruce's ass. Lovely orgasm after orgasm washed over Bruce, and he pounded the bed as Clark fucked him from behind. Oh, damn. This was the most amazing plan ever. Sex! Sex that gave him endorphins and worked out frustrations! Wonderful, amazing, healing sex!

His final orgasm rocked him and he collapsed, mindful of his sore breasts, grateful that Clark rolled off immediately, careful not to squash him on the bed.

"Good?" Clark asked, panting with his own climax.

"Dreamy," Bruce mumbled. "Here--let me get dressed. Then we can cuddle."

Normally, he'd cuddle naked. But... well. Leaking.

God. So inconvenient.

Clark grunted as Bruce threw his pajama clad body on top, then ran his hand down the contour of Bruce's much curvier behind.

"How was it for you?" he asked curiously. "I personally missed my prostate, but, you know. Everything else was pretty sensitive, so that was good."

Clark looked at him candidly. "I... I miss the shape of you in my hands," he said, shrugging. "I don't know how to put it. It's a small price to pay for having you warm and safe in my bed, but..."

Bruce sighed. "It's not normal."

"No."

"And it will never feel normal."

Clark kissed his temple. "Not for you."

Bruce's sigh seemed to tarnish their afterglow, and Clark, in an effort to get him to smile, said, "Hey--at least your not pregnant."

Bruce laughed a little, and then curled up against his great lover's side and fell asleep.

But something about what Clark said must have stuck with him.

Because he dreamed about their child. Clark's blue eyes, Bruce's nose, Clark's irrepressible smile. God. Bruce had failed as a father so many times--but with Clark, maybe, he could manage. Maybe with their son or daughter, he could not bury the poor child under expectations, under worry, under the weight of his other life.

There was a sort of hope with that, even in the dream, until a jagged flash of pain ripped through Bruce's abdomen, and the dream changed. He dreamt that he was invaded by an alien, consumed, destroyed from within by something that didn't belong there and was ripping its way out.

He woke up screaming, thrashing on the bed in the throes of an agony that seemed to be devouring him whole.

"Clark!" he cried out, afraid and disoriented. "Clark, what's happening!"

"Sh!" Clark pushed him back into the bed and wiped the hair off his forehead. "You're burning up. And your face is... is changing." His fingers rasped against stubble on Bruce's jaw. "Baby," he said, sounding afraid, "I think you're changing back."

"Oh." Bruce was rocked by another terrible pain, and suddenly that dream, that painful, sweet, forbidden dream was ripped out of him by force. "I'll never have your baby," he said, letting go of a thing he'd never known he'd wanted.

Clark grimaced and kissed his forehead again. Bruce saw his eyes, red-rimmed, and his worry line etched deep in his forehead. "Oh Bruce. You couldn't have survived like this, not even for our child. Diana's on her way, love. We'll bring you back on the other side."

Bruce couldn't help the tears, not from pain, but from the dream. "I"m sorry," he said. "I"m sorry I"m like this. I'm sorry I'm not strong enough to hold on for that. I'm so sorry."

Clark rocked him, his arms the haven Bruce had never known he'd needed. "No sorry," he rasped. "No room for sorry. Live through this. Live through this, beloved. Never be sorry you did what you had to do to live."

Another pain slammed through him, ripping him in two.

Bruce screamed again, and concentrated on living.

Hiding the Moon--Part 4

So, today I was supposed to meet with Ambrosia AND conference with my publisher, but both meetings fell through.

I'll be honest--I felt sort of at loose ends, especially because I was editing all day, and, well, boring!

The funniest part of my day was when ZoomBoy discovered Green Day-- and an album called Dookie. Given that Green Day is like the ADHD anthem, this was a big deal for him, and, honestly, the most useful thing the Google speaker as ever given us. Woohoo!

So, boring day for me equals more free fic for you! (Also, I need to have the first part of this done before I write the meeting in Fish, because, well, reasons.)

So enjoy! And have a happy weekend afterward!

Hiding the Moon--Part 4

Burton yawned and looked at the clock on the dash. Seven o'clock.

It was true, he could drive straight through to Victoriana and be there in another three hours--but, maddeningly enough, Ernie was right.

Burton wanted to talk to his boss first, and it would be nice of him to offer a heads up to the people in Victoriana.  Yeah, Ace owed him a few, but Burton had been raised to be polite.

Besides, Ace would be fine with it, but Sonny always needed a little warning, and Burton didn't want to piss Sonny off. Idly, he thought bad to his interactions with the laconic Ace and the highly unstable Sonny Daye and wondered if Ernie would think they were "good" or "full of bugs."

"Good," Ernie mumbled, turning sideways in the seat and curling up like a little kid.  The Tahoe came fully loaded, and Burton hit the passenger seat adjustments to tilt the thing back and make Ernie more comfortable. "Like you," he said happily. "I'm hungry. I usually eat at the bakery by now. Stop, get some food, find a room. Your friends will be there tomorrow morning."

Burton snorted. Yeah, sure, a hotel room was probably a good idea--there was a Motel 6 at the next turnoff and he had cash--but he wasn't planning to spend more than a few hours there.

The thought had no sooner crossed his mind than Ernie chuckled, like he knew something Burton didn't.

"Goddammit!" The fine hairs on the back of Burton's neck stood up. "Why are you laughing like that?"

He knew when the kid's eyes opened.

"I'm a pretty good lay," Ernie murmured. "You're going to want to take more time than that."

"So help me, I will wreck the car."  The idea was preposterous. Burton had urges--he knew them for what they were. But he'd never taken a man to his bed, and he certainly wasn't going to do so now, in the middle of a failed op and the... the frickin' mystery that was Ernie Caulfield.

"That'd be a shame," Ernie said, sitting up and readjusting the seat. "I think I wouldn't mind you touching me."

Burton growled. "You're stoned. It's not happening."

Ernie gurgled happily. "Nope. Wore off before..." His voice dropped. "Before the Corduroy guys thing." He sighed. "I... I wish it lasted longer. That would... it would have been nice to be stoned when that happened."

"Why?" Burton wanted his wits as sharp as possible when shit was going down.

"Don't feel so much. The X or the pot takes over and it... it muffles shit. All the bad shit--hell, even the good shit's bad when there's too much of it. I... I really wish it had all been muffled when all that bad shit happened." He whimpered. "The club guy grabbed my dick. That... that wasn't pleasant."

"Not the first time it happened," Burton wagered.

"It's better when I want it," Ernie said dispiritedly. "I mean, got lots I didn't want, but some of it I wanted. I didn't want that."

"Why do you take it when you don't want it?" He asked, curious. So many pictures of Ernie naked with other people. Always with the same dreamy expression like he wasn't really there.

"Cause you can ride it," Ernie said, eyes closed. "Like ride their endorphins like you ride the drugs. Both ways suck, but one way you're not alone. Until I found the club. That was perfect."

A week ago, and Burton would have dismissed what Ernie was talking about out of hand. But Ernie had unnerved him, pretty much from the beginning, and he found himself flirting with the possibility, the outright probability of the impossible thing that Ernie was in his head.

"Maybe be somewhere without so many people?" Burton suggested. Hell, even if the kid was simply agoraphobic, the self-medication he was talking about wasn't good for him.

"They can find me in the empty." Ernie pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms around his shins, which spoke well of his flexibility since he was using the seatbelt. "But now they found me in the city and I don't know what to do."

And then Lee Burton, once in Marine Special Ops, now in special devision covert ops, soldier, assassin, all around logical guy, found himself making the rashest of promises.

"I'm taking you someplace safe," he said. "Someplace not even my boss knows about. You tell me why people are after you and I'll find a way to make it stop. I swear."

Ernie looked at him sideways from his big brown eyes. "Why would you do that? We haven't even rented the hotel room yet." He stared back out into the desert moodily. "Everybody wants sex first."

"Kid, I'm not in it for sex--"

Ernie snorted derisively.

"I was supposed to kill you, you understand? I am a finely trained killing machine--I'm great at it. But I don't kill club bunnies or witchy little bakers or kids who feed all the stray cats in downtown Phoenix. I kill bad men--and somebody put you on my list, and on Corduroy's list, and for all I know on the CIA's list and Jesus, you probably have a fucking SEAL team hunting down your scrawny ass, and I want to know why! My boss didn't like this op and I don't like it, and I'm going to find out who tried to make me a murderer."

"But aren't you--"

"Like you said, kid. It matters if I want it. I kill bad men who like to kill innocent people. I don't kill innocent people who are hunted by bad men."

Ernie "hmmd", appearing to be thinking very carefully. "You still want me," he breathed. "This is your exit. There's a donut shop down past the Motel. Let's go there first."

Burton hesitated to ask, because like this kid would know, right?

"They have Crullers," Ernie murmured, looking sublimely happy.

"How do you do that?" Burton asked bluntly. He'd been already to go for the donut question, but seriously, how did this kid keep reading his mind?

"I'm not usually so good at it," Ernie said, looking down at his tennis shoes on Burton's upholstery and picking at the upholstery. "But your mind is very clear. I think it's because of that assassin thing. You need to be totally focused. So It's like reading something etched in stone. But most people aren't like that. I just get fuzzy sort of auras. I...I wish I'd learned how to damp down on it when I had the chance."

"You had the chance to learn how to use this... this thing in your head?" Burton wasn't sure how he was going to tell Jason Constance that their target was psychic, and that was probably why he was the target--but he was really interested in why that made someone want him dead.

"Yeah." Ernie sighed again, like this was the heaviest concept on the planet. "But they didn't want me to make it stop or quiet it down. They just wanted me to tell them who was good and who was bad."

This was interesting.

"What did they do then?"

Ernie's face fell. "They hurt the good people to see if it would make them bad. And sometimes they would."

Burton sucked in air. It sounded like something illegal. It sounded like behavior modification--of the most monstrous type.

It sounded like a reason to kill a dreamy kid who just wanted to get stoned enough to stay in his own head. "Donuts," he said grimly. "You and me need some sugar before I call my boss, and then we need to talk about what's next."

"Okay, Cruller." The kid closed his eyes happily. "You  can ask me anything you want after donuts. But maybe make sure we get a kingsized bed for that other thing--"

"Ain't happening."

Ernie's voice tinkled, low and charming, and Burton wondered exactly what sort of pictures he was painting on the kid's mind.

It would be nice if Burton knew himself, wouldn't it!

Scorched Haven: Part 4

Okay-- first of all-- Lollipop is available on audio today, and that's sort of exciting!

Second of all-- as I put out on FB, I spent the weekend sick, which really sucked because after lunch with bio-mom, I slept my weekend away. So this--my ficlet, which I usually schedule on Saturday is late, but it's up today--YAYAYAYAYAY!

Also, I started the sequel to Winter Ball, Mason Hayes's story, Summer Club.  I am realizing that Mason--who can't open his mouth without fucking up his life--is like my spirit child. I adore this character, and I think if he and I were to meet in real life we would have much tequila together.  I love it when a character does that in my head!

So right now, let's get to Scorched Haven-- enjoy!

*  *  *

Zeb stared out past the rolling hills of the Grapevine Pass and grunted as Kettleman City came into view.  That rabbit he'd eaten had about disintegrated into his bloodstream, between the losing blood and the multiple changes and the massive adrenaline dump.

"Hey," he muttered, "do any of these places have drive-thrus?"

"Yeah--do you got cash?"

Zeb let out a groan. "You don't have any money?"

"Well, twenty bucks--but we're going to need gas!"

"Don't you have a bank card?"

"Yeah, but..."  Colton's wrinkled his nose. "Won't they be... like, tracking my bank card?"

Zeb thought about it. "Like, CSI or the FBI? Does your town have those kind of connections?"

"Uh..."  Colton suddenly started laughing.  "Okay, so we share a police station with the adjoining town. Their computer still uses dial up and they do most of their phone work on landlines."

Zeb had to laugh too. "I think you're safe."  Then he remembered Richie and sobered. "No, not safe. Okay..."  He sighed. "God--I don't think Kettleman City is going to be overrun with werewolves--it's too damned public."  It was the Hwy 5 depot in the foothills of the Tehachapi-- anyone coming off the Grapevine or getting on the Grapevine usually stopped in Kettleman City or Grapevine to fill their tank, bleed their lizard, and get one more coffee to sustain them for the drive.  "But... I don't know which one is safer for you," Zeb confessed, shuddering. "I sent Richie inside thinking he could take a leak in peace, and he ended up sushi. I'm afraid to be the one going in, and I'm afraid to be the one staying out."  He tilted his head back against the seat and thought.  "I'll go in," he said after a moment. "You fill the tank, start the car, and wait for me--if things go south, take off."

"Take off?" Colton squeaked. "But... but-- you said you'd find me safety!"

"Safety's easy to find, kid. Drive up five for over three-hundred miles, take the turn-off to 80 East, keep going for another 100 miles or so to the foothills, and take a right at the Forresthill exit in Auburn. Drive until you hit Lake Clementine, go down to the lake, sit on the car, and shout out to anyone who comes by, 'Do you know Green and Cory?' Trust me. Safety will find you."

Colton squinted at him. "But... but what about you?"

"Take the turnoff, Colton. Odds are good, I'll be fine."  Zeb swallowed, thinking about how nice it was that somebody would miss him. "But it's sweet of you to worry."

"I'm not sweet," Colton muttered.

Sure he wasn't.

Zeb went to the bathroom first, practically vibrating on his toes the entire time he had his dick out. God he wasn't meant for this shit--no wonder Teague and Green had asked him repeatedly if he wanted to go. And it didn't help that he'd let Richie die. God... God that rankled. The guy had gone to the bathroom, and Zeb had done what he'd done his entire mortal life too.

He'd let the guy down.

Jesus-- Adrian almost had him convinced that he could be better than that.  But Adrian had been dead for two years now, and while the rest of the hill had seemed to find its balance without him, Zeb was still mourning the promise of having somebody--even if not a lover, but somebody--believe in him.

He washed his hands, nose practically quivering like a wolves as he tried to smell past the diesel fumes and the bad food and the antiseptic and the super strong soap to see if he could pick up any hinky werewolves.

Yes--but no. Not strong. As though the werewolves who had been through had been among the myriad--the three stoners, the guy who needed a nicotine patch, the many dads who helped change babies or hold toddlers, the toddlers themselves, and the adolescents stinking of puberty.  The werewolves had been a part of the constant stream of people through that bathroom, and that was all.

Zeb couldn't actually relax, but as he moved from the bathroom to the snack bar, he took a look outside to see Colton leaning against his car, hands in his pockets, looking about him anxiously.  He waved then, glad to see the young man brighten a little. They weren't safe, not by a longshot, but for the moment, they could appreciate their hot dogs and sodas in peace.

"You do like to live dangerously," Colton said when Zeb got into the car with his bag of convenience store hot dogs and peanut butter M&Ms.

Zeb looked at the junk food and smiled good-naturedly. "Best part of being a werwolf," he confessed. "I can seriously eat anything. No heartburn, no diarrhea--just fuel."

Colton raised his eyebrows. "But my stomach you're willing to risk?"

Zeb grinned and winked. "Well, you know, just stick your head out the car to vomit. And pick the hamburgers-- they looked safer."

Colton chuckled and Zeb felt a reluctant curl in his stomach. Yeah, yeah-- he was pretty, Zeb already knew that.  Dark hair--long enough to curl around his ears--dark eyes, a delicate chin and jaw--very male, but, well pretty. But the chuckle, the ability to laugh in the darkness--that was more important than the good looks, and Zeb was just lonely and scared enough to admit that it did something for him.

He set up the sodas and the food in the island between the two seats, and tore into the hotdogs he'd picked for himself.

"You eat like a wild animal," Colton said next to him, putting the car into drive and leaving Kettleman City in their dust. "When was the last time you had food?"

Zeb closed his eyes.  "Yesterday morning," he said in wonder. "Richie and I left  yesterday morning--sausage, eggs, cheese, toast, a little bit of fruit for sweet--we ate really well.  They'd thought they'd be in Disneyland today, and his heart ached a little for the nice Avian who hadn't made it there.

"Your friend," Colton apologized. "I'm sorry about him?"

Zeb grimaced and then gave it up. Yeah. His friend. Five hours in the car hadn't made them brothers, but it had definitely made them friends. "Thanks," he said softly. "We hadn't known each other long. We both just..." Damn. "Wanted to be of service, I guess."  God, I-5 was bleak. Nothing to look at, nothing to distract him. Nothing to do but tell his story. "Green's hill is really someplace special," he said after a moment. "Like... nobody would have thought worse of me if I'd stayed home. And I haven't put my neck out in three years. I mean, yeah, there was a war once, and I totally pledged my loyalty and all that shit--but nothing... you know..."

"Special?" Colton suggested.

"Yeah," Zeb sighed. "I... I just never felt like I had anything to offer. Except this one time, when I thought 'Hey! I'm expendable--and Teague is getting over getting hurt. And the whole hill is about to erupt into chaos, and I'm the least important person here. I may as well make myself useful.'  And I couldn't even do that right."

"Why's the hill about to erupt into chaos?" Colton asked, and Zeb grimaced.

"See, you know, like with the president? How, if he gets a dog, the whole world shits its pants?"

"Yeah," Colton nodded. "Sure. My favorite TV star got hit by a car--I didn't leave the TV for a week."

"Exactly. So, we have sort of a leadership committee. And there are three people on it who... their magic sort of holds the hill together. There's Green, the leader, and his wife, Lady Cory, and her other husband, Bracken."

"Two husbands?"

"Three, actually," Zeb filled in, because he didn't like leaving Nicky out, even if he wasn't one of the head honchos. "But we're talking leadership here, and the other one is more of a foot soldier, like me. Anyway, Cory's pregnant--with twins, one from each of the main guys."

"That's... odd..."   Colton's eyebrows were arched and delicate, and he was doing all sorts of strange and wonderful things as he tried to digest this information.

"Yeah--well, it's even odd in our world so don't strain yourself. Anyway, she doesn't know yet."

"Uh..."

"She's... well, her job is to run the entire freaking hill, right? Her and Green, with Bracken as her backup. So she's not paying attention to her body right now, and Green and Bracken have been waiting for a good time to tell her."

"When's a good time to tell her?"

Zeb shuddered, remembering the scars and the stories. "Well, it's not when she's getting her throat slit, which happened a couple of weeks ago. And it's not when she's jumping out of a helicopter, which happened like, last week. So, I was thinking, 'Hey, it's probably going to happen in this relatively peaceful time when people are talking about doing scouting missions and stuff.'"

"So you decided to be one of them," Colton said dryly. "That's heroic of you."

"You have no idea," Zeb muttered. "You don't get it. When she gets laid--or fights with one of her lovers or smiles at him and touches the back of his hand--the entire hill feels it. And now she's pregnant, with gigantic twins."

"So... like an entire girls soccer team during their menstrual cycle?" Colton asked, hazarding a good guess.

"Mm... how about an entire convention of cutthroat female business woman having their period during the full moon."

Colton let out a low whistle. "That's dire."

Zeb shook his head. "You have no idea."

"But you weren't going to be gone for nine months!" Colton said, laughing. "I mean, what? The entire hill is just going to run away screaming while she hormone cycles out? That's... weird man. Just totally weird."

"No..." Zeb was doing this badly, he could tell. "No. In fact, I want to be there for some of it. Because when they're all leading and it's all working? Man, it is something to fucking see. I understand that the night she got her throat cut, she led like five were creatures, two vampires, herself and Bracken up against an entire kiss of vampires and took half of them out before she achieved her objective."

"What was her  objective--world domination?"

Zeb shook his head. "No. That's the thing. She hated doing it--somebody in the kiss was hurting kids, or she wouldn't have. But... can you imagine? That's a reason to fight, you know?"

"Yeah," Colton said, looking at him sideways. "I can see you're looking for a purpose, that's what I can see."

Well, it was true. "Like maybe a young man who was looking to get the hell out of his small town?" Zeb asked pointedly.

"Score," Colton said, voice soft. "Got it in one--shit!"

Zeb looked in the rearview mirror and bristled. "You weren't going that fast."

"I know," Colton said lowly, pulling to the side of the road. The cherry lights of the police officer--not CHP, Zeb noted, local po-po--pulled up immediately behind.

"Keep your foot on the brake and don't put it in park," Zeb muttered under his breath. "Lower your window right now."  Zeb did the same, scenting the air without being too obvious about it, and keeping his eyes glued to Colton's rearview mirror.

He saw the drawn gun at the same time he smelled the werewolf rot.

"Gun it!" he shouted, and the car jerked away at the same time the shot fired.

The back window exploded and Colton was thrown forward against the steering wheel, foot practically standing on the gas.

"Shit!" Zeb screamed, and Colton just screamed, his entire shoulder disintegrating into a mass of pulp.  The car lurched forward and Zeb pulled Colton's body back against the seat, steering the car into traffic as the wheels spun in an attempt to catch up the the revving of the motor. Zeb found the buttons on the steering wheel, the ones for cruise control and hit them both, keeping the car in the slow lane, hoping that the quarter of a mile between them and the car in front of them was enough time.

"Colton, you okay?"

"Zeb, he shot me! I wasn't doing anything and he fuckin... God!"

"Yeah, here. He's following us, but not officially--cherry lights, no sirens. Here--I'm going to steer, and I want you to crawl into the back seat, okay?"

"Are you shitting me?"

"Do you want him to get us?"

"Fuck!"

They almost died three times--but they didn't. And if the cop wasn't going to try to chase them down with siren after Zeb steered the damned car all over the fucking road, he was never going to do it, so as soon as Colton flopped over the back of the passenger's seat into the back, he put his foot on the gas and killed cruise control and drove like he could get shot out of the front window and put himself back together.

Because he could.

It was the pretty kid in the back of the car he was worried about, because he figured Colton had about twenty minutes, tops, before Zeb had to make a decision that would permanently change his life.