Not As I Do 9
by Flashpoint
It was well into the morning hours when four burly officers hauled away the kicking and screaming Stain, double-cuffed and his arms restrained to his sides with long, thick zip cords. He had been maced, tasered, batoned, and zatted and was still so hysterical that it took all four to keep him under control. He wasn’t trying to escape. He was desperately trying to run toward the waiting van, into custody. They had to hold him back to keep him from ramming his head into the side window. He kept screaming about “the giants” and "the light," but that was all he could say. It would take the equivalent of a pharmacy injected into him to finally shut him up.
Woodward had been right about Stain; if anything, he’d understated. Stain had a list of offenses that made Pete’s hackles rise when he happened to see a readout on the unit’s internal monitor, before Woody quietly pointed out that Pete reading that information was a violation of federal law. Any doubts Pete had had about seeing Stain meet justice were silenced.
Pete fully expected the officers to arrest Woody, Pete and Miguel just for the story they told. To Pete the entire thing seemed full of holes, but Stain’s manic behavior reinforced the most fantastic thing they could think of. Stain had come in, raving, obviously tripping out of his mind, and threatening Miguel unless he gave him all the money he had. Pete had then come in, unaware of what was going on, and Steve Woodward and Paul Matchen, cops on the beat in the area, had happened to drive by and known that the two of them there that late had been unusual. It had been Woody’s heroism that had freed Miguel and gotten medical attention to Pete, who had a nasty knot on his head where he’d been hit. There were incredible holes in the tale, but the testimony of two eyewitnesses, Ken Blademan and Rocky Hanson, had reinforced what little seemed plausible. Their bikes stalled a mile away and they walked them toward the only sign of life in the area, a convenience store a block away, when they heard the fighting and ran to see what was going on.
Yes, INCREDIBLE holes, Pete thought as he watched the van pull away, feeling the artificial knot on his head vanish the moment they were gone. How could they have believed any of that story? On the other hand, when they finally managed to get Stain drugged enough to interrogate him, if they did, his story would make theirs look as serious as the Bible. Maybe the parables, Pete thought irrelevantly. Definitely not Leviticus. Or Revelations. No wonder Grandma Cee says 'oy gevalt.'
Pete turned and examined the other four men in front of the now quiet but still glowing shop. Miguel was standing by himself, his arms crossed in front of him, only watching the scene perfunctorially. Pete could tell from his posture that he had not necessarily taken the whole day in stride. Anyone who hadn't known him would have said he was his usual self, but Pete knew better: he had an almost haunted look in his eyes. That and he had had a few sharp things to say to Pete once he’d gone back to his usual height and mass. Careless words, Pete reminded himself unnecessarily. He wondered exactly what had happened to give Miguel voluntary control, but the man simply shrugged. Pete knew there was something going on there but had the distinct feeling he didn't want to know. He considered calling Vince’s cell number, still in the wallet they'd retrieved from the wreckage, but Vince would undoubtedly have a few caustic things to say about being called before 8a. Matchen was sitting in the squad car having a long, involved conversation on his cell with, of all people, his father. Pete had forgotten that Matchen's dad was still alive. Odd time to call him, all things considered.
Woody was staring down at the two men, both of them looking extremely nervous, as well they should. They looked oddly naked without their leathers, but they had been beyond repair in both cases and in either case they wanted nothing to remind them of the Scorpions. Pete couldn’t hear the words, but he knew exactly what was being said. They had one chance. One. They had had their bodies altered once they were healed but their minds left intact. Mostly. Pete had had carte blanche, and while they were undergoing the change he had made a few sotto voce additions to their fate that would ultimately improve their future together. And that they would have a future together. Maybe not the future they’d imagined, but it had to be better than the one they’d been heading toward.
He snorted a little as he checked out their new haircuts. It had seemed expedient to change their looks, but they had both been almost horrified at the shafts of hair that had inexplicably started sprouting. Blade – Ken, now – had developed a strange habit of flipping his long, flowing black hair back over his shoulder to keep it out of his eyes. Pete had no idea what he was going to do with it. Rock – Rocky, what a shock to find out that was his real name! – couldn’t keep from running his hands over the tall blond buzzcut, almost a flat top, he now sported above his now blond eyebrows and lashes. Ken barked a laugh and said, somewhat oddly, that his dad would be happy with the cut at least. Beyond that, Pete had simply done some tweaking to their faces, nose a bit shorter on Ken, more chiseled cheekbones on Rocky, a few other details here and there, and while they were close they were no longer like their mug shots.
The taillights of the police van finally disappeared around a far corner before Pete turned and headed toward Miguel. He still wasn’t comfortable talking to the man, but it was better than the alternative. He was glad he was out of earshot of the others. “Hi,” Pete said awkwardly. Miguel glanced at him and grunted. “Will Stain get you in trouble?”
Miguel stopped watching the others. “He might. Pete, I did some things then I don’t even want to remember. Chulo, you’ve had a privileged life. I came here from Colombia with mama and nothing else. I tried so hard to...” Pete made a point of not looking at Miguel's face. “Pete, I took my past and painted it white and put it on top of a building so I could get away from it.” Pete frowned at that odd analogy but Miguel went right on. “At least mama saw me get the shop before she passed on. It broke her heart when she heard about the drugs. It was Stain who got me hooked in the first place.” He ran his hand through his hair. Pete’s eyebrows went up on hearing that, but he wisely kept his mouth shut. “Woody helped clean me up back then. Madre dios. Why was I so stupid? Now it’s going to all crash at my feet.” He didn’t look upset, but Miguel never revealed his emotions that easily.
“No one’s going to believe Stain, Miguel. Not after tonight.” He hoped. He almost wished he had a headache to justify how lousy he felt at moment. Miguel didn’t respond. “Did he really give you his stash?”
This time Miguel did react; he turned so quickly that Pete almost thought Miguel was going to punch him. “Inside!” he hissed.
After a quick look to see if the others had noticed them – they hadn’t – Miguel and Pete were behind the steel door of the shop again and out of earshot. “Don’t ever mention that money again! Especially not when Woody’s around!” He didn’t look afraid, but he had the air of an animal set to run. “I made the biggest mistake of my life taking that dinero. Once I had it, I was marked for life.”
Pete’s mouth and eyes gaped. “Why?! You had the money! You could’ve left the state!” Taking Miguel’s cue, he kept his voice down.
Miguel shook his head. “Mama was alive then. Stain would have had her legs broken if I’d tried to run. Stain disappeared five years ago, Pete. I thought he was dead. Hoped he was dead. Should have damn well known better. I wish I’d never seen it. I can’t let them find it now, Pete. It’s dirty money. The statute of limitations hasn’t expired yet."
Pete couldn’t believe his ears. “You still have it?!”
“Why the fuck do you think Stain came here? He hid it in a bike and gave the bike to me for safekeeping, knowing I would never give up a bike. I misled him while I was... taking care of him...” Pete felt uncomfortable at those words; Miguel, Woodward, and Matchen had remained vague on some details of the night and Pete felt more comfortable leaving it that way, "...but I didn't lie even once." He rolled his eyes. “Ladrillo. He always treated me like a farm worker, like I was too stupid to know what was going on. I found the money the minute he left. I knew he had shit to pull. I was in too deep, Pete. I couldn’t keep the money but I couldn’t get rid of it. So I hid it.”
“Where?!” Pete asked incredulously. There were a hundred questions he wanted to ask and this was the least important.
“I just told you. I painted it white and put it on the roof.”
Pete stared at him for a very long time. Several things clicked in his head. Then he slowly looked at the ceiling, at something he could only see from the outside, something he could only see during the day. Of course. The fucking sign. It was a full size Harley Softail, painted white and with a sign proclaiming “Miguel’s Machines” and “Máquinas de los Miguel.” And inside it, all this time, was $500,000 cash. Right over their heads. “My God,” Pete whispered. “He thought you hid it in here somewhere.”
Miguel nodded. “The gas tank is a dummy. He had to have seen the bike when they motored up, but he thought exactly what I hoped, that I’d never leave the money in an open place. Not that anyone would go digging around on the roof.”
Pete had to admit that was true. The only way onto the roof was by crane. A thought occurred to him, something that had been bothering him on a subconscious level. “What are you going to do about it?”
Miguel looked troubled. “I don’t know. I know I should turn it in, but...” He couldn’t look Pete in the eye. “I want to get the rest of my family out of Colombia, Pete. Mama’s younger sisters and my cousins are still there, and you know how it is nowadays. If you don’t have money...” Pete nodded. “I want a better life for them, Pete. You know what I’m saying?”
Pete heard enough stories about Miguel’s childhood to know the poverty he’d escaped. “I know. I can’t judge you. I’d probably do the same thing. Believe me, I’ve done some shit I’m not proud of.” Just today, he thought, but he had something else in mind.
Miguel nodded, but it was perfunctory; he wasn't really listening. “Now only two people know where the money is, and you’re going to keep your mouth shut about this.” It wasn’t a request. “Woody’s my amigo but he’ll still haul me in. At least he is my amigo. You ain't been.”
Pete, half-distracted by the implications of what Miguel was saying, took a few seconds to register those words. All thoughts of hidden money disappeared from his thoughts. “What?”
“Pete, you’ve been like a psycho around here! I can’t talk to you, you bite my head off. Woody wanted to go on a date and you avoid him.” Pete cringed. “Do you know how many customers you’ve pissed off in the past two months? Do you?” His voice had gone up in volume, but he stopped and took a breath. “If you’d been anyone else I would canned your ass two months ago. As it is, I’m close to tanning your hide no matter what you say.” The emphasis on the word left no doubt what he meant. “I should let Woody do it. You don’t talk to him for weeks and then you call him the second you need help.”
Pete couldn’t look Miguel in the eyes. The problem was he was right. He’d treated Woody pretty badly for weeks, and the worst part of all of it was that he’d known. He’d known and just shelved Woody because of that other issue. But he’d been so confused, so unsure, so... No. No excuses. Woody was the one person he should have talked to first, not hidden from. The irony was, being put through hell seemed to have focused his thoughts. Maybe he should send Stain a thank-you card. "I should have called him."
“That thought did cross my mind.” Pete froze. Not entirely unexpected, but somehow hearing his voice still came as a shock. Miguel just glanced behind Pete toward the door, not looking at all surprised. “Miguel?” Woody asked, the tone polite but still clearly a command to get out. Miguel nodded and, giving a look at Pete, walked out as Woody walked in. “We need to talk.”
“Right.” Pete couldn’t think of anything else to say. He knew what he wanted to say, but somehow the words wouldn’t come out the way he wanted. “How are Blade and Rock?”
Woody sat down on the same chair that Pete had been far too attached to not too long before. He was easily eye-to-eye with Pete standing. “You mean, how are Ken and Rocky?” He shook his head. “I can’t believe his real name is Rocky. They sound like porn names. Well, they’re both happy and healthy and riding off into the sunset even as we speak.” He thumbed toward the window, where Pete could just hear the sounds of two motorcycles disappearing into the night. Pete wished them well and hoped he’d given them a good life, but he really couldn’t make himself care much at the moment.
Steve thumbed over his shoulder at the door now closed behind him. “What was all that about with Miguel?"
Pete more than owed Miguel his privacy on this issue, but was too tired and stunned to even attempt to make a semi-plausible lie. “It’s a long story. You wouldn’t understand."
Steve looked at him without blinking for so long that Pete wasn't sure that he'd heard. He was about to repeat what he'd said - maybe with a bit of softening - when Steve spoke again. "You’re right. I’m too slow and stupid to possibly understand what you two geniuses were talking about in here.” Pete gave a start at the furious tone in Woody’s voice. “Well, I’d probably understand if you’d tell me what the fuck is going on around here!”
“You don’t need to know,” Pete snapped back, instantly regretting his choice of words. “It’s Miguel’s business and none of yours!” Oh, that improved things; oh yes it did.
“Nice to see I’m so important,” Woody sneered. “What, was he telling you where he hid the money?” Pete’s couldn’t cover his surprise fast enough. “Please. I figured that out years ago. I’m a cop, Pete. It’s my job to know these things.” Pete wanted very much to know how he knew, but this was hardly the time. “I know why he kept the money. Fuck it. If only I knew what the fuck was going on in your head.”
“Nothing,” Pete said stubbornly. He very much wanted to talk to Woody, but this conversation – hell, the whole day – had started off wrong and he had no idea how to put it right. He had too much of his father’s stubbornness to just admit he was wrong. And to think that was the crux of the whole problem he’d been having all summer.
“I don’t need to know. You see? A lot of things are none of my business, aren’t they,” Woody said through gritted teeth. “You never wanted me around. You only wanted me to come to your rescue when you needed it.”
Pete was stung by those words but the bit was in his mouth. “That’s not true! If I hadn’t called you, Miguel would be dead right now!” I'd be dead, he wanted to say.
“I doubt that,” Woody said. “From what I heard, he could have hidden under the desk all night long and no one would have found him.” So Miguel did tell him what happened that morning. Pete had been wondering. “You really have no idea, do you? I’ve been following you around all day long fixing and covering up your fuckups all day long! Do you have any idea how much trouble I get into at the station because of you? Do you?!”
“I didn’t do anything today!” Even as the words left his mouth, Pete knew it was a lie. There was Deanna, and Darren, and Vince... although Vince was a special case. Besides which, Woody couldn’t possibly know about that anyway.
Woody stared at him with a look that should have burned him where he stood. “You don’t know,” he said flatly. “You have no idea what it is you’ve done. Light of Heaven, Pete! Do you ever pay attention? I don’t know why I ask. I know you don’t. You sure don’t pay attention to me.” He bit off every word of the last sentence.
“I do too,” Pete said, although his irritable denial didn’t sound as heated as it had. “I have all along.” Wait. What else had happened today he didn’t know about? But Woody gave him no chance.
“Pete, I have been trying to talk to you for almost three months,” he said in a voice that was far too calm. “Every time, and I mean every time I tried to talk to you, you were never there! I tried and tried! You wouldn’t talk to me! Hell, that's even the reason I wanted to grow to seven-freaking-feet tall! So you'd notice me!” That was the first time he'd admitted it. It had hurt when Pete hadn't even mentioned it after, and then he got to like it, so he left it alone. But still...
“Are you angry?”
The most obvious question and the most irrelevant. He already knew the answer. Woody gave such a shocked look that Pete knew he was in for it, and it was not pleasant to hear the aggravated sigh come from him. “I’ve been trying not to be, Pete, but you really push my buttons. I don’t hear from you at all and the next time I do it’s for a crisis! Now, I’m glad you thought of me first, but Light of Heaven, Pete, I've wanted to beat the crap out of you!”
Pete just hung his head unsure what to say, knowing Woody was justified in his anger but still stubborn about it. It was funny; of all the unintended changes he’d caused, it was the one due to his neglect that he truly regretted. “Fine," he said, his voice half shame and half fury in a strange mixture, "you can do whatever you want to me. I don't care any more."
Pete didn't see the glint in Steve's eyes at those words. The man continued. "For fuck’s sake, Pete, why did you just cut me off like that? Tell me.”
Still looking at Woody’s knees Pete said feebly, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, Woody. I’ve had a real problem...” He trailed off. Trying to say it out loud made it sound even feebler than it already did. He had no defense.
Woody opened his mouth to say something, hesitated for a moment, and then said, “Why didn’t you ask me for help then? You know I would have in a heartbeat.” His tone had become softer, although there was still an edge to it, small surprise. "I couldn't help you if I didn't know how to. I did try to find out what was going on."
“You didn’t try hard enough!” Pete hadn’t intended to say that, but it came out. But now that he thought about it, for all Woody’s complaints, he’d disappeared from Pete’s life too in his own way.
“I shouldn't have had to!" Woody snapped back, although he looked uncomfortable as he said it. He wasn't free of guilt on this. “There just wasn’t any point after a while!” He felt a stab. That statement was a bald-faced lie. He had given up. Not because he’d wanted to, but because he knew what would happen when they finally faced each other. Of course, he hadn’t expected the intervention of a drug-addled sociopathic biker.
”After a while?!” Pete asked in disbelief. “Two weeks! Then you disappeared!” That wasn’t strictly true, but none of this conversation was coming out right. He knew they were both in the wrong, if not quite how much. He shook his head. “I’ve had enough of this,” he said, turning and heading to the door. “Don’t worry. I won’t ask you to come to my rescue again.”
He put his hand on the knob, but before he could pull it open, Woody snapped, “You’re going to sit down and shut up!”
Pete had exactly one-tenth of a second, during which time he thought of a stinging retort, before he felt himself literally flying backward through the air, as though he’d been yanked back. It couldn’t have been Woody; he was more than five feet away. But Pete found himself back where he started, on his ass on the floor, eyes wide with shock. What the hell? he thought, his anger evaporating in his shock. He opened his mouth to ask Woody exactly that, but even though his lips moved no sound came out. He put his hand over his mouth, staring at Woody, shocked.
“Not the way I wanted this to go, Pete, but you left me no choice.” Suddenly his 7-foot-tall-plus stature seemed threatening. He’d never seemed that way to Pete before. “You can talk.” Pete felt a loosening in his throat, and it was even more shocking than the other. He opened his mouth to ask the obvious questions, but Woody forestalled him. “For the next fifteen minutes, you won’t say anything or ask any questions except in response to what I have to say.” Pete opened his mouth, irate at that order, but again nothing would come out. “Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Pete said, and blinked in surprise. He hadn’t intended to say anything at all and it had just popped out. He again tried to ask the obvious question, but although his lips formed the words, once again no sound happened. No, he thought. It couldn’t be. But the throbbing on his right bicep somehow told him otherwise. He’d been too distracted earlier, but it had become stronger. A disturbing development.
Woody correctly interpreted the unasked questions in Pete’s eyes. He shucked the jacket he'd donned while Pete had been laying on the floor recovering. “Surprise.”
Pete's eyebrows rose as he saw the twin to his own tattoo laying in plain view on the man's forearm. He was so surprised, in fact, that he didn't even notice that the sleeve that contained it looked as though it had burned away. It did not look like a fresh tattoo either; it looked like it had been a part of Woody's arm for months or years. The throbbing on his bicep abruptly went up a notch. Apparently it hadn’t been his imagination after all. No, not throbbing... resonance. That was it. Almost like they were acknowledging each other. He chided himself for even thinking it; a tattoo couldn’t do that. It wasn’t a living thing. But then, he reflected, a tattoo shouldn’t allow him to change reality either, should it?
“Whatever questions I ask,” Woody grated, taking no notice to Pete’s discomforted shock, “you’ll answer honestly.” He didn’t wait for Pete to nod. “Pete, why the fuck did you shut me out? All of a sudden you were just gone! Why?”
“I didn’t want to talk to anyone!” Pete spat out, and blinked. He hadn’t intended to say that at all. Had it been true? He hadn’t thought so at the time, but... “I wasn’t shutting you out. I just had a problem I couldn’t work out.”
Woody stared at him. “You couldn’t talk to me?”
Pete’s ire started to dissipate. He was angry at himself, not Woody. “No. I... I didn’t know what else to do.” Oh, like that was a new development.
“There’s a whole world of things you never tried! Don't you know that?”
“I know that!” Pete snapped, then his tone lowered. “I know that now.” Pete hesitated, but he couldn’t stop the answer from coming out, even if he didn’t know what it was. “I don’t want to go back to school.” He stared at the floor for a long time.
The room was silent for so long that Pete half expected to look up and see Woody no longer there, but when he did Woody still stood towering over him, staring so hard at Pete that he felt he should have burn marks on him. For his part, Woody was a mass of emotion. He didn’t know whether he should laugh or start yelling. But he’d ordered Pete to tell the truth... “That’s what this has all been about?” he asked in far too calm a voice. The suppressed fury was palpable. “Just because you want to take a semester off?”
“No!” Pete yelled back. “I don’t want to go back at all!” Woody blinked at that. “I’m supposed to go back and finish my degree and be an engineer. I hate engineering.” He opened his mouth to say something else but no sound came out. He looked frustrated.
“What were you about to say?”
“I was going to say the only reason I did it in the first place is because my father wanted me to. I have to go back.” He didn’t look happy about it at all.
Woody looked at him for a very long time, not blinking, not even seeming to breathe. Then he gave an exasperated sigh and sagged back, toward the chair Pete had become intimately acquainted with. He didn’t say anything for a bit, then said very quietly, “You don’t get along with your dad too well do you?” Pete opened his mouth but didn’t say anything, just shaking his head. Obviously the fifteen minutes had expired. Woody decided to keep that observation to himself for the moment. “Is it because you’re gay?”
Pete’s voice was very quiet. “A lot of it, yeah. When I came out to him...” The look on his face told the whole story. “Things were kind of ugly for a while. I guess I wanted him to like me. I knew he’d never accept me.”
“You can’t buy someone’s love, Pete. Either they love and accept you or they don’t. It’s not a barter system.” Pete nodded. “Pete, I could have helped you. It took years before I worked things out with my dad. I don’t think we ever saw eye to eye but at least we mended fences before he died.” Woody pushed the memory of the last time he saw his father’s face out of his mind. Now was not the time to get misty-eyed.
“You’re right. I should have. I’m sorry, Woody. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“I know. I didn’t mean to hurt you either.” He bit his tongue a moment too late, but Pete seemed to take it at face value. Woody’s stomach dropped a notch. He’d wanted... needed... to talk to Pete since it had happened, but this wasn’t how he wanted it be, especially after last night. But he had to do it, and he had to do it now. Apparently, both Sister Fate and the unnamed voice both said he had no choice in the matter. “Pete,” Woody said, wishing he were somewhere else, “there’s something I need to talk to you about. Something... important.” He half-wished Stain would come crazily through the door but that was unlikely. And he knew Miguel wouldn’t interrupt either, since he knew exactly what was about to happen.
Pete felt the hair on his neck stir as he felt sure he knew what Woody was about to say. He’d never said it before, despite how close they’d been. Pete had sometimes wondered how he’d react when Woody actually said the words, whether he’d feel the same way, whether he wanted to say them too. Somehow, in light of tonight, it wasn’t as scary as he’d thought it would be. Vince would be proud. Maybe it was time for a happy ending all around.
Pete smiled – a nervous smile, true, but a smile – moving closer to Woody, so that he had to crane his neck to look almost straight upward into Woody’s eyes. They hadn’t been this close in a very long time. A very long time. He was pleasantly surprised at how nice it felt to him. “It’s all right, Woody. Steve. I know what you want to say. I know that...” he started to feel nervous but quelled it as best he could, “I know that I treated you badly, Steve. I didn’t intend to do that, and I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if that’s what it takes.” His eyes were warm.
But Woody’s eyes were anything but. They weren’t cold or angry, but they weren’t the open and loving look Pete had been expecting. If anything, they looked uncomfortable. “Pete...” he began awkwardly.
But Pete gave him no chance. It was now or never. He took a quick, deep breath, and said, “Steve... I love you.” The three words that he’d never said, never thought he ever would, that he now realized that he should have said a long time ago.
Woody stood staring at Pete with a look so intent that Pete wasn’t sure whether he was angry or pleased. Pete blinked uncertainly, his smile fading. “Isn’t... Isn’t there anything you want to say to me?”
Woody kept looking at him for a moment longer, his eyes softening. Pete couldn’t be sure, but he thought he was close to crying. “Pete... you don’t know how long I waited to hear you say that. A long, long time. Yes, Pete, there is something I want to say to you. Something I’ve been needing to say to you for a long time.” He took a step back and said three words.
Just not the three words Pete had been hoping for.
“I met someone.”
The resonance stopped dead.
Pete hardly noticed; he was too busy feeling the floor drop out beneath him. “What?” No, he couldn’t have said what Pete thought he’d said. He’d just heard it wrong. It was something else entirely. No. Not after all he’d gone through tonight.
Woody sighed heavily. “I met someone, Pete. His name is Craig. We’re... we’ve been... seeing each other.”
“Oh,” Pete said, his brain firing randomly. This is not my beautiful house. This is not my beautiful wife. “When...?” He couldn’t make the question come out.
“About a month ago.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I wanted to. I tried at first and then... I felt so guilty. But you wouldn’t answer my phone calls and you were stomping around like you hated everybody and I felt so alone. Then Craig and I...” He trailed off at the look on Pete’s face.
He felt guilty. Not guilty enough to stop, though. But then Pete had given him no reason to stop; no reason to think things weren’t over between them. “Are you in love with him?” Pete asked woodenly. His face felt too tight for his skull.
Woody hesitated, looking at Pete intently, but answered, “Yes. I am. He’s very special.” Pete didn’t react overtly, but Woody could still tell he was hurt. “I fell in love with you first, Pete. But you walked away before I could tell you.”
“Yes, well,” Pete said. His voice was still flat. He knew it was supposed to have emotion in it, but he seemed to have forgotten how to do that. “You didn’t try all that hard either.”
Woody sighed. “You’re right. I didn’t. At first you avoided me, so I went to Craig. Then you wouldn’t see me at all, and... and Craig would. I know that’s no excuse. I know I was wrong, Pete. I’m sorry.”
Pete gave a mirthless little snort. “You’re sorry. No, I was wrong too. I pushed you away when I should have run to you first. You know, it’s funny, I finally get my head screwed on right and figure out what it is I want and it’s too late. Dad would be so proud.” He and Woody just stood for a minute looking at each other, looking around the room, unsure what else to say, until Pete finally said, “Does... Is it serious? I mean...” He had no idea what it was he meant.
Woody apparently did, though. “You could say it’s serious. I asked him to move in.” He seemed to shrink a little. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have told you that.”
Pete closed his eyes. If I cry now I will kill myself. He couldn’t remember where he’d read that line before. “No, I wanted to know. Is he... does he treat...?” He started to feel his throat close up and the tears begin. He balled up his hands and put them over his mouth to block his screams. He wasn’t sure he wanted to block them.
Woody was there in a heartbeat, crushing Pete to his middle – Pete wasn’t tall enough to reach to his shoulder – and rocking him softly. “He’s very good to me. He’s kind and sweet and for some reason he’s crazy about me.” Pete’s quiet sobbing did not abate. “You know, I don’t have fun with him the way I do with you. I don’t mean the power, Pete. I mean like when we’d watch porn and we’d laugh over the dialogue?” Even in his sadness, Pete hiccoughed a laugh. It was fun. “Or that time I was in the shower and didn’t notice the plug was in until it almost overflowed?” Pete was trying not to choke as he fought between crying and laughing. Woody, on the other hand, looked close to crying himself. “We’re good together, Pete. We really are. We... were.”
Pete backed away from him just enough that he could look up into Woody’s eyes. “Yeah, we were. We still are. Doesn’t change anything for me, you know. I still love you.”
Woody looked at him with one of those looks. “I still love you too, you little shithead. I always have. Things just... didn’t go the way we expected.” The path of She whom you call Sister Fate must be unblocked for you both. Why did it have to tell him that?
At that moment, Pete felt the resonance suddenly reappear, but not as it had been. It was strangely discordant, as though it was no longer on the same frequency. “Right,” Pete said dryly, rubbing his tears away. “And the Titanic didn’t quite make it to dock.” He cleared his throat as best he could. “What do we do now?”
Woody sighed. “We move on. Just like we always have. Besides, you may not be going back to school but you still don’t know what to do, right?” Pete shook his head, troubled. Funny how one sadness can distract you from another. “I know what it sounds like, but maybe you needed things to go this way.” Oh, now, that was comforting. Woody looked like he wanted to embrace Pete again, but Pete turned away. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to feel Steve's arms around him. It was because he did. Too much. “I’m still here for you, Pete. I didn’t mean what I said earlier. I’ll always come to your rescue.”
“I know.”
Woody cleared his throat roughly and moved toward the door. Just before he pulled it open, he said, “I do love you, Pete. Don’t ever forget that.”
“I know that too.” He gave a rueful look. “But that’s the thing. Sometimes love isn’t enough.”
Woody gave him a surprised and almost hurt look before he thought about it and nodded. He gave a lopsided grin. “Who knows, maybe we can even be friends again some time.”
Pete knew exactly what Woody was saying. They needed a break from each other before they tried to be around each other again even casually. He tried to return the grin but wasn’t sure he succeeded convincingly. “And maybe something more.” Just the smallest hint of a question at the end. Hope springs eternal, they say. Hope and heartbreak.
“Pete, it’s always going to be something more between us. Way more. We’re more than friends, but... less than lovers.” That explanation didn’t seem to cheer Pete up any. “I know what you’re saying. Maybe.” Except that Sister Fate said no. He couldn't tell Pete that he knew that, however. Suddenly he understood what The situation is not the same meant. He turned his face to the door before Pete could see the regret in his face, the acceptance that they both needed to move on. “I better get going. I've gotta get the car checked in and Paul home. And me. Craig must be worried.” Before Pete could react, he pulled the door open and exited.
And Pete knew it was over.
He stood looking at the door as it slowly closed. The symbolism was superb. And you may tell yourself, my God what have I done? For the first time ever he understood those lyrics. He knew exactly what he’d done, or hadn’t done, rather. Something Vince said in class once came up to the surface. Experience is the best teacher, but she runs up big bills. It was then that he noticed the resonance in his tattoo start to fade as Woody got further and further away. Soon it would be gone entirely.
Pete waited a count of a hundred before he exited. He just couldn’t stand being alone a moment longer than he needed to. The resonance had all but disappeared, although there was an almost subconscious connection still there. There probably always would be.
Woody was already across the parking lot, talking to Miguel, and surprisingly, standing a bit apart from them was Todd of all people. Miguel listened to Woodward for a moment, then nodded. He leaned in and said something to Woody, who nodded in return and turned and walked across to the waiting car without looking back in Pete's direction at all. Pete waited until Woody was well away before he started toward Miguel. Pete was surprised that he could see that well so far across the parking lot, until he realized that the sky was well into dawn. The sun was going to come up any moment. He snorted. This had been one hell of a long night.
Miguel was standing looking at the sky, toward where the sun was going to rise. Todd was still standing apart, as though sensing the mood. He couldn’t possibly know what had happened in the past few hours. “So he told you.”
“You knew?”
“Of course I knew.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” But even as Pete said it, he knew the answer.
“Pete, it wasn’t my place to say anything. And Woody asked me not to. ” So did someone else, he thought, but he kept that to himself like it had told him to. He made a disgusted sound. “Wish he hadn’t been such a chickenshit about it. But then, so were you.” Pete didn’t say anything. He just turned and watched toward where the sun was going to come up too. He’d heard that if you stared into the sun long enough you’d burn out your eyes. He was tempted to find out if it was true. “You okay?”
“No. No, I’m not. Should I be?”
“Nope. Be surprised if you were.” He stood for a bit, then said, “What are you going to do now?”
“Not a fucking clue. You?”
Miguel shook his head. “I got nothin’. Well, there is one thing.” He walked back across the parking lot and back into the shop. After a few moments the lights disappeared from the windows and shortly afterward Miguel himself reappeared, his leather jacket on and locking up behind him. His last act was to put a sign saying “CLOSED DUE TO SICKNESS.”
“Sickness?” Pete asked when he walked up.
“Yah. I’m sick of working.” Pete didn’t feel like laughing. It was hard. Miguel gestured Todd over to join them. “Come on,” he called. “All’s been said that’s been said.”
“Hi, Pete,” Todd said awkwardly. They didn’t know each other well and most of the times they’d seen each other Todd had been on his knees or his back. For some odd reason it didn’t bother him when they were in the shop together, but out in the real world Todd became morbidly embarrassed. Weird. “I, uh, just came to see, um, Miguel. It’s time for his morning, um...” He colored visibly. He was nervous saying the word blowjob? Oh, come on! The front of his pants was a tent right there!
“Later, baby,” Miguel said gently. Pete and Todd both whipped their heads around and stared at him. Miguel turning down a blowjob? From one of his regulars? His best regular?! “I need breakfast first. I had a long night.” Todd started to look hurt, surprised and crestfallen at the same time when Miguel added, “So let’s go get breakfast first and...” he sounded awkward too, “and talk for a while.”
Todd stared at him as though he’d never seen him before. Miguel had never been, well, nice before. He hadn’t been mean or nasty, but he hadn’t made it seem like he wanted a friend out of this deal, just a fuckhole. Which Todd didn’t mind, actually, he liked it, but friends are nice to have too. “Sure, Miguel. Anything you say.” He looked dumbstruck but pleased.
Miguel nodded. He’d definitely learned the value of companionship even if he didn’t want a marriage. Friends are good. After telling Todd to get in the truck, he said to Pete, “We’re gonna head to Mama Rosa’s Diner. Come on. I’ll get you a coffee.”
Pete shook his head. It was tempting, but being the third wheel wasn’t exactly what he had in mind to cheer him up at the moment. “You go on. Maybe I’ll catch up to you later.” He looked up at the rapidly lightening sky. “Looks like the end of another long night.” Looks like the end. He wondered idly where the nearest tall bridge was. He didn’t intend to kill himself, but somehow knowing he could made it easier for him to realize he didn’t want to. Applied logic.
Miguel looked up at the sky too. “Yeah, amigo, it’s the end of another night. But think about this. It’s also the start of a new day.” Pete thought about this. “I’ll be there a while. I need a good breakfast. I’ve got my cell. Buzz me when you’re coming and I’ll order for you.” Pete nodded, not really paying attention. Before Miguel turned away, however, he said, “Pete, fate must have a reason.” He sure hoped Sister Fate knew what she was doing.
Pete finished the line for him. “Why else endure the season. I didn’t know you liked k.d. lang.”
Miguel shrugged. “Hey, I like some queer stuff.” Pete rolled his eyes. “We’ll be at the diner for a while.” Without waiting for a response, Miguel walked to the truck where Todd was already waiting and pulled out onto the street. Pete watched him go.
Pete turned and looked just as the sun reached past the rooftops around him. He didn’t stare into it, just closed his eyes and enjoyed the warmth for a moment. Then he turned and walked toward the car he’d parked on the street what seemed like a year ago and drove off, watching the world around him get brighter and brighter.
END