Date: Fri, 15 Sep 2000 23:29:52 EDT
From: Scotty T <thepoetboy@hotmail.com>
Subject: Beneath_It_All_5

Classes have started.  Had to move.  Had to help my brother move.  Had to
paint my sister's new apartment.  Had to move my sister.  Broke up with my
bf.  Worked at keeping up in new courses.  Broke up with my bf.  Got back
together with my bf.  Had a dream where I was trying to solve a murder, and
was convinced the killer was a guy covered head to toe in thick, brown
hair.  Ordered Chinese food, found a caterpillar in it, sent it back.  Was
elected Swine House Secretary for the 4th year in a row.  Played with my
dog.  Worked.  Finished that crappy summer job.  Read all 4 Harry Potter
books in 3 and a half days.

So, I've been busy.  But here it is, number five!  It's a short one, but
it's a start.  The next one hopefully won't be a month away.

Thanks to DLS, as always.  He helped start this series, and so if you like
it, send him a thanks.

On with the story!

thepoetboy@hotmail.com


Part 5

Nick pushed the pans into the oven, feeling the heat baking the hairs on
his arms as he did it.  The entire stove shook as the oven door slammed
shut.  He turned back to the counter where John was pressing the dough down
onto two more pizza pans.  The older man's fingers were quickly pushing it
down into the proper crust shape, getting right to the edges of the pan.

"Any idea what Howie and AJ would want on theirs so I can get it ready
while everything's out?"

Nick moved over to lean against the counter beside where John was working.
His shoulder bumped against that of the other man.  "Don't worry about it
they can cut up anything they want on their own.  They're big boys."

"I don't doubt it," John said with a smile.  "I just don't want them
messing up my kitchen."

"Well, Howie's a big boy."  Nick felt the lip curl forming again, and
started to pull his lip straight.  But then he saw John's milky eyes
staring forward and he let it form.

"I thought you said they didn't like horses much?"

Nick shrugged.  "One thing you can say about them is that they're always
capable of surprising ya.  Especially if AJ's been shopping."

John tilted his head.  "What's that mean?"

Nick paused for a moment.  "Just that he wears strange stuff, lots of
stripes, colours, bits of fur and weird hats.  You dress like a country
song.  New country.  I like to dress like a low key dance song.  Howie
dresses like something with a jivey Latin beat.  AJ tends to look like all
that stuff playing at once, with some punk rock playing on top."

John laughed and scratched his nose.  He'd pretty well covered his apron
with flour, as well as the counter.  It had gone up in clouds, and he
hadn't seen it settle.  Nick had tried to wipe it away as soon as it
landed, but had quickly given up.

But now the smudge of white on John's nose was too prominent to ignore.
Nick laughed.

John turned to him.  "What?" he grinned.

"You got flour on your nose," Nick said, pointing before dropping his hand
back to his side.

The sleeve of John's shirt just managed to spread the mark, and made Nick's
laughing get louder.

"I didn't get it, did I?"

"Nope."  Nick moved over to the sink and dampened a paper towel.  "Just a
second."

John turned away from the island towards Nick and the sink, holding his
arms out in the air to keep the floured mess away from his clothing.  "I'd
have been fine if you hadn't told me.  Obliviousness works well."

Nick stepped back to the man, moving between the out-held arms.  "AJ would
have mocked you into an early grave."

John's eyebrow came up, registering his surprise at the closeness of the
voice, but he didn't step back he just held his arms further away, to keep
Nick clean.  "I can give as good as I get."

Nick had to keep his arms close to his body so as not to touch John.  It
made the task of bringing the damp paper towel up to the blind man's nose
more difficult, but Nick had no intention of backing away.  "We'll see
about that, Johnny-boy."  He pressed the towel to John's nose, quickly
wiping away the flour and leaving a slightly white drop of water hanging
from the tip.  He brought his dry hand up and wiped that away.  "All
clean."

Neither of them moved.  Nick found himself staring into eyes that could
never stare back, and he didn't care.

"What're you trying to say?" John asked quietly.

Nick's lip curled.  Like Elvis, his mother used to say.  "That your nose is
clean."

"That's it?"

"There's something else you want to hear?"

Nick watched thoughts play across the tiny muscles around John's mouth.
Then he watched those muscles form into a small smile.  And then the head
nodded.

"Yeah, I want to hear something else, Nick."  The voice was a whisper, not
because it wasn't meant to be overheard, but because loudness could have
added no more meaning than the near silence.

"Well," Nick said, nearly purring out the words, "there is one more thing."

John let his hands move closer to the young man.  "What?"

"I think," Nick said in a whisper, "our pizzas are burning."

He laughed and quickly slipped away from John, watching as the small smile
became a large one, and then finally a laugh.

John's flour covered hands flew forward, grabbing at air.  But one came
close, it brushed Nick's shirt and John leaned in that direction, his hand
closing on the fabric and pulling the smaller man towards him.  They were
face to face, with Nick's shirt twisted in the older man's hand, held with
a strong grip.

Both smiles were wide, and, even though John didn't notice, their eyes met.

"The pizzas just went in," John said slyly.

Nick decided to play innocent.  "I thought I smelled something burning."

"One of the things that makes me such a good cook," John said, grabbing the
shirt with his other hand and relaxing the first, "is that I can smell the
first signs of burning before anyone.  I can even give Denny a run for her
money."

"Care to explain why you've covered my shirt in flour?"

"You've still got talking to do."

"You sure you've got nothing to say?"

"I've got plenty to say."

"So do I."  Nick stared at his captor's smile as his own faltered, and
pulled away.

"Then say it."  John released his grip, feeling the young man pulling away.

"No," Nick whispered.  "Not yet."  This time the silence had a reason
anything louder would have released the tears.

Nick ran up the stairs.

***

The knight in the tower, beyond the roads of technology, in the maze of the
past.  The knight in the window, looking down at the land that surrounds
his prison.  The earth that flows outward.  Rich, lush, and as far away as
the furthest seas.

The knight, his princess gone, kept company by ghosts.  Their chains have
linked with his, tied into the stone of the walls, the stairs, the
foundations of the world.

And the key, the silver key, forgotten in the web and dust of the knight's
pocket.

***

Nick pulled himself up the last few stairs, trying to calm his breathing
and wipe his eyes at the same time.  He listened, holding his heavy
breaths, and head no movement on the stairs below.

Slowly he lowered until he was sitting on the top step.  The muscles in his
legs burned, his lungs felt like molten flesh, and his vision rose and fell
like the view of a storm from a row boat.

The stairs had been a desert, and the air was his reward of water.  He felt
his body collapsing in on itself, being eaten away by a hungry core.

Denny's heavy paws were climbing the steps.  Nick's ears registered the
sound beyond the pounding of blood in his ears, the rasp of breath being
dragged into his lungs.

The dog's head turned around the corner.  Denny peered up but kept her head
low, as if expecting the worst.  When she saw Nick, her head raised,
sniffing for any sign of a problem.  Her head wove slightly to find the
tell-tale scents of her world.

For his part, Nick stared at her as his breath returned.

"I need you to listen," he said, and her ears moved forward as if in
answer.  Slowly, she approached, inching her way up the stairs.  He could
see the effort in her shoulders as she pulled her way up, fighting age and
gravity.  A fight similar in expression to the one he'd just completed, but
different in source.

At the top she climbed past him and turned around, settling onto her
stomach on the hardwood floor, pushing her head against his arm.  He raised
a hand to her ears and she groaned appreciatively.

"I couldn't say it."

Her eyes disappeared behind the lids as the expression of bliss spread
across her face, but the ears were still perched attentively.  Her soft fur
felt calming under his fingers.

"I've fallen for him, Denny-girl, but I couldn't say it."  Nick sighed and
brushed his eyes with the back of his hand.  "And he knew it.  He already
knew and he wanted to hear it.  All I had to do was open my stupid mouth."

Denny let out a deep grumble, a sigh of thanks, and she stared up at him
and licked her chops.

"Why are words so hard to say?" Nick asked, more to himself than the dog,
as if all the words he'd said before were meant for her, and these were
not.  "All of our songs they're all about this.  Why can't it be that easy
when you actually mean what you say?

"I always wondered why people liked us so much."  He leaned back against
the bannister and stretched his sore legs down the steps, already beginning
to feel more like himself.  "We're cheesy.  Too cheesy.  Sometimes I can't
even keep a straight face."

"But you want to hear it somewhere, even if you know they aren't being said
to you.  Sometimes I like to think Brian's singing to . . . I've just gotta
say it.  I just have to bite the bullet."

Nick stood up, feeling the world spin.  He held onto the bannister until up
was up and down was down before moving back towards the kitchen.  Denny lay
her head on the step and watched him go, her tail lightly thumping on the
floor.

***

"John?"

Nick took the final step down into the kitchen just as the older man
started pulling the pizzas out of the oven.  John didn't turn his head to
acknowledge the new presence.

"John, I want to talk to you."

"You're not ready, Nick."  John set the first pan down on the counter, on
top of a woven potholder.

"I am ready."

"If you were, you wouldn't have run off.  You aren't ready."

He pushed the spatula under the edge of the crust and slid the pizza onto a
plate.  The process went quickly and cleanly, no slower for being in the
dark.

"I am ready," Nick repeated, still standing with one foot on the bottom
step, the other in the kitchen.  "I'm falling for you."

"You're a kid, Nick.  Like it or not, you aren't ready for this sort of
thing."

"I'm not a kid."

John layed the second pan on the counter and closed the oven door.  He
turned towards Nick and pulled the oven mitts off one at a time.  "Your
heart isn't the only one in this, Nick.  And I'm not up to setting myself
up for a fall."  His slight southern accent had grown strong.

"I know what I want."

John shook his head and tossed the mitts towards the counter.  One of them
missed and slid under the kitchen table.  "People don't run away from what
they want, Nick.  That's not how things work."

His hand reached out for the edge of the counter and he lead himself to the
door to the main hall.  "Just put whatever you don't eat in the fridge,
I'll clean up later."

Nick watched John walk up the hallway and heard the front screen door open.

"I want you, John," Nick called, but there was no answer.

***

End part 5.