Date: Fri, 30 May 2003 04:20:00 +0200 (CEST)
From: CT <ct@fangorn.xs4all.nl>
Subject: Road Trip 5

This is a work of fiction. As such, characters can take actions that
would probably be a less than stellar idea in the real world. Playing
fast and loose with privacy, unprotected fluid bonding, questionable
firearms safety. Be smart and safe out there. End of sermon.

As to my signoff: someone mailed me that it's "safe, sane, and
consensual" and comes from a different subculture. So? The concept's
still good no matter the context. As to the order, if it's not
consensual it's no go, no matter the rest. Only then does the question
of safe come into play, and as to sane, that's a judgment call where
your mileage may - and probably does - vary a lot.

Notwithstanding the previous paragraph, I must say I'm disappointed
with the lack of response. Feedback is appreciated and will be
answered. ct@fangorn.xs4all.nl .

Thanks to Larry for his contributions and editing.

And always remember: Keep it Consensual, Safe and Sane out there...

CT

Copyright notice: (C) Copyright 2003 by the author, reachable as
ct@fangorn.xs4all.nl. A non-exclusive license to display is granted to
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allowed for personal use only provided this copyright notice stays
intact. You are not allowed to repost or reuse this story outside the
Nifty Archives without the authors explicit written permission except
as allowed by the fair use clauses of copyright law and the Berne
convention.

Disclaimers: This story features among other things love and intimacy,
both emotional and physical, between men. This by definition makes it a
gay story. If you are offended by or not interested in this, or if
reading this is illegal at your age or in your locality, please leave
now.  I am not going to bail you out of jail for it unless you're cute.

This story is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual people,
organizations or places, living, dead or otherwise, with the exception
of established companies, products and locations used as non-
participating background, is purely coincidental. All trademarks are
property of their respective owners. All the usual disclaimers apply.



Road Trip, chapter 5


5.1 Micha


"Noooooooooo!"

A scream suddenly startles me from a pleasant dream, and before I'm
well and truly awake I'm already diving to the floor, grabbing the big
Maglite flashlight from the nightstand on the way down. Fully awake by
the time I hit the deck, I quickly scan the room. There doesn't seem to
be any intruder.

I look at the other bed where I see Pete thrashing around, obviously
still fast asleep and having a nightmare. I quickly get up from the
floor and walk over to him. Turning on the light, I try softly calling
him. "Pete. Wake up, Pete." He swings his arm at me, and I grab it
before he hits me. Either I'm not getting through to him or what I'm
saying is incorporated into his nightmare, but he doesn't wake up. I
softly put my other hand on his shoulder. His skin feels hot and
sweaty, and his pulse is racing a mile a minute. He flinches and curls
up into a fetal position.

"Noooo... Please, no more," he whimpers. I increase my grip on his
shoulder and start shaking him softly, calling his name. I'm not sure
what he's having a nightmare about. Probably being beaten by one of his
'friends'. I hope that waking him up will stop it. After what seems
like a long time, but probably is no more than a minute, he finally
wakes up.

"Who... Wha... What?" He suddenly sits up, awake. His expression
reminds me of a gazelle on Animal Planet — one that they do a telephoto
close-up of just before a lion finishes it off.

"You were having a nightmare."

"Oh shit." He sighs. "Not again. Did I wake you? I'm sorry... Why are
you holding that Maglite?"

I smile and try my best 'Maglite, what Maglite? Oh, that Maglite' look.
Think Daffy Duck after Elmer discovers him wearing a bullet proof vest
during duck season - 'Now how did that get there?'.

"Uhh. No worries. I may have overreacted a little when I woke up." I
put the Maglite back on the nightstand. Overreacted indeed. I guess
always having slept alone has made me more sensitive to unexpected
sounds. I must be more careful. I could hurt Pete badly if he happens
to be in the wrong place when he wakes me. Especially if those
nightmares are a recurrent thing.

"Shit. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It happens, nothing you can do about it."

"Still..."

Pete's sitting in bed, looking dejected. "It's OK, Pete, don't worry."
He seems so vulnerable, sitting there.

"Could you...   No, forget it."

"What?"

"No, I probably shouldn't..."

"Oh, c'mon, spit it out." Drat. I shouldn't lose my patience like that.
Easy, Micha, don't bite his head off, I keep telling myself.

"Micha, could you hold me? Sorry, I shouldn't ask that of you. You need
to sleep too, and these nightmares, they come sometimes. I've been told
I can become violent when they're bad. I don't want to hurt you. Forget
it."

I smile, and get into the bed, next to Pete. I pull him close to me,
his head on my shoulder. "Don't worry. I'm holding onto you, I doubt
you could do much damage before I wake up. In fact, I'm more worried...
No, just don't worry about it."

He puts his left arm across my chest and as I reach back to turn off
the light he snuggles in even closer to me. After a while I feel him
relax, his breathing and heartbeat slowing down. Long after Pete's
drifted off to sleep I lie there, watching him, trying to come down
from the adrenalin rush, trying to plan for tomorrow. Finally sleep
overcomes me too.


5.2 Pete


Morning. Light. Warmth. I am vaguely aware that I should probably be
getting up, but instead my sleep-addled brain decides otherwise. A
sense of well-being permeates me and I doze off once more.

Some time later I wake up again. The first rays of daylight have long
since reached a truce in their battle with the heavy curtains in our
southeast-facing motel room. No light shines directly into the room but
through the gap between the window and the curtains the sun now fills
our temporary abode with a dim, soft, diffuse light.

Awareness is slowly reasserting its hold over me and I start realizing
that Micha is sharing my bed, holding me. My head rests on his chest,
his arms are around me and mine around him. I feel completely safe,
warm, loved, for the first time in years.

He smiles and gently kisses my forehead. "Good morning. Did you sleep
well?"

So that's what he sounds like in the morning, his voice a bit gravelly.
I like it. I could wake up to that 'Good morning' every day and not
tire of it. "Yes. Better than I've slept for years. Did I have any more
nightmares?"

"Yes, two. Don't worry about it, you slept through them."

"I... I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No. You became restless and woke me up long before you started
flailing your arms about. Easy enough to control. I hope that didn't
add to your nightmares."

"I don't think so. I don't remember that, anyway. Thanks for staying
with me. I had no right to ask that of you."

"Bullshit. You had every right to ask, just as I had every right to
agree or refuse. You needed to be held, you asked, I agreed, simple as
that. And make no mistake about it, I like sharing a bed with you.
Anyway, I'm no mind reader and this is new to me, too. If you want to
say or ask anything, do so. I'm not going to say I will do or answer
everything, but I'm not going to be offended. I hope you won't be
either if I do the same."

"No. I'll try not to. I hope I won't be. I ... Oh shit!" I've suddenly
become aware of the sticky mess I've made on myself, on the bed, and
worst of all, on Micha. "Oh shit, man, I'm sorry... I haven't for
years... I'm sorry." I try to turn away but Micha is still holding me,
and still smiling.

"Why? It's perfectly normal, although it does mean having 'the talk' a
bit sooner than I expected. I know I'm clean. How about you?"

"I tested clean last year, haven't done anything with anyone for three
years, Roger being first, last and only. But I guess we should get
tested again just to be sure." Micha is looking at me intently. "What?"
I ask. He smiles.

"Maybe. Body language often speaks louder than words. Anyway, that's
what, two years? Most everything would've shown up, so I think we're
pretty safe. We'll decide before we go much further. If we decide to go
further."

"Then I think we should get tested. I'll go as far as you want to."

"That, Pete, isn't the kind of decision you should leave to others.
Only you can set limits you're comfortable with. Letting others push
you leads to misery, though I think I'm preaching to the choir here."

"Uh-huh," I nod. Micha's right I guess, but lying here in his arms I
also know there isn't a thing I wouldn't do if he asked it of me.

I must've nodded off again. I wake up again realizing he's just asked
me something. "Uh, sorry? I must've dozed off."

He grins. "I'd love nothing better than to stay here in bed with you
all day, but a new day's calling, and we should probably get ready to
move. Do you still want to travel around with me or has a good night's
sleep changed your perspective?"

Changed my perspective? Oh damn, he doesn't want to dump me, does he?
He must've felt me tense up.

"Don't worry, not trying to get rid of you, I just want to know that
you haven't changed your mind. It'll be a major change for you, so if
you have second thoughts..."

"No. Definitely not. There's nothing I want more than to get out of
this hell hole of a town. Well, one thing I want more - you."

"Whoa there, taking it slow and easy, right? Let's get cleaned up
first."

With that he pulls the covers off of us, jumps out of bed, picks me up
and carries me into the bathroom.


5.3 Micha


A shower is just what we need. Neither of us has washed for a couple of
days and with Pete being a bit enthusiastic in his sleep, things are
getting rank.

Stepping into the bathtub, I set Pete down. Still holding him, I turn
on the water and adjust the temperature, then switch from tap to
showerhead. I feel him flinch.

"Sorry, Babe. You're healing well, but showering will probably hurt for
another couple of days." I start to reach for the soap, but he keeps
holding me, looking at me with a dreamy look in his eyes.

"You called me Babe. Nobody's ever called me that before." Pete starts
crying, and I hug him tightly, holding him for what seems like forever,
until he calms down.

"Yes." What more can I say? Still holding him with one hand I get the
soap with my other hand and quickly wash us both. Pete's mind seems to
be somewhere else entirely, although he is trying to be cooperative.
Before long we're washed, rinsed and dried. As we walk back into the
room he seems to come out of whatever thoughts he was in.

"Thanks."

"Sure, anything for you. Still, there's one thing I can't do for you,
and that's to call your friend Mike and ask if your truck and
belongings can be parked at his place. You do that while I put our
stuff back in the car."

Pete sits down at the telephone while I quickly gather what items of
ours, mainly mine, that we brought into the room, and put them in the
car. He finishes the call just as I come back into the room.

"Good news, I can park the truck at Mike's place for now."

"Hey, great. Well, let's get moving then. I've already settled the
room." We get into the car and drive off. Being back on the road again
feels good after three days of being cooped up in a motel. Seeing this
part of the Rockies by daylight is nice, too.

A good hour later as we approach the river bridge I feel myself going
into high alert. This is where Pete tried to kill himself only four
days ago. I moved him away, and I've no idea how he's going to react to
being back at that place, back in the truck he drove there. Back,
basically, in part of his old life, even if only for a short time. He's
been very quiet for the last half hour.

I pull up next to the bushes behind which I've parked Pete's truck and
shut the engine down. We get out of the car and Pete starts walking
towards the bridge, a hundred yards down the road. I fall in step
beside him and put my arm around his shoulders. Call me paranoid, but
no way am I letting him out of physical contact within fifty yards of
that river. Not now.


5.4 Pete


"You OK?" Micha asks.

We're standing by the bridge railing. I keep looking out over the
river. "Yeah. I was thinking of how life's shaped by chance. If I'd
woken sooner or later in that rubbish pile, if my truck hadn't broken
down when it did, or if I hadn't been able to fix it when I did, if you
hadn't decided to go driving in the mountains at night, if you'd driven
faster or slower... We'd never have met, and I'd be dead, down there
with the other debris, or washed away downstream."

I lean forward to look down and under the bridge. Micha tightens his
arm around my shoulders and pulls me even closer to him.

"Don't worry, I'm not gonna jump now. You know, when it broke down I
cursed that truck. I guess it too played its part and I owe it an
apology."

"Dunno. Maybe. Can't hurt."

"It'd never broken down before. And it still got me to the bridge in
time for you to find me."

"People have been trying to explain that kind of thing since the dawn
of time."

"Gods and Demons running the world."

"Yes. Among other things. Karma. Probability. Quantum and Chaos
theory."

"The Gods of accounting, inevitability and science."

"Yes."

"You don't believe in anything?"

"I grew up believing, or thinking I did. I don't know anymore."

"Why?"

"All have their flaws. The closer you look, the more inconsistencies
appear. It's not confirmed by observation."

"Can you trust your eyes? Y' know, what I'm really afraid of is that
I've jumped anyway and all this — you, me, us, the past days, loving
you - is just my dying brain playing tricks on me and I'll wake up down
there, blowing out my last breath. What do you think I'm looking for?
Or maybe I'm dead already and this is God's idea of having a good
laugh. 'What fools these mortals be.'"

"Perhaps. Or maybe we're just self-aware simulations running on the
Playstation-20047 of some pimply-faced little green teenager from Alpha
Centauri. That way madness lies. Greater minds than ours have gone nuts
over that. Let's not worry about it. You think you're real, I think I'm
real, you think I'm real, I think you're real, and we've got each
other. How much more real do you, can you, want it?"

As I turn around to face him he pulls me into a hug and kisses me. Even
if this is just a final hallucination, it's a good way to die.
Eventually our need to breathe overcomes our need for contact and we
reluctantly break our lip-lock.

"Thanks."

"Sure."

"Let's go get the truck."

"Yes." Micha hands me the keys, and we walk back to where the cars are
parked, his arm still around me. I realize I'm holding him, too.

Opening the door of my truck, I notice bloodstains in the upholstery.
"I must've been a mess," I say, to no one in particular. A momentary
sadness passes over Micha's face.

"Yes, you were. I'm amazed how quick you're healing."

"Practice." I climb in and put the key in the ignition. The engine
fires up on the first attempt. I run my hands over the wheel and gear
selector and quietly thank it. It's served me well. "Where do you want
to go first?"

"Your place. Lead the way."

As we drive back, the land already feels different to me. Living here,
it just was. Now I'm wondering where I'm going to end up, if it'll look
like here, and when I'll see the Colorado Rockies again. Before long
we've reached town. A couple of turns and we've arrived at my
apartment. Micha parks his car in the visitor space next to my parking
space.

I open the door. A stale smell permeates the air. Damn, I must've left
some food out. Micha is standing behind me. I turn around. "OK, Mich,
what can I take?"

"There's quite a bit of space in the trunk, and we can also use the
back seat. I suggest you take clothes for cold and warm climate, books,
whatever you think you'll need on the road and for the first weeks once
you're settled down somewhere, that kind of things. Don't worry too
much about it, we can always get whatever you need if you didn't bring
or don't have it. Oh, and whatever's valuable or personal plus the
system unit of your computer. Monitors and stuff are cheap enough to be
replaced, no need to bring those now. Put the rest of the stuff in the
truck. I don't know what's yours and what comes with the house, so how
about you do the packing and I'll carry it out to the cars?"

"Sounds good to me." I don't have much anyway. Thirty minutes later I'm
making a final check if I've forgotten anything and Micha's outside
putting the last of the boxes in the truck. Nothing left here. I go
outside and pull the door closed behind me. It's goodbye. "Let's go."

A couple of stops around town later my life here is pretty much wrapped
up. The lease on my apartment has been cancelled, my mail has been
forwarded at the post office and cards have been written and mailed to
people who might look for me. We are getting out of here. The road is
empty, and at the city limit I stop. I've always dreamt of doing this.
Getting out of the truck, I take one last look at the town I grew up
in, the town that almost killed me, and give it a heartfelt one-finger
salute.  Grinning, I get back into the truck, gun the engine and set
off in a cloud of dust, Micha following behind me.


5.5 Micha


I follow Pete out of town and down a twisty mountain road. A couple of
miles later we turn onto a small dirt road. At the end of the dirt road
we turn left through a gate and down another dirt road. Along the road
are various signs, some more humorous than others. "Forget the dogs,
beware of the owner" is one of them. "Gun control is hitting what you
aim at" seems to be a favorite, and the remains of practice targets are
clearly visible. As we reach the small house at the end of the road,
Pete pulls up behind the house, and after I've turned my car around I
park next to his truck. Four big Dobermans are running around our cars,
but they quickly retreat after a whistled command. The back door opens
and a man holding a shotgun walks out onto the porch.

"It's safe to come out of your car now!" he shouts.

Pete and I get out of our cars and go up the steps to the porch.

Mike greets Pete but keeps a leery eye on me, and the shotgun, while
somewhat safely pointed up, remains in my general direction. "Who's
he?" he asks Pete.

"Mike, meet Micha. Micha, Mike."

"Hi." Mike gives me a suspicious look but flips the safety catch of the
shotgun back on. "You know, Pete, I was really startin' to get worried
about you. Hadn't seen you around for some days."

"Yeah, a lot has happened. But I've met Micha, so good came out of it."

"I hope so. You deserve some good luck. Now, how long do you need to
park that truck here?"

Pete looks at me, then shrugs. "I really don't know. Micha's gonna help
me find JJ and get settled somewhere. Couple of months maybe?"

"Then you better go park it in the barn. The door's open and I think
there's space to the right of the door 'bout halfway down. It's safer
for it and safer for me."

Pete gets back in his truck and starts driving down the yard towards
the barn. As I turn around to walk down to the barn myself, Mike
motions me to stay.

"Are you for real?" he asks me.

"Well, I'm here in front of you, breathing and speaking. That's about
as real as it gets, I guess."

"Now don't you get smart with me. I don't know what you've done with
Pete, but he seems happier than I've ever seen him since JJ left town.
Are you two involved in some way? You're not gonna hurt him or dump him
like that bastard Roger did, are you?"

"I love Pete, and he loves me, and we're taking it from there. Trust
me, I'm not gonna hurt or dump him. I gave Pete my word on that."

"You really think you can find JJ? You know, I tried to find him myself
a couple years ago. He seems to have disappeared, couldn't find a trace
of him."

"I hope I can. The networks have grown since, and I've some skills and
some friends who can help. Still, while I'm hopeful, it's far from a
sure thing. Might be more than a couple of months, too. Anyway, if you
hear anything or just want to catch up on how we're doing, please don't
hesitate to call. Here's my card. That cell phone and email will reach
me just about anywhere in the civilized world."

"Thanks. Don't worry about time, I figured that out already. Why'd you
think I made him put that truck in the barn? But you take care of him
now, you hear? I tried to do what I could, but in this town I gotta be
careful, especially living out here by myself. Rumors start and stuff
can happen, you know."

"Yeah, I know. And I do want to thank you for doing what you could and
being friendly to Pete. I doubt if he'd've survived until now if you
hadn't."

"I wish I could've done more. Ah, Pete's almost back here. Y'all want
to stay for lunch?"

Mike asks that last question loud enough for Pete to hear it. I look at
Pete and he nods. I turn back to Mike. "Sure, we've got a long drive
ahead of us, bound to be better on a full stomach." We follow Mike back
inside and over lunch we continue talking.

All good things come to an end, though, even a late lunch with friends.
As the sun starts getting noticeably lower, we finally leave Mike with
promises to keep each other updated. With Pete's guidance, we make our
way via small mountain roads onto hwy 40, heading for 13 and 789 into
Wyoming and I80. Once we're on the highway he turns to face me. "What
was that talk with Mike about while I was parking the truck?"

"It was about a number of things. Mainly about his concern for you, and
trying to figure me out, to make sure I wouldn't hurt you. Mike's tried
to be a friend, but he's scared."

"Scared? Mike? He's one of the strongest, most self-reliant people I
know. He ain't scared. And I don't think he ever wanted much to do with
me either. But at least he didn't hate me."

"Think. The dogs, the guns, leaving practice targets with well placed
groups around, your car in the barn out of sight... Yes, he is scared.
In this town, a man in his 40's, never been married, living out here
alone... I understand his reluctance to be publicly identified with
you, even if it might've made your life easier, or perhaps harder.
Still, I think he looked out for you when he thought he could safely do
so, and I think he's genuinely concerned about you."

"He didn't show that when it could've done some good. It's easy for him
to be concerned now that I'm leaving."

"Please don't judge him just now. It's a shame what people will do, or
not do, out of fear."

"You don't seem to have fear. You could've run away. Hell, you didn't
even know me. I could've been some psycho who would've fucked you up.
You weren't even phased when I blew a load on you, and you didn't know
if I was clean."

"Sure I have fear. I fear myself more than anything. I fear fucking up.
All I or anyone can do is try to do what seems right at the time, and
that often enough turns out to be wrong in hindsight. I don't fear
others, or events. Maybe a healthy apprehension, alertness, at times.
That keeps me focused and alive. But there's nothing I can do except
deal with them, so fear would serve no purpose. And as to you being
clean, I took some liberties. If you know your way around the
databases, medical records aren't all that private."

"You what? You broke into my medical records?"

"Technically, I didn't exactly break into your medical records, though
I doubt a judge would appreciate the difference. Yes, I did some
checking. I had to have some data to help me decide how I could best
help you. You were in no condition to tell me yourself."

"I guess. So what did you find out? Another discarded kid screwing up?
I guess I didn't tell you much news when I gave you my life story... "

"Just data. Computers are good at regurgitating data, not the story
behind it. The emergency room visits, medical history, university
records, biographic data, police reports. It paints a picture but
doesn't tell the story behind it. That same data could support a very
different scenario. Anyway, I found your last two STD tests, both
clean. And when I took you to a doctor - a trusted one, paid in cash,
no records there ever - that first night, I had you tested just to be
sure; that was before I got to the records."

"You WHAT!?"

"You had open wounds, and I was going to take care of you for at least
a couple of days. I had to know if or what precautions I should take. I
also got tested myself then, so I know we're both clean."

"Still..." Pete turns away from me and looks out the window.