Safe and Sane

"I'm gonna say something that just might get me struck by lightning." He paused, bracing himself more or less. "I want a salad."

Ben was so used to decorating for holidays that he did it without thinking about it much anymore. Wasn't a hassle to cut one of the trees on the ranch and decorate it. He paid other people to wrap presents for him, but he piled them deep for the kids and grandkids. And Nate. He'd added gifts for Nate this year again for the first time in too long, and it felt good.

So did the fire going in the fireplace tonight. He wasn't a big 'nog drinker, but he could and did handle rum, especially at the holidays, so he poured a glass for himself and one for Nate and took them both to the living room.

He handed one over saying, "Happy early Christmas."

There were balloons and streamers still up from the party the cafe had thrown the previous night. The staff though, the staff were still enthused, still bouncy, wandering through their jobs in Obama tee shirts, pins, big sparkly hats.

California's proposition 8 had put a dint in everyone's enthusiasm, but. Not much. They had freedom fries on offer in the cafe in a completely non ironic way for the first time ever.

The weather was pretty temperate, considering that it was headed toward October. Warm days with some cloud cover. That meant the cafe wasn't pulling out the stops to break a heatwave, and it didn't need to worry about the heating bill to keep people warm.

Still, the evenings were sliding toward cool, so they'd broken out all the fancy hot chocolate additions, for the brave, bold, gourmand or just plain curious.

There were small wooden bowls of popcorn on every table and the smell, as well as the sound of more being popped, filled the air.

Nate had spent about twenty minutes talking to the crowd, explaining the various "toys" that he used when he was performing and the safety rules behind everything.

He also acknowledged the irony that went with being an arson inspector and someone who played with fire for a hobby.

When his schpiel was done, he excused himself for a brief moment to check in with Ben (who was acting as his safety tech for the night) and to change into -- for the lack of a better term -- his "costume". When he reappeared he was bare-chested and wearing a pair of loose-fitting leather pants.

He lit the ends of his double staves and let the excess fuel burn off for just a moment before he gave Ben the signal to start the music and he began to move.

Slow, graceful sweeps to start with, getting his balance, gaining momentum before launching into a series of fast moves, twining the staves around his body, spinning both around each other until it was hard to tell where one began and the other ended. Curving his body around the flames. Dancing with the fire as if it were a partner. Courting it. Chasing it. Letting it catch him.

The flames painted his body with a red glow, adding to the warmth of the setting sun. As it got darker, the flames traced paths in the air and Nate became a painter, creating fleeting flowers and mesmerizing abstract patterns until it was easy to forget he was there and there was only the fire.

Ben owned a ranch. It made sense that he had handset radios that he used when he was out in the acreage somewhere. He also had ATVs that were used to get around.

So it shouldn't have been too surprising that he beeped Nate on a handset Sunday afternoon, as the sun was setting, and said, "Got hung up out on the back stretch. Come out here and give me a hand."

Ben had a wrench in his hand and a very wet shirt. Okay, his jeans were wet too. He tossed the wrench on the bar counter and exhaled, then said to no one in particular, "Bathroom sink's not dripping anymore."

Nate had called Ben and asked him to meet up at the club -- he had something important to ask him. Then he'd reserved one of the rooms (just in case), grabbed a table and waited.

He tried not to smile too broadly when he saw the other man.

"Hey."

It was Friday night and Len had thought a little delayed Cinco de Mayo might be nice. There was a buffet of Mexican finger food along one wall. The bar was decked out in festive blankets and decorations and were serving a wide array of virgin and not so virgin margaritas. He had forgone that Mariachi band because he really didn't need the headache and had settled for something Alex had picked out to play in the background.

It was a Friday night and there were no demos. That meant a quiet night in the main room, with tea, coffee, and munchies through out the room. It was just a quiet Friday night, really.

Nate called ahead to make sure that Ben wasn't busy. He arrived with hands full of grocery bags and a smile on his face.

"Hey," he said when Ben opened the door. "First day of May sounds like a good excuse for grilled steaks if you ask me."