Who: Gareth and Gideon What: Hanging out -- spilling BIG secrets When: Around 11:00AM-ish (before the scene where Gareth & Dusty fight at Denny's) Where: Gid's trailer/van
Gareth was feeling unusually refreshed. The morning had started off pretty wonderfully. He'd awoken to a freshly made (and still warm) breakfast on the clean kitchen counter, smoked two cigarettes, taken a shower, and sat around the house, wondering what to do. Dusty was out -- doing what Gareth could only guess, but that was fine, the less the man saw him in the light, the less likely he was to notice the healing bite marks on Gareth's neck. That suited Gareth just fine. Thinking about it, the blonde man realized that there was no way in hell it could have been Dusty who had made him the delicious breakfast -- not because he doubted his friend's cooking talent, but because Dusty had sworn off cooking all together. It immediately made sense. Gideon had come over after Dusty untied him. The idea brought a smile to the Texan's face, and it was with that same smile that Gareth decided to head over to Gideon's. If only to thank him. The walk was mercifully brief -- Gareth had woken up coughing up lung-fulls of blood, something he wasn't so happy about, and he found himself having a little trouble breathing. However, when he spied Gideon on his lawn, all concerns about his lungs went away and the blonde man shouted out cheerfully. "Gid! Hey!"
Gideon had had a busy morning. After dragging himself away from Gare and Dusty's place (he'd have kept cleaning if Dusty hadn't been sitting around, but he didn't really feel like spending the morning listening to ininspired gay jokes), he'd come home and cleaned up his floor, getting all the blood off. Getting his bed made up again could be a task for later. It would be too much of a temptation just to crawl back in and stay there until work. He was done wasting time. And if his limbs were still faintly trembling with exhaustion, well, served him right. So he'd gotten to a task he'd been meaning to a while. He'd hiked to the hardware store in the gentle dawn light, been at the door when it opened, and picked up a proper collection of rounded wooden stakes. His lawn wasn't big enough for a really good practice space, but it was something.
After that night and in the sun, Gideon was almost as weak as a human his size and as sickly as he seemed would be. It was taking a lot of work to get the stakes in the ground, but he was already about a third of the way done. He'd been determined to keep working all the way through, but Gareth's interruption was most welcome. He was at least faintly aware, somewhere, that forcing himself to the brink of exhaustion was a bad idea. He smiled when he turned, his hair pulled back in a loose braid and shirtless in the weak morning sun. The marks around his wrists were scabbed over and beginning to heal and his right pinky was wrapped to the ring finger, but he otherwise looked okay. Just tired. "Gare! Well, you sleep like a rock, hoss. How's it goin'?"
Gareth took in the sight of the smaller man working in the lawn with a mingling of confusion and curiosity. "Yeah, I don't really sleep all that much." He answered at the other man's comment, offering a small and a little weary smile. "It's hard fer me to. So... I usually don't." As if to prove his point, a yawn escaped him and he stretched a little, taking a few steps forward. Gideon was filling his lawn with small wooden spike-like things, and Gareth knelt down beside one, touching it. "Whatcha doin' here?" He asked, pressing his index finger against the smooth grain of the wood. It seemed sturdy enough.
The sunlight was still trying to break through the clouds, and Gareth appreciated its presence, despite the fact that it weakened his two closest friends. He hated rainy days -- and Michigan had way too many of them. Gideon looked younger than ever in the light -- a mere shadow of the nineteen year old body he was in, and Gareth wondered how hard that must be, to forever be something you weren't. Inside that tiny and immortal body lay the mind of a sixty year old. Someone almost old enough to be his father. Almost. It was a strange thought and he decided to let it pass rather than dwell on it. "If this is yer idea of lawn decoratin', I'm thinkin' you might want to call that rich white bitch -- Martha Stewart or whatever and get some advice man." He added, standing back up and taking a slow and deep breath.
"Nah, if I wanna decorate, y'all cain steal me some gnomes." It was easier to demonstrate than explain, and Gideon wasn't very aware of how martial arts movies had exploded since his own studies began, and found it quite natural that the apparatus would be foreign to Gareth and just about anyone else. He put down his tools and hopped to his feet. Gideon stepped out of his moccassins and hopped onto two of the pegs that were already in the ground. He didn't have enough room to do much of anything, but he thought he could get the idea across. "S'fer practice. Chongde had a beautiful set. Like, nice hardwood, stuck pretty much permanent-like. I ain't been in one place long enough t'have my own, but it seems like I ain't goin' nowhere anytime soon. The whole new world thing, plus you an' Dusty need lookin' after."
He moved gracefully from one peg to another, apparently in no discomfort despite his bare feet. He'd been trained to this for years, of course. Being a vampire made petty things like stubbed toes or splinters totally unworthy of notice. And of course, he'd brutalized himself terribly the night before. An ache on the bottoms of his feet wasn't a real problem. "It's cheap wood, but I don' weigh too much or nothin'. It'll be space for me t'go through drills an' forms, an' if I cain dig out my practice weapons, that, too." He wouldn't go swinging live steel around in the open. Maybe he'd better not tell Gareth he had all that live steel. Come to think. He'd want to mess around with it.
Gareth watched with minor astonishment as the small man hopped up onto one of the wooden pegs, standing neatly, his balance perfect. Gareth had never been clumsy, by any means, but he found the grace with which Gideon hopped up on the wood impressive and a little daunting. Gideon's next words took him by surprise -- the small man had no intention of going anywhere. It was strange to think that he and Dusty weren't the only ones settling down, strange to think they might even be really making friends. He was so wrapped up in that concept that he almost completely overlooked Gideon's add on about taking care of them. "Yer stickin' around then? Like, fer good?" His question was quiet, almost sounding stunned. Both he and Dusty had had lovers and sort-of-friends over the years. People they met and fucked or fought with for a couple weeks to a month at a time before the hunt was over and it was time for them to pack their shit and run. Gideon said he didn't intend to leave though. Gareth found himself liking that. After another pause it sunk in that the blonde man had implied that he and Dusty were less than responsible and a look of mingled amusement and offense struck his features. "Oh yeah? We need takin' care of?" He asked, though he didn't really sound too mad. In fact, his tone was almost touched. "We been lookin' after ourselves since I was six you know." And then he realized that... no. Gideon didn't know. No one knew about the nights that Dusty knocked on Gareth's window, bleeding from the mouth, from the ears, from long gashes in his back that looked like someone had taken a belt with a mighty-large buckle on it to him. Nobody knew about Gareth's immense medical skills, how he could stop bloodflow in moments -- his ability to stitch and disinfect and cauterize -- all things he'd taught himself, Dusty his own personal patient. He regarded Gideon for a long moment, lost in his memories. Maybe in time Gideon would hear those things -- all censored of course, to keep the worst of Dusty's childhood out of the picture, but until then... "What kind'a weapons?" He asked, changing subjects. Of course, Gideon had no idea of his and Dusty's own personal arsenal, but that didn't really matter either.
No, he hadn't known that. Gideon had gathered that his friends had had a much rougher time of it than he had. Well, yeah, he'd died before he was twenty, but a lot of what he'd been through was his own fault. He knew he'd been unhappy at home, that he'd worried his mother and annoyed his father and never fit in at all, that the days had dragged by gray and miserable, but he couldn't remember the actual feelings. What he did remember was the gnawing guilt whenever he thought about what he'd done to his family. A little fractured, a little dysfunctional, too many kids and too little love, but a real family that had loved him as much as anyone could expect to be loved, Matty and Mark most of all. And he'd left them all on his selfish little quest. As wonderful as his discoveries over the next years had been, and as certain as his early death was, he knew that he'd stay home if he could do it again. He'd wasted his good fortune. What wouldn't Dusty of Gareth have given for five bossy sisters and two sweet brothers and cooking lessons with Grandma?
So he was glad when Gareth changed the subject. "Wooden ones. Pair a'daggers, pair a'ken dao swords. Pretty good ones, too. Well made. They weigh right in my hands, so the practice is worth while." He jumped down again from the pegs. He couldn't get anything useful done on so few, and just standing there was unfomfortable for no good reason. It'd be weird to carry on a conversation while holding a deep stance.
"Oh, wooden ones?" Gareth sounded equal parts disappointed and interested. "Dusty an' I got some weapons too. I got this pretty fuckin' awesome silver crossbow, my granddad left it to me." He decided to leave it at that, play it safe. Afterall, blabbering on about the very weapons he used to kill Gideon's friends... Abruptly, Gareth's face brightened, his blue eyes locking on Gideon's. "Oh. Hey. I completely fergot. I came over to thank you fer breakfast, an cleanin' the kitchen. We kinda had a fire the other day and I never really got around to tidyin' up." He laughed a little and reached out, slapping Gideon's arm. His mind returned to something else, equally out of the blue, and the hand on Gideon's arm tightened a little before he pulled the tiny man into a hug. "I meant to give you this too, cuz uh, you looked kinda... like I'd kicked yer puppy or somethin' when I gave you a lousy one last night." He explained, uncomfortable with extended amounts of touch, but feeling bad enough that he was willing to sacrifice his usual comfort for a few moments.
"Yer welcome," he said, muffled by Gareth's chest. Being a full foot taller than Gideon wasn't that rare, really, but he didn't usually get hugged by those people, so this was a nice new experience. He wished he could feel warmth properly. It must be really cozy to be hugged like this. He knew he'd overreacted to Gareth turning down his embrace the night before, and he'd say that in a minute, when he got done with this one. That made up for it. It had been very silly of him to care. Gideon squeeze back, his arms knotting around Gareth's waist and hugging with more strength than made sense at all. At least Dusty looked strong to start with when he did the vampire thing.
He stepped back after a minute, looking sheepish and twisting his big toe into the ground like he'd been caught stealing cookies. "Yeah, I... sorry about that. I guess I kinda... In fronta Dusty. I wouldn't of if you hadn't hugged me a couple times already. I'll just figure it's yer call whether there's gonna be hugging." He couldn't resist adding, with a broad smile, "But y'are good at it."
Gareth flushed. He'd been told he was good at a lot of things -- hunting, fucking, playing guitar. Hugging had never been high on the list. It struck him even moreso that he had never really been much of a hugger. He and Dusty had hugged of course -- back before Dusty's father went beyond beating him, back when they were slips of lads at the tender ages of six and seven, they had hugged on occasion. But by the time they were verging on age ten, hugging was out of the question. Gareth could count on one hand the amount of times he had wrapped his arms around Dusty's shoulders, locked hands behind his back and squeezed -- and the most recent had been that very week. So Gareth flushed, and "Aw shucks"ed a little at Gideon's words, embarrassed and flattered ... but mostly embarrassed. "I don't hug often -- it ain't just uh, Dusty bein' there Gid. You gotta understand that. I mean, things is sometimes weird with him, but uh, you know we just aint real affectionate people or nothin, even havin' girlfriends hangin' offa one a'us or the other is kinda weird, so it just sort'a threw me off." He sighed, uncertain about sharing so much of himself. "But hey. You know.... I guess if you ever need a hug, I can... like, give 'em and shit. But don't tell D. He'd think its gay an' all." He smiled a little, and looked up at the sun. "You gotta be weak as a kitten hoss -- all this sunrise and all that bloodloss you went through. You need to go inside or anythin'?"
Gideon nodded. He understood not being a huggy person. He really wasn't one himself, normally. He wanted to point out again that Gareth had started it. He never would have thought of throwing his arms around the sweet, dopey man. Much as he liked Gareth, they'd just met. But he'd started it, and Gideon couldn't help feeling it unjust that he was the one getting lectured now. But he didn't want to argue with Gare. "I'm tired of that shit. I've been lettin' the sun an' moon boss me around too damn long. I mean, yeah, ain't at my best, but when I git t'work this afternoon I'll git a snack, an' that'll keep me jus' fine." He tried to look as solid as he could, which didn't work very well. He wasn't swaying or shaking right now, but he looked half toppled over where he stood nonetheless. "Besides I... ain't really got the place back t'lookin' like home. Just did the cleanin' up. If I make up a bed t'fall into, I just won' git up again until I gotta head to work." Though he would need to dig out some thin hand warmers. He wouldn't want customers catching a glimpse of the nasty looking wounds around his wrists.
"Look, uh..." Gareth suddenly found himself between a rock and a hard place. If he offered to let Gideon feed from him -- he'd be breaking a moral code, not to mention doing something potentially stupid. At the same time, he could see clearly how weak Gideon was. Afterall, hadn't he and Dusty tortured vampires just about every way they could? He'd seen more than enough struggling with hunger. Taking a step forward, again bridging the space between them, Gareth grasped Gideon's hand, bringing it up to his neck and holding the fingers there. "Take a drink off'a me. Y'look hungry as shit, I could probably blow you over with a whistle. Just take a small feed, an that'll hold you over till work, eh? Don't you fuckin' think of sayin' no either. You done put up with me and my whinin' and... talkin for the past three days or whatever even though you ain't really know me. So... just, feed off'a me."
"Gareth..." He stretched the name out, not just with his tendency to insert a half dozen extra vowels worth of drawl, but extending the syllables on purpose in a tone of mild exasperation. Gideon scowled, a painfully nonthreatening expression. "No, I won't. Yer sick, I'll eat in just a few hours, I promised Dusty, an yer already gittin' fed off too much." He tried to ignore the pulse he felt under his fingers. He simply didn't give into urges like that. He'd never in all his years hurt anybody, lost control, taken advantage like that. He just didn't do it. "I'll be fine. That ain't me." He'd done it last time without being nearly so hungry. If he left himself take that bite he'd take too much. Gareth wasn't his type or in any way supernatural, and the tiny mouthful Gideon could allow himself to take wouldn't make a difference. Whoever else was working today could share the job and he'd be taken care of. He pulled his hand back, not wanting the temptation there, with the warm smell of Gareth around him (funny how a smell could be warm when he couldn't feel warmth). He knew that scent already, his sense of smell a gift from his other form that had neatly categorized the tall man with comfort, fondness, and a sense of duty.
"Whatcha mean you promised Dusty?" Gareth asked, brow drawing in. Had Gideon promised not to feed off of Gareth? Because if that was the case, Dusty was in for a world of hurt. Metaphorically speaking. The vampire had no claim to Gareth -- at least, none that he was going to acknowledge. Gareth was completely overlooking that Gideon probably meant that he'd promised Dusty he would feed. "Look Gid -- my bein' sick ain't effected by a little feedin'." Dusty did it afterall. Suddenly, as if to contradict his words, Gareth felt a cough rising in his throat. He swallowed it back, trying to ignore the tickle and the taste of copper that would surely accompany it. He fell silent, struggling with the need to let go, and all too soon it was overwhelming. He turned away from his friend, throwing an arm over his mouth. He began to let out a series of harsh hacking noises, the coughing bringing up an impossible ache in his throat and lungs. His mouth filled with blood and without thinking he spat it onto the ground, still coughing.
It continued for nearly a minute in a half, and when Gareth finally caught his breath, it was only to spit out two more mouthfuls of blood onto the ground. He felt dizzy, weak suddenly, and his eyes fluttered a little as black spots formed in front of his vision. The earth and sky seemed to flip abruptly and Gareth fainted, crumpling to the ground.
Damn. Gideon knew Gareth wanted to keep his illness secret, but he knew exactly what resulted from that kind of foolishness. But he didn't own a phone, and he didn't want to leave Gareth for a second, not like this. Gideon had never learned the litany of first aid, the endless repetitions of "do not move the injured person, contact help immediately," and so on. He only saw his friend in trouble. He bent down and immediately scooped him up, teetering helplessly as he tried to take a step. Gideon was a vampire, but he wasn't immune to gravity, and Gareth was bigger than he was on every scale Taking into account the sun and his horrid night, and he didn't think he'd get far. He'd get Gareth inside and then try and find Dusty, he supposed, and fuck Gareth's secret that he shouldn't be keeping anyhow. The trouble was that he didn't have neat steps up to his door like the proper trailers. He never had trouble just hopping in and out. He'd never taken it into account that he might need to travel a little differently. After moving only a few steps he set Gareth down again to hurry over and open the door. If he had to dislocate his arm again he'd get Gareth inside and out of the sun. He wasn't sure what being inside would do, but it was a goal, something to occupy him. He spun on his heel and hurried back as soon as the door was thrown open, ignoring the protesting in his knees and back as he went to lift Gareth again, drag him inside to the bare futon he'd have to kick into place.
Gareth's faint didn't last long, though it was the first he'd ever encountered in his life-time. He started to rouse as Gideon's hand slipped underneath him, meaning to lift the blonde. Gareth struggled -- weakly at first, and then with a little more fervor. "Gid... no. Hey--" Blood dribbled from his lower lip, trekking a slow and crimson path down his chin. One hand caught Gideon's wrist. "Look I jus'... I jus' blacked out a little. 'm alright. Gimme a minute." He turned his head to spit again and closed his eyes, laying still in the grass. His mouth tasted like he'd been sucking on filthy pennies and he could smell the copper in his nose, an overwhelming sensation. "Look. Sorry Gid. I'm okay. See?" He managed and forced himself to sit up again.
There was a horrifying, dizzying moment where the word swam before his eyes as he moved into a sitting position. He grunted and bit down on his tongue -- oh joy, more blood -- and the world slipped back into focus. "See Gid? I'm alright."
"Oh, no you fuckin' ain't." He sat beside Gareth where he was, though at least he avoided the blood. Gideon wrapped his arms around Gareth's shoulders and squeezed. It didn't have anything remotely to do with the hug conversation, at least to his mind. He wasn't seeking comfort. He wasn't really offering it actively, though if Gareth wanted he'd be happy to. He'd just been scared, and was reassuring himself that Gareth was... No, he wasn't alright. Not even a little. But he was here and up. Gideon let go almost immediately. "Y'know what your problem is, Gare? You never quite met someone as dumb an stubborn as you. Dusty might be close, but not quite. But now y'have. An' no. You ain't alright." Gideon shivered. He wouldn't have full-blown flashbacks any longer, but he shivered nonetheless, the experience too raw and recent to discount. It felt like only yesterday he'd been staring at blood dribbling down his hands as he hid in that alleyway.
"Hey now, I may be stubborn, but I ain't dumb." Gareth answered, but his voice was shaky. He could see Gideon was shaken up, and to be honest, so was he. He had never fainted before, and his whole body felt loose, trembly, as though he'd been lifting weights for days. He swallowed and it was thick, his throat feeling coated and slimy. Shit. Gideon's hug went almost completely unnoticed, his body still trying to work out what had happened. For someone as sick as he was, his physicality showed no sign of it. He looked, for all intents and purposes, healthy. "Look Gid... I'mma be fine. Really. Fuck, even if I ain't. I got what, four months? 'S not a very long time and..." He paushed, feeling a cough coming on, and held it back. "And ain't nothin' I can do about this shit anyway." He looked at his friend, eyes momentarily sad, bitter. "It's the cancer thats causin' this shit, not being fed off'a. I mean, christ, it ain't like my blood is doin' anything to help me. Doctor said my kidneys were pretty much shot to shit. Ain't nothin' bein' filtered out."
"Are you really still tryin'a git me t'drink from you after that?" Gideon was tempted to whack the back of his head, but he wasn't sure how delicate Gareth would still be. It had been forty years since his own illness and it wasn't the same thing anyway. What were you supposed to do when people fainted? Get water into them and make sure they rested, but he was a lot more used to drug overdoses than the advanced stages of cancer. "You prolly oughtta head home, hoss, but if y'don't wanna, I'll put y'up inside for a bit. Git y'outta the sun, an' let y'relax."
Gideon wound an arm around Gareth to help him stand, not intending to take no for an answer. He still wasn't above carrying the bigger man inside, though he didn't think his knees would forgive him for a day or so. "I jus' hope y'didn't hit your head or some shit that I didn' notice. If yer gonna insist on not tellin' Dusty, which is still a bad idea, by the way, y'oughta take better care." His jaw was set stubbornly.
Gareth hid a smile at Gideon's scolding. Perhaps this what Dusty was on about when he called him a nag. Either way, he was quietly amused and still dizzy as hell. "Shit man, no worries... why don't we both go inside?" He finally answered, and climbed to his feet slowly, bracing himself on Gideon for support. "Ugh." It was a sigh that escaped his lips and he finally stood completely, wavering a little in the sunlight. "We can listen to some of your records and..." he felt himself swooning and bit the inside of his cheek to keep from going down again. It was the lack of sleep, the lack of blood, and the lack of rest that was doing this. His failing body definitely needed better care than he was giving it. Just why the cancer was suddenly being aggressive was beyond him -- except, if he thought about it, it wasn't really sudden. He'd been coughing and pissing blood for years -- had even, at least three or four times, awoken with blood coming from his nose, or leaking from his mouth. Sometimes he found dried blood on his pillow, but he'd always assumed they were the nose bleeds that he'd started getting in his mid-thirties. And hadn't his back been hurting for years? A deep searing pain that started about six years prior, he would sometimes awaken unable to breathe or think because of the agony. That too was because of this cancer -- these were all symptoms he'd been able to write off. Not so much anymore. "...and maybe play guitar or somethin'." He managed, reaching out to lean on the van for a moment.
Gideon nodded. "I've, uh, I've got Wish You Were Here. Y'wanted t'listen t'that one, right?" His voice was a little thin and forced. Gareth needed more help than he'd accept, and Gideon could see him flagging. If Gareth wanted to last the four months he'd been given, he needed to take care. And he needed to tell Dusty, but trying to impress that on him now would just be cruel. When he felt better, maybe. He noticed Gareth leaning and stepped in a little closer, adding support the best he could. Right now he wasn't much stronger than he'd been as a human, and a sick, stressed human as he'd been at the time of death. And he was a little too short to be an efficient crutch.
Gideon hopped inside, glad he'd already opened the door, and hoisted Gareth up with him. The driver's seat was the only place to really sit. He was very glad he'd at least cleaned up the blood. That would have freaked Gareth out something fierce. The lingering wounds were bad enough. He grabbed the futon off the top of his pile of crates and dropped it onto the floor to cover the rings and chains. It looked rather sad that way, not even a sheet, but at least it would be comfortable. He reached over. "Here, prolly best if y'lie down fer a second."
"Gid, I'm fine." Gareth muttered. He appreciated the concern, but as a man who was rarely babied, the worry made him uncomfortable. "Wish you were here would be great." He added, and his gaze was serious. Gideon was older than him, but it was hard to accept any amount of care from someone who looked a quarter of his age. "Look Gid, I'mma get sincere for jus' a minute. I know I ain't treatin' myself too kind. It ain't somethin' that you gonna change man. But... I ain't... you know... I ain't as naive or whatever as you'd think. It's not that I want to die or nothin', but... I mean. You can't save me. You know?"
He cleared his throat, his blue eyes sad and frustrated. He had never taken well to any sort of affection, physical, emotional... and Gideon was openly showing care for him. If he had fainted in front of Dusty, he would have been kicked awake and then questioned in a harsh and angry manner -- the way Dusty showed concern best. Gideon was the opposite. His fear was bright, vibrant. It seemed to hang in the air like a misty fog. Light, but still there.
"Well, yeah, I could." He just whispered that, though, and then spoke up a bit more. "You gotta watch out is all. If you wanna have all the months they said you could git, an' why wouldn't yah? An' I remember bein' sick." He shook his head. Gideon left Gareth where he was, though he still thought the poor man should lie down. It took some digging to extract the record from his crates and pop it on, mood lifting a little as the music began. He turned to pull his sheets and blankets out, wanting home to be home again as soon as could be. "An'... An' I prolly know more about what life's like fer you now than just about anyone... So that's... somethin' t'keep in mind."
"Tell me about it Gid." Gareth spoke suddenly, watching as the smaller man moved to put in the record in. "How did you find out... It were lung cancer, right?" He sighed softly, deciding that Gideon was right. He did need to lay down. The blonde slowly reclined, leaning back against the futon mattress and exhaling. "How far along was you when you found out you had it? I mean... were it anythin' like... like what I got goin' on? My kidneys feel like fuckin' hell some days. Wake up and it's like rocks are in my back... I piss blood almost all the time... I mean, what sort of shit did you deal with?" He asked it hesitantly, his eyes dark with curiosity and exhaustion.
"No, not like that. Plenty a'blood, though." He grimmaced. "Weakness is what I remember most. 'Specially after I moved into the temple with Chongde. I got... y'know, in tune with my body. I could feel it goin' wrong. An' there was small things as it got goin'. I talked really hoarse... still do, I mean, I sound like an ol' smokin' bluesman. Weird twinges in m'shoulders. An' the cough... that was the worst, I mean... I was in trainin' all the time. It bein' hard t'breathe was awful. I could keep the coughin' down most times until I could git outta the way... An' spit blood into my hands in the alley out back." Gideon abruptly shook his head, trying to banish the thoughts. "Nothin' pretty." He didn't really want to talk about it. Wallowing in bad memories was what made him behave like such a worthless little pain this time of the month. He set a pillow down for Gareth and dropped a bright blue and green blanket down, in case he wanted it.
Gareth relaxed more, listening to Gideon quietly. His hands fidgeted with the hem of his shirt as he let his eyes wander the walls of Gideon's trailer, the millions of pictures and scraps of words and drawings. Gideon had lived a lifetime and the proof of it was there, on the walls. Gareth stifled the envy he felt bubbling in his stomach. Even if Dusty would agree to turn him, he didn't think he would be able to ask. He was still too ingrained with his hunter instinct. He had lived a good life -- as good as he expected it to be anyhow, and he didn't think that even his cancer would change his mind on that, despite the episodes like he just experienced. "I guess it wouldn't be nothin' pretty. No." He exhaled quietly and closed his eyes for a moment. "So you speak Chinese?"
"Yeah, not much choice about that. Not that I minded." Gideon sat down on the side of the futon, picking up the other project he meant to get going sometime today. Might as well keep his hands engaged while he talked. He pulled out a bright blue album and one of the many stacks of snapshots he'd aquired, hoping to organize them a little. "One a'those things the whole family helped me work on. Longwei helped specially, an' Qi taught me all the Cantonese I know. Took years. I never was too quick on the uptake. An' I only really got writin' down in the last few years afore I lost Chongde."
Gareth listened to the lull of Gideon's voice, the quiet and calm, the familiarity of the accent. Gideon was nice to listen to, his voice was almost melodic, and that was something Gareth appreciated after a childhood of shouting brothers and mothers who smoked and spoke in rough no nonsense tones. "I never learned no languages. I mean, aside from English or whatever, but one'a my brothers grew up to be in the Navy, an' he learned Japanese real well. He learned Vietmenese too, but uh, nothin' you'd actually want to know." He remembered how, in the early eighties, or perhaps the late seventies, he'd met up with John at some bar. His brother had grown a mustache, and he'd shown off his dog tags with a bitter sense of pride that spoke more of spite than patriotisim. He'd learned a colorful batch of sentences such as "Bitch, you gonna take off that dress" and "Get your head down before I shoot asshole." Gareth had walked away from that visit feeling small and hopeless, and he'd made a point to never seek out his siblings again.
"I didn't til then, but I guess it was a good idea. Got me thinkin' in a new way, an' that was the whole idea. An' now I cain only speak English, Mandarin, an' Cantonese, but I unnerstand a whole buncha languages okay, an' the ones that're written with the same alphabet I cain read a little." He wished he had pictures of his first family. Gideon smiled a bit as he arranged the snapshots of his brothers and sisters after death. He loved having even the silliet pictures, pieces of the people he'd left behind. "Ain't that I'm that smart, but language sticks with me. An' I've had time t'learn." More than enough, really. "So what've y'got lined up t'day? After y'rest proper, of course." He glared a bit, driving the point home. "You got a job yet?" He knew they hadn't been in town long, and he wasn't clear at all on what his friends did with themselves all day.
Gareth bit back a laugh at Gideon's question, straining against the smile that tried to steal his features. One of the best hunters in the country. One of the richest hunters in the country. He didn't need a job for another.... ten years, and that was only if he and Dusty kept tossing it away as they were. Of course he couldn't say anything of the sort around Gideon. "Well, you know hoss. Ain't no rodeos in Michigan." A soft grunt escaped him after he said that, a noise of disappointment. He had never cared for bull-fights. Perhaps there was just enough humanity in him, but to kill a big dumb animal because... because you could? Well that seemed downright cruel. He could even justify hunting weres over killing bulls. But the rodeo... hopping on a buck and holdin' on until your legs ached? Watchin' someone else out there tryin' their damnedest? That was something that appealed to him. "Don't really need one though, we got enough for a long time."
"Oh, that's good." Well, a vampire could get by on very little, he knew. Gideon only paid for gas money most of the time, and he could make that busking. He only worked for fun. When food, water, medicine, heat, and utilities all came to nothing, when one could go without sleep or comfort for days without feeling it much, economy was simple. But Gareth couldn't coast like that, and Dusty hadn't been turned long. He didn't get the impression either of them came from money, much as looks could be deceiving. But he supposed it wasn't his business. When he knew them better he'd investigate again. "Well, I guess I mostly work for fun an' t'have somethin' t'do." He could make enough busking, most likely. "Well, still then, y'got plans? Cain't just wile away all yer time, an' din't look t'me like you guys had much by way of amusement." One rather aged TV, and what was worth watching on TV? And if they weren't readers, there were walks to take, movies to see, people watching or listening to music, but not a lot of options. He wondered which his friends took to.
"I mean, I dunno. I go walkin', Dusty... he uh, he fucks... girls an', scrounges the junk yard... does other stuff. I ain't real sure. We always... I mean, we got kind of a harmony. He might come home with a girlfriend or somethin' for a couple'a weeks, when we're livin' wherever we're livin', or I'll go out for a few days and... you know, walk, talk to people, make uh... what did they call 'em in fight club? Single servin' friends? Yeah. Make minute friends, people who'll be around when you want pot, or booze, or just a good time, but who take off as soon as the words money or commitment come up, we... you know. We have our ways. Ain't much in to television." Gareth had never liked it, not in the least. His hatred of it came from a childhood spent outdoors while his older brothers moved away and his mother smoked and got fat watching shows like Wheel of Fortune and The Price is Right. Dusty's reasons were probably much the same. His father had spent every moment with the television blaring -- awake or asleep, and they really only used it for background noise. "But you know... after a lifetime of movin' around, it's hard to tell yourself you can jus'.... you know, settle down an' start making friends now."
"Yeah, s'kinda weird for me an' I've just been movin' around since '88." He shrugged. "S'weird t'think how I'll be able t'keep track'a the folks I meet an' like up here. An' once I git that special ID thing, I guess I cain git a local library card an' just kinda set up shop. Hasn't really sunk in yet. I usually move on maybe a month after I git somewhere... So really, this ain't too weird so far. S'just tellin' myself I'll be stayin' put." Gideon stared with particular concentration for a moment as he slipped a slightly crumpled photo into place. The bandage slipped off his right hand as he worked and he hurriedly rewrapped the fingers. "I guess we'll git used t'this town right side by side, kinda. I like it so far."
"Yeah, I guess it ain't too bad." Gareth agreed, stopping just short of adding except for all the supernaturals. At the sight of the slipped bandage -- something he caught just out of the corner of his eye -- he turned a little more fully, looking at his friend. "You banged yerself up pretty bad last night, huh?" He knew Gideon was working to keep it from him, and for a mad, terrifying moment, Gareth thought he might spill to his friend. No one knew what Gareth had done to Dusty's father, but for a split second, as Gareth realized Gideon was trying to keep the worst of his wounds out of his sight, he thought he might end up telling him. I ain't weak. He would say. I ain't a'scairt a' blood or nothing Gid. I seen way worse. I killed someone. In reality he had killed hundreds of someones, but they didn't count to him. They weren't people he knew, they weren't really people. Dusty's dad was a different story. A man he knew, a man he hated.... and nothing supernatural about him. I killed Dusty's dad, and took my time doin' it. I tortured him first. He opened his mouth, sure he would speak, and then it snapped shut again, and relief washed through him.
"It was a pretty bad one. Happens some months worse'n others." Gareth was quite right. Gideon was trying to hide the evidence, to protect him. He couldn't have exactly said why. Gareth might be a bit younger than he was, but he was no kid. And Gideon didn't believe that he just talked tough. He was too real a cowboy for that, far from the kind of businessman who moved to Phoenix and wore a ten-gallon hat every day on his way to the western-themed bar. There was still soemthing delicate in Gareth. His reactions to tying Gideon up and leaving him to his awful night had been subtle but quite indicative. Seeing him with Dusty was telling, too. As far as Gideon could tell, Gareth just couldn't stand seeing his friends in any pain at all, of any kind. And he'd let himself get walked all over for that. Gideon smiled at him softly. Someone as sweet as Gare needed to be looked after. Kind of like a little brother. "It'll be fine by tonight. Just a few little scabs, an they'll be gone pretty quick, too."
Gareth remained silent for a long time. The urge to tell Gideon was too strong. The words laid there on his tongue, waiting. He could feel them knocking against his teeth, banging to be let out. How long had it been? Ten years? He was forty five now... it had been just over ten years. Ten years ago he had walked home in the rain, and the blood was still warm against his skin. Even as the rain washed the red away, swirled it down into each Texan gutter. The rare texan rain for a rare texan murder. It wasn't something he thought of often...if ever. He tried not to think about it -- though for the first week after he had thought of nothing but. He'd bought the newspapers from Arlington. Had read each article carefully, painstakingly -- always skipping over the words he didn't know, sounding out the ones he thought he might. There were no leads. He'd read that as Leads the first time, like the metal put into bullets -- and there was no... mot..ive. He'd gotten it eventually and that had made him laugh out loud. No motive? Oh if you only knew. Finally, running his tongue against the roof of his mouth, Gareth inhaled and said. "Good. I hope they're getting better. Gideon I wanna tell you shit I can't." And it came out just like that, two sentences, one breath, barely any pauses. His eyes widened comically after he'd spoken, as though he never could have imagined such a thing to pass his lips.
Gideon blinked, confused more than affected. He really had no idea what to take from that. Whatever it was must be important? Yeah, must be. He put aside his work and scooted closer on the futon until he was sitting right beside Gareth. He really couldn't follow the younger man much of the time. Neither of the pair were very good communicators, but Dusty's thought process was always so straightforward you could get the gist of it anyway. Gareth took leaps and left you way behind. Gideon twirled a lock of hair around his finger, his hands still wanting to be busy. If he stopped moving he'd remember how exhausted he was, how much he just wanted to stretch out in the little space left in his bed and not move until he had to leave for work. "Well, okay. I'm a pretty good listener, but, y'know, whatever it is is your call." His eyes met Gareth's with the sweetest smile he could manage, hoping that a promise of support would do something for poor Gare. He couldn't give advice when he didn't know what the matter was, Gareth apparently didn't like hugs when Gideon started it, and biting him again, no matter how carefully, shouldn't become a habit. The offer was all he had.
"Shit man. it's all history anyway." Gareth muttered, and blinked a few times, trying to clear his thoughts. "Fuck. You know how long its been since I had someone other than D to talk to about... stuff? I mean, don't read me wrong. He's... all I could ask fer in a friend, knows me just about inside an' out, but... you know, there's stuff..." He shifted, his eyes locking on the roof of the trailer, mouth impossibly dry. The copper taste hung on his tongue, metallic and awful. It was like he'd been sucking on pennies for a day. "I mean, like... shit Gid. What if I told you I'd killed a guy? Right, I mean, that's fucked up shit. That would probably send anyone BUT D headin' fer the hills." There. Now he wasn't saying he HAD killed a guy, just that.... that he had heavy shit on his mind. It could even be one of those... whatever they were called, allegories or whatever.
Gideon wasn't very good at subtlety. He didn't mind being someone to talk to. He was excellent at that. He had sat through a hundred weres' stories, Bebe's story of the pets she'd torn apart, the figure she wasn't sure had been human, deep in the swamp and in the height of her frenzy. Lisle's sister, bitten the moment he'd turned, unaware there was anything wrong. The baby Joy had lost her first change, her vicious attempts to reach others snuffing out the little life inside her. He knew confessions. That it helped, that it eased a burden. That burden didn't disappear into the aether, though. It moved squrely to Gideon to share the nightmares and guilt and ugliness. But it helped his friends. "I, um, I guess I'd think there musta been a reason, an' that you've prolly been all eaten up by it fer years, an' maybe that sometimes it just hits you straight in the gut and y'cain't git yerself t'do anythin' but sit still'n remember, or y'wake up knowing nothin' but that yer nightmare had something t'do with it, or that some nights y'just cain't sleep at all an' cain't git yer head t'stop throwin' it at yah..." All stories he knew. Nothing he'd wish on Gareth. Gideon would have reached over to take his hand, but apparently he wasn't supposed to touch Gareth, so he stayed put, hands folded in his lap and his eyes sharp.
Gareth sat up a little as Gideon spoke, stunned. It was almost as though the older man understood his every thought -- the nightmares that hit again and again, his insomnia... "I ain't feelin' guilty about it." He spoke abruptly, looking to Gideon's grey eyes, trying to find some sort of solace there. "Aint not a shred a' guilt Gid. You get that? It weren't no god damned accident. I don't regret it none." He stopped himself, realizing just how crazy he sounded, and took a slow and deep breath. "I ain't... fuck Gideon. I ain't no... innocent guy like that. I mean, this mother fucker... it weren't no heat a' the moment. I planned it. I killed him as methodically--" as methodically as I killed all of those weres. "as methodically as a murder in a movie man. Dusty don't even god damned know. I'm wanted fer murder in Texas. I mean... I don't think they know it was me specifically, but... I did it, and he deserved it Gideon. Every inch'a what I did."
Gideon swallowed with difficulty. He believed Gareth. Whoever it was had no doubt done something awful. And Gideon believed in justice. Sometimes, much as every sane person wanted peace, wanted gentleness and fairness to decide conflict, there was no other way. Gideon didn't believe in just war, but thinking of some people he'd known, in history or his own life, he really didn't know any other way to stop them. And while he knew he didn't have it in him to even hurt another person (excepting weres who'd heal fast and needed to be protected from themselves), there were people who could. And would. And had to. He didn't want Gareth to have to be that person, though. To have to live with that choice. He didn't want to believe Gareth wasn't guilty over it. And why would he be protesting so hotly if he didn't feel bad? "Gare, you convincin' me or you?" He moved in a bit closer. "You want me t'say it's okay? Cus... That ain't mine t'say. Cosmically. But..." How did he forgive someone for a crime he knew nothing about? "But yer still my friend."
"Well, that's somethin' Gid. It is. I don't think D would... fuck. I don't know how he'd react. I've been on the verge'a tellin' him fer the past fifteen years. He'd... I don't know. Fuck." He took a deep breath. "It was okay -- like you said, cosmically -- it was alright. The universe wanted it. I mean ain't no one in the world who deserved it more than Ronnie Baker. I really ain't guilty about it -- maybe that's the hell of it? Someone I knew, someone who beat the shit outta both a' us when we was kids, who poured beer all over my head one night while I was sleepin' on Dusty's floor an' then kicked me cuz he was mad I was over. I would'a done it sooner, while granddad was teachin' me, but I... I couldn't, not with D right there and knowin'... not with no where to go. But I fuckin'... it weren't a sin, an' I ain't goin' to hell Gid. Not for that son of a bitch. No. He ruined Dusty. You get that? So no. Really no guilt for doin' it. For keepin' it from D? Yeah. And... fuck Gideon. He ain't never even asked how his daddy died. He heard about it, but there weren't no pause, an' I didn't say a damn thing." He paused to breath, the words were spilling out of him, a fifteen year secret that nobody had ever heard, and probably no one would again. "But you gotta understand. He. Ruined. Dusty."
Gideon didn't know where he could possibly begin. There were a lot of things he wanted to stop and ask about, but Gareth kept plowing on and he couldn't keep track of his questions. And Everything else disappeared once it penetrated that Gareth was talking about his best friend's father. He'd wanted to ask something about what Gareth's grandfather had been teaching him, why they hadn't been able to find any help, but he forgot it all. His first reaction was a phantom of what his living body might have done, the sense that his heart should have dropped into his stomach, that he should have felt his face grow clammy and pale, but of course none of that happened. He opened his mouth to speak, but he bit back the first thing he'd have said. His own parents had been perfectly kind people, after all, and his gut instinct-horror-was based in that. The horror remained, but even in a tight-knit, God-fearing town like Gideon's, there had been families about whom certain things just weren't discussed. And in his years of travel, well, weres often had some very odd family arrangements, and he'd once snatched a little boy from a rather crazed newcomer who'd taken over the father's "pride" of werelions. Family wasn't a magic spell. When he opened his mouth again, his voice was very quiet, but he spoke. "At least Dusty's got you."
Gareth looked at Gideon then. Long and hard. The other man looked startled, worried even, but there was no hatred in his eyes. No fear or loathing or anger, and the blonde man relaxed, falling back onto the futon with a noise of disbelief. "I guess." He breathed, and found himself afraid to look at his friend again. Ashamed almost. He was ranting on like a madman, and Gideon was taking it in stride. Rolling onto his side, Gareth curled up, knees to chest, and hugged the pillow closer. "I... Thanks." He closed his eyes, trying to find something calm inside him. He felt husked out, hollow. As though, through telling, he had rehinged something that had been hanging heavy inside him, bolted up the broken piece and welded it back into place. He felt... lighter. Reaching out, the blonde man took Gideon's hand, squeezing it. "Thanks fer... not freakin' out. I ain't said a word to no one in damn near... ever. And..." He shook his head, as if to say "So it goes", before tugging Gideon's hand, asking, without realizing he was asking, for the smaller man to lay with him, if just for a little while.
Gideon let himself be guided down. He hadn't exactly taken it in stride. He just couldn't bring himself to hurt Gareth by saying anything, couldn't quite conceive of what he was feeling. He was half tempted to twist away. He had been thinking of Gareth as fragile and helpless, and knowing the hand in his had killed... Actually, the hands he had loved most had killed, hadn't they? Chongde had been a soldier. And the men who'd fallen at his hands, all those hundreds of years ago, had been strangers. At least Gareth had believed he was doing something good. Gideon relaxed considerably, his fingers tightening as he lay down beside Gareth. The twin futon wasn't quite big enough for two people to lounge comfortably, but there was space as long as being rather close wasn't a problem. He lay down on his stomach, one arm folded under his head to rest his cheek on, the other letting Gareth hold on. "Yeah, I ain't gonna freak out. We all got our secrets an' things that had t'be done." Gideon supposed that leaving his family behind like a selfish brat and never giving them a hint of what had become of him ranked below murder, but that weight kept him awake, made him seize up in misery. "Or that we'd change if we could go back..." he had to add, though it wouldn't do Gareth any good.
"I'd... I'd tell you if I could..." Gareth sighed, but his eyes were fluttering a little. The expulsion of emotion that had just escaped him was exhausting. "I just... it's D's story to tell, and he ain't tellin' no one." He didn't release Gideon's hand, though his grip loosened a little. "There are a lot of things I'd take back, but Dusty's dad.... he was... He was the worst thing to happen to this world." He looked at Gideon quietly, watching the small man for a long moment. "I..." Gareth couldn't think about what he'd done before, and gave Gideon a quiet smile, though it was wan. "I... I really mean it Gid. If you knew..." Abruptly he curled in, wanting contact. "You... you gotta understand, this ain't somethin' I'd ever do again, I just... he hurt D-- both of us, real bad."
"Yeah, I belive yah." Why wouldn't he? Gareth would have no reason to lie to him, and Gideon's default belief was that people were telling the truth anyway. "I wasn't askin' t'be told." Now Gareth's weight was his, too. Gideon wondered sometimes how many secrets he could hold. And they couldn't just be let to float away into memory now. Not when he'd see Dusty all the time, and have to hide everything Gareth told him. He hoped he was up to it. He'd never been a good liar, and if Dusty asked him about something like this, his only defense would be to leave immediately. "I just... take on what I'm given. Ain't my business except when someone needs it to be. I'll keep it secret'n safe for yah. Don' worry." Gideon blinked a little owlishly. He was more tired than he'd admit.
Gareth inhaled. "Imma tell him one day. Fuckin' sick of all these secrets." He blinked a few times as well, and then his eyes drifted shut. "Thanks again Gid." He muttered softly, feeling the effects of little sleep kicking in. Some analytical part of his mind chimed in that he might be sleeping now because the secret that had kept him awake for nearly a life-time was finally out. He gave Gideon's hand a squeeze and almost nuzzled against the body beside him, finding that comfort through contact seemed more appealing than ever. However, he didn't want to freak his friend out more, and before his thought was even partially finished, the blonde was drifting off to sleep.
Gideon supposed a short rest couldn't hurt. It'd help Gareth rest, and then it'd perhaps get rid of the shaking and swimmy vision that had been following him all day. He twisted just enough to pull the blanket over Gareth. It wasn't really cold, but Gideon found that blankets helped him feel cozy and safe, the weight adding a sort of protection to his rest. Maybe Gareth was the same. Gideon only owned the one pillow, and that was still being clutched a but, but at least the bed wasn't as uncomfortable as that ancient couch over at Gare and Dusty's place looked. He managed to reach the crate that held his stuffed rabbit, and held the much loved, heavily patched little toy to his chest as he closed his eyes, too. He'd have offered Gareth Toi Bao Bao if he'd thought of it, but it was probably for the best. Gare wouldn't take it well. There were some things, maybe, you had to be a kid forever to appreciate. He closed his eyes and let himself rest, too.