[fic] Stars (Western AU); Part II, Chapters 10-15

[daylilymoon]

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Part II

Chapter 10

Walter Kovacs

Walter had learned long ago that politeness could get him whatever he needed.

It didn't work all the time on his mother but it worked most of the time, enough times to let him escape and dodge the worst of her. He could eat his dinner by the measured spoonful and then go off to bed precisely at sundown, waiting to hear the sound of her wedging the door shut behind him. Then he was free to do whatever he wanted because he was nimble enough to climb right out the window.

He would run, faster every night, pushing his limits and struggling to keep from going so fast his own legs couldn't keep up. The dizzy momentum would propel him forward faster and faster under the secret dark sky full of stars and the passive moon until pain was exploding in that funny place under his last rib. He was sure his dad would be proud to see how fast he could go, because his dad was a soldier and soldiers had to be strong. His mother must have lied and never told him about Walter, but he'd go find him one day.

As long as he kept up appearances, no one was the wiser to all the thoughts he had going through his head all the time. When he was younger, he used to think he had worms instead of brains, all twisting around and impossible to stop. When he got older and learned about what was impossible and what wasn't, he understood that it was only that his brain felt weird. But no one had to know, not even his mother. Walter could put up a smooth expression and practice it in the piece of broken mirror he kept until everyone believed he was a polite child. He wasn't; he thought nasty things, bad things. He hid it all away neat as anything.

His bosses liked his pretend polite face too, and his mother liked it even better when he brought home money for the ratty tin can on the kitchen table. Maybe he liked it too, hearing his coins go clink against the ones already there, and he always thought maybe she would quit the things she did for money and he'd be the man of the house. She never did quit all the way, as far as he ever knew.

It didn't matter where they moved: every place was the same. All he had to do was go to work and be obedient. There was always a lot of women at the factories to give him sad-eyed looks and try to comb his hair and mop up his nose and even though he liked it a little, he didn't need it. He was good at his job, because the big thrumming machines were predictable and working at them made his head quiet and blank inside.

Sometimes they were in places like California or the Territories where there were plenty of men but no factory jobs. He slept mostly during the day so at night he could run again, this time across whirling dust instead of cool grass, but it was just as good.

Even better were the horses. There were so many of them, light and dark and spotted, all beautiful. They had velvety-soft noses and dark eyes and wouldn't hurt a single person who didn't give them a reason. He knew how to keep them from being afraid, just like Alexander the Great. When he learned to ride, it was like learning freedom for the first time: he could go so fast everything was a blur and he never felt like he was falling. They would eventually move back to the east when gold mines ran out one by one, but after that he always found the horses wherever he was.

The machines were predictable even when they broke. So when one of them swallowed up a woman's arm to the elbow he didn't scream or cry although it was terrible to see a factory girl hurt like that. But he wasn't angry because machines were like animals, they had no viciousness in their iron hearts.

What made him angry was the supervisor, an older man with silvering black hair. He clamped his hand down on Walter's shoulder and told him to get that cleaned up even while the woman's friends were cradling her as she screamed. The man's eyes never once looked toward the horrible pattern of blood. A wave of revulsion swept through him, more powerful than any hatred he'd felt in his fourteen years. He had seen plenty of things, borne viciousness on the skin of his back and witnessed inhumane people of all kinds and this man seemed like the summary of all of it, that blind eye to pain, and Walter felt his polite face twisting up and fist clenching and the man's nose must have broken because Walter felt blood spatter on his shirt from it and all he could do after that was run.

He didn't go back to that job and he didn't go back home. Besides, she had been telling him to leave, so it didn't matter in the long run. The few things he had hidden up under the loose board in his room he got one night after dark, and then he never had to see her again.

The real problem was his face. No matter what he tried, he couldn't find a way to slip back into that easy compliance he had once found so effortless. Every time he looked in the mirror, all the things screaming out in his head and in his heart were right there in his expression for everyone to read. It made him shiver, and even a hat pulled down low over his forehead wasn't enough.

One night he was trying to wash that old bloodstained shirt he hated looking at because there was nothing else to wear. The pattern looked up at him right before he went to plunge it into water. It was perfect. An unchanging face which was empty and gruesome for when he couldn't make his own face polite anymore, a face which said stay back, which said awful things happen and don't you dare look away.

A lone rider turned away from the shadows of trees and houses for the unblinking eye of a frontier sun, quiet and blank both inside and outside.

//

Mr. Mason was a good boss. The difference between him and all the other brutal, indifferent men he'd worked for was something Walter was having difficulty figuring out for himself, but it was the kind of problem which was preferable to anything else. Most days, he was content just to do the necessary work which made him tired enough at the end of the day to sleep deeply. Running out of work made him anxious, since there was a certain guilt in doing nothing, but it felt better when he could stand next to Daniel at the wide window while they planned the things they should restock and tried to anticipate the minds of their customers. He insisted that such a thing wasn't possible, but Daniel always believed in his innocent way that it was.

It was getting companionable and familiar and it was doing funny things to his head, but there was no choice but to stay for the time being. There were debts to be repaid.

The morning Daniel was away, he noticed the difference in temperature and mattress tilt even before he woke up, leading him into unpleasant dreams and an even more unpleasant mood when he started work. Even under the benevolent eye of Mr. Mason, all was unsettlingly quiet.

Two customers-Maxwell Shea and wife Hira, he knew from his investigations-browsed through their wares, twirling like empty dolls connected at the arm to each new corner. Mr. Mason struck up pleasant conversation while they politely inquired on how much business he turned and what kind of people came in. New to town, they smiled. Walter remained back, sweeping the same corner more times than it really needed, nurturing his suspicion. He didn't like them. They reminded him of birds with greedy eyes looking for something to snap with their beaks.

So it was a relief when Daniel came back with a reason of "investigating"-as if he had a partner now in that unresolved question of who would do him violence without reason. Like old times.

Old times when Daniel was the only one to look at his blank face and not flinch, familiar just by exposure, smiling as if he knew there was just a normal human face underneath. One which couldn't control itself. The man beneath had grown so used to thinking of himself as a hollow caricature of a human that Daniel's treatment confused him, fascinated him, repulsed and intrigued him. Together day by day under the enormous sky, he had been defeated again and again in trying to understand why this other man didn't befriend any of the other men when they would have been so much simpler. But as with all things, he grew accustomed to that too, and found himself drawn to the idea of guarding Daniel's safety.

Every trail's end had a railhead and a boisterous town where the cowhands could spend their money and get into generous amounts of trouble. He and Daniel were quiet, walking beside each other down the road while everyone else streamed away with their loud cacophony. The moon was round and bright and they were silent, side-by-side. That night, Walter had rode away as fast as he could with a heavy heat in his head and never saw Daniel again until the day a pain like a stitch in the side but miles worse led him deliriously right back to his feet.

//

There was nothing more frustrating than the phase of an investigation where there were no leads, no information, and no one was talking.

Walter drummed his fingers against the desk in their dim candle-lit room, looking from his own short list of theories to where Daniel sat calmly reading a book of scientific origin. Back and forth. Irritation crawled up underneath his skin and remained there, itching.

"Daniel."

"Mm."

Walter felt like a child begging impatiently to be let outside. He bit the end of his tongue, wondering how to appear as nonchalant about this as possible. That was usually the only way to get what he wanted, and he not only wanted, but needed this. A near-death experience was not something he considered a worthy subject to forget about.

"Let's go investigate." Again.

Daniel's kind brown eyes peered up from over the top of his book, shaded with more concern than Walter was hoping to see. "Are-well, have you found anything new?"

He suppressed a sigh, keeping his face as stone-still as possible. "No. That's why we need to go." A perfectly reasonable argument. If they didn't try, they wouldn't find anything. It was all he could do to keep his fingers from fidgeting with each other while Daniel silently deliberated.

Daniel was like this sometimes. The polite wall Walter continuously struggled to present to the world was something which came second nature to his friend. All of society's lessons and ideas of propriety were practically woven into his bones, or playing as music only he could hear. Walter could never decide whether he admired or pitied him for being so mired in proper behavior. Nearly afraid to do anything beyond the basic motions of life. He would hardly even leave the store if Walter didn't make him.

"I guess there's no harm?"

That time, Walter suppressed a smile.

It felt better up on his horse and next to his friend, winding through the dark alleyways of a tiny town, strong and with a purpose. Even Daniel was sitting up straighter in his saddle, the handsome build of his face catching sliding moonlight and lamplight.

Yes, very handsome. And Walter was very sick for knowing it.

Looking deliberately in the opposite direction, he clenched his fingers and tried to train his mind to a more useful task. Out here, someone knew. Someone who preferred the cover of night was betraying the safety of this town, and even a good man like Captain Blake needed help holding back the type of people who gave no regard to the pain they dealt.

He could tell that Daniel wanted to ask what exactly are we out here for? but for whatever reason, he was willing to appear as though he took all of this seriously. That was enough for Walter.

Their routine was familiar by then. They'd make a wide circle around from the store and their home, past the shops all shuttered for night and the little houses, proudly standing even when they were made from little more than rough wood. Past the humble church, past the doctor's home, past the bar glowing with light even this late. The constant summer rasp of cicadas had been replaced by the high trill of crickets.

Settlements and human activity eventually gave way to the empty stretch of grass and sky. They followed the hoof-beaten path leading outside town without having to say a word to each other, mutual understanding guiding them. Neither of them had seen anything but the occasional rat and one feline predator, but there was a need deep inside them both to make sure the job was complete, to at least finish their duty here.

Tension prickled throughout his skin when he passed the exact place he'd first heard the gunshots. Four. Last one hit. Indicating someone using a revolver and not a pistol, someone who was either a poor shot or at such a distance that accuracy was reduced.

Walter scanned the horizon as he slowed, Daniel automatically sensing his caution and drawing back to remain beside him.

It was a wonder he saw it in the first place. It was nothing more than a dark shape blotting out a collection of low stars in the western sky. A silhouette against the flat horizon line.

He had Bucephalus moving before he even had a chance to think, blood running hot and hoofbeats jarring up into his bones, dashing so hard everything was a black blur in the night, air whipping over and around him.

Just ahead. He was so close.

Daniel was shouting far behind him and he couldn't see the person anymore but he was sure if he just went fast enough, so fast he was dizzy, he'd find them, find them and be able to do something and finally have answers-

The long, elegant head and neck of a chestnut horse slid into the corner of his vision, bobbing with the effort of catching up. Strong fingers closed around his elbow and he didn't need to look to see it was Daniel. He and Archimedes herded Walter away from his arrow-straight path and into a wide, slowing semi-circle, turning him away from the western horizon.

As soon as they all slowed to a stop, he tore his elbow out of Daniel's grasp a moment before he saw the stark panic lining his face. Bucephalus beneath him snorted and tossed his mane, and Walter had the brief but sharp urge to let him out into a gallop again. Daniel seemingly read his mind, circling Archimedes around so that they blocked the horizon from view.

"Jesus, Walter-"

"Had him!"

Something which may have been uncomfortably close to pity flashed across Daniel's face alongside the growing anger in the darkness. "Do you have any idea how long you were riding?"

The fact that he didn't wasn't calming his rapidly fraying nerves. What did it matter? He would go as long as it took for this.

"Not discouraged by a little distance, Daniel."

The roiling emotions on Daniel's face mostly condensed into disbelief. "That's not-Walter, what were you planning to do? Neither of us has a gun, unlike the man who shot you!"

Walter looked hard away to the side, this time avoiding his glance for a completely different reason than earlier. He was right, and they both knew it. He could have been hurt, or even gotten them both hurt. The muscles in his jaw ached from how hard he was clenching it.

Neither of them said anything for a while, tension vibrating in the air between them.

"Look." Daniel took in a short breath, sounding nearly apologetic. "I know this is important to you. We can keep doing this if Laurie and Jon come along. If they even agree."

He looked back up to Daniel before he could even catch himself, both stunned and moved by the compromise. The expression on his face, lining his eyes and turning down the corners of his mouth: gentle concern. Gentle, concerned Daniel. His friend.

Walter had to swallow past a dryness in his throat and still couldn't speak, instead holding out his hand in agreement of the deal. Daniel's palm was soft and dry, his fingers strong and warm. A shiver went all up his arm but he couldn't let go, even when they had to hold on tighter through the impatient shifting dance of their horses. They never touched outside the dark hidden secret safety of their room, and he never looked into Daniel's eyes during any of that before. The look in them now was smoldering enough to see even by the light of the crescent moon.

Without another word, they returned home.

When they couldn't sleep, they turned toward each other, both sorry from the argument; panic made a sharp taste in his mouth when Daniel slowly closed those steady hands around his arms. An embarrassing rasp of a sound escaped his throat. Daniel froze, half-hovering over him and though his face was now impossible to see in the dark Walter could picture it exactly how it had been an hour ago. Walter knew it was his fault for indulging his lurid curiosity about how Daniel's good, steady bones and muscles would feel under his fingertips and even though Daniel was the most polite person he knew he was past the point of kindly pretending all this wasn't happening and that might have been the most scary part of all.

"Shh. I'm not doing anything. Just-"

The resistance in his arms slackened just enough for the cautious turning of their bodies to continue. He was pressed down onto his back a little more, Daniel moving over him slow as a cloud in summer, patient and watching for signs of his distress. The palms of his hands had grown hot on Walter's arms, and he imagined he could feel a pulse there. He could have escaped. He didn't.

Walter had to be careful to clench his mouth shut tight once he felt his full weight, in case he made a sound Daniel would think came from panic and not from the thousand confused things pulling inside his head all at once.

"There," Daniel whispered. "See?"

It was a short, chaste kiss before Daniel shifted most of his body off to the side for a more comfortable sleeping arrangement. It had nothing of the searing fireworks of the other kiss, but it was just as capable of shaking him apart.

//

The doctor sometimes came with them on patrols, sometimes not; usually it was himself, Daniel, and Laurie (it was difficult calling her that, no matter how many times she insisted he was allowed to). Daniel had cautioned that she may not be as open to the idea of riding around half the evening when she presumably had more worthwhile things to attend to, but instead she only smiled at them and admitted it sounded exciting.

After he realized that her presence kept him from doing foolish things like shaking Daniel's hand, he was grateful she came along. It also helped that she was very capable and had a gun.

Most nights were slow and quiet, the three of them moving together through the sleeping town and around the quiet silver mine, bracing for danger which never came. It made him even more on-edge than he would have been if something dramatic had happened. Since the night he saw that silhouette slipping away ahead of him, there hadn't been a single sign of anything out of the ordinary. Everything was undisturbed.

They ate breakfast with Mr. Mason. They worked. They patrolled. They slept. The pressure and anticipation of waiting for something to happen ached in his muscles.

For the last half of August, Daniel was sick.

The doctor said it was little more than a minor illness to be cured with rest, but seeing him fevered and unfocused and uncomposed was more upsetting than Walter thought it would be. Mr. Mason and himself had to gang up on Daniel to make him stay in bed and to thwart his ridiculous attempts at working. Walter picked up the extra work at the store without a word, slowly and painstakingly working out the arithmetic for the ledger, sweeping the floor, doing the washing and only taking breaks to bring Daniel a new wet cloth for his head. At night, he prepared onion soup by himself and found thick slices of bread and cheese (all the things used to want when he was sick himself).

It wasn't that Laurie was an unworthy partner to patrol with, but he only managed to look balefully into the darkness when he should have been alert. It didn't feel the same.

Trying to sleep during the summer was already hard enough, but a feverish bed-partner made it even more difficult. He refused to entertain the idea that anything else was keeping him awake, and he frowned faintly as he pulled another too-warm cloth off of Daniel's head and avoided noticing the tendrils of brown hair curling up from sweat. No. Nothing keeping him awake.

"Really, Walter, I'm fine-but thank you." Daniel smiled faintly but sincerely. It must have been the fourteenth time he'd said thank you, and every time he looked like he meant it. "You should sleep."

"Hn." Walter was of the opinion that he'd be fine when he could walk without stumbling into the desk. When he did finally sleep, it was a huddled and strangely watchful slumber.

It was good to see Daniel well again, with the flush of new health people often got after an illness, smiling outside in one of the first cooler fall breezes of September.

But the anticipation somehow felt worse, creeping up now into his stomach and making him unusually, sharply aware of everything.

Chapter 11

Clouds were building away to the west, creamy white and approaching like enormous, silent guardians. It was another delivery day and the train made its own white clouds out of steam as it approached, first a slippery mirage but then slowly becoming something real, solid, uncontrollable.

Walter flexed his hands and arms, anticipating hours of loading cargo, honest work. It always settled his mind into a desperately needed blankness and peace.

Bernard leaned out the train door to wave once it had come to a stop, and jerked a thumb toward the storm.

"Looks like you all might be getting some rain today."

"Yes," Daniel agreed, tipping his head back in relief. "Thank God."

The long muscles in his throat were too hard to look away from.

//

He kept looking back at the storm as they worked, a constant distraction and a mar on what was supposed to be a clear mind. Still two, three hundred miles away. Would be on them before nightfall or just after, bringing with it wind and a respite from shimmering heat. Rain to water the parched earth.

The drawback, he thought as he scraped his tongue nervously over his top lip, was that they wouldn't be able to patrol that night. Too dangerous to take the horses out in it, could get spooked or turn their ankles in wet ground.

The sky overhead was still bright, the sun still unforgiving, and Daniel was waiting for him to help carry another crate.

//

They were always given rest once they finished. Rest was the very last thing he wanted that day. Should be out, should be doing something, should be quieting the formless worry tugging at the edges of his consciousness. But the wind was already picking up as the clouds heaved in their massive breath over the plains.

The muscles in his shoulders and arms ached from their day of work, his body made heavy from the exertion and begging for a sleep his mind could not grant. Still afternoon. Walter turned his eyes to the light from outside, just beginning to change from a solid stream of yellow light to something more mercurial. How long would it be until he could take refuge in sleep?

Take refuge. That wasn't like him. He rubbed his mouth with the flat of his hand and leaned back only a little, but it was enough to make the chair's old wooden joints give an elaborate protest.

//

The two of them plus Mr. Mason and Miss Juspeczyk-Sally-passed a quiet dinner, all Daniel's cooking. He'd made the beans exactly the way they used to eat them on the trail, just soft enough, sharp with onion. Exactly the way Walter liked them.

//

No thunder yet.

"Walter?" Daniel looked up from his book mid-page as though something had just occurred to him. "Something bothering you?

Back in his customary chair by the workdesk, Walter kept himself as still as possible to keep it from making a sound. He tried to look nonchalant. "Nn. Don't like the storm."

Daniel folded the book closed between his hands, failing to mark his place. Something about that disturbed Walter. How could he trust he'd be able to find it again?

The pages compressed softly together until they looked as if they'd never been opened at all, a new book once more. "I know." He mouth moved behind closed lips; he must have been pressing the tip of his tongue up against his teeth. "Me too. I mean. It's exciting and we're all a little desperate for rain at this point, but." His attention strayed out the window. "There's a pressure, too, before it hits. Tension. You can see it in the animals. Old instinct, I guess."

"I guess," Walter repeated, having only heard half of what his old partner just said.

//

The last person they expected to show up that evening was Adrian Veidt, but there he was, knocking gently against the door frame with his light hair askew from wind. He looked both hesitant and bold as the same time, acting as if this interruption had taken courage. Daniel seemed to notice too, judging by the way he leaned forward, eyes regaining a sharpness usually reserved for patrol.

"I'm sorry to bother you both. But I've discovered something that you," his attention flicked involuntarily to Walter, "ah, that you should know."

It was strange, how much older he looked.

Daniel sprung into action, a good host, and cleared another chair of its mechanical implements. Adrian looked like he wasn't sure if he should sit, but he did. Walter watched him carefully, warily.

Adrian looked down at his folded hands for a few long seconds before choosing a place to begin. "I've been at Dr. Osterman's today, speaking with Mr. Jacobi." He paused to scan their faces, just as alert as they both were, apparently waiting for them to react in condemnation. There was none. As for himself, the news that Jacobi would serve a month for attempted kidnapping after regaining his health was enough for Walter: case closed, time served, end of story. As for Daniel, Walter suspected he was too soft-hearted for condemnation.

That was half of the whole problem. Some healthy condemnation would do them both some good.

Adrian continued. "He looks healthier than when I last saw him. The break from work seems to be doing him well. But-it seems he had a confession as well." He smiled softly, almost sadly. "I'm the last one to be taking confession, but. I digress. He says he didn't get the kidnapping idea alone."

"What?" Daniel leaned forward, entirely focused, the line of his jaw taut.

"You remember Maxwell Shea?" Walter bit down hard on his tongue. Never, never trusted him. "He and his, ah, associates seem to have been causing problems, Jacobi says. Especially around the mine. They had promised him they could get him money, lots of money. Then they fed him the kidnapping idea."

"Hung him out to dry," Daniel added, absentmindedly stroking his mouth in deep thought.

"Yes," Adrian sighed. "I thought the same. I didn't say as much to him, but..." His slight shoulders shrugged helplessly. "Walter? Do you see why I came to tell you?"

He did. It was almost too easy. No. It was too easy, but it came together very clearly. Whatever Shea and his band were planning, it was something he'd gotten in the way of. Or perhaps he'd just been around as an easy target for violent men who liked violent things. An innocent bystander in the way of criminals. It made his teeth grind and his wound ache dully. No grand conspiracy of murder. Just circumstance.

"So we'll find them." It seemed the simple, obvious answer. Attempted murder and conspiracy to kidnapping would be punished. Easy. But Adrian was looking at him with something so similar to pity it made the skin on the back of his neck prickle with irritation.

"He says they left weeks ago. Whatever they were here for, they must have given it up. Who knows were they are now."

Across the room, Daniel cursed quietly, only managing to wince and look apologetic afterward.

Adrian was already rising, eyeing the iron-bellied clouds out the window as they darkened. "I should go before all the roads are swept away entirely."

Daniel rose as well, extending a hand in warm friendship. He made friends so easily. "Thank you, Adrian. Really."

Then he was gone, and Daniel was considering him from across the room with even more soft concern than usual. "Walter?"

He wanted to get up. His muscles felt drawn unbearably tight, but he remained perfectly still in his chair, scraping his tongue along his teeth as if tasting something sick inside his mouth. None of this felt right. None of this was how it was supposed to work. He was supposed to find his shooter, and then, and then-

And then what, some traitorous part of him seemed to whisper.

Daniel pressed out a slow breath. He had drawn closer when Walter wasn't looking, sitting on the edge of the bed and fixing him with that dark-eyed look. "Walter. I know this is... frustrating for you." Walter snorted softly. Very frustrating. "But there was always a chance we'd never find who shot you." His mouth lifted in a weak smile. "At least we know?"

No. Knowing was much worse.

Apparently disconcerted by his silence, Daniel toyed with a loose thread in the bedspread and Walter felt a light pang of guilt. He was only trying to help, be a good friend. He had patrolled when he didn't have to.

Saved his life when he didn't have to.

Something foreign and hot and unwelcome twisted up in his chest.

"Maybe, uh." The first drops of rain pattered into their room, the simple curtains swinging and billowing full of wind like ghosts. He couldn't stop staring at them as Daniel went to bar the window shut and block the sickly grey light, couldn't stop staring at them and just look at Daniel.

"Maybe you could settle down. For a while." Daniel's eyes were begging him to look, he knew. He couldn't. His arms, braced tight against the chair in effort to stay still, began to tremble.

"Have to find them." It felt like electricity from the lightning outside was traveling up the hairs of his arm and the back of his neck, pulling at his nerves. The first barrage of raindrops hit the wall in a muted chorus.

No grand conspiracy. Or no grand conspiracy that they knew of.

It was then he knew what he had to do. Terrible, painful; necessary.

"Going to find them. Tell Mr. Mason thank you."

He swept up all at once, jamming his hat on his head so hard it hurt, his muscles protesting the sudden movement but his heart racing to run and run.

"You're leaving?" Daniel's voice was half-choked behind him, as if caught halfway between a sob and an incredulous laugh. Walter paused with his hand on the door frame and wondered why he felt like he was about to be sick all over the floor just at the sound. "Again?"

No, no. No. That wasn't-that job, the trail had come to an end, he wasn't expecting-

And then he was running.

It didn't matter that he'd forgotten his shoes and that the beginnings of mud were sticking to the bottom of his feet, or that he should turn around for his horse or that he was already growing wet from the roaring sheets of rain, he just had to run, get far away as possible and never come back, he'd wrecked it and didn't understand-yes. Yes, he understood. His perversion, his corruption, he'd ruined his friendship and hurt Daniel, the only friendship he'd ever had, ever would have.

The dampness under his feet had turned into puddles and he'd long since lost his hat, cold water streaming over his face and soaking him through to the bone, cold, cold. The tree he passed had turned up the pale undersides of its leaves into the relentless rain.

His legs, burning from exertion, faltered when he reached the last line of homes, the line of what he considered the end of town. After this point, he could never come back. Never gather water with him in the early morning sun, never watch his clever fingers bring metal to life, never sleep beside his warm and steady body, never feel that soft and hidden arc of skin behind his ear which made them both shiver.

Walter hardly realized that he had stopped, shoulders bowed, body sagging beneath the onslaught of rain.

Concussive bursts of lightning rolled in the dark sky above him, a constant drumbeat of thunder. And footsteps.

Daniel was running toward him through the white sheets of rain.

He'd never cried before in his life, not for anything, not for anything his mother ever did to him or what other children had said or even when he found out who Eddie Blake wasn't. Never. But as he stood there twisted part-way around and watched Daniel draw closer, his chest constricted in short bursts and gasps, his vision thick and stinging.

And then Daniel was weeping too, crushing their bodies together and sobbing into the crook of his neck, rubbing his fingers down and down Walter's back like he was something precious and saying things he couldn't hear over the thunder but that didn't matter either because the way their bodies shook together was an entirely different language, one he couldn't lie in.

"Shit, Walter," a quick flash lit the irises of his eyes, frightened, "don't you think this scares me too? But it's either run or just face the truth-"

No. "No," he moaned, he'd just make Daniel like those men who went into his mother's room, those awful things he heard through the wall, awful monstrous things, "will degrade you-"

Daniel kissed him for the third time. Not a blind explosion of emotion, not chaste and clean, but this time searching and desperate and so honest and the hands on his face so warm and so good and that was the other problem. It always felt good while they did these things, always felt right.

"If you think," Daniel's hands had fallen away from his face, his arms spread out at his sides as he backed away, "if you think that felt perverse," his voice was shuddering, "then you can go."

Walter could feel the wind and the rain washing over them both, the empty and hollow stretch of years awaiting him if he lied.

He couldn't.

Rainwater rushed into his empty footprint as he stepped back into his friend's arms.

They were back in Daniel's room, their room, and he could feel the wooden floorboards still warm under his bare feet from the afternoon heat. Daniel was returning with a towel and lighting a candle which threw a low soft light over everything as Daniel wiped his face, dried his hair. Walter felt drugged and hypnotized, but somehow still possessing of his own will. He closed his eyes as he lifted his hands toward Daniel's shirt, sliding his fingers under the soaked collar and untwisting the top button so he could feel the intake of breath moving far beneath his fingertips. The decision was already made, and he felt inevitability pushing him forward for good or for ill.

Daniel had stopped moving as Walter's fingers caught in the next button, then the next; then the towel slid away from his fingers and down Walter's back as he circled around to unbutton Walter's own waistcoat and dress shirt, knuckles rubbing friction through his thin undershirt. Thunder rattled the walls and neither noticed, both moving as slowly as the other.

When Walter was brave enough to open his eyes, the room seemed bright with candlelight, Daniel's shoulders well-muscled, his body solid, his face familiar. They peeled away wet layers from one another's skin, letting their arms slide together where they crossed. Their hands skimmed their hips and explored the rise and dip of muscle and bone, naked before each other in the full light.

It felt to Walter like something sacred.

The bed was only a step away, and they sank to it gratefully.

They both lay chest to chest, nervous and self-conscious but quietly awed at the human complexity of their bodies, their similarities and differences. Walter could smell a humid warmth rising from the base of Daniel's throat and felt a whimper starting deep within his own chest.

Daniel was touching him, down the curve of his ribs to the length of his thigh and unfurling a heat under his skin. Walter wet his own lips with his tongue, gaining courage, then blindly wrapped his fingers around Daniel, immediately surprised at the weight and heat of it in his palm. There was a ragged gasp against his ear before he felt himself enclosed in return, calluses dragging against sensitive skin and making him grow taut and stiff.

He shifted closer, as close as he could get. It didn't feel wrong yet, not as their shins rubbed across each other, not as their hands sometimes brushed together during their mutual hesitant rhythm.

It ached but he only wanted to ache more, feel the twist of Daniel's wrist doing this and touching this part of him without making him feel shameful. He wanted to tip his head back and close his eyes again, but the look on Daniel's face, the slowly gathering pleasure, was enough to override even that and all he could do was watch.

Daniel reached out a free hand to touch his face, his eyes wide and dark, and it made Walter push his hips forward more urgently, more wantonly, pull his fingers tighter to make Daniel gasp again in return.

Please, Daniel whispered, please, please. There was slickness under his fingertips and something about it made him groan low and move faster, trying to gain leverage with the inside of his knee braced against the mattress, trying to move his hand the way Daniel was moving on him, pressing sometimes at the underside, all while watching Daniel's face to see the emotions and helplessness there, their bed rocking under their strength and rainwater dissipating from their backs.

He felt the heartbeat throbs in his palm and knew, right before Daniel cried out and clenched his fist involuntarily, pressing Walter into a sharp cry as his whole body shook itself at once and he felt himself spilling over Daniel's hand, his stomach, as they lay together panting into each other's mouths.

It didn't feel dirty, not when Daniel leaned over him to retrieve the towel and cleaned them both, just as careful as before, his skin reddened and lips parted; Walter wondered if he looked the same, his eyelids already feeling heavy. It didn't feel dirty when they laid alongside each other, skin to skin.

They drew up the sheets around themselves, bare and clean, and slept through thunder.

Chapter 12

Daniel was messy-haired and soft-eyed, already awake by the time Walter opened his eyes. His arm and chest were left uncovered by the blankets, and something about that bared shoulder was enough to make Walter blush, even though he had seen much more the night before.

It was as new and delicate as thin ice. Walter remained still, only breathing, only watching.

"Are you still scared?" Walter could feel his wide hand coming to rest on his arm, gentle. Cautious. He nodded even as the muscles of his arm relaxed under the touch and he moved closer.

"Ah," Daniel huffed, amused at himself or the both of them, seemingly relieved he wasn't the only one. "Me too."

"Daniel-"

"Please call me Dan." It was all in rush and achingly sincere.

That was familiar, almost overly familiar, but it was fitting and he felt like he wanted it, to be drawn into this. That was frightening too.

"Dan. I liked yesterday."

This time there was a smile, the kind he couldn't stop staring at. "Me too."

//

Sally was early to breakfast one morning, just like him. Despite the fact that they were tied together only through Dan and Mr. Mason, they'd learned to develop something companionable. It was helped by his unfailing politeness and her unfailing ability to indulge him with desserts.

"Good morning, Sally."

"Morning, kid."

He sat across from her at the rough-hewn table, staring down at the shape his knobbly, crooked fingers made against the wood.

"You're not attacking the food?" She leaned back, setting her spoon down and giving him a kind but critical look. "Something's gotta be bothering you."

Walter looked up at her, his fingers clenching together. Her hair was orange like his, but lighter, smoother. She had an easy, broad smile and never raised a hand to Laurie. He admired good mothers.

"Sally," he blinked down at the table again and then back up at her, wondering how to explain it. "What do you do when you," he clenched his bottom lip between his teeth briefly, "when you want something you're not supposed to. Badly."

"Oh, honey." Sally braced her chin in her hand, something sad in the corners of her eyes. "I could write you a couple of novels about that."

His fingers followed the wood grain. There was nothing he could say to that, but at least she understood. She probably didn't understand exactly, but that was fine, because she didn't need to know he had strong sexual urges for the man she affectionately called "kiddo."

"Sorry, Walter. This is about you. So you want-" She blinked once, and then took on a smile which made him nervous. "Oh! Well. Hollis owes me ten dollars."

His ears felt hot. He decided that he shouldn't have underestimated her deductive skills.

"How do I." He inhaled slowly. "Does it go away?"

"No." Sally smiled in that sympathetic way. "Who says it should? Long as nobody's gonna get hurt, who cares?"

Walter's mouth went a little dry, and the stunned expression on his face must have been enough to make her laugh. "Ah ha ha! I didn't mean-hey, if it's enough to hurt, good for you two."

That wasn't- They were not having this conversation. They were not.

"Look," she cast about for a delicate way to say what she wanted to say, seemingly doing him the favor of being discreet now that his entire face was burning. "I have these two pals, right? Personally, I think it's fine. You call yourself a committed bachelor, and people aren't going to ask."

"Right." His voice was a little strangled as he struggled up, his chair scraping embarrassingly loud against the floor. He stood stiffly, hands clenched behind him, breakfast completely forgotten. "Thank you."

And then he fled.

//

"I've been informed-" he told Dan later, "I've-"

But it was useless. And Dan was starting to look at him in the kind of deep concern Walter had last seen when he'd nearly choked at dinner a few weeks ago.

So instead, he braced his knee between Dan's legs and let him draw whichever conclusion he wanted.

Chapter 13

Daniel Dreiberg

September turned into October into November. Dan didn't quite remember where it all went, only that the days had folded into an endless and indistinct haze.

He woke up to find Walter sleeping impossibly close each morning.

It was getting colder then, the open heat which broke in September slowly receding in front of the inexorable advance of winter. The hard blue sky softened gradually to something more forgiving, with a horizon which allowed a pink blush by early morning and a blaze of orange at dusk.

The air was brisk enough by night that Walter made two new long coats (the stitches rested snugly and expertly against his shoulders and back, as if their maker had long ago memorized his body) and Dan knew Walter had used the store's fabric just so he could have an excuse to keep working in order to pay it off.

Things between them were still proceeding, delicate as the exposed branches on the maple tree they passed each night.

Sometimes, Walter wouldn't even wait for the secrecy of dark; if only Sally or Laurie were around to see, he'd allow his arm to brush Dan's, their hands to meet. Dan would feel a gentle warning pressure on his shoulder at sudden sounds during their patrols (a habit they couldn't give up) or he would sense their body languages merging into one whole without resistance.

They had never gotten any more daring than the September night when they'd first touched each other and Walter had drawn out his pleasure with his nimble hands and dark, dark, dark eyes-but Dan could hardly consider that something negative. He couldn't imagine being able to survive anything more impassioned than what they already had.

On the first cold snap of the year, dipping low down the length of the plains from the arctic, they had gone to sleep under extra blankets, heavy from a particularly long day.

Whether one of them had woken up and accidentally roused the other, or whether some shared restlessness brought them simultaneously awake, they didn't know; all they knew was that they'd somehow ended up looking across the bed at each other in the middle of the night.

The room was lit by a round and full moon, somehow brighter in the clear night than the sunshine had been earlier.

All at once, Walter's mouth came to rest in the soft spot beneath his chin, and it was all he could do to keep from making a startled sound. A very happy, startled sound.

Dan could feel soft, patient breaths down the length of his throat, and it was almost as if he were back in the early days when he had to be completely still for fear of breaking whatever spell had come over Walter. Except this time, there was something focused, something determined-Walter's hands were holding his arms still-something direct.

No avoiding.

Dan tilted his head back a fraction of an inch, earning a roughly approving grunt from the man currently nipping softly over his jugular. He sucked in air between his tongue and teeth, wondering when exactly Walter had pulled ahead of him in the courage department.

On second thought, if they were going to compete that way, it was a good competition.

Walter's hands skirted his sides, his hips, his jaw, drawing all his nerves up to the surface and pressing flat where he ached.

He felt as if he were drowning, or being saved from it.

Nothing about the way Walter rocked the heel of his palm against Dan was exploratory or hesitant, it was-oh God-it was a decisive claim. And no one in the history of the world had ever been able to change Walter's mind.

That should have been the most frightening part of all, but instead he studied the patterns of moonlight and shadow on his partner's face, rose up to meet him, curled his fingers into his short hair, and held on for dear life.

//

The winter pressed closer and closer, surrounding them with a biting chill both welcome and surprising after the wide and open heat of summer.

By the beginning of December, the floorboards stung his bare feet in the mornings with cold. Walter seemed somehow used to it, not even wincing or pulling back with a shiver. On working days, they both got dressed and ready for work with a certain efficiency born from wanting to get moving and warm as soon as possible.

Saturdays were better, because on Saturdays they could stay as long as they wanted within the warm, close press of their bed, playing a silent game of who could convincingly feign sleep the longest. They were both bad at it. Walter got a particularly twitchy look on his face which meant he was shoving down a smile, and Dan kept shifting his feet under the blankets.

Dan hoped it would never be spring again.

The air was harsh in their throats during patrols, but it felt like being scrubbed raw, a cleansing.

//

They were being drawn by connection into Laurie's loose and informal family, so it was no surprise when she invited them along for their Christmas trip back east; the only surprise was when Dan accepted on Walter's behalf without thinking.

To his relief, Walter only reacted to the news with a passive nod.

The morning they left was fragile by its temperature and by the thin light of a newly-risen sun. Their passenger train was larger and sleeker than the freight automotive which had long become familiar. It wasn't the most luxurious Dan had ever seen, but it was certainly good enough for purposes of transportation and more than enough to sustain his curiosity as he took note of the construction: bolts and steel.

The landscape passed away on both sides of them once the train was moving, flat prairie and frost-bearded grass giving way to gently rolling hills, then low brush and pine by the second day, then lofty, bare-branched trees by the third.

Laurie's and Sally's matching, raucous laughter filled the compartment at some ribald joke or another from Mr. Blake; Jon perused an impossibly thick medical text while Hollis dozed comfortably; Walter remained by the window to see the scenery, his eyes wide and watchful in the glass reflection.

Dan marveled at how good it felt to sit close beside him in this public way, and wondered exactly how much their traveling companions had figured out about them.

A frozen world went by.

Chapter 14

The house was large and grand, at least fifty years old, and decorated so floridly that Dan suspected the only limit was the owner's budget. It wasn't much of a limit.

Nelson Gardner was exactly how Dan had pictured him from the letter, nervous and fussy but graciously hospitable. He appeared so genuinely happy to see the group that it was harder to feel awkward about imposing on another family's holiday. After a quick look exchanged between Nelson and Hollis, he greeted Walter as if they'd never seen each other before. Dan silently thanked his lucky stars that both men had apparently been born with a military-strict politeness.

It took him a good half hour of sitting in the parlor before he realized that the enormously muscled man sitting like a watchdog to Mr. Gardner's right was Rolf, "dear Rolf" from the letter.

He'd assumed he was a brother or a cousin, but-oh. Well. It wasn't as if he had a right to judge.

It fascinated him probably more than it should have, seeing those two men living what he'd just started, and he could see Walter glancing at them periodically from the corner of his eye as well.

The two of them moved in easy coordination, reading each other's body language and communicating nearly through glances and gestures. For all intents and purposes, it was an old marriage without rings.

And it put whatever he and Walter had to shame.

After he lost his eighth consecutive round of dining table poker to Laurie, Dan rubbed his eyes wearily. He'd been considering it something serious; Hell, just days ago he'd been proud of them both for being seen together in public on the train. But in reality, everything he knew about Walter he'd found out secondhand, and shit, they didn't so much as know each other's middle names. The sudden concept of their relationship one day drifting apart like a weak spiderweb made him feel uncommonly heavy and lonely.

"Ah, Hell," laughed Eddie from where he sat on a delicate-looking china hutch, "you don't have to cry, kid. Laurie beats everybody."

"What a comedian," mumbled Hollis in a halfway sullen tone just loud enough for Dan to hear. Laurie only rolled her eyes and delivered her fourth "shut up, Eddie" of the night while nimbly re-dealing.

Dan spread his hands in gentle refusal. "Think I'm going to turn in. Uh-" Walter. Where was Walter?

Jon pointed steadily toward the hallway without even having to look up from his cards.

He did his best not to flush from embarrassment as he stood and passed out of the room, hardly even feeling when Sally gave him a sympathetic pat on the back like an affectionate aunt.

The hall was dark and quiet after the loud holiday atmosphere, their small guest room even darker. It had to be a new moon.

He could just barely make out Walter's shape where he sat on one of the twin beds, feet already bare and crossed underneath himself.

"Sorry, Daniel. Felt out of place."

Short sentences, Dan thought.

"Yes, me too."

It felt stupidly awkward to change into bedclothes and climb separately into two tiny beds five feet apart, staid and chaste. Especially since they'd slept separately in the train's sleeping compartment for the past few nights of their trip. Dan pillowed his head in the crook of his arm and watched Walter's back, stiff and tense, miles from sleep.

It was like a chasm, and the dull loneliness from before sharpened to something unbearable.

His legs and feet moved almost unbidden, kicking away the sheets, carrying him across the roughly textured rug and down onto the narrow bed behind Walter who immediately twisted around to clutch him like a lifeline, reaching, kissing.

Dan hummed lowly in relief, grateful to feel Walter's coarse hair beneath his fingertips again, the insistent motions of his jaw. The familiar warmth of Walter's body was seeping into his chest, stomach, thigh.

He wanted to know him. He wanted to be like those two men, inseparably devoted and together with such ease, no shame even though it meant arrest in some places, no shame. When his fingers pressed against the base of Walter's neck he whimpered in need, muffled against the side of Dan's jaw.

Maneuvering clothing away without falling off the bed took more effort than usual but they attacked the problem valiantly, twisting and panting and putting the clean guest sheets in a debauched disarray.

He ended up on his back with Walter trembling above him, with Walter breathlessly gripping his hair or his shoulder or his side as Dan palmed his ribs or his wrists or hipbones. As though he wanted to know Dan just as badly.

"Please," he murmured against the side of Walter's mouth and he mercifully acquiesced, taking first Dan in hand and then himself, pressing their lengths together and he wasn't even moving his hand but Dan couldn't breathe and he threw his head back and moaned so loudly Walter had to clap a free hand over his mouth. His "too loud, Daniel" had enough of a sly, teasing tone that he dug the heel of his palm into the mattress in impossible arousal, his pulse beating hot.

With nothing left to support himself, Walter had collapsed and so Dan reached down to support his hip with one hand while meeting Walter's fingers with the other, enclosing so they could finally, finally move, kept agonizingly slow to prevent the bed supports from squeaking, building gradually as Walter made helpless gasps while Dan breathed hard through his nose and struggled to keep his eyes open.

Walter kissed wherever he could reach, his thumb rubbing the underside of Dan's chin, desperately and openly affectionate. Dan felt simultaneously consumed and at peace, as if the dark winter air outside could never reach them.

The dry warmth of Walter's hand contrasted with the slick heat and his hand was sliding across Dan's lips, two fingers curling in to press along his tongue, the taste of his fingertips sharp, and Dan bit down as his muscles shook and his consciousness reeled and he came undone.

Loose-muscled and dizzy, Dan slackened his jaw and pressed his tongue against the indentations his teeth had made, twisting his wrist until Walter made that high-pitched keen and rattling gasp Dan liked better than anything else.

They lay together naked in the aftermath, arms and legs alongside one another and unwilling to move after they regained breath and their hearts slowed. They were quiet for a long time after the heat burned away from their skin.

Walter's hand moved idly across Dan's ribs in a lazy contrast to the hurried wanting he'd just indulged in. He seemed to be holding his breath, debating something. Dan rested his hand against his lower back in curious, silent encouragement.

"Daniel-Dan. My mother," Dan could see him bite his lip briefly, painfully, "My mother was a prostitute."

Oh. Oh. A miserable childhood unspooled before his mind's eye. The life of a prostitute was wretched enough, but to be an innocent child-

It was without a doubt a portion of his life he regarded with shame, and he'd revealed it willingly. Dan expected to see his eyes glittering in the dark, looking up cautiously to find his reaction, but Walter only settled his head into the hollow just beneath Dan's shoulder. Trust.

His fingers curved against Walter's spine. "My father has said less than a hundred words to me in my life."

That time Walter did look up, the visible portion of his face solemn. Dan suddenly needed to pull him as close as possible, and neither of them resisted the contact as the night grew heavy.

Walter stretched out one arm alongside his own and mumbled something with his final waking breath before his head grew heavy on Dan's shoulder. It took Dan's brain a few seconds to backtrack and untangle it: "symmetry." It made no sense Dan could work out on his own; it was most likely a private reference, but the fact that it was voiced for him to hear made up for it.

He looked down at his partner's hair, made inky black from the low light, and felt a deep and crushing love.

Chapter 15

By Christmas morning, there were tiny snowflakes freezing to the window in endless crystalline configurations.

It was all a ritual, alien to Dan but no less welcome for its strangeness. The spreading, fragrant pine with candles held in its branches, the songs seemingly known by heart, the modestly wrapped gifts. From what he could tell by watching Walter, the entire celebration and rote tradition was new to him as well, but every bit as calming to him as it was to Dan. His angular body was relaxed, his hawk's-eye gaze somehow softened.

"I didn't think to get you anything," Dan murmured from the edge of a chaotic sea of ribbons and wrapping cloth.

Walter's mouth only twitched upward in something genuine as he reached over to touch Dan's fingers-too fleeting, but long enough to make his heart beat in his throat.

They spent the day surrounded by the motley family of Laurie, Sally, and the people who adored them.

//

Squares of light slid across their faces on the first day of the train ride back, the light snowfall turning everything into a world made anew. Soon there would be churning mud and all the displeasures of reality; but until then, Dan was content to live in the fragile world of white.

There was something about seeing people at morning and night, in their quiet moments of reflection and in happier times with their families. By the day they returned home, Dan felt somewhat like a cousin to everyone in the compartment.

He and Eddie had developed something of a passing respect over the holiday (once Dan had made clear he had no untoward intentions for Laurie), and so a conversation that would have been unthinkable a month before wasn't out of place at all by that day.

"I've been wondering," Dan mused, turning his hat in hands while Walter half-paid attention to the conversation, "Star Bluff? You named it?"

"Sure."

"There's, um. There's no bluff. It's flat."

Eddie's snicker was followed by a short bark of laughter. "Observant, huh? Yeah. Guess I was bluffing." Laurie, engaged in a conversation with her mother behind him, specifically turned so Dan could see her roll her eyes at the joke.

"Shit." Eddie sighed. "You're too young to get this, but-it's a joke, right? Maybe I wanted a little piece of the world that wasn't quite as hell-bent on destruction as the rest. But maybe I thought anyone who wants something that good has got to lie to himself a little."

"Uh-"

"No," Walter ground out beside him, suddenly focused sharp. "Truth is always best."

"That so?" His smile was tight at the corners, his eyes black and glittering. "Well, kid, the truth can fucking hurt."

"Yes. But some truth is good."

"But it's either run or just face the truth," he'd said, terror and desperation coursing through his body as he shook Walter by the shoulders in the pouring rain.

Dan had to bite down on his lip to keep from smiling, and didn't even have to look over at Walter to know he must have been doing the same.

"Right. I gotta get off this train before this lovey crap spreads." If he didn't know better, Dan would have almost thought there was a little bit of affection buried in with the irritated sigh.

Eddie strolled off the train at their next stop, complaining of cramped legs. They didn't notice the expression on his face when he returned.

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