I still write, kinda...
Sooo... it's been a long time. Life's crazy, but mostly in the good way. I haven't written anything in a long time. So, I'm trying to change that. Here's a story I started well over 2 years ago, and finally finished. Enjoy!
Title: The Road Less Traveled
Fandom: Sailor Moon
Pairing: R/J
Author's Note: This is an AU piece that originated with the prompt of Hippie Van. It makes non-specific references to Native American cultures. It has some inspiration from the story of the Chuckchansi People as heard on This American Life. All concerns about material represented in this story should be directed to the author. He can be reached at rishianarain AT yahoo DOT com.
3/8”. 5/16”. ¼” ½” 7/16”.
It had become something of a daily routine. Looking at each of the wrenches without reading the handles and trying to identify it. Any decent auto mechanic would be able to, because they’d have been doing their job for a few years.
But he’d only been at it a few weeks, even if his resume said he’d been doing it for the past five years.
Better than telling the truth.
That he was a killer, and he’d been wasting his life for those five years running with all the wrong sorts of people, thinking all the wrong sorts of thoughts.
“This was a second chance,” his Marshall had told him. “A chance to be someone new. Someone different. Someone better.” Someone other than what he saw in the mirror, which brought him nothing but shame.
He looked over at one of the cars in the shop and caught his reflection in the side mirror: sandy blond hair that had started to come in with curls now that he let it grow again, and blue eyes.
It was always they eyes that got him. There was a time when those eyes were bright and full of mischief, back in the innocence of youth. But in the past decade, they’d gone dark, and there was something in them that frightened him if he looked too hard. It was like someone else was looking back at him in the mirror, someone he didn’t recognize. No, someone he didn’t want to recognize.
He scratched at his forearm, a residual reminder of the treatment he’d undergone last week. He knew that the doctors had said it wouldn’t, but he felt the itch from the laser tattoo removal anyway. As though his body didn’t want him to forget the pain of the procedure, and reminding him that he still had many more treatments to go to erase the marks of his past.
All for the sake of making him a new person. He didn’t want to be the man he was before, so if this was the price, he would endure it.
He was roused from these darker musings first by noise, then by smell. Customer. And by the sound and smell, a car with plenty wrong with it.
He rolled his sleeves back down (best not to let anyone see), buttoned up his overalls and made himself look presentable, like someone other than who he was.
He wasn’t quite expecting what he saw.
It was a Volkswagon Bus. Old from the look of it, late 70s model, complete with an amateur paint job consisting of peace signs and flowers. The bright red monstrosity looked like something out a Woodstock scrapbook. And, judging by the smell and the sputtering of the engine, it had aged every single day since then.
Most of the research he had done was on newer cars and ones most likely to be driven by the average customer driving into the shop for an oil change: American pickups, Japanese sedans, German luxury cars.
Fortunately, he’d been thorough and done some extra work. He was nothing if not thorough. This would be a real challenge, acting like he knew anything about a car so old.
But the car wasn’t half as extraordinary as the woman who stepped out of it.
At first, all he saw was a long, tanned leg stepping down from the driver’s side. When it’s sandaled foot hit the ground, a long, flowing skirt with intricate patterns fluttered down to cover it. There was a hint of toned stomach peeking out from under a lacy white tank top that seemed to hang as delicately as the last seed on a dandelion from slender shoulders, framed by a curtain of black hair, that even in the shadows of the garage, seemed to have a shine. Her eyes were covered by dark glasses, but even so, he could sense a sort of intensity from them. She looked delicate, with her headband and bohemian style and slow, elegant gait, but he knew, somehow, this woman was a walking tempest, and she was about to turn his day upside down.
He could tell from her skin color and features that she wasn’t White, but he couldn’t quite place her. A part of him screamed “other,” and he tried to suppress the visceral reaction. Old habits, it seemed, still died hard. He took a deep breath. He was a new man now.
“Can I help you?”
She strode right up to him and pulled down her glasses. For months afterwards, he’d try to describe exactly what color her eyes were in that moment. Describing a color seemed like the most basic thing in the world, but then and there, he was at a loss for words. Purple seemed so… pedestrian.
She studied his face for a moment before giving him a once over, eyes settling on the name patch on his chest.
“Well, ‘Jack,”” she said with a degree of doubt in her voice, as if she didn’t believe that anymore than he did. “Why don’t you tell me? I was aiming for Portland by Wednesday, but I think I might not make that. Can you take a look?”
Her voice echoed in his ears, light and airy with a hint of laughter in it. Or was it tears? He couldn’t quite tell. But something of it stayed with him, settling in the pit of his stomach. There was strength there, and authority, even if she seemed sweet and carefree. She was not a woman to be trifled with.
He went about his business, inspecting the engine, the drivetrain and the tires. He even managed a peek inside. The interior was no less outrageous than the exterior. It was all fabrics and beads. The rear seats had been removed and there was a sleeping roll in the back, along with built in shelves and boxes, and duffel bags. It wasn’t hard to guess that the majority of whatever this woman owned was probably in there, and she’d been sleeping inside. It made his evaluation of the state of the car that much more difficult. This wasn’t just a car. It was a home, of sorts.
After a few minutes, he came back to her.
“Well ma’am, it doesn’t look good. You’ve got a couple of ruptured valves in your radiator that’ll need replacing. The timing belt is basically shot, and at least two of your differentials look like they’re ready to go. One of the rear brake cables looks to be gone, and your fuel injection system is… well, it’s no good anymore.”
She seemed utterly non-plused by any of this. He wondered if she even understood any of what he was saying. “How long will it take?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. This conversation wasn’t going like he’d hoped. “Well, assuming I had all the parts, at least a week, maybe two. But you have to understand, they don’t make any parts for this model anymore. As far as I know, there isn’t a supplier within a hundred miles that’ll have what I need to do the job. And, to be honest, this old gal has seen better days. To do most of the repairs it’d need, the risk of something else breaking in the process is pretty high. And, the cost… well, it’d probably cost more than this car cost when it was new. You understand?”
She looked at the car for a moment, and he swore she looked at it as though it were a member of the family, and he had just told her it was dying. But just as quickly, the look passed, and she was her carefree self again.
“Well, money is no object. I just need it working again. So, do what you have to. I can wait.”
He blinked. “Uh, well, okay… but you understand, I don’t have the parts. I don’t even know if I can get them. I mean, I guess if there’s enough of these old models at some scrap yards, I could call them up and ask to salvage some, but-“
“Then it sounds like you need to make some phone calls.”
“…of course, but… you realize this could take months-“
“No problem. A job well done is worth waiting for.”
He opened and closed his mouth several times, not quite sure how to proceed.
Unfazed, she reached into her bag and pulled out a checkbook. She filled one out and handed it to him.
“That should be enough to get you started, right?”
After he looked at the amount, he was even more dumfounded.
She paid little heed as she proceeded to the van and pulled out a few bags, then started walking out to the road.
Once reality hit him again, he regained his senses. “Let me call you a cab Miss…”
“Crowe. Rachel Crowe. My friends call me Rae. You can call me Ms. Crowe. And thank you, but I prefer to walk. I’ll need to get my feet since I’ll be here for a while. I’ll check in on you soon.”
“What about the rest of your belongings?”
She pulled her glasses down again. “I can trust you, can’t I Jack?”
The way she put it, it wasn’t exactly a question. It was more of an order.
“Of course.”
“Then I’ll see you soon.”
He didn’t even realize it until much later, but he meant it, and he believed it.
***
He closed up the garage a little later than usual that night. He’d spent a lot of the afternoon on the phone, trying to find parts for the bus, so he had a lot of work to make up for. He was tired, and looking forward to a hot shower and putting his feet up. He figured he should stop by the grocery and get something for dinner. Pulling into the parking lot, he did a double take. On the bench where the bus stop was were several bags and the slim form of the woman who had turned his world upside down, with her nose buried in the Penny Saver.
It wasn’t any of his business. It REALLY wasn’t any of his business. There was no reason for him to park his car and head over to her and talk to her. She was a customer. It was borderline inappropriate. He really shouldn’t be walking over there, checking his hands for grease and testing his breath to make sure it wasn’t awful.
“Hi… Ms. Crowe?”
She pulled the paper down just enough to see who was interrupting her. He saw her eyes change from curiosity and surprise to something that was either annoyance or amusement. Possibly both.
“Hello Jack. Fancy meeting you here. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were stalking me.”
It was meant to be a joke, but it made him supremely uncomfortable. What exactly was he doing here?
“No… ah… just wanted to… let you know… I’m working on parts for the bus. Hopefully some of these folks’ll get back to me tomorrow, and I can give you a better idea of how long it’ll be.”
That sounded almost normal and natural except for the fact that he was sweating uncomfortably, and not just because he was still wearing his coveralls.
“So… you… looking for a place to stay?” he asked, gesturing towards the paper.
“Place to stay, place to work, place to meet people, just trying to get the lay of the land. I might be here a while. Like I said, I need to find my feet.”
“Well, they’re right there at the end of your legs. Hard to miss, believe me.”
That didn’t sound unnatural or non-creepy at all.
“Uh, well, that is… what I mean is… I have a spare room.”
Now that sounded creepy.
“What I mean is… it’s better than a motel, just something to tide you over until you find a place, you know…”
He desperately wished he knew the bus schedule because he’d give anything to step in front of one right now.
“Okay.”
Had he been hit by a bus? He wasn’t entirely sure anymore.
“Okay…”
“I’m sure your place is better than a motel. And it’ll be good to find my feet, although you seem to know pretty well where they are. Maybe you can help me then.”
“Okay! Great! Let’s… let’s get your stuff loaded in the car. I hope you don’t mind waiting a few minutes. I needed to step in and get some dinner.”
He picked up her bags and led her to the car. As they loaded the trunk, she looked over at him, as if to survey him again.
“Do you cook?”
He hesitated a moment before answering, and that was clearly enough of an answer.
“Never mind. Just follow my lead.” She took off for the entrance to the store with speed that caught him off guard. She seemed so laid back and care free, that this assertiveness was a bit of a shock. And yet, completely natural. He followed in her wake as he saw her reach into her purse for a pad and pen. She tore off a small leaf and handed it to him.
“Get these things then come to the meat department.” She pulled out a basket and handed it to him before grabbing one of her own and marching straight for the produce section. He half expected the sales papers to be blowing in her wake.
He shook his head and looked down at the list. It was mostly non-perishable essentials, things he knew he was low on anyway. It was like she could read his mind. Further down the list were some dairy items. He realized that it was a good idea to put those last. He didn’t always do that.
He made his way through the aisles, picking up what he’d been instructed to. He was about to cross items off, but putting anything over her elegant script seemed… wrong somehow. He opted to just put a checkmark next to each item.
When did he get so sentimental?
He shook his head again - he seemed to be doing a lot of that today - and made his way to the meat department. He saw her at the seafood counter, laughing with the man behind the counter as she accepted a wrapped package of what, from the size of it, seemed to be a whole salmon. Was that jealousy he was feeling?
“Perfect timing. Let’s get checked out.”
He wanted to protest for a moment that fresh salmon was probably out of his budget, as was most of her list, but she was off again like a rocket, grabbing his basket and marching to checkout like no woman in sandals and a hippie skirt had a right to move.
This was one of the strangest days of his life.
When he caught up with her, he made to get what little cash he had in his wallet out, but she swatted his hand. “Dinner’s on me.”
“There’s… enough food here to feed an army. And it’s just the two of us.”
“Then dinner, breakfast, lunch, dinner, breakfast, lunch, dinner, breakfast and a few more lunches and dinners are on me. I owe you for the room, and for the car.”
He wanted to protest that a cramped room in a crappy apartment and a beat up old Volkswagon were hardly worth the check she’d written him, let alone the food. Who exactly was this woman? Dressed in ratty clothes, driving a scrap heap on wheels, but spending money and ordering him around like she was royalty?
It didn’t matter. She’d be staying with him, for at least the foreseeable future. He’d probably have plenty of time to find out.
***
The ride home was short. Time enough for her to have already found the public radio station. “I never go anywhere without doing my homework,” she commented. There wasn’t even a question of her changing the radio, and he found himself puzzled that he hadn’t stopped her. It was just natural to follow her lead.
And, so, he found himself unloading groceries, reorganizing his cabinets, and being deputized as sous chef. After properly cleaning his hands of course. There was new soap in the kitchen, and he knew better than to ask where it came from.
It wasn’t exactly a conversation, but somehow, he found himself learning a thing or two about the mystery woman with the hippie style and the heiress’s bearing. All through the preparation of the meal, and during the meal itself, they didn’t exactly talk, but there wasn’t exactly silence either.
She knew the area somewhat. She wasn’t a local, but she wasn’t a stranger either. She wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty. She was used to getting her way. She had no tolerance for ineptitude, but could still instruct with clarity.
And she was incredibly sad.
He didn’t know how he knew this. Maybe it was the serious way she approached things, and how her humor was always just a little bit darker than a girl in a flower skirt’s sense of humor should be. Maybe it was in the depths of her eyes, that looked so much older than the rest of her. And maybe it was because he knew that kind of sadness and could see it in her.
But, on occasion, just a moment or two at a time, she’d smile. And nothing else mattered when she did.
Like when she bit into the strawberries she’d bought for dessert. “I heard this town was famous for them.” He wasn’t sure he’d ever look at a strawberry the same way again.
Every time he looked at her, he swore he could feel the tattoos itch.
“I’m mixed, since you’re wondering.”
It felt like a bucket of cold water. Of course she had noticed him staring.
“Sorry… uh…”
“You’re not the first. My father’s people are from the Gold Country in California. My mother was from the coast near the border. I guess I’m from somewhere in between.”
It made a lot more sense now. But there were still so many questions.
“Mom had this crazy dream. She was going to be a mobile community center. Driving up and down the coast, fighting for Indian rights, providing health care and education, organizing rallies. Think she thought of herself as some kind of modern travelling medicine woman or something. Crazy dream. So, of course, she needed a Bus to do it in.”
He actually laughed. It made perfect sense, and he said so.
She smiled, but he didn’t see it reach her eyes. “Guess it’s okay to be a little crazy.”
He had no idea why, but at that moment, he wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and tell her it didn’t matter. That he’d support her no matter what. And the levels on which that was wrong just blew his mind. The pain in his tattoos returned, and it was all he could do not to claw at them.
“I’m going to take a shower. You’ll clean up.”
She probably meant the dishes, but he couldn’t exactly be sure.
***
It continued on more or less the same for the next few weeks. They didn’t exactly talk, but they learned more and more about each other. For all his silence and secrecy, Jack felt as though there wasn’t exactly anything about him Rachel Crowe hadn’t figured out. If she knew for sure though, she never let on.
He learned a bit about her as well. Chief among them that she wasn’t quite like anyone he’d ever met. She was an information sponge. There seemed to be almost no topic on which she didn’t have knowledge or an opinion. She was interested in everyone and everything. People seemed to respect her, but everyone also seemed to be just a little afraid of her, as though they saw something in her that scared them, or that they weren’t prepared for. And she knew it. And if it affected her, she never let on. He’d only ever see it in her eyes.
And little by little, his spartan apartment began to change. Flowers, artwork on the walls, bead curtains replacing doors, fresh ingredients in the kitchen, a newspaper delivered to the door every day. No more takeout containers or microwave meals. There was actual breakfast every day, even if it was only a bowl of granola and yogurt.
And there seemed to be fresh strawberries daily, much to his dismay. He had no particular problem with the fruit itself. It was more the sight of Rachel’s lips consuming them that had him at his wit’s end. But that was a separate matter.
It was the treatments that were going to kill him. Before, he’d be able to go about the house shirtless for a day after one while his skin was still sensitive. But now, he had to wear a shirt with long sleeves, even in his own home. And the bandages only did so much. The sheer weight of even a thin shirt seemed unbearable in the wake of his sessions.
A part of him thought he deserved it.
But no part of him thought he deserved the torment of knowing she was there, just down the hall every night, behind that beaded curtain. Not even with a door between them. Just those beads that would tauntingly echo everytime she moved.
He needed to fix that damn bus before he went completely mad.
***
He’d had the dreams most of his life. They’d started since he was about 13. And like most dreams, they’d always fade just as he awoke. He’d never quite remember them, but the feelings would stay with him, sometimes for days on end. Sadness, regret, despair, and the cruelest sliver of hope. It was all a bit much for such a young boy to handle. And maybe that’s where he started to go wrong just a bit. But in the darker days, when things were at their worst, he’d stopped dreaming. It had been with the start of his new life in this new town that the dreams had started again. Only now, bits and pieces started to stay with him.
Fire, ruins, and the heft of a sword in his hand. He’d never seen a real sword, but somehow he knew that this is what was in his hand. He could almost feel the callouses in his hand the next morning.
And since Rachel had started staying with him, the dreams changed. The flames would subside into two points, like eyes. They were terrifying, but somehow, they gave him peace. He hadn’t slept this well since he was a child.
***
It was fascinating to him to see the changes in himself. He could swear his eyes were lightening day by day. The face in the mirror became a little less strange. He could stand to look at it again. He’d never been particularly vain, but he felt comfortable even thinking of himself as somewhat handsome.
He’d stopped bothering talking himself out of the fact that this vanity was due in no insignificant part to the long legged, raven haired beauty who shared his living space and his dining table. He was quite convinced she’d never consider anything remotely resembling dating him, and it would be awkward considering they were living together, but still. Trying to appear presentable in her presence became something nice to focus on. He could pretend for a few minutes at a time that he was a normal man with nothing to be ashamed of, and she might consider letting him put his arm around her shoulder as they watched TV.
In any event, it made their shared meals a bit brighter. He would make eye contact more often, talk a bit more freely, and even elicit a few of those precious smiles and laughs. It was as normal as dinner between a former gang member and a wandering Indian princess could be.
***
He had nearly tripped over various parts and hoses that were strewn between the shop floor and his small office space trying to get to his desk that morning. It spoke to just how much things had changed for him in recent months. Before, his morning would be driving up to work just a few minutes on either side of being early or late, fishing headphones out of his pocket to listen to one of his many playlists, mostly punk, some hard rock, maybe a little bit of metal, and a few folk rock tracks he didn’t want anyone to know about. These days, his schedule was rigid, to ensure he got Rachel to some bus stop or another on time and had himself in the shop at precisely 6:45am to get ready for the 7:00am opening, even though no one ever showed up until 9:00am anyway.
Today, he needed a computer. So he could follow up on something he had heard on Public Radio. He listened to Public Radio now. And he ate granola for breakfast. He wasn’t exactly sure if he hadn’t hugged a tree or protested something in the past week, but he could now tell you what Patriarchy, Heteronormative, Colonial and Intersectional all meant now without need of a dictionary.
Yeah, things were a bit different.
In any event, he had heard a story about a shop in Berkeley that specialized in the repair and restoration of old Volkswagon Buses.
A few months ago, he had no idea who the heck would drive a VW Bus or why he would bother needing to know how to repair one. And now, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was absolutely vital that he get to Berkeley because he needed to get the hopes and dreams of a very special woman repaired and on the road again.
It was good that he got in so early because he could do his research on the Buslab. He looked at the clock. It was 6:56. Probably a bit too early to call. What would be a good time? Could he call right at 7? Would it be better to wait until 9? Or maybe 10? And how should he sound when he called? Should he play it cool, and just be casually asking about their operation? Should he play it professional and really grill the guy?
Why the heck was he so paranoid about this? This wasn’t a date. Just like dinner that night with Rachel wasn’t a date either. This was all business. There was nothing to be worried about.
He resolved to call at 8:45. He had plenty to do, like that tire rotation on the Mercedez that he needed to wrap up that job. Yes, he’d do that and things would be fine. He grabbed his tools and set about his work, performing a perfect tire alignment. He finished wiping everything down and figured it was probably almost time to call, so he checked the clock.
7:30.
It was going to be a long morning…
***
He’d never actually been to the local animal shelter. He’d assumed the town had one when he moved in, but until these past few weeks, he’d had no reason to know where it was, or what their hours were.
But right now the most important thing in the world was to get there ASAP because Rachel would be volunteering there for another 20 minutes before taking a lunch break. And he absolutely had to get there before the lunch break to share the good news with her.
He waved to the front desk staff who knew all about Rachel’s “roommate” and all gave him a knowing smile as he dashed down the hallway to the intake area. He really should have knocked, but there was no time for that, not when they had a road trip to Berkeley to plan.
It probably served him right that the rather large pitbull tackled him and was now busy licking his face.
“Jack you naughty boy! Don’t you have any manners?”
“Uhh, sorry Ms. Crow.”
“Not you, silly,” said Rae as she pulled the dog off him. She wagged her finger at the misbehaving canine. “You know better than that Jack. Now behave!”
The pitbull’s ears drooped a bit and he sat, looking quite chastened. Jack could relate.
“The dog’s name is Jack?”
Rae started scratching him under the ears and he immediately perked up. “Yes it is, and he’s an absolute sweetheart when he’s not being such a brat!”
It was stupid to feel jealous of a dog, so Jack decided that’s not at all what he was feeling.
“He was rescued from a dogfighting ring. They thought he’d be too aggressive to be adoptable, but a little bit of love and I think he’ll be ready for a forever home real soon, huh Jack?”
A wag of the tail and a lick of her hand indicated the four legged Jack was in complete agreement with Rae’s assessment, as the two legged version often was as well. The only real difference was the two legged version was too smart to lick her hand. Mostly.
“So many people look at him and all they see is big black scary dog. But look at his face, with the little brown splotches that look like grease stains, and those beautiful blue eyes. The dirtbags who were holding him prisoner didn’t even bother to name him. So I thought I’d find a good one for him. I think Jack suits him, don’t you?”
Jack smiled as he offered a hand for the dog to lick. And all the scars aside, he really did look like a very friendly dog. The canine Jack eagerly lapped at Jack’s hand before pawing at him to demand further ear scritches. Jack happily obliged.
“You’ve done a great job with him.”
“Hopeless causes are something of a specialty of mine. Why don’t you go wash up and then we’ll head to lunch.”
He no longer even bothered to be surprised when she knew what was on his mind. He gave Jack a goodbye scratch and headed for the restroom to wash up. Looking in the mirror, he tried to ensure there were no smudges on his face, and that his hair was not terribly unruly.
He likes the way he looked these days. It was just one of many changes that the past few months had wrought.
***
“OK so that puts me into Berkeley on the 16th. And by that point everything should be good to go, and I’ll even have time to take a quick test drive. Did you get all that Jack?”
As with most affairs with Rachel, lunch was not at all what he thought. He had expected it to be something of a celebration, a relaxed meal between two good friends celebrating a milestone. Instead, Jack found himself itemizing an itinerary, coordinating phone calls, making lists, and checking them twice.
After all, Rachel demanded no less. She was in charge, and he was just a humble assistant. But that's OK, the dynamic seems to work.
What had started as a conversation about a promising phone call about a little shop in Berkeley that repaired Old VW buses, had suddenly turned into a small research project, complete with major funders.
It turned out that the bus lab specialized in converting old buses from gasoline to electric. They were working with several universities and corporate partners. A few phone calls from Rachel to some of her powerful friends had suddenly resulted in a new research grants being pushed through to test a new prototype battery and onboard charging system. Jack vaguely recall hearing something about regenerative braking, as well as next-generation GPS.
The bottom line was there would be a truck coming tomorrow to pick up the bus and deliver it to Berkeley, where the lab would start work. And in another month, Jack and Rachel would be heading down to Berkeley to pick up the completed product.
At which point, Rachel was free to hit the road in pursuit of… actually, he didn't rightly know what. She'd been a bit vague about what her plan was. And Jack knew better than to push. But now, as he looked at his carefully constructed lists, he realize that his time with his mysterious roommate would soon be coming to an end.
And all of a sudden, it hit him.
He looked up at Rachel. Over the past few months, he had studied her face. Mostly when she wasn't looking. Her eyes could be a bit unnerving if he stared into them too long, and he still wasn't quite sure what color they were. Just about purple was entirely inadequate. She was beautiful of course. But she was so much more than that.
She was educated, authoritative, sometimes impossible, but undeniably kind. She was the most amazing person he'd ever met.
It was fair to say, as much as was possible for a man like him, he was in love with her. It had been a long time since he had felt anything that powerful. And what he had felt before was very different from love.
It was nice to feel something again. Especially something positive. Something pure.
But like everything else in his life, it seemed as though this too would be something he would lose. This walking Tempest with impossibly long legs and haunting eyes would soon be leaving his life. And he wondered what would be left of him when she did.
"Yeah, I think I got it all."
"Well this was wonderful, thank you so much Jack! I know I've got to get going, and I'm sure you've got to get back to work as well.”
"Oh, yeah, I guess we should."
She surprised him by reaching across the table and taking his hand. "Look, I'm sorry to have taken over lunch a bit. This isn't what I was expecting either. Why don't you see if you can leave early today? Let's do something special for dinner together."
He had to laugh. It was like she could read his mind. “That sounds amazing!"
"It's settled. Be home by six. And be sure to clean up."
***
He took a little longer than usual getting ready. He felt it important to look his best. This should be a special occasion. To hell with whatever came next. Tonight was a celebration.
He looked in the mirror, mostly happy with what he saw. He was no longer ashamed of the face or afraid of the eyes. He looked like a much kinder man. People around him had noticed as well. Strangers walking down the street were less likely to look away. He found himself matching their smiles and neighborly nods. If he was feeling particularly bold, he might even manage a “hello.”
Of course, he only need look below the neck to be reminded of who he was.
Most of the smaller tattoos had been removed by this point. But the large swastika on his chest was still there. It would be another week before he’d be healed enough to start the process of removing this one. Considering the size, it would likely take 2 sessions to fully remove it.
It was ironic. If he looked in the mirror, it was reversed, back to its original form as a symbol of good fortune, not the perverted symbol of hate as it appeared on his skin. For once, he wished he was the man in the mirror.
He finally ended his self-examination. He had to get ready. He wanted to make sure every detail was attended to. So as he started buttoning up the shirt he brought in with him, something told him to wear blue. It would bring out his eyes, and she might like that.
He opened the door thinking of purple eyes meeting blue, only to have his musings come to life in the most horrifying manner.
He quickly whirled round and slammed the bathroom door shut. The ferocity of which was only rivaled by how hard he squeezed his eyes shut, as if somehow he could undo what just happened by not seeing her face.
As he slowly opened his eyes and caught his reflection in the mirror, the hated ink showing clearly, he knew for a fact that he couldn’t hide it anymore. He took a deep breath, pinched his shirt closed and exited.
“I’m just going to change my shirt,” he called out.
He refused to meet her eyes, trying to get into his room as quickly as possible. He resisted the urge to throw himself in his bed and not come out for the next 6 months. He’d been running for a long time now. Perhaps it was time he face the consequences.
He came out, sporting a new shirt. He’d opted for a non-descript black and white striped shirt. Something he hoped would just blend in. Rachel was busy arranging the delicious smelling Italian takeout she’d brought from the nice family place on the other side of town.
“Have a seat, everything will be ready in just a moment.”
Jack said nothing as she moved about, filling the kitchen with those busy sounds. If he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend he was a kid again, waiting on mom to put dinner out. Those were simpler times. Happier.
When dinner was on the table, Jack took another sniff. He’d never been able to afford a meal from the fancy Italian place, so this was quite a treat, but he found himself without much of an appetite.
“I know who you are.”
A cold chill went through him.
“Cuauhtemoc Morales was a friend of my mother.”
He gripped the table, trying not to turn into a sobbing mess.
“Mr. Morales went to law school with my mom. They both worked for indigenous rights, and stayed close over the years. I was a lot closer to him than my own father.”
He could barely see straight anymore. His eyes were so clouded.
“He’d always check up on me, especially after my mom died. So when he was murdered… well, I just needed to make sure justice was done. I needed to look the man who did it in the eye.”
He wouldn’t look up. He couldn’t.
“I was in the courtroom the day you testified. When you described the bomb and how you made it. I knew the Marshalls had gotten you to roll on the leaders of your little militia. I knew it probably meant more for them to go to jail, but that didn’t mean I was okay with you getting a second chance. Not after what you’ve done.”
He could hear her moving silverware across the table, which included a very large blade for carving the lamb chop.
“I’m not sure how exactly we ended up crossing paths again. You were the last person I expected to see when I pulled into the garage. I had done everything I could to forget you. And maybe I was on the road to run away. But, maybe coming here is the universe’s way of getting me to face my past.”
She placed a very appetizing looking cut of the lamb chop in front of him.
“I’ve gotten to know you a bit, and I don’t think you’re the same man who planted that bomb.”
He dared look at her and for once, her elegant features betrayed everything she was feeling. Anger, sorrow, regret, pain. Far too many ugly things for so beautiful a face.
“I…” she took a deep breath. “I forgive you Jack.”
It felt like a slap in the face and he wasn’t sure what to feel. He could feel his composure break as the tears flowed openly.
“Would… would you excuse me?”
“Be a man Jack. If you’re going to cry, have the decency to do so openly.”
He laughed. He laughed so hard that he couldn’t hold back the sobs anymore. And he didn’t stop for several minutes. Until finally, he felt in control of himself again.
“So, shall we eat?”
Jack found that there was a delicious meal in front of him and suddenly, he was quite hungry.
“Bon appetit!”
***
Dinner marked a wonderful change. Jack felt much more like a new man. Freed of his burden, it was much easier to face his last few days in the company of his new friend. Whereas before, he had been feeling the anticipation of her loss, these days, he felt her presence all the more keenly.
They didn’t talk about the night of the dinner, and it didn’t loom over them. They simply enjoyed each other’s company. They would have moments together, not saying anything, just being together. Jack swore time stood still, and he wanted it to stay that way.
But, of course, time stood still for no one. Rachel would be leaving the next day.
She asked him if he would join her for a hike in the mountains that night, as a bit of a farewell celebration.
He would have followed her into a volcano if she asked.
They hiked for about an hour, no words being exchanged. Under the stars, words seemed somehow unnecessary.
They came upon a clearing where the full moon seemed to create an unearthly glow, and she led him in. For a long time, they sat, simply looking up and admiring it’s beauty. Until finally, she was ready to talk.
“The moon has always been a faithful companion. Whenever I’ve felt troubled, I can just go outside and talk to her, and things always feel better afterwards. There’s something about it that just… puts me at ease, and makes me feel loved. I don’t know what. It’s silly, but, I feel like I can always tell her my secrets.”
She reached her hand out and took his. It was an unusual gesture, and he wondered if there was truly some magic in the moonlight that was making this possible.
“My father was from a prominent family in his tribe. Part of the tribal leadership. Big things were expected of him. He went off to college, and law school. It’s where he met mom. They had a lot in common. Big dreams and big ideas. Some of the traditionalists at home weren’t happy he married an outsider, even if she was native.”
Although she was quiet, the gravity of her words seemed to make them echo in his ears.
“Dad was a big part of the work to get Indian gaming legalized in California. And when it was, he started working a lot of deals to get the casino opened. Made us very wealthy. And very powerful. And when it came time to start sharing the wealth, a lot of people started clamoring that only full blood tribe members should benefit. The tribal council started de-enrolling people from the tribe. None of it made any sense. Mostly, it was about old scores and grudges. People who had lived side by side suddenly found themselves without a home and without family. And father was there, letting all of it happen.”
The sadness that he’d always heard in her voice finally made sense to him. She seemed so small and frail in this moment, and her impossibly slender shoulders couldn’t possibly hold all the weight she carried.
“Finally, some people started pointing out that his own wife wasn’t a member of the tribe. And he decided to choose politics over his own family. He de-enrolled my mother, and sent her away. And that was fine with most of the other leaders, because she had always spoken out against them. Of course, he needed to keep me around to show that he was a good provider, a good leader. And… when she got sick… well, he did nothing.”
For once, he gave into his instinct and took her into his arms, and she didn’t fight it. And, for once, he finally felt like he belonged.
For an eternity, that was far too brief, but far more precious than any other moment in his life, they were like two statues with hearts beating as one.
“There’s an old ritual in some cultures, where the Goddess is invoked through the moonlight. I… I wanted to come here tonight to connect before I started the next part of my journey. Will you help me?”
He didn’t really understand what she was asking, but he knew it was a great honor, and something she couldn’t ask of just anyone. He simply nodded and followed her lead.
She stood and face the moon, reaching her cupped hands into the sky, slowly bringing them down to her chest, as though she were catching moonlight in her hands and pouring it into herself. It was a simple gesture, but something in the air made him believe there was real power flowing from the sky to the woman before him.
Three times she repeated this before bowing and turning to him. Even in the darkness, there was a light in her eyes that he could not look away from. Something about her was magnetic and intoxicating. He was spellbound, and he had a feeling it wasn’t just an expression.
She closed the distance between them and put her hand on his cheek. She was warm, in a way he had never known human touch to be. It was intense, but also comforting, and everything else in the world seemed to slip away at her touch.
“Kiss me.”
It was part command, part request, and it stirred his heart. It made him feel alive.
Their lips met and he the pull of forces he did not know. He only knew that he would not be able to stop, and wherever this path was leading him, he could only hold on until the end.
Their hands found their way onto each other, not in clumsy fits of passion, but in slow, deliberate explorations of bodies so unlike yet so perfectly matched. A gentle breeze blew and clothing whispered as it fell to the Earth, shedding inhibitions and regrets.
He could feel everything. The gentle bite of cold night air, the firmness of the ground beneath them, and the warmth of her skin against his.
He heard the call of night birds, and the rustling of wind in the trees, the strange sounds of insects, and the beat of his own heart in his ears as she moved with him.
His hands made their way to every part of her he would have thought forbidden when they first met, but now urgently needed his touch. Where hands could not go, he let his lips, delighting in her gasps of approval.
There were no words. Their coupling was far older than words, and meant far more. The world faded away, and everything was his skin on hers, her hands on his, his lips on hers, her hair brushing against him.
She lowered herself onto him, taking time to let him stretch and fill her. When at last, he filled her to the hilt, she looked into his eyes and held the back of his head as she began moving her hips. No movement of the Earth or stars in the sky was more perfect.
He held her hips and began to match her movements, knowing only that there was no more wonderful sensation that being inside her. Pleasure had no meaning outside of this.
Whether they made love for hours, days or even years, he could not say. It didn’t matter. It only mattered that they were together. And when they were done, they lay together in the moonlight, hearing the sound of their hearts beating as one.
“Where will you go from here?”
“I don’t know. I’ve always wanted to go to the Black Hills. It’s a sacred place, and something has always called me there. And there are so many people I want to learn from. Someday, I’ll make it there. Where I go in the meantime, who knows…”
He didn’t ask if they would see each other again, though it was the one thing he wanted to know more than anything.
“The next part of my journey I need to do alone. I don’t know how long it will take. I do hope that, maybe someday, I might have someone to share it with.”
He kissed her head. “I’ll wait.”
Overhead, the moon stood watch, still faithfully keeping secrets and offering love in soft, glowing light.
***
The mechanic at the garage had been having a fairly slow day. He was working on a particularly stubborn spark plug replacement when the truck pulled in. He knew from the make, model and plates that it was a Government vehicle.
“What can I do for you?”
The man who stepped out of the truck was well dressed. Dark shades covered blue eyes that seemed far older than the rest of him. He brushed his sleek black hair away as he approached.
“Does Jack work here?”
“No. Far as I know he quit and left town. But, that was months ago. He in trouble?”
“No, nothing like that. I was just hoping to talk to him.”
“He didn’t leave an address or anything, but if I hear from him, I can let him know. Didn’t catch your name.”
“Shields. Darien Shields, US Marshals.”
“Well, you have a good day Marshal.”
He stepped back into the truck and pulled out a cell phone.
“Report, Marshall Shields?”
“You’re enjoying this far too much.”
“I’m simply doing my duty.”
“I’m sure you are Trista.” He said the name ironically.
“That’s Director May to you. So did you find him?”
“No, as we suspected, he left months ago. I’m sure he finally went after her. It’s just like the two of them to do it this way. No plan, no contact, just… following their hearts.”
“Some things never change, even after thousands of years.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out an old watch that had long since stopped working. He rubbed it and smiled.
“So what will you do next, Marshal Shields?”
He reached over to the passenger seat and picked up three files. “I’m going to go catch up with some old friends. They should know we’ve found him. We should start preparing. We’ve waited a thousand years, but this time, I think we can finally do it right.”
Title: The Road Less Traveled
Fandom: Sailor Moon
Pairing: R/J
Author's Note: This is an AU piece that originated with the prompt of Hippie Van. It makes non-specific references to Native American cultures. It has some inspiration from the story of the Chuckchansi People as heard on This American Life. All concerns about material represented in this story should be directed to the author. He can be reached at rishianarain AT yahoo DOT com.
3/8”. 5/16”. ¼” ½” 7/16”.
It had become something of a daily routine. Looking at each of the wrenches without reading the handles and trying to identify it. Any decent auto mechanic would be able to, because they’d have been doing their job for a few years.
But he’d only been at it a few weeks, even if his resume said he’d been doing it for the past five years.
Better than telling the truth.
That he was a killer, and he’d been wasting his life for those five years running with all the wrong sorts of people, thinking all the wrong sorts of thoughts.
“This was a second chance,” his Marshall had told him. “A chance to be someone new. Someone different. Someone better.” Someone other than what he saw in the mirror, which brought him nothing but shame.
He looked over at one of the cars in the shop and caught his reflection in the side mirror: sandy blond hair that had started to come in with curls now that he let it grow again, and blue eyes.
It was always they eyes that got him. There was a time when those eyes were bright and full of mischief, back in the innocence of youth. But in the past decade, they’d gone dark, and there was something in them that frightened him if he looked too hard. It was like someone else was looking back at him in the mirror, someone he didn’t recognize. No, someone he didn’t want to recognize.
He scratched at his forearm, a residual reminder of the treatment he’d undergone last week. He knew that the doctors had said it wouldn’t, but he felt the itch from the laser tattoo removal anyway. As though his body didn’t want him to forget the pain of the procedure, and reminding him that he still had many more treatments to go to erase the marks of his past.
All for the sake of making him a new person. He didn’t want to be the man he was before, so if this was the price, he would endure it.
He was roused from these darker musings first by noise, then by smell. Customer. And by the sound and smell, a car with plenty wrong with it.
He rolled his sleeves back down (best not to let anyone see), buttoned up his overalls and made himself look presentable, like someone other than who he was.
He wasn’t quite expecting what he saw.
It was a Volkswagon Bus. Old from the look of it, late 70s model, complete with an amateur paint job consisting of peace signs and flowers. The bright red monstrosity looked like something out a Woodstock scrapbook. And, judging by the smell and the sputtering of the engine, it had aged every single day since then.
Most of the research he had done was on newer cars and ones most likely to be driven by the average customer driving into the shop for an oil change: American pickups, Japanese sedans, German luxury cars.
Fortunately, he’d been thorough and done some extra work. He was nothing if not thorough. This would be a real challenge, acting like he knew anything about a car so old.
But the car wasn’t half as extraordinary as the woman who stepped out of it.
At first, all he saw was a long, tanned leg stepping down from the driver’s side. When it’s sandaled foot hit the ground, a long, flowing skirt with intricate patterns fluttered down to cover it. There was a hint of toned stomach peeking out from under a lacy white tank top that seemed to hang as delicately as the last seed on a dandelion from slender shoulders, framed by a curtain of black hair, that even in the shadows of the garage, seemed to have a shine. Her eyes were covered by dark glasses, but even so, he could sense a sort of intensity from them. She looked delicate, with her headband and bohemian style and slow, elegant gait, but he knew, somehow, this woman was a walking tempest, and she was about to turn his day upside down.
He could tell from her skin color and features that she wasn’t White, but he couldn’t quite place her. A part of him screamed “other,” and he tried to suppress the visceral reaction. Old habits, it seemed, still died hard. He took a deep breath. He was a new man now.
“Can I help you?”
She strode right up to him and pulled down her glasses. For months afterwards, he’d try to describe exactly what color her eyes were in that moment. Describing a color seemed like the most basic thing in the world, but then and there, he was at a loss for words. Purple seemed so… pedestrian.
She studied his face for a moment before giving him a once over, eyes settling on the name patch on his chest.
“Well, ‘Jack,”” she said with a degree of doubt in her voice, as if she didn’t believe that anymore than he did. “Why don’t you tell me? I was aiming for Portland by Wednesday, but I think I might not make that. Can you take a look?”
Her voice echoed in his ears, light and airy with a hint of laughter in it. Or was it tears? He couldn’t quite tell. But something of it stayed with him, settling in the pit of his stomach. There was strength there, and authority, even if she seemed sweet and carefree. She was not a woman to be trifled with.
He went about his business, inspecting the engine, the drivetrain and the tires. He even managed a peek inside. The interior was no less outrageous than the exterior. It was all fabrics and beads. The rear seats had been removed and there was a sleeping roll in the back, along with built in shelves and boxes, and duffel bags. It wasn’t hard to guess that the majority of whatever this woman owned was probably in there, and she’d been sleeping inside. It made his evaluation of the state of the car that much more difficult. This wasn’t just a car. It was a home, of sorts.
After a few minutes, he came back to her.
“Well ma’am, it doesn’t look good. You’ve got a couple of ruptured valves in your radiator that’ll need replacing. The timing belt is basically shot, and at least two of your differentials look like they’re ready to go. One of the rear brake cables looks to be gone, and your fuel injection system is… well, it’s no good anymore.”
She seemed utterly non-plused by any of this. He wondered if she even understood any of what he was saying. “How long will it take?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. This conversation wasn’t going like he’d hoped. “Well, assuming I had all the parts, at least a week, maybe two. But you have to understand, they don’t make any parts for this model anymore. As far as I know, there isn’t a supplier within a hundred miles that’ll have what I need to do the job. And, to be honest, this old gal has seen better days. To do most of the repairs it’d need, the risk of something else breaking in the process is pretty high. And, the cost… well, it’d probably cost more than this car cost when it was new. You understand?”
She looked at the car for a moment, and he swore she looked at it as though it were a member of the family, and he had just told her it was dying. But just as quickly, the look passed, and she was her carefree self again.
“Well, money is no object. I just need it working again. So, do what you have to. I can wait.”
He blinked. “Uh, well, okay… but you understand, I don’t have the parts. I don’t even know if I can get them. I mean, I guess if there’s enough of these old models at some scrap yards, I could call them up and ask to salvage some, but-“
“Then it sounds like you need to make some phone calls.”
“…of course, but… you realize this could take months-“
“No problem. A job well done is worth waiting for.”
He opened and closed his mouth several times, not quite sure how to proceed.
Unfazed, she reached into her bag and pulled out a checkbook. She filled one out and handed it to him.
“That should be enough to get you started, right?”
After he looked at the amount, he was even more dumfounded.
She paid little heed as she proceeded to the van and pulled out a few bags, then started walking out to the road.
Once reality hit him again, he regained his senses. “Let me call you a cab Miss…”
“Crowe. Rachel Crowe. My friends call me Rae. You can call me Ms. Crowe. And thank you, but I prefer to walk. I’ll need to get my feet since I’ll be here for a while. I’ll check in on you soon.”
“What about the rest of your belongings?”
She pulled her glasses down again. “I can trust you, can’t I Jack?”
The way she put it, it wasn’t exactly a question. It was more of an order.
“Of course.”
“Then I’ll see you soon.”
He didn’t even realize it until much later, but he meant it, and he believed it.
***
He closed up the garage a little later than usual that night. He’d spent a lot of the afternoon on the phone, trying to find parts for the bus, so he had a lot of work to make up for. He was tired, and looking forward to a hot shower and putting his feet up. He figured he should stop by the grocery and get something for dinner. Pulling into the parking lot, he did a double take. On the bench where the bus stop was were several bags and the slim form of the woman who had turned his world upside down, with her nose buried in the Penny Saver.
It wasn’t any of his business. It REALLY wasn’t any of his business. There was no reason for him to park his car and head over to her and talk to her. She was a customer. It was borderline inappropriate. He really shouldn’t be walking over there, checking his hands for grease and testing his breath to make sure it wasn’t awful.
“Hi… Ms. Crowe?”
She pulled the paper down just enough to see who was interrupting her. He saw her eyes change from curiosity and surprise to something that was either annoyance or amusement. Possibly both.
“Hello Jack. Fancy meeting you here. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were stalking me.”
It was meant to be a joke, but it made him supremely uncomfortable. What exactly was he doing here?
“No… ah… just wanted to… let you know… I’m working on parts for the bus. Hopefully some of these folks’ll get back to me tomorrow, and I can give you a better idea of how long it’ll be.”
That sounded almost normal and natural except for the fact that he was sweating uncomfortably, and not just because he was still wearing his coveralls.
“So… you… looking for a place to stay?” he asked, gesturing towards the paper.
“Place to stay, place to work, place to meet people, just trying to get the lay of the land. I might be here a while. Like I said, I need to find my feet.”
“Well, they’re right there at the end of your legs. Hard to miss, believe me.”
That didn’t sound unnatural or non-creepy at all.
“Uh, well, that is… what I mean is… I have a spare room.”
Now that sounded creepy.
“What I mean is… it’s better than a motel, just something to tide you over until you find a place, you know…”
He desperately wished he knew the bus schedule because he’d give anything to step in front of one right now.
“Okay.”
Had he been hit by a bus? He wasn’t entirely sure anymore.
“Okay…”
“I’m sure your place is better than a motel. And it’ll be good to find my feet, although you seem to know pretty well where they are. Maybe you can help me then.”
“Okay! Great! Let’s… let’s get your stuff loaded in the car. I hope you don’t mind waiting a few minutes. I needed to step in and get some dinner.”
He picked up her bags and led her to the car. As they loaded the trunk, she looked over at him, as if to survey him again.
“Do you cook?”
He hesitated a moment before answering, and that was clearly enough of an answer.
“Never mind. Just follow my lead.” She took off for the entrance to the store with speed that caught him off guard. She seemed so laid back and care free, that this assertiveness was a bit of a shock. And yet, completely natural. He followed in her wake as he saw her reach into her purse for a pad and pen. She tore off a small leaf and handed it to him.
“Get these things then come to the meat department.” She pulled out a basket and handed it to him before grabbing one of her own and marching straight for the produce section. He half expected the sales papers to be blowing in her wake.
He shook his head and looked down at the list. It was mostly non-perishable essentials, things he knew he was low on anyway. It was like she could read his mind. Further down the list were some dairy items. He realized that it was a good idea to put those last. He didn’t always do that.
He made his way through the aisles, picking up what he’d been instructed to. He was about to cross items off, but putting anything over her elegant script seemed… wrong somehow. He opted to just put a checkmark next to each item.
When did he get so sentimental?
He shook his head again - he seemed to be doing a lot of that today - and made his way to the meat department. He saw her at the seafood counter, laughing with the man behind the counter as she accepted a wrapped package of what, from the size of it, seemed to be a whole salmon. Was that jealousy he was feeling?
“Perfect timing. Let’s get checked out.”
He wanted to protest for a moment that fresh salmon was probably out of his budget, as was most of her list, but she was off again like a rocket, grabbing his basket and marching to checkout like no woman in sandals and a hippie skirt had a right to move.
This was one of the strangest days of his life.
When he caught up with her, he made to get what little cash he had in his wallet out, but she swatted his hand. “Dinner’s on me.”
“There’s… enough food here to feed an army. And it’s just the two of us.”
“Then dinner, breakfast, lunch, dinner, breakfast, lunch, dinner, breakfast and a few more lunches and dinners are on me. I owe you for the room, and for the car.”
He wanted to protest that a cramped room in a crappy apartment and a beat up old Volkswagon were hardly worth the check she’d written him, let alone the food. Who exactly was this woman? Dressed in ratty clothes, driving a scrap heap on wheels, but spending money and ordering him around like she was royalty?
It didn’t matter. She’d be staying with him, for at least the foreseeable future. He’d probably have plenty of time to find out.
***
The ride home was short. Time enough for her to have already found the public radio station. “I never go anywhere without doing my homework,” she commented. There wasn’t even a question of her changing the radio, and he found himself puzzled that he hadn’t stopped her. It was just natural to follow her lead.
And, so, he found himself unloading groceries, reorganizing his cabinets, and being deputized as sous chef. After properly cleaning his hands of course. There was new soap in the kitchen, and he knew better than to ask where it came from.
It wasn’t exactly a conversation, but somehow, he found himself learning a thing or two about the mystery woman with the hippie style and the heiress’s bearing. All through the preparation of the meal, and during the meal itself, they didn’t exactly talk, but there wasn’t exactly silence either.
She knew the area somewhat. She wasn’t a local, but she wasn’t a stranger either. She wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty. She was used to getting her way. She had no tolerance for ineptitude, but could still instruct with clarity.
And she was incredibly sad.
He didn’t know how he knew this. Maybe it was the serious way she approached things, and how her humor was always just a little bit darker than a girl in a flower skirt’s sense of humor should be. Maybe it was in the depths of her eyes, that looked so much older than the rest of her. And maybe it was because he knew that kind of sadness and could see it in her.
But, on occasion, just a moment or two at a time, she’d smile. And nothing else mattered when she did.
Like when she bit into the strawberries she’d bought for dessert. “I heard this town was famous for them.” He wasn’t sure he’d ever look at a strawberry the same way again.
Every time he looked at her, he swore he could feel the tattoos itch.
“I’m mixed, since you’re wondering.”
It felt like a bucket of cold water. Of course she had noticed him staring.
“Sorry… uh…”
“You’re not the first. My father’s people are from the Gold Country in California. My mother was from the coast near the border. I guess I’m from somewhere in between.”
It made a lot more sense now. But there were still so many questions.
“Mom had this crazy dream. She was going to be a mobile community center. Driving up and down the coast, fighting for Indian rights, providing health care and education, organizing rallies. Think she thought of herself as some kind of modern travelling medicine woman or something. Crazy dream. So, of course, she needed a Bus to do it in.”
He actually laughed. It made perfect sense, and he said so.
She smiled, but he didn’t see it reach her eyes. “Guess it’s okay to be a little crazy.”
He had no idea why, but at that moment, he wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and tell her it didn’t matter. That he’d support her no matter what. And the levels on which that was wrong just blew his mind. The pain in his tattoos returned, and it was all he could do not to claw at them.
“I’m going to take a shower. You’ll clean up.”
She probably meant the dishes, but he couldn’t exactly be sure.
***
It continued on more or less the same for the next few weeks. They didn’t exactly talk, but they learned more and more about each other. For all his silence and secrecy, Jack felt as though there wasn’t exactly anything about him Rachel Crowe hadn’t figured out. If she knew for sure though, she never let on.
He learned a bit about her as well. Chief among them that she wasn’t quite like anyone he’d ever met. She was an information sponge. There seemed to be almost no topic on which she didn’t have knowledge or an opinion. She was interested in everyone and everything. People seemed to respect her, but everyone also seemed to be just a little afraid of her, as though they saw something in her that scared them, or that they weren’t prepared for. And she knew it. And if it affected her, she never let on. He’d only ever see it in her eyes.
And little by little, his spartan apartment began to change. Flowers, artwork on the walls, bead curtains replacing doors, fresh ingredients in the kitchen, a newspaper delivered to the door every day. No more takeout containers or microwave meals. There was actual breakfast every day, even if it was only a bowl of granola and yogurt.
And there seemed to be fresh strawberries daily, much to his dismay. He had no particular problem with the fruit itself. It was more the sight of Rachel’s lips consuming them that had him at his wit’s end. But that was a separate matter.
It was the treatments that were going to kill him. Before, he’d be able to go about the house shirtless for a day after one while his skin was still sensitive. But now, he had to wear a shirt with long sleeves, even in his own home. And the bandages only did so much. The sheer weight of even a thin shirt seemed unbearable in the wake of his sessions.
A part of him thought he deserved it.
But no part of him thought he deserved the torment of knowing she was there, just down the hall every night, behind that beaded curtain. Not even with a door between them. Just those beads that would tauntingly echo everytime she moved.
He needed to fix that damn bus before he went completely mad.
***
He’d had the dreams most of his life. They’d started since he was about 13. And like most dreams, they’d always fade just as he awoke. He’d never quite remember them, but the feelings would stay with him, sometimes for days on end. Sadness, regret, despair, and the cruelest sliver of hope. It was all a bit much for such a young boy to handle. And maybe that’s where he started to go wrong just a bit. But in the darker days, when things were at their worst, he’d stopped dreaming. It had been with the start of his new life in this new town that the dreams had started again. Only now, bits and pieces started to stay with him.
Fire, ruins, and the heft of a sword in his hand. He’d never seen a real sword, but somehow he knew that this is what was in his hand. He could almost feel the callouses in his hand the next morning.
And since Rachel had started staying with him, the dreams changed. The flames would subside into two points, like eyes. They were terrifying, but somehow, they gave him peace. He hadn’t slept this well since he was a child.
***
It was fascinating to him to see the changes in himself. He could swear his eyes were lightening day by day. The face in the mirror became a little less strange. He could stand to look at it again. He’d never been particularly vain, but he felt comfortable even thinking of himself as somewhat handsome.
He’d stopped bothering talking himself out of the fact that this vanity was due in no insignificant part to the long legged, raven haired beauty who shared his living space and his dining table. He was quite convinced she’d never consider anything remotely resembling dating him, and it would be awkward considering they were living together, but still. Trying to appear presentable in her presence became something nice to focus on. He could pretend for a few minutes at a time that he was a normal man with nothing to be ashamed of, and she might consider letting him put his arm around her shoulder as they watched TV.
In any event, it made their shared meals a bit brighter. He would make eye contact more often, talk a bit more freely, and even elicit a few of those precious smiles and laughs. It was as normal as dinner between a former gang member and a wandering Indian princess could be.
***
He had nearly tripped over various parts and hoses that were strewn between the shop floor and his small office space trying to get to his desk that morning. It spoke to just how much things had changed for him in recent months. Before, his morning would be driving up to work just a few minutes on either side of being early or late, fishing headphones out of his pocket to listen to one of his many playlists, mostly punk, some hard rock, maybe a little bit of metal, and a few folk rock tracks he didn’t want anyone to know about. These days, his schedule was rigid, to ensure he got Rachel to some bus stop or another on time and had himself in the shop at precisely 6:45am to get ready for the 7:00am opening, even though no one ever showed up until 9:00am anyway.
Today, he needed a computer. So he could follow up on something he had heard on Public Radio. He listened to Public Radio now. And he ate granola for breakfast. He wasn’t exactly sure if he hadn’t hugged a tree or protested something in the past week, but he could now tell you what Patriarchy, Heteronormative, Colonial and Intersectional all meant now without need of a dictionary.
Yeah, things were a bit different.
In any event, he had heard a story about a shop in Berkeley that specialized in the repair and restoration of old Volkswagon Buses.
A few months ago, he had no idea who the heck would drive a VW Bus or why he would bother needing to know how to repair one. And now, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was absolutely vital that he get to Berkeley because he needed to get the hopes and dreams of a very special woman repaired and on the road again.
It was good that he got in so early because he could do his research on the Buslab. He looked at the clock. It was 6:56. Probably a bit too early to call. What would be a good time? Could he call right at 7? Would it be better to wait until 9? Or maybe 10? And how should he sound when he called? Should he play it cool, and just be casually asking about their operation? Should he play it professional and really grill the guy?
Why the heck was he so paranoid about this? This wasn’t a date. Just like dinner that night with Rachel wasn’t a date either. This was all business. There was nothing to be worried about.
He resolved to call at 8:45. He had plenty to do, like that tire rotation on the Mercedez that he needed to wrap up that job. Yes, he’d do that and things would be fine. He grabbed his tools and set about his work, performing a perfect tire alignment. He finished wiping everything down and figured it was probably almost time to call, so he checked the clock.
7:30.
It was going to be a long morning…
***
He’d never actually been to the local animal shelter. He’d assumed the town had one when he moved in, but until these past few weeks, he’d had no reason to know where it was, or what their hours were.
But right now the most important thing in the world was to get there ASAP because Rachel would be volunteering there for another 20 minutes before taking a lunch break. And he absolutely had to get there before the lunch break to share the good news with her.
He waved to the front desk staff who knew all about Rachel’s “roommate” and all gave him a knowing smile as he dashed down the hallway to the intake area. He really should have knocked, but there was no time for that, not when they had a road trip to Berkeley to plan.
It probably served him right that the rather large pitbull tackled him and was now busy licking his face.
“Jack you naughty boy! Don’t you have any manners?”
“Uhh, sorry Ms. Crow.”
“Not you, silly,” said Rae as she pulled the dog off him. She wagged her finger at the misbehaving canine. “You know better than that Jack. Now behave!”
The pitbull’s ears drooped a bit and he sat, looking quite chastened. Jack could relate.
“The dog’s name is Jack?”
Rae started scratching him under the ears and he immediately perked up. “Yes it is, and he’s an absolute sweetheart when he’s not being such a brat!”
It was stupid to feel jealous of a dog, so Jack decided that’s not at all what he was feeling.
“He was rescued from a dogfighting ring. They thought he’d be too aggressive to be adoptable, but a little bit of love and I think he’ll be ready for a forever home real soon, huh Jack?”
A wag of the tail and a lick of her hand indicated the four legged Jack was in complete agreement with Rae’s assessment, as the two legged version often was as well. The only real difference was the two legged version was too smart to lick her hand. Mostly.
“So many people look at him and all they see is big black scary dog. But look at his face, with the little brown splotches that look like grease stains, and those beautiful blue eyes. The dirtbags who were holding him prisoner didn’t even bother to name him. So I thought I’d find a good one for him. I think Jack suits him, don’t you?”
Jack smiled as he offered a hand for the dog to lick. And all the scars aside, he really did look like a very friendly dog. The canine Jack eagerly lapped at Jack’s hand before pawing at him to demand further ear scritches. Jack happily obliged.
“You’ve done a great job with him.”
“Hopeless causes are something of a specialty of mine. Why don’t you go wash up and then we’ll head to lunch.”
He no longer even bothered to be surprised when she knew what was on his mind. He gave Jack a goodbye scratch and headed for the restroom to wash up. Looking in the mirror, he tried to ensure there were no smudges on his face, and that his hair was not terribly unruly.
He likes the way he looked these days. It was just one of many changes that the past few months had wrought.
***
“OK so that puts me into Berkeley on the 16th. And by that point everything should be good to go, and I’ll even have time to take a quick test drive. Did you get all that Jack?”
As with most affairs with Rachel, lunch was not at all what he thought. He had expected it to be something of a celebration, a relaxed meal between two good friends celebrating a milestone. Instead, Jack found himself itemizing an itinerary, coordinating phone calls, making lists, and checking them twice.
After all, Rachel demanded no less. She was in charge, and he was just a humble assistant. But that's OK, the dynamic seems to work.
What had started as a conversation about a promising phone call about a little shop in Berkeley that repaired Old VW buses, had suddenly turned into a small research project, complete with major funders.
It turned out that the bus lab specialized in converting old buses from gasoline to electric. They were working with several universities and corporate partners. A few phone calls from Rachel to some of her powerful friends had suddenly resulted in a new research grants being pushed through to test a new prototype battery and onboard charging system. Jack vaguely recall hearing something about regenerative braking, as well as next-generation GPS.
The bottom line was there would be a truck coming tomorrow to pick up the bus and deliver it to Berkeley, where the lab would start work. And in another month, Jack and Rachel would be heading down to Berkeley to pick up the completed product.
At which point, Rachel was free to hit the road in pursuit of… actually, he didn't rightly know what. She'd been a bit vague about what her plan was. And Jack knew better than to push. But now, as he looked at his carefully constructed lists, he realize that his time with his mysterious roommate would soon be coming to an end.
And all of a sudden, it hit him.
He looked up at Rachel. Over the past few months, he had studied her face. Mostly when she wasn't looking. Her eyes could be a bit unnerving if he stared into them too long, and he still wasn't quite sure what color they were. Just about purple was entirely inadequate. She was beautiful of course. But she was so much more than that.
She was educated, authoritative, sometimes impossible, but undeniably kind. She was the most amazing person he'd ever met.
It was fair to say, as much as was possible for a man like him, he was in love with her. It had been a long time since he had felt anything that powerful. And what he had felt before was very different from love.
It was nice to feel something again. Especially something positive. Something pure.
But like everything else in his life, it seemed as though this too would be something he would lose. This walking Tempest with impossibly long legs and haunting eyes would soon be leaving his life. And he wondered what would be left of him when she did.
"Yeah, I think I got it all."
"Well this was wonderful, thank you so much Jack! I know I've got to get going, and I'm sure you've got to get back to work as well.”
"Oh, yeah, I guess we should."
She surprised him by reaching across the table and taking his hand. "Look, I'm sorry to have taken over lunch a bit. This isn't what I was expecting either. Why don't you see if you can leave early today? Let's do something special for dinner together."
He had to laugh. It was like she could read his mind. “That sounds amazing!"
"It's settled. Be home by six. And be sure to clean up."
***
He took a little longer than usual getting ready. He felt it important to look his best. This should be a special occasion. To hell with whatever came next. Tonight was a celebration.
He looked in the mirror, mostly happy with what he saw. He was no longer ashamed of the face or afraid of the eyes. He looked like a much kinder man. People around him had noticed as well. Strangers walking down the street were less likely to look away. He found himself matching their smiles and neighborly nods. If he was feeling particularly bold, he might even manage a “hello.”
Of course, he only need look below the neck to be reminded of who he was.
Most of the smaller tattoos had been removed by this point. But the large swastika on his chest was still there. It would be another week before he’d be healed enough to start the process of removing this one. Considering the size, it would likely take 2 sessions to fully remove it.
It was ironic. If he looked in the mirror, it was reversed, back to its original form as a symbol of good fortune, not the perverted symbol of hate as it appeared on his skin. For once, he wished he was the man in the mirror.
He finally ended his self-examination. He had to get ready. He wanted to make sure every detail was attended to. So as he started buttoning up the shirt he brought in with him, something told him to wear blue. It would bring out his eyes, and she might like that.
He opened the door thinking of purple eyes meeting blue, only to have his musings come to life in the most horrifying manner.
He quickly whirled round and slammed the bathroom door shut. The ferocity of which was only rivaled by how hard he squeezed his eyes shut, as if somehow he could undo what just happened by not seeing her face.
As he slowly opened his eyes and caught his reflection in the mirror, the hated ink showing clearly, he knew for a fact that he couldn’t hide it anymore. He took a deep breath, pinched his shirt closed and exited.
“I’m just going to change my shirt,” he called out.
He refused to meet her eyes, trying to get into his room as quickly as possible. He resisted the urge to throw himself in his bed and not come out for the next 6 months. He’d been running for a long time now. Perhaps it was time he face the consequences.
He came out, sporting a new shirt. He’d opted for a non-descript black and white striped shirt. Something he hoped would just blend in. Rachel was busy arranging the delicious smelling Italian takeout she’d brought from the nice family place on the other side of town.
“Have a seat, everything will be ready in just a moment.”
Jack said nothing as she moved about, filling the kitchen with those busy sounds. If he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend he was a kid again, waiting on mom to put dinner out. Those were simpler times. Happier.
When dinner was on the table, Jack took another sniff. He’d never been able to afford a meal from the fancy Italian place, so this was quite a treat, but he found himself without much of an appetite.
“I know who you are.”
A cold chill went through him.
“Cuauhtemoc Morales was a friend of my mother.”
He gripped the table, trying not to turn into a sobbing mess.
“Mr. Morales went to law school with my mom. They both worked for indigenous rights, and stayed close over the years. I was a lot closer to him than my own father.”
He could barely see straight anymore. His eyes were so clouded.
“He’d always check up on me, especially after my mom died. So when he was murdered… well, I just needed to make sure justice was done. I needed to look the man who did it in the eye.”
He wouldn’t look up. He couldn’t.
“I was in the courtroom the day you testified. When you described the bomb and how you made it. I knew the Marshalls had gotten you to roll on the leaders of your little militia. I knew it probably meant more for them to go to jail, but that didn’t mean I was okay with you getting a second chance. Not after what you’ve done.”
He could hear her moving silverware across the table, which included a very large blade for carving the lamb chop.
“I’m not sure how exactly we ended up crossing paths again. You were the last person I expected to see when I pulled into the garage. I had done everything I could to forget you. And maybe I was on the road to run away. But, maybe coming here is the universe’s way of getting me to face my past.”
She placed a very appetizing looking cut of the lamb chop in front of him.
“I’ve gotten to know you a bit, and I don’t think you’re the same man who planted that bomb.”
He dared look at her and for once, her elegant features betrayed everything she was feeling. Anger, sorrow, regret, pain. Far too many ugly things for so beautiful a face.
“I…” she took a deep breath. “I forgive you Jack.”
It felt like a slap in the face and he wasn’t sure what to feel. He could feel his composure break as the tears flowed openly.
“Would… would you excuse me?”
“Be a man Jack. If you’re going to cry, have the decency to do so openly.”
He laughed. He laughed so hard that he couldn’t hold back the sobs anymore. And he didn’t stop for several minutes. Until finally, he felt in control of himself again.
“So, shall we eat?”
Jack found that there was a delicious meal in front of him and suddenly, he was quite hungry.
“Bon appetit!”
***
Dinner marked a wonderful change. Jack felt much more like a new man. Freed of his burden, it was much easier to face his last few days in the company of his new friend. Whereas before, he had been feeling the anticipation of her loss, these days, he felt her presence all the more keenly.
They didn’t talk about the night of the dinner, and it didn’t loom over them. They simply enjoyed each other’s company. They would have moments together, not saying anything, just being together. Jack swore time stood still, and he wanted it to stay that way.
But, of course, time stood still for no one. Rachel would be leaving the next day.
She asked him if he would join her for a hike in the mountains that night, as a bit of a farewell celebration.
He would have followed her into a volcano if she asked.
They hiked for about an hour, no words being exchanged. Under the stars, words seemed somehow unnecessary.
They came upon a clearing where the full moon seemed to create an unearthly glow, and she led him in. For a long time, they sat, simply looking up and admiring it’s beauty. Until finally, she was ready to talk.
“The moon has always been a faithful companion. Whenever I’ve felt troubled, I can just go outside and talk to her, and things always feel better afterwards. There’s something about it that just… puts me at ease, and makes me feel loved. I don’t know what. It’s silly, but, I feel like I can always tell her my secrets.”
She reached her hand out and took his. It was an unusual gesture, and he wondered if there was truly some magic in the moonlight that was making this possible.
“My father was from a prominent family in his tribe. Part of the tribal leadership. Big things were expected of him. He went off to college, and law school. It’s where he met mom. They had a lot in common. Big dreams and big ideas. Some of the traditionalists at home weren’t happy he married an outsider, even if she was native.”
Although she was quiet, the gravity of her words seemed to make them echo in his ears.
“Dad was a big part of the work to get Indian gaming legalized in California. And when it was, he started working a lot of deals to get the casino opened. Made us very wealthy. And very powerful. And when it came time to start sharing the wealth, a lot of people started clamoring that only full blood tribe members should benefit. The tribal council started de-enrolling people from the tribe. None of it made any sense. Mostly, it was about old scores and grudges. People who had lived side by side suddenly found themselves without a home and without family. And father was there, letting all of it happen.”
The sadness that he’d always heard in her voice finally made sense to him. She seemed so small and frail in this moment, and her impossibly slender shoulders couldn’t possibly hold all the weight she carried.
“Finally, some people started pointing out that his own wife wasn’t a member of the tribe. And he decided to choose politics over his own family. He de-enrolled my mother, and sent her away. And that was fine with most of the other leaders, because she had always spoken out against them. Of course, he needed to keep me around to show that he was a good provider, a good leader. And… when she got sick… well, he did nothing.”
For once, he gave into his instinct and took her into his arms, and she didn’t fight it. And, for once, he finally felt like he belonged.
For an eternity, that was far too brief, but far more precious than any other moment in his life, they were like two statues with hearts beating as one.
“There’s an old ritual in some cultures, where the Goddess is invoked through the moonlight. I… I wanted to come here tonight to connect before I started the next part of my journey. Will you help me?”
He didn’t really understand what she was asking, but he knew it was a great honor, and something she couldn’t ask of just anyone. He simply nodded and followed her lead.
She stood and face the moon, reaching her cupped hands into the sky, slowly bringing them down to her chest, as though she were catching moonlight in her hands and pouring it into herself. It was a simple gesture, but something in the air made him believe there was real power flowing from the sky to the woman before him.
Three times she repeated this before bowing and turning to him. Even in the darkness, there was a light in her eyes that he could not look away from. Something about her was magnetic and intoxicating. He was spellbound, and he had a feeling it wasn’t just an expression.
She closed the distance between them and put her hand on his cheek. She was warm, in a way he had never known human touch to be. It was intense, but also comforting, and everything else in the world seemed to slip away at her touch.
“Kiss me.”
It was part command, part request, and it stirred his heart. It made him feel alive.
Their lips met and he the pull of forces he did not know. He only knew that he would not be able to stop, and wherever this path was leading him, he could only hold on until the end.
Their hands found their way onto each other, not in clumsy fits of passion, but in slow, deliberate explorations of bodies so unlike yet so perfectly matched. A gentle breeze blew and clothing whispered as it fell to the Earth, shedding inhibitions and regrets.
He could feel everything. The gentle bite of cold night air, the firmness of the ground beneath them, and the warmth of her skin against his.
He heard the call of night birds, and the rustling of wind in the trees, the strange sounds of insects, and the beat of his own heart in his ears as she moved with him.
His hands made their way to every part of her he would have thought forbidden when they first met, but now urgently needed his touch. Where hands could not go, he let his lips, delighting in her gasps of approval.
There were no words. Their coupling was far older than words, and meant far more. The world faded away, and everything was his skin on hers, her hands on his, his lips on hers, her hair brushing against him.
She lowered herself onto him, taking time to let him stretch and fill her. When at last, he filled her to the hilt, she looked into his eyes and held the back of his head as she began moving her hips. No movement of the Earth or stars in the sky was more perfect.
He held her hips and began to match her movements, knowing only that there was no more wonderful sensation that being inside her. Pleasure had no meaning outside of this.
Whether they made love for hours, days or even years, he could not say. It didn’t matter. It only mattered that they were together. And when they were done, they lay together in the moonlight, hearing the sound of their hearts beating as one.
“Where will you go from here?”
“I don’t know. I’ve always wanted to go to the Black Hills. It’s a sacred place, and something has always called me there. And there are so many people I want to learn from. Someday, I’ll make it there. Where I go in the meantime, who knows…”
He didn’t ask if they would see each other again, though it was the one thing he wanted to know more than anything.
“The next part of my journey I need to do alone. I don’t know how long it will take. I do hope that, maybe someday, I might have someone to share it with.”
He kissed her head. “I’ll wait.”
Overhead, the moon stood watch, still faithfully keeping secrets and offering love in soft, glowing light.
***
The mechanic at the garage had been having a fairly slow day. He was working on a particularly stubborn spark plug replacement when the truck pulled in. He knew from the make, model and plates that it was a Government vehicle.
“What can I do for you?”
The man who stepped out of the truck was well dressed. Dark shades covered blue eyes that seemed far older than the rest of him. He brushed his sleek black hair away as he approached.
“Does Jack work here?”
“No. Far as I know he quit and left town. But, that was months ago. He in trouble?”
“No, nothing like that. I was just hoping to talk to him.”
“He didn’t leave an address or anything, but if I hear from him, I can let him know. Didn’t catch your name.”
“Shields. Darien Shields, US Marshals.”
“Well, you have a good day Marshal.”
He stepped back into the truck and pulled out a cell phone.
“Report, Marshall Shields?”
“You’re enjoying this far too much.”
“I’m simply doing my duty.”
“I’m sure you are Trista.” He said the name ironically.
“That’s Director May to you. So did you find him?”
“No, as we suspected, he left months ago. I’m sure he finally went after her. It’s just like the two of them to do it this way. No plan, no contact, just… following their hearts.”
“Some things never change, even after thousands of years.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out an old watch that had long since stopped working. He rubbed it and smiled.
“So what will you do next, Marshal Shields?”
He reached over to the passenger seat and picked up three files. “I’m going to go catch up with some old friends. They should know we’ve found him. We should start preparing. We’ve waited a thousand years, but this time, I think we can finally do it right.”