Secret Summer Fic Exchange (1/2)

[holl_e_wood]

Secret Summer Fic Exchange part 1
For: Caelieth,
who asked for: "Ryan/Colin romancy type stuff or Clive/Greg, or Greg/Jeff, or a gen friendship ficcy."

Well... I tried. It got really long and rather serious, but I hope it wasn't too bad. Still a novice WLiiA writer...
Posted in two parts in my journal here and linked to on WL_Fanfiction because of said lengthy length.

Title: Do You Trust Me?

Summary: Ryan and Colin have always helped each other through everything, the closest of friends through thick and thin. But in the later years of Whose Line, with age creeping up on him, Ryan has been pushing Colin away, struggling through a kind of midlife crisis: a deep dissatisfaction with himself and his life he can't let himself fully experience, much less put into words. But one evening at a motorcycle lot simplifies everything: now, it’s just a question of trust.

A/N: I know nothing of motorcycles and my geography's pretty hazy, so... call it creative license. :) Also, the POV switches between Colin and Ryan.

The Ski Story

The bar was full, but not too crowded, not quite smoky enough to be stifling, and the corner booth where Ryan lolled, gloomy, gangly, and decidedly drunk, retained a hint of class.

Or it did, anyway, Colin thought from his seat across Ryan, watching his enraptured audience with an inner amusement he would never let show. The gaggle of wide-eyed, overly hair-sprayed girls followed his every move, crowded in close on rickety chairs.

"So there we were..." he was saying, leaning toward the edge of the table and gesturing wide with his hands, half-empty wine glass strategically and apparently forgotten to one side.  "There we were, on the very edge of this giant hill, sliding around on skis neither of us were qualified to use, all to impress these girls, when out of nowhere--" he flicked a hand-- "this ridiculous, enormously fat old man comes rocketing right at us! I'm trying to pull Ryan out of the way but my skis are going out from under me, his are tangled, and we both go down in a heap and the hood of Ryan's jacket gets stabbed straight through by this madman's ski pole!"

The girls were giggling openly now, sipping on fruity drinks and almost too distracted to remember to bat their eyelashes. "So you get pulled down?" one of them prompted.

Colin bowed his head in mock solemnity. "All the way down the slope, tumbling and tangled and bringing The Fat Man down to our level without even trying. We even had a perfect movie landing, crashing straight through a cabin door at the bottom. The girls," he sighed theatrically, "followed us down with grace and poise and helped disentangle me." He grinned mischievously. "But then we saw Ryan..."

"Oh no," giggled another girl.

"Oh yes," Colin continued. "There he was, caught in the arms of a giant stuffed grizzly bear, under an entire fallen rack of brand new, state of the art skis. And that," he concluded, "is how Ryan broke his back."

"What about the fat guy?" another girl wanted to know.

"He threatened to sue and we threatened to throttle him with his own skis. The manager kicked us all out and the girls never returned our calls." Colin rolled his eyes. "The perfect end to a perfect vacation."

Across the table, Ryan's nodding head finally hit the table, and he let out a loud, grunting snore.

"Too bad it couldn't have broken his nose," Colin said mildly, and the girls giggled again.

"Well, maybe we could--" one of them started, but Colin cut her off.

"No, no," he said. "Looks like I better Mr. Tall, Blonde, and 'I-Can-Hold-My-Liquor, Honest' somewhere more comfortable. Thanks for the lovely chat, girls."

They drifted away, still giggling and tipsy, and Colin heaved a huge sigh, relaxing back into his seat. The things he'd do to distract drunken Whose Line fans from requesting embarrassingly detailed autographs...

Ryan opened one eye. "Are they gone?"

And from hitting on Ryan, of course.

"You snore very convincingly," Colin said, grinning.

Ryan pushed himself up, not quite as smashed as he'd seemed, rubbing his eyes with one long-fingered hand. "There's a pack at every bar."

"Except for the last six or so."

Ryan smiled, or tired to, but there was no genuine humor in it. "We hit a lucky streak. You know, I'm going to have to get you for that nose crack one of these days."

"If your nose is cracking, that sounds like a personal problem."

Some subtle barb in Colin's voice touched the twitching anger that was never far from the surface these days. "Stow the stage talk, cueball, and call a taxi, will you?" Inwardly, Ryan winced at the harsh sound of his own voice, but it was too late to take it back.

Colin just looked at Ryan, who still hadn't met his eyes. Mentally steeling himself, he drew a deep breath and took the plunge. "What's going on with you?"

Ryan stared out the window. "What?"

Colin crossed his arms over his chest. "We're not going anywhere until you start talking, Ry. You've been... off... for about four tapings now. You've been," his voice was carefully neutral, "avoiding me." He stared at Ryan, who looked at the wall. "What's wrong?"

Silence.

"Is it Pat? The kids? Some network crap? The sulfur and brimstone apocalypse, or... what? Ryan... talk to me."

Ryan's face was blank as, at last, he looked his closest friend in the eyes. "If we don't go soon, they'll be back."

For a moment, Colin's mouth tightened, but it passed. If that was how Ryan wanted to be, nothing could change his mind. Not even Colin's friendship.

Which lately, an inner voice reminded him nastily, just seemed to make things worse.

"Come on, then," Colin said, and downed the last of his wine with one deep, uncharacteristically rough swig. "Let's go." He swung his long legs out from under the booth and headed for the exit without looking back.

For a moment, Ryan just watched him go, face dark with the struggle he could never allow Colin to see, that he couldn't really even put into words. He had been avoiding Colin lately, because things had gotten so... difficult. The two of them had always been able to work through any problem, but now Colin was part of the problem, and looking at him, Ryan just felt... lost. And Colin didn't seem to have changed at all. To have noticed anything...

No. There were some avenues a middle-aged family man comedian was simply not allowed to explore. Suddenly angry with himself, Ryan grabbed his beer and strode after the other man, slinging the empty bottle into the waiting trash can with enough force to rock it backwards.

Alcohol, girls, and wholly imaginary disastrous vacations. The pattern of Saturday nights. Boring, predictable, unsatisfying, bloody pattern.

Ryan followed Colin into the taxi in silence, head full of snow and tangles of arms and legs. He had to do something. If only he knew what.

The Motorcycle

It was three more Saturdays-- two more fictional back-breaking vacations (Hawaii, lifeboat/snorkling disaster; Rome, crushed between metro train doors,) and four more semi-faked hangovers-- before he saw the motorcycle.

He begged off the usual post-taping party claiming back pain and exhaustion, and the guys said sure, fair enough, see you later, and left him to it--even Colin. But he knew, watching Colin walk away with the others, chatting easily and perfectly calm, that Colin knew he was lying to avoid them. Which made him feel, if possible, even worse.

Restless, he abandoned the dark, cool sanctuary of the hotel room for the gritty, evening streets of the city, long legs eating up the blocks, blindly following crosswalks and ignoring any telltale signs of familiarity. If he couldn't fix, or even name, the problem, maybe he could at least be as lost as he felt.

As the last of the sunlight slipped behind the buildings, something made him stop.

The lot was dusty and full of trash, but the bike shone.

She was a thing of beauty. Long, black, and, somehow, he knew instantly, immensely powerful. Seductive. Dangerous. Reckless, even. Utterly implausible and maybe a tad ridiculous.

Even the threat of ridiculousness slowed him only for a fraction of a second.

He smoked a whole pack of cigarettes while the sales rep blathered on about specs and care guidelines, and paid cash on the spot just to shut the idiot up. He wanted to savor the silence of release. Freedom.

As he straddled the leather seat and felt the smooth roar of the engine beneath him, for the first time in what felt like years he felt the tension, the anger, evaporate. In its wake there was only the pure energy of passion, begging to be unleashed.

All right, He'd chosen a means. But to what end?

Suddenly, Colin's hurt, sad face filled his mind. It was only an expression conjured by the imagination, as Colin would never dream of dropping the poker face long enough to show Ryan just how deeply the distance he'd put between them hurt. But he knew. And, in a stunning flash of inspiration, how to fix it.

He knew exactly where he wanted to go.

And after you get there?, a small voice whispered in the back of his mind. Ryan ignored it.

The first thing Colin noticed the following morning as they waited for show time was the bounce in Ryan's step, followed closely by an unmistakable sparkle in those eyes he hadn't seen in... months. And then there was the unusually low pitch of his voice, all rumblings and warm breath against Colin's ear. "Morning, Col," he said, bending down to pick up a cup of coffee and standing way too close. Colin suppressed an overwhelming urge to shiver, and stepped deftly away, pretending to be interested in a magazine on the other end of the table.

"You're awfully... chipper... this morning," Colin said carefully, balancing Cosmo and his own cup of coffee. "Sleep well?"

"No a wink," Ryan replied cheerfully. "I had something better."

"If you know what I mean," Brad interjected, grinning, coming in just in time to hear the end of the exchange. "Morning, all. Good night, Ryan?"

"Mmm," Ryan hummed noncommittally around a mouthful of coffee, still watching Colin with the hint of a smile on his face.

Colin had no idea what was going on, but whatever it was, it had snapped Ryan out of his funk. And that could only be good. He grinned back. This was going to be a good day.

From scenes from a hat (things not to say in a eulogy: "He was a bastard. Oh come on! Is a minor case of the deads all it takes to get sainted anymore?") to party quirks ("Here Colin, let me help you deliver that package!") to foreign film dub (Romanian chicken chasing: "Your chickens are no match for my chicken legs! Prepare to fry!") Colin followed Ryan's lead in a giddy haze. The spark was back. They bantered, they laughed, they touched suggestively and grinned at each other when the audience screamed, and still Colin had no idea what prompted the sudden change. Part of him didn't care. He was just glad to have Ryan back.

After the show, exhausted but pleased, they collapsed in Ryan's trailer, glasses of water in hand and sharing a contented silence while the hot afternoon faded.

"That," Ryan said at last, "was brilliant."

Colin couldn't help but smile. "It was pretty great, wasn’t it."

Ryan, pressed deep against the cushiony couch, rolled his head to the left to watch and gauge Colin's reaction as he asked, a bit too casually, "So, were you planning on hanging out with the rest of them at the bar tonight?"

Colin eyeballed him. "You've got a different idea, don't you?"

Ryan grinned shamelessly. "You always see straight through me."

Colin patted him on the shoulder. "I'm like Superman. X-Ray vision all the way."

"Or at least Clark Kent?" Ryan teased.

Colin magnanimously ignored this, successfully resisting the urge to make a Captain Hair reference. "So what's the big plan? Is that what's had you so peppy all day?"

Suddenly serious, Ryan sat up, setting down his water glass and rubbing his hands together. "No. Well, yes. Yes and no. Yes."

"...So that's definitely a yes or a no?"

"Definitely yes, but I need your consent."

Colin watched him dubiously. "My...?"

Ryan stared into his eyes, and he was there this time, all intense green gaze, and Colin suddenly realized he needed to breathe. "How much do you trust me?" Ryan asked.

Colin tried to think of a way to answer that easily, and settled for, "What's going on?"

"Do you trust me enough?" Ryan repeated.

"Enough for what?"

Ryan was leaning forward now, propping his thin frame up with his arms across his legs, folded hands nearly brushing Colin's knees, and suddenly Colin wished they'd gone with the others already--there was too much heat and not enough space between them.

Ryan's eyes searched his as though desperate to see straight into his brain. "Enough for what it takes," he answered softly.

Colin looked into those green eyes, so intense and serious and open, and was sure Ryan knew the answer as well as he did. "You have to ask?"

Ryan nearly smiled. "Then come on." Grabbing Colin's wrist, he pulled him up and out the door too fast for Colin to even think about objecting. "First, I need to show you something."

The heat was fading fast from the parking lot as they strode hurriedly through it, but Colin was still missing the air conditioning by the time they finally reached its edge, pausing under the shade of a tall, thick, leafy tree.

"A tree," Colin said, trying to hide how out of breath he was. "How lovely." He leaned against it, and noticed something else. "A tree wrapped in a chain... are we talking it for a walk?"

From the other side of the thick trunk, Ryan chuckled. "Not... exactly." There was a metallic clank as the lock was released, and then Ryan was wheeling the beauty around for Colin to see, proud as a father with a newborn. "Isn't she gorgeous?"

For a moment, all Colin could do was stare. "I... you... bought a motorcycle?"

"Last night!" Ryan's enthusiasm practically radiated from him. "Couldn't sleep, went for a walk, and then--bam! Right in my face. She's perfect."

Understanding dawned like a light across Colin's face. "You want to go for a ride, don't you?"

Ryan bent down and picked a bright yellow helmet off the ground. "Yes, please," he grinned, holding it out to Colin.

Slowly, Colin took it. "Where do you want to go?"

"That's the second reason you need to trust me."

"Should I pack my pajamas?" Colin asked dryly, still trying to process this sudden change.

Ryan tapped the small storage compartment at the back of the motorcycle. "Already done," he said. Colin just looked at him, bemused. Ryan donned his own helmet, a shiny black one to match the bike, and gestured broadly, as if to say "Well...?"

Colin shook his head, grinning. "Fine. But if you kill us..."

"I'm a dead man," Ryan agreed cheerfully, straddling the bike. Swallowing hard, Colin eased into the seat behind him.

"Hold tight," Ryan said over his shoulder. "Don't want you blowing away."

"Does that explain the canary helmet? So the search and rescue teams have no trouble spotting my mangled body?"

Ryan brought the engine to life, and Colin instinctively grabbed at Ryan's waist. Convinced Ryan was smirking at him, he forced himself to loosen his grip. Just pretend it's another game of helping hands, he thought, and nearly smiled. Ryan won't kill you... Ryan is capable of driving saf--

They took off.

Ryan grinned as Colin's arms shot around him, squeezing tight against his stomach. So many things to love about motorcycles.

Colin kept his eyes shut and his arms locked around Ryan as they drove, weaving around corners, and once--Colin was nearly sure, but firmly kept his eyes shut--through tiny gaps between cars that did not technically constitute highway lanes, but surely Ryan wasn't that crazy. To keep from tensing too much he took deep breaths, breathing in the cologne and sweat and faint breezy laundry smell that was Ryan. Just like helping hands. Only better...

No. Best stop that train of thought right there. As he always did. After so many years, it had become second nature. He had even learned to ignore the faint twinge of sadness and guilt that came along with it.

It felt like they had been driving for hours, though he knew it couldn't have been nearly that long. He wanted to check his watch, but had no intention of letting go of Ryan and risking Death by Motorcycle. Or even just letting go of Ryan. Still, the new coolness of the breeze on his arms and (though Colin would never say it out loud) on his scalp told him the sun had at last vanished behind the buildings, and the relative silence of passing traffic and general thrum of urban noise had also died away, so they must have headed for the edge of town fairly quickly.

At last, Colin approached courage and opened his eyes.

It was dusk. They were on a winding highway liberally speckled with buildings and bright lights and passing vehicles, but mostly engulfed by the empty beauty of nature.

And he still, Colin realized, had no idea where they were going. Of course he trusted Ryan. With his life. Though not, a smug voice added from an annoyingly truthful back part of his mind, with your deepest, darkest secret. But still, especially with Ryan's increasingly unpredictable moods and twitchiness, it would have been nice to know what was going on that head of his.

Ryan felt like he was flying. The motorcycle handled as he'd known it would, with strength and precision. He approached each curve with joy, leaning into them a little more than was strictly necessary. After the first, when Colin's arms had tightened around him even more, he resisted the urge to do it more often.

The stars were coming out. He couldn't have chosen a more perfect night if he'd planned week in advance. The faintest smudges of clouds and haze hovered around the horizon, still glowing darkly from the setting sun, but directly overhead the constellations were forming bright and crisp.

He wondered why he hadn't done this years ago. Grasp freedom, wheels with a seat, and just let the road take him. With Colin. Who better to share it with?

Ryan felt Colin lift his head from his shoulder, and resisted the urge to twist around and grin at him. It would not do to end the night early by running off the road.

"Are we there yet?" Colin half-shouted, hoping to be heard over the wind. Ryan nodded.

Not long after, Ryan took an exit. It seemed to deposit them even more thoroughly in the middle of nowhere. A ruggedly beautiful kind of nowhere, but still... empty. Reluctantly, Ryan slowed their speed, peering intently into the growing night for the unmarked road he needed.

He saw it a few miles later, almost too late, and took the left turn far faster than he'd intended. Colin gripped him hard, and Ryan briefly covered one of his hands with his own in a silent apology.

The narrow, dusty road ran straight on between unfenced fields high with un-mowed grass, a thoroughly unremarkable vista. But it wasn't much longer before Ryan saw the tall, square building, dark and shabby against the rising moon-bright horizon, just as he remembered it.

"We're here," he announced, and, to Colin's horror, immediately swerved off the road and drove slowly, bumpily, through the trackless ground towards the shack. Pulling up close beside it, Ryan killed the engine.

The silence that followed seemed remarkably loud. They disembarked slowly, Ryan careful to set the bike stand up correctly before removing his helmet and running a hand through his hair.

"That," Colin said at last, leaning against the side of the building, "was some ride."

Ryan smiled, genuinely, and clapped him on the shoulder. "Told you I wouldn't kill us."

"Some of those curves left me doubting."

"I'm a motorcycle expert."

"Since when?"

"Wouldn't you rather know where we are?"

Colin smiled. "I think I can hazard a guess why."

"Really?"

"Well, the stars are almost unnaturally bright out here..."

Ryan threw his head back and gazed up at the sky. "Brilliant, isn't it?"

"Beautiful," Colin said softly, watching Ryan's content expression.

"Ladder's on the other side," Ryan offered, coming back to earth with a grin. "That roof is perfect for stargazing. Blanket's in the storage compartment."

"No pajamas?"

"I sleep nude," Ryan replied with a wicked grin, tossing Colin the keys, and headed for the ladder.

Together, they brushed some debris off the flat roof and spread the king size blanket out, folded in half for extra padding, along with Ryan's other provisions: two flashlights, some ham sandwiches, and large canteens of water.

"Great, isn't it?" Ryan asked, watching Colin's peaceful expression as he surveyed the landscape, the sky, and the blurry horizon where they met.

"Almost worth the ride," Colin teased, and Ryan punched him lightly in the arm.

"The bike is... it," Ryan said seriously, brushing sandwich crumbs off his lap. "It's just been so tense lately, and I saw it, and I realized... what I wanted."

"That James Dean look you've been missing for so long?"

"I'm serious, Col." Ryan turned to look at him, eyes bright in the dark. "It just kind of hit me that I wanted to change things up. Get away from whatever was holding me down. Take... a kind of vacation."

"From work?"

"From... the future. We're living our futures. I mean, where can we really go from here? We've made our choices, our families. Our mortgages. We have nice safe cars and boring, predictable routines, and we'll keep at them til... til death do us part."

Til death do us part... interestingÖ choice of words, Colin thought, but said only, "Most people would say ‘normal’ routines don't include fangirls.".

Ryan ignored him. "I just wanted..." he lay back, waving his long arms vaguely at the sky. "I wanted to feel... young and passionate again. In love with life. Big as the sky." He held his arms out for a moment, an open-ended hug, before slowly lowering them to his sides.

Colin didn't say anything, and Ryan turned on his side, face level with Colin's hip where he sat hunched forward, considering. "Do you know what I mean?" he asked, a little desperately.

Mid life crisis, Colin thought. Needing to feel boundless, loved, youthful again. Probably some kind of deep-stead frustrated sexual desire. The impatience of age. My own feelings, mirror image.

"I think so," he said at last, avoiding Ryan's eyes. Except I take it out on stage. And the stage is part of your problem, isn't it?

Ryan seemed to be waiting for something else. Colin could feel his eyes on him, and took a steadying breath.

"And then there's the regret," Ryan said softly, just as Colin asked loudly, "So what's in this building we're sitting on, anyway?"

Startled, they looked at each other. "What?"

"The building," Colin replied, feeling like he'd missed something important. "What is it?"

"Oh." Ryan sat up. "I'll show you." He headed for the ladder, feeling remarkably stupid. He shouldn't have tried to say anything. Colin must have known... something... because that sudden, loud change of subject was just how he dealt when Ryan once, long ago, tried to ask about their more suggestive moments on stage. He'd only wanted to make sure they were both comfortable with that kind of performance, but Colin had seemed strangely formal and blank. He hadn't mentioned it again, but Colin never backed off in their performances, even pushing the limits a few times himself. Still…

Ryan shouldered open the long-unused, but unlocked, door, and they entered the small room in silence.

There wasn't much. A couch on one wall, one narrow bookcase piled with odds and ends; a very small and cramped toilet; a stove and a sink, and a very dusty rug on the floor.

"So how'd you know about this place?" Colin asked, inspecting some batteries on the bookshelf.

"I know a guy who knows a guy. Who's related to a relation."

"Of course."

"He built it just for stargazing. Loved it."

"Smart guy."

"He and his partner used to come out here a lot, or so I hear."

"Partner?" Colin said absently, now playing with an unidentified bit of pipe. "Oh."

"Bit of a family scandal, for a while."

Colin set the bit of pipe down, hands suddenly still. "Oh."

"Colin--"

"Why don't we--"

Colin looked up just in time to see Ryan coming at him, face tense, almost sad, and then his back was against the wall and Ryan's hot, wet mouth was on his, hands planted on the wall on either side of Colin's head, his head was spinning and was that Ryan's tongue--?

And suddenly, he was furious.

"Ry--Ryan!" Colin shoved him back, hard, and he stumbled, panting, eyes glinting in the half-light. Colin glared at him. "Ryan, I am not going to be your... your... midlife crisis rebellion! I'm your friend, and I--I care about you, so--" Colin stepped forward, jabbing him in the chest with a long finger. "Get a grip!"

Shaking, ignoring the dawning look of horror on Ryan's face, Colin stalked to the door and slammed it shut behind him.

For a long moment, Ryan just stood there. Fuck. Fuck. What the fuck did I just do?

Colin leaned against the door, trembling, eyes shut against the bright night. What had just happened? They were friends. Close friends, to be sure, who shared stage kisses sometimes, but they were grown men. With wives. Children. Straight grown men (Well... practically straight) who did not use each other (At least Ryan definitely was) to take out their midlife crisis tensions! (Wasn't he?)

He opened his eyes to the sky, and his anger evaporated as he remembered the feel of Ryan's lips on his.

Take your own advice, Mochrie. Get a grip. Ryan needs to sort out his issues, and you...

He was suddenly uncomfortably, ashamedly, aware of the heat in his groin. And you are not helping.

Surely he should go back in and straighten things out... Just for a minute... They should... talk about it...

Do the right thing, Mr. Responsible. That's what your family loves you for.

There had been one more thing in the bike's storage compartment. Colin pulled out the map with the highlighted route, noted the name of the road, and pulled out his cell phone. He was about to find out just how expensive taxis could get.

When Ryan woke in the morning, curled alone and cold on the couch, he knew in his gut Colin had gone. For a long time watched the wall unseeingly, chin in his hands, preparing himself for what he knew he had to do. Never had he felt less comedic. Or less like seeing Colin.

You fucked up. Big time. Now go deal with it. Midlife crisis is over. You don't have that luxury.

If it meant pushing Colin away... somehow, he thought he never did.

Continue to The Second Bit