And the Embers Never Fade 5/5

[turps33]

Damp clothes in his arms, Frank walks away from the bowl of scum filmed water, and heads from the shadows into full sun.

Laundry isn’t a job he does often, the lack of water always a problem, but when Frank does he likes to scatter the clothes. T-shirts draped on the hood of the Trans Am, pants on the gas pumps, a row of bandanas fluttering from the handles of Ray’s bike.

It’s mindless, comforting work, and after weighing down the last sock Frank peels off his t-shirt which has become wet at the front. Laying it next to the line of miss-matched socks, he goes back inside, where Ray’s sitting at the table with Bob. There’s a magazine open between them, a pen lying abandoned over a half-completed crossword.

Hands on the edge of the table, Frank looks at the filled in answers, which don’t seem to answer the clues at all. “Fuck is a four letter word meaning fall in line? Really?”

“It fits,” Ray says, and he grins as he looks over at Bob. “But not as much as three down.”

Suspecting an insult, Frank looks for the clue, and as soon as he does knows he’ll find his name as an answer. “A five letter word meaning annoying. That’s the best you can do?”

“We checked the dictionary, Frank was part of the definition,” Bob says, as earnest as Gerard at his best. Which is really earnest, and Frank can’t help being impressed.

“You suck.” Frank slides into the booth, sitting forward a little so his bare back doesn’t stick to the cracked vinyl. “Both of you suck.”

“And you seem to have lost your shirt,” Ray says, and Frank shivers as Ray runs his fingers down Frank’s side. “Did you get bleach on it again?”

Frank shakes his head. “Just water. Gerard’s pants were fucking disgusting, and I think there was brain matter on your t-shirt.”

“Probably from that last Drac you ghosted,” Ray says casually, like brain matter on his clothes means nothing. “And Gerard’s pants are always disgusting. Everyone’s are.”

Bob leans forward, his arms crossed on the table. “You do all the washing?”

Frank holds up his hands, showing off his puffed-up and wrinkled fingers. “Someone has to.”

“I guess.” Bob looks toward the bedroom, where the vandalized wanted posters are just visible. “They don’t tend to mention the Killjoys doing laundry.”

“It would make us too human,” Ray says, and Frank has to agree. From an outside perspective the Killjoys are nothing but rebels, four names and four faces who do nothing but fight the system. But from the inside it’s that and everything more, and most of it mundane.

Deciding to brave the vinyl, Frank sits back, says, “We cook too. Unless someone offers to do it for us.”

“You need to work on your subtlety,” Bob says, and gives Frank a long look. “But fine, I can make dinner.”

“Good,” Frank says, and irritated already by how clammy he feels, he lists to the side so he’s lying against Ray. “Make kibble stir fry again. Just go easy on the stewed pricks this time.”

“Spikes,” Bob says with a sigh. “I keep telling you, they’re cactus spikes.”

Ray puts his arm around Frank, his hand against Frank’s arm. “You’re both wrong, they’re needles.”

It’s an argument that could run for hours, and while normally Frank enjoys a good debate, today he’s not in the mood, too sun-warm and content to argue his case -- even if he is right. “I don’t give a fuck what they’re called. Just pull back the volume, I was shitting green strands last time.”

“So don’t look,” Bob says. He slides out of the booth and heads toward the door which is propped open, allowing sunshine to flood into the room. “Come and help me harvest, or it won’t be done before Gerard and Mikey get back.”

Ray picks up the pen and pulls the magazine toward him. “I’m busy.”

“Washing, harvesting pricks, you’ll have me washing the floor next,” Frank grumbles, but follows Bob willingly. “I need my t-shirt first though, those fucking cactuses fight dirty.”

“Cacti,” Ray says immediately, and Frank grins back in return, secure that right now, his world is behaving exactly as expected.

~~~~~

When Bob sleeps over it’s usually Mikey or Gerard that signify the move toward bed. Either through Gerard’s role of leader making itself apparent, or Mikey due to knowing Bob that little bit longer, even if those early days were more enemies than friends.

Each time they do Frank goes eagerly, but he’s never taken the initiative himself. Not through fear of being rebuffed, more that the first time he does Frank will be announcing his total acceptance of Bob. Which he wasn’t ready to give; until tonight.

After a day that’s been slow and lazy and easy, Frank’s energy is surging, needing a release. Unable to stay still, he bounces on the balls of his feet, assessing the possibility of either Gerard or Mikey wanting to go to bed. It’s a possibility that seems low right now, especially when Mikey’s lost in one of Dr Death Defying’s broadcasts, his eyes closed and head bobbing to the music and Gerard is about to head for his pens.

Frank wants them all, badly, and makes a decision, announcing. “I want to go to bed. Now.”

It’s not the most suave of seductions, but that doesn’t matter. Without comment Mikey turns off the music and Gerard changes direction while Ray pushes aside his crossword, and then grabs Bob’s arm and urges him up.

“Hey Frank,” Gerard says, and pauses on his way to the bedroom, leaning in for a kiss. Frank keeps his eyes open, needing to see. Scarlet hair and lightly tanned skin, the dark of Gerard’s eyelashes and the streak of blue ink on his cheek, put there by the kids at the family camp three days before.

“Hey,” Frank says, his hands on Gerard’s hips, the kiss brief and light, more a promise of intent than anything lasting.

Gerard pulls back and heads for the mattresses, stands next to Mikey, Ray and Bob, and says, “Where do you want us? It’s your call.”

Frank hasn’t thought that far forward. He knows he wants to touch and be touched, to be surrounded by people he loves on all sides. Which is when Frank hesitates, because he doesn’t love Bob, but he has learned to like him; a lot.

Frank looks directly at Bob and asks, “Do you top?”

“Not for a while,” Bob says, and while outwardly he’s composed, his jaw is clenched as tight as his hands. Not that Frank’s surprised at his answer. While Bob’s slept with them a few times now each times he’s done nothing but watch or touch with his hands or his tongue. Something this intimate is a big change, and Frank’s wondering if he’s gone too far, too fast.

Gerard looks between Frank and Bob, asks, “You want to change that?”

Immediately, Bob says, “Yes,” and Frank suspects he’s misunderstood the reason for Bob’s tension. Which is good, because the more he’s thinking about it the more Frank wants Bob.

“Okay. Good.” Frank pulls off his t-shirt and throws it to one side, walks forward as he starts to unbuckle his belt. “I want you to fuck me.”

“That’s your big seduction?” Bob asks, and he’s tracking Frank’s every move, watching as he strips off his clothes.

Frank kicks off his boots and stands on one foot as he peels off his sock. “You can have kibble and flowers next time, princess.”

Ray sighs, long and tragic. “He used to promise me flowers and kibble.”

“He brought me a cactus once,” Gerard says, his mournful tone shaky. “It was shaped like a dick, he said it reminded him of me.”

Mikey stares blankly at Frank, says, “You said the dick cactus was our thing.”

Frank hates them all, really he does, with their fake frowns and phony outrage that’s making Frank laugh. “You all suck.” It’s a lame comeback but Frank hasn’t the time or the inclination for anything better. He tugs off his second sock and stands in only his pants. Hands on the waistband he starts to slide them over his hips, and then realizes none of the others have moved. “Why are you all still dressed?”

“We’re watching you,” Ray says. “And you haven’t said what you want us to do.”

Frank’s mouth is dry and he swallows, trying to pick from the things he loves most. Mikey and Gerard kissing, tenderness and desire mixed together. Ray on his knees, his chin and mouth wet as he sucks cock, Gerard’s hands in his hair. The noises Mikey makes when Ray fucks him, and the way Gerard always lies close, his mouth against Mikey’s, taking in every gasp and whimper.

They’re memories Frank treasures, made vivid by experience and time. Except, this time there’s Bob to add to the mixture, and somehow Frank wants to do this together. The problem is how. Frank’s seen plenty of porn films, read the underground magazines that are sent to the zones. He has some ideas in mind and while in theory they’d work, right now they don’t feel right.

“How about we wing it?” Gerard suggests, and Frank nods, grateful Gerard’s made the suggestion.

Ray starts to take off his clothes, his voice muffled as he pulls off his t-shirt. “As long as I get to watch Bob fuck Frank.”

Always a voyeur,” Gerard says fondly, and Frank’s well aware of that kink, how intently Ray always watches. It’s a knowledge that makes Frank shiver, cool against the heat of his skin.

“You sure you want me to do that?” Bob asks, and Frank gets why he’s making sure, but Frank’s also frustrated, and he grabs two handfuls of Bob’s t-shirt and pulls him down so they’re face to face.

“Yes I’m sure,” Frank says, punctuating the words with a hard kiss, their mouths pressed together. “I want you to fuck me.”

“You’re fucking bossy,” Bob remarks, but he’s also obviously turned on as he runs his hands down Frank’s back, stopping at the swell of his ass. “We need lube.”

Instantly a tin of BL/ind issued lube arches through the air. It lands on the mattresses, the white bottle rolling to a stop against a pillow and Frank looks past Bob’s shoulder to Mikey, says, “Thanks.”

Mikey puts a thumbs up in reply and Frank takes a step backwards, pulling Bob with him.

It feels like he’s stepping into new territory, and Frank’s heart is thumping, fueled by uncertainty as he unbuckles Bob’s belt. While his intent is to get Bob out of his pants, Frank’s unable to resist a quick grope, loving how it makes Bob gasp, his usual stoic facade crumbling as Frank uses one hand to push down Bob’s pants, and curls the other around his dick, his thumb pressed lightly against the head.

Bob pulls in another breath, his eyes squeezed shut and then opening as he brings up his hand, cupping Frank’s cheek. “Go that fast and I won’t be able to fuck you.”

Frank stills his hand, and he’s all too aware of the way Bob’s looking at him, like he’s discovering something new that’s important and precious. It’s an expression that Frank’s seen on the others, but on Bob it’s the first time, and Frank lets out a breath the last of his barriers fading.

“You can get your pencils later.”

It’s Ray’s voice that breaks the connection, and Frank turns and sees that Gerard’s frozen in mid-step.

“But, look at them,” Gerard says, indicating Frank and Bob with a wild sweep of his hand. “Look at them.”

Mikey goes to stand behind Gerard and wraps his arms around his body, resting his chin against Gerard’s shoulder. “They’ll look even better later. Think how Frankie’s going to look when Bob fucks him, you know how much he likes being held down, and Bob’s so big. They’ll look fucking awesome together, and later Ray can join in, you know you want to see that. Him using his fingers next to Bob’s cock.”

“Jesus,” Bob says on an out-breath and Frank knows how he feels, his own imagination racing as Mikey keeps talking, almost directly in Gerard’s ear.

“You know you want to draw that, Bob’s spine arching and Frank’s mouth, you want to capture his whimpers and put them on the page, when Bob first fucks him open and then after, when he’s fucked out and exhausted.”

“You want that?” Bob asks, and all Frank can do is nod, because Mikey knows him, all Frank’s kinks and needs and he’s exploiting them ruthlessly.

“Okay,” Bob says, as if to himself, and then repeats, louder, “Okay.” And without warning he hooks his hands under Frank’s ass and lifts, carrying Frank to the middle of the mattresses where, without production, Bob drops him. Surprised, Frank bounces and lies flat on his back, watching as Bob tears off his own clothes, making no attempt at finesse as he throws them aside and then kneels, straddling Frank’s legs. “Lube.”

Bob holds out his hand and it’s Ray who scoops up the lube and hands it over.

No one else speaks and it feels like every sound is amplified, the snick of the bottle lid opening, the soft rasp of material brushing together, a spring yielding as Gerard and Mikey lie down together. Frank takes it all in, his fingernails catching against the blankets as he curls his hands, needing to hold on as Bob moves off to the side and then grabs hold of Frank’s leg at the knee, spreading his legs apart.

It leaves Frank feeling exposed, and he revels in the attention of everyone watching as Bob crawls so he’s between Frank’s bent knees. But it’s also a position where Bob’s hands are hidden and Frank jumps at the first touch of his fingers, made cool and slick with lube. And already Frank’s tense, willing Bob on from his cautious exploration as he runs his fingers along the crease of Frank’s groin, and under his balls, along the curve of Frank’s ass. Too slow and too gentle and Frank knows if this keeps up he’s going to go crazy.

Frank moves his hips, trying to get Bob’s fingers where he needs them, but all Bob does is move with him, following so perfectly that it has to be deliberate, and Bob’s a teasing bastard, and Frank hates him too.

“I hate you,” Frank says, his eyes fluttering closed as Bob finally moves in the right direction.

“I know,” Bob says easily, and he slips his finger into Frank’s ass, the most minute of amounts and all too painfully slow. Frank’s struggles up onto his elbows, needing to see and needing to move to do anything except lie still and be tortured.

“I swear to god, I’lll....” Frank gasps, the end of his threat lost as Bob pushes his finger further inside.

“You’ll kill me?” Bob suggests, and from one beat to the next he changes his rhythm, pushing in hard and fast. Which is better, much better, but it’s still not enough.

“Stone fucking dead,” Frank grits out, and adds, “Stop teasing.”

Bob pulls back his hand and for a moment Frank thinks that he’s stopping completely, which fucking sucks and Frank’s mouth is open to protest when he hears the snick of the lube lid once more. Seconds later and Bob’s swapped one finger for two, and Frank’s flat on his back, staring up at the stains on the ceiling as he braces his feet against the mattress, meeting each thrust of Bob’s fingers with one of his own.

It drives Bob’s fingers deeper, and while it’s not perfect -- still not enough -- the possibility is there, nerves tingling and Frank’s legs are shaking as he looks to the side, putting visuals to sound.

Ray’s intent expression as he kneels, his pants crumpled around his hips and lazily palming his dick.

Then the other side, Gerard watching as if taking notes, and Frank can only imagine the scene through Gerard’s eyes, lines and colors, the flex of Bob’s arm, his hair falling forward, strands bright against the tan of his neck.

“You look fucking amazing,” Mikey says then, like he’s tapping into both Gerard and Frank’s thoughts.

“He’ll look better when I do this,” Bob says, his cheeks flushed as he straightens. His fingers still slick, he wraps them around his own cock, jacking himself once, twice, and then he’s shifting above Frank, arms either side of his body and holding himself up.

“You ready?” Bob asks, and as eager as Frank is, how frustrated and needy, he’s glad that Bob asked.

“Yeah,” Frank says, and Bob’s looming above him, his body covering Frank’s, but he’s looking at Frank like before, Bob’s gaze tender as he lines up his hips and takes a moment to brush a kiss against Frank’s mouth before pulling away.

Bob eases his hips forward, pushing inside, and Frank’s gasp is involuntary, his mouth open and toes curled as he takes Bob in and then stills, Bob a heavy weight, pushing Frank down.
Which is good, is fucking awesome even, and Frank reaches out blindly, knowing the others will know what he needs.

“Frankie,” Ray says, his voice rough, and he’s knee-walking forward. “You’re fucking gorgeous. Both of you.”

“You are,” Gerard agrees, and he’s separating away from Mikey, which Frank doesn’t understand. Until he does, when Gerard moves to Frank’s other side, and suddenly Frank’s surrounded on all sides.

And they haven’t ever done this before, not with five, but they’re making it work, and Frank’s meeting Bob’s every thrust while looking down along his own body, suspecting what Gerard and Mikey will do.

Frank’s right, and he doesn’t even try to hold back his moan as together, Gerard and Mikey lean in, and in perfect sync, slowly lick Frank’s dick from bottom to top. It ends with a kiss, wet and dirty, the head of Frank’s dick trapped between their mouths, and they’re working their tongues together, against the slit of Frank’s dick until all he can do is shudder, his mouth open and gasping for breath.

Which is when Ray moves in for his own kiss, the final part of a joint assault that tips Frank over the edge. Hard and fast and fucking perfect.

~*~*~*~

Bob wakes the next day and knows he’s got no choice; he has to admit his past.

Easing out of the tangle of blankets and bodies, he stands, wincing a little as he finds his clothes, and quickly gets dressed. His socks lost in the shadows, Bob shoves his bare feet into his boots and ties the laces, tight and double-bowed.

Keeping his footsteps soft he wanders the diner, from the table to the counters, hand trailing over scattered parts and piles of magazines. Mikey’s bandana that’s been left draped over the boom box.

Bob’s stomach rumbles but he feels sick at the thought of eating, even water feeling like dust in his mouth. All he can do is stand at the window, watching the sun rise as he tries to justify to himself that it’s okay to keep this secret. But it’s not. Bob knows that it’s not.

“Bob?” Ray appears in the doorway to the bedroom, a blanket wrapped around his waist and his hair a tangle of sweat-damp curls. “Are you okay?”

It’s the moment when Bob can hide in a lie, when he can say that’s everything is fine. He keeps looking outside, where his Jeep’s parked up next to the Trans Am, Ray’s bike a little off to the side. Heart already aching, Bob says, “I’ve got something to tell you.”

“Do you want me to wake up the others?” Ray asks, and he’s reflected in the grimy glass, looking concerned as he takes hesitant steps forward.

“No.” Which is taking the cowardly way out, Bob knows that, but telling Ray’s going to be hard enough. Bob can’t see the disappointment in Gerard’s eyes, Frank’s suspicions return and Mikey’s realization that the person who saved him was just as bad as the person who caused him to be hurt in the first place.

“Bob?” Ray’s clutching the blanket, radiating concern and Bob should never have allowed it to get to this point.

Bob turns, because even if he is a coward he has to say this face to face. “Before. Before I got my workshop and found Patrick. I was part of S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W. A high up part.”

“I....”

“I should have told you before. I’m sorry,” Bob says, cutting Ray off.

Then Bob runs, the door creaking as he hauls it back and almost throws himself outside. Blood pounding in his ears and his heart breaking. His only focus on getting away before he’s told to leave.

~~~~~~~

Patrick’s eyes are ringed with dark shadows, his gait stiff from sitting for hours on his computer That doesn’t stop him yelling, and he paces around the workshop. “You’re an idiot. A fucking pig-headed, stupid, moronic idiot.”

Bob doesn’t reply. The insults a variations on the theme that Patrick’s been railing about for almost ten minutes. At this point they’re mostly background noise, and Bob focuses his attention on Mikey’s bike that’s almost completed.

The body work gleaming and engine perfect, all it needs are the transfers applying, the ones that Gerard designed and Bob’s been making. Bob holds them in his hands, thumb against the eye of a stylized Cobra, Mikey’s real name initials interwoven and almost completely hidden in the flames that surrounds it.

Bob’s intention was always to hand it over as a surprise, and he still intends to do that. But now it’ll be a goodbye gift, and one Bob suspects Mikey won’t actually keep.

Patrick walks closer, stands so that Bob’s got no option but to see him. “I don’t understand. Tell me again.”

“I had to,” Bob says, and he’s told Patrick his reasons. Over and over. But Patrick doesn’t get it, and Bob recites them again. “They trust me. They let me into their lives, the very person they’re fighting against.”

“And that’s fucking bullshit,” Patrick spits back, and he tears his goggles from his head, as if he’s debating throwing them at Bob. “So you used to be in S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W, so fucking what? You’re not now. You haven’t been for a long time.”

The transfers crinkle in Bob’s hands, and he sets them aside before he destroys what he’s so painstakingly created. “I ordered zone runners to be executed, I did it myself. People who could have been friends of the Killjoys.”

“And you’ve killed Dracs since then, and been instrumental in taking out whole units,” Patrick says, his immediate anger burning down to a simmering frustration. “And if you’re going with the whole evil ex S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W beyond redemption excuse why are you friends with Lindsey? Or Pete and Ashlee? Or me?”

“You’re not zone runners,” Bob says simply. “I haven’t stood and ordered your death.”

“And you didn’t order theirs either,” Patrick says, his anger abruptly draining. He puts back his goggles, fitting them to the line on his forehead, and when he looks at Bob it’s with nothing but sadness. “You know, you saved me. You saved Kobra Kid. I think it’s time you saved yourself.”

It’s Bob who looks away first, and he runs his hand over the transfer, trying to flatten it out as he says, “I’m fine.”

“Yeah. You always are,” Patrick says, and walks away before Bob can protest.

Not that he would. He can’t, because he’s got nothing left to say.

~*~*~*~

If there’s one thing Mikey’s sure of, it’s that Bob isn’t the enemy, and that he’s someone that belongs with their group. The problem is, even if Mikey is sure, the others aren't.

It would be easy to convince them, but if he does that Bob’s acceptance would be built on Mikey’s say-so alone. That's something Mikey can't risk without threatening the trust of the group. A trust that is usually unquestionable and total but right now feels vulnerable, with Frank so angry and Gerard and Ray trying to make sense of something no one saw coming.

It’s all kinds of frustrating, and Mikey brings up his legs, chin resting on his bent knees as he stares past the Trans Am, towards the bleak open space of the desert. Absently he runs his thumb over a scar on his shin, tracing the raised line.

“Mikey.”

There’s the sound of a door closing, footsteps on the dirt, Gerard’s shadow stretching before him as he sits at Mikey’s side.

“I miss him,” Mikey says, and it’s not meant as any kind of persuasion, just a simple truth.

Gerard mimics Mikey’s pose, says simply, “He should have told us.”

“I know,” Mikey says, and he does. Bob should have said, that way Mikey could have told him that the past doesn’t matter. But Bob didn’t give them that chance, and Mikey’s angry. Not in the same way as Frank, more that something so good has been taken away.

“A former S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W,” Gerard says, and laughs without humor. “God, this place is fucked up.”

Mikey traces the scar once again, upwards this time, ending with his hand close to his face. “It could have been worse.”

Gerard sighs. “If you say one word about Korse…”

“You know he wants you.” His mouth twitching, Mikey turns his head, so he can look directly at Gerard. “The UST is off the scale.”

“Fuck off,” Gerard says easily. “And who the fuck even says UST?”

Mikey smiles, enjoying the moment. “Me.”

There’s no snappy come-back, instead Gerard remains silent, looking at Mikey. Then says, “Frank will calm down soon. When he does we’ll get Bob and talk this shit out.”

“You still want him?” Mikey asks, his hope strengthening.

“We want him,” Gerard says, and the wind catches his hair, blowing it back and exposing the fresh dye marks that mottle his neck. “He’s not one of us but he’s close. If he runs we’ll keep chasing.”

And Mikey knows then that they’ll catch Bob. It’s just a case of when.

~*~*~*~

It feels like Frank’s been sleeping for mere minutes as he jumps to his feet, his neck aching and heart pounding as the radio blasts to life close to his head. He’s spent most of the day in this same place and position, taking notes and deciphering the verbal codes from Dr Death Defying’s broadcasts, each one more troubling than then one before.

Drac attacks increasing to previously unheard of levels, zone runners killed in their beds and everywhere a feeling of danger.

It’s why Frank’s glad MotorBaby’s safe in hiding, that Lindsey’s so close to breaking camp and hiding the kids.

Except, after a day that started badly already, things have gotten worse. Suddenly and horrifically worse. Frank thought they had time, but the playing of this song shows that they haven’t, and momentarily he’s frozen in the face of what needs to be done.

Gerard, Mikey and Ray appear, their clothes rumpled and hair mussed as a result of sleep snatched after a day spent gathering info and replacing supplies. They’re also not speaking, united in horrified silence as the song comes to an end, replaced by the voice of Dr Death Defying himself.

“That one’s for you motor babies, The Misfits with Lost In Space, something special for this dark night. So watch out for those mutant suicide squads and look under your beds. Danger Will Robinson. Warning Warning. This is Dr Death Defying saying goodnight, good luck and keep running.”

It’s the signal Frank’s been dreading, the one that no one ever wanted to hear, no matter how much they’ve prepared.

“Fuck,” Gerard says, as the radio falls silent, and in this moment he’s Gerard only, his head against Mikey’s shoulder, taking comfort any way that he can.

“We have to go,” Ray says, and he’s right, they do have to leave. But no one moves for the door, and the sequence of events that needs to be started. Instead, on an unspoken signal, they come together. Holding on in a hug, arms around each other as they take these last moments in the diner, saying goodbye to their home.

“If things go bad,” Frank says, knowing it has to be said.

“We’ll go on,” Mikey says, and while he’s finishing Frank’s statement, he’s looking at Gerard. “All of us.”

“Yeah.” Gerard turns to the side, presses his cheek against Mikey’s, and it’s only because Frank’s looking down that he sees their hands, and how their little fingers are hooked together. Then Gerard straightens, says, “It’s time.”

It’s the signal they need, and the hug breaks apart, time already ticking.

They’ve practiced this before, done dry runs when things started to get bad. It how Frank easily scoops up his bag that’s already packed full of essentials. Spare batteries, water, ray guns and dried food.

It’s all that Frank takes. It’s all he can take, and he doesn’t look to the side as he runs for the door. That way he doesn’t have to see the art on the walls or the piles of loved magazines, the doll Ray made for MotorBaby out of wood and old fabric.

“Got everything?” Mikey asks, and he’s scooping bottles of pills into his own bag before looping it over his shoulder next to Gerard’s.

Frank nods, and together with Mikey, hurries outside, where Gerard’s rolling out cable, Ray on his knees as he primes the detonator that’ll connect to the pig bombs about to be placed in the diner.

It’s the only way. Frank knows that. His eyes still prickle as he throws his bag into the trunk of the Trans Am.

“It’s ready,” Ray says, and wordlessly Gerard gathers the pig bombs that they’ve kept hidden, making the final brutal connection.

He stands, shoulders slumped and back to the car as he stares at the diner, and then Gerard turns, and in front of Frank’s eyes he becomes Party Poison, saying, “I’ll do it,” as he takes Ray’s place.

It’s not what they planned, but it makes sense, and Ray picks up his helmet, touching Gerard’s shoulder briefly before heading for his bike. He climbs on, starting the engine, and Frank’s in the back of the Trans Am, Mikey in the passenger seat, his expression set and helmet held on his lap.

Gerard looks from the bike to the car, checking they’re ready. At Frank’s nod he presses the detonator and runs, throwing himself behind the wheel and slamming the door. Already Ray’s moving, squealing away in a cloud of dark dust, and Gerard drives, moments behind.

Frank never looks back, but he can’t help mentally counting. Steeling himself for thirty painful seconds, when the world turns from grey to red and flames billow behind them.

~*~*~*~

There’s the smell of smoke in the air, enough that Bob’s put on edge, and he stands at doors of his workshop, looking toward the horizon. Despite the early hour, already the sky looks heavy, the clouds darkening even as Bob watches.

He wants to say it’s some kind of weather front rolling in, but Bob knows that it’s not. There’s something wrong, he can feel it. He knows it when Patrick comes running, says breathlessly, “It’s a trap.”

“What is?” Despite Patrick’s obvious worry, Bob has to keep calm, and he waits as Patrick takes a moment to just breathe.

“I was just talking to Pete,” Patrick says, and immediately Bob’s calm is threatened, because Ashlee’s always their contact, it’s never Pete, his position far too dangerous to attempt any contact from inside. “They’re staging a raid on the family camp. A huge one, to draw out the Killjoys.”

“I have to go there,” Bob says, and he’s already turning, about to go to his Jeep. But Patrick reaches out, grabbing Bob’s arm.

“That’s not all. They know about us. You. Me. Everything.”

It’s worse than Bob expected. Everything he knows is crashing down around him, but he can’t worry about himself. Not now. “Tell me Ashlee’s okay. And Pete.”

Patrick’s not wearing his hat or his goggles, and he looks stripped back, exposed as he runs his hands through his hair, says, “Their cover’s holding up for now. They were already getting ready to run.”

And Bob knows Patrick’s going to meet them.

On the back wall of the workshop there’s a line of nails, and on each one there’s hanging a key. Bob runs for those nails and snatches a key, handing it to Patrick. “It’s for the Firebird. You’ll need something fast.”

“You can come with us,” Patrick says, and his hand is curled around the key, holding it tight. “They’d want you to, me too. We can go somewhere safe and start over.”

Briefly Bob considers the offer. He likes Pete and Ashlee and Patrick’s a close friend, someone Bob’s come to love, and starting over is tempting. But Bob’s every instinct is screaming to get to the camp. He shakes his head, says simply, “I can’t.”

Patrick doesn’t seem surprised, just steps forward and pulls Bob into a sudden, bone crushing hug. “They better be worth it.”

“They are,” Bob says, and despite knowing things have gone wrong, he means it.

“Fucking Killjoys,” Patrick mutters, and tightens the hug. “Don’t get yourself killed.”

“Wasn’t planning to,” Bob says, and can’t help a laugh at Patrick’s inelegant snort as he finally pulls back.

“Come on, I’ll give you a hand,” Patrick says, and he heads for Mikey’s bike, holding the handles as he kicks up the stand. “I know you’re not leaving it here.”

“It’s not mine to leave,” Bob says, and he watches as Patrick pushes the bike forward, its bodywork gleaming and metal shining, the Cobra with its fangs exposed and ready to strike.

It’s perfect, and ready to go back to its true owner. Bob just has to get it there first.

He starts the winch on his Jeep.

~*~*~*~

The family camp looks like it’s been thrust into hell. Tents and buildings burning and the perimeter walls torn down. In the middle of the chaos is Lindsey’s mini tank, gun firing and the purple paintwork standing out against the white-suited units of Dracs and S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W which march relentlessly forward, guns firing and bodies at their feet.

Mikey feels sick beyond his outward furious anger. All he wants is to get down there, but Gerard’s still talking, deadly calm as stands to the side of the Trans Am, watching the unfolding devastation.

“Ray, you and Frank go in the north side,” Gerard says. “I’ll take the south with Mikey.” It’s not an elaborate plan. It can’t be, at this point all they can do is force their way in and help in any way that they can. Gerard turns from the camp, back-lit red from the constant explosions. “Get the people out. That’s all that matters.”

Curtly, Mikey nods and gets back into the Trans Am. They’ve already said their goodbyes and now it’s the time for action, whatever the possible endings.

It’s Ray that leaves first, bike engine roaring and Frank hanging on behind him, his hair pushed back and his raygun aimed and ready.

They head to the left and Gerard drives right, increasing the speed as they bump over small rocks, the whole car shuddering as they pass what’s left of the gates. There’s a body hanging over the splintered wood of one gate, dark hair hanging down and concealing the face, but Mikey doesn’t turn to look, just grips his gun harder and readies himself to run as soon as Gerard pulls to a stop.

He’s aiming for Lindsey’s tank, and this close Mikey can see it’s protecting a van, where groups of kids are being hurried inside.

“They’re firing at fucking babies,” Gerard says, his voice icy cold and he brings the Trans Am into a tight spin so they’re facing a unit of approaching Dracs.

The tank fires and three of the Dracs explode, body parts flying. Three down out of the hundreds remaining and Mikey throws himself out of the Trans Am, taking cover as he starts firing.

Laser bolts zip through the air, colors cutting through clouds of dark smoke. One-handed Mikey pulls up his bandana, fabric over his mouth and nose, trying to cut back the overwhelming stench of explosives, blood and raw flesh.

“Cover me,” Gerard yells, and Mikey’s chest is lead, and it’s hurting to breathe as Gerard breaks his cover and runs for the other side of the tank.

Mikey keeps firing, screams, “No!” when one of the laser bolts clips Gerard’s shoulder and he briefly goes down before rolling past the treads of the tank. Momentarily, Gerard’s still, and then he’s commando crawling forward, taking out Dracs from his position on the ground.

Mikey fires. Again and again and again. The Dracs keep coming, more than he’s ever seen and all he can hope is that behind him, the kids are safe.

“Mikey.”

Mikey looks to the side, relief hitting as he sees Jamia. There’s a blood-stained scarf wrapped around her upper arm and her hair is tied back in a loose knot. She fires her own gun, taking down a Drac with a head shot and stands next to Mikey, so close that they’re touching.

“The van’s full,” Jamia says, and keeps picking off Dracs. “I can’t get any more in, there’s no room. I tried.”

“We’ll get them.” Mikey doesn’t think twice about making the promise, and in unison with Jamia he fires, red and silver laser bolts taking down one of the remaining Dracs in this unit.

Jamia fires again, the recoil causing a lock of hair to fall free. She tucks it behind her ear, says blankly, “They broke into the living quarters. When people were still sleeping.”

“They’ll pay,” Mikey vows. It’s all that he can say, knowing there’s no words or platitudes that can even start making things better. He drops his arm when Gerard takes down the last Drac, the next wave a short distance away.

The hatch of the tank opens, and when Lindsey appears she wipes the back of her hand under her eyes, taking away the smeared mascara and liner. Then holds the lip of the hatch as she looks toward Jamia, her red painted fingernails bright against the purple of the tank. “You’re loaded and ready to go?”

“I can’t get them all in, the van won’t make it.” For a moment Jamia’s face crumbles, but she regains control within seconds. “I’ll see you at the meeting place.”

“You know it,” Lindsey says, and smiles, adds, “Be careful, beautiful.”

“Promise,” Jamia says, and turns to Mikey, her voice raised so Gerard can hear over the sound of laser fire and shouts coming from the rear of the camp. “I’m taking the van out of the front gates. I won’t be stopping. For anything.”

“Keep it brutal,” Mikey says, and brings up his clenched fist, bumping it against Jamia’s. Then watches as she turns and runs back to the van.

Assessing the danger, Mikey makes a quick decision, and runs to Gerard, zig-zagging to avoid the shots from yet another S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W unit. These ones aren’t Dracs, but the blank masks amp up their menace, and Mikey fires behind him, aim for the approaching drones.

“Jamia can’t take all the kids,” Mikey says. “We need to get them and go.”

Gerard nods, and then starts firing, staring at the approaching units. “There’s too many of them. They’re sending too much fire power for one raid on a family camp.”

“They could be making a statement,” Mikey says, but while he’s sure that’s part of the issue, he suspects more, and Lindsey apparently does too.

She leans down, body folded so she can talk and be heard. “You need to go, all of you. This isn’t right.”

“Not until everyone’s out,” Gerard says, and then, “Is everyone together?”

“We got most of them into the main tent,” Lindsey says, and her knuckles are white as she adds. “Alicia went to the nursery, I don’t know if she’s back.”

“I’ll go there and find out,” Gerard says and he’s standing tall, defiant against the wave of approaching Dracs.

“I’ll find out,” Mikey corrects, and at Gerard’s look says, “I don’t stand out as much.”

“Like hell you don’t,” Gerard says, pointedly looking at Mikey’s red jacket, but this is something that Mikey’s determined to do. Both to help with the babies if needed, and also to leave Gerard close to the Trans Am and a way to get to safety.

Another explosion rocks through the camp, flames shooting up in the sky and briefly, between the tattered remains of two tents, Mikey sees Ray on his bike, steering one handed while firing his gun with the other.

“Get them out,” Mikey says, and before Gerard can speak, Mikey’s running. Past where Jamia’s pulling the doors closed at the back of the van, protecting the people crammed inside, and then forward, by-passing a smoking Drac body, toward the tents where the youngest children used to play.

Before the huge tent was painted, fish and sea creatures looking over newly created and scavenged toys. Now it’s half way collapsed, the turquoise canvas charred and holed. At the entrance there’s two Dracs, kicking a headless plushie between them while laughing.

Mikey ghosts them both.

Jumping over their bodies he drops to his knees and crawls into the collapsed tent. It’s dark inside, filled with lingering smoke, but he can see a barrier of small beds and cribs that have been pushed on their side. And behind them, Alicia, her gun aimed directly at Mikey.

He says, “Alicia, it’s me.”

“I could have shot you,” Alicia says, and lowers the gun. “Are they still out there?”

Mikey shakes his head. “I took them out.”

“Good.” Alicia stands and starts hauling at a bed, pulling until there’s a small gap. “I was about to go ghost them myself if they didn’t come in.”

“Who else is here?” Mikey asks, all too aware of the time and the fact that outside there’s been no cease-fire in shooting. He looks past Alicia, and the first thing he sees is a body of a man, someone Mikey knows vaguely by sight but not name.

“They got him in the back,” Alicia says, and she crouches, closing the man’s eyes. “In the fucking back, Mikey.”

“They’re cowards,” Mikey says, and it’s something he’s known for a long time. “Fucking bullies who can only hunt in packs.” But they’re also dangerous cowards, and Mikey eases through the gap, following Alicia to the very back of the tent.

There’s a large doll’s house back there, painted bright colors and looking like the houses Mikey remembers from back in his childhood. Alicia pulls the house to one side, and reveals a small group of toddlers, and a baby lying on the floor.

“They always get up first,” Alicia says, and she crouches down and forces a smiles. “Daniel loved early duty. I think he just liked eating the protein mush.”

A little boy steps hesitantly forward, his eyes huge and watery. “Dan gone breakfast?”

There’s a pause, as if Alicia’s deciding what to say, then, “We have to go, honey. Remember what I said about staying quiet? Alicia brings her finger to her lips for a moment, and then takes hold of the boy’s hand, gently urging him out. “Go hold Mikey’s hand. I need to carry Sarah.”

Outside there’s another, louder explosion. Mikey steps forward and scoops up the boy, then takes the girl Alicia hands over, keeping both toddlers tucked against his body. It means he’s unable to draw his gun, but right now Mikey’s got no choice, especially when Alicia’s holding the baby in one arm and clutching the hand of another.

“Gerard’s close by, he’ll get us out,” Mikey says, and hurries the best as he can. Squeezing past the beds and cribs, he tries to keep his body angled away from Daniel, and then kneels when he reaches the collapsed front of the tent.

Through the canvas he can see bursts of light, and he puts down the toddlers when Alicia comes close. As soon as he’s sure she’s got them, the boy and girl clutching onto her legs, Mikey crawls outside, and throws himself flat as soon as he does.

In the short time he’s been inside more Drac units have arrived. They’re marching close, guns raised, a terrifying army in white. Mikey knows that they’ll be found within minutes, and that there’s not a chance they’ll get back to Gerard unscathed.

He turns at a sound behind him, sees that Alicia is holding up the canvas, looking outside. Toneless, she says, “We’ll never make it.”

“I know,” Mikey says, and the Dracs keep marching forward.

Alicia looks behind her, and says something Mikey can’t hear. Then she’s crawling forward, until she’s lying at Mikey’s side. She turns her head, her cheek against the blood-splattered dirt, says, “If I go down I go down fighting.”

“To the end,” Mikey agrees, and this isn’t something he’s ever imagined. Always expecting to go down with Gerard, Frank or Ray, or at his worse moments, alone, but he couldn’t have picked anyone better than Alicia.

They get to their feet and start firing.

~*~*~*~

Having Mikey’s bike on the back has slowed Bob down. By the time he reaches the camp it’s in chaos, and he has to pull the wheel sharply to the side as a van hurtles through the destroyed gates, flames burning from the back pipes.

Realising it’s the one he tricked out himself, Bob’s relieved, hoping it means people are getting out. But not all of them, something he realizes when he drives through the gates and sees the armies of Dracs and S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W units that are converging on Lindsey’s mini tank, and the Killjoys Trans Am, Gerard running toward it.

They’re both firing, the tank and Gerard, but they’re painfully outnumbered, and Bob drives forward, firing his own gun from the side of his Jeep. With his help the nearest unit is ghosted, and Bob’s willing Gerard forward as he keeps running -- and then he goes down, landing hard next to the Trans Am.

Bob yells, and screeches to a stop. Jumps out of his Jeep and keeps firing at the approaching Dracs as he runs and drops to his knees next to Gerard.

“Gerard?” Bob says, and can barely hear his own voice over the sound of explosions and lasers. He reaches out, barely breathing as touches Gerard’s neck, desperate to feel some sign of a pulse.

At first there’s nothing, and Bob’s hands are shaking as he tries again, pressing harder when Gerard opens his eyes and says, “Bob?”

“Thank fuck,” Bob says, relief hitting hard. At the sound of an engine, he looks up and sees Ray drive through the Dracs, Frank sitting backwards behind him, gripping on with his legs and firing guns with both hands.

Which leaves Mikey, and once again fear hits as Bob helps Gerard to sit up. Dreading the answer, he asks, “Where’s Mikey?”

“He went to the nursery.” White-faced and hand held to his side, Gerard struggles to his feet. “I’m going to get him.”

“No you’re not,” Bob says, and doesn’t back down from the glare Gerard sends his way.

“He’s my brother.”

“And he’s my friend,” Bob counters, returning the glare. “Plus, you’re injured.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Gerard says, his chin tilted up as he stares directly at the regrouping Dracs. He fires, and groans immediately after, staggering back so he’s propped against the Trans Am. Gerard looks at Bob. “Bring him back.”

“I intend to,” Bob says, and a last look at Gerard jumps into his Jeep.

It seems to take forever to get to the nursery, the Drac units and mess of smashed tents and buildings meaning Bob has to drive half way around the perimeter. He’s second-guessing himself about not going on foot when he finally sees the remains of the nursery tent, and Alicia and Mikey standing at the ruins of what was the entrance.

Side by side they’re firing in unison, but it’s only a matter of time before they go down. No matter how fast they fire, how accurate, they’re still vastly outnumbered, and Bob knows he’s got seconds to act.

Foot down, he accelerates over the bodies of two Dracs and pulls to a stop to the right of the tent. Yells, “Get in!”

“I’ll get the kids,” Alicia says, and fires a last shot before throwing herself down and crawling into the tent. Almost instantly small children start to appear, pale and silent as Mikey scoops up each one before passing them to Bob.

When he’s got three tiny children on the back seat of his Jeep, Alicia crawls back out, a baby held in one arm. She hands her to Bob, and turns to Mikey who’s making no attempt to climb in, and states flatly, “You’re going for Gerard.”

Which of course Mikey’s going for Gerard, Bob’s always known it. It’s why he carefully places the baby in the middle of the driving seat and runs to start up the winch. All the time while fighting against his every instinct, which is to yell, to tell Mikey that he’s crazy and that he needs to get in the Jeep and leave. Now.

Bob doesn’t. He knows when he’s fighting a losing battle and getting Mikey to leave is never going to happen.

“Is that the bike I stole?” Mikey asks, and this isn’t how Bob ever wanted to hand over this gift. But he’s got no choice, and he unfastens the chains, and pushes the bike over to Mikey.

“If you wreck it again I’lll fucking end you,” Bob says gruffly.

“You’d patch me up again,” Mikey says, sounding sure, and briefly his hands brush against Bob’s as he takes back the bike. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Bob says, and allows himself a moment to watch Mikey get onto the bike and start up the engine.

Which is Bob’s signal, and without another word, he gets back in his Jeep, ignoring Alicia’s sympathetic look as she sits with the baby cradled in one hand, her raygun in the other. Both watching as Mikey roars back to Gerard.

~*~*~*~

Bob travels with the occupants of the family camp for close to two days.

Packed into a series of laser-scarred cars and vans, they head for their new location, battered, bruised and sick at heart, but determined to carry on.

Each day the convoy gets a little big longer. Zone runners fleeing for safety, friends of the camp bringing supplies. And each day Bob looks for the Killjoys, needing to know that they’re safe.

Despite Lindsey repeating that she saw them escape, Mikey getting back to Gerard and the Trans Am, Ray and Frank close behind, fleeing as the camp burned behind them, Bob has to see for himself. But days pass and they don’t come, and Bob’s beginning to lose hope.

It’s on the morning of day three when Bob decides to split off. He likes the people in the camp, and he’s become used to having various children in the back of his Jeep. Laughing and chattering, and sometimes crying, as they try to understand a world that leaves even the adults confused.

But Bob can’t stay. He’s reinvented himself once, gained true friendships twice, and each time it’s ended in failure. It’s why Bob’s leaving now, intent on finding some isolated location, just him and his engines and a solitary life.

“Are you sure? Lindsey asks again. She’s leaning against the side of her tank, the only person there to see Bob run away. At least that’s how she describes it, no matter how often Bob tries to explain.

“Positive,” Bob says, as he’s climbing into his Jeep.

“You’re a stubborn bastard,” Lindsey says, and she pushes herself up and approaches Bob, pulls herself up on her tip-toes and presses a kiss against his cheek. “And too serious by half. Put the radio on at least, listen to some music and lighten up.”

Bob flicks on the radio, and the early morning silence is replaced by the hiss of white noise, which is exactly what Bob knew would happen. “I feel more cheerful already.”

Lindsey’s mouth twists to the side and she frowns even as she gathers Bob into a hug, hanging on to his neck. It’s not the most comfortable of positions, Lindsey’s feet must be off the ground and Bob’s side is jammed against the metal door. But he doesn’t move, drinking in the contact as Lindsey says, “Just keep listening. Promise me.”

~*~*~*~

Bob does promise, and he does keep listening, the soft hiss blending into the sound of his tires and his breathing, the only noise on this desolate stretch of road.

It’s been hours since he left the camp convoy, and Bob’s eyes are gritty, his skin tight and his mouth dry. About to reach for his water bottle, he jumps, the bottle falling into the foot-well when a song starts to play.

Bob slows, stops and listens, barely able to hope as the song comes to an end, replaced by Dr Death Defying’s voice.

“And that one’s a special request, petrol heads, going out to our lost sheep. The Smashing Pumpkins and Tonight, Tonight. If you’re listening lost sheep, it comes with a message. You’re being tracked on the grid and it’s time to stop running. Which is something this crash king doesn’t say often, but today’s a day for burning hearts and new beginnings. Bah bah pink sheep it’s time to share your wool. And with that, Dr Death Defying is out.”

A few seconds and the song begins again, and Bob’s gripping the steering wheel, knowing that whatever he promised Lindsey he should turn off the radio and keep driving. Especially as there’s no guarantee that the song’s actually meant for him.

Except it is. Bob’s sure of that, and the truth is, he needs this glimmer of hope.

Bob turns off the engine and sits back to wait.

~~~~~

It’s an hour later when he hears the three engines, and Bob turns in his seat, watching the clouds of dust that signifies that someone is coming.

Seconds later and the dust is pierced by glimmers of light, more and a car is revealed, one flanked by two bikes. Bob gets out of his Jeep, stands at the side of the road and keeps watching.

The car and bikes get closer. The Trans Am with Mikey riding his bike on one side, Ray on the other. Bob presses his hands against his thighs and breaths through the heaviness in his chest. He needs to see them all, to make sure they’re safe, even if all the do is drive away straight after.

The vehicles come to a stop. The sudden silence ringing, and then Frank’s throwing himself out of the Trans Am, his expression fierce, his hand clenched in a fist, and Bob steels himself for the expected punch.

It never comes. Instead Frank jumps and grabs hold of Bob, hugging him tight, clinging on as the others join in. Gerard, Ray then Mikey. They surround Bob, each of them filthy and haggard.

“I should punch you in the fucking face,” Frank says, his voice rough. “You ran away. You don’t get to do that.”

It’s not what Bob expected, and when the hug breaks up, he looks around them all, trying to understand. “I had to run. I was part of S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W.”

“So?” Mikey says, looking unimpressed. “So’s Pete.”

The statement doesn’t help. In fact, Bob’s more confused than before. “You know what Pete does?”

“We have all along,” Ray says.

“We know too much about fucking Pete,” Frank adds, while all Gerard does is stand and look pained. “But the most important thing is that he’s fighting for our side. Like you.”

Bob takes a step back, needing the support of his Jeep, because it can’t be that simple. “I ordered people killed. Zone runners killed.”

“And we keep ghosting Dracs who used to be people,” Gerard says, his hand pressed against the marks on his neck. “The world isn’t black and white, it’s grey. Except when it’s colors.”

Frank grins, wide and bright. “Like pink.”

“Barbie pink,” Mikey says, but unlike Frank he’s not grinning. “We need that color for our rainbow.”

“You’ve been listening to Gerard for too long,” Bob says, but hopes he’s understanding what Mikey actually means. “You want me to stay?”

Mikey rolls his eyes. “That’s what I said.”

“He did,” Gerard says with a nod. “We all want you to stay.”

“For good,” Ray adds.

“I was going to set up a new workshop,” Bob says, and remembers his life before Patrick. Long days and nights, and a solitude Bob learned to endure. “I’ve never lived with four people.”

“Seven,” Gerard says, and looks around all of the others. “We’ve been setting up the new base with Dr D, they’ll be living there too.”

Bob imagines living with seven people, four he’s sleeping with and three he’s never met. It’s intimidating and frightening and yet another big change in Bob’s life.

“I thought I’d lost you all,” Bob says, and he’s staring down at the ground. “Twice.” he looks up then, at men that months ago were names and faces on a page, and now are some of the most important people in Bob’s life. “We’d be staying in the zones?”

Gerard nods. “We’re starting over. The fuckers aren’t keeping us down.”

It’s an attitude Bob loves, and one that he shares. There’s no doubt about his decision. “I’m staying.”

“Good,” Gerard says, his smile wide. “You’re part of us.”

“Have been for a while,” Ray says, and bumps Bob’s fist with his own.

Frank points at Bob, his grin fading. “But no more running without talking to us first.”

“I won’t,” Bob starts to say, but Mikey cuts in.

“I know you won’t, because if you do I’ll kill you.”

It’s what Bob expected, and all he can do is laugh.