QaF: Miles To Go
Fandom: Queer as Folk, US
Rating: PG13
Spoilers: post season-three, spoilers up to hiatus but not beyond.
Summary: Michael and Hunter's first night on the road.
Author's Note: *hugs* to ragingpixie for quick-and-lovely beta :)
By the time they pull off the highway, on the other side of Somerset or Somerville or some-fucking-place, Michael's getting really tired of the silence. If anyone had asked him an hour ago he'd have said, "Fuck, please, gag the kid, whatever you have to do, if I hear one more chorus of '99 Bottles of Lube on the Wall' I'm gonna leave his skinny ass on the side of the road," but now he's feeling kind of sorry for even thinking it.
Because fuck if Hunter doesn't look... scared.
"You hungry?"
Hunter sniffs and shakes his head a little, still staring out at the darkness.
"We missed dinner. I'll pull through somewhere, and then we'll go find a room. You need to eat." Christ, he's starting to sound like his mother. Gotta keep your strength up, when you're running from the law... shit.
Hunter doesn't react at all.
"Brian's car's really cool, huh?" He winces when he says it, he can hear Brian's voice in his head: "So lame, Mikey." Hunter cuts his eyes at Michael and suddenly it's like there's an echo, a proto-Brian in the passenger seat mocking him in chorus, and that just almost pisses him off. It's not as if Hunter hadn't spent the first fifty miles gushing about the 'Vette and Brian and how Brian just let 'em take his car, tossed his keys over like it was nothing and... but somehow it's too much like being mad at Brian, and Michael's never been good at that.
It doesn't help that the particularly garish neon of the drive-thru's sign makes Hunter's exposed cheek look freshly bruised, and Michael has to turn away quickly and blink a bit before he can see to order their dinner.
"I'm getting you a shake, too."
--
Hunter squares his shoulders, flips his bangs back out of his eyes and fixes the desk clerk with a cool stare.
"Uhm... no, a king's fine. We don't need another room." Michael has no idea what the fuck got Hunter's back up, he just savors the fact the ground isn't moving anymore and reaches into his pocket for a wad of twenties. "Yeah, just the one night." One night and then on to the next stop, wherever the fuck that'll be, and Hunter had pointed out before they left Pittsburgh that cash isn't traceable. Smart kid.
The clerk fidgets under Hunter's obvious challenge, and shoves the room key across the counter at Michael. Michael drags Hunter back out to the car by his elbow and wishes he knew what the hell he's doing.
The room is small and tackily-decorated and smells weird, and Michael wonders whether it used to rent by the hour. Hunter tears into the burger like he hasn't eaten for a week, like he didn't -just- tell Michael he wasn't hungry, and dinner is more than halfway gone before Michael can think of anything to say to cut the quiet.
"So, maybe we'll head for Punxsutawney tomorrow, huh? Too late for groundhogs, I guess, but we could still look around or something." Laaaaaaaaame, Brian's voice says.
Hunter's eyebrows go up. "Punxsutawney's -north-, you retard, don't you know anything?"
"Well, I've never been... I just know it's in Pennsylvania, somewhere. Sounded like something to do."
"Oh my God, -groundhogs-." And Hunter laughs a little and throws a french fry at him. "We've got the cops after us and you want to go see groundhogs. You are so pathetic."
"Yeah, whatever." He lets himself smile back at the kid, figures if he returns fire things could get messier than he cares to handle. "So, what was all that back there?"
"All what back where?"
"The front desk, that guy you were staring holes into?"
Hunter sucks noisily at the last of his shake, and lifts a shoulder. "He was giving me the eye. Like he didn't want my kind around here."
"Hunter...." Michael closes his eyes briefly, and reminds himself what a rotten day they've both had. "He was not. He doesn't even know you."
Hunter looks off to one side, sullenly quiet again. It sets Michael's teeth on edge, and sorta sets him off.
"It's not like the whole -world- has it in for you," he snaps. And that is possibly the dumbest thing Michael has ever, ever said. Not the whole world, no, just the parts of it that hate gays. And hustlers. And gay teenage hustlers. And then there's the Pittsburgh P.D., and oh, let's not forget, Hunter's own mother isn't too concerned with the kid's happiness, either.
Hunter doesn't say any of this, just gives Michael that flat, dead-eyed look that Michael can't stand and announces, "I'm tired."
Michael nods towards the bed and wonders if he'll ever get his foot out of his mouth again. "Go ahead. I'm gonna call home, let them know we're alright."
"Calling Ben?" He's looking down at the little table now, but Michael can hear the faint hopeful note in his voice, and just hates this.
"He might... not be home yet. I'll call Ma, she'll know how to reach everybody."
Hunter nods, head down and most of his face hidden behind his bangs. He silently clears away the empty wrappers, toes his shoes off, and stretches out on the bed facing the wall.
--
Debbie answers on the second ring. "Hello?"
"Hey, Ma."
"Michael! Where the hell are- no, don't tell me where, but is he with you, are you okay? Just tell me you're okay." The words spill out of the receiver edged with worry and Michael grimaces. Hates this some more.
"Yeah, we're okay. Both of us."
"Oh, thank God." Michael hears the rustle and clink of bracelets and knows she just crossed herself. "Thank God you're safe. Does Ben know?"
"Not yet, I wasn't sure he'd be... you know, there."
"He is. They asked him a lot questions he didn't have answers for, but he's been home for about an hour. He said Carl kept an eye on him... oh honey, you called your mother first, you sweet, sweet boy."
"Yeah, well. I knew Ben would forgive me before you would, and I kinda like my nuts where they are."
"Michael Novotny...!" Her voice cracks on his last name and he knows her indignation is a put-on, she's likely smiling wide as anything and it makes him smile a little, too. On the bed, Hunter mumbles and twitches slightly, and Michael realizes he's already asleep.
"They're out looking for you, of course, but Brian says no one's talked to him yet so they don't know what you're driving or what you're doing. ... what -are- you doing, Michael?"
"Staying out of sight? Out of reach, until I know it's safe. Until I know they won't make him go somewhere he doesn't want to go."
"Well. You know how much faith I have in our fuckin' legal system, but why do this? Why take him and run like this?"
"Because... because I promised."
"Michael, honey," she stops. He can hear her pull up a chair and settle down into it, and when she speaks again her words are careful and quiet. She sounds almost as tired as Michael feels. "Promises are slippery things, more slippery than you know. You be careful about getting his hopes up too much."
Michael is silent for a moment, watching Hunter breathe and thinking the room's wheezing heater sounds a lot like his mom's old refrigerator. "I'll do what I have to. What that woman... it's a lot bigger than a black eye, Ma."
"Ben told me. I'm so sorry, Michael."
Her voice is tinny and so far away. He knows she's sorry for more than Hunter's shitty life and he doesn't say anything, just grips the receiver a little tighter.
"It's hard for me, you know that. To think a mother wouldn't take good care of her child."
"I know, Ma." And he does. For all her big mouth, Debbie Novotny's heart is even bigger and there are some things in the world she just can't understand. Has never understood.
"But I'm so fuckin' proud of you right now, Michael, I want you to know that. I'm proud of all my boys today."
"Listen, can you...?" It aches to push it off on her like this, but he's so fucking tired and Hunter's twitching again in his sleep. "Can you call Ben for me? Tell him we're okay... tell him I love him, and I'll call tomorrow."
"Of course, sweetheart, I'll phone him right away. You take care of that kid, you hear? And take care of you."
"... yeah. I will. Love you, Ma."
"Love you too, honey."
Michael holds the phone to his ear until he hears the line click off, and then sets it down. 'Take care of him.' He's trying, he is, but it's not like Hunter makes it easy. Then again, it's not like Michael hasn't had plenty of practice, either.
He takes his shoes off, sets them next to Hunter's at the foot of the bed and climbs up behind him. Hunter is murmuring against the pillow, faint and troubled, so quietly Michael couldn't hear it over the heater noise until now. He rubs at the kid's arm, slow and soothing, and it seems to help a little. He wonders, as he starts to doze off, whether Hunter was sleeping okay at the apartment or if he just didn't say, didn't think they'd care to know. It'd be so like him to hide it, stubborn little shit.
Michael sighs and lays his arm across Hunter's waist, and then blinks in groggy surprise when Hunter rolls to face him, tucking his hands close and curling into the circle of Michael's arm and chest. Maybe he's not that stubborn. Or maybe Michael's better at this than he was before. Michael rests his hand flat against the middle of Hunter's back, and the murmuring stops completely.
So. He can do this much for Hunter, at least, and it makes him think that maybe the rest of it isn't so hopeless after all. Michael's bigger than he used to be, and older, and of all the differences between men and boys he knows this is one: men can keep the promises they make.
Rating: PG13
Spoilers: post season-three, spoilers up to hiatus but not beyond.
Summary: Michael and Hunter's first night on the road.
Author's Note: *hugs* to ragingpixie for quick-and-lovely beta :)
By the time they pull off the highway, on the other side of Somerset or Somerville or some-fucking-place, Michael's getting really tired of the silence. If anyone had asked him an hour ago he'd have said, "Fuck, please, gag the kid, whatever you have to do, if I hear one more chorus of '99 Bottles of Lube on the Wall' I'm gonna leave his skinny ass on the side of the road," but now he's feeling kind of sorry for even thinking it.
Because fuck if Hunter doesn't look... scared.
"You hungry?"
Hunter sniffs and shakes his head a little, still staring out at the darkness.
"We missed dinner. I'll pull through somewhere, and then we'll go find a room. You need to eat." Christ, he's starting to sound like his mother. Gotta keep your strength up, when you're running from the law... shit.
Hunter doesn't react at all.
"Brian's car's really cool, huh?" He winces when he says it, he can hear Brian's voice in his head: "So lame, Mikey." Hunter cuts his eyes at Michael and suddenly it's like there's an echo, a proto-Brian in the passenger seat mocking him in chorus, and that just almost pisses him off. It's not as if Hunter hadn't spent the first fifty miles gushing about the 'Vette and Brian and how Brian just let 'em take his car, tossed his keys over like it was nothing and... but somehow it's too much like being mad at Brian, and Michael's never been good at that.
It doesn't help that the particularly garish neon of the drive-thru's sign makes Hunter's exposed cheek look freshly bruised, and Michael has to turn away quickly and blink a bit before he can see to order their dinner.
"I'm getting you a shake, too."
--
Hunter squares his shoulders, flips his bangs back out of his eyes and fixes the desk clerk with a cool stare.
"Uhm... no, a king's fine. We don't need another room." Michael has no idea what the fuck got Hunter's back up, he just savors the fact the ground isn't moving anymore and reaches into his pocket for a wad of twenties. "Yeah, just the one night." One night and then on to the next stop, wherever the fuck that'll be, and Hunter had pointed out before they left Pittsburgh that cash isn't traceable. Smart kid.
The clerk fidgets under Hunter's obvious challenge, and shoves the room key across the counter at Michael. Michael drags Hunter back out to the car by his elbow and wishes he knew what the hell he's doing.
The room is small and tackily-decorated and smells weird, and Michael wonders whether it used to rent by the hour. Hunter tears into the burger like he hasn't eaten for a week, like he didn't -just- tell Michael he wasn't hungry, and dinner is more than halfway gone before Michael can think of anything to say to cut the quiet.
"So, maybe we'll head for Punxsutawney tomorrow, huh? Too late for groundhogs, I guess, but we could still look around or something." Laaaaaaaaame, Brian's voice says.
Hunter's eyebrows go up. "Punxsutawney's -north-, you retard, don't you know anything?"
"Well, I've never been... I just know it's in Pennsylvania, somewhere. Sounded like something to do."
"Oh my God, -groundhogs-." And Hunter laughs a little and throws a french fry at him. "We've got the cops after us and you want to go see groundhogs. You are so pathetic."
"Yeah, whatever." He lets himself smile back at the kid, figures if he returns fire things could get messier than he cares to handle. "So, what was all that back there?"
"All what back where?"
"The front desk, that guy you were staring holes into?"
Hunter sucks noisily at the last of his shake, and lifts a shoulder. "He was giving me the eye. Like he didn't want my kind around here."
"Hunter...." Michael closes his eyes briefly, and reminds himself what a rotten day they've both had. "He was not. He doesn't even know you."
Hunter looks off to one side, sullenly quiet again. It sets Michael's teeth on edge, and sorta sets him off.
"It's not like the whole -world- has it in for you," he snaps. And that is possibly the dumbest thing Michael has ever, ever said. Not the whole world, no, just the parts of it that hate gays. And hustlers. And gay teenage hustlers. And then there's the Pittsburgh P.D., and oh, let's not forget, Hunter's own mother isn't too concerned with the kid's happiness, either.
Hunter doesn't say any of this, just gives Michael that flat, dead-eyed look that Michael can't stand and announces, "I'm tired."
Michael nods towards the bed and wonders if he'll ever get his foot out of his mouth again. "Go ahead. I'm gonna call home, let them know we're alright."
"Calling Ben?" He's looking down at the little table now, but Michael can hear the faint hopeful note in his voice, and just hates this.
"He might... not be home yet. I'll call Ma, she'll know how to reach everybody."
Hunter nods, head down and most of his face hidden behind his bangs. He silently clears away the empty wrappers, toes his shoes off, and stretches out on the bed facing the wall.
--
Debbie answers on the second ring. "Hello?"
"Hey, Ma."
"Michael! Where the hell are- no, don't tell me where, but is he with you, are you okay? Just tell me you're okay." The words spill out of the receiver edged with worry and Michael grimaces. Hates this some more.
"Yeah, we're okay. Both of us."
"Oh, thank God." Michael hears the rustle and clink of bracelets and knows she just crossed herself. "Thank God you're safe. Does Ben know?"
"Not yet, I wasn't sure he'd be... you know, there."
"He is. They asked him a lot questions he didn't have answers for, but he's been home for about an hour. He said Carl kept an eye on him... oh honey, you called your mother first, you sweet, sweet boy."
"Yeah, well. I knew Ben would forgive me before you would, and I kinda like my nuts where they are."
"Michael Novotny...!" Her voice cracks on his last name and he knows her indignation is a put-on, she's likely smiling wide as anything and it makes him smile a little, too. On the bed, Hunter mumbles and twitches slightly, and Michael realizes he's already asleep.
"They're out looking for you, of course, but Brian says no one's talked to him yet so they don't know what you're driving or what you're doing. ... what -are- you doing, Michael?"
"Staying out of sight? Out of reach, until I know it's safe. Until I know they won't make him go somewhere he doesn't want to go."
"Well. You know how much faith I have in our fuckin' legal system, but why do this? Why take him and run like this?"
"Because... because I promised."
"Michael, honey," she stops. He can hear her pull up a chair and settle down into it, and when she speaks again her words are careful and quiet. She sounds almost as tired as Michael feels. "Promises are slippery things, more slippery than you know. You be careful about getting his hopes up too much."
Michael is silent for a moment, watching Hunter breathe and thinking the room's wheezing heater sounds a lot like his mom's old refrigerator. "I'll do what I have to. What that woman... it's a lot bigger than a black eye, Ma."
"Ben told me. I'm so sorry, Michael."
Her voice is tinny and so far away. He knows she's sorry for more than Hunter's shitty life and he doesn't say anything, just grips the receiver a little tighter.
"It's hard for me, you know that. To think a mother wouldn't take good care of her child."
"I know, Ma." And he does. For all her big mouth, Debbie Novotny's heart is even bigger and there are some things in the world she just can't understand. Has never understood.
"But I'm so fuckin' proud of you right now, Michael, I want you to know that. I'm proud of all my boys today."
"Listen, can you...?" It aches to push it off on her like this, but he's so fucking tired and Hunter's twitching again in his sleep. "Can you call Ben for me? Tell him we're okay... tell him I love him, and I'll call tomorrow."
"Of course, sweetheart, I'll phone him right away. You take care of that kid, you hear? And take care of you."
"... yeah. I will. Love you, Ma."
"Love you too, honey."
Michael holds the phone to his ear until he hears the line click off, and then sets it down. 'Take care of him.' He's trying, he is, but it's not like Hunter makes it easy. Then again, it's not like Michael hasn't had plenty of practice, either.
He takes his shoes off, sets them next to Hunter's at the foot of the bed and climbs up behind him. Hunter is murmuring against the pillow, faint and troubled, so quietly Michael couldn't hear it over the heater noise until now. He rubs at the kid's arm, slow and soothing, and it seems to help a little. He wonders, as he starts to doze off, whether Hunter was sleeping okay at the apartment or if he just didn't say, didn't think they'd care to know. It'd be so like him to hide it, stubborn little shit.
Michael sighs and lays his arm across Hunter's waist, and then blinks in groggy surprise when Hunter rolls to face him, tucking his hands close and curling into the circle of Michael's arm and chest. Maybe he's not that stubborn. Or maybe Michael's better at this than he was before. Michael rests his hand flat against the middle of Hunter's back, and the murmuring stops completely.
So. He can do this much for Hunter, at least, and it makes him think that maybe the rest of it isn't so hopeless after all. Michael's bigger than he used to be, and older, and of all the differences between men and boys he knows this is one: men can keep the promises they make.