I'm driving a stolen car on a pitch black night
And I'm telling myself I'm gonna be all right
But I ride by night and I travel in fear
That in this darkness I will disappear
Dom woke with a jolt, uncertain where he was and seized with an unfamiliar panic. Everything rushed at him with blinding speed: where he was, why he was here. The sense of dread underneath it all, he realized, was for Mia. But Brian was here, helping him... out for stuff, but he was here.
They were waiting for something, right, that was the plan, but now it was all a weird jumble of pain and tension and confusion. Already he'd forgotten what he'd tried so hard to focus on the day before. He struggled to get up; his head insisted on playing a marching band rhythm very loudly and aggressively inside his skull. More than anything he wanted a shower, but with the cast on that would be a bad idea. Taking a piss was like passing fire through his dick, but he was relieved that it was no longer the color of red wine. He remembered the nurse telling him something about that, that it would gradually get better -- unless it didn't, and then he was in real trouble. He saw the gash on his forehead in the mirror, the bruise that ran in a diagonal along the left side of his face.
Hobbling into the small kitchen, Dom gulped down glass after glass of stale, warm tap water. He couldn't remember what Brian had said about why they were holed up in a cheesy motel off the highway. Lay low, was all he remembered, until they know we're out. Oh yeah, give him time to heal, let the word get out. Meanwhile Vince was in the hospital, Mia was... god only knew where. Dom stared at the phone. That's what he needed to do -- call someone, the neighbors or someone else who'd know at least something. There was no good reason to wait around, to let themselves be fucked with. What the hell was he thinking, going along with this? There was a bag with some more clothes on Brian's bed, and he looked through it. A t-shirt, another pair of pants. Underwear, socks. He could leave, take everything with him.
But then... Dom remembered how Brian had helped him dress at the hospital, his casual remark about how if there was ever a good excuse for going commando, the way his hand slid along Dom's flank, the warmth of knuckles brushing against his stomach as Brian had buttoned Dom's pants. Jesus. What a thing to think of right now.
Helpless rage boiled up in him, spilling over, and Dom threw the glass against the wall. Just for the hell of it, he threw as much of the rest of the kitchen as he could find, too, except most of it was hard plastic and chintzy tin so it only made a loud clatter. The phone, however, made a satisfying shattering sound and the ringer gave off a dying bleat as it splintered into pieces. He was just about to throw an ancient lamp despite the pain that flared up in his shoulder when Brian came in.
It must be cop's instincts, was all he could think, as Brian leapt from the doorway to grab the lamp out of Dom's hand. He spun around, ready for a fight, but Brian just put the lamp down.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" he asked between clenched teeth.
"Why are we sitting here? Why are we wasting time?" The rage was turning into a kind of hysteria now. Physical helplessness only amplified his emotions.
"We're not wasting time," Brian said evenly. He spoke in that clipped, cool voice they probably taught you in cop school: how to talk the violent criminals down, how to settle domestic disputes.
"You don't call this wasting time?" he shouted, and sent the bag of groceries Brian had set down flying off the table. Brian threw him a look that said "I don't believe you just did that." In a way, that actually made Dom happier. "We're running around like fucking tourists while my sister is in the hands of psychopaths."
Brian was ballsy, he had to give him that. The guy stood his ground, not flinching as Dom shouted or threw things. He just picked everything up and stared at Dom, hostile yet patient. When Dom got in his face, he expected Brian to step back; instead he shoved Dom down on the bed and pointed a finger in his face.
"The only way we can do Mia any favors is if we keep perspective. Either that or we turn this over to Bilkins and the Bureau boys, and do you really want to do that?"
"Brian, she could die." Dom ran his hand over his head. His voice sounded exactly like it had when he was pleading to go find Jesse, high and cracked and so very tired. But Brian wasn't going to let anything happen this time, not to someone Dom loved, ever again.
"Didn't you tell me that he wouldn't do anything to her?"
He leapt off the bed and pounded a fist against the cupboard. "What if I'm wrong? I have to explain that I let something happen to my sister while I sat around in a shit motel room out in the middle of nowhere?"
This time Brian figured he should try a different approach. He put his hands on Dom's shoulders and steered him back to the bed. When he sat down next to him, he let his hand rest on Dom's forearm. "Listen to me," he said in his best cop's voice. "We're going to get her back. By now, whoever found out about your arrest has also found out you skipped custody. Word will get out. Gregory will know you're not trying to narc him, and his only worry will be the job you didn't complete. That we can deal with. You're just feeling trapped and all this shit -- " he rapped on the cast lightly " -- isn't helping. It's making it worse, because you're not the kind of guy who sits around and waits for others to do things. We do this one step at a time. We do what we have to do, what we can, and we take it slow and sure."
Dom glanced at him. It almost sounded like he was talking about a relationship, not a plan for rescuing someone who'd been kidnapped. He barked out a harsh, low laugh.
"When exactly are you planning to make this thing happen?"
"As soon as you can stand without looking like you just drank a fifth of JD. Which, I might add, you can't do right now." Brian patted his arm. "And? You really, really need a bath."
"Shower."
"No, bath. I didn't buy any plastic wrap, I forgot all about the cast and we have to cover that thing up. So bath. And then some food. I got some burgers and shit like that, bottled water. You've got a ways to go before you're up to speed. I'll go run the water. Oh, and I'm supposed to give you some pills."
Dom shook his head. Fucking nanny, was what Brian was. But he knew the guy was right -- he was acting on anger, instinct, pain. That had gotten him two years in Lompoc before; he had to prove that he'd moved on from that, especially since Mia's life hung in the balance. "I can take pills myself."
"I know that, dumbass. I'm just the one with all the schedules and the instructions." He stopped and glanced at Dom, eyes traveling from his face down along his body. There was something weirdly intimate about the look, it wasn't a regular glance at all. Like he knew something about Dom that Dom wouldn't want Brian to know.
He used the night table to lever himself up. The bad ribs made him gasp with pain. "Stop calling me dumbass."
"I will when you stop acting like one. Jesus, Toretto, how did you survive prison that long?" He grinned, though. Dom thought Brian might be enjoying this way too much. Now he got to play the one in control, the boss man. No longer trying to earn his way into someone else's world by putting on a show. For some reason that brought back all the anger and betrayal Dom had struggled with the past few days. He pushed past Brian and went into the bathroom, closing the door hard. He tried to put the stopper in the tub and turn on the water, but it made his head swim to bend over that far and he was nauseated. Great. With difficulty he straightened and opened the door.
"Get it going."
Brian smirked and started the water. Dom unbuttoned his shirt and unzipped his pants, and as Brian turned to go, he began peeling the shirt off, but the sleeve hung on the cast. Attempting to shrug it off sent fiery pain rocketing through his left shoulder.
"Here, let me." Brian pulled it back up, then worked the other sleeve down first before he gently lifted Dom's arm and pulled it all the way off. There was something about his hands, the way they were callused and strong and soft all at the same time, that made Dom's skin goosebump. "Fifteen minutes," Brian said with a look on his face like he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't. That was starting to feel familiar. "I'm coming in to check on you and make sure you're awake and not drowning."
Dominic peered at the midget-sized tub. "Don't think there's any real danger of me getting low enough to do that."
"Just be careful. Don't get that cast wet."
Dom grunted an acknowledgement.
He slid into the tub carefully. Having one arm nearly useless from shoulder pain and the other disabled from a cast made everything a lot harder, but he'd be damned if he'd ask Brian to come in and wash his back. He gingerly ran his hand over his head; that he would have to ask Brian for help with, though, if he didn't want all his hair to grow back. After doing the best wash job he could, he leaned back in the tub, eyes closed. Small as the tub was, the hot water eased some of the aches. The lingering helplessness and physical pain were annoying, but at least he was out of the damn bed.
He let his mind wander, attempting not to think of Mia or Jesse or Vince. Instead he tried to get a handle on what they were planning. What Brian wanted... There was something about the way Brian had looked at him. Before, the way his hand had feathered along his skin as he took the shirt off... it was almost arousing, and Christ almighty that was one deeply disturbing thought. Dom wasn't sure if he was imagining all of it. Or... wanting it? He had always liked being noticed by women, and not at all bothered when noticed by men -- he'd spent a lot of time on his physique just so he would be noticed. But it was something else about the way Brian reacted to him, the way he seemed slightly embarrassed, or afraid, when Brian had never really acted either way before over anything.
With a lot of effort he got out of the tub, and had to slide his clothes on over partially damp skin because he didn't get completely dried off. When he came back out Brian was sitting at the rickety table, a gun taken apart and laid out in front of him.
"That yours?" Dom had gotten the impression that both his gun and his badge had been taken away from him upon the suspension.
"Yeah. Tanner gave it back to me. He called me while I was out getting you clothes. Figured that I might need some protection, but he doesn't want me carrying the badge. Keep it on the down-low, he said."
"Smart guy."
"He's pretty good." Brian wiped down the slide. He must have been cleaning it for the first time since shooting Johnny Tran.
Dom sat down on the bed, shoving pillows up behind him and leaning back. He'd never thought that just taking a bath would wipe him out completely. "You're doing this because you want to get back in his good graces, aren't you?"
He put the gun back together and popped the magazine in, racked the slide and put the safety on. Finally he looked up and said, "Only partly, but yeah. Guess that's my MO -- screw up and then try to get back in someone's graces. My specialty is letting people down."
Dom frowned.
Brian put all the supplies back in a bag, and stuffed everything in the drawer next to his bed. "We picked the right place to stop. Big old Wal-Mart had everything. I hadn't had a chance to take care of that." There was something peculiar about the way he said the word that, kind of distant and regretful.
"Maybe you need to take some time to deal with it. Maybe you're not..."
"Not what?" he asked sharply. "All together? Or I'm too emotional? It happened, Dom, it was a good shoot, he was endangering citizens and already killed someone. End of story."
"Not end of story. It could put you off your game. Affect your judgment if you have to do something like it again. We're playing for stakes here."
"Yeah, and you're one to talk. Have you even thought about Jesse at all? Dealt with any of that? Are we supposed to go to group counseling?"
Dom drew his head back and blinked. "What is going on here? Why are you acting like this?" He could only assume that this hostility was some kind of mask for how fearful Brian was, the way Letty would go on the attack when she was most afraid or hurt.
Brian wiped his hand across his face. "Yeah, sorry. I'm just tired of thinking about all this stuff. I don't like... dwelling in the past, you know?" He looked around the room. "I got food. You wanna eat? Not that great, just stuff for nuking and something for breakfast tomorrow."
"Sure." Dom didn't believe that had anything to do with it, but he wasn't going to push it. He really didn't know Brian at all: what motivated him, what informed his personality, what drove him to do the things he did. Brian knew nearly everything about him, but he did not have the luxury of understanding where Brian was coming from.
They ate silently, Dom picking at his food. He was unbelievably tired even though he'd done no more than ride in a car and take a bath, really. They watched TV -- a Dodgers game and some stupid sitcoms -- and then he was back under the covers before Brian turned off the light. All without any real conversation.
He could hear Brian breathing, but it was not rhythmic the way it would be in sleep. Sometimes people felt safer in the dark, so Dom decided to take a chance.
"What was your life like, before this job?" he asked quietly.
Brian didn't answer for a time, and Dom wondered if he'd misjudged. Eventually he said, "Not much to tell. Just... worked, on patrol, like I told you before. Hung out with other cops. Surfed whenever I could. Worked on my car."
"And before that? Where do you come from?" Dom's voice was low and soft, and the way it came out of the dark was like a touch, Brian thought. It kind of freaked him out when Dom was like this; Brian felt as if he was being seduced, in a way. Mia had said Dominic pulled people to him, and she was right. There was something overpowering about that low voice, the careful way he spoke sometimes. He was not the average heavy you met on the job, despite what everyone said.
"Grew up in Barstow. Had a pretty crappy childhood, same as everyone else. Moved here."
"That's it? Come on, Brian, there must be more. What makes you so closed off sometimes?"
"Who says I'm closed off?"
"It's like something comes across your face. Click. I thought it was just part of your role till you did it tonight."
He'd never considered the possibility of Dom taking the time to put his actions together. That Dom thought enough about him to notice any of his characteristics was... more than unexpected. It was startling.
"I don't know. I guess... I guess I was just always alone, so I never thought about it."
"How could you always be alone? Don't you have a family?"
Of course Dom would think of that immediately -- he came from a good home, grew up with people who loved him. Enough so that when part of it was gone, he had filled his house up with new people to become a makeshift family. Maybe that was what made it so easy to talk to Dom, to even think of telling him something that he'd never really talked about to anyone. Dom had that open quality. The kind of thing that also led you to your doom, too, though. Get sucked in by the wrong person at the right time, and you were a goner.
"Not much of one," he said, rolling over on his side. He could only see Dom's vague shape in the bed because of the porch light coming in through the edges of the curtains. "My dad left when I was too young to know him, if he was even part of my life at all. My mom was a raging alcoholic. She was almost always drunk, never home. When she wasn't drunk she was a delusional flake. Child services was in and out of the house all the time. I mostly learned to take care of myself when I was a kid. Bounced around from relative to relative until no one wanted me anymore."
"So some of that stuff on your record is true?"
"Not really, but kind of. I got into trouble, the usual kid stuff, till I learned to drive and tried to boost a car one day. I got caught, and that time I had to go to juvenile court. My guardian basically raked Mom over the coals in court, and I guess it shook her up a lot, so she finally sobered up. But it was too late. I didn't want to have anything to do with her by then, and since they got me off, I moved in with a friend. His family didn't want me there, but... they let me sleep in their basement. The day I graduated high school, I left town. The only time I ever looked back was for my friend. Just before I finished the academy, she died. Cirrhosis, they said, but she died from pneumonia."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. Nothing to be done. Even if it's fashionable to blame all your troubles on your parents, I don't have time for that crap. I thought sometimes about looking after her, but she made her choice to let booze run her life instead of taking care of her kid."
"No sibs?"
"A brother, a lot older than me. Different dad. He left when I was seven, and I was glad. He went into the army, got a dishonorable discharge for being a drug dealer, basically. We never heard from him; sometimes I think that's good because all I remember was that he was a psycho."
"Jesus, Brian."
"Don't pity me, okay?" He knew that tone of voice. Girlfriends always used it on him. If he could have changed his life he would have, but wishing to change the past was useless. "I made a life for myself. I could have just laid down and taken it, done the whole 'I'm destined for San Quentin so why fight it' thing that I always got from school counselors, but I didn't."
"Doesn't sound like much of a life, though, if you haven't got family and friends around you."
"Maybe it wasn't." Brian hesitated. He felt such a deep desire to reach across the space between the beds and just touch Dominic, make some kind of physical connection with him. This moment in the dark was closer than he'd been to another human in years. "I thought it was, though, until I met the Torettos."
Dom was silent then, and Brian let him fall into sleep. Maybe he shouldn't have brought that up, because then everything that came with it -- the betrayal, the deceit, the loss -- wouldn't be hanging between them, an emotional scar made visible by their confessions. In the light of day, though, it would all probably look very different.
When Dom woke the next morning, Brian was already up and moving around the room. His hair was wet and curling against his neck, and he wore a pair of grey boxers of that knit stuff that draped more than a little nicely over his ass. Dom rolled over and threw his arm across his eyes, careful to avoid whacking the bridge of his nose with his cast. He really did not want to be noticing Brian's ass, or his shorts, or his chest, or his goddamn hair. Or how his skin looked golden in the light...
Too close for comfort, Dom was starting to think. Like he was so desperate and emotional right now that he'd check out Brian the way he'd check out a girl, and it was all just because they were too close, the situation was too intense.
Brian noticed him then, and stopped. "Morning," he said brightly. Oh, Christ, he was a morning person. "Or should I say afternoon? I think we're almost there."
Dom glanced at the clock. "God, how did I sleep this long?"
"We both did. I didn't wake up till like 10:30. I guess we're both still pretty wrecked. More than we look, I mean. How do you feel?"
Humiliated? Embarrassed? Like some kind of freaking faggot? "Better. Almost human." He sat up slowly. "Head's good." Right now he really didn't want to get up in just his underwear with Brian there so close. He moved his arm around, trying to see if the shoulder was going to allow him more motion, but no dice. "Hey, I need a favor. I won't be able to get a razor over my head all the way, so can you do the back later? My scalp is itching like crazy."
Brian smiled in a supremely irritating way. "Sure, but it'd be kind of interesting to see you with hair. I wonder if it'd make you look... I don't know, ordinary or something."
"What are you saying? That I don't look ordinary?" There was something about his slightly amazed tone that gave Dom pause.
"Well, yeah. You... you look kind of... extraordinary." He emphasized the extra part. Dom's stomach did a kind of flip-flop, and both of them stared at each other before Brian dropped his head and turned around.
"So hey, I'll go to the store later to get some plastic wrap," he said in a desperate attempt to grab back some of his dignity. "So you can shower if you want."
Dom just raised an eyebrow.
"Do you want to eat first?"
"Yeah. I'm really hungry, at last."
"Means you're getting better." And that Brian wouldn't have to ask him what color his piss was, which he was more relieved about than he could say. "The nurse would be happy."
Brian grinned at him and tugged his jeans on, then pulled on a big, sloppy, white t-shirt that looked like it had just come out of a plastic pack.
"You know, we really need to work on your clothes, man. You have the worst dress sense I've ever seen."
"What, these aren't good enough?" He spread his arms wide.
"Nah, it has no style. You've got a good frame, you should wear clothes that work with it. You look like some pan-handling surfer kid at the Santa Monica pier."
"When all this is over, then, we'll go to Rodeo Drive." Brian turned away and started working on some breakfast while Dom finally got off the bed, tugging his pants on as fast as he could. He watched Brian as he started pulling items out of the ancient little refrigerator.
"What are you making?"
"I don't know. Scrambled eggs, I got some bacon, and bread for toast... what do you want?"
He let Brian natter on about breakfast possibilities while he struggled with his shirt, watching the way Brian moved. That was the thing he'd first noticed about Brian, how confident and at ease he was, even when he shouldn't really be. After everything he'd told Dom last night, it started to make sense in a way. He'd been taking care of himself his whole life, and even if he clearly couldn't cook to save his life, he'd always been able to handle himself. Jumping into a race, getting in a fistfight with Vince or a shootout with Johnny Tran... it didn't matter what he did, because Brian could do whatever he needed to, and then some. All this crap now, it was the same thing -- he had a focus and drive that came from being alone, from not having to spread that attention around to others. Dom was surprised that Brian was as outgoing and friendly as he was; usually people who'd had that kind of childhood, like Jesse, ended up with a shitload more problems than just being lonesome. But had Brian been lonely? He couldn't tell. Sometimes he thought it had been the racing, the life, that Brian had coveted, not the family and the team. Maybe, though, it was like he'd said just before Dom had fallen asleep, that his life had been enough for him all those years until he'd seen what he was missing. It made Dom feel, not sorry for him, but almost forgiving of everything. Almost.
He went over and took the knife out of Brian's hand without thinking. There was a momentary look of panic on Brian's face, but Dom just rumbled out, "Let someone who knows what he's doing take care of this." Brian looked at him funny but slipped out of the kitchen. "What were you attempting to make?"
"Just scrambled eggs with cheese. Some veggies thrown in. These are crappy utensils."
"It's not the utensils, it's the cook and what he does with them." He made a shooing motion. "I'll make an omelet, even though this is a crappy pan. That's another thing we gotta work on with you. Cooking skills." He began slicing the onion.
Brian was taken aback. Not just that Dom was up and doing things, but that he was talking as if they had some kind of pleasant, domestic-y future where Dom could help Brian create a new image.
"Doesn't that hurt?" Brian asked.
"Nah. Just seems to hurt if I put any kind of torque on it -- pull on something or turn it a little."
"You seemed to be able to hold the keys and shift after the accident. I was surprised when I saw the cast."
"Yeah. It didn't hurt much more than anything else then. In fact, it didn't hurt until they put the damn cast on. Anyway, slicing an onion isn't that big of a deal. You could crack the eggs, though. And open a bottle of water for me. California water is for shit anyway, but this stuff is foul."
Dom looked totally focused on the food now, not showing any awareness that Brian was watching him. He was grateful that Dominic hadn't said anything about their conversation the night before, no pitying comments about his childhood and current life or apologies for not treating him more gently, something like that. Girls Brian had dated had always wanted to talk about it, to psychoanalyze him and somehow make him better with their smothering concern. Eventually he hadn't just stopped talking about it, he'd stopped making any attempts to have lasting girlfriends.
"Plates," Dom said when he was done, and Brian got everything together while Dom sat down at the small, rickety table. He was clearly tired already. Better, but obviously tired.
Brian tucked in to the omelet with relish. "Man, you really are a good cook." Both Dom and Mia had made meals during the time they were hanging out, and Brian had been all the more aware then of those homey things he'd lacked his whole life, how much even a small, intimate activity like cooking a meal together could bring to a relationship. He'd thought then, as he watched them, that they were luminous together; those moments had made it impossible for him to let them go.
Maybe Tanner had begun to understand that at the end, when he'd told him there were all sorts of family. Brian had betrayed one family -- his police brothers -- for another one. A mirage-like vision that shone with a light he'd only ever dreamed about before.
Brian cleaned up after they were finished, while Dom drank his coffee, which had a weird tinny taste. Behind him, Brian said, "So, you wanna go over this stuff, make a list of people to see and places to go, all of that?"
"Sure." Brian grabbed some paper and a pen. "When are we getting out of here?" Dom's voice sounded more irritated than he meant it to.
"Give it another day at least. I'm sorry, I know you feel trapped, but... you gotta heal up or you're not going to get anywhere." He looked down at the paper. "Okay, so... name me some names. What's the first order of business?"
"Castelano will be playing it quiet. We have to dig him up. The guy who put me in touch with him, he's the one who loaded those trucks. He would call me with details about the loads. And Hector has my car, by the way."
"Okay. Who else?"
"Edwin and his crew. He's not much for the player lifestyle, but he's got connections. Enough people he knows probably deal with whatever Gregory's boys are moving, especially the cocaine."
"Any of these guys have a score to settle or extra baggage that I should know about?"
"Other than the fact that you're heat? No."
Brian laughed. "So, once we get a line on Castelano, then we shake him for Gregory, or do we wait for Gregory to come to us?"
"Both, probably. I don't know. I wasn't exactly planning for this situation, you know." If Brian said anything like "well, you should have," he'd have to clean his clock, no matter how much it hurt.
"Yeah, I know." He finished his coffee. "How did you get hooked up with this guy, anyway?"
"Knew a guy in stir who knew a guy. A while after I got out he approached me. Heard I was racing and knew I could handle the cars. I thought... I thought it might mean I could go somewhere, start over."
"How much of the money did you spend?"
Dom glowered. Brian was shocked by how quickly his mood had changed, as if Brian had managed to take him someplace he hadn't wanted to go. "Most of my cut is still around."
"Where is it?" He probably didn't want to know the answer to this, but he was kind of tired of not knowing enough.
"Some of it went for Mia and school. Some of it for the car."
"What are you saying?"
Dom's unsparing gaze was disconcerting. Clearly Brian was straying into territory that Dom still thought he shouldn't be in. "I'm saying that Gregory may want revenge, but he wants his money more, and I can buy Mia back if I get close enough to him."
"You have that much? Out of six million -- "
"What?" Dom laughed, his face betraying his incredulity. "Out of what?" He pushed back from the table.
"They said that at the time I finally got connected to you, the haul had been about six million in street value."
Dom laughed, loud and long. "Oh, man, that's just rich. And you believed them?"
"There a reason I shouldn't?"
"Six million for a bunch of amps and DVD players and camcorders? Think about it. How many trucks would we have had to pop to do that, even if they'd been filled to the brim with plasma TVs? Even high-end shit wouldn't pull that much."
"Then what was the take?" Brian was kind of angry at being put in the position of naïve kid again, even though it wasn't Dom's fault.
"Million and a half, two, tops. Split five ways, Brian."
"Shit."
"Who told you that?"
"Bilkins. That's what all the paperwork said."
Dom looked at him like he was a slow child. "Brian, you're a cop. You know how much they always inflate the street value of drugs whenever there's a big bust, and then the news people jack it up even more. Don't you think that if it had been worth that much, they would have had dragnets up long before you came on board? Or U.S. Marshals riding shotgun? The truckers wouldn't have waited till their own guys started packing if that much money had been involved."
Brian got up and paced back and forth. "Yeah, but... Never mind. Just -- okay, so we use the money as leverage once we find him. How much are we talking here?"
"The last truck shouldn't have had more than four-hundred thousand in it. I take Jesse's cut from the last job, use what I have left over for me and Mia, I'll have enough to cover. I can sell the RX-7 if I have to drop more for interest." He stopped, hung his head, and pressed his fingertips to his brow. All this time of trying not to think too much about Jesse and it all just came flooding back to him, overpowering his strong will for denial. The last thing he wanted to do was lose it and cry in front of Brian.
"What were you keeping it for?"
Dom looked up at him, not even really sure how to answer that. "A better life, I guess. Not a lot of options left for me after I got out."
"What about all that money you made racing? You raked in some serious dinero; did you put it all into the cars?"
Dom licked his lips, moved his jaw back and forth. He wasn't sure how much he could trust Brian yet, but it felt like he had to tell him everything now. "That money... aahh, that money goes into an account that's separate from everything else. I don't touch that money."
Suspicion was written all over his face. "For who?"
"Uhh... it's for Kenny Linder."
Brian glanced away, twitching his head. He blinked a few times and then stared out the window, and Dom wasn't sure, but it looked like his face had gotten flushed and his eyes were shiny. Dom got up and rinsed out the mug, then poured some more coffee, which had grown nearly ice-cold by now. But he felt like he had to do something, because everything had gotten very weird all of a sudden. Emotional in a way he didn't like, tense and uncertain. He knew so little of Brian, how he thought, what made him tick, that he had no idea what to make of Brian's reactions. He sat back down at the table, waiting.
It took Brian a while to regroup, he had been thrown so off guard by the admission. Just like telling him about his dad that day in the garage, that he'd been scared to drive his dad's car. How many people did he confess these excrutiatingly personal details to? Brian wondered. In a million years he could not have expected that: exactly the kind of thing that had made it so hard when Bilkins and Tanner had been bearing down on him, pressuring him to put the finger on Dom. They didn't know what he was really like, that there was more to him than his record. The more time you spent with Dominic, the more you got to know him, then the black and the white just started falling away and you were left with only shades of grey -- and a hefty dose of confusion. So he changed the subject.
"Did you honestly think risking your life on some hijacking scheme was a better choice to make enough money to do what you wanted? Why, Dom? Why do such a dangerous, dumb thing?"
Dom shot up off the chair, looking like he was ready for a fight. Brian had no doubt that even with cracked ribs and the aftereffects of a concussion, Dom could still beat the snot out of him. He'd seen what he had done to Tran. "That's not your call to make."
"Didn't you have any idea? Any clue that those truckers weren't going to sit down and take it? You couldn't be that stupid to keep pushing something so dangerous for a take that small..."
"It was worth the risk. What was left for me? Street racing with kids? Tricking out cars the rest of my life? Never having the chance to do what I wanted because of one really bad mistake that I regret every goddamn minute of every day?"
"And what about your family and your friends? You knew they'd do whatever you said. They had to pay for your crime, too?"
Dom was clenching and unclenching his left hand, and Brian briefly wondered if he was really going to pop him this time. "They knew the score. They wanted to do it. They're adrenaline junkies, too."
"What do you think your dad would have said? Do you think he wanted you to end up just another stupid punk like everyone else from East LA?"
Dom cocked his head sideways, and his bitter smirk and glittery eyes were more than a little scary. "That's pretty good coming from someone who pushed his mother away when she was trying to make amends and left her to die alone. But I get the impression that's what you're good at -- pushing people away when it counts."
Brian really didn't lose his temper often; he could get fed up easily and be more than willing to walk away from something in disgust, but wanting to hit people... that came a lot harder. Right now, though, he could drop Dom to the floor easily and just leave him to clean up his own mess. "I'm here, aren't I?"
"And why is that, Brian? Why are you here? Just because you fucked my sister, you think you owe it to us? Is that it? Or you're trying to, what, make amends for lying and deceiving us, because making amends is what you do?"
He knew Dom was just trying to provoke him, but knowing that didn't stop it from working. "I'm just trying to help you both because I care about you both."
"Didn't I tell you that if you broke her heart I'd break your neck?"
"I could have busted you any time." He punched the air with his finger to punctuate his words. "They pressured me constantly to drop a dime on you but I wouldn't, over and over. I kept telling them they were wrong about you, that you were too controlled and too smart. Obviously I was wrong on that score." Brian's voice cracked; he lost more control the more he spoke, but he couldn't stop it, all the pent-up anger and frustration of the past few days rolled over him like a train.
Now Dom gestured wildly, too. "Maybe you should have, if you were as good a cop as you say you were. What is it? You needed a family so much, you had to take mine if you could get it? Or was it getting in Mia's pants that was so important?" This reminded him way too much of how Dom had shouted at him just before Jesse got hit; his chest felt tight and his eyes stung.
"No, Dom," he said quietly. "I care about Mia, a lot." Brian felt very hollow and empty right then. "I just didn't want to believe it was you. I wanted it not to be you so much I was willing to throw it all away."
Dom reacted as if he'd been slapped. "Wh-- what are you saying? Was it part of your cover or not, this thing with Mia?"
Brian shook his head, staring at the floor. "It was about you, Dom. It was always all about you." He grabbed his wallet and stuffed it in his back pocket, then picked up the car keys. "I gotta go out and get some stuff."
Dom only stood there staring at the wall as he closed the door.
He stayed that way for a long time, motionless, feeling dragged down and tired, weight on his shoulders sinking him down, down under dark cold water. Dom sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his eyes. What the hell was happening here? Every time he thought he was going to finally get Brian to pony up the truth, to give him a clear picture of who and what he was, he threw Dom a curveball so hard and sharp it knocked him right on his ass before he could even swing at the pitch.
He had no idea what Brian was telling him: that he was obsessed with bringing Dom down, or that he wanted something more... personal. Neither thing made sense. If he'd wanted to nail Dom for the hijackings then he would never have tried to help them when the last job had gone wrong. But if he was telling Dom that there was something deeper emotionally and that it had nothing to do with Mia, that was even scarier and weirder.
He sat for a while until he couldn't tolerate thinking about it anymore. There was cleanup to do, so he focused on that, attempting to wash the dishes but keep his cast dry. Even if his ribs and shoulder still ached, he didn't care; the pain was a nice distraction from the truly freaky thoughts racing around in his head. It wasn't like he was surprised that Brian had been concentrating on him all that time; it was part of his job, after all. But saying that Dom was the only thing that mattered to Brian was a different sort of confession altogether.
Only wasn't that kind of how he'd felt about Brian all this time? Dom remembered a conversation he'd had with Mia one night, a rare time when they'd been alone in the house, everyone having gone home before dinner. The two of them had enjoyed eating together quietly without all the usual conversational buzz, and then Mia had done her studying at the kitchen table while he cleaned up. She'd asked him, completely out of the blue, "What is it about him, anyway? Why did we both let him in so quickly?"
"You mean Brian?" Dom had asked, surprised at the fact that she brought it up, let alone how she phrased it.
"Yeah. Dom, you haven't been friendly to anyone new since... since you got back, and you sure haven't been nice to anyone I've gone out with. Yet Brian's hanging around every day, working at your garage, eating here... I keep expecting him to sleep here, too."
Dom arched an eyebrow at her. "That gonna happen?" He hadn't really wanted to think of her sleeping with the guy just yet, but he was aware that his perfect little sister wasn't exactly a nun.
She had turned scarlet, quickly dropping her eyes to her book. "I'm taking things as they come. But I guess I was just thinking that it's so strange. I mean, we hardly ever get quiet time like this, and maybe it just points up how... I don't know, insulated our lives are. We hang with the same group except when there's a party, we work with the same people we hang with. Except for school, my life is mostly about your life."
Dom had sat down at the table and twisted the top off a beer, taking a long drink. "I'm sorry. I didn't know you were that unhappy."
She shook her head vigorously. "I'm not. You know I love you and that means loving the people around you. Even Vince." They had both laughed at that. "It's just... we have this little life and people mostly come into it for you. Brian's the first person who ever said that he was here for me first."
"He said that?" Dom had tried not to sound too incredulous.
"Yeah," she said, looking down at the table with a shy smile.
"Good for him, then."
"But you two... I've never seen you take to anyone that fast. Not even Leon and Jesse, I think."
Dom had already thought about it more than a few times, but he didn't tell Mia then. "I don't know, either. Maybe it was just time for me to branch out." He also hadn't been able to tell her that he'd been questioning his own motives for bringing him around the longer he knew Brian.
"It's because he took you on, isn't it? Because he wasn't awed by you."
There were a lot of things he loved about Mia, but her insight was one of the things he loved most. She was so much smarter than anyone he'd known, and he wanted nothing more than for her to succeed where the rest of them were just treading water or failing. She had an unerring ability to nail what motivated people in a way he could never hope to do.
"Maybe. It was... unexpected. I thought someone who could throw down like he wasn't afraid of me might be interesting. And then he kind of rescued me." He had shrugged. "Besides, I'm tired of having to chase away your boyfriends."
Mia had grinned and looked down at her book. "He's not my boyfriend."
"Yet," Dom had teased, and raised his beer toward her in a toast.
But now that he knew all these other things, none of that made any sense to Dom. Both he and Mia had believed, even after the truth of Brian's identity came out, that the reason Brian had been so reluctant to do anything was because of Mia. And now... Brian was saying what? She was secondary at best? It just didn't quite add up no matter how he looked at it.
Dom took one of the painkillers and lay down on the bed. Better get rested and be ready for another fight, because he was pretty damn sure Brian would be spoiling for one when he returned.
Brian drove around for a while just staring at the scenery, until he ended up at a bar in town just staring into a beer. A part of him was dismayed at getting all TMI with Dom, but another part of him was relieved that it was finally out. The two of them had danced around this thing the past few days and that was a few days too long, at least for his taste. Whatever emotional baggage they carried, it was a lot heavier because of the intensity of this weird friendship, and if they didn't talk about it, then things were probably just going to get worse.
Not that he really wanted to talk about anything emotional with Dom, because it always went haywire. These days Brian didn't know what to expect even from himself; stuff just came flying out of his mouth as if someone else was tossing random words around and they had nothing to do with his own thoughts. All the control and distance he'd practiced his entire life apparently evaporated around the Torettos, especially around Dominic.
What did he really want from Dom, anyway? What was he even expecting by telling him how important he was? Jesus, what a stupid situation he'd put them in. Brian felt things for Dom he hadn't even felt about Mia -- a desperate need to keep him in his life, an overpowering fear of losing him -- and all of it was getting too bizarre, too intense. Very emotional, and emotions were like quicksand.
The waitress in the very unbusy establishment came by and asked him if he wanted another drink, jolting him out of his blue mood. He declined and walked down the street to find a pay phone, since Dom had destroyed their room phone in his fit of pique -- and the cell service here was nonexistent. Brian dialed Tanner's number; he picked up on the third ring.
Tanner had been wondering what O'Conner and Toretto were up to when his cell phone rang, an inland area code showing up on the ID. At least the kid was proving true to his word, so far.
"Hey, Sarge," Brian said. "Just checking in."
"Well, we're all still alive, even though hurricane Bilkins swept through here day before yesterday." That was an understatement, but the last thing Brian needed was to know just how badly Bilkins wanted his head on a stake. That would most decidedly undermine his confidence.
"Yeah, I was figuring we were in for a natural disaster. What did he say when he calmed down?"
"He never calmed down."
"Sorry." Brian didn't sound at all convincing. "Look, we'll probably be back in LA tomorrow. I think we're ready to leave and there's been enough time for word to filter back to Gregory."
Tanner thought about that. He wondered how much advice he should offer, since this wasn't really an organized op; he also wondered how much advice Brian would willingly take from him. "When you get back, where are you going to stay?"
"Don't know. Is the Torettos' house still a crime scene?"
"Yeah. Brian, do me a favor. If you stay there, don't take any of the crime scene ID down yet: tape, flags, any of it. Make it look like you're not exactly hiding from anyone, but still trying to keep it quiet to the cops that you're around." He still found it difficult to be confident of Brian's ability to pull this off, but now that the wheels were in motion, he had to keep them going.
"Will do. Hey, Sergeant. You know how they said the hijackings were costing the truckers something like six million? Was that true? Because Dom says different."
Tanner should have expected that. "Well, yeah, Brian. The value was inflated, you know they tend to do that. The feds especially. I don't know the real value, before you ask."
"Goddammit," Brian muttered. "How many other lies are in this thing? What else don't I know, before I go screwing anything up again?"
"I don't know, Brian. I wasn't privy to much of it myself, once they came on board." Brian had an innocent streak that was sometimes a little wearying. Walking the line between Brian and the feds had never been easy; they were like matter and anti-matter, and Tanner had spent more than a few hours wondering when the explosion would occur.
There was a long pause on the other end before Brian finally said, "By the way, something you should know. That much smaller take from the hauls? Dom still has most of his share. And he's planning to use it to leverage Mia if he can. I'll let you know when we get closer."
"If you get closer. Do I want to know where the money is? Probably you shouldn't answer that."
"I didn't get that far." Again another lengthy silence, before he said, "There's something else. About the money."
"I'm not going to want to hear this either, am I?"
"When he races, he usually pulls in about four, maybe even six large a race. And he never loses. It's usually a one or two G buy-in, winner take all, right? He's been putting almost all that money for the past couple years into an account for Kenny Linder."
Well, that was just fucking great.
"You know who Linder is, right?"
"Yeah, Brian, I know who Linder is." So now their mark wasn't just running around free trying to play FBI missing persons agent and solve a kidnapping with Tanner's own blessing, but he was a good Samaritan to boot. Wonderful.
"I thought you'd want to know."
"Doesn't change the fact that he ripped off those trucks, Brian. Or assaulting Tran in front of hundreds of witnesses, or the reason he went to prison, or any of it."
"Maybe not. But it changes things for me."
That was precisely what he was worried about. "Brian, you're still in the game, right?"
"Yeah, Sarge. I'll be in touch." The line clicked off, and Tanner stared at the phone in his hand for a while before putting it down. The last thing he wanted was to have Brian start thinking Toretto was some kind of hero, but he was afraid it might already be too late.
When Brian returned to the motel, Dom was nowhere to be found. He told himself not to panic, but the rising anxiety was like bile in his throat, and he frantically searched the office and around the main building. It would not be cool to shout for Dom, because calling even more attention to the two guys sharing one room who both looked like they'd been run over by a Peterbilt and were obviously on the lam? Not a good idea. He tried to remember which cars had been parked there earlier, wondering if Dom could have hotwired one of them and taken off. Brian wouldn't put it past him, the mood he'd been in. Just as he was about to give up, he heard a deep, rumbling voice from behind the office's shed, and Brian walked over behind the run-down building. "Nah, it's your CV boot, I'm sure," Dom was saying, and Brian peered around the corner to see him standing over a car with the guy who'd checked them in when they got here. "Classic tear problem. But you'll have to replace both, even if one's still good. I could fix it for you, normally, if we could get it to a lift, but not with my arms fucked up like this." The guy muttered something under the hood, but Brian couldn't hear him. "Not a problem," Dom said. "Been going stir crazy anyway." Just then he noticed Brian, and nodded. "Drop by if you have any more questions," he said, and walked back to the room alongside Brian.
"Car trouble?"
"Axle stuff. Torn CV joint."
"How'd he know to ask you?"
"Ahh... I was just kind of out wandering around and we got to talking."
When they got in the room, Brian turned to face Dom and said in a voice that sounded more helpless than he wanted it to, "Look, I'm-- "
But Dom cut him off. "I'm sorry, Brian. I don't do the apology thing well, I admit it, but... I'm sorry I said some of that shit. I shouldn't have thrown things you told me in confidence back at you that way."
Brian bit back a smart-ass response and nodded instead. "I know. I shouldn't have said some of that, either." Like, telling you that I'm obsessed with you, for instance. That would have been a good thing to hold back.
"We good, then?" Dom asked.
"Sure."
"Okay, because I don't want to hand you a razor if you're still pissed."
"Oh yeah, I forgot about that." Brian wasn't so sure he wanted to do something that... close right now. Everything felt crackly and amped up, and the fact that they weren't going to talk about it made it even weirder. Dom was the more open and emotional of them, and if he wasn't going to bring it up, then neither was Brian.
Dom sat down in the corner chair opposite his bed, the room's lone attempt at offering anything like comfortable furniture. "So... where'd you go?"
"Just to the store again. Got some plastic wrap and tape -- we put the bread bag over your cast, tie it off, some wrap, some tape, and voila, instant cast protector."
"You've done this before."
"Yeah. Had a similar fracture once that I got on a domestic dispute. Guy took a header at me and knocked me down, had to wear it for a while. Oh, and here's a trick for when it itches." He took a piece of stationery from the table and folded it into a long, thin, inch-wide piece. "Slide that down in there if you get an itch. You're not supposed to stick stuff like needles in there, but this solves the problem without the possibility of breaking skin."
Dom grinned. "Now that is a helpful trick." He flexed his fingers. "I feel like my muscles are already atrophying. I don't know how much longer I can stand this."
"Be a lot worse if it's as bad as they say it'll be without it."
Dom just grunted in response.
"I take it you're feeling better if you're out reconnoitering the premises."
"Yeah. Tired easy, though. And then there's the pain, which is taking its own sweet time to go away."
"You take your pills?" Brian put his hands up in the air. "I know, I know, stop nannying. I'm just asking."
"You smell like you had a few drinks." Dom didn't look at him, so Brian couldn't tell if he was being judgmental or not.
"I stopped at a bar. Just... you know."
Dom didn't meet his eyes; instead his gaze flicked around the room like he was trying to find something else to focus on without having to cope with Brian.
"Is there any way I can talk to Vince? Get in touch with Leon or Letty?" His voice was raw. "I don't know... uuhh, I don't know if I can last much longer without knowing they're all right."
"I can call Tanner and see if I can squeeze an update. I just talked to him, and he didn't say anything, so my guess is nothing's changed. I'll have to go out, though. The cell service is lousy, and you kind of... wrecked our phone. I'd use the one at the desk, but I don't want to broadcast." He paused, uncertain whether he ought to say anything more, but it seemed worth the risk. "You know, they'll be okay without you. I know you're used to it, being the head of the team and being responsible, but I think... I think it's all right for you to let go. Vince is probably still in serious condition, but he's being taken care of. You know Letty can take care of herself. It'll turn out okay."
He gave a ragged little sigh, still not meeting Brian's eyes. "There's no one around to even give Jesse a funeral..."
"I know. I'm sorry. When we get back, we'll take care of it, I promise."
Dom pressed his fingers to his eyes, trying to keep back the tears that threatened to come out every time he thought about this. "I can't just let it go. This is because of me. It's all because of me that they're in trouble or fucked up or dead." He sprang off the chair and Brian took a quick step back, looking a little freaked out. "I'm the one responsible for all this and what am I doing? Nothing! I can't even ask Vince if he's okay, and what happened to him is my fault!" He kicked the chair and sent it flying into the fireplace.
"Don't start breaking shit again, Dom, I gotta pay for this room." Brian scowled and picked up the chair.
Taking a couple deep breaths, Dom grabbed the edge of the sink and leaned over it, tapping his head against the cabinet door a few times. It didn't feel good at all, but the pain helped him get a grip. "I'm sorry. Just a little temporary insanity."
"How could you tell?"
Hardy har. But there was something about Brian's mocking tone that brought him back down to earth. The last thing he wanted was to scare Brian off by losing control; he was beginning to believe that Brian was the only thing standing between him and real insanity right now. For the first time in his life he had no idea which way to turn, no sense of direction or of how to fix everything he'd done wrong. They had always looked to him to be the strong one, the one with all the answers, and he'd enjoyed that sometimes. Other times... He'd never forgotten the disappointment on Mia's face when he'd been arrested, or how broken she'd been by his sentencing. Or the way she and Letty had both appeared so hopeful yet frightened when they'd met him outside the gates at Lompoc the day he'd been set free. Always in the back of Mia's mind, he believed, was the knowledge that he had let their parents down and destroyed whatever family legacy they'd created. He knew Mia loved him, that she would always love him despite his problems; she had molded her life to his after he returned, going to school as he'd wanted, taking part in the street-racing scene, accepting the responsibility of what their parents had left them because it was her duty and her life. But Dom carried the weight of her regret on his shoulders, knew the darkness that came from causing that little bit of her light to go out in the shame of his mistakes. She, and they, depended on him, but he could never really tell them that sometimes their dependency was like being smothered. Except Brian. Somehow, he'd been able to tell Brian without really saying anything at all.
He looked at Brian, mouth drawn tight, trying to keep that control Brian gave him too much credit for. "Sometimes I think... uhh, it's like my life is cut in half. There was this time before my dad's death, and then everything after. Lompoc, the racing, all of it is this whole other world. And I can't remember the time before, it's dark and just gone. I lost everything. Or threw it all away."
Brian watched him, seated on the bed, his face betraying nothing.
"I told you once how when I raced, it was the only time I felt free. All this time I was so focused on myself, what I needed to feel, intent on being the king of this really puny hill... and now Mia's paying the price. And Vince, and Letty, and Jesse..." He couldn't continue; he was hit by such a wave of regret and sorrow that it felt like he was drowning in the undertow. "She's a hostage, but I keep wondering... if she wasn't one before. Hostage to my life; that they all were. Even you."
Listening to Dom talk like that was the hardest thing about all this; Brian ached with the worthless feeling of being unable to help him. Even if they got Mia back, was there too much damage to repair? He wanted nothing more than to touch Dom then, the way Vince and Leon touched him without any kind of shame. It all seemed so natural among the team: the physical contact they all took for granted -- Vince had even kissed Dom on the head and no one had batted an eyelash -- and how easy they were with their personal space. None of it came naturally for Brian, and he didn't know what to do now. Would Vince have thrown an arm around Dom's neck and pulled him into a manly hug? Coming from Brian it would be wrong, stiff, but he could see Vince doing exactly that, wished he had that ease. All Brian could do was hold his hand out to Dom, who took it, and he curled his fingers around Dom's, then knocked his knuckles a couple times. "We'll work it out. I promise you, we'll fix it."
Later, after they'd eaten, Brian made Dom sit on the edge of the tub so he could shave his head. It had taken Brian a long time to get comfortable with Dom's comfort in silence; when Dom wanted to talk, he talked a lot, but when he didn't, you knew. Brian tried to be careful, since all he had was a cheap single-blade disposable razor that wouldn't be kind to the bumps and ridges of a skull. But being careful meant taking it slow, which meant standing in front of or next to him with his chest at face level. And that meant Dom's breath on his body, the heat of his skin so close Brian thought it might be his own, the slithering arousal that fanned through his gut up into his chest.
When he was finished he realized he'd scarcely breathed the whole time, and neither of them had said a word. He ran a washcloth over Dom's head, careful of the gash, then just stood there, a kind of drugged paralysis weighing down muscle and bone. His fingertips rested on Dom's skin just above his left ear, and as he cast his eyes down, he was confronted with Dom looking up at him, nostrils flared slightly, chest rising and falling with slow, shallow breaths, lips parted. Brian allowed his fingers to slide unhurriedly down the side of Dom's face, taking in the smooth-rough texture of his skin, the sight of his glittering brown eyes locked on Brian's.
Then he felt a hand on his side above his hip, faint outline of thumb and fingers and the hard bulk of the cast pressed flat, just barely making contact. He could see that Dom was hard; maybe worse, so was Brian, and he practically had his crotch in Dom's face already. Dom shut his eyes.
Aware then that his mouth was open and that he hadn't swallowed for a while, Brian tried to form words, but they stubbornly stuck behind his tongue. "Uhh... do you... do you want me to help with... your face, too?" he finally choked out.
Dom's eyes snapped open and his hand dropped abruptly. "No," he growled, voice thick and low. He almost pushed Brian away, standing quickly to lean against the counter. Brian blinked a few times. They both stood facing the mirror, staring at each other's reflections, each wearing guilty, confused expressions. Brian dropped the washcloth and left.
Though Dom finished up his own shaving, he did it with a trembling hand, shamed at his reactions to Brian, how far he'd let himself go. This whole thing was way too weird just in general, but to throw this into the mix with everything else... Yet it was undeniably there, some kind of desperation or loneliness crazy enough to make him hard just because Brian touched him, because Brian had been so close he could breathe in the scent of his skin, feel the caress of his breath...
Shit. Fuck. Goddamn. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to tamp down the throbbing in his dick and the hot rush of blood spreading up through his torso. Prison, he could get: you felt those things because you were alone, locked away, because it was necessary. But this made no sense at all; whatever physical contact he'd had with a guy before had been brutal and faceless, expedient, and he wasn't -- wasn't -- a faggot. Dom didn't believe Brian was, either.
Only he had learned something right then, discovered in the way Brian had touched him, the way he'd wanted Brian to touch him; now knew it like he knew his name or the sound a Hemi made at peak tune: it wasn't about desperation or loneliness or missing Letty. It was about having Brian, needing him in a way he'd never wanted or needed anything else. And that was the scariest bit of knowledge he'd ever confronted.
They spent the rest of the evening in studious avoidance of each other, silent except for the most basic of questions, watching TV again until Brian said he was tired and turned out the light. He listened for the sound of Dominic asleep, hoping he would drift off quickly, but after a while Dom snarled, "I can't sleep," and grabbed the plastic wrap and tape from the table to go shut himself in the bathroom. The light snuck out from under the door and Brian could see his shadow moving around, hear the sound of adhesive being ripped, plastic being torn from the roll. Brian briefly thought of offering his help, but that was just the dumbest of dumbass ideas. Things were heated enough and if Dom's simmering resentment over what happened earlier was any indication, offers of any kind -- help, discussion, or his ass, even -- would be met with a good sound whupping, cast and shoulder and ribs be damned. Not that Brian didn't think he could hold his own against Dom, but he knew that he'd eventually lose once noses got broken and a few teeth were knocked out. Dom's temper was one truly terrifying thing to behold; much as he'd wanted to not believe Dom was the dangerous thug they'd told him he was -- hell, the one his record told Brian he was -- Brian had seen the effects of his short fuse and lack of restraint in settling a dispute. Or righting an insult.
And what else would making some half-assed play for the guy be seen as but an insult? Not that he'd intended to do that, but... events were just amplified by being trapped here, by the unnatural closeness forced upon them in order to do this thing. Brian didn't imagine Dom to be some crazed macho straight guy, not after two years in a California prison, but that was a different world, a different set of needs than being stuck with a guy who'd made his terrifically fucked-up feelings a little too obvious.
He lay there staring at the ceiling, listening to the shower turning on and the sound of the curtain being pulled back. It felt like Dom stayed in there forever, as if he was waiting Brian out, hoping he'd be asleep when he was done. Eventually the water stopped, then he heard ripping sounds. A long time passed before Dom clicked the light off and opened the door, his clothes bunched in one had, a towel in the other. It was easier to do what he thought Dom wanted, so Brian pretended he was asleep. But Dom didn't get into bed.
Instead he dropped his clothes on the floor and felt his way over to the corner chair, easing himself into it as if he was in too much pain to stand. Almost lying back, he leaned his head against the wall. Dom was completely naked; Brian could see the hard outline of muscle in the low light filtering through the curtains, the gleam of his skull. A white river of towel flowed down the middle of his torso, one end just covering his cock, the other bunched up in Dom's hands as he pressed it to his face. He was obviously hurting and tired, even though his face was obscured. It was as if he couldn't bring himself closer by getting in bed.
Holy shit. Brian really hoped Dom believed he was asleep, because otherwise this was just too perverse for words. His dick was already hard from these few seconds of watching Dom through half-closed eyes. In the gym he'd seen guys you could say were just as cut, maybe even more so, but their physiques were solely about mass. Dom's was less about bulk and more like... a sculpture. Perfectly balanced; not about the exaggerated lines of a six-pack or Popeye forearms, but instead obvious pride in strength, a kind of primal, masculine beauty. A perfect machine.
Brian rolled over on his other side, facing away. In his mind's eye he could picture himself kneeling between those strong thighs, pushing the towel away, taking his cock into his mouth. Making Dom forget all the pain and worry, feeling him beneath his hands and tongue and lips. Taking ownership, and Dom would understand and want that, no rejection or threats or running away. Brian pushed his heated face into the pillow and wished away the aching hard-on twitching against his belly.
When had their tension and fear over Mia metamorphosed into tension and fear over each other? It was as if everything that was supposed to matter had evaporated in the close heat of too-tightly shared space, and now they were left with nothing but these insane feelings and overwhelming need, both of which they were too cowardly to sort out.
They really, really needed to get out of here, like tomorrow. Either that, or they'd end up killing each other.
End Part 2
10/18/04
My gorgeous cover art by M'lyn. Please do not take or distribute in any way.