Fall By Alex Draven

[alexdraven]

This is the first story I ever sold, something over two years ago. The anthology it was in has now gone out of print, and the contract ended. I thought about maybe trying to find the story a new press, seeing as I am pretty proud of itbut, actually, I think I want it to be avaliable to all. At this moment I'd rather hear what you think of Pet and Matthias, than try and earn a few extra dollars from them. I am awfully fond of this story.

Read, enjoy, leave comments.

***** ***** *****

Fall
By Alex Draven

***** ***** *****

"Fuck off!"

The second centaur didn’t budge.

For fuck's sake. It was too hot to move, the air heavy and about set to start pissing down with rain, and he'd left his cigarettes inside. Nigh on twenty minutes since the knock had rung through the warehouse and he still wasn't quite self-destructive enough to turn his back on a strange stallion standing in his own front drive.

"I said, fuck off. I'm not interested."

The little bastard just stood there, arms crossed, and one hind leg cocked, the very picture of relaxed patience.

It was winding him up. Another few minutes of silence and nothing had changed except his mood.

"Oh for fuck's sake. Stand there as long as you like. I've got things to do."

Pet backed up a couple of paces, shaking his head and whisking his tail, and then snagged the door, pulling it closed.

Fuck.

He let out a kick that left the walls of the warehouse ringing.

Roll on thunder.

Roll on thunder and air conditioning and Cashman's Royals, and a bottle or six of beer.

Roll on forgetting and not having ghosts from your fucking past turn up on in the front yard and look at you, like you owed it to them to live up to whatever fucked-up expectations they had.

The movements between the kitchen benches and the fridge - lighting up, grabbing a beer, kicking the dented door shut again - were an easy ritual. Familiar. The beer and the smoke felt good too. Pet raised an eyebrow and a mock-toast to the ceiling when a crash of thunder rattled the walls again and the heavy drumming of rain started up.

Three out of four. Not bad.

***** ***** *****

It hadn't been this bad in months. The beer wasn't stopping that prickly feeling at the base of his skull that itched from being away from a herd.

A neck full of whisky didn't do anything either. His scars ached, his back pulled, and the skin on his haunches - just out of reach, than you fucking gods - kept ticcing.

Twenty five minutes in he abandoned the attempt to program despite it all. He hit the magic pizza button twice and went to fetch another brace of beers.

He was pissing himself off at this point. Fifteen minutes more of waiting didn't make that any sweeter.

The warehouse buzzer went.

His ears flicked, and he caught the putputput of a moped before he reached the door.

He nodded to himself.

"Fucking predictable, colts," he growled to no one in particular before he opened it.

And there he was. The rain had darkened his haunches almost black, and that slick leather jacket was doing nothing to help his white T to stay opaque. Skinny little drowned rat.

Give the lad credit - he didn't say anything, just hefted the pizza boxes.

There was a long moment of silence.

"Fuck it - come in."

This time he did turn his back - let a good clear view of his ass show the kid what a big scary threat Pet rated him.

He heard the door slide closed, and hoof-falls on rubber following him.

Straight into the kitchen.

Fucking predictable.

"Stick them on the counter. And don't touch the beers, colt."

The kid did as he was told, and kept his rubbernecking to a discreet minimum to boot. Pet shoved one box back towards him.

"And for fuck's sake eat something and stop shivering."

The kid nodded, and opened the box. The scent hit Pet - vegetarian, the works, extra cheese, hold the fucking olives. The kid sniffed suspiciously. Pet ignored him in favour of his own pizza and yet another fine beer.

Three slices in the colt had to go and interrupt him.

"''m Matthias."

"You what?" Pet demanded.

"My name – I'm Matthias."

"Well hoo-fucking-ray for that."

Pet's tail was swinging and his ears were back, and if the colt couldn't figure out that that meant 'shut the fuck up', well - who the fuck had raised him anyway?

Another slice and a half. Another beer.

"Thank you," Matthias interrupted - again. "For the pizza and everything."

Pet stamped the hind leg he had been resting.

"You were pissing me off, skulking out there."

"I didn't know where else to go."

Just like that. Like he was meant to give a shit. What was he? Centaurs Anonymous?

"Kid - does it look like I give a fuck?"

The kid wisely decided to shut up and finish his second slice.

One thing was still bugging Pet.

"How the fuck did you find me anyway?"

"How many centaurs are there in Dimmity?

He emptied the bottle, and tapped out a cigarette while he considered that.

"Fuck that - why Dimmity? Why me?"

The colt kept his eyes looking down and away, but his voice was even. Points for balls, at least.

"I told you, I saw you go. Want to be like you more than I want to be like Taymore."

"You'd rather be a wreck than a megalomaniac murdering fuckhead - good for you, colt, good for you!"

More like him. There's a fucking laugh. Yeah, the beer and whisky were certainly doing something. So fucking what if the laughter had enough acid in it to etch glass.

Matthias looked down, side-stepping nervously, angling his hindquarters away.

"Or that not quite what you had in mind? Yeah well, me fucking either. Get over it."

The colt snorted at him. Snorted. Like it was a fucking bad joke.

Pet was over there in seconds. He had the kid's arm in a painful lock before Matthias could react. Leaning his full weight up alongside Matthias's body was probably digging the fucking counter top into the colt's shoulder nicely too.

"You wanted to say something?"

Patented Threatening Politeness Voice Number 3 - nice.

And his own brain sneering at him – even better.

The kid twisted his head to look him in the eye. All of six inches between them. Breathing in his fucking face.

"You surely haven't."

Pet's eyes widened and he jerked the kid’s wrist a little higher. Fucked up little tyke thought he knew something.

Only once he'd started talking, the kid didn't fucking stop.

"Are you ever going to get over it, Patrocles?"

"Pet." For some godsdammned reason that seemed important. "Patrocles is long gone. My name is Pet."

He dropped the kid's arm, moved away. Took everything he had not to lose it, to keep his voice level.

"Now get the fuck out of here."

The colt rubbed his bruised wrist, and gave Pet an obvious once over, all bullshit and bravado.

"You think Dios would be proud of you now?"

Pet blanked out.

When he came back to himself he was panting hard, the kitchen was trashed, and that fucking kid was still there. Nursing his bleeding arm carefully, and sporting some choice hoof-shaped cuts and bruises.

Still fucking looking at him.

Pet wiped an arm roughly over his face. Looked around to see if the fridge was still standing. It wasn't.

The silence was pissing him off again. Words shoving their way out of him. Sharp like barbed wire.

"No. No he's not fucking proud. He's fucking dead. And I'm not. Although maybe if I'm really fucking good someone will finish what Taymore started, sort things out once and for all."

Still with the silence and the looking, and the pity crawling all over him like flies.

"That what you want?"

The colt's voice was that same low and steady - just a question, like he was mildly curious about the answer, for fuck's sake.

Pet snorted and kicked at his own belly, tail whisking again. This time it was him looking away.

"You think I wanted this?" he said finally.

Fuck all else to say, really.

So he walked away.

Scalding hot water on the outside. Burning whisky on the inside.

Maybe he could wash it out.

***** ****** *****

One look in the bathroom when he woke up convinced Pet that that was something better dealt with after a couple of pints of coffee, so he staggered towards the kitchen instead. What greeted him made him stop and watch for a moment, half leaning against the corridor wall.

After about five minutes, he had to ask.

"What are you doing?"

Fuck, even his own voice was too loud for his head.

Matthias didn't turn around, or stop doing whatever it was he was doing on the work surface in front of him. The wreckage from last night had vanished - the work surface had a few dents, but it was horizontal again, and the fridge was rattling away, and it looked as though he'd even got the microwave back up and running.

"Cooking. There's coffee in the flask - you broke the percolator - and about two gallons of water in the fridge."

No one should be that perky and helpful. No one. Specifically no one in his house at whatever time this was, and no one who was wearing a bandage on his arm over some injury that he was probably responsible for. The word “coffee” had him moving forwards without his conscious intervention though.

He stopped again, pinching the bridge of his nose to try and get the thumping to at least back off a little.

Something hit his chest and he grabbed for it on instinct. Painkillers. Veterinary strength, just like it was practically impossible to find in Dimmity. By the time he'd managed to get the lid off, and shake three out into his hand, Matthias was standing in front of him holding a bottle of water. Pet took it and raised his head to down the pills.

When he looked back down, Matthias hadn't taken his eyes off him.

"What? - I mean - Thank you?"

Gods, this colt had him saying “please” and “thank you” like some society filly - just kept throwing him off somehow.

Matthias just nodded slightly and turned back to his cooking.

"Why?" Pet managed after another, long, moment. His head was arguing, persuasively, against saying anything with more than one syllable.

The microwave dinged, making Pet wince. He reached for the coffee flask - no point messing around with mugs at this point.

"I need a place to stay for a while. Thought I should make myself useful."

Matthias' voice was just so godsdamn reasonable he just found himself nodding like it all made sense.

"Now hang on!" Pet started, before his head reminded him that yelling was maybe not the way to go. "What makes you think you can just show up here and mo ...."

Pet looked down as Matthias put a plate in front of him. Oatmeal. Oatmeal with its own moat of thick cream, and dark brown molasses sugar melting over the top.

Matthias continued to speak as though Pet had never interrupted in the first place.

"I went into town earlier, got a few things. I borrowed some cash out of the jar in the other room. I hope you don't mind, but I didn't have that much left. I fixed the mailbox too - I might not have money, but I have got my tools."

Pet just stared at him, gobsmacked. Matthias turned back to the work surface and carried on chopping. He didn't interrupt his monologue either, just flicked a look back over his shoulder every now and again.

"I could take a look at the main doors if you like, too. Not that you're going to need a car, but a building like this - rust will spread."

Pet took a good mouthful of the oatmeal, washing it down with coffee. Couldn't think of a thing to say, really, in the face of this much self-possession. The damn kid looked like he was more at home than Pet was.

"You must get a fair amount of human visitors, too, with Chairon Services. Need a place for them to park. You could set up some sofas and stuff in the corner of your main room, maybe turn it into a meetings area - Carm always said I was good with organising things and that space is just sitting empty right now."

It ought to sound officious and - dammit! The kid was muscling in on his place and his business, and - and the coffee was good, and the oatmeal was better, and his head might be splitting, but that ever-present itch was remarkably absent.

"I've got a shifter in town deals with all that crap, colt. I just do the code."

"Oh - ok. I can see where having an office in town would be convenient for your clients."

"That and they don't have to know I'm a centaur. Sal can pretty much pass. Makes things easier."

"Oh."

Kid didn't know what to say to that, did he?

Pet took another long draught of coffee.

"OK – kid,"

"Matthias."

Pet took a breath and carried on. "Fine. Matthias - you can stay. OK. Just for a few days, till you get yourself straight. Just don't get in my way."

***** ***** *****

He'd been coding for a couple of hours or more, almost got this section to play the way he wanted it to. It had taken long enough for him to get into the groove, tuning out all the unfamiliar noises of having someone else fussing around his place, and now the kid was watching him.

Made his shoulder blades itch and his tail twitch, being watched.

"Fuck off, would you?" he growled, without looking away from the screen.

"Sorry." Matthias stepped closer. "I didn't want to interrupt, just - thought you could maybe use some more coffee."

The tall flask was placed on the section of work surface Pet used as a desk.

Pet sighed and looked round.

"Yeah, well, you did. Just keep the fuck out of here when I'm working," he growled. He took a couple of steps, coming around to look at the lad "Thanks for the coffee though," he added absently. Politeness cost nothing, or some such bullshit.

"You're welcome."

Pet nodded, and turned back to the screen, reaching for the coffee as he turned. Only somewhere in there he must have jostled Matthias, because the background buzz of the fans did nothing to hide the hiss. Fuck. Just what he needed to brighten his day, a shiny new guilt trip.

"You ok?"

"Yeah," came the reply in that tone of voice that means punkass kid trying to come over like a big strong dude. Matthias was still holding his bandaged arm once Pet executed a more careful turn.

Pet folded his arms and stared him down. Fuck - he'd probably baby-sat the colt not so long ago, and it looked like some things still followed old patterns. Matthias took a couple of steps closer and cautiously held out his arm.

Pet's movements were calm and efficient, running over the arm, and then untying the untidy bandage. The kid had sliced a nasty gash right across his bicep, and the wound was red and angry looking.

The kid had - Pet's ears flattened as he caught his own soft-soap. Yet another triumph for the great Patrocles. Beating up homeless teenagers. Way to go.

"Did you put anything on this?" he asked, trying to keep his tone neutral.

"Just salt water. I've had worse,"

Pet froze. He'd been going to go fetch his med kit, but instead came back to look Matthias in the eyes.

"You've had worse?"

With luck the kid wouldn't be able to figure his tone of voice.

"Why do you think I left?"

"You're not old enough."

"You think maybe I should have stuck around for the Fall?"

Pet closed his eyes on the images of last Fall in Taymore's herd.

Matthias didn't say anything. He was just there, his body inches away, his breathing even, his coat smelling oddly familiar in the heat.

"Right - come on. I've got something that'll sort this out," Pet said in the end, moving purposefully towards the bathroom. Stick to the things that can be fixed.

There were advantages in moving into an ex-abattoir. Rubber matted floors, movable walls, and a bathroom big enough for several humans, or two centaurs, were amongst them. Someone else to clear away the broken glass was new.

The bank of four showerheads ran across the short side, and at the opposite end Pet had stacked a couple of crates of medical supplies and a battered trunk that held a nest of ratty towels. He rummaged around until he found the jar he was looking for.

"That the same stuff you used on these?"

Matthias could have been asking how he took his godsdamn coffee for all the emotion in his voice. Yet his fucking fingers were tracing over the scars on Pet's haunches, stepping slowly closer as he followed the broken lines of white hair. The touch made Pet's skin shiver. Fuck. Never thought he'd see the day. His near hind leg snapped up, kicking at his own belly and he sidestepped neatly away from the colt.

Took him a moment to find his voice, and the damned kid hadn't budged an inch except to take his good hand back.

"Yes." Pet cleared his throat. "Yes, except a good clean cut like that will heal up just fine."

"The wire?"

"Yes."

The silence didn't seem to bother the kid one iota. Made his skin itch though.

"Barbed wire, and then the five days it took to get here and get cleaned up. You thought hitch-hiking while a horse was bad - try it covered in blood some day."

Matthias raised an eyebrow and a small smile.

"Well - don't. Not if you have any sense in you."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Fucking kid was laughing at him. Swear to Gods.

Pet tossed him the jar, shaking his head, and tried to go back to getting some work done.

***** ***** *****

Kid stayed good to his word, at least, and left Pet undisturbed to finish the section of code he was wrestling into submission. The itch of being away from the herd was quiet, but that was the only clue he had that the colt hadn't done the sensible thing and done a runner.

By the time the mid-afternoon sun beating down on the metal roof had well and truly beaten the portable fans into uselessness, Pet had made enough progress to justify to himself having a shower and a beer.

He half expected to find Matthias in the kitchen. The partitioned-off area showed every sign of having been cleaned and straightened, and there was one of those gallon bottles of water with the keg tap in the side wasting precious beer space in the fridge. No colt, though. Pet finished his first beer, dropped his cigarette butt into the dregs and lobbed the bottle towards the bin. He snagged his second and headed for the shower.

Once again, no sign of Matthias except the marked absence of this morning's mess. No sign, even, of their earlier medical session. Pet dropped his grubby t-shirt on the floor and stepped into the shower rank. A practised spin of the dials, and blissfully cool water was washing the sweat off him, and soothing some of the puffiness out of his tendons. He must have stood under the showers for at least fifteen minutes sipping at his beer in silence before he reached for the soap, lathering up and rinsing off quickly as he could. Another long rinse and when the water started to run warm - damn roof tanks - he killed the showers and gave himself a shake, spraying water around the room.

He was towelling off his hair as he took a walk around the rest of the warehouse. Matthias' sudden silence was starting to bug him. Might as well admit he was looking for the colt - just wanting to know what the fuck he was up to. The kid had the smarts not to be in his sleeping quarters, and there was no sign of him in any of the other spaces Pet regularly made use off. That left the garages, the yard, or the dumping ground out the back. The garages were closer, and there was a scent of WD40 and oil in the air, but no Matthias.

Outside the sliding door the heat was brutal, although last night’s rain was keeping the dust at bay. Pet squinted in the bright light, but he could hear hooves on concrete - trotting hooves, for fuck's sake. Far too hot for that sort of exertion, in Pet's opinion. He used the towel to wipe away the first beads of sweat dampening his forehead and threw it back indoors.

He took the short route to the patch of shade in the angle of the buildings, although with the heat bouncing back and forth between the metal walls it wasn't a whole lot cooler. At least it didn't half-blind him.

"Matthias?" he yelled - no way was he running around in this heat after some addle-brained colt who didn't know when to stop. After a moment there was a clatter of hooves, and the colt practically skidded around the corner, topless, and starting to burn a little across the shoulders. Fuck if he wasn't almost as wet as he had been standing in the rainstorm. Matthias pushed his forelock back out of his eyes, and grinned at Pet.

"Man - have you been through the stuff in the back lot? You should see some of the stuff I turned up!"

Something about the buoyant enthusiasm pissed Pet right off.

"The fuck are you doing rolling around in a rubbish tip in midsummer?" he demanded.

Matthias stopped his continuous motion and stood foursquare and still, crossing his arms over his chest. He kept his tone low and calm though.

"You wanted me out of your way, I got myself out of your way. Thought maybe I could do something useful with my afternoon - maybe clear enough that you'd have somewhere to run without having to go off your own spread seeing as you say there's bad attitude around here. I fixed the garage doors, by the way."

If it hadn't been for the flicking of his ears the kid might even have got away without revealing his temper.

Pet swung his tail, and decided to go with his first reaction. He laughed. "Kid - do I look like I want to run? You want to give yourself heat-stroke hauling junk in midsummer, you go right ahead - just take a fucking shower when you come in before you stink the place up - but don't act all high and mighty like you're doing me a favour." Matthias opened his mouth to say something, but Pet just rode right on over him. "Now, I am going to go on back inside, have a couple more cold beers, and call up something to eat. What you do is entirely up to you."

Pet swung round and walked himself back indoors, letting Matthias have a good long view of his wide uncaring ass and angry swishing tail. He slid the door shut with a clatter and tried to stuff all the memories that were boiling over back down again. His hands found a shirt hooked over one of the doorframes. He put that on, not bothering with buttons, and patted at the pockets for cigarettes while his hooves carried him back to the kitchen. He bypassed the fridge, reaching for the whisky in the top cupboard instead.

Want to run, for fuck's sake. Running was for kids, running was something you did when you were free and happy and you had Dios and half the herd alongside you. He jerked his shoulders, and then bucked, almost enjoying the shock shooting down both back legs and the crash of it around the walls. The pull of it in his loins was familiar and if his left cannon bone made him hiss with pain as he lashed out in front as well - well, then, good.


***** ***** *****

"I can hear you." He could hear the belligerent tone in his own voice too. Matthias might not know it yet, but he knew he was way too drunk to try getting to his feet just because there was someone watching him. Damned if he was going to feel ashamed about that too.

The soft hoof-falls came closer, and Matthias's body blocked the light from the bare bulb.

"That wasn't a fucking invitation."

"I thought you might need a refill." A familiar bottle appeared in front of him. Pet let is stay there until Matthias shrugged and set it down on one of the crates that edged the small room. "Those his things?"

Pet scrubbed his hands over his face. Dios's things. In some fantasy world, maybe. He leant over and closed the lid before the nosy colt could see what pathetic scraps he was mourning over. The movement made his head spin. Fuck.

"No." Just what he had to remember him by.

The light brightened, and the sounds resolved into the unmistakable touch of another pair of haunches touching his, a solid warm bodied laying alongside. Pet refused to turn his head - didn't want to see whatever the colt was thinking. Didn't want Matthias seeing him.

"Patrocles." Matthias's voice trailed off. Pet's ears twitched. He ran his hand over the small, smooth wooden box again, and tried very hard to ignore the burning presence of a hand, fingers stroking gently at the base of his back, just at the junction where coat became skin. "Tell me?"

"What's to tell? You were there." Gods, he hated the bitterness in his voice, the thickness.

"They didn't exactly rush to share the details with the kiddie table."

"Now there's a surprise." The hand was still there. He wanted to leap to his feet and run. Couldn't raise the energy to care anymore. He closed his eyes.

"It wasn't fucking time. It wasn't time - wasn't even Fall - and the bastard came out of nowhere - got Dios - got him still in the sheds - no room to run, no room to fight." His voice was cracking, but he couldn't stop.

"Heard him scream, but I couldn't get there - not soon enough. Soon enough to watch him hammer down and break his spine. Soon enough to see him, and smell his blood, and be no earthly fucking good to him. Soon enough to get my ass kicked and to lie there wrapped up in wire and bleeding while 'Dnie did the only decent thing she could and finished him, and I wasn't there." Pet dragged a clumsy fist across his face, tears leaving burning tracks that he wouldn't acknowledge. "I wasn't fucking there, and he died, and Taymore didn't, and I should have."

"But - why?"

"Because I was too useless to help him." Thanks. Needed to rub that in a few more times.

"Don't be stupid - I meant why did Taymore attack him in the first place. He wasn't challenging for the heard or anything, was he?"

Apparently shock trumps stupid pointless tears. Who knew.

"Because he's a psycopathic maniac?"

He could feel Matthias watching him. That still made his fucking shoulder blades itch.

"Look, kid, Taymore gave the order and his little minions slid the shed doors shut, and no one had the balls to ignore his order to leave me out there in the wire to rot. The fuck do I care about herd politics 101?"

Matthias stayed silent, his hand slowly massaging the tight muscles of Pet's back. Pet sighed.

"... Don’t know. Dios didn't want the herd. I certainly didn't. Hell - Dios only stuck around because I was a year younger and getting the papers for me to travel would have been a pain. He should have gone when he got his brands."

"I can see why he stayed though."

"The hell you do!" The thick bitter tone was back, choking him.

"Patrocles, don't forget I sort of knew you both - saw you two together. Dios was glorious. You were glorious. The both of you together."

Pet's head was thumping, his eyes were burning and breathing was a battle.

"The fuck was I ever worth dying for."

Matthias' thin arms came around him, gentle and sure. Matthias' voice was so quiet it was hard to hear under the sound of blood thundering in his head.

"What you two had? Looked like it was worth taking the risk for."


*************

The next morning was awkward. The hangover at least had the advantage of being familiar, but the little hopeful looks and the solid uncomfortable weight of expectation just drove Pet to the edge of crazy again. Coding with a blinding, thumping, lurching headache never worked out well anyway, so here he was, walking his property.

Truth be told Pet was grateful for the brutal heat. Held the fucking kid down to a semi-reasonable pace, and had Matthias sweating and blowing some, which took the sting out of his own condition a little. Seemed he had some pride left in him after all. Fuck all to base it on, mind.

He peered through his sunglasses at the pile of twisted metal the kid was leading him too.

"Kid - the fuck is this?"

"You tell me - it's your junk pile. What it's going to be, though, is a sculpture."

"A sculpture."

And of course the colt took that as an excuse to explain and elaborate and trot round in circles measuring stuff out like somehow Pet was going to start giving a shit. Still, if a little expenditure on tools would keep the boy out of his hair for a while, and let him get back inside for a shower and a beer ...

"So what you're saying." Pet interrupted when he'd had about all he could take. "is you want me to hire you a blow torch? You going to want me to pay the vets bills when you blow yourself up too?"

"Patrocles, I know what I'm doing."

"Pet." Pet snapped back. He moved to kick, and ended up batting at his own belly. Too much wire and shit around for him to be comfortable lashing outwards, and didn't that just make him feel like a stud.

"Sorry." As if that hangdog look was going to get the kid anywhere.

"Forget it. Fine. One blow torch. Whatever."

"Will you? That would be so great! - Today?"

It had to be well over a hundred degrees and the colt had the energy to bounce? Yeah and that tickly thought about when did you get so old and grumpy just made him jump for joy too.

"Ohh - if we run in to town we could get some food too - I'll cook - and then I can get started."

Swear to Gods Matthias had trotted half way down the line before he realised Pet wasn't following. He came back.

"No way am I 'running' anywhere, least of all in this heat. You can go. Abigail's will let you charge whatever to my account."

They were drifting back towards the sanctuary of the warehouse. Pet rifled through his shirt pockets for his lighter, took a long draw. The taste of it might distract from the thumping in his head some. Kid was still watching him.

"Well - get, then. If you're going."

Fucking colt looking him up and down like that. Bandaged arm or no, he was looking for another kicking.

"You know, if you quit the cancer sticks you might not get in such a lather about trotting a couple of miles."

Oh, that stung. Except he was right.

"Kid - I haven't been sound since I got here. The smokes have nothing to do with it."

Pet turned and headed for the cool darkness of the sliding doors. Sounded a lot like Matthias muttered something about Pet giving up as he went though.

Kid was probably right about that too.

***** ***** *****

Matthias kept it up for a solid week; working on his sculpture during the cooler parts of the day and cooking and cleaning and fixing and fussing the rest of the time. Damn colt never stopped. Mostly Pet just tried to ignore it and stick to his normal routine. Nothing like a pair of faintly reproachful eyes watching you, though, to make a body hyper aware of the number of times a day you reach for a beer or a smoke.

At least the sculpture project kept Matthias outside and out of the way most of the time Pet was trying to code, so the endless fidgeting wasn't going to destroy his business, just his sanity. The way the colt was running up his accounts with groceries and supplies for this and that, that was a good thing.

Pet sighed and stretched as he shut down the machine.

It wasn't all bad, he reminded himself. There were whole moments, kind of like this one, when it almost felt good. The smells from the kitchen announced dinner and made the place feel more like a home than the run down warehouse ever had before. The herd kitchens had always had peppers roasting in the ovens as they cooled, just like that.

OK so there was a jug of ice water pointedly sitting on the counter, but Matthias also passed him a beer as he stepped into the kitchen. He could live with that.

"Spanish omelette." was the reply to his questioning look.

Yeah. There were good moments.

Matthias set down a loaded plate in front of him.

"Thanks."

The way the colt looked at him was like Pet had never said that before. Of course, that might be true. Something that might once have been a conscience pointed out to Pet that the good stuff was looking pretty unevenly distributed.

"Matthias?"

The colt paused with a mouthful of omelette halfway to his mouth.

"How come you're still here?"

Damn kid took his mouthful and chewed it thoroughly.

He was going to start saying all sorts of crap if he didn't get an answer.

Bloody kid.

"I mean - all this cooking and running around and shit."

Matthias interrupted him.

"You offered me a place to stay. A little housework seems like the least I can do."

"No, sitting around on your ass drinking my beer would be the least you could do."

The colt shrugged and dropped his eyes, picking up another forkful of dinner.

This time Pet managed to keep his mouth shut and they ate in silence for a while.

"I'm still here, because here is where I want to be."

Pet snorted.

"Bullshit."

Matthias reached across the counter and took Pet's bottle, draining the last of his beer. The colt was smiling as he put the bottle back down.

"Not really."

"Right. You wanted to waste a bunch of time in a shitty little podunk town, building something or other out of junk and playing housekeeper for a pissy drunk who damn near broke your arm. Great plan you've got there, kid."

Godsdamn colt. It'd been shaping up to be an ok evening and now there he was again, itching to kick something, or just run till he burst a blood vessel.

"You don't get it, do you?"

He couldn't place the tone of the kid's voice. Didn't dare to meet his eye somehow. Pet turned and buried his head in the fridge looking for another drink.

"Fuck no. Not a clue." he muttered.

If he clattered the bottles enough maybe the colt would get a clue and leave it be.

When he turned back, straightening up, he found himself right up close and personal with Matthias. If the colt had been a hand taller they'd have been face to face, maybe six inches apart. Kid was looking up at him with this look on him, for all the world like the youngster got some joke or something. Dark chocolate eyes and his forelock in a mess, and sun burn through the tan on his cheekbones.

"I didn't end up here by accident."

Kid only had to whisper they were that close, and damned if he was going to step back and sit in the ice box just to get a little space.

"Had everything planned out, Patrocles, how I was going to get away, where I was going to go, how things were going to be between us. 'Course that part isn't anything like what I had planned out just yet, but I'm right where I want to be, Pet."

He was going to ask. Going to say something, do something. Only the kid's hand was really warm, brushing fingers up his bare arm.

"I don't..."

Was about all he managed before Matthias's hand came to rest on his shoulder, one finger tracing his jaw line.

"See, I had it all planned out that I'd come up here and start a revolution."

Some how Pet couldn't quite look away, and the stroking and the low even voice were almost hypnotic. That and he really didn't have the first clue what he should be trying to say.

"Took me weeks to figure out how to get here without getting picked up on the way. Kept thinking I should wait till I had my brands, but in the end … didn't want his marks on me. Don't. And I got here, and - this is where I want to be. The part about going back, guns blazing, and overthrowing the government as a double act seems kinda dumb."

"Well - you got that part right at least." Somewhere in the past three minutes all the bitterness had evaporated out of his voice. Hardly sounded like himself. "The being dumb."

Matthias smiled a little.

Then the colt stepped away. A neat side-step had him clattering dishes in the sink.

Pet blinked, and ran a hand over his face, before popping the bottle cap and taking a draught.

Not a fucking clue.

***** ***** *****

Pet had weathered enough storms in the past year to know that trying to work through them was a false economy. One good power surge and bang, there goes a whole hard drive of work and worse.

He'd switched off when the winds came up and settled in to drink hard and concentrate on not listening for the sound of tearing metal.

Pet hated storms.

Didn't look much like Matthias got along with them much better. The storm sounded like to take the roof of the place and the damned kid was fretting about his precious sculpture!

Of course it'd be much more satisfying to see the colt twitching and starting if he didn't have to be bloody twitched at the whole time.

Pacing the warehouse like that was going to do jack shit to help anything and wittering on about 'hope I fixed this' and 'do you think it'll damage that' was just...

Truth was the storm was driving them both batshit crazy between the noise and the enforced close proximity.

"For fucks sake, kid, would you stand still for five minutes!" Pet growled. "You're building this thing and you don't know if it'll hold. The hell you think I know about the structural stability of half-assed junk-sculptures?"

The colt snapped to a halt and his expression was almost exaggeratedly apologetic. "Sorry."

"Don't be, just shut up."

Great idea, Pet. Bully the kid into an uncomfortable silence just as the rain's hitting harder than ever on the tin roof. He caught himself before he could do anything stupid like apologising.

Pet sighed.

"OK, kid, talk to me. Just not about that fucking statue, ok?"

"Sure - I guess worrying's not going to fix anything." Matthias shrugged with a wry smile. "What'd you want to know? Or can I ask a question?"

"Whatever," he replied absently.

A particularly strong gust hit the building and they both jumped, Pet taking a couple of quick paces back and swatting at his belly with his tail, and then steadfastly refusing to check if the colt had noticed.

"You ever wish you'd got your brands?"

"Wish I'd had the guts to leave without them."

"Yeah?"

"Oh fuck yeah." It wasn't right that thinking about his Dios left that thick bitter tone in his voice but it wasn't like he had any control over it. "You find me the paperwork that's worth someone's life."

There was a long moment of silence underneath the beat of the rain and the wind. And then there was a warm hand resting on his withers, just where the herd marks should have been.

"That's not quite what I meant. I meant more if you'd had a choice - I mean, doesn't it cause problems and stuff?"

"Oh yeah, 'cos I do so much travelling." Pet snorted.

"Oh," was the only reply. He didn't move away though.

"Yes, there's been a couple of times it's been a bitch, not being able to prove my blood lines. Not like I'm planning a world cruise or applying for a residency permit near any major herds though, so - don't think about it much."

"I guess that makes sense. I don't know though. I know I don't want herd marks from Taymore, but still - kinda weird to think I'm never going to walk the herd and get them, never going to be a legal adult, you know?"

"You really think a few pretty scars makes you an adult?"

The colt raised an eyebrow. "That's not what I said. Anyway - Hesta taught me a whole bunch about heraldry - I reckon I could design my own if I wanted to."

Pet tried not to picture sleek black skin contrasted against the rich chestnut of Matthias's shoulder, and white scars on his tanned arm. Pet sidled, turning to face the colt fully and breaking the contact between them.

"That where you got this artistic streak of yours from? She was your dam, right?"

"Yeah." There was another uncomfortable lapse in the conversation. Both of them thinking on Taymore, Matthias's sire. Fucking great change of subject, Pet scolded himself.

He'd taken perhaps three steps towards the kitchen and another beer when the kid piped up again.

"You know? Your tail's a mess."

Pet swished angrily at the criticism, refusing to turn around to reply.

"Yeah, well - notable lack of grooming parlours round these parts."

He carried on towards the kitchen. Kid had the survival instincts of a paper bag, because he followed.

"Let me brush it out, then."

Pet nearly choked on his drink. Kid didn't even have the manners to make it a question.

"See, that way I won't feel quite so weird asking you to help me out," Matthias continued. "Because mine's driving me nuts."

Pet rolled his eyes.

"You want to ask a favour, just fucking ask. Don't pussy foot around pretending like you're not."

"OK. Sorry. Would you put a brush through my tail for me, please? - how's that?"

Pet was drawing breath to tell the kid to take a running jump when the first peal of thunder crashed over them; the din of his near hind hitting the metal wall sounded almost as loud.

"Go get your brushes then."

***** ***** ******

Eventually the thunder moved on. The rain slowed and stopped. Pet still couldn't sleep. Matthias - well the colt had drifted right off while Pet had still been untangling three weeks' worth of knots. Slept like a log, the kid did.

Pacing the overheated tin box of a shack he called home was doing nothing to calm Pet's nerves. Something had him keyed up and he was damned if he knew what. Realising that he was on his last packet of cigarettes didn't help any. Damned lazy colt kept 'forgetting' to get them in. Same way he kept 'forgetting' whisky and that Pet much preferred his beer with the alcohol left in it.

Motherfucking meddling son of a self-righteous bastard kid.

Fuck it.

Time for a run - maybe swing by Keggers and pick up some smokes, have a coffee. The way the grey was fading up, they'd be open by the time he got there.

He left the door slid open - the better to get some air in - and hit the driveway with a buck and a kick.

***** ***** *****

Oh, fuck this.

This wasn't enjoying the freedom of running.

No shit. This was lumbering on because he was too damn stubborn to admit to himself (let alone any young studs who, dear gods please, can't see you) that he might be a fat, stupid, bad tempered asshole who'd done a damned good job of pissing his life up against the wall in something less than year.

That wasn't a happy thought.

Pet ducked his head and forced himself onwards. He was acutely aware of the arguments presented by his aching cannon bones and burning lungs that yes, actually, he really was. He really had.

A spurt of anger carried him over the crest of the hill.

Whether it was for the mental image of Matthias cantering around happily in the dustbowl, or the residual self image that kept telling him how good this ought to feel he wasn't sure and damned well didn't care.

It was cold comfort that the sweat drops mostly hid the tears he couldn't stop.

***** ***** *****

It took just over two hours and most of a bottle of whisky for Pet to admit to himself that he was avoiding going back to the warehouse, and another hour and half of the second bottle to admit why, and to make a decision. He lobbed the remaining liquor out into the lake and started back, towards home.

Three hours was apparently just long enough for every muscle in his body to have tightened up, but his limping hitch-step pace wasn't the only reason it was a long slow walk.

By the time he reached the top of the single carriage road, where the roof was reflecting back the bright morning sun and making him blink, it was only every third step or so that he wanted to turn right around and vanish for good.

Nothing like a stubborn streak to keep a body moving forward.

Matthias met him half way down the driveway, all bouncing energy and barely concealed concern.

Pet counted his blessings that the colt didn't seem to know what to say once the first round of questions had been ignored.

He waited until they were in the shadows. Matthias was circling around him, fingers twisting and tail whisking. He finally met the kid's eyes.

"This is my home, Matthias. My home, my herd, my challenge."

He never thought he'd hear those words come out of his mouth, but there they were, formal and hollow, and he could only pray that the kid would figure out what they really meant.

The silence stretched out like his nerves, and neither of them moved.

The scrape of Matthias' hoof, his near hind sliding back a creeping half pace on the tarmac, broke all that.

Broke the moment, broke the mood, broke the last bit of hope in Pet's mind, and desperation coiled his muscles, pushed him to the sticking point, heaved him to his hind legs, striking out with hooves and arms and blind angry wordless noise. He didn't want to see that look in the kid's eyes, didn't want to hear the sound of hooves on flesh, didn't want any of this, in fact, and somewhere in the screams there were tears.

The first impact of Matthias' fist against his cheekbone washed through him with a cold wave of relief, and he hardly felt the teeth, the hooves, the blood and bruises rushing to his skin. He stumbled under the weight of that muscled chestnut body flung against his own, his swollen hock finally giving way, crashing him against the metal wall. Matthias' arms wrestling his still, burning scratches appearing down his chest, and his head rang from the impact. Instinct kicked in and he panicked, twisting and bucking, ignoring the pain of tearing tendons and abused muscles.

Slight or not, Matthias pinned him. Held him, locked him still with body and will, and when the colt's teeth finally released his bleeding ear, Matthias’ voice was low and sure.

"Mine. My home. My herd. Mine, Patrocles."

The world seemed very big in the seconds after those words. Big. Light. Distant. His lungs stubbornly burnt their way through gasping breaths, but it took everything he had left not to laugh and whoop and scream. There were drugs that maybe made you feel half as good as this. Along his right hand side the corrugated metal was warming, loosing the first shock of the cold. Along his left, Matthias' body prickled sweat and heat. Solid. Hot. Right. Holding him down, holding him up, salt rolling stinging into cuts and the blood running down his neck tickled. Matthias' thumb pressed firm and sharp, fitting into the crook of vein at his wrist like it was made for it. Complete.

Pet rolled his head back, shoulder screaming. Wordlessly he threw his thanks to the sun-bleached sky.

"Yours," he panted, with a triumph in his tone. "Yours."

The pressure along his body lessened, but Matthias' grip on his wrists tightened. His arms were pulled up and back, muscles protesting. It took Pet a long moment lost somewhere between glory and pain to realise what was needed.

The ice-stab-burn of his hock kept the movement from being elegant. He wasn't so much kneeling when those biting fingers turned into caresses as he was floored, front and back.

"Yours, Matthias. Your herd to choose, your home to protect."

The words were thick in his mouth, copper blood taste. His cheek was swelling already. Fucking hurt. Clean pain, though, holding him in his skin, in the now. Matthias' fingers touched along his cheekbone and it was an effort not lean into the touch. If he really concentrated there was maybe half a square fucking foot of his skin that didn't pound and ache and hurt somehow. Been a year since he'd felt this good.

"Up, Pet, and inside with you. Ice and the first aid kit."

The colt's voice had changed even, low and sure and something in it to set the world to rights. Made it easier to bite back the words that moving summoned. Motherfuck but that hurt. Straightening his left hind enough to find out if it would take his weight wasn't even an option. He staggered, and before he could lurch into the wall once more, that solid body was pressed up alongside him again. Matthias' arm went around his waist.

"Inside." At least the colt's expression as he twisted back, catching sight of the injured leg, hadn't changed that much. The resolve looked better on him without the need to hide it. The arm on his back pressed him forward. They took a handful of slow, painful steps and paused to find their places. A few more, and the cooler shade of the warehouse enveloped them.

Painkillers and cold water and someone else setting everything to rights. That sounded really fucking good.

***** ***** *****

Waking up like that was - disconcerting. He didn’t miss the throbbing hangover any, but the moment he tried to move the rest of his body more than made up for any pain his head was missing out on. Rolling up onto his chest involved flexing his hock and - Jesus Fucking Hell!- that hurt.

Hurt in a way that set dark fireworks off behind his eyelids and made him wish loudly and fervently for death or drugs. Hurt so much that he didn’t register the still figure calmly watching him with one warm hand hovering just above his flank until after he stopped cussing.

Watching from a suspiciously settled, reclining, I’ve-been-here-all-night sort of a way. A yesterday-wasn’t-a-dream sort of way.

Fuck.

Pet closed his eyes.

"Stay put a minute."

Oh shit. Not a dream at all then.

That same sure tone that had led him through last night. Led him though having careful hands on his skin without going screaming-ninja crazy. That same tone of voice that had scared him half to death when he thought about how easy it felt not to fight the contact while Matthias smoothed salve over bruises and bitter purple disinfectant over cuts, fed him pills and water and combed oil patiently through his tail and touched him everywhere.

Pet started a little, his eyes wide, throwing himself into another aborted attempt to at least find his knees. The steady pressure on his near flank and the pain was irresistible though, and he flopped back, panting and ungainly, feeling the beginnings of vicious silver panic threading through him again.

"Pet." Matthias’ voice was low and sure. " Pet - stay put. You’re going to hurt yourself."

He managed to force himself still and to suck down heavy gasps of air instead. His eyes were tight shut again, listening.

"That’s good, Pet. Stay there a spell."

Matthias’ hand left his with a final stroke and the muffled scrape of hooves indicated the colt finding his own feet. Pet watched the wall and didn’t turn his head. Scratched up metal wall plates and a thin seam of grime where the padded mats met them. He concentrated on getting through the moments without actually cursing out loud. Jim Bean coffee and a cigarette became a temporary mantra. Coffee, whisky, smokes, and a whole lot of drugs. Soon. Please.

He knew he wasn’t tracking time so well when the hand on his haunch made him startle, stirring up a whole new world of pain.

"Hey." Matthias’ voice behind him was low but not apologetic. Calming.

Pet closed his eyes again, swallowing back the flare of fear and trying not to notice the lack of anger.

"How are you with needles when you’re conscious?"

Pet snorted gently. "Not sure you could make it hurt any worse."

If he concentrated he ought to be able to make the small sounds make sense. Wrappers tearing, that sort of thing.

"Where did you get them?"

"Vet's"

Matthias made that sound almost normal. He wanted to argue - that no one in the area would write scrits for a ‘taur, and that the bills would have to be more than his hide was worth.

In the end all he did was bite his upper lip until it bled again and allow Matthias to run gentle possessive hands over his skin until thick artificial sleep washed him away again.

***** end *****