The Ending Hour
by Maya Tawipart six
"Some say it's like a beautiful flower
Some say it is a terrible power
I'll meet you at the ending hour
I want to use, I want to use that power"
--Helium, "Pat's Trick"DAY 2
Waking again was much like the first time around: panic, then pain. Only this time, Harrison's headache was dwarfed by the world of hurt bursting from his chest.
He curled up and rolled over on his side, his yell becoming a short, choked gasp, and felt the lingering warmth of Isaac's body still trapped in the sheets.
Isaac.
Harrison flung himself upright, heedless of the pain-- the shock of the bullet was gone, and now his headache was pounding through again-- and just stared at Isaac for a few seconds: sprawled in the armchair, hurt, angry, and alive. The cigarette dangled unlit from his fingers; he was blinking at Harrison like he'd just seen a ghost.
"I should be pissed at you for something," Isaac said at last, breaking the silence. "I just can't figure what."
Harrison frowned.
Isaac's eyes narrowed. "Besides the obvious, I mean."
"Fuckin' A," Harrison said, and launched himself off the bed.
Isaac punched him in the face.
There wasn't much force behind the blow, not from a sitting position, but it was enough to make Harrison's ears ring and knock him back against the bed. He slid to the floor, one hand pressed against his aching cheekbone, watching Isaac through his spread fingers.
"Okay," he said after a moment, "I deserved that."
"Damn right." Isaac tossed the cigarette on the table beside him and stood, both hands clenching into fists. "Jesus fuck, Harrison--"
"Aspirin?" Harrison interrupted, not daring to move just yet.
After a long pause, Isaac tossed him the bottle.
Harrison swallowed two pills dry, then let his head fall back with a groan. "Okay, look," he told the ceiling, "I fucked up, and I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry. You deserve the truth, and I'm gonna tell it to you, and you won't believe me, but maybe this time I can prove it to you. But--" shifting his gaze now, meeting Isaac's eyes, and maybe it was just his imagination, or maybe Isaac's face looked a little softer now-- "right now, I just really wanna kiss you. And if you don't cut off my dick for it, that'd be a plus."
Isaac looked confused. "How--"
"Later," Harrison said, and stood with some difficulty. He took a step forward, then stopped. "Okay?"
Isaac just looked at him. Harrison stood his ground.
"What the hell," Isaac said, and met him halfway.
One kiss turned into several, which turned into more, and it was some time later when Harrison reached for the phone by the bed.
"Who the fuck are you calling?" Isaac mumbled into the sheets beside him.
"Reinforcements," Harrison said, and dialed.
Ray Kowalski woke slowly with a vague sense of déjà vu, and a somewhat less vague sense that whoever was making that godawful racket was about to get their head kicked in. A moment later, his brain sputtered into gear, and he realized that the godawful racket was the telephone.
"Ben," he mumbled, swatting weakly at the other side of the bed, but of course Ben wasn't there. It was after dawn, so Ben was up with the chickens or running with the dogs or whatever the hell he did in the morning before Ray dragged his ass out of bed and came groping into the kitchen for coffee and chocolate candy. Of all the things that had changed over the past few years, Ray's severe lack of being a morning person wasn't one of them.
The phone continued to ring. He cracked one eye open and glared at the clock. Forget the head-kicking; whoever was calling at 7:30 a.m. on his day off was gonna get his ass killed dead.
"What," he snarled finally, through a mouth that felt stuffed with cotton, once he'd found the phone and held it up more or less to his ear.
"And a bright and shiny good morning to you too."
Harrison. Ray closed his eyes and collapsed back against the pillow with a groan. "Fuck d'you want?"
"World peace, a pony, and you guys to be in Telegraph Creek by six tonight."
Ray opened his eyes again and gave the phone a distrustful glare. "Settle for one out of three?"
"I was pretty much counting on it."
"Great, I'll call a pony farm. Now fuck off and let me sleep."
"Ha fucking ha," Harrison said, loudly enough that Ray could hear it from where he was stretching to drop the receiver back on its base. "Don't you-- Kowalski, don't you dare hang up, I'm serious here."
With a sigh, and against his better judgment, Ray returned the phone to his ear. "Talk fast, Davies."
Harrison did. When he was done, Ray was wide awake and out of bed, groping for his clothes.
"And you want what," he asked, bracing the phone with his shoulder as he struggled into a wrinkled pair of jeans, "extra guns?"
"That'd be nice," Harrison said. "Backup, you know, element of surprise kinda thing. I can't call the cops even if I thought they'd believe me. I don't think I was supposed to leave the state, never mind the country."
Ray paused in his dressing long enough to ask, "Do you like the idea of prison, or is it just the cavity searches that turn you on?"
Harrison's reply was mostly lost as he pulled his T-shirt over his head, but he caught the tail end of it, and it was definitely profane. Grinning, Ray said, "Behave, kid. We know a guy with a plane. I'll call you when we get there."
"Thanks," Harrison muttered, sounding sulky. He paused, and Ray could hear whispered voices in the background; then he added, with obvious reluctance, "Isaac says hi."
Ray's eyebrows shot up. The same Isaac who'd more or less indirectly saved his life three years ago; the same Isaac whose mere mention got Harrison blushing like a schoolgirl? "This should be interesting," he said with a smirk, and hung up before Harrison could muster the wits to respond.
Ben walked in, red-cheeked and snow-covered, just as Ray was zipping his duffel bag. Just for a second, Ben's face froze in a look of naked fear that made Ray's throat constrict. The last time he'd walked in on Ray packing like this, Ray'd ended up shot in the head in an abandoned warehouse in Boston, and Harrison had brought him back.
So of course they were going, together. He owed the little bastard. They both did.
"Grab yer mukluks," was all Ray said, as he tossed Ben an empty duffel bag. "We're going on a field trip."
Harrison hung up and elbowed Isaac, who was currently doing his best to get a mouthful of collarbone. "Quit that."
Isaac sat back with a grin, unrepentant. "I finally get to meet these guys?"
"Not if you don't behave."
"You started it."
"Yeah, and I'm pausing it, so chill."
"We gonna have that talk soon?" Casual, but studiedly so. Isaac still didn't trust him. He was making the effort, though, and for Harrison, that was enough.
"Couple more phone calls first."
"I'm holding you to that."
"Figured you might," Harrison said, and called Spencer.
He got the Are you okay?s and What the hell's going on, Davies?es out of the way as quickly as he could and got down to business. She was still in the office, God only knew why, and Harrison recited Olivia Doyle's license plate number as she ran it through the database. He waited on hold as Spencer made a few calls, fending off Isaac as best he could; when she came back, she gave him a phone number.
"You're golden, Spence," Harrison said, and meant it.
"Give me a raise, then," she said, and he was pretty sure she meant it too.
"I'll think about it."
He should have called Olivia first thing, he knew, but it had taken him a while to work up the nerve. Even now, his fingers trembled as he dialed. She was the only other one who remembered what had happened last night; she was the only one who knew what he had done.
It had been frighteningly easy to shoot. He told himself it was adrenaline, he had to, and if he hadn't Isaac would have been dead anyway. But the fact remained that it had been his finger on the trigger, and he didn't hesitate.
Olivia answered on the third ring. She sounded wary. "Yeah?"
"You told them yet?" Harrison asked, keeping his voice even with an effort.
If anything, she sounded even warier. "Who is this?"
"You know who, Olivia. Have you told them?"
"Not yet," she said after a long pause, dropping the pretense. "My-- he hasn't called yet."
"Neat," Harrison said, ignoring the slip. "Now for the big question. Do you want me dead?"
She didn't answer. Harrison's chest tightened, feeling the echoes of a nonexistent bullet.
"Look," he said into the growing silence, "you're not a bad person. I know you're not. So you've done some stupid shit, who hasn't? We'll get together after this is over, compare rap sheets sometime. But I saw you last night, and you were scared as hell. Now do you want that to happen again?"
"I don't," she began, and trailed off. It wasn't an answer yet, he knew, but uncertainty.
"Olivia," he said, and lowered his voice. "Liv. Come on. I'm your brother. I wanna get to know you. I can't do that from six feet under."
Again, no answer. Beside him, Isaac gave him a curious look, and he shook his head.
So appealing to her sense of sentiment didn't work; he tried self-preservation instead. "I had another sister, you know. Her name was Tru. She was...." He swallowed and tried again. "She was beautiful, and funny, and brilliant. Just a couple years older than me. She was gonna be a doctor. She would be, now."
He paused. Olivia didn't say anything, but she didn't hang up, either.
"Your-- our father had her killed," he said softly, and saw Isaac's expression sharpen. "Four years ago. Just like he's gonna kill me, if you don't help me out here. He's not as great as you think, Liv. He'll turn on you too."
"But I'm on his side." Not smug, just a simple statement of fact.
Fine, so she was smart. No big surprise; Richard Davies didn't spawn any idiots. Except maybe him.
"You pick your own side," he said. "You understand me, Liv? You get to choose. I know they've been laying all this bullshit on you about fate and destiny and whatever, but the fact is, it's your life. You make the decisions here. And right now, you have to decide if you want to watch me die."
For a minute, he was afraid he'd lost her, that she would hang up and tell Richard everything and he'd lose the only real advantage he had. He was already thinking up contingency plans when he heard her voice, so low it was barely audible, but audible nonetheless.
"What do you want me to do?"
Harrison didn't realize just how much trouble he was in until Ray and Fraser stepped off the rickety-looking propeller plane. They waited for it to take off again, Fraser waving cheerfully and Ray raising one hand in brief acknowledgment, then met Harrison and Isaac at the edge of the sorry excuse for a runway.
The first thing Isaac said was, "Threesome, huh?"
Harrison covered his face with one hand. "What," he mumbled, "you couldn't wait for 'hello'?"
After a moment's silence, he peeked through his fingers. Fraser looked embarrassed. At least he was in good company.
"Don't tell me," Ray said, face unreadable behind his sunglasses. "This must be Isaac."
"Good guess." Isaac stuck out his hand. "I've heard so much about you two."
His tongue curled suggestively around the words. Harrison used both hands this time.
"And we, you." Fraser sounded just this side of disapproving. Harrison closed his eyes. Where was a bolt of lightning when he needed one?
"Oh look," Ray said. "I think we broke him."
"Are you guys done?" Harrison demanded through his hands.
"Ha," Ray said. "We're just gettin' started."
Harrison dropped his hands and glared. "I hate you."
"Liar. So what's the plan?"
Harrison opened his mouth to explain. His mouth, totally independent from his brain, instead blurted out, "You guys look good."
He would've punched himself, if his arms were long enough to do any real damage.
Ray and Fraser exchanged amused looks. "That ain't a plan," Ray said.
It was the truth, though. They did look good; older, but who wasn't? They wore their age well: Fraser, his hair longer than before and curling a little at the edges, looking unusually relaxed in a beat-up brown leather jacket and plaid flannel shirt; Ray, new laugh lines etched into his face, wearing what looked like another one of Fraser's shirts, loose and open over a faded gray T-shirt. Standing next to Isaac, who was looking as blisteringly hot as ever, it was no wonder Harrison's brain had short-circuited. The first three men he'd ever slept with, the only three he ever gave a damn about, all in a row-- some part of him that still wasn't his brain wanted to say, Fuck it, let's all just go have sex.
He didn't think that would go over well with anyone but Isaac, though, so he collected himself with a superhuman effort. Right. The plan. There was a very important part of the plan, one he had to take care of before they did anything else.
He jerked a thumb at Isaac and said, "Tell this guy I'm not crazy."
"But that would be untruthful, Harrison."
Oh, now Fraser was getting in on it too? He was definitely smirking, in a polite Mountie sort of way. So much for having an ally.
"I didn't say you were crazy," Isaac objected.
"You said I was delusional."
"You're taking that out of context."
"You said, and I quote, 'You're fucking delusional.'"
"See," Isaac said, "now that's in context."
"Bite me."
"Later, if you're nice."
Ray elbowed Fraser. "Told you this'd be good."
"Okay," Harrison announced, "that's it. I'm takin' my toys and going home."
Isaac leered. "You didn't tell me you had toys."
Fraser looked like he didn't know whether to laugh, or to apologize and go hide in a closet. Ray just laughed.
"Come on," he said, still grinning, slinging an arm over Isaac's shoulders. "Let's me and you go have a little chat."
He steered Isaac a good distance down the runway, and to Harrison's surprise, Isaac let himself be steered.
Which left Harrison alone with Fraser, and he wasn't sure how he felt about that. Hot threesome aside, he'd always got the feeling Fraser disapproved of him in some way, and that feeling always made him prickly and defensive. And if they were keeping score, Harrison had gotten to Ray first, Biblically speaking, which was always bound to cause tension between guys.
"So," Fraser said after a long silence. "How's business?"
Then again, he kept forgetting that Fraser wasn't, strictly speaking, a guy.
"Booming," he said, straight-faced.
Fraser nodded. "Ah."
"How's, uh, the wilderness?"
"Remarkably free of conflagrations."
Harrison had only the vaguest idea what that meant, but he knew the goofy tone of voice well enough. He followed Fraser's gaze to where Ray was somehow managing to loom over a guy who had a good four inches on him, if not more. Ray did that sometimes.
He couldn't help it; he laughed. "Smokey says, put out your campfires," he intoned, in a passable imitation of Ray's Chicago accent. "Or Smokey'll kick you in the head."
Fraser's eyes flared. "Just so," was all he said.
Harrison swallowed hard. That whole group sex idea was looking better and better.
This was going to be sheer torture.
Isaac seemed subdued on the drive back to the cabin; Harrison managed to bite his tongue and save the gloating for later. Isaac St. Germain had just been out-alphaed by a forest officer from the Northwest fucking Territories. That kind of ammunition would last for years.
He hadn't expected Isaac to buy the whole reliving-days thing, but it still galled, just a little, to have his suspicions confirmed. At least Isaac didn't think Harrison was lying. He just thought Harrison was insane.
Harrison was more or less used to it by now.
"Talk to Fraser," he'd said. "He's a Mountie. You'd trust a Mountie, right?"
"Depends," Isaac had said. "Is he delusional too?"
Unfortunately, there was no good answer to that.
But whatever Ray had said seemed to have done the trick, because he wasn't protesting anymore. Harrison wondered if maybe Ray could write it down for him or something. Could come in handy the next time he had to talk someone out of calling the nuthouse on him.
Or maybe Isaac was just playing along so he wouldn't get his head kicked in. When he dropped the bluster and got serious for a minute, Ray Kowalski could be scary as hell.
Harrison glanced over his shoulder at the backseat. At the moment, Ray didn't look all that scary. He was leaning against the window, mouth open, sunglasses crooked on his nose. He was snoring.
Fraser caught his eye and made an apologetic face. "He was too nervous to sleep on the plane," he explained. "I told him it's perfectly safe. Myron's been flying that same plane for decades now." He frowned. "For some reason, Ray didn't find that very comforting."
"Decades, huh?" Harrison didn't blame him.
"Harry," Isaac hissed, "your friends are nuts."
"Yeah," Harrison said, "but they're armed."
Isaac didn't look reassured. Harrison grinned at Fraser, and after a brief pause, Fraser gave him a small answering smile.
Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.
They parked off the road, in the tall weeds, and Ray shook himself awake and stumbled out of the car. Harrison laid out the plan as Ray squinted at him, shielding his eyes from the glare of the setting sun.
"That ain't a plan," he said again, when Harrison was done, sounding a lot less happy this time. "That's Custer's last stand."
Harrison crossed his arms and scowled. "You got a better idea, let's hear it."
"That's the freakin' Alamo. That's not a plan."
"I got it the first time, Kowalski."
Ray was silent for a few seconds.
"Well?"
"I'm thinking," Ray snapped.
Fraser cleared his throat. "If I may suggest--"
"Still thinking, Ben."
"Well, Ray, as long as you're busy ruminating--"
"Ruminating? Isn't that what cows do?"
"Well, yes, in one sense of the word, but--"
"You callin' me a cow?"
"Moo," Fraser said gravely.
Harrison stared. "You are nuts."
"Like that means anything," Ray said, "coming from you."
Harrison narrowed his eyes. "Get in the car."
Ray didn't budge. "Why?"
"'Cause I'm gonna turn this car right around, and I can't do that if you're not in it."
Ray's lips twitched. Then he sighed.
"Okay, Ben," he said. "Suggest away."
Fraser straightened and clasped his hands behind his back as he spoke. "Harrison, you said that yesterday, Mr. Harper interrupted and disrupted the chain of events. This time, I suggest we take him out of the equation."
"Take him out," Harrison said. "I like the way that sounds."
"Good plan," Ray said.
"Wait, he doesn't get any snotty remarks?"
"He's got a plan."
"Bitch."
"Punk."
"Jackass."
"Stop it, guys," Isaac said. "I'm getting teary."
Harrison rolled his eyes. "Fine, whatever. So how do we take him out?"
"Leave that to us," Ray said, rooting through his duffel bag. "Here." He handed Harrison a microcassette recorder, much more expensive-looking than the one Isaac had brought yesterday.
"That's RCMP issue," he said, watching as Harrison fiddled with the buttons. "You break it, you bought yourself an ass-kicking."
Fraser frowned. "I don't believe that's how the saying goes, Ray."
"Sounds all right to me." Ray was digging through the bag again. "Here."
The guns, too, were better quality, bigger and shinier and more dangerous-looking. Isaac hefted one and gave a low whistle. "Finally," he said, "a plan I can get behind."
"Ray," Fraser said under his breath.
Ray sighed and handed them two slips of paper. "Temporary permits," he said at Harrison's blank look, and gave an annoyed shrug. "Hey, don't look at me."
Fraser began, "Canadian law dictates--"
"Heard it, lived it, loved it. Kindly shut up, Ben."
"As you wish, Ray."
Harrison stayed silent. The nerves that he'd expected yesterday had materialized in full force today. He'd already done this once; he'd seen how badly things could go wrong.
But that wouldn't happen this time. Ray and Fraser were here. They'd take care of Jack.
He hoped.
Ray was watching him. "You ready for this, Harry?"
"Yeah," he said, and felt his voice catch. He stuck the gun in his waistband and reached in his pocket. "Hang on a sec."
Three cigarettes left. He offered one to Isaac, and Isaac, despite having a half-full pack of American Spirits in the car, took it. Harrison eyed the last one, then held it out to Ray without a word.
Ray shot a quick, guilty glance at Fraser, then visibly steeled himself and took it. Fraser frowned but didn't comment.
Lighting up had the air of solemn ceremony. No one spoke. Harrison closed his eyes as he drew the first hit of smoke into his lungs, relaxing into the nicotine rush, letting it clear his head. He heard Ray's raspy cough, heard him drop the cigarette to the ground and stomp it out with a muttered curse, but he didn't bother to look.
After a few minutes of silence, he tasted filter. Reluctantly he opened his eyes and caught Isaac staring.
In a low, hoarse voice, Isaac said, "Fucking hell, Harry."
Harrison felt his face heat, but didn't look away. They flicked their butts to the ground, neither looking to see where they would land.
"Put those out," he heard Ray snap, but his voice sounded muted and far away, barely audible through the sudden roaring in Harrison's ears.
He moved without thinking, and tasted the last breath of smoke on Isaac's lips.
"Oh, for..." Ray muttered from somewhere underwater, and two more angry stomps filtered into Harrison's consciousness. He pulled back, breathing hard, and refused to meet the others' eyes.
"Let's do this shit," he said, echoing Isaac's words from the day before. This time he smiled.
This time, Isaac smiled back.
"It's really rather sweet, I suppose," Benton said, watching them go.
Ray snorted. "It'll never work."
Benton kept his smile to himself, and elected not to remind Ray of the many, many people who'd said that very same thing about them.
Ray heard him anyway. "Shut up," he said, cocking his gun, eyes fixed on the road, where a car was approaching in a cloud of dust. "Here comes trouble."
Benton had to concur.
Harrison didn't bother with the preliminaries. He kicked in the door, gun drawn, and barked, "Frying pan down! Turn off the fucking stove! Both of you, sit down!"
His father opened his mouth.
"Not a word," Harrison warned, shoving the gun in his face. "I will shoot you. Now sit your ass down!"
Olivia dropped the knife on the cutting board and sat without a word. Richard shot her a brief, bewildered look, then followed suit.
Harrison barely spared Olivia a glance. "Do it," he told Isaac.
He kept them covered while Isaac worked, and saw him lower his head and whisper something in Olivia's ear, too quiet to hear. Olivia sat, stone-faced, and didn't respond.
Richard began, "Harrison--"
"You don't get to talk yet," Harrison said, as Isaac tightened the final knot and stood. "It's my turn now, and I strongly suggest you listen. You killed Mom, you killed Tru, and you're going to tell me exactly how and why-- names, dates, everything-- and then maybe, maybe I'll let you live."
Richard's eyes narrowed. "Are you recording this?"
"I learned from the best," Harrison said bitterly. "What do you think?"
"I think you're a very disturbed young man, who would greatly benefit from some serious psychiatric help."
Isaac backhanded him across the face. Harrison cocked the trigger and said, "Wrong answer."
"This is a forced confession," Richard said, eyes narrowing even more. "It'll never stand up in court."
Harrison opened his mouth, but his retort was already made for him; from outside, a single gunshot echoed, then faded into silence.
He smiled at Richard's uneasy look. "Hear that? Those are the cops. They'll say whatever the hell I want 'em to. Now start talking." He held up the tape recorder and pressed the red button. "Elise Davies. Go."
His father set his jaw and glared.
Harrison held down the pause button and nodded at Isaac. "Next time he'll pistol-whip you. Then I start shooting. Maybe start with your feet, work my way up. You ever had a bullet in the kneecap? I hear it's kinda painful. Something like that, that could seriously ruin your day."
Isaac leaned down and said softly, "I'd believe him, if I were you."
Richard paled.
Harrison hit record again. "Let's try this again. I was ten years old, I had a mother, and you took that away from me." He could hear his voice choking up, and hated himself for it, but he couldn't stop. "Tell me about that, Dad. Tell me why it had to happen. Tell me how you did it."
For a long, long moment, Richard just looked at him. Harrison looked back, and whatever his father saw in his face made his eyes drop to the floor.
And somehow, it was as easy as that. Richard opened his mouth, and the dam broke; names and dates, down to the day of the week, even, as though it were all burned into his memory. And then there were the excuses, the rationalizations. It wasn't his fault. He was saving the world.
"I had to do it," he said, almost sobbing now. "I had to-- I didn't-- oh God, Harrison, I'm so, so sorry, I didn't want to-- I loved them, I really did...."
He trailed off, making quiet, choked sounds. Harrison stared at him, expecting to feel something-- relief, triumph, anything. Instead, he just felt tired.
It was over. He had what he needed.
He switched off the recorder and glanced at Isaac. "Go get the others."
Isaac nodded and started for the door. Then, suddenly, he stopped, reaching for his gun.
"Don't move," came Olivia's cold voice.
Harrison spun, heart pounding, and found himself staring down the end of a small black revolver.
"Put it down, Davies," she said, in that same flat voice.
He hesitated, and Olivia shifted her aim to Isaac. "Wanna see if it'll work again?"
Harrison put down the gun.
She had one arm free, the ragged edges of the rope dangling from her wrist. As he watched, open-mouthed, she sawed through the rest of the ropes with a tiny penknife. She'd come prepared this time. Her aim never wavered.
Harrison found his voice as the last rope fell free. "Liv, what the hell--"
"Don't call me that." Her voice was pure steel.
"Olivia," he amended after a moment. "What's going on? I said--"
"Yeah. I know what you said." Her voice shook now, but her aim was steady as she stood. "Did you really think I'd trust you? I don't fucking know you."
"Olivia." Richard's voice was a small, broken thing. "You knew? Why didn't you tell me? After everything I've done for you--"
"You used me!" she screamed. "Just like he used me--" The gun swung back to Harrison, who quickly yanked his hand back from the gun on the table. "Just like everyone in my fucking life used me!" She turned to Harrison, and he could see tears in her eyes now. "You think he's so bad? Look at yourself! You're no better than him!"
Harrison wet his lips. "Olivia," he said softly. "What do you want?"
"I want out," she spat. "I want my own fucking life. I want to never see any of you again."
"Then go," Harrison said. "I ain't stopping you."
Olivia backed slowly out the door, then turned and ran.
Isaac started after her, and Harrison stopped him and shook his head. "Let her go."
"Bad idea, Harry," Isaac said. "I'm telling you right now: very bad idea."
Harrison shook his head again; it felt like a lead weight. "You heard her. She's done."
He turned back to Richard, still tied to the chair, slumped forward. He hadn't moved.
"Fuck it," Harrison said. "I want a smoke."
He never got his cigarette. He'd smoked his last in the tall weeds outside, and Isaac still had half a pack left, but cigarettes were the one thing Isaac didn't share.
"What now?" Isaac asked at length, in the last lull they would have before crossing the border again. They were sitting on the floor of the cabin, backs to the kitchen cabinet, knees drawn up and forearms draped over, close to each other but not quite touching.
Fraser had already come in and cuffed Richard, him being the only one of them actually authorized to perform an arrest in a non-forest-fire-related capacity. He also took the time to inform Harrison that Jack was officially in custody, and to be nice and nonjudgmental about Olivia's escape, before leading Richard out to the car. Harrison imagined he and Ray were currently squabbling over seating arrangements. He wondered how the six of them would possibly fit in a fucking Geo.
Harrison wasn't thinking about the future now. He was enjoying the quiet.
"Harry," Isaac prompted, and he sighed.
"Now I go back to Seattle, make nice with Mer, and face the music. After that?" He shrugged. "Depends how the music plays out."
"You could probably cut a deal," Isaac said. "Your dad drops the charges, you don't turn over the tape."
Harrison was already shaking his head. "No way. Not a chance."
"Harrison," Isaac said gently, "no one's gonna believe it. Talking corpses, repeating days, hell, I heard it firsthand and I still don't believe it. They're gonna figure he's crazy. He'll spend the rest of his life in a mental hospital, not prison."
"Don't care," Harrison said, and meant it. "At least it'll be something. Something's better than nothing."
"Even if you end up in jail yourself?"
He had no answer for that.
"Still," Isaac said after a moment. "Conjugal visits. Could be fun."
Harrison let his head thunk back against the cabinet and closed his eyes. "Always looking on the bright side."
"That's me." Isaac's leg brushed against Harrison's, the contact brief enough to be accidental. "Polly-fucking-anna."
Harrison couldn't help smiling. "Wear the pigtails, I'll consider it."
"Nice little tea party you got goin' here," came Ray's loud voice from the doorway. "Care to join the rest of us in the real world?"
"Not really," Harrison said without opening his eyes.
"Tough. Up and at 'em, Queen Elizabeth."
He sighed again and grasped Ray's proffered hand, letting Ray haul him to his feet. Isaac leapt up nimbly beside him and followed them out the door.
It was almost fully dark now, the only light coming from the faint glow of dusk lining the horizon. Harrison squinted, letting his eyes adjust as he took in the scene.
The Geo was parked in the driveway, looking tinier and more pathetic than ever next to the BMW. Fraser leaned against the Beemer, hands tucked in his pockets, watching as they approached. Harrison could just make out the two dark shapes in the backseat.
He grinned despite himself. "Nice one."
Ray lobbed the Geo's keys at Isaac, who caught them one-handed, and said, "Here's what's gonna happen. You'll follow us back to the airfield, that crackhead Myron'll fly us up to Vancouver, and from there, praise be to God, we'll catch a real live honest-to-God 757 back to Seattle."
"Two Gods, one sentence," Harrison said. "I'm impressed."
Ray ignored him. "You'll keep your guns till we get to Vancouver, just in case. You try and ditch us on the way, your ass is dead meat. Either of you puts a single bullet where it don't belong without me or Fraser's express permission, your head joins your ass at the dead meat party, you got that?"
Harrison flicked him a lazy salute. Isaac said, "Damn, you guys've been busy."
"Ain't all tea and cookies 'round here," Ray said. "Pitter-patter, punks."
The drive and the flight to Vancouver were both uneventful, though Ray spent the latter white-faced and tight-lipped, gripping the edge of his seat. Harrison was dreading seeing Jack again-- the first time since Baltimore, as far as Jack was concerned-- but the sound of the engines in the cabin was too loud for chit-chat, and Jack didn't even bother to catch his eye, instead shooting Richard contemptuous sideways glares. Richard kept his head down and ignored them all; if Harrison hadn't seen him walk from the car to the plane, he would have thought his father had kicked the bucket from sheer misery.
Then they hit the tarmac in Vancouver, and things went downhill from there.
"Arms out," Ray said, dangling a shiny pair of handcuffs in front of Harrison's nose.
Harrison crossed his arms behind his back. "Not funny."
"This is me laughing. Tell 'im, Ben."
Fraser tugged at the collar of his flannel shirt, looking ill at ease. "As you are technically a bail-jumper, Harrison, and I a federal officer, procedure dictates we comply to the fullest extent with the extradition treaty between our two nations. Unfortunately, that does require you to travel in restraints."
"But I'm going back!" Harrison protested.
"Sure you are," Ray said, and rattled the cuffs. "In restraints."
Harrison took a step back. "Fuck no. Come on, guys, it's a freakin' airplane, where the hell am I gonna go?"
"You'd be surprised," Ray said.
Fraser began again, "Procedure dictates--"
"Screw procedure!"
"Eloquent as always, Harry." The first words Jack had spoken to him, and predictably infuriating.
"Shut the fuck up," Harrison snapped without looking at him, and jabbed a finger in the general direction of his voice. "Can't you, like, gag him or someth-- hey!"
Ray had grabbed the wrist of his pointing hand and snapped on one of the cuffs. Angrily, Harrison yanked at his wrist. Ray rolled his eyes and yanked back. Harrison shoved his other hand down the back of his jeans.
"Oh-ho-ho," Ray said. "Don't think I won't go down there."
"I'll help," Isaac volunteered.
Harrison scowled at him. "Traitor."
"Hand it over, Davies," Ray said, and paused. "So to speak."
Defeated, Harrison surrendered with ill grace, but he couldn't resist trying to spread the misery. "What about him?" he demanded, jerking his head at Isaac as Ray snapped on the other cuff. "He aided and abetted. Shouldn't he be in restraints too?"
Fraser looked sheepish. "Yes, well, I'm afraid we only brought the three pair."
Isaac's lips brushed Harrison's ear as he murmured, "Oh, you're gonna pay for that."
Harrison jerked away. His ear burned. He stalked off toward the terminal, ignoring Jack's wolf whistle.
Fraser confiscated the guns, as promised, and led them through the airport to the gate. They made a strange parade: Fraser, somehow exuding Mountie-ness even when out of Mountie uniform, holding the still-silent Richard's arm in his firm grip; then Harrison, Isaac by his side, smirk welded to his face; and Ray and Jack bringing up the rear, Jack keeping up a steady stream of pointed comments, interspersed with Ray's occasional threats of violence toward his skull. Polite, well-mannered Canadians scattered when they saw them coming, and Harrison couldn't blame them.
It wasn't the being-in-handcuffs part that was getting to him. He'd gotten used to that, though less so of late, the past six months notwithstanding. It wasn't even being handcuffed in public and obviously escorted by law enforcement; years of experience had burned that particular shame right out of him. This time, what kept his head down and his face burning was the company. It was being cuffed alongside his father and Jack Harper, and having people stare at them and assume that, whatever they'd done, they'd been in it together. It was having total strangers, people he'd never see again in his life, associate his face with theirs. Bad enough he shared his father's gene pool. Harrison wasn't about to share his crimes as well. Not even for Canadians.
Unfortunately, short of turning around and shouting I'm not with them, there was fuck-all he could do about that.
Which didn't mean he didn't consider it, especially when Olivia's voice rang in his ears, unbidden and unwelcome: You're no better than him.
Somehow he made it to the security gate without snapping, and Fraser flashed his Mountie badge at the guard and started to explain the situation. Ray hung over his shoulder, foot tapping, and, when asked, dug out his forest officer ID and gun permit with visible annoyance.
Jack took the opportunity to sidle up to Harrison and murmur, "We have to talk."
Harrison stiffened and risked a sideways glance. Jack wasn't looking at him; he wasn't even sure Jack was talking to him, except no one else was in earshot.
He faced forward again and said under his breath, "We really don't."
"I can help you."
Black rage bubbled up in his throat, as vicious as it was unexpected, and he managed to swallow it down. Of all the bad places to attempt homicide, an airport security gate was pretty far up on the list. "Save it," he said.
"We can help each other."
And that was supposed to convince him? "Help your own damn self."
He was spared further interaction as the guard finally nodded and waved them past the metal detector.
Another guard led the three of them to a small, open booth to be wanded and patted down. She confiscated Harrison's lighter, Jack's keys, and Richard's fountain pen. Harrison knew how much that pen had cost. It just showed how far gone Richard was that he didn't even protest.
Fraser, Ray, and Isaac met them on the other side. Isaac must have picked up on his mood, because he nudged Harrison and murmured, "Hard part's over."
"Says you," Harrison said. "You ever try to work an in-flight bathroom in handcuffs?"
Isaac grinned. "I'll help," he said, his voice laced with innuendo.
"Yeah, I noticed you're pretty keen on helping lately."
"I'm a helpful guy."
"And yet you're still not wearing the pigtails."
Either it was the late hour or Fraser's bosses had pulled some strings, because the flight was nearly empty; Harrison counted two people in first class and only one other guy in coach, already open-mouthed and snoring against the window. The seat assignments followed a now-familiar pattern: Fraser next to Richard, Isaac and Harrison in the row behind, and Ray and Jack behind them. Ray didn't argue, but he shot Fraser a look of death at the announcement. Harrison figured he'd gotten more than an earful from Jack already.
Served the bastard right.
Harrison, Jack, and Richard were all shepherded into the window seats, though Isaac claimed it was because he needed the aisle to stretch his legs. Under normal circumstances, Harrison would have believed him. This time he knew exactly what was happening. Somewhere along the way, Isaac had been unofficially deputized, and it was his job to keep Harrison in line.
"Who'd you blow to get your gold star?" Harrison muttered as he fumbled with his seatbelt.
Isaac shot him a lazy sideways look. "Jealous?"
"Bite me."
"You keep offering," Isaac said, "one day I will."
Harrison glared out the window and refused to respond.
Isaac kept his mouth shut as the plane took off, and Harrison was starting to think he'd actually get the chance to catch up on some sleep. Then they hit cruising altitude and the seatbelt sign dinged off, and Isaac leaned around Fraser's seat and announced, "Harry's gotta piss."
"Do not," Harrison said automatically.
Isaac kicked him. "Do too."
"Ow! Asshole!"
"Seriously, though," Isaac said. "He's gonna pee his pants in a minute."
Harrison sank down in his seat and mentally waved the last scraps of his dignity goodbye.
Fraser sighed; Harrison couldn't tell if he was buying it, or if he was just past the point of giving a shit. "Go ahead," he said, sounding resigned.
"Isaac," Harrison said through clenched teeth, as he was pulled up out of his seat.
"What?" Isaac was all innocence. "You ever try working an in-flight bathroom in handcuffs?"
Jack was staring at them. Harrison set his jaw and started to stalk down the aisle.
"Go get 'em, tiger," Jack said as they passed. Ray just shoved his headphones against his ears and glowered at the tiny TV in front of him.
Harrison nearly fled back to his seat. Isaac grabbed the chain of his cuffs and kept walking.
"Isaac," he hissed, as Isaac crowded him into the too-small-for-one stall and locked the door. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Isaac pressed full-length against him, hands wedged between their bodies and working on the fly of Harrison's jeans. "Don't pussy out on me now, Harry."
"What the-- I never even pussied in!"
"Come on," Isaac said. "You've known me how long?"
Against his better judgment, Harrison's dick was starting to take a definite interest. He grabbed Isaac's wrists and made a last-ditch effort at higher brain functions. "You really think this is the best time for airplane sex?"
"We are in an airplane," Isaac pointed out-- far too reasonably, Harrison thought. "And you're already in handcuffs."
"What the hell kind of logic is that?"
Isaac grinned. "My favorite kind," he said, and easily broke Harrison's grip and went back to work.
Harrison's eyes started to cross. "You realize," he gritted out, "that a Mountie, a forest officer, my mortal fucking enemy, and oh, let's not forget my father, all know exactly what we're doing in here?"
"You know, I don't get that," Isaac said, shoving Harrison's jeans down around his knees; Harrison swallowed a groan as his cock sprang out into the cool air. "Forest officer. Why can't they just call it a forest ranger, like everyone else?"
Oh well, he'd tried. "Canadians," he said, breathless. "Whatcha gonna do?"
"I'm thinking." One of Isaac's hands slid behind Harrison's back and down, and dry, callused fingers pressed between his thighs. "How you feeling?"
Harrison squirmed. "Kinda sore," he admitted.
"Pity." The fingers withdrew, and Harrison bit back his instinctive protest and tasted blood. "Want me to kiss it better?"
Harrison grinned, all protests forgotten. "Hell yeah. Kiss my ass, Izzy."
Somehow Isaac managed to turn him around and wedge him against the sink. Practice, he supposed. It took him a few moments to recognize himself in the smudged mirror; his reflection's mouth was open, face flushed, eyes wide and unfocused, pink tongue peeking between his teeth. Isaac's face smirked over his shoulder, looking nothing short of pure evil.
"Just so you know," Mirror-Isaac said as a thumb brushed down the crack of Harrison's ass, "I am keeping score."
Harrison gripped the edge of the sink, transfixed by the image in the grimy mirror. "On what?" he managed to ask.
"Let's see," Isaac said, dragging his thumb in lazy circles; it took all Harrison's willpower not to shove back onto that thumb, dry and unprepared as he was. "The bribe for that info you swore you'd pay me back, two plane tickets-- last minute, I might add-- bail money, the bed and breakfast, not to mention the mental and emotional fucking trauma you put me through--"
His eyes darkened, just for an instant, and Harrison knew he still wasn't completely forgiven. He shuddered.
"Room service," Isaac continued after a pause. "Did I mention the room service? Those crappy-ass sunglasses--"
"Oh, please," Harrison said with superhuman effort. "Those were, what, two bucks Canadian?"
A sharp smack on his ass nearly made him yelp. Only the thought of the flight attendants just beyond the door, not to mention the fucking peanut gallery assembled five rows ahead, made him choke it down.
"The sunglasses," Isaac said again, relentless. "That insane fucking story you expected me to swallow--"
"That's not what I expect you to swallow," Harrison panted, and received another slap for his trouble. A small, pained noise escaped his throat.
"How about the part where a fucking teenager pulled a gun on me?"
How about the part where I shot you in the head? whispered a nasty voice in the back of Harrison's brain. He shoved the voice away. The voice could go fuck itself. He was a little busy right now.
"I think she's, like, twenty-something," he offered instead.
He was ready for the smack this time, and didn't make a sound.
"And then you tried to get me arrested. That wasn't very nice, Harry."
Harrison bared his teeth in the mirror. "Oh, well, what are you gonna do about it?"
"You," Isaac said, "are just going to have to wait and see."
His reflection disappeared from view. Harrison closed his eyes and braced himself. The chain of the cuffs rattled as his hands moved, and he almost came just from the sound.
"Now remember," Isaac said, "be vewy, vewy quiet."
Harrison would have laughed, collapsed right there over the sink, had Isaac not finally, finally gripped his hips with both hands, licked at his opening with that hot, wet, evil fucking tongue, and then dove right in.
His brain cells scattered as liquid heat burned through him. He slumped over the sink, scrabbling for purchase and finding none, his hands chained too close together to brace himself; it was good, too good, and fuck, he was gonna fall and land right on Isaac's fucking head--
"Fuck," he groaned, and Isaac pinched him hard on the hip in warning.
Right. Quiet. He could do quiet. Vewy, vewy quiet, he thought, and nearly lost it. No. Focus. Harrison grabbed blindly for the mirror and managed to catch the top edge, just before his legs gave out completely.
He hung there for a few endless seconds, fingertips digging into the blunted edge of the mirror, that precarious grip the only thing keeping him upright. His arms trembled with the effort, and all the while Isaac's tongue never. Stopped. Moving.
He opened his mouth to warn Isaac, but all that came out was a soft whimper.
After what seemed like hours, but was probably just a minute or so, the ache in his arms cleared his head enough so he could find his knees again. Harrison braced first one leg, then the other, locking them with a force he knew he'd be feeling for days. The pain shot up his thighs, but in no way dulled the roar of oblivion creeping in around his senses. He kept his grip on the mirror and slammed his head forward against it, so hard he heard something crack, and could only hope it wasn't his skull.
Isaac's right hand left his hip then, but the expected grip on Harrison's aching dick never came. Instead, he heard the sound of a zipper, echoing like an explosion through the pounding in his ears, and yeah. Yeah, of course. Isaac never was a selfless lover. He was getting off on this too.
Except Harrison could have cried, just then, just a little, because he couldn't touch himself-- couldn't, because he couldn't let go of the mirror, because his legs were holding him up but not enough, and he heard himself whine but was too far gone to care-- Isaac wasn't just going to leave him hanging, was he? He wasn't--
No, he realized a moment later, as the tongue shoved in impossibly deeper and brushed against just the right spot, setting off a shower of bright sparks behind his eyes. No, Isaac was going to make him come, just like this, without even touching him.
The thought itself was nearly enough to do it. One more nudge against that white-hot ache, then another-- he was so close he could taste it, metal like fear or panic or adrenaline, pricking at the back of his throat-- and then the hand still on his hip dug in, hard enough to bruise, and he heard Isaac's low, choked groan and felt something warm splatter against the leg of his jeans and soak through to his skin, and then, only then, he let go and fell all the way.
Isaac caught him and lowered him to the floor. His dick still twitched even as he felt Isaac's rapidly softening erection press against the small of his back.
"Motherfucker," he whispered, after a long, comfortable silence.
"You owe me," was all Isaac said.
Harrison was looking forward to it.
They cleaned themselves and the bathroom with damp paper towels, bumping into each other in the close space. After the third time Harrison nearly fell over, unable to use his arms for balance, Isaac sat him down on the toilet and ordered him not to move. He didn't object; there was something appealingly domestic about kicking back and watching Isaac scrub around him.
"You missed a spot," he said.
Isaac punched him on the shoulder. Harrison winced and said, "You still missed a spot."
"Says the walking Dumpster himself."
"I'm a detective," Harrison said. "I detect that you missed a spot."
"Detect this," Isaac said, and flicked a middle finger at him.
"Nice comeback."
"That's going on the list, bitch."
Isaac waved him up, and Harrison stood and squeezed past to the door, as Isaac flushed the crumpled paper towels down the toilet. He rested his hands on the door lock and hesitated, feeling the tension start to creep back into his shoulders. On this side of the door, life was great. On the other, Jack and his father still waited, and the Mountie would have a whole new reason to disapprove.
"Move it, Harry," Isaac said behind him. "I'm getting a fucking cramp here."
"Now you're complaining?" Harrison said, but he steeled himself and opened the door, and found himself face-to-collarbone with Ray Kowalski.
He tried to slam the door again. Ray caught it with one hand, eyes narrowed. Isaac bumped into Harrison and sent him stumbling into the aisle.
Isaac looked from Ray to Jack, held in place beside Ray with a none-too-friendly grip on the shoulder, and raised his eyebrows. "You guys been waiting your turn?"
"Beat it," Ray told him, with a sharp jerk of his head.
Isaac rolled his eyes and slid past them. Harrison started to follow, but Ray grabbed his arm and said, "Not you."
"Save the lecture," Harrison said, trying to pull free. "It wasn't my idea."
Jack stood on tiptoe and peered over his shoulder. "Hey, nice clean-up job. Very discreet. We didn't hear a thing, I swear."
"Behave," Ray snapped, whether to him or Jack, Harrison wasn't sure. "Harper wants to talk to you."
"Harper can shove it up his ass."
"Tempting," Jack said, eyes bright.
Ray propelled them to the last row of seats and shoved Harrison down, then pushed Jack after him. Window seat again; Harrison was trapped. He saw one of the flight attendants shoot him a dirty look, and sank down out of sight.
"You killed my day off, Harry," Ray said, when Harrison glared up at him. "Now you get to listen."
"I don't--"
Ray pulled his gun, his other hand waving his permit over his shoulder. "Police business," he said, Harrison supposed for the flight attendants' benefit.
Harrison sneered. "You're not a cop anymore, remember?"
Ray cocked the trigger. "Sit down and shut up."
Harrison slumped even lower in his seat and closed his eyes.
"Well, this is cozy," Jack said.
"Fuck off."
"Told you we'd talk."
"You said we needed to talk. I disagreed."
"Getting laid really does nothing to improve your mood, does it? Of course, I'd know."
Harrison kept his eyes shut and squeezed the bridge of his nose. He'd already had his catharsis; Jack didn't get to hear it again. "What the hell do you want?"
"A little sympathy wouldn't go amiss."
"How 'bout a little homicide?"
"That doesn't work for me."
Harrison opened his eyes and glowered. "Fuck off, Jack."
Jack was undaunted. "Okay, then how about a little pragmatism? I testify against Dick, you never have to use the tape, and he goes to prison instead of Club Meds. Are you interested yet?"
"Not even close," Harrison said. "They'll work the insanity defense, even without the tape."
"Come on, Harry, use your brain for once. You really think your father's gonna get up there on the stand and tell judge and jury all about his divine calling?"
"If it'll save his ass? Yeah, I do."
"Nice subtext," Jack said, "but no. You really don't know him at all, do you?"
Harrison's fists clenched. His wrists felt sore and chafed. "I don't want to know him."
"That's what I'm here for." Jack struck a dramatic pose, slightly hampered by his own cuffs. "He's been both a mother and a father to me--"
"Shut up."
"Variation," Jack said, dropping the act. "I like it. But seriously, folks: I know him, you don't. He's on a mission from God. Trust me, that's the sort of thing you keep to yourself."
Harrison stared down at his hands. Flexed his fingers, one by one.
"And you?" he heard himself ask.
"I'm too cute for jail," Jack said promptly.
"Not what I asked, jackass."
"Touché. I'm not gonna lie to you, Harry--"
Harrison snorted.
"This time," Jack amended, "I'm not gonna lie to you. I think the very fabric of this universe is in danger. I think you're responsible for that, and you need to be stopped. You abused your power, Harrison. You killed a man just to get a second chance."
Harrison's head jerked up, and he stared at Jack, open-mouthed. Ray's gaze had sharpened, he noticed, and he felt sick. Ray wasn't stupid. This could get seriously bad.
"How do you--" he began.
"Ah, Olivia," Jack sighed. "Dear, sweet Liv."
"She told you?"
"She trusts me."
"She's nuts."
"Aren't we all."
"What the fuck, Jack," Harrison said, avoiding Ray's narrow, probing stare. "You knew, and you didn't warn my-- you didn't tell him?"
Jack shrugged. "I saw a way out. I took it."
"My heart bleeds," Harrison snarled.
"It could have," Jack said. "I saved you from that. Ironic, isn't it? Sounds to me like you owe me a favor."
Harrison's fingers curled again. "You killed Tru. I don't owe you shit."
"Your father killed her, Harry. I was just a means to an end."
Harrison looked down. He didn't say anything. As far as he was concerned, there was nothing left to say.
"Think about it," Jack said, and stood. "But think fast. You're running out of time, Harrison. We all are."
He brushed past Ray and sauntered back to his seat.
"Cryptic motherfucker," Harrison muttered, watching him go.
He stood too, and wasn't surprised when Ray blocked his path. Ray's eyes were hard, the lines of his face etched in stone. For the first time, he looked his age, and not in a good way.
Quietly he asked, "What the hell did you do, Davies?"
Harrison didn't flinch. "You heard him. I got a second chance."
"You--"
"Oh, fuck you too, Kowalski," Harrison said. He was exhausted; he was tired of this shit, tired of the fucking wrap-up, tired of going so long without a smoke and even longer without a drink. "You'd have done the same."
Ray's mouth tightened. "You've changed."
"Who hasn't?" Harrison shot back, and shoved past him.
This time, Ray let him go.
MAY | NOVEMBER (1) | NOVEMBER (2) | NOVEMBER (3) | DAY 1 | DAY 2 | AFTER | EPILOGUE Email: mayatawi@populli.net