Stars Fell on Alabama
by Sarah
Kelly
Robinson was in the process of single-handedly issuing an executive decision:
No more unarmed rescues. In fact, no more rescues, period. The next time a
general's daughter was kidnapped by some backwater crime-lord boss, instead of
letting Scotty draw their fire and spiriting her off to their contact (who then
promptly took off with his tearfully grateful charge, offering them no backup,
not even a spare piece), Kelly was going to go off unscathed into the sunset
with his partner and hand over the girl to the crime boss--Dumond,
if memory served--with his every blessing.
The
Department might not approve, but he'd throw any number of generals' daughters
to the wolves if it meant he could avoid his current situation: creeping round
a gang hideout established in a cave with a handful of rocks in hopes of
creating a brilliant diversion that would draw out the crime boss' seven or
eight redneck hired hands.
Hopefully
before they killed his partner.
*******
Where
the hell is Kelly?
That
was what Alexander Scott wanted to know. Being tied face-down, bent over a
table, hands and feet secured to its legs, was not, he decided right now, his
favorite position. Even less so when his captors were borderline illiterate and
very, very unpredictable. The racial insults they were throwing his way were
most unoriginal and therefore offered nothing in the way of entertainment. And
had he mentioned that this position was uncomfortable?
The
leader of the thugs that passed for Dumond's hired
help rose from his chair and circled the sacrificial table slowly. Scott seemed
to remember his name was Stone, though that was on the short list of Names to
Forget as Soon as Humanly Possible. "So, ape, you tellin'
us where she's at, or what?"
Scotty
clenched his fists, but his tone was calm. "I can point out at least three
grammatical errors in your phrasing, my good man."
"We
got ways of making you talk," said Stone.
He
strove to sound bored. "Do they include threats that aren't recycled from
at least twenty gangster movies?"
"Naw, they include this!" The leader's voice was
strangely raw as he grabbed Scotty's jeans and dragged them down to his ankles,
along with his underwear. A faint clinking sounded as his fly button popped off
and rolled away on the smooth stone floor.
Scotty's
mind blanked for a long moment in blind panic and his limbs strained wildly,
irrationally, against the implacable ropes that bound him. It was not a
calculated escape attempt; his body bucked quite involuntarily, as though it
knew it was in danger. The air of the cave felt cold against his bare skin, and
failing to wrench himself free, his body shrank back against the wood, all
admonitions not to show weakness before the enemy evaporating like so much
mist.
Through
the ringing in his skull, he fought to make sense of the assembled men's guffaws.
"Whoo! Lookit that
nigger butt!"
"Not
such a hotshot secret agent now, is he?"
"Man,
he's a coon! Who ever heard of a coon secret agent?"
"Mebbe he's hard to see in the dark!" That got a burst
of laughter. "Undercover man!"
"Goes
undercover in the jungle!"
"With
the other monkeys!"
Their
leader joined in, glee in his voice. "Uppity nigger... teach him a lesson he
won't soon forget... right men?" More laughter...
...and
then he heard the sound of a belt being unbuckled. The vulnerability was
visceral and all he could think was, Please, God, let him be about to whip
me.
The
widespread jeering cut off abruptly. An uneasy silence fell, the echoing quiet
relieved hurriedly by nervous laughter from one or two of the lackeys.
"Yeah," said one--a young guy with a beard, if he remembered his voice
correctly--"teach 'im a lesson. Yeah,"
Young Beard continued, as though trying to convince someone.
Scotty's
insides turned to water. If whatever Stone was contemplating was bad enough to
make the rest apprehensive, he wasn't sure he wanted to know what it was. If
the man... But rational thought fled as Scotty heard the sound of a zipper and
the whisper of clothing. His skin stood out in gooseflesh and his mindless
struggles against the ropes grew more frantic as his heart started to try
(although he'd told it many times before it wasn't possible) to pound its way
out of his chest.
"For
the last time," Stone asked, "where is she?"
A
burning in his eyes. Sweat. Surely the girl was safely away by now, and there
was no percentage in getting deliberately--"She's gone."
A
curse. "What do you mean, gone?"
Scotty
was beginning to see spots dancing before his eyes, and tried to get his
breathing under control. This was ridiculous, this panic. "By this time,
she'll be on a helicopter back to her dad's loving arms."
"You
know, nigger," came the shaky voice of Stone, "I don't believe
you." Scotty knew he should say something at this point, but it was
ridiculous that a bent-over position and a few sounds were making him freeze in
terror as nothing else had. "You're a dirty liar. You know what the
punishment is for dirty liars?"
"S-something
I'm sure you'd be familiar with." Scotty was starting to get the sinking
feeling that it didn't matter whether or not he was lying. This was sounding
awfully like a foregone conclusion here. If it was going to be done to him no
matter what he said, then he should just brace himself. An involuntary shudder
ran through him. This was ridiculous, why couldn't he be a man about it? Why
was the prospect of this unnerving him so badly? It's just another torture,
just another torture, he began to chant inwardly.
There
was a gasp from behind him and a murmured, "Jesus, Stone!"
Scotty
couldn't actually see his tormentor, but he could tell Stone had spun round.
"You tryn' t'buck my
authority?"
And
now, ladies and gents, the whimpering retreat. Man, Scotty hated whimpering
retreats, especially in those defending him. "Sorry, man! I didn't mean
it!"
The
altercation had only wasted a few precious seconds, and from the ponderous
silence, Scotty could tell that none of the other bumpkins was brave enough to
question any unusual behavior from their leader. Stone spoke again, a leader
taking his men into his confidence. "Keep in mind he's only a nigger, fellas, you know they don't feel pain like us." Oh
God, not the professorial tone. Please not the professorial tone.
Especially as Scotty was in no position to deliver any kind of a convincing
counter-argument.
"...I
guess so..." somebody said hesitantly.
"You
gotta do something really unusual to even get their
attention!" Stone expanded upon his theme. "Why you think niggers
beat their kids?"
"That's
true, man," said another of the gang. "Had a crow living in the
street near us. She was allus whalin'
on her kids and they just made like it was nothin'."
And you never called the cops. Scott shrugged inwardly. Some people
there was no hope for.
"Yeah,
see?" Stone sounded pleased at having regained the moral high ground,
however dubious. From his voice, Scotty could tell Stone had turned back to
face him - and now his tone was dripping with glee. "Ready to be taught a
lesson, boy?"
Ready
for Kelly to show up right about now and get me out of this predicament! That'd
be really great, but if wishes were horses... he resolutely kept silent, and
gritted his teeth against whatever was to come.
"Go
get me the broom, Jerry."
The
line was so incongruous that he actually snickered, feeling slightly detached
from reality. "Now, is it Good Housekeeping to do your sweeping when the
company's already here?"
The
long silence that followed unnerved Scott. He tried to catch sight of anything
beyond the men's shoes and the chair-legs. Hesitant footsteps sounded behind
him, paused, moved away again. Stone gave a satisfied grunt, and his footsteps
scuffed on the floor.
Without
warning, a hard object poked Scotty in the rear, between his buttocks, and his
vision washed to white. For the first time, he would think later, he'd
understood the etymology of 'blind panic'.
"You're
too dirty to put my dick in," the man hissed. The object - it felt like a
pole - pressed against Scotty's anus, intimately probing, obscenely stroking,
just short of invading his body. His muscles clenched involuntarily, his body
taut and acting without his volition as it squirmed away atavistically. His
heart pounded in his throat; his limbs lay cold and heavy. "I'm going to
give it to you with this broom handle right here, clean your ass out before I
put my dick in you. Teach your dirty nigger mouth to tell lies..."
"I'm
not lying!" Scotty gasped frantically. "Call Mr
Dumond if you don't believe me." His voice
sounded strange to his own ears. "Go on, call him!" Kelly's not
coming, the despairing realization came to him, Kelly's not coming and
this is really happening and nothing can stop it...unless they make that call
and...
"Big-shot
agent," Stone taunted some more. "Nothing but a hole, ain't he, boys?" The taunt was greeted by discomfited
murmurs. This time Stone didn't bother turning; the pole pushed hard against
Scotty's anus as the leader shouted angrily, "Shut up! I'm runnin'
this show! Y'all turned nigger-lovers or somethin'?"
"C'mon,
you know we ain't!"
"Good.
What about you, Troy? Think we should have a colored mayor next term?"
That
actually brought a guffaw from the assembled men.
"Right,"
Stone said with finality, "now watch as I show this nigger what he's
really good for."
Silence
descended again. Scott was hardly aware of anything any more as the wooden pole
withdrew, sliding roughly out between his buttocks; a hand palmed one cheek,
then both, slipping his fingers in between with a slimy touch that made him
squirm. And finally, heavily, the awful realization sank in: He doesn't care
about finding the girl any more. He's not going to make the call till...after. He
wants to...to... His mind shied away from the word. Women who were raped
were victims, and he would never be one. He had to be a man about it. Unaware
that his petrified mind was moving in empty circles, he repeated to himself: He
would be a man about it. It happened in prison, in the army, it was nothing. So
what if it happened to him? So what? He would be a man about it, he...
A
finger tickled his anus, the gentleness belying the fact that at any second
something would be rammed inside... Scotty's stomach heaved. He felt defiled,
felt like dirt.
Thank
God Kel wasn't here.
He
didn't know how it had happened, but as he lay there spread-eagled, being
violated by this sorry excuse for a human being, he realized that his hope for
his partner to come to his rescue had transformed, had inverted, into something
like a prayer that Kelly Robinson would not, would never, come and find him and
see him like this. Kelly must forever be shielded from the sight of him reduced
to chattel, about to be taken by force like the slaves he was descended from.
That was a gulf between him and his partner that could never be bridged.
And
he found that nothing had prepared him for the despair of this moment.
"Get
ready for the fuckin' of your life! You're a fucktoy, ain't you, coon?"
He
was dead inside, but he wasn't so far gone that he'd respond.
"G'wan, say it! You know that's all they hired ya for, right? To do their dirty work!" The finger
pushed at Scotty in earnest now, but his sphincter muscle was so tightly
clenched in involuntary spasm that any entry was impossible. The pressure
increased, the fingernail scraping, the blunt force a stomach-turning threat,
hurting intimately enough to make Scotty's body start its involuntary bucking
again. The Agency sex-abuse manuals, their information lying like a crumpled
tissue on the floor of Scotty's brain, said to relax and you'd be torn up less.
His mind buzzed when he tried; he could no more relax than he could sprout
wings and fly Over the Rainbow out of this mess.
As
the rough probing continued, the bile rose up in his throat and choked his
nostrils, forcing him to spit on the floor again and again. The room seemed to
waver slightly, the temperature dropping. Stone twisted his finger, seemingly
frustrated at being unable to gain entry. He gave a loud shout. "What ya say I give the good old-fashioned initiation to this
blushing virgin, hey, men? Put the uppity nigger back in his place?"
The
mob's hushed, horrified murmur hardly cut through Scotty's numb coldness; the
voices merely skimmed across the surface of his panicked, pounding brain.
"Our
little jigaboo's gonna love
what I'm gonna do to it. Let it take the message back
to the Department. You like it already, don't you, boy?" The finger
withdrew and the rough wood, instead of touching his anus, nudged Scotty's
privates, exposed and vulnerable between his legs, pushing what it could reach
of them left and right against the side of the table; the terror froze his very
blood in his veins. If Stone thought the handling would give his trapped
privates some kind of erection, he must truly be a little unhinged, the thought
flickered with mild hysteria across Scotty's frozen brain, his body impotently
flailing in renewed and more central fear. "You're gonna beg for it. I'm gonna make
you scream out that you're nothing but a little faggot! You asked for it..."
The
instrument left Scotty's vulnerable private parts, but in the split-second
between realization and relief, it returned to press against his clenched,
convulsed sphincter muscle. Then he felt the broom handle twist, and Scotty
knew the next touch would drive the rough wood violently into his body,
rupturing his intestines. His entire body began to shake so violently his teeth
chattered, and involuntarily strained against his bonds, but he screwed his
eyes shut tight and gritted his teeth. His entire focus was upon his impending
violation. Be a man about it. He wouldn't scream... he wouldn't scream...
A
scream rent the air, piercing and girlish. "Daddy! Where are you,
Daddy!"
"The
girl!" The broom handle hesitated a regretful instant, then clattered to
the floor, and the sound of pounding feet echoed through the room.
Alexander
Scott was so far gone that he didn't even register it as a reprieve.
*****
Kelly
flung the rocks as far as his arm would allow, wishing for a racket to lob them
half a mile away. The gang thundered out of the cave, baying like wolves, led
by Stone, who obligingly called "Over there!" and raced toward the
sound. Watching to make sure the last of the thugs had gone on the wild goose
chase outside the cave, he pounded towards the cave mouth. Thank God they were
too dumb to leave a guard on their bound and helpless prisoner.
He
calculated he had two minutes, three at the outside, before the Neanderthal
rednecks that passed for Dumond's hired help realized
his falsetto voice was a trick and that they'd been had. He knew he'd cut it
close, but he couldn't have let out his scream at the entrance; to lead them
far enough to take his bait of the thrown stones, he'd had to circle halfway
round the rocky cave.
It
had taken Kelly long, valuable minutes to think of a gambit, and he'd cursed
himself and his own inaction a hundred times over as he lurked at the mouth of
the cave. He'd had to listen for a while to make out that Scotty was in there,
and had finally warmed to hear his voice, though the "punishment for dirty
liars" was alarming. Oh well, he'd tried to calm himself as he tried to
listen and scope out the area at the same time, it wasn't as though they hadn't
taken a few knocks before.
He'd
measured the distance between the mouth of the cave and an area around the back
from which a man entering the hideout would be invisible. The sound of a rock
being thrown would provide a passable diversion, but what was to prevent Stone
from sending just one guy to check it out and then returning to his torture?
From the disjointed words Kelly could hear, the man seemed to want to beat
Scotty with a broom handle.
It
all came back to the fact that they were unarmed, he'd thought angrily, and the
others had weapons. Frustrated, Kel had wished he could just rush in screaming
in a kamikaze attack, guns blazing. Only he didn't have a gun. Nuts.
The
racial taunting and the ignorant theorizing he'd listened to with about half an
ear, busy scoping out the area--the cave was at the top of a hill, and it was
downhill all the way to the road, so no chance of starting a landslide from
above, or driving above and dropping something from the car. Not sure that
would work, either. His blood began to boil as the demeaning words continued,
but he shoved it aside. Scotty was strong; he could take it. It was just words,
and meaningless ones at that...
"Get
ready for the fuckin' of your life! You're a fucktoy, ain't you, coon?"
The
bottom dropped out of Kel's stomach and his blood chilled as it sank in. This
Kelly was not prepared for. This he didn't think Scotty could take.
And
he couldn't take it either.
It
can't be true, it can't be true, Kel thought, but the next words confirmed
it--Stone really intended to do it, to do that, to do it to his proud partner,
to Scotty, in front of Dumond's gang.
Kelly's
head swam with panic, but he snapped himself back with iron discipline. He'd
just have to come up with his best plan ever, that was all, and come up with it
now.
He'd
been beyond frantic when inspiration had struck.
With
the men out, he'd pounded around the side of the cave to the entrance. And now,
finally, he rushed inside.
Kelly
had known he'd find his partner bound; he knew what had been said to him, what
might already have been done to him...
But
even knowing all that, he froze at the sight of his partner roped spread-eagled
and bent over, naked from the waist down, his white canvas jeans twisted around
his calves like additional, bulky ropes.
The
shock lasted for all of an instant, and then he was moving. "C'mon, Big
Chief Running Water. Cavalry's here." His lighter was already out and
burning methodically through the ropes, letting each one catch alight but not
wasting time waiting for it to burn through while moving on to the next one. Thick
and tied very tightly - Kel could see abrasions on Scotty's wrists - each rope
would burn through in about ten seconds; not too bad as ropes went, though each
one seemed to take an eternity. He'd leave the loose ends dangling from
Scotty's wrists and ankles; they could work on those in the car.
Flicking
his lighter closed, Kel moved around the table again, and something on the
floor caught his eye--a broomstick, the homely instrument of Scotty's torture,
lying on the floor pointed at his partner.
Kelly
was unprepared for the nausea that assailed him at the sight of the
harmless-seeming object. Swallowing hard, he kicked it away as far as the walls
would allow. No point his partner seeing it when he got up. Then he turned back
to Scotty.
They
had only a minute, but he would not get another chance, so Kel knelt to pull
the canvas jeans back up, taking in at a glance if they'd hurt him back there.
The thugs really hadn't had time, he reassured himself, but it only took a
moment to inflict terrible damage, and so he looked him over, fear coiling in
his gut, for any blood, bruising, signs of forced entry. There was a bit of
irritation--you couldn't see it on the dark skin unless you knew to look for the
slight swelling--that made his blood boil. Some violation, then. But relief
washed through him as the rest of his checking came up negative. The sphincter
looked clenched so tightly he was satisfied that no penetration had actually
occurred, and the absence of blood or bruises meant Kelly had been in time to
stop any serious attempt at forcibly ripping the muscle apart. He closed his
eyes. Thank God. If he'd done one thing right in his life, this was it.
The
small flames fizzled out as the ropes parted - his little examination had only
taken a few seconds - and Kel stood hastily, allowing Scotty to bolt away from
the table as soon as his bonds were broken.
Only
he didn't.
It
was then that Kelly realized Scotty hadn't uttered a word since he'd arrived.
Kel
frowned, a little knot of fear forming. Maybe he's embarrassed at being
undressed. Hastily, he bent over Scotty and occupied himself for a moment
with harmless fussing, adjusting Scotty's clothing, straightening his shirt and
zipping his fly as his partner finally stirred and turned partly onto his side.
Reassured, Kel bent slightly to face him and said cheerfully, "Never
thought you'd get caught with your pants down."
No
response, but Scotty started to move, painfully slowly, visibly shaking. The
sluggish response worried Kelly, clock ticking urgently in the back of his
mind, and he reached out bodily and peeled his partner off the table.
"C'mon, no laying down on the job, now."
Finally
upright, Scotty looked at him with slightly glazed eyes. "You came."
Kelly's
chest hurt suddenly, but he shrugged it off. "You thought I was what,
catching a movie at the drive-in? Now come on, Watson, we've overstayed our
welcome." His partner blinked, swayed, and Kel reached out, grasped
Scotty's shoulders--mildly shocked at the coldness of his flesh even through the
shirtsleeves--and gave him a little shake, as though he'd been carrying him and
was just setting him back on his feet.
Scotty
blinked again, shook his head slightly, and seemed to snap back into full-agent
mode. "Let's go," he said, already striding to the mouth of the cave.
Kelly
considered telling Scotty his fly was open, but decided against it. "This
way," he instructed. They broke into a run on the way to the car, spurred
on by the shouts of the men, who seemed to be having no luck finding the
elusive General's daughter. "I think we have another couple minutes,
tops," Kel said.
There
was no response from Scotty as he reached the car first, flinging himself into
the passenger seat. Kelly, bringing up the rear, couldn't help watching him,
and couldn't help a warm sensation of reassurance when the violent impact with
the car seat appeared to cause his partner no pain. Buoyed considerably by the
additional evidence, he leapt into the driver's seat. "Ready to set a new landspeed record?"
"Lead
on, McDuff," Scotty replied, and if his voice
was more subdued than usual, who could blame him?
As
Kelly turned onto the main road and stomped on the accelerator, he saw Scotty
look down at the ropes on his hands in a kind of detached surprise, as though
he had no idea how they came to be on his wrists. Slowly he loosened them and
shucked them off, bending like an old, old man to do the same, with effort, to
the ones on his legs. That done, Scotty twisted round and fumbled in the back
seat for Kelly's discarded hat, the Stetson he favored when outside the city,
and jammed it down onto his head. That in itself wasn't unusual, but Scotty was
wearing it very low, shielding his face from Kelly, the brim almost over his
eyes. "Burn easily, Alphonse?"
"Yeah,
somethin' like that." The answer was a mumble instead
of a jazzy quip, but Kel figured the guy had the right. Focusing on the road,
he turned his attention to driving.
*******
A
few miles later, the car running out of gas and the gang in hot pursuit, Kel
was forced to admit this wasn't turning out to be their day. He gunned the V-8
harder, thinking of a plan. The men had to have realized the girl was long gone
by now. Dumond would certainly know it. Kelly weighed
the probabilities. He knew no vengeance would be forthcoming from the crime
boss - he was probably scrambling to vacate his headquarters from the
descending wrath of the entire US Army. That relegated this confrontation to
the mere status of a redneck gang wanting petty revenge, and he and Scotty had
faced that kind of thing before. Plus it was almost certain that the absence of
orders from their boss would prevent them from inflicting any damage too
serious. All to the good.
The
hot sun blazed down as Kel continued his train of thought. It being broad
daylight, their best hope was to head for a populated area where there were
limits to the vengeance the men would exact. Dumond
had this town pretty much under his thumb, but unless Stone and his Neanderthal
posse forced them back to the hideout at gunpoint - not so easy to do in the
daytime, even in this neck of the woods, without attracting undue attention -
it would be pretty hard to get into more than a punch-up in the public street.
He didn't relish yet another fistfight, nor getting beaten up, but it was
nothing he and Scotty couldn't handle.
He
hoped.
Kelly
fought the engine, wrestling with the jolting sensation of an automobile at its
last gasp and in desperate need of fuel. He made a sharp right turn at a sign
for a gas station. "Gas! Gas! The working man's grass," he ad-libbed
as they made it into the tiny mom-and-pop filling station. Less populated and
civilized than he'd have liked, it was nevertheless a Godsend. "Rocket
fuel for the weary. Manna from heaven." He hopped out of the driver's seat
and set about the business of filling up. In an office across from the pumps,
maybe thirty yards away, he could see a pimply youth at the counter of a little
convenience store typical of such places that doubled as the register for the
gas. "Maybe we should pick up some soap, wash those guys' mouths out."
"Detergent,"
came the reply from Scotty.
Kel
grinned openly, glad of the response. He'd been starting to worry.
"Extra-strength."
"Bleach."
"Super-duper,
whiter-than-white," Kelly smiled at his friend over the pump. "Cures
what ails ya." All filled up, he holstered the
nozzle. Part of him wished he could just hop in and drive away without wasting
valuable moments paying, maybe put a few more miles between them and the
yahoos. Hand resting on the pump, Kelly glanced up at the temptingly open road
and sighed. "Don't go anywhere," he only half-jokingly admonished
Scotty as he turned to head across the expanse of the station--too far, too
exposed, he thought, though it wasn't himself Kel was worried for.
"I'm
staying right here," Scotty answered. "Scout's honor."
"Since
when were you a scout?" Kel snapped off over his shoulder.
"I'll
have you know I won a medal."
"Medal,
right. For what?"
"Tying
knots."
"Shoulda earned one in untying them, with your
job."
"Why
untie 'em when you can cut through 'em, man?"
Kel
grinned and headed for the store.
But
when he came back, he found Scott hadn't been able to keep his promise.
***
Eight--finally
Kelly got the full count of them, eight--heavies had forced Scotty out of the
car and were standing around him menacingly. No armament as yet, but the sheer
weight of numbers weighted Kel's stomach down with lead. Oh well, the best
defense is a stupid offense. Okay, maybe not the best, but... ah, heck with it. He
strode purposely through the group, ignoring their threatening poses, to stand
pointedly next to Scotty. "What, Jack, I can't leave you alone for a
minute without you drawing a crowd? Told you that pelican impression would get
you into trouble, man." He turned to the heavies. "Sorry if the
quacking and flapping gave any offense, fellas. We'll
just be on our way now..."
He'd
thought it was a pretty good line of patter, himself, but the heavy hand that
landed on his shoulder told him his audience was Not Amused. Especially not the
guy he recognized from the surveillance pictures as Stone, who now spun Kelly
around to face him. "We got no beef with you, fella,"
the man said. "Just got some unfinished business with Monkey here."
Kel
looked around in confusion. "There a zoo `round here somewhere?"
"Shaddap!"
"Ah,
a quick intellect," Kel murmured in an aside to Scotty. "How I admire
a man of ready wit."
"And
int..." Scotty swallowed hard. "...intelligent
repartee," he managed to finish.
"I'm
warning ya," Stone grated, "get lost."
"Without
a map?"
Kel
got a light push in the shoulder for that. "We don't wanna
hurt a white man, do we, guys? One of us?" Various calls of assent went up
from the assembled idiots. "We just got a beef with this nigger
here." Kelly quietly vowed to break the hand that lashed out and shoved
Scotty into the car, hard enough to make him stumble.
"Oh!"
Kelly affected the air of one hearing a revelation. "You mean Agent
Alexander Scott, my partner?"
Murmurs
went up from the assembled group. "Yer
partner?"
"Why
yes. We work for the Department. Have you heard of--oh, that's right, they
arrested your boss, didn't they?"
Amazingly,
Kel thought, the ringleader still hadn't belted him, even though he'd revealed
he was an agent, though he'd taunted him about his boss. Reluctance to hit a
white man? What?
Perhaps,
the thought flickered uneasily as he saw Stone look at his partner again, it
was just that the man was more focused on Scotty.
"So
you ride around in this fancy car with this ape?" The question was
directed at Kelly, but Stone's gaze returned unerringly to Scotty. "Not
ten years ago a nigga like you wouldn't have dared to
set foot in a fine ride like this one. Be banned by law."
"Yeah,"
another of the Neanderthals piped up. "Couldn't even walk in the same
streets as us. Isn't that right, coon?"
Kelly
felt Scotty's breathing quicken. Then his partner deliberately adopted his
habitual relaxed stance, as though willing the words to roll off him like
water, and Kel took his cue, schooling himself to do likewise. This wasn't fun,
but compared to some of the other things they'd been through, it didn't even
register on the scale. Best to let them have their kicks. He gritted his teeth.
He'd make them pay, soon enough.
But
the redneck wasn't finished. He stepped closer to Scotty, giving him a shove in
the chest, making him step back, away from Kelly, alongside the car. "I
asked you a question, monkey."
Scotty
didn't dignify him by looking him in the eye. "I must be terribly hard of
hearing," he said, and Kel smiled inwardly at his affectedly cultured
tone. "If you'd be so good as to--"
Stone
spat in his face.
Kel
saw Scott flinch, and his gut clenched at the stifled gesture. Even worse, he
saw his partner shrink a little beneath the white Stetson, as though he'd
crumpled in onto himself. "Why don't you leave him the hell alone!" he
exploded. Not the wittiest thing he'd ever said, nor the wisest, but at least
it took their eyes off Scotty, meant they didn't get to watch and gloat as he
rubbed his face against his shirtsleeve like a little boy. Saving him that
humiliation wasn't much in the greater scheme of things, but it was all he
could do for now.
"Nigger-lover,
huh?" His voice low and dangerous, the leader walked over to Kelly, and he
relaxed--he didn't want Scotty to be the focus, not here in Redneck Heaven. He
thought of saying "What's it to you?" but decided against letting his
language regress to the level of these schoolyard bullies. Get through it
and get out, get through it and get out, he repeated like a mantra.
Stone
was still looking him up and down. "You know what we do to nigger-lovers
in these parts. Don't know why I don't just shoot you like a dog."
Scott
seemed to have regrouped. "Because those aren't your orders."
Incensed
- the words seemed to have hit a nerve - the man swung back to face him.
"Maybe not. But we don't need orders for you. Remember the Freedom Riders?
We'd be just upholdin' our rights to do the same
thing to an uppity nigger like you, wouldn't we, fellas?"
Kelly felt an involuntary chill at that, although Scotty seemed to have gone
back to the stone-faced mask. There was a lot of hooting and catcalling. Stone
added a coda to his impromptu riff, shoving Scotty in the chest repeatedly,
pushing him all the way to the other end of the car, away from Kelly, goading
him all the while. "Wouldn't we? Huh? Wouldn't we?"
Desperately,
Kelly clamped down on any mad desire for retaliation. Superior numbers, he
kept telling himself, and they're probably armed. In the absence of any
recourse, he resorted to the bullied kid's prayer: Please let them tire of
this. Please let them tire of this.
But
obviously gang bosses didn't provide TV: entertainment must be so hard to come
by that the two Department men were providing a virtually inexhaustible avenue
of fun and games. One of the gang, looking singularly nitwitted, and seeming to
feel he had been out of the game long enough, chimed in on the racist theme.
"You wasn't allowed to dirty up our buses. I should just call the animal
shelter to pick you up! Look at that face! Monkey, monkey!" He began to
make high-pitched chattering noises that his fellows found vastly amusing,
judging by the rise in pitch and volume of their howling and laughter. "I
ask ya, fellas: is this the
face of a man? Lookit them lips! Yabba,
yabba!"
"Jesus,
did any of you get out of fourth grade?!" Kelly took a couple of
paces forward, goaded completely out of his reason. Testosterone-fueled
violence and insults were one thing, but this--his gentle partner standing there
and taking it, not responding, not reacting to Kelly's jibes at their
tormentors or even meeting his eyes, crumpling more and more inside--it hurt,
and it unsettled him. And that filled him with a fury he could rarely
remember feeling.
The
click of a hammer being pulled back snapped him to his senses. Apparently, one
of the morons had figured out how to cock his weapon. A trickle of ice ran down
his spine and he froze. This was already not good, and adding weapons to the
mix meant that it could get very bad very quickly.
"I
think you should take off those white man's clothes you're wearing, coon."
Stone's voice was low, a hiss.
It
slammed into Kelly then, all that had gone before. For the first time, he
really looked at the man's eyes, shining a little too excitedly, his gaze a
little too heated as he stared at Scotty's body. "What for?" he
snapped loudly, on instinct.
The
man's flinch, the way he hurriedly averted his over-bright eyes from Kel's
searching ones, told him his intuition had been correct, and his mind whirred
as the sadistic drawl responded, deliberately slow. "Why, to teach you a
lesson." Stone reached out... "Cowboy hat..." and flipped it off
the other man's head to land in the dirt. Two of the boys stamped on it, but
Kelly's eyes were riveted on a sight that shocked him: with the hat off, Scotty
was actually hanging his head, squinting in the bright sunshine. What gives?
"Since when do the likes of you wear a white hat? That belongs to
White Men. You know. Cowboys. The good guys." He paused for the
appreciative whoops and guffaws. That chorus was getting old very quickly.
"And that cowboy shirt," Stone continued, gripping the collar from
behind and yanking it down so hard that the buttons popped off the cuffs.
Scotty staggered backwards but righted himself quickly. With the shirt free,
Stone threw it to the ground. "That's better. Since when is a black man a
cowboy?"
Kel
waited for Scott's smart comeback, and when it was apparent it wasn't coming,
he looked up. "We built this country together," he snapped, unable to
hold his peace any longer.
The
chorus of guffaws was initiated by the thin, bearded one this time. "Aw,
isn't that sweet?" said, high-pitched and saccharine. "We built this
country together!" the redneck mimicked girlishly. "Built this
country with the monkeys!"
"What
you mean, nigger-lover," Stone said urbanely, "is we built this
country by using colored slaves like the animals they are." His face
screwed up in disgust. "And they shoulda stayed
slaves, not got uppity and walked around wearing white men's clothes and
driving white men's cars and..." He snorted in disgust and turned to face
Scotty. "Now take off the rest of those white man's clothes you stole.
Come on, we haven't got all day."
Scotty
bowed his head. Kelly was becoming extremely unnerved at his
uncharacteristically passive demeanor. He looked hard at his partner, trying to
catch his eye, trying to convey It's all right or We'll get through
this but the dark eyes remained downcast, fixed in the dirt, staring at his
feet. As his partner folded his arms about himself, and Stone clenched his
fists, Kelly looked up.
"You
know, Stone old pal," he drawled, "I might not do that if I were
you."
The
man's eyes came round to him in mute, if sneering, inquiry. "Who's gonna stop me?"
"Oh,
nothing," Kelly said airily, "but you know, if it got back to your
boss that you wanted to see another man naked," he shrugged, "ah, I dunno, people might, you know, think things."
The
backhand to the face, he figured, was worth it. It hardly hurt, even. Smiling,
he narrowed his eyes at the man's blazing blue ones. "Whatsamatter?"
he asked, his voice not quite a taunt. "A little too close to home?"
Stone's
eyes widened and his face flamed. "Just because you're a little homo
prancing around the country takin' it up the ass from
this coon don't mean real men are as sick as you!" This time it was a
solid roundhouse punch, not a backhand, and Kel saw stars. "Limp-wristed, pink-shirted sonofabitch!"
Pleased
to have got to him, Kelly smiled through the blood in his mouth and cast a
calculated glance around him at the other thugs, watching the exchange with
bated breath. They see it too, he thought. "Afraid your boys will
start to think...?"
"You
little faggot!"
This
time the uppercut packed power, and Kelly was sent flying. It was just bad luck
that he knocked his head against the windshield on the way down. He lay on the
ground, unable to move, head spinning. He barely had time to take inventory - not
nauseous, good, not seeing double, good, now why the hell can't I snap out of
it and get upright - before receiving a kick in the ribs, which knocked the
wind out of him and just generally really didn't improve matters.
"Man,
you really afraid to have your boys here hear that, aren't you?" Scotty's
voice didn't sound right, but at least he was standing up for himself, even if
it was only carrying on the line of attack Kel had started. "Tell me,
boys, does he look too long in the shower room?"
And
too late, Kelly realized how dangerous that tactic could be. He could recognize
drawing their fire when he saw it. Damn that chivalrous streak! Damn it
all to hell! How had this situation got out of hand so fast? He commanded his
muscles to move, but they were sluggish, rebellious, rendering him immobile.
Stone
walked slowly, deliberately up to Scotty, hands in his pockets, and Kel saw his
partner flinch, even shrink back slightly. What the hell--?
"You're
a fine one to be sayin' that, nigga,"
the man drawled. "You wasn't so uppity with your black ass in the air. I
think you're due an attitude adjustment."
Kelly's
vision washed to scarlet for an instant and he struggled to move with
everything in him. He would strangle the man with his bare hands right here,
right now. He would grab Scotty's chin, slowly drifting down to his chest, and
make him hold his head high again. He would--but stunned, out for the count, he
had no recourse but to watch.
Stone
clucked his tongue. "Too bad we didn't get to finish what we started. You
was liking it, wasn't you?"
Kel
was desperate to catch his partner's downcast eyes, but he couldn't move. He
didn't know what he would have conveyed, what he would have done, but he just
wanted to catch Scotty's eye, to tell him that he wasn't alone in this--but even
that was denied him; his muscles were completely unresponsive.
"A
good fucking woulda put you back in your place!
Knocked all them uppity airs and graces outa
you!"
Kelly
could have wept with frustration as Scotty shrank into himself a little more,
arms folded, head bowed. The lackeys traded uncomfortable glances, but at this
point, with both himself and his partner out of commission, there was no
potential to exploit it to create a little discord, and Kel dismissed it as
irrelevant. There were more important concerns: Kelly was desperate to hear any
of his partner's trademark repartee--a self-deprecating remark, a quip,
anything--but to all intents and purposes, Alexander Scott had shut down.
Stone
raised his voice again. "How about that! Our fairy-ass nigger's modest! Whasamatter, boy, you only strip down before
customers?"
The
Greek chorus of lesser intelligence took up the catcalls, getting caught up in
the game of facile degradation, their earlier hesitance dissipating in the
absence of overt sexuality. "Here's a dollar! You'd strip off for a
dollar, won't ya?"
"Hell,
no! For a dollar he should take it up the ass!"
"Dollar's
too much for him! A dime's enough!"
"Aw,
c'mon, homo coons ain't a dime a dozen round these
parts!"
The
jeering was silenced by the report of a bullet. Kelly had some vague idea of it
striking the ground by his head, but was still too dazed to be sure. The voice
seemed to have some bearing on the situation: "G'wan,
or we'll ventilate your Master's nigger-lovin' head!
Then who'll you find to pound your filthy homo ass?"
"All
right! All right!" Panic in his voice, Scotty yanked his T-shirt over his
head, just as quickly shucked his pants.
"Shorts,
ape! Shoes, socks, all of it!"
Again,
Kelly struggled to move. But Fate seemed to have the last laugh: he remained
condemned to inaction as Scotty, moving like an automaton, slid down his
shorts, wrenching his shoes and socks off together and letting them fly where
they would. He straightened up, naked, arms crossed over his chest instead of
covering his crotch. The catcalls renewed, more animalistic howling than actual
comments by this point. "Now kneel, monkey! Kneel like the slave you
are!"
"Yeah,
on yer knees! Bet he's a house nigger, ain't he?" Stone laughed as though he had just told a
capital joke. "Your massa here teach you yer A-B-Cs?"
Kelly
could actually feel his fist in the man's mouth, knocking his teeth out, could
feel them crunching under his knuckles. His chest constricted as he looked at
Scotty. His partner--his partner, the Rhodes scholar, who spoke seven languages,
who could make a bomb with a shoebox full of fertilizer and a bottle of bleach,
who'd taught him things that could fill a dictionary, who could put in an hour
in an interpretation booth in Swahili while holding two men at gunpoint--just
stood there in the nude, arms folded, head bowed, unmoving, impassive. Still
life in flesh.
But
his broad shoulders were slumped in shame; his proud head was bowed, his bright
eyes defeated.
It
was as though Kelly had never known heartache until that moment.
Kelly
jerked involuntarily as another bullet buried itself into the ground next to
him. "Y'know," Stone said, "we don't
have to kill your master. Dumond might not like
that." His voice took on a sinister meaning. "But there' s nothing
that says we can't shoot him in a kneecap... or maybe turn your cock into a
hen!" More hysterical laughter.
Scotty
dropped to his knees immediately. "Yeah, that's it! Kneel to your white Massa!"
Kelly's
vision was still tunneled, but he saw a boot on his partner's neck, shoving his
face down into the dirt. "Stick that black ass up in the air, jigaboo!"
The
report of the gun sounded again. A booted foot descended on Scott's back, all
its owner's weight behind it. If he'd been able to, Kel would have groaned in
sympathy as Scotty grunted, the pain and pressure making him curve his spine
inwards. Kelly winced as the men kicked him in the rear with their booted feet,
hard, taking turns.
Mercifully,
a siren wailed in the distance. Stone snapped alert at the sound, face odd, as
though realizing he'd gone too far. "Time to go, fellas,"
he gestured to his posse. Kel went weak with relief as they piled into the
truck. If I ever see you again, you're dead men, dead, dead, dead...
"Been
a pleasure," their tormentor said as the engine turned over. The truck
roared out of the lot, and then there was silence.
***
Sprawled
naked on the ground, Alexander Scott struggled to right himself. His neck and
back ached, and his rear end, but in the final tally, he was actually
physically pretty much unhurt but for bruised muscle.
Blindly,
he reached out for something to cover his nakedness, hit his discarded jeans,
and pulled them on, his hands shaking so badly he couldn't manage the belt
buckle. He finally left it dangling open untied and pulled on his rumpled,
discarded tee, jamming the mangled Stetson down over his head; there, that
would hide his blackness for the time being. Maybe later he could put on a
shirt. Maybe later he could put on a hood, hide where no-one would ever see him
again...
"Scotty?"
The
voice hit him with a pang. He didn't want Kelly to see him; he just wanted to
curl up alone. But he couldn't leave Kelly lying on the ground, hurt. He shoved
his pain somewhere where it didn't show, and walked over to his partner,
feeling strangely detached. He knelt in the dirt for the second time that
afternoon. "Yeah, Kel? You all right?" His partner had a thick skull,
but he'd taken quite a knock to the head... Shaking his head to clear it, he
slipped his fingers into the soft hair to probe the lump. Now if he could get
his hands to stop shaking long enough... ah, no, everything was going away again,
into that strange numbness...
"Scotty,
why's it so dark?"
The
cold knot of fear that choked his breath pushed everything else into abeyance.
"Kel, it's the middle of the day. The sun's shining really bright,"
he said gently, reaching out to grip his partner's shoulder.
Kelly
fumbled for Scott's hand, and Scott clasped it, tight. "Well, that's just
dandy. I guess I can't see."
A
wall of panic over Kelly's sight slammed the world aside. Shame, color,
humiliation - it all faded away as though it had never existed. Kelly could not
have gone blind. Nothing else mattered.
"You're
kidding." He had to be kidding. Scott focused on Kelly's eyes. "Your
pupils are responding normally to light--nothing looks unusual--Kel, you're
kidding me, right?" He knew he sounded desperate, but he didn't care.
"You wouldn't kid me about something like this, right? You wouldn't!"
"No,"
his partner's voice was sad and resigned, as it was when he tried and failed at
an assignment, "no, I guess I wouldn't." Clasping Scotty's shoulder
for support, he sat up slowly, his eyes focusing to meet Scotty's, looking
intently into them. "Can't blame a guy for trying, though, can you?"
"Wh..." It took Scotty a moment to realize that his
partner had been kidding, and it was all he could do to keep from
punching his lights out. As it was, he couldn't stand to be near him; he pushed
off the ground and leaned into the car, gripping its side with both hands,
breathing hard. "What? Why? Why would you do that to me? Like our
enemies aren't enough, man?"
Kelly's
voice was calm. "I wanted to bring you back."
"In
case it slipped your notice, I haven't exactly been vacationing in
Acapulco!"
Kelly
smiled, feeling slightly less worried. He'd gambled that protectiveness would
blow the fog of depression away, if only for the present, and his desperate
ruse had worked--this was more the Scotty he knew. He hoped he could get the
message through... "Sorry 'bout the lie, but you know what?"
"No."
The voice was sullen, but still had more of an edge to it than the frightening
emptiness of ten minutes previous. "What?"
"You
know when they say, 'Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never
hurt me'?"
"Man,
what is this? Twenty questions? Because I've got to tell you, I am not in the
mood--"
"That
saying's a lie too."
Scotty
shut up. But he didn't turn.
"I'm
sorry, Scotty."
"Mind
telling me what you're apologizing about?"
"What
they did. What happened to you."
"Nothing
happened to me, Kel! They punched your lights out, they yakked a bit
more and then they drove off."
Kelly
stared. He'd heard of denial, but this was ridiculous. "I was
conscious."
"Don't
know what you're talking ab--you were conscious?"
Kelly
just nodded. "And remember, I'm the one who untied you, in the hideout. I
heard what they said back there, too."
Complete,
utter silence this time, ponderous and choking, filling up the sunlit air and
blocking the light. Perhaps now wasn't the time. Kelly barreled on before
Scotty could freeze, making his tone deliberately weak and vulnerable.
"Scotty - could you help me up?"
"What'll
you pay me?"
"Eternal
goodwill?"
The
man shrugged. "'kay--guess I'm kinda short on goodwill at the present."
Hoping
to keep his partner alert a bit longer, Kelly subtly overplayed his injury,
making it seem impossible to rise without assistance. The hands that helped him
up were strong and gentle, and Kelly clasped them tightly, gratefully. The
handclasp lingered a moment longer than usual, Kelly willing Scotty to see that
whatever other idiots populated the world, there was at least one person who
respected, who valued, who treasured Alexander Scott for everything, everything
that he was.
One
day he might even say it out loud.
Once
Scotty had him settled in the front seat, Kel let his head fall back. He must
have drifted off because the next thing he knew was Scotty starting the engine,
pulling out of the parking spot and onto the road. Looking through the
windshield, straight ahead, Scotty asked as though there had been no lapse in
the conversation, "When did you wake up?"
Kelly
looked at him, full-on, his face open. "I was never out."
His
partner turned to look at him, his mouth falling open, before turning back to
the road. Kelly barreled on, determined to make Scotty see it wasn't his fault.
"Conscious
for all of it. For when they made you strip by threatening me. For when they
kicked you in the dirt by threatening me." He paused, letting a smile
quirk his features. "I do have this to say: despite the fact that I am
apparently a limp-wristed homo and a little faggot, I
am truly glad you didn't let them turn me from a cock into a hen. It's a truth
I must admit."
Instead
of a smart remark, Scotty gulped in air, let it out in a whoosh--and his face
twisted into a mask of torment, eyes screwed tight shut, mouth gaping wide,
teeth bared in a silent scream. It took an alarmed Kelly a second to realize
that he was crying. Pulling jerkily off the road, Scotty turned off the
ignition and surrendered to his emotion, hands fisted on the wheel, his body
shaking with the force of his weeping. It was frightening to see: He looked in
agony, as though he were on the rack, yet he never made a sound, and shed not a
single tear.
"Hey.
Hey." Kel leaned over, reached out and pulled Scotty into his arms, even
though the other man resisted, too lost in his own agony, every muscle in his
body convulsing wildly with his suffering. "Scotty. It's okay. Don't hold
back, okay?"
The
silent screams turned into deep, shuddering groans, the wildly flailing hands
fisted into Kel's jacket. He gripped Scotty more strongly and pulled the
shaking body tightly to his chest, and his partner went limp, burying his face
into Kel's shoulder, moaning as though in the grip of some unutterable torment.
"Hush," he murmured. "Hush. It's okay. It's okay." But it
wasn't, not yet, not with his strong, cool, calm, resilient partner shattered
and humiliated by such a brutish assault. He prayed that his worst fear
wouldn't be realized, that these bastards would not have pierced to the core
and dented Scotty's self-worth. With gratitude, he realized that the
traumatized reaction seemed to have subsided; Scotty was breathing hard, lying
spent in his arms. "I'm sorry," he found himself whispering into the
nap of the hair against his cheek. "I'm sorry."
The
voice came from the recesses of his jacket, the head never lifting. "What
do you have to be sorry about?"
He
took a deep breath. Where to begin? How had he got into this nightmare
situation in the first place? "Sorry for all of it." He gritted his
teeth. "Sorry for the Freedom Riders. For Rosa Parks. For the Sasser churches. I'm sorry for James Meredith. For fucking
George Wallace. For Hamilton vs. Alabama, Fannie Lou Hamer,
Medgar Evers, for all of it, all of it." He
noted that at some point his partner had risen up out of his arms and was
looking at him with a stunned stare. "Yeah, I know it's not my doing. But
I'm still sorry that this--this crap--goes on in the country we work to
defend. And I'm sorry you have to go through it."
The
stare was still there. Scotty's mouth worked for a moment before he said,
astonished, "You know the history."
"Course
I know the history. I'm an American, aren't I?"
Scotty
was obviously working at keeping his tone level. "Most Americans might not
know this."
"Well,
I'm not just any American." He drew himself up tall. "I'm Alexander
Scott's partner."
The
amazement was palpable now. "You looked it up... because of me?"
For
the first time since the start of the conversation, Kelly was embarrassed.
"If I say yes, will you deck me?"
"No.
No. But I... White guys don't usually... don't ever study... don't..." he
stared again, understanding dawning, "don't know what it's like."
"And
I can't," Kelly said gently. "I never can. I've never been kept from
riding the bus, never had to look round for a restroom till I thought my
bladder was going to burst..."
"You
always pee in the bushes anyway, man."
Kel
smiled but didn't stop; this was too important. "I don't have grandparents
who were maybe tortured and killed, or whose friends were. I don't worry about
liking a girl who's maybe the wrong color..."
Scotty
was looking at him in wonderment.
"...
I don't have to wear a suit-and-tie just for people to take me seriously and
have the cops not look at me funny--oh yeah, don't think I haven't noticed it,
Jack--I don't have to worry about how some bigoted racist sonofabitch
store clerk is going to treat me despite the fact that he never graduated high
school and I have a graduate degree..." Kelly knew his voice was getting
bitter but he didn't care, "I don't get treated like dirt by every idiot
who comes down the pike, I get away with jaywalking and trespassing and
double-parking and countless misdemeanors that'd get a black man thrown into
jail. I know what my educated, my cultured, my absolutely brilliant
partner, who risks his life defending the whole damn country, has to go through
out there just to get a taxi! I know that once we're home, we live in different
worlds, Whites Only and Coloreds Only!" He snorted. "I know how
they treat you when I leave your sight when we're in the good old U.S. of A., I
wish it wasn't like that but I do know it, and the least I can do, the very very least I can do is put a little goddamned
research into the God-damned history!"
He
was breathing hard now, sure he had embarrassed himself. Looking away, he
almost didn't catch the mumble that came from Scotty as he slumped exhausted
into his seat. When his brain processed it, it turned out his partner had said,
"There's no-one like you, Kel. You're one of a kind, you know that?"
and for some reason, it only made him madder.
"It
doesn't matter," Kelly retorted. "We're not talking about me, we're
talking about you. You're exceptional, and even if you weren't, it still
wouldn't give a bunch of goddamned rednecks--bigoted bastards--the right
to..." Another mumble. "What is with you? What did you just say?"
The
words were hesitant, low, but perfectly clear. "I feel dirty."
Quashing
the jolt it gave him, Kel reached over and turned the keys in the ignition. The
car jolted forwards and he wrenched the gearshift angrily into neutral.
"Motel. Now."
"But--"
"Humor
me, okay? Now."
***
Kel
manhandled his partner into the small, white-tiled bathroom, turned on the
shower, matter-of-factly stripped him out of the filthy T-shirt and the canvas
jeans that would probably never be clean again--he'd throw them out as soon as
he could do so unobserved. "Inside." He knew he was touching upon
recent, raw psychological wounds, but he didn't want the memory to stay in
Scotty's head, didn't want the last recall of being naked to be something like
that - hostility, enmity, humiliation, self-loathing. "C'mon," he
said gently. "You're all dusty, Stan." Shell-shocked more than
anything else, his partner mechanically complied.
The
moan Scotty let out as he stepped under the hot water made Kelly smile openly.
As his partner just stood there, eyes closed, luxuriating in the warmth, Kelly
lathered up a face towel and gently, nonthreateningly,
touched it to Scotty's shoulder. Encouraged by the minimal flinch, he began to
soap his partner's back, slowly, in ever-widening circles, gently, but pressing
just a little bit harder each time. The grunts of pleasure were both indication
and reward, and he added his left hand to the right using the washcloth,
skimming it lightly over the shining brown skin as the smooth, glittering sheet
of water flowed down it, trying to convey through his touch everything that was
too awkward to say, hoping the nurturing, parental gesture would help ground
and relax Scotty, that it might help erase the degradations and abuses of this
day.
"Kel,
I can take it from here, you don't have to..."
"Man,
you ever know me to start a job and not finish it?" His words were
bantering, but his tone was gentle, affectionate. "You pipe down, Jack; unless
you can spin your head like an owl, you can't see where the problems are!"
His
partner's acceptance of that, without further protest, told Kelly just how
vulnerable Scotty was, how much he needed this. He kept washing, frowning as
the mud on his lower back resolved into a nasty heel-shaped bruise on the
spine, right on the third lumbar vertebra. Gently he soaped it, cursing; he was
just lucky that hadn't caused any permanent damage. Amateurs sometimes
inflicted injury, through ignorance, that professionals couldn't or wouldn't.
Kelly
was slightly reassured as Scotty relaxed and leaned forward into the shower
stall, leaning his elbows on the tile, giving in to Kel's ministrations
completely. He soaped a little further down, not daring to touch between his
partner's buttocks--one invasion today was one too many--so he glided the cloth
over his rear, already showing boot-shaped bruises. Kel clenched his teeth.
"Good thing none of those hit your tailbone," he commented,
calculatedly casual as he soaped the mud off, knelt to give the same treatment
to his legs. He winced as he caught sight of the rope-burned ankles, clamped
down sternly on any visuals of how they got that way. Lightly, Kel patted the
water against them, careful to soothe with his touch and not irritate.
Scotty
sighed with pleasure, then self-consciously shifted--squirmed. "Kel,
really... I can..."
Scotty's protest was the last straw. Kelly found he had to bite down on the
desire to lash out at his partner for daring to think himself in any way
unworthy of these ministrations. In the end, he settled for, "It's nothing
you haven't done for me, so shut up."
He
expected some retort from Scotty, something about how indeed he had no idea how
Kelly had survived before he met him. But none was forthcoming, so he stood
again, just skimming his hands lightly over his partner's clean shoulders,
noting angrily the newly forming bruise on the nape of the neck, watching the
water soak into the curly black hair, hair that would never go limp and flat
even if he stood in the shower for a hundred years. With a pang, he suddenly
remembered Dalton, a recruit back at HQ who had thought it would be funny to
hypothesize about how many insects sought refuge in that 'nap' of
Scotty's--thankfully not in the man's presence. Kel had promptly retaliated by
dunking his head in a toilet. Didn't mean that kind of thing hadn't been repeated
when his partner was around, he thought. Maybe today was a day for healing all
kinds of old wounds. "I wish I had your hair," he threw out, letting
the unusual statement hang there in the steamy air.
Scotty
turned to face him, face set in disbelief. "Now I know you're
kidding."
"Why?"
That had worked out rather well, considering Scotty's back was as clean as it
could get. Matter-of-factly, Kelly began to lather Scotty's front. "It
keeps its shape. I fall in the river, I come out looking like a drowned rat.
You fall in the river, you come out looking like a stockbroker."
"A
Negro stockbroker," The bitterness in Scotty's voice was palpable.
"Yeah,"
Kelly said lightly, with finality, like he wasn't even aware of what Scotty was
saying.
Scotty
took a breath as Kelly soaped him, taking the opportunity to run the warm towel
over the dark skin of his collarbone, his shoulders, the center of his chest,
to lay his hand flat on the strong beat of the heart--anything to comfort
Scotty, to relax him, to show him how valued he was. His next words told Kel
he'd been right about the hair thing opening up a can of worms. "I always,
always got grief about my hair."
"Yeah?"
Casual, casual. Kel kept his eyes on the washcloth, not on Scotty's
face.
A
shaky breath. "Yeah. Growing up, I had a lot--a lot--of guys laugh at
me because I didn't straighten it."
Now
Kel was genuinely confused. "What? Why would you want to straighten
it?"
He'd
forgotten not to look Scotty in the eye, and the regard that fixed his was
patient, long-suffering, tolerant. "To make it look white."
Kel
squeezed the brown shoulders for a long moment before snapping the water off.
"Let's try something else."
Scotty
stepped out, grabbed a towel, as Kelly watched the water pour down the drain,
watched the soapy, muddy water swirl away to clear.
***
"You
don't have to do this, man."
"I
definitely, emphatically have to do this." He'd marched the still-passive
Scotty out of the bathroom--not so much passive, though, Scotty had always been
amenable, always ready to follow Kel's lead--and flopped him down on the bed for
a massage. "I don't give you a massage," he editorialized,
"those bruises on your back," he tapped them lightly, "will make
your muscles tighten up, you'll be a grouch to work with, I'll suffer."
There
was a mumble from the man beneath him. "What?" he asked with half an
ear as he moved around, gently creamed the raw wrists and ankles, deciding
against a bandage.
A
sigh, and a silence that went on too long.
Kel's
tone was slightly sharper when he spoke again. "Answer me. What'd you
say?"
Another
silent, deep breath. "I said," the voice was strangely devoid of
emotion, "you're the only white man I knew who could find a bruise on a
Negro."
Kel's
brow furrowed as he warmed the massage oil in his hands. "Looks pretty
obvious to me."
"Only
to you."
Kel
placed the pads of his fingers lightly on the bruised shoulder so as not to
startle the man on the bed, then started to press gently down, feeling out the
tense spots. "Why do I get the feeling that means more than it sounds
like?"
No
answer.
"Scotty."
He
was careful to keep his hands moving; his fingers never stopped kneading the
too-hard muscles as the other man began to speak. "When I graduated
Temple, I signed up for six months of postgrad neurolinguistics." A breath. "Let's just say not
everyone at the new school shared my enthusiasm about racial integration."
His
hands very nearly stopped as the implications of that sank in, coupled with
where the conversation had been before... But he managed to keep it casual.
"How many of 'em did it take to beat you
up?"
"Six."
"On
one, of course." A grunt was his only answer. "But I'll bet you
showed 'em where they got off? C'mon, I know my
partner. What'd you do to 'em? Some surprise you set
up, huh?"
"Nope,"
Scotty responded. "I was going to get 'em legal.
Racial violence was against the law, huh? Beating up another student? I was gonna get them expelled."
"Mm-hmm.
Serves 'em right too," Kelly said, rubbing his
oiled fingers carefully over the broad back, zeroing in on the muscles to the
left and right of the bootprint, drawing his fingers
to the side just outside the bruises to encourage drainage. When the silence
stretched out, he encouraged, "Then what?"
Scotty
let out a breath. "I took my complaint to the Dean. He said to go get
checked out, make it official. The campus doc..." He paused.
Kelly
felt the muscles bunch up beneath his fingers and felt himself go tense, too.
"What?"
His
partner swallowed. "Said I was lying. The docs said they couldn't find a
bruise on me. Couldn't have been beaten up." Frightening as the curtness
was, even worse was the defensive tone that crept into the next words, as
though Kelly might accuse him of mendacity. "I swear they did beat me up,
Kel. I couldn't move for two days."
Abandoning
all pretense, Kelly let his forehead drop onto his partner's back.
"Hell."
"It's
okay," Scotty said quickly, that protective instinct of his coming to the
fore again. "I passed the course, so they didn't get what they wanted
anyway. And..." A little smile crept into the voice. "And they had to
repeat a semester when their test papers mysteriously turned up missing."
"That's
my partner." Head still down, Kel raised his hands, let them massage
around Scott's spine for a moment, then blurted sincerely, "You're
beautiful, you know that?" Shit, he thought, that sounded lame,
but it was too late to take it back.
There
was a snigger. "You tryin' to seduce me or
what?"
"You
wish." He laughed gently--his golden opportunity to laugh off what he'd
just said--but then raised his head seriously, his hands fiercely cupping
Scotty's shoulders, gripping them tight. "Scotty... I mean... all that garbage
they say, you know it isn't true, right?"
The
curly head slowly turned away. "No," he said, and the wretchedness in
his tone broke Kel's heart. "Today, I don't."
Kelly's
heart ached, but he resisted cursing and throwing things; of all times, now was
the time for him to be strong for his gentle partner, as the man had so many
times been strong for him. "I don't know how to convince you, but anything
those bastards said, it's a God-damned lie. Your face..." Scott snorted and
Kel's gut clenched. "It's strong, it's honest... clear. Your eyes, they're
bright, they're... you're so smart I'm jealous of ya.
Your eyes light up the room with that intelligence in 'em."
Another snort. "What?"
"Nothing."
"No,
no, go on," Kelly said, his ire rising. "Today's obviously my day to
learn lots of things I had no clue about before. What's wrong with your
eyes?"
Slowly,
the dark head turned towards him. The words were sullen, the lips barely
moving. "They used to say," Scotty mumbled, "that my skin was
the color of mud, that I'd never get clean, but my eyes... my eyes were brown
because folks like me were full of... well, of manure, and that was where it came
out."
"Who
used to say, Scotty? Who?"
"Why?"
"So
I can kill 'em."
That
got a hesitant laugh, and Scotty turned away again. "Sorry," the back
of his head said curtly, "Self-indulgent crap. Don't know what came over
me. Just a lot of stuff... I'd forgotten till today." No wonder it
picked today, Kelly thought, but was cut off by his partner's repeated
apology. "Sorry. Forget it."
"Should
have told me." And you still haven't gotten over what happened in the
cave. What they said you deserved. What they did.
Scotty's
response was an oblique answer. "What for? 'S over and done with."
Kelly
rubbed his hands over the bruised back, over and over, trying to say with his
touch what he couldn't, trying to convey They were fools. You're worth a
hundred of those... Ah, heck with it. "Scotty, look at me."
The
dark head stayed turned away.
"Scotty."
He
turned, and Kel hated the wounded look in his partner's eyes. "What."
"You
are beautiful," he repeated firmly, wonderingly. "Your eyes
shine with intelligence, and anyone says any of that crap about crap I'll punch
him into next week, I wish I had a Roman nose like yours..." he ignored the
laugh that might make him want to deck Scotty, "your--your mouth, your
chin... everything about you is handsome and...and..."
"I
have a black face," Scotty said evenly. Defeatedly.
As though that changed everything.
"Yeah!"
Kelly exploded, the desolation in that tone tearing at his heart. "Yeah,
you do! So what! I'm fine with that, and so should you be! Your mom has
one, and she's a fine upstanding woman!" Forcing himself to calm down, he
said knowingly, lightly, "And that black face of yours had Jeannette
making sheep's eyes at you today, or did you forget that little detail? I
wouldn't be complaining if I were you."
"Jeannette?"
The
total ignorance in Scotty's tone incensed Kelly. "Jeannette, the General's
daughter. The girl we got all this grief for rescuing, or has that fact erased
itself from your head?" He rubbed his partner's back gently, in a contrast
to his rising, bantering tones. "She was falling for you like nobody's
business! 'Do you live in Washington, Agent Scott?' 'Can I write you, Agent
Scott?' 'I feel so awful, Agent Scott sacrificed himself for me! I'll never
forget him!' Agent Scott this, Agent Scott that. What am I, the rhythm section?
Made me feel all loved and appreciated." With a mock-huff, Kelly rolled
his eyes and waited for the answering quip.
A
slow, heavy sigh was his only response. "Aw, man," Scott mumbled,
"in this state, it's a felony to even look at her." Depression and
linguistics warred for a second across the expressive face; linguistics emerged
victorious, forcing one more word from Scotty. "Miscegenation."
Kelly
gritted his teeth, then forced a laugh. "Now how am I supposed to take a
law seriously that I can't even pronounce?" Unable to keep up the light
faade, he continued, low and intense, "You know as well as I do that that
law's unconstitutional, that they can't keep it forever. This isn't the lawyers
and the judges, it's men and women, the birds and the bees." He paused for
an instant, getting his emotions under control. "You do know about the
birds and the bees, don't you? I'd hate to have to explain, at your age..."
He
waited for the "You're not exactly a spring chicken yourself," but it
never came. The miserable, defeated silence stretched out, and finally came a
pliant, "Okay."
"Scotty,"
Kelly snapped, at the end of his tether. "You're wonderful whether you
like it or not, and I'm sorry you live in this bitch of a country where people
still treat you like dirt for the color of your skin, where there's riots and
segregation and all that garbage. I know you have to fight it every day of your
life. What happened to you? Fight it, man!"
"Maybe,"
a deep, weary breath, "maybe I'm tired of fighting." Almost a
whisper. "Maybe they're right."
"What's
gotten into you today?" Kel snapped, frustrated beyond his limits.
"I
haven't been having a very good day," Scotty said with an unnerving lack
of anger.
"No,
I guess not." Kel was immediately contrite. "Sorry." But then he
looked up. "We've had worse days. Why today?"
"Today...
was just..." A shaky breath escaped his partner. "I'll be fine. Don't
worry about me."
Kelly
knelt back on his heels, stumped. What in the world had got into Scotty? It
wasn't like they hadn't, a hundred times over, been beaten, tortured, abused,
chained up...
...And
then, suddenly, it came to him. He almost laughed with relief at the
realization that his partner wasn't cracking up, that their basic training had
placed the keys to his salvation in his hands. But this had to be handled delicately...
"You read the training manual, didn't you?"
Surprise
cleared the despair for a moment. "Sure I read it."
"How
long ago?"
"What's
this about?"
"You
read the chapter on sexual assault?"
The
brown eyes hardened. "What's that supposed to..."
"If
you did, and I know you did," Kelly began, keeping his tone smooth, but
brooking no argument, "then you know that after a violation of a sexual
nature, like what happened to you today..." it had to be said, "in the
cave..."
Scotty
didn't deny it. His eyes closed, squeezed shut, and Kelly gripped his shoulder
supportively and went on, "...the victim feels guilty regardless. It's the
violation, you know that, right?"
Scotty's
normally easygoing visage was tormented; his eyes remained tightly closed, and
he gave no answer. Kelly rose to sit next to him on the bed, and gentling his
voice, continued, casually resuming his massage.
"You
can't help thinking there must be something about you, something you did to
cause it, because..."
"...Imagining
one is the cause of it helps one believe that one had some kind of control over
what occurred, which is less painful than admitting one was powerless to stop
the incident," Scotty quoted, his eyes shut; verbatim, Kelly'd
have been willing to bet.
"It
makes you doubt yourself, even more if you're a minority group," Kel tried
to remember--he didn't have the manual memorized, damn his partner's memory,
anyway--"so, if... if you're a woman you begin to feel there's something
wrong with being a woman, with your womanhood, as though there's something
about who you are, what you are, that made you deserve to have that
happen to you. It..."
"Strips
you of your pride," Scott mumbled.
"In
who you are."
"What
you are."
"Right,"
Kelly nodded. When no answer was forthcoming, he just kept rubbing the bruised
back, smoothing his hands over the skin, kneading the unbruised
areas of muscle deeply and firmly with his fingers. Now, more than ever, he had
to hold Scotty up till he came through, as Kel knew he would. And if he was in
pain, if it took a little longer this time, what were friends for?
Eventually
Scotty took a deep breath; Kelly could feel him holding it before he let it
out. When Scott did speak, his voice was scarcely more than a whisper, as
though he were imparting a secret. "...so ashamed."
Kelly
nodded. It hurt to hear Scotty say it, but it was a relief, too. "'Course
you do," he said gently, still quoting. That part of the passage he
remembered. "Sexual assault is known to cause a sense of shame. Those
subjected to it would do well to bear in mind," he tried not to be too
obvious about emphasizing his next words, "that sexual assault is never
the fault of the victim, but is solely the product of those sick individuals
who practice it. They do it to erode one's sense of self-worth...and all too
often, they succeed."
A
shuddering breath left the prone body, and a fraction of the tension left the
taut shoulders. The curly head nodded.
Kel
bent lower over Scotty, so low his upper arms were touching his partner's back
from elbows to fingertips. If Scott was upset by Kelly's breathing on him, he
didn't show it. After he had rubbed his back for a few moments, he ventured to
voice what weighed heaviest on his mind. "Hey, you know it's those
rednecks who should be ashamed, right? You, you've got nothing to be ashamed
about." Still with Scotty in that almost-hold, he murmured, "Hey, if
you wanna feel ashamed, you might wanna
be ashamed of your partner, who threw you to the wolves just to protect a
civilian."
He
took the shake of the head as a good sign, but the continued silence as not so
good. After a few moments in which nothing could be heard but Scotty's deep
breathing - though he fancied a lightening of the atmosphere, but that could be
just wishful thinking - he decided to try and help move things along a little.
"You said...dirty," he ventured.
He
got a tight nod in response, followed by a deep, shuddering breath.
"Remember,
the instructor said that it can make you feel defiled. Unclean." He kept
the contact with Scott, unbroken. "So yeah, it's no big deal if you
felt...like that. It's just a... a consequence." He racked his brain for
something to say. "Comes with the territory."
That
got a response--the merest huff of air, but at least it broke the silence. After
a long moment, Scotty whispered, "Dirty. So dirty. I feel..." His face
was racked with pain, and Kelly's heart went out to him. The dark hand quested
blindly along the sheet, and Kelly caught it, clasped the cold fingers tight,
rubbing his thumb fiercely over the back of his partner's hand. He slid to the
floor to place them both on the same eye level, though Scott's remained closed.
"Scotty...
it is the violation talking, you know that, right? You were violated,
and you're feeling the effects. You're not Superman. It's got to hit you some
way." He gripped his partner's shoulder, held on. "Those bastards
really did a number on you."
Scotty
nodded, his face closed.
Perhaps
it had to be voiced. "Maybe even--stripped you of your pride."
"Yeah,"
Scotty breathed, "yeah, they did." And then his face crumpled, silent
tears falling. If Kelly were a woman, he would have been relieved; as it was he
was terrified, and slid an arm around Scott to support him as he wept, resting
his cheek against the prone man's shoulder. On the far side of his partner,
Kel's hand came into contact with a pillow, and a bright idea occurred to him;
he shook the pillowcase free, and fumbled it over to Scotty's face, dabbing
clumsily at the tears with the hand still holding his partner's. Scotty wept
silently like that for a few moments and then gasped out, "Kel... I feel...
less of a man. How am I going to cope with that?"
"I
don't know," Kel answered honestly, pulling his arm tighter around him,
"but I'll be right with you while you figure it out." He gripped the
shaking hand more tightly. "Other than kill the bastards who hurt you, of
course."
"They
did," Scotty whispered, as though ashamed to admit it.
"Hm?"
"Hurt
me," he choked out. "Kel--you're--you're right, they did, they did hurt
me."
"I
know." Kelly kept his voice gentle, shoved the boiling rage aside. He was
openly stroking the broad back now, making no pretense at massage, holding
Scotty as close as he could in the one-armed hug, his face pressed to the
trembling shoulder. "I could see it. You were really hurt, and I was
really scared."
At
that, the closed eyelids cracked open, giving him a questioning glance. He
didn't ask, "Scared?" but it was right there in his eyes.
"Yeah,"
Kel huffed, remembering. "Petrified. And you know what scared me the most,
Scotty? I could see they were getting to you, getting under your skin. I was
absolutely terrified," and there was no shame in admitting that,
"that they'd--break you. Make you doubt yourself." It wasn't quite a
question.
"They
did," Scotty admitted. But the tightness of the muscles slumped a bit, almost
in--relief?-- and for the first time Kel could see the torment clearing from his
face. It mystified him--he'd have thought crying and admitting all that bad
stuff would have made it worse--but he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the
mouth. "Luckily, I have my partner to believe in me." The tone was
definitely lightening; underneath it, like an undertow, was a gratitude so deep
and desperate that it not only humbled Kelly, but mystified him--like there was
something there that remained unvoiced.
He
let it go for now, though. "Who wouldn't, Scotty?" Kel responded
sincerely. "You're one of a kind, too. Those assholes just caught you off
guard. They did some pretty lousy shit to you." His grip on his partner
never faltered. He strove for a humorously superior tone. "The doc
prescribes twenty-seven aspirin and says you're gonna
hurt for a while, but you'll be good as new." And then he ruined it all by
saying with all his soul, "I promise."
"You
promise, huh?" There was almost amusement in the voice--that and, Kelly
hoped, at least a smidgen of confidence borne of having his partner to lean on.
And he always would, Kel swore, always.
"
'Course I do," he said lightly. "However long it takes, I'm right
there beside you. You get any... doubts, if it comes back to you, just let me
know." He felt the tense shoulder finally relax under his hand, and rubbed
it affectionately. "Scotty, you..." He searched for words. "You're
the most... the most upstanding man I know," he said, hoping his
passionate emotion would show in his voice. "Don't ever forget that."
"Like
your acquaintance is populated by sterling characters," came the quip, at
long last, and Kelly went limp with relief. "All you know is spies and
assassins. All in all, I think I'll wait for a better judge of character before
you type that one up in triplicate."
"Puppeteers."
"What?"
Scotty rolled up on his elbow and blew his nose into the pillowcase.
"Spies,
assassins, and puppeteers. You know, the ones who send us into death without a
second thought?"
Scotty
smacked his forehead. "Right, right. Puppeteers. Forgot about those."
As
Kelly watched, Scotty swung up to sit on the edge of the bed, the bath towel
draped loosely across his waist and most of his knees, and Kelly warmed to see
him so comfortable in nothing but a towel, no lingering ghosts--but then their
eyes met, and behind the smile, Kel could see the ghost of pain, carefully
hidden. "Uh-uh."
"What?"
"Don't
make me sock you in the chin." At the uncomprehending, lost stare, Kel
gritted his teeth. "Don't hide it, Stanley." He locked his
eyes onto the dark, haunted ones. "It ever hurts, and it's going to, don't
hide it from me. Okay?"
The
expressive eyes were grateful, but insincere. "Yeah, sure."
"Why're you lying to me?" Kelly asked, very gently.
The
protective light was back in Scotty's eyes. "It's just... Kel, you've got
enough..."
"Demons?"
It was a measure of how off-balance Scotty was that he would say it to his
face. "Well, yeah, sure. Doesn't mean I have a monopoly on 'em, though."
The
dark eyes avoided his. "Guess not."
In
that moment, Kelly washed through a wave of emotions--regret that his volatile
nature and selfish depressiveness had led Scotty to feel he had to deal with
his pain alone, and a fierce desire to give back some of that rock-steady
dependability his partner always gave him. Enough with the self-indulgence.
Who's he got but me? His voice was firm as he said strongly, "Hey.
Scotty. I lean on you, you're there. You've always been there. What, I can't do
the same? I'm not good enough?"
"Never
said you weren't good enough, Kel."
"It's
nothing you wouldn't do, right? What, you wouldn't be there for me if...something
like that happened to me?"
Scotty's
eyes clearly said, Of course, but it's not the same.
Not
the same? Okay, time to cut the crap. "What aren't you telling
me?"
Scotty's
brows came together, but his eyes still held something in reserve that told Kel
he was on the right track. "Everything," he quipped.
Kel
was in no mood--no mood--for bantering. "I don't mind you keeping
everything from me, I mind you keeping the one thing among the everything that
you're keeping from me that makes me feel like you're keeping something
from me!"
"And
they call me the linguist."
"Yeah,
yeah. Give."
"I'm
not telling you what I got you for Christmas."
"Nice
try. Give."
"Nor
what I told Mom about you in my last letter."
"Scotty!"
"Come
on, man!"
"No,
you come on! It can't be that bad!" A terrible thought struck.
"Scotty..." He felt the blood drain from his face in sudden terror.
"He never finished what he started, did he?" Damn, damn, damn! If his
partner had managed to conceal that from him... Scotty might need
stitches, could be bleeding internally while Kelly, like a fool, had wasted an
hour sitting here yapping! And here they were, God knew how far from the
nearest hospital... Kel found his hands gripping Scotty's arms without
consciously remembering making the move. "How far did it go, Scotty?"
The lack of an answer made him more frantic and he shook his arms, just a
little. "How far did it go?!"
"Not
too far." Before Kel had finished slumping with relief, the gaze that met
his was amused, bitter. "Would it matter to you?"
"What
kind of a dingbat question is that?" Kelly snapped.
"Would
you request a new partner?"
"What?"
Kel's
grip dropped limply from Scotty's arms. The question was so completely out of
the blue, so utterly unexpected that Kelly just stared at Scotty, the few
inches separating them a great gulf of lost understanding. "What are you
talking about?" he finally ventured.
"Why
would it matter to you," Scotty asked warily, "how far it went...
unless it would make a difference to you to serve with a man who'd been
defiled?"
Kelly
stared. And then, as he processed Scotty's intent, he began to laugh.
Now
it was Scotty's turn to stare, an uncomprehending smile beginning to tug at his
lips out of sheer reflex. "Oh boy," Kelly panted. "Oh boy, oh
boy, oh boy. Are you ever barking up the wrong tree, Stanley!" He put a
hand to his forehead and fluttered his lashes. "Oh, I'm a maiden aunt! I
can't work with a man who's defiled! Defiled!" He let his voice go
up into a girlish squeak, and laughed harder. "Oh, I'm having a fit of the
vapors!" He burst into another fit of guffawing, and then faced Scotty.
"Look here, my pea-brained pal. The only difference it would make to me is
I'd prefer my friend to be hurt less rather than more--not because I want to
serve with a man with an intact virtue! Man, oh man, oh man!" And he
dissolved into another fit of the giggles.
"I
hoped you'd come," Scotty blurted, his voice as raw as Kelly had ever
heard it. "And then... I hoped you wouldn't."
Kel's
laughter died away as he digested that. Whatever this strange statement meant
to Scotty, it was the cause of the hidden shadows that lurked behind the more
obvious pain. "Wanna run that by me in English,
pal?"
But
Scotty had obviously reached his quota of revelations for this evening, and
Kelly had to fall back on the statement, rolling it round and round, making
sense of it.
"So,"
he began, "when they had you tied down, you wanted me to come and get you
out...?" A nod. "But when they started doing...those things to you, then
it changed--you didn't want me to come? ...Huh?" For Scotty had whispered
something inaudible.
"...I
didn't want you to see me... like a slave."
The
word--coming from Scotty--socked him in the gut. "...Helpless.
Humiliated," Kel clarified, understanding dawning and bringing compassion.
"...Taken
-by force." Scotty was forcing the words out. "Like..."
Like
the slaves. That's why he thinks it's not the same, as if he'd somehow returned
to his roots--as though if I found out, I'd despise him. Compassion blazed
into incandescent outrage. With a superhuman effort, Kelly clamped down on his
blinding rage. This was about Scotty now, what Scotty needed to banish this
idiocy forever. How could his partner think that something like this could come
between them?
His
next words were gentle. "You didn't think I'd think less of you,
surely?"
Silence.
"You
did!"
"Didn't
want you--to ever see me--like..." More silence. A slightly sheepish silence
now, and the bitter shame slowly melting into cautious hope.
"Scotty,
they wanted to make you feel...degraded. Doesn't mean their tactics worked
on me. I wasn't even there."
A
sigh, and Scotty shook his head helplessly.
Kel
placed his hands on the towel covering his partner's legs, felt the warmth seep
through the fabric. "Man oh man, and the guy has a university pedigree as
long as your arm. What good was all that education, Holmes, if you keep making
these dumb mistakes? Me think less of you because somebody tortured you? Me--"
he paused for emphasis "--think less of you--" he paused again,
his face unguarded, showing Scotty all the affection that bound them together,
letting it stretch between them for a long moment-- "because somebody tortured
you?" He waited for the flicker of response in the dark eyes, and
continued, light but emphatic. "I oughta smack
you upside the head. Where do you get these stupid ideas anyway?"
Scotty's
smile was sheepish and hesitant, but no hidden demons remained anywhere in his
open gaze. "I know it sounds dumb when you put it like that..."
"You
betcher life it does."
"But..."
Kelly
gripped his partner's knees, looked into the vulnerable brown eyes and sighed
inwardly; this was obviously on the list of Unpleasant Things to Say Out Loud
today. "You thought I'd come in and see you being...taken against your will,
and think, 'Oh, Scotty's less of a man, or a slave, or whatever the hell bright
ideas were passing through your empty head on their way to the bocce ball
tournament, and not want to be your friend anymore?" He was smiling as he
finished his sentence, lightly rubbing the terry-clad limbs, and he could see
Scotty's hopeful face mirroring a smile of his own. "Can we get one thing
straight?" he swept on, only half-joking as he fixed Scotty with an earnest
gaze. "I wouldn't care if you slept with every man and woman in the
People's Republic of China."
"They
have a population of 300 million, you know."
Kelly
refused to match the bantering tone until he'd got this said. "And listen,
the only reason I care if you've been violated or not is because I don't ever
want to see my partner hurt!"
The
warmth shining in the brown eyes lit up the room. After a moment, Scotty ducked
his head. "Guess they just got to me."
"Yeah,
they did. C'mon, look at me. This is important." As Scotty's bright eyes
tracked up shyly, Kel's eyes locked on the brown ones with a blazing intensity.
His hands searched for his partner's and gathered them into his, tight. But his
next words were smooth, light, easy. "They used every trick in the book:
of course they got to you. They had you restrained, they used
psychological warfare to break you down, isolate you, cut you off from your
world. But the next time someone tries to make you feel alone, do me and
everybody else a favor and remember you're not?"
Scotty
nodded, his face still alight. Kel wanted to preserve that look forever,
sunbathe in it when he was feeling down. One more thing, though. "And
you'll tell me if it hurts."
"I'm
really feeling much better now." And that much was true; he could see it
in his partner's face, the nebulous grief dissipated like mist in the sunrise.
"But
if it comes back to you, even a little, you'll tell me." It was a demand.
"Cross
my heart and hope to die." The dark eyes met his, and it was all he could
do to keep his breathing even at the trust he saw in them.
"Not
for a long time yet," he quipped when he could breathe again.
"Of
course," the answer came easily, and the eyes were clear. Kel let his head
drop onto their linked hands, closed his eyes, and let the relief wash through
him. After a moment, Scotty spoke again. "Talking of hurt," he began,
"you know what would be great therapy?"
"I
think," Kel said, seeing where this might be going, "you're gonna tell me."
"Well,
I was thinking, all this talk about hurt, and we don't get to inflict any on
those rednecks who did a number on us. That's not really fair, is it?"
"Most,
most unfair," Kelly grinned. Savagely.
"Well
then," Scotty was actually beginning to smile with real enthusiasm,
"What do you say we go get even with 'em?"
Kelly
was already casting about for his clothing. "Soon as I get our stuff from
the car," he rose to his feet, rubbing his hands together in anticipation,
"we go beat the crap out of the yahoos. 'Sides, I figure I've got more of
a reason to be mad than you."
A
pair of surprised--and unclouded--brown eyes met his. "How'd you figure
that?"
Because
it makes me madder when someone hurts you, the thought popped into Kelly's
head, but that wasn't what he'd been going to say, and they were past that
downer, anyway. "You see," he began lightly, "after all, they
kicked you in the rear, but they punched me in the head. Now which is more
important, your rear or my head?" He figured a straight line like that
couldn't hurt.
"Well."
Scotty adopted a professorial tone. "On analysis of the contents thereof,
I'm forced to conclude that the matter is inconclusive and worthy of further
study."
"You
wound me, Stanley. You wound me deeply."
"Not
as deeply as they're about to be wounded, hm,
Duke?" The feral grin warmed Kelly's heart. Welcome back, partner,
he said inwardly, but outside he just smiled. "Indeed, Scotty. Indeed."
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Notes: For beta-ing above and beyond the call, character help, plot (such as it is), and generally making this readable, thanks to Leviathan. You know who takes the blame for any remaining errors, reet?
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