by VK Fox
“Five minutes.”
“We both need to shower and load the car.” Dahl’s fingers were in his hair.
“Three minutes.”
“I want to be on the road…” Dahl sucked in air as Everest ran a hand under his shirt, over his chest and pierced nipples. “Before six.”
Everest groaned and lightly shoved him. “Epicurean.”
“Hedonist.” Dahl kissed him again, slow and sweet, his sandpaper-jaw rough against Everest’s lips and fingers. “Pack, shower, car. If the world is ending, we are getting one beach day first.”
Dahl drove and Everest dozed, drifting in and out of consciousness. Dahl sang along to Ozzy Osbourne, Fitz squealed joyfully over hash browns in the back seat, Dahl pointed out anything along the road for entertainment, and Fitz needed three stops for the bathroom. Everest was powerfully happy. His hand wandered to Dahl’s smooth resin arm on the gear shift. Everest was almost as attached to the prosthetic as Dahl after a hundred hours of work he and Blue had spent building it and the emotional imprint of physical love he and Dahl had accidentally left upon its wondrous surface.
“Can you feel this?” Everest was brushing his thumb over a jewel-bright swallowtail suspended in the limb.
“I don’t think so.” Dahl wore his cat’s grin. He liked this joke.
“Really?” Everest’s head lolled to the side in the reclined leather seat. He trailed his fingers along Dahl’s golem forearm, feather-light and teasing. “This?”
“Nothing.” Faint color rose on his neck.
“Hmmm… curious. It seemed to be working this morning.” He pulled Dahl’s ornate, sensitive hand to his mouth and kissed the tips of his fingers, letting one trace his lower lip. “Now?”
Dahl grinned and stole glances between him and the open road. “Maybe? Try it again.”
Stretching his stiff joints and back in the salt air wiped away Everest’s frayed nerves from the last leg of the journey. Dahl kicked his shoes off and was running up the beach walkway while Everest unbuckled Fitz’s car seat.
“Come here, sleepyhead.” Fitz was starting to nod, but he reached for Everest as soon as the harness was off: small arms encircling his neck. Everest brushed away hash brown and cracker crumbs before climbing the sand-worn steps.
Fitz was gaining weight. He wasn’t round or plump yet, but the difference was enough to feel when carrying him. Ghost crabs whisked into their holes among the dune grass as Everest found his first view of the unobscured, wet horizon.
Dahl was already in the surf, soaked to his knees in freezing water. The breeze off the ocean swept a cold salt mist across the chilly sand. He couldn’t see Dahl’s face, but his posture was clear: joyful and sure. The moment was unhinged in time—blond hair, broad shoulders, and the unchanging ocean tugging at his feet. A man before a god.
“Oooooh!” Fitz let out a rare almost-word and flung his arms wide, like he wanted to hug the Atlantic. He started kicking his little legs and signing “down” emphatically.
“Down?” Everest exaggerated the word as he performed the sign, mirroring Fitz’s request. Fitz repeated the gesture but didn’t attempt to speak. Maybe in time. Everest kissed his earnest face and set him carefully on the sand. Fitz gripped his hand and tugged him towards the tideline, shedding shoes and socks on the way. Achingly cold, foamy water licked their toes and Everest’s motion-filled vision spun the ground beneath his feet: was the water moving around him or was he moving across the surf? Dahl’s strong arms wrapped around his waist.
“Vertigo?” Dahl laughed as he steadied Everest’s stumble. “Don’t fall.”
“You’re not going to push me?”
“Oh, I am absolutely going to push you. But you’re ready for it now.”
Everest soaked in the view, reorienting to the water’s shifting waves. “Were you ever a fish?” What would it be like to be gilled and cold-blooded, slipping through the water?
“Yes.” Dahl’s voice was small. Remembering his lost magic always strained his tone, but then the words rushed out like blood from a laceration: cleansing after the initial sting. “It’s wonderful to have a native perception of the underwater world. Not quiet, exactly, but full of wandering frequencies like paths to follow. The movement of swimming is effortless, far more so than walking, and the added vertical dimension makes everything open and exciting. The light play is beautiful and sensing magnetic fields is pure magic… like life auras or halos. I wish I could explain the vastness of it, the sheer open expanse...” Dahl’s voice wandered off.
“So, this is a family tradition?” Everest’s chest burned even as his feet froze. When Ian had brought Dahl as a little boy, had he carried him? Had he let the water surge over their bare toes? Did they rough house in the surf? Everest couldn’t take in the immensity of the small, intimate event: they were standing in the unchanging ocean with their son. Years in the future, would Fitz stand in the ocean with his own child?
“Were illicit vacations a family tradition? Big time, and the beach was always my favorite. Ian and I used to sneak a day or two in every mission.” Dahl stooped and planted a kiss on Fitz’s head. Fitz wiggled and didn’t look at him, but Everest knew the truth. Emotions radiated from his son: those small gestures of tenderness were like rain on wilted clover. If Fitz was forced to choose between food and affection, he would starve.
“I can’t believe I never realized you took off-the-books side trips. You were my agents.” Everest shook his head.
“You can’t know everything, and I’m pretty grateful you didn’t. If Sana Baba could track agent locations, we’d be in deep shit right now.” Dahl toyed with Everest’s hair. “Welcome to the noble custom of ducking work and screwing around.”
“You know you’re leading this mission, right? We’re ducking your work.”
Dahl chortled. “I’m sorry, did you want command back on this?”
Everest couldn’t feel his feet. He lifted Fitz and tried to warm his little toes, hiding his jitters under the guise of activity. “No. You’re better suited.” Dahl was brilliant and driven, charismatic and unflagging. This was his time. In his gut Everest acknowledged an equally important factor: something was wrong. He hadn’t puzzled out what, but the knowledge ran so soul-deep it would be insanity to take command. They didn’t need to broach that topic yet, though. Everest cleared his throat and fingered the ring he’d hung on a cord under his shirt. It would be a beautiful time to say yes. Instead, other words tumbled out. “I sent the email.”
“You did?” Dahl raised his eyebrows in genuine surprise.
Everest nodded. “Last week I finally pulled the trigger. It’s a long shot. I don’t know what kind of records the adoption agency kept, or if I’m even remembering the name correctly—it’s been years since I looked it up.”
“I hope they get back to you.”
“Me too. Will you come with me if I find my birth parents and they want to meet?”
“Of course.” Dahl’s grin was pure delight and he blushed despite the cold. “I’ll put in my nice lip rings.”
Day two of three was not pleasant. They checked into a hotel after twelve hours in the car full of motion sickness, traffic jams, and short tempers. Dahl wore a look of brittle desperation as he emptied the mini bar, ranging the tiny liquor bottles on the table and ripping a page from his sketchbook. He rapidly scrawled a crude chessboard as Everest stroked the stamped leather portfolio cover and attempted to reground. “May I flip through?”
Dahl glanced up. “Oh, sure. Be careful not to smudge, I haven’t sprayed the last one.”
Everest studied the work. Dahl liked charcoal, graphite, and portraits done in a candid style. His poses were often contrived and proportions off, but between the first page and the most recent sketch, real improvement was evident.
Dahl’s eyes flicked from shading the black squares to Everest’s expression every few seconds. “What do you think?”
Everest had been looking at a picture of a young boy holding a candle. “I like
the eyes here.” He indicated without touching. “They have a lot of feeling in them.”
“Yes, that’s a good part. The hands were fucking murder, though. It’s so hard to make them natural, and in that pose they’re front and center.”
The hands were kind of a mess. Everest smiled, “When I was a child and I drew people, I always hid their hands behind things so I wouldn’t have to try and puzzle that out.”
Dahl grinned back at him. “I did that for kind of an embarrassingly long time.” He slid the paper game board between them and situated the mini liquor bottles: vodka for the rooks, whiskey for the king, schnapps for the queen, and so on. Fitz snored from the bed, where he lay curled around a pillow with his shoes still on. They played. Everest got accidentally, profoundly drunk.
Dahl collapsed next to him on the couch, pushing the king in his unsteady hands and laughing at his questioning, “Checkmate?”
Everest let his head fall back, enjoying the pleasant, swimming buzz while Dahl ran gentle fingers through his hair and downed the shot.
“That was mine.”
“Too slow. You’re clearly not used to drinking in fear of being discovered.”
“Is that how you honed your skills?” Everest closed his eyes trying to decide between exhausted and horny.
Dahl chuckled. “Well, in fairness, Ian never saw the wisdom of a twenty-one-year-old drinking age. The Sumerian roots run too deep. Beer was frequently overlooked, but he frowned on shots.”
Everest let the liquid slide through his mind. “I never did drink much. A couple of times we went to breweries or wineries in the Piedmont, but mostly Adam drank with his friends—he was into reenacting, and once a month his troop would get together and brew from historic recipes. I enjoyed overnight beer. It was sweet and mild—he used to make it with black tea instead of hops because he thought it would suit my tastes better. The mead was also good, although he was always adjusting the recipe, so we had an endless supply of experimental batches…” Everest petered out. He was talking about Adam. He had discussed him with Dahl before, but in short, necessary ways. Like a fact. Not like a person. Not like someone he’d loved.
“I remember.” Dahl was still wrapped around him, his voice was soft. “The mead. I remember.”
“You remember the mead? From where?”
“He used to give it to me.” Dahl’s voice was casual but too breezy. “It made it easier for Mordred if I wasn’t in control. I didn’t care so much at the time. I drank a lot, and I was glad to know someone who would always get me booze. It made me feel older.”
Horrible fascination arrested him, but he kept his voice even. “How old were you?”
“It started right after I linked, so fourteen.”
Everest’s gut twisted. He was claustrophobic, but he didn’t want to push Dahl away. “Did Ian know?”
“No. I mean, he knew I got drunk sometimes, but didn’t address it. We had bigger fish to fry. It wasn’t a great couple of years.” Everest remembered some of the hear-say around campus. Dahl in the hospital for cutting his wrists; Dahl being treated for an eating disorder; upper command dismissing a steady trickle of adult support staff for inappropriate involvement with fifteen, sixteen, seventeen-year-old Dahl. Everest held him as the liquor-soaked minutes slipped by. Dahl might be asleep for the rhythmic breathing and limp posture.
“Are we alright?” Dahl’s voice was small and muffled in Everest’s shirt.
“Alright?”
“You’re not upset I told you?” Dahl’s breathing was deliberate, and his palm was damp.
Everest’s thoughts were swimming through syrup, panicking between finding the right words and not letting the silence stretch out. Dahl pulled back, forehead wrinkled, and Everest got lost. A tiny nick in Dahl’s eyebrow, the way the corner of his mouth creased when he was thinking, gray-blue eyes climbing inside of him. They studied each other for long minutes. Dahl’s lips parted, color creeping up his cheeks and expression going soft before he broke the silence. “Fuck, Everest, the way you look at me sometimes.” He buried his face against Everest’s neck. Should he say something more? He was already drifting. They could move to bed later.
In the middle of the night Fitz started screaming. Not the high frequency, raw throat, panic screams of terror, but a barely controlled emergency signal: get here fast, I’m coming apart. The alcohol burning off spun Everest’s mind like wheels in the mud as he forced exhaustion-weighted eyes open.
Fitz was sitting on the adjacent hotel bed hugging his small knees, electric fear seizing his muscles. The velvet-dark sky poured moonlight into their room. Rubbing his eyes, Everest stood and stumbled across the gap as Fitz’s yells increased in urgency. For the first few months this kind of noise lit a fire under Everest’s feet, but routine bred compassion fatigue. He should read Fitz tonight; remind himself what the boy was feeling, what he was going through on a regular basis. Becoming jaded to someone else’s suffering left an ashy taste in his mouth. Everest wasn’t that person anymore. He could do better.
“Fitz, it’s alright. You’re safe, I’m here.” As soon as he reached the side of the bed Fitz scrambled to him, clawing frantically into his arms. Everest held his rigid body, stroking his back and whispering assurances. He eased the two of them onto the mattress and pulled up the covers, cradling the little boy against his chest. As they lay in the moonlight, Fitz’s tension eased, and he began to sob. This was the worst part to witness, but if Fitz was relaxed enough to show his feelings, Everest had to be careful to make them welcome, whatever they were.
“I’m here.” Everest opened his second eye a barest sliver, a tiny slice of fear creeping into his fingers. Alone. He was alone, and the room was empty, and no one was ever coming back. The sense of loss and desperation obliterated all reason, and Everest’s throat knotted, tears stinging his sinuses. He was on his feet before he made a decision about it, carrying Fitz to the other bed and folding the two of them into the shelter of Dahl’s arms.
“Hey. Everything alright?” Dahl’s voice was sleep-heavy. Everest shuddered against him, waiting for the fear to drain. Fitz’s crying was less now. He struggled to shift sides, little body wriggling between them like a caterpillar in a cocoon.
“Everything’s alright. I’m just not strong enough to be our son.”
“He’s healing. We’re here to help him. It’ll get better.”
“I don’t want to go.” Everest switched to Sumerian as his voice choked off. Everest’s words were tiny in the moonlit night, a child-like voice. “I don’t want what’s waiting for us. I want what we have right here, even if it’s hard. Even if we’re sleep-deprived, even if we have painful memories. I can bear that. We have a beautiful life. I don’t want to go back to seeing you beaten and hiding Fitz from hostiles and trying to puzzle out the statistical likeliness of which of us will survive. I want a life without fear and violence. I’m so tired of it, Dahl. We’ve worked so hard to build it all, and it could all get taken away in an instant and there’s nothing we could do about it.”
Dahl stroked his hair as Fitz’s breathing became slow and untroubled, his hummingbird-heart beating in his tiny chest.
When Dahl spoke, his voice was thick with gravel. “I know. I don’t want to go either. But we need to.”
“Why? Why does it have to be us? We’ve done so much. We’ve given everything. Why can’t it be over?”
Dahl was quiet for a long moment. Maybe he would agree. Maybe tomorrow they would get in the car and drive somewhere else. They could start again; it wouldn’t be hard. With his future sight they could stay a step ahead. The last few days could be a new beginning instead of a fleeting distraction.
When Dahl answered, his voice was tired and slow but unfaltering. “It can’t be over, because it isn’t over and doing right is more important than being safe. “
Everest almost swallowed his bitter laugh. “Spoken like a man who’s clinging to moral absolutism.”
“Spoken like a man who’s been on the shit
end of moral relativism.” Dahl’s tone was strong, his words even. “There’s no freedom in running, Everest. Even if we don’t survive, I’d rather fight.”
“I don’t know if I can keep going without you.” The words were a whisper past the lump in Everest’s throat.
“Everest,” Dahl was propped on his elbow, face full of moonlight. “There will absolutely be a day when one of us has to figure that out. Almost any way you cut it, someday, one of us will have to go on without the other. The only thing we can do is be proud of how we got there.”
Everest squeezed his eyes closed. “That’s it? That’s your reassurance?”
Elegant fingers lightly stroked his cheek. “Yes. But I’ll love you for the rest of my life, and if there’s a beyond, then I’ll love you there too.” Dahl watched over him for minutes while Everest tried to get the shape of the words. They were too big for him just now. He closed the thought away, putting it in a box in his mind and locking the lid. They still had time. Everest lay back on his pillow and wove their fingers together, his other hand on Dahl’s ring: solid and sure. In a few hours the sun would rise.
Chapter Four
Dahl hung Joyeuse on the windowless wall of block C, filling the room with honey light. A modest space heater smelled of concern as it strenuously raised the temperature in the room to sixty-five. Dahl spread Fitz’s Ninja Turtle blanket and pillows on one of the bunks and arranged seashells, still gritty with beach sand, on the table while Everest brought their luggage in.
“I have good news and bad news.” Everest slid his arms around Dahl’s waist from behind, leaning chin on shoulder. “Which would you like first?”
“Good news.” Dahl watched Fitz unpack his treasures from his orange backpack, lining them up side by side: Power Ranger action figures, a black rabbit foot, a Tickle Me Elmo doll, his sketchbook, and a penny flute.
