In truth, he was trying to distract himself.
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He knew this was their best plan of action, but he wished there had been
some way to keep Remy with him. Thiago or Carl would have been acceptable.
Nikolaus seemed to be terrified of him, but even he would have suited Shawn better than the firebug. He was probably going to end up getting Shawn killed.
“Shawn? Would you please come over here and relax?” Remy requested
softly. “Your shit’s not going to get up and run away.”
Shawn sighed and turned around to look at them all.
“Are you always this nervous before a mission?” Thiago asked teasingly.
“No,” Shawn responded tersely as he rubbed his eyes and began to pace the
length of the room. Usually before a mission he was getting laid. It was like a
tradition. A good luck charm, even. Oh, God, was it good luck? Was it necessary?
Would something go wrong if he didn’t get laid before a mission? Fucking hell.
They watched him pace, looking like a crowd at a tennis match in slow
motion until Remy squeezed his eyes closed and shook his head. He added a flailing of his hands to accentuate his point and started struggling to get out of the bed. Shawn watched him curiously as he crawled over Carl’s body and rolled off the bed to land on his feet right in front of Shawn. Like a fucking cat even when he was lame.
“I know what your problem is,” Remy said as if it had just occurred to him.
“Oh?” Shawn responded, his interest peaked by the seductive undercurrent in
the younger man’s voice.
“Yeah. You haven’t shot anyone in the ass lately!” Remy shouted as he
punched lightly at Shawn’s chest. The others snickered as Shawn rubbed at his chest in surprise.
“That’s not fair,” he said in a hurt voice. “I can’t hit you back.”
“That was sorta the point,” Remy said as he thumped Shawn playfully on the
nose. Thiago tossed Shawn a pillow as Remy turned away, and he promptly used it to whack Remy over the head. “Hey!” Remy shouted as he turned and grabbed at the
pillow. They grappled over it as Remy got in a few jabs to Shawn’s ribs with his
finger. The little bastard knew he was ticklish and he knew Shawn wouldn’t risk
hurting him by jabbing back.
Shawn wasn’t sure how it happened, but as his hands got tangled in the
pillowcase and Remy’s body moved closer to his in their struggles, one minute Remy was right there in front of him, the next the back of his fist was connecting with Remy’s face and Remy was falling to the ground.
Remy landed on his side and sprawled out onto his stomach in a classic
slapstick pratfall as the rest of them watched, frozen in shock to their various spots.
Shawn had hit Remy before. And vice versa. But he’d never done it by
accident. He stood over him with his hands out as if he were about to pick up a fragile object, but Remy shook as he buried his face in the cheap carpet.
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“You hit me!” he cried in disbelief, the laughter slowly but surely creeping
into his voice.
“I didn’t mean to hit you! It were an accident! Your face were in the wrong
place!” Shawn yelled back almost pleadingly, his accent getting thicker as he got agitated.
Remy wallowed and floundered on the floor as he truly began to laugh. “I hit
your fist with my face!” he cried in a dramatic half-sob before breaking down and giggling and rolling onto his back.
“Are you okay?” Shawn asked in exasperation, finding that the more Remy
laughed the less he cared.
“My elbow,” Remy said with a huff as he pointed to quite an impressive rug
burn on said appendage.
“Well, that’s your own fault,” Shawn responded haughtily as he tossed the
pillow back to Thiago, who was barely containing his own laughter. “I just hit you, it were your own fault you hit the ground.”
With this, the others really began to snicker, and Remy practically doubled
over laughing. “Pardonnez mon poor balance,” he wheezed as Shawn helped him to his feet. “You hit me,” he repeated. “I think you should feel worse about hitting me than you do.”
“Uh huh. Excuse us, lads,” Shawn said to the others as he took Remy’s face
in his hands and kissed him right there in front of everyone. Shawn had been
determined to keep any sort of physical relations out of sight and therefore out of mind in order to maintain some semblance of order within the group. But this was
possibly the last night he would ever be with Remy, and he intended to make good on it. If Remy felt well enough to wallow all over the floor, then he could help Shawn with his good luck charm.
The messy, open-mouthed kiss earned several low whistles and one
impressive wolf call from their companions. If Remy was favoring his hurt leg,
Shawn neither noticed nor cared at that moment.
He also didn’t care what the others were doing as he dragged Remy’s willing
body through the door and slammed it closed behind them.
“I thought–”
“Not now,” Shawn growled as he pressed their mouths together once more.
Remy responded with a sort of detached amusement, and they moved their way
clumsily across the room, stumbling every few feet and finally falling onto the bed, barely missing rolling off the edge.
Remy struggled beneath him, and Shawn spared a brief moment to let him
speak as he proceeded to practically rip the clothing from both their bodies.
“I thought you wanted to keep it low-key?” Remy asked in amusement.
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“To hell with low-key,” Shawn murmured.
“You’re not worried about hurting me?” Remy asked innocently, the
beginning of a smirk making his lips twitch.
“Am I hurting you?” Shawn asked pointedly, growing tired of the game
Remy was trying to play to cheer him.
“No,” Remy said thoughtfully. “Shawn… I… I don’t know what to say to—
”
“Shh… now’s not the time for that. We can deal with that tomorrow,” Shawn
murmured as he kissed up and down Remy’s neck.
“So is this is your good luck fuck, or is it a goodbye fuck?” Remy asked
conversationally.
“You really know how to kill a mood, don’t you,” Shawn grumbled as he
ceased his kissing and looked down at Remy once more.
“I know how to kill a lot of things,” Remy responded cheekily. “You always
get so keyed up right before a mission,” he observed with amusement. “If we’re doing the good luck fuck and the goodbye fuck, you may want to get started,” he ordered haughtily.
Shawn couldn’t think of a thing to say to Remy, so he simply kissed him
once more to shut him up.
The next morning was a different story. There was so much Shawn needed to
say. So much he wanted to hear. But they just didn’t have the time.
They decided to leave in staggered pairs to avoid a suspicious-looking mass
exodus from the Roach Motel. Remy and Nikolaus were leaving first.
They stood in the parking lot next to Remy’s Harley. Nikolaus and Remy
gave each man a hug as they prepared to leave.
“Are you sure you can handle that thing with your injuries?” Shawn asked
doubtfully as Remy wrapped his arms around him and held him tight.
“I’m fine, Beignet, no worries,” Remy with a smile as he released him and
ran his knuc
kles lovingly down the side of Shawn’s face. “We’re stopping at the first place we see to pick up another bike for Niko, and after that the strain won’t be so bad.”
Shawn nodded and looked off to his right, staring into the distance instead of
looking at Remy. He knew it was another habit of his that surfaced when he was
unsure of what to do, but he couldn’t help that just now. The deep brown of Remy’s eyes was too painful to look at.
“Hey,” Remy said, trying to sound cheerful but not exactly pulling it off.
“We’ll see you on the first of March. I promise.”
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Thiago cleared his throat. Shawn saw him nod his head to the others before
walking away, and he told himself to remember to thank the man for his discretion.
He and Remy were left alone to say their goodbyes. As alone as you can be standing in a parking lot with four other men just meters away trying to look as if they aren’t listening, at any rate.
“Come back to us,” Shawn said sternly as he took Remy’s face in his hands.
He had expected a clever retort of some sort, but Remy merely looked at him fondly.
“I’ll follow you, Shawn,” Remy murmured finally. “You remember that, if
you decide to go getting yourself dead or some such nonsense. I'll follow you
anywhere.”
Shawn closed his eyes against the moisture that threatened. He certainly
wasn’t about to start crying, but he was about as close as he’d been since he was seven or so.
“Get out of here. Before I change me mind,” Shawn said roughly as he
pushed Remy toward the Harley. Nikolaus stood waiting, and Remy mounted the bike
as he took the helmet and handed it to the other man.
“You’re more likely to fall off than I am,” Shawn heard him say to Nikolaus.
“Rougarou, he don’t like strangers. Allons! ”
Shawn smiled despite the melancholy of the moment, and Remy looked at
him intently as he revved the Harley up. Shawn watched in fascination as Remy
mouthed the words ‘be careful’ before giving them one last grin and a wink, and then the two youngest members of their group were swept away in a cloud of exhaust and sloshed snow.
Thiago walked up to stand beside Shawn, and Shawn was surprised to find
Brandt’s hand resting on his shoulder comfortingly as they watched the Harley speed off into the distance.
“He calls his bike ‘Rougarou?’” Thiago finally asked incredulously. “What
the hell’s that mean?”
“It’s a… Cajun folk thing,” Shawn sighed as he watched the bike grow
smaller. “Like a werewolf that went around eating bad Catholics or something.”
“What?” Thiago and Carl both asked in bemused confusion.
Shawn couldn’t help but laugh.
XI.
NIKOLAUS and Remy did exactly as they promised the others. They stopped in the
first major city they came to and purchased Nikolaus a used Honda. Remy paid in
cash and then they drove on to Salt Lake City, Utah.
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Nikolaus spent most of the drive repeatedly refusing to allow Remy to give
his beautiful new bike some off the wall Cajun nickname. He came to the conclusion that Remy was for some reason obsessed with giving inanimate objects names and
personalities, but he decided early on not to delve deeper into that bit of potentially frightening psychoanalysis.
In Salt Lake City, they promptly found a café that offered the use of free
wireless internet, and Nikolaus easily accessed the main files of the Organization as Remy stood watch outside the little building. He downloaded the lists of both the agents that were suspected of having turned and the agents who had worked with
them all. The lists had not changed, but now beside each of their six names on the latter list there was a foreboding little red mark.
“They think we’re dead,” Nikolaus concluded after he had exited the café.
He handed the lists to Remy and walked down the sidewalk a bit to get away from the door.
“Possibly,” Remy responded as he looked the papers over and offered
Nikolaus some of his fries. “They certainly won’t after today. But they might just be trying to lower our guard. Lesson Number One, Niko,” he said, shaking a fry in
Nikolaus’s face, “never take anything at face value, and never take information for granted.”
Nikolaus nodded and followed Remy as he headed back to the bikes.
“I left a trail,” Nikolaus reminded Remy pointedly. “They’ll be here soon,”
he added when Remy didn’t seem to be bothered by it.
“Oui. It’s fucking cold, Peeshwank,” Remy observed absently as he leant against his bike. “We should get some more heavy clothing. And we’ll snag you a
laptop while we’re at it, non? Some gear and shit. Maybe some of those little Motorola two-ways. How do you feel about a shopping trip?”
“Did you hear me, Remy?” Nikolaus asked incredulously. “They’ll be here
any minute.”
“Ya. I want to time them, find out what we’re up against.” Remy responded
as he tossed the remainder of his food into a nearby trash receptacle and brushed his hands together. “Utah isn’t exactly a hotbed of intrigue or anything, but we’ll see.
C’mon.”
Nikolaus nodded absently and glanced back at the café before they headed
off in search of the necessary supplies, including bedrolls and heavy winter jackets.
When they came back, their arms laden with their purchases, they watched in interest as the café was thoroughly searched by men with dogs in blue ATF windbreakers.
“ATF?” Nikolaus questioned worriedly as Remy checked his watch with a
frown.
“Department of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms,” Remy supplied absently.
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“I know what the fuck it stands for,” Nikolaus snapped. “But what the hell is
the ATF doing here?”
“Took them a full three hours,” Remy murmured, shaking his head. “Hmm?
Oh, they’re not ATF. You can get those things just about anywhere. I’ve got one
myself. I did, anyway. Lost it. Let’s get going before those fucking dogs catch our scent.”
They quickly evacuated Salt Lake City, taking out their map and using the
scientifically proven method of jabbing it with a pen to decide their next destination.
“Where in the fuck is Truth or Consequences, New Mexico?” Remy
pondered aloud as they gassed up the now heavily loaded bikes just outside of town.
“It’s in Canada,” Nikolaus deadpanned. Remy burst out laughing and gave
him a pat on the back and a little squeeze.
“You’re coming around, Niko! Pretty soon you’ll be speaking in whole
sentences again!”
Nikolaus smiled and nodded. He had to admit he was more comfortable now
that he was with just Remy. It made it so much easier to breathe when you weren’t constantly worried about being blown up or shouted at.
“That’s an appropriate name, no doubt,” Nikolaus mused.
“Yeah,” Remy agreed in a distracted voice as he looked out at the stretch of
highway they were about to start down. The sudden change from laughter to
solemnity was astonishing. Remy should have been an actor or something. That or he was a freaking sociopath. “Unfortunately the truth has its consequences too,” he
mumbled to himself.
Nikolaus wasn’t sure what Remy was talking about, but he decided he would
rather forget
it than worry about it.
At least New Mexico offered warmer climes, and he soon realized that the
smaller the city, the bigger their window of time. When he mentioned this, Remy
explained that the lesser towns didn’t have agents posted there, and therefore they were forced to come in from more populated areas whenever the two of them pinged
the system.
“So why don’t we stick to smaller towns?”
“No. We stick to the Holey Map,” Remy responded with a shake of his head,
indicating the map filled with holes, which was laid out on the table of their booth in the grimy little diner. The pen was even now sticking up out of New Haven,
Connecticut.
“Why?” Nikolaus questioned curiously.
“There’s safety in being random,” Remy answered seriously. “If they realize
we’re staying with the smaller cities and towns they’ll start finding a pattern and
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stationing agents in the smaller towns, too. Our best bet is to not know where we’re going until we’re almost there. You want the rest of your ice cream?”
“Take it,” Nikolaus answered with a grin. He wondered if he would ever
start thinking like Remy did. Probably not. It seemed to require a certain madness Nikolaus just didn’t possess.
XII.
BRANDT wasn’t exactly sure what he had done to get Shawn’s knickers all in a twist this time. It seemed that every little bitty flare up sent Shawn’s sanity careening over the edge of a cliff and he always ended up trying to do Brandt harm.
Brandt certainly didn’t see what the big deal was. Things caught fire; it
wasn’t always Brandt’s fault. Brandt expressed this opinion breathlessly as Shawn held him pinned against the wall with his gun pressed against the hollow of Brandt’s cheek.
“Yes, things catch fire,” Shawn ground out as he switched the safety off and cocked the gun threateningly, letting it dig even further into Brandt’s cheek. “But hotel rooms do not just catch fire! Automobiles do not just catch fire! And my favorite pair of sweatpants do not just catch fire!”
“I said I was sorry about those,” Brandt responded assertively. Shawn let out