Technically this isn't an adult story.  But it
is the endpiece to the Seasons pwps, so I'm posting it here.  I mean,
it isn't like I'm gonna piss off the listowner. ;)  Oh yeah, this is
implied m/m.. but you probably figured that out already.  (Like
I'd warn you if it were m/wolf or f/wolf).  Why am I *awake* at this
hour?

SUMMER SIMOON

a Seasonal story
by James Kythe Walkswithwind

	He knew for a fact his heart wasn't beating.  Well, actually that wasn't
quite true-- if anyone had asked, and he hadn't been distracted by wondering
why the hell the person was asking such a weird question in the middle
of..  Well if he'd been asked he'd say for certain it wasn't beating.
But he was only looking at the closing metal doors and fighting back
a scream of rage.. or was it fear?  Maybe they were the same thing, when
you got right down to it.  Screaming, sure, that he knew he could do.
But pumping blood? Breathing? Not a chance.
	He didn't pull forward because some part of his brain had already registered
the presence of a restraining hand; he'd pulled against it once and found
not even an inch of give.  So he stood still, waiting, being a good boy
and not protesting, not even trying to break free.  And wanting to scream.
There might have been sounds, sirens or voices or something, but all
he heard was the resounding thud of metal on metal, huge and thick and
solid and unlikely to open again in time for... 	"Ray?"
	This time he knew his heart wasn't beating.  He spun, jaw 
dropping and knowing that yes now he could scream, so would the vocal
chords please come online?  Or wait a minute, maybe there was something
else to do first..	
	"Benny?  You're out?"
	It sounded like a stupid question, considering that the man he 
was talking to, looking at, wanting to grab ahold of and run away with
was in fact standing in front of him, well outside the locked metal doors.
But his friend forgave him, probably because he could tell that Ray's
mind had frozen with his heartbeat, standing still because this.. this
just wasn't happening, was it?
	"I'm all right, Ray."
	He felt another hand on his arm, the first one fell away and 
probably its owner walked off but really, the only one he saw was Benny.
Standing there.  Here.  Outside.
	"Benny?"
	His voice didn't sound quite right. He wondered if Benny could tell.
"I wasn't in the van, Ray."
	"You're.. you're not in..you're.."
	Benny just stared at him.  That was fine, because there wasn't 
much else he could deal with.  Questions, moving, all of it not on the
schedule.  Couldn't be, since it would just go undone.  He stared, seeing
eyes and a face and a person he'd sworn had just gone to his death--
long and painful, baking and suffocating in a strong box no one would
be able to open for two days, well after the 95 degree heat and airtight
walls had done their work.
	They'd been warned, just that morning, about the danger.  
Everyone had volunteered to stay clear of it, then Benny had had to go
and be a hero and jumped on the van which the accidental murderer was
driving, trying to get away, trying to avoid a fate worse than death--
did he know? Was it an accident?  Ray didn't have time to wonder about
the frightened man's motives because he'd seen Fraser jump onto the van
and struggle inside the cab, and then he'd seen it roll into the overgrown
vault after which the door swung closed and everything had just stopped.
"Benny?"  He could tell his voice was softer that time.  Maybe he believed
he was seeing the man before him.  Maybe his brain just couldn't find
the energy to devote to nuisances like volume.  
	"Ray?  I'm all right."
	This time he heard concern instead of.. what was it he'd heard 
the first time?  It was something he knew well, oh yes.  That voice that
said 'I know you're going to scold me for doing something I had to do,
which I'll do again, so you may as well get your yelling over with and
we can get on with things'.  That tone.  As if everything were perfectly
normal. 	Ray wanted to grab him tightly and not let go until someone
came over and said 'reports due by five'.  
	"Ray, you're crying." 
	The whisper didn't quite register.  But Benny had moved closer 
and that was perfect.  Something brushed his face and it felt a lot like
fingers wiping away tears- his mother had done it enough times when he
was very young, one of those things you never forgot even when you're
too old for such maternal ministrations-- for Ray that had been age seven,
but only because one of the other kids had teased him.  But Ma wasn't
here, so it must have been something else.
	"Ray?"  The concern was back, sharp enough that he was able to 
wonder why.  Was someone in trouble?  He wasn't sure he could deal with
that because that would mean Benny'd leave, go off and rescue whomever
it was and leave him here.  He grabbed on, finding a sleeve crumpling
beneath his fingers.  It didn't feel right, stiff and gritty; he blinked
and looked down.  Benny was covered in mud, dirt, and who knew what else.
	"You're dirty."
	"Yes.  I leapt off the van and rolled.  Ray, what's wrong?"
	Ray only stared.  Another stupid question.  But Benny looked so concerned,
so worried.  He hated it when Benny looked like that. 	"I love you."

	He stared at Benny, seeing now the dirt on his face, the grime 
covering up features he knew too well.  Maybe he should wipe it off?
Perhaps he had a handkerchief or something.  His moved his hand and only
his fingers wiggled.  But Benny was frowning at him and he wondered what
was wrong.
	"Oh."
	Benny took his hand and pulled at him, and they went somewhere and sat
down.  A car, sitting sideways with the cardoor swung wide open; funny
he could see that and not figure out whose car it was. He liked its colour,
he'd had a car once this colour. Hadn't he?  Benny put a blanket around
him and it occurred to him that being wrapped in a blanket in the middle
of July wasn't the smartest thing he'd ever done.  Before he could say
anything his hands were being brought up, placed around a thermos lid.
He took a drink.
	"It's coffee."
	"Yes, Ray."
	That tone again.. wasn't it? No, it wasn't.  He looked at Benny, crouched
now beside him, looking up at him as if waiting.  Patiently, if he knew
his Benny.  Always waiting so patiently.
	"Benny?"
	"Yes, Ray?"
	Yeah, it was that tone.  The tone he liked best, the one he 
sometimes wished he could ellicit whenever he wanted, except he hadn't
learned the trick of it yet.  Didn't know what made his friend sound
quite that..  whatever.  
	"Are you ok?"
	Benny grinned at him and he knew what that tone was called.  "I'm fine,
Ray.  Just fine."
	"Good.  I thought you'd been killed."  Hadn't he wanted to 
scream?  He couldn't remember now.  Didn't matter, because Benny's hand
was on his knee, holding him still.  Holding which of them still?  Surely
Benny could balance on his heels without holding onto something.
	"I know.  I'm sorry, Ray."
	"As long as you're ok.  I don't mind, as long as you're ok."
	He really didn't.  Even though he scolded a lot, he knew Benny 
wasn't going to listen to him.  It wasn't why he scolded;  he didn't
mind Benny playing hero.  He was rather proud, in fact.  But only so
long as Benny wasn't hurt.  That was the deal.  Benny could rescue anyone
and anything he wanted, as long as he didn't get hurt. Who had he bargined
with?  Had he asked God?  Or had he asked Benny?  Someone who knew how
to keep promises and their end of bargins.
	"I think I'd best take you home."
	Benny pushed his legs, turning him sideways to sit in the car.  He waited
as Benny shut the door, and got in beside him, in the driver's seat.
Did Benny know how to drive?
	"Benny?"
	"Yes, Ray?"  Yeah, that was the tone.  He smiled.  Maybe he 
didn't have to trick Benny into sounding like that, because here he'd
done it three times.. four?  and he hadn't had to do a thing to make
him do it.  He smiled.
	"Ray?"
	He looked over and grinned.  Benny was driving his car.  "Yeah?" 	"I
love you, too."  
	How could a face look like a tone of voice?  He didn't know, but someday
he'd ask.  Benny probably knew, probably read a book or heard an Innuit
story or some such Canadian Super Mountie thing.  He turned back to watch
the streets, and count how many stopsigns they didn't run. 	"Cool."
	What happened?

The End

James Kythe Walkswithwind     
jkw@u.arizona.edu	                        Practise Humility      gila@jbx.com