Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ All I Have ❯ Bad Romance ( Chapter 21 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Bad Romance :

A couple of weeks passed; Andy was disappointed in not being able to see Adam often enough. Every time they saw each other, it was in a neutral area. He wanted the chance to be able to touch him, to be able to reacquaint himself with his mouth. It was almost like torture to sit opposite him for polite conversation, unable to do anything out of Adam's fear of being caught doing it. Andy was starting to wonder if it truly was that; doubting his own security as Adam turned him down. The more they learned about each other, the more he started to worry that perhaps he wasn't as interesting to Adam as he thought.

He watched as Adam spoke with Ian on his cellphone, trying not to be so annoyed. The pair of them were sitting together within the bowling alley, having completed a couple of games. From what it sounded like, Adam was trying to convince Ian to find Bridgette and interrogate her on a supposed date the other night. Both of them were planning on finding out why the man would willingly go. Andy wondered why Adam had to go about such a thing when they could bug her later on that night, while on patrol. He lived and worked with the guy; why did he have to continue talking to him on their cellphone while apart?

He finished off his beer, setting that off to the side and looking around them. He wanted to reach out and touch Adam, to draw his hand over one strong thigh and maybe make out with him. He desperately wanted to be touched and wanted to touch, but seeing all the straight couples, families and bowling teams around him made him repress that desire. He wondered why they couldn't have found a place that catered to couples like them. He wondered why Adam didn't make that effort, and had to remind himself that Adam had made it very clear that day that he expected Andy to understand his position.

Glancing around and finding that nobody was paying attention to them, he scooted closer to the man, to feel the length of his leg against his. Adam looked at him sharply and scooted away, putting space between them.

Morosely, Andy signaled for another beer, the teenager working the floor calling out to another to follow through with the request. Adam hit him with the back of his hand across the arm, scowling at him. Andy brushed it off and ignored the look, standing and moving away to pay for another round while he waited for Adam to finish his phone call. He met the other waiter, paid for his beer and headed back to their station. He gave Adam an expectant look as their pins were aligned, and Adam shook his head, signaling that he was done.

Andy gave him an expectant wave, gesturing at his phone. Adam frowned at him, then got up from the bench and walked away, continuing with his conversation. Andy looked after him with a frown, and then turned to his beer. He managed to finish that off with a series of hasty gulps, hoping that the alcohol would somehow dull his rising frustrations. He belched, and then focused on the set, picking out his bowling ball from the rolling rack nearby.

Nearly fifteen minutes later Adam returned, having turned in his shoes. Andy looked up from playing his set. The alcohol he'd consumed had dulled the annoyance he was feeling as he realized Adam was ready to leave. He lowered his bowling ball and returned to the bench.

“Are you done?” Adam asked him.

“You all ready to go?” Andy asked back.

“Yeah. I'm going to meet up with those guys for lunch.”

Andy pulled his fingers out of the ball and nodded, looking at the screen to note his scores while trying to hide his disappointment.

“What are you going to do for the rest of the day?” Adam asked him, rising from the bench. He examined his profile and noted that Andy was more frustrated than he was letting on. It annoyed him that Andy was going to allow him to go without saying anything.

“I don't know.” Andy looked at him. “Maybe I can come with you?”

“And get shit for hanging out together? No,” Adam negated, feeling annoyed at the thought of Ian and the others ragging on Andy.

Andy dropped the ball soundly back into the rack. Adam wasn't sure if it was because of his frustrations in the situation, or if it were the alcohol. He noticed that Andy had been drinking while he was on the phone with Ian.

As they passed a small group of league bowlers, a couple of them paused in mid-step, reaching up to clutch at suddenly aching heads.

“Then when are we going to see each other again? Are you going to call me later on?” Andy asked in a slightly snappish manner.

Adam felt his temper bubble at the tone. “I will after work. Don't sound like a clingy bitch.”

Andy tightened his lips and turned away, Adam regretting what he said. He himself was frustrated over the situation. He hated having to run off whenever Ian called him, in order to maintain his cover. But he felt it necessary, to maintain what he had with the others so they wouldn't suspect anything more than a friendship with Andy. He followed Andy back to the main station, where Andy turned in his bowling shoes, exchanging them for his street shoes. A couple waiting behind them looked startled, muttering about a sudden headache as they shifted away aimlessly.

Once that was done, they left the building. Adam could feel the tension radiating from the other man, and looked over at him, wishing Andy would just say what he wanted to say. He knew he was bottling it up, and it picked at him.

“What are you mad for?” he asked.

“I'm not mad.”

“Just tell me what the fuck. Don't skulk around with it,” Adam snapped.

Andy grit his teeth, then said tightly, “I'm frustrated because we barely had time together, today. Now you're leaving. Again. Early.”

“I let you know right off the bat what the situation's going to be. You don't think I feel the same way? That's how things are.”

“I know that.”

“Then why are you pissed?”

“I'm not allowed to be mad? You don't even touch me, you don't even let me touch you. I hate pretending that we can't.”

“There's too many people around—”

“That didn't bother you before!”

“That situation was different,” Adam mumbled. “I wasn't paranoid then.”

“Then come to my place. I want you to spend the night with me,” Andy then said.

Adam clenched his jaw. He wanted to. He'd thought about it so many times, yearning for the chance to go for it, but then Ian or Larson would say something to burst that bubble. It frustrated him in how badly he wanted it, but the fear of being discovered kept him from taking it. “I can't. That'd look too weird to them.”

In irritation, Andy looked away. He watched a man carrying a full cup of coffee suddenly stumble, slamming off a couple of other people that were using the sidewalk.

“Look, I told you from the fuckin' start that this was how it was going to be,” Adam said, heavily aggravated that Andy couldn't see what position he was in.

“And you said you were willing to risk things to be with me.”

“I still am! You're asking for so much right now. And then you bitch about what I can give.”

“All I want is more time with you.”

Adam glared off at the street. He watched ground traffic flow smoothly from their position in front of the bowling alley. He watched as one driver suddenly clutched his head and fumble to pull his vehicle to a stop. The missing of a precious green light caused the flow of traffic to interrupt itself with vehicle computers reprogramming to adjust the sudden change, to delay the timing of other drivers. The ensuing confrontation between various drivers was so dated that he didn't bother with paying attention to it. In the stopped flow of traffic, at least six other drivers and passengers looked startled at suddenly heavy headaches.

Andy looked at him, wanting to reach out to touch him, to maybe hold his hand and feel better about things, but Adam looked so irritated that touching him would probably only incite his anger. Andy crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the sidewalk, hearing the shouts of disgruntled drivers ahead of him.

“I just don't want them talking shit about you. They'll start trouble if you're around,” Adam said tightly. “Otherwise, I'd bring you along.”

Andy looked away to roll his eyes, shifting a couple of steps away from him. “All right. Whatever. Call me when you're allowed.”

“Why do you have to be so fucking snide?” Adam asked, moving after him as he signaled for a taxi.

Andy reached out for the back taxi door as it pulled close to him. Adam reached out and kept the door closed, the driver looking back at them curiously.

“Don't walk away from me being shitty,” Adam said, scowling at him. “You think I don't want to spend time with you? You think I hate not being able to touch you, or to kiss you? I'm happy being able to spend what time I can with you. Why can't you?”

“Because I want more of you. At least more time spent with you not on your phone!”

“You're never happy, are you?”

The driver of the taxi spotted another possible customer, so he pulled away, causing them both to jolt forward onto the street. Moving back onto the sidewalk, Andy said, “Maybe I'm not.”

“Maybe you should lay off the damn alcohol, then.”

That was a sensitive topic, and Andy felt himself bristle automatically, already angry with what had transpired. “If I hadn't drank what I had, I'd be feeling a lot more differently!”

“Oh fuck that bullshit alcoholic talk!” Adam exclaimed.

“Don't call me that!”

“You'd use any fucking excuse to drink, Andy.”

“You know what? Never mind. If you call me, you call me. But maybe you should leave that fucking cellphone home so they're not calling you all the damn time.”

“I can't just ignore them—!”

“Why not? You have to run out each and every time he calls you?”

Furious that Andy had to bring up that subject, Adam snapped. “Don't you fucking bring that up, you clingy bitch—!”

Andy reached out to jab him in the side, Adam looking affronted that he'd even do so. “Now you're calling me names just to make yourself feel better?”

“If you're going to hit me, you'd better mean it.”

Adam started to look shocked that Andy was actually going to follow through with it when he felt as if he were being approached from behind.

“Geez. Listen to yourselves. Violence in the relationship already,” came a third voice, and Adam whipped around in alarm, recognizing it immediately.

John gave them both an annoyed stare, a couple of his friends lingering nearby, whispering and giggling amongst themselves. The girls were dressed in as minimal clothing as publicly possible, while John wore only a man-beater and surfer shorts, hair hanging wildly around his ears. He still wore his bowling shoes, making his outfit look clownish. He walked up to them with a smirk, crossing his arms over his chest and peering at both of them with an examining expression.

Looking at his older brother, he said, “I totally knew you were seeing a guy. Man, and you're having a public fight about it. Wait'll I tell that annoying guy friend of yours. But then again, maybe I won't, if I have enough incentive to think about it.”

“Where the hell did you come from? Why aren't you in school?” Adam spat angrily, face reddening as he knew John had overheard everything.

“I'm not needing that class right now. I was bowling cuz I have this record to keep. And I saw everything,” John added, looking at Andy, who was looking horrified as he looked from one brother to the other. He held out his hand. “I'm John. I'm his brother. And I knew he was gay.”

“I—I'm not—!” Andy sputtered, but he was so startled at the confrontation that he couldn't even form a coherent denial, something that made John smile smugly.

“Get out of here.” But Adam turned to look at Andy while he said this, and Andy gave him a startled look. “Go away.”

“Don't get all bitchy with him cuz I know your secret,” John said, looking bored about it.

Adam shoved Andy to get him moving, and he stumbled with the movement. He shot Adam a look, then turned to push his way through a group of tourists in a furious stride away from him, the bunch looking startled at the treatment. Adam felt awful for treating him like that, but he felt as if he were locked in panic mode, startled at being caught.

“Jeez. Why'd you do that?” John asked, giving his older brother an annoyed look.

“Get back to school. I'm telling your father about this.”

“Our father. Hello? Born from the same loins?” John gave him a `duh' expression.

Adam grew incredibly furious about the situation, turned and hailed a taxi, scaring off the teenagers that had lingered around to watch the confrontation.

John snorted as he watched his brother take off, and then looked down the sidewalk to where Andy had taken off from. He then shrugged carelessly and returned to his friends.

Furious and hurt by the way Adam had treated him, Andy decided to drink himself into a stupor. He headed for a bar near his home, taking up a stool at the end of the counter, where he could view the various television screens set up on the wall. His emotions were wild, and he felt too sensitive to stay home to think about things alone. He took the first two shots with ease, still buzzed over the beers he'd had earlier, and then ordered up a bottle to nurse while the whiskey shots kicked in. A couple of older men sitting nearby started to comment when one of them winced, distracting the other.

Staring sightlessly at the screen, he went over the entire thing from start to finish. By the time he was finished with the beer, he felt it was his fault for being selfish and wanting more than Adam could give. He knew from the start that Adam couldn't be there as Andy wanted, and yet he'd pushed and wanted.

Frustrated with his feelings, Andy signaled for another. The bartender passed one over, commenting over how worthless it was being upset over a woman. Andy morosely started on the bottle while watching a baseball game that was currently being broadcast from New Orleans. An hour later he asked for another shot and another bottle.

By the time the bartender cut him off, Andy didn't know what time it was. He stared blearily at the television screen without a sense of understanding what it was he was watching. The bar was now crowded at this time, loud and obnoxious, and he looked around himself, almost startled at the noise. He stared down at the scarred bar counter, aware that he'd lost sensation to his limbs. His head rung with an intense alcoholic buzz, and he knew that the time to pass out was coming up soon.

Slowly he withdrew the money needed to pay for what he'd had, and, ignoring the bartender's concerned question in getting home, Andy stumbled through the crowded throng and made it outside. He was only slightly startled at the physical contact he'd made, having to physically push and shove people aside just to make it. He staggered toward the direction of his house, oblivious to everything. He just wanted to make it to his bed and pass out, sure that everything would be okay in the morning.

Nearing his neighborhood, he realized his cell was ringing, and paused in place. But his mouth wouldn't cooperate in talking out loud to himself, so he didn't try to answer. He shoved it back into his pocket and continued home. The key gave him a hard time, so instead of frustrating himself with it, he left it in the doorknob to retrieve after he made it into the house. He then crept around, jiggled the window to his bedroom open, and climbed in.

With that completed, he kicked his shoes off and flopped onto his bed, giving a low sigh of contentment in the action. He stared out at the darkness of the room, feeling incredibly lonely, hurt and tired. He struggled to withdraw his cell from his pants pocket, and found it required more coordination than he had. He twisted to bury his face into his pillow to go to sleep, thinking he'd fix things in the morning.

Adam cursed heatedly as he flung his phone away from him. Andy was ignoring his calls and texts. He'd kept his feelings to himself, struggling to hide them when he'd met up with the others as he'd promised. Though the thought that John now knew everything was at the back of his mind, combined with what had happened with Andy, Adam continued to act normally. He gave Ian grief for wearing socks with his sandals, and helped Larson call a girl he'd met over the Internet. Bridgette was mocked for the poor sap she'd coerced a date out of, and the day passed without another incident. John sent him a few texts regarding what he'd seen, then grew bored when Adam didn't reply to them, signing off with a promise he'd be back. Duty was tedious and busy, with the warm summer night coercing those drinking and partying to cause trouble they had to police over.

But now that the day was over and duty was an hour behind him, Adam holed himself up in his room and wondered why he'd reacted as he did. He knew John wouldn't say anything to anybody about what he'd seen, but he'd lord it over him. Dangling the information over his head and manipulating him for his own childish gain, not really giving thought to the consequences. And Adam knew he'd abide by it, because he was terrified of people finding out what he was doing. Who he was seeing.

And even that situation was infuriating, because he'd hurt Andy, had a useless fight with him that he knew he didn't have to exacerbate. But he did because he was frustrated and angry over his own paranoia and fear. He wouldn't be surprised if Andy didn't talk to him again, and that stung. Because he'd gotten attached to him; he wanted more time with him. But he was afraid of getting caught.

It was maddening.

He swept his hands through his messy hair, clenching the strands with a low growl. He wished he could talk to Andy, hear his New Park accented voice speaking carefully about safe topics. He wanted to be near him, to smell him with the proximity, to accidently touch his warm skin. He didn't want to lose the man. Frustration warmed his gut, and he clenched his teeth. Upon hearing the approaching sounds of footsteps on the stairway, Adam quickly straightened up from the bed and forced himself to relax.

He reached for a handheld weight and started arm curls as the single knock sounded and Ian walked in with a hail.

“You're still up?” Ian asked him, eyeing the obvious with a frown.

“What is it?” Adam asked tightly, and then cleared his throat to dislodge the tone.

“I dunno. Something's up with you,” Ian said, crossing his room to rummage through his closet, as if looking for something to borrow. Annoyed at the invasive move, Adam looked away to focus on the curls that were now drawing his attention to the task. “I could feel it all night.”

“You're fuckin' psychic, now?”

“I am.” Ian turned away from the closet, exhaling loudly and folding his arms behind his back. He was still attractive to Adam, but he now had eyes for Andy. It was amazing to feel the way he did. He never thought he would. He still hoped that this situation would smooth away. “Heard you and Andy went bowling, today.”

“Who told you that?”

“John.”

Adam nearly dropped the weight. But he used that moment to switch arms. “Fucker was skipping school.”

“I wondered about that. I let Mary know,” Ian said, looking smug about it. “She didn't sound too happy about it, either. He said he met Andy briefly, but it looked like you guys were fighting.”

I'm going to strangle him, Adam thought murderously. Instead, he shook off the thought and gave Ian a look. “We were? About what?”

Ian frowned at him, and Adam realized the man was being sneaky over something. He dropped the weight. “Goddamn you—!”

“I'm just saying what I heard!” Ian exclaimed with an exasperated flourish of his arms, looking ready to dart out the door. “Jeeze! So what if you guys were fighting, that's what guys do! John made it sound like it was more than it was, but he's the type that likes to cause trouble. I know that.”

“Why are you encouraging it, then?”

“I was just curious. Y'know. If you heard about me and Lars fighting, wouldn't you ask about it?” Ian asked, furrowing his brow.

Adam shrugged, knowing that he would.

“Should I think otherwise?”

“No. Fuck, I'm tired of that.”

“Okay.” Frankly, Ian was as well. But he instinctively knew Adam was holding something back from him. He felt annoyed that he now lacked complete access to the man's thoughts and agenda; but he recognized that only as a feeling of insecurity. It caused him levels of frustration and conflict that he struggled to hide behind his pleasant personality.

“Look…it's kinda awkward around here. I feel guilty for making you, like, sneak around to see him and still keep up with us—”

“I'm not sneaking around. You know exactly what I'm doing.”

“Still. Let's all hang out, one day. I'll tell Sam. We'll let the past be the past. I want to be friends with the guy my best friend's friends with.” Ian looked smug with the tongue twister.

Adam gave him a look, searching for whatever it was Ian was hiding behind his innocent expression. But he did want the two to get along; having the two most important people in his life speak and interact easier with each other would settle some of his nerves. And theirs. Maybe Ian would start to see beyond what he considered a severe flaw and see Andy as a sort of kindred spirit. The same for Andy. Letting the others see from the outside that they weren't having some clandestine relationship; but at the same time, allowing Andy to come closer so that they could.

“We can, like, go bowling. Go see a fight. Something. I can get us tickets to something manly,” Ian continued, walking around him to rummage through the neatly stacked things atop of Adam's dresser. He could sense without looking that Adam was considering it. “How about wrestling? That's always a gas.”

“I hate wrestling. It's so homoerotic.”

Ian snickered. “I guess so. How about we go check out the stripper try-outs at the base bar?”

“No.”

Disappointed because he'd wanted to see that for himself, Ian then said, “How about we hit the baseball field? C'mon. Stale `dogs, warm beer, foul balls? We haven't made fun of the ballers in a long time. Remember that last time, when Larson fell onto the field going for that foul?”

Adam considered the idea; it was going to be in a neutral area, with plenty of distractions. And no one would think differently if he chose to sit close to Andy. He could have Sam on the other side of him and then—he shrugged. “Fine. When?”

“I'll get the tickets for tonight's game against Seattle. You tell Andy. Maybe afterward we go bowling. Or mini-golfing! Doesn't that sound awesome? We'll get totally loaded and go mini-golfing. You know how hilarious Larson is when he's trying hard. We'll pick up some chicks.”

“No.”

Before Ian could ask what he meant by that, Adam quickly said, “I meant no alcohol. I'm trying to get Andy to stop.”

“Oh.” Ian nodded in understanding. But he was delighted in that Adam agreed to the entire idea. “Awesome. I'll make arrangements.”

He quickly turned and ran out of Adam's room before Adam could say anything more, taking the stairs dangerously fast. He ran into Larson's room, startling the other as he brushed his teeth and strained to pull up his pajama bottoms as quickly as he could.

“Ew! What are you doing?!”

“Can't you KNOCK?” Larson screeched.

Ian gave a mock giggle and pointed at him. “You're naked!”

“GET OUT!”

Laughing, Ian slammed the door shut. “Why are you brushing your teeth in here? Are you spitting in the kitchen sink? Disgusting. We do stuff in there.”

Larson slurped up the foam that threatened to fall onto his carpet and answered, “I couldn't go upstairs. It's dangerous up there. That aura almost bit me. I had to pee in my empty Mountain Dew bottle.”

“Sick-ass bastard. Don't worry. Got it covered. We're going to the ball field. We're,” Ian indicated with a whirl of his finger to signal the household, plus others, Larson's eyes widening behind the lenses of his glasses, “going to the ball field.”

“Friggin' awesome. How'd you get him to agree to that?”

“Because I'm awesome.”

“What'd he say about John?” Larson asked, struggling to keep from dripping.

“I told him what John told me. Only it was annoying, because he's hiding something. John is,” Ian said, frowning. “That little shit. He thinks he could hold something back from me, well I gotta remind him who he's messing with—I got his daddy's number on my speed dial, yo.”

Larson scuttled over to one of the empty coffee mugs sitting atop of his window sill, and spit into it. He snatched his toothbrush out of his mouth to say, “He'll learn. I worry that boy's slow.”

“Call Sam.”

“I think he's crushing on one of the admin girls, because that's where he's at,” Larson replied, whipping out his cellphone from his pajama pants and rapidly typing out a text.

“I'll call the demonic whore and Jensen.”

“She's not a whore! She's your sister!”

“Ew. A sister that wants to sleep with me. Yuck.”

Andy awoke later that day, tossed back some hangover remedies, showered, and searched for his missing house keys. His head was heavy with a headache and the bad memory of Adam's reaction, but he was determined to call him and apologize for his actions. He sat down on the couch after a frantic search for his phone, feeling slightly uplifted in that Adam had tried to call him and text him last night. It was to his shame that he hadn't been able to respond due to his drunken stupor.

Before he could respond to any of them, his ID screen lit up with an incoming call. Seeing that it was Ken, he sighed loudly, feeling his headache worsen. He considered ignoring the call, but he feared Ken coming over and intruding into his space. So he answered, wincing at the loud Texan drawl of a greeting.

“We're going out for breakfast,” Ken said immediately after. “You better be up.”

“I can't, I got things to do today,” Andy said, cringing at the thought of spending time with him and his brother with his hangover.

He heard keys rattling at the door, causing him to startle as he lifted from his couch. He unlocked the top and had to fiddle with the bottom knob, still hearing keys jingle. Once he managed to open it, Ken walked in, hanging up his cell and giving the keys a disgusted look. “What's this about, blondie?”

Sourly, Andy snatched the keys from the doorknob, finding it hard to do so. In his drunken daze, he'd jammed a key into the keyhole, despite the fact that it didn't fit. Looking outside, Paul was talking rapidly to a dazed looking taxi driver that was parked within his driveway. Ken sniffed at him. “Whew. You been drinking again.”

“I can't go to breakfast with you.”

“Why not? You expecting company?” Ken asked in an annoyed drawl. “Take him along with us. I'll be nice.”

Andy looked at him with a disbelieving frown. Of course he didn't expect Ken to be courteous, and it showed in the smug look on his face.

“Fine,” he muttered. “Let me find my wallet.”

An hour later, he found himself enjoying his breakfast plate, Ken and Paul scarfing through theirs as if they hadn't eaten in days.

“So, we heard from Neilson you've been hanging with Byrons a lot,” Paul said through a mouthful of food, giving him the stink-eye from across the table.

“…And it's your business, why?” Andy asked, dumping ketchup onto his scrambled eggs and frowning at him. He checked to make sure his coffee had cooled before sipping at it, enjoying the taste. His headache had gone away, but he felt tense and stiff, a normal feeling when it came to dealing with the brothers.

“It ain't nothing of mine. I'm makin' conversation.” Paul looked up at a couple of complaining customers nearby, both of whom were in the process of leaving their used table. He looked down at his food and hoped that it wasn't the cause of their distress.

“Let's talk about something else. Run into any interesting celebrities?”

“South Side's been active as hell,” Ken said, after swallowing down half of his toast. Andy wondered if he'd even chewed. “Running around like bees in a hive.”

“Seriously. Been wondering what's got them all up in that. Never did find out what the fuck happened in your situation,” Paul added.

Andy wondered if he should tell them what he knew and decided against it. He wasn't working with them anymore. Any involvement he had should be kept slim. He peppered his hashbrowns, glancing up as a waitress behind the counter complained of a sudden headache, dropping a handful of pills into her hand as her boss gave her a startled look.

“But it ain't like the East Side's gettin' up in their business,” Ken said. “That's the weird thing. Intelligence assembled a hasty HAZMAT team of sorts, but we ain't getting shit out of it. Hate it when they keep us in the dark. Like we ain't supposed to know shit `til the last minute.”

“That bullshit in the shipyards turned into something bigger we'd expected,” Paul said. He tossed his ham at his brother. “See what happens when you fuck up? Shit stays with you longer than you expected.”

Ken hurled it back at him, and Andy slunk low in his seat, hoping they didn't get kicked out like they had so many times before. He found himself counting how many establishments they'd been kicked out of, and was bewildered by his own discovery of how long he had been hanging out with them.

“When did I join your squad?” he asked Ken, stealing a piece of his bacon and hoping that the man hadn't licked it.

“Oh, uh…maybe… a coupla years an' a half? Somethin' like that. Why?”

“Huh. Just wondering.”

“He's counting off how many places we been evicted,” Paul said with a laugh. Andy had to chuckle over how predictable he seemed to them. “I know you, Murphy, you snob.”

Ken reached over to spear his fork into Andy's English muffin. “`Tch. Like that matters. Anyway, so this is been going on…usual bullshit with Supers and Aliens…we gotta new transfer comin' in. Some bitch. We met her the other day—”

“She all eyeing Jefferson like he's a piece of prime meat,” Paul snorted. “She ain't bad looking, actually. Kurt knows her.”

“You got your job yet?” Ken asked Andy.

“The interview's not until next month.”

“How you gettin' by?”

“Severance pay.”

“You ain't gettin' shit from your momma?” Paul asked curiously.

“No,” Andy said with a chuckle. “Like I'd ask her for anything.”

“We saw her the other night,” he said, looking at Ken. “Huh? That was Andy's mom that other night, huh? With that nerdy lookin' guy.”

“Oh yeah! Yeah, we ran into them. Some party down on West Lotus. High society bullshit. Can't believe that's your momma.”

Andy shrugged.

All of them startled as the waitress with the headache suddenly collapsed, bringing with her dish wear in a tremendous crash that had the soldiers slapping their bodies for guns that weren't there. Before Andy could move to assist her she was back on her feet, assuring the manager she was fine. She disappeared into the kitchen with the man close behind her, and everyone resumed their breakfast.

“Well, you don't look like her,” Ken assured him, still looking rather jumpy.

“Hella. Hey, who's your daddy? Not that guy, right?”

“No. Who knows where he's at? I'm not interested knowing.”

“You got one of `em broken families, huh? That's too bad.”

Not liking the pitiful tone Paul was using, Andy flung some hashbrowns at him, Paul retaliating with ketchup covered eggs. At the look their waiter gave them, both of them had the grace to look embarrassed.

Andy chuckled again, licking ketchup from his fingers and feeling instantly embarrassed when he realized Ken was watching the movement with noticeable fascination. But he caught himself and looked away before Paul looked up from his plate. Feeling awkward, Andy wiped his hand on his napkin and discovered he couldn't eat anymore.

Ken cleared his throat noisily and finished off his coffee. “I'm done. Let's go.”

“I ain't even done yet. I didn't even order dessert!” Paul exclaimed.

“You don't need it! Yer fat enough already!”

“I'm always fuckin' hungry! Gimme that shit,” Paul then grumbled, snatching Andy's plate before he could move, doctoring it quickly to his favor.

“I can't take this guy anywhere,” Ken complained, signaling for their bill. “Murphy, hand me that menu. I'm eyeing that pie.”

Andy handed it over and felt self-conscious when Ken touched more of his hand than he needed to. He had to say something, or continue to look forward to future molestations. Glancing at Paul, Andy listened to Ken demand a few items from the menu, both brothers chiming in and confusing the poor man as they started to argue over their choices.

His phone rang at the moment, and he quickly snatched it off the table before Ken could grab it. Seeing that it was Adam, Andy grew nervous and excited at the same time. Seeing Ken frown at him as he continued to let it ring, Andy scooted out of the booth to search for some privacy.

As soon as he reached the front waiting area, he answered it with, “Adam, I'm sorry. For yesterday. I was completely selfish—”

“I don't care about that right now. Why aren't you answering the door?”

Startled that Adam was at his house and he was with the Powers brothers, both of whom were currently looking over at him from their table, Andy said, “I—because I'm not home right now. I'm out having breakfast.”

“Where at?”

“I—I'll be coming home. Shortly.”

“Are you with somebody?”

“Uh…yeah.”

Adam was quiet for a few moments, and then he said, “Fine. I'll be here.”

“Actually, if you want, my bedroom window is opened. I—it's open. Go ahead and—”

“Andy, I'm not sneaking into your place through a window,” Adam said in exasperation, but Andy just wanted him out of sight if Ken and Paul happened to come along with him in a taxi home. “I'll just be here on the front porch. How long's it going to take?”

“An hour!” Andy said quickly, lying desperately as Ken left the table to walk over to him. “I have to go. I'll see you then.”

“I'm not waiting for an hour—!”

Andy hung up on him once Ken reached him, wiping his mouth while giving him a suspicious look.

“Who you talkin' to that's gotta make you leave the table?” he asked while Paul hollered for him to come back to help pay for the bill, startling the other customers.

“A prospective new employer,” Andy mumbled. “I need to go.”

“Well, I'll take you home.”

“I'll get a taxi. It's no big deal. Here…money for my half.”

“I ain't takin' your money. Paul's paying for that,” Ken scoffed, shoving him ahead of him, Paul hollering again once he realized they were leaving him with the bill. Once outside, he gave a satisfied belch while Andy felt fed up with the other man's antics. But he realized now was a good time to talk, now that Paul was sidetracked.

“Ken…It's getting weird,” he started, looking at him.

“What is?”

“You. I—things are weird. You—it's just…I just feel like you—have something you need to tell me,” Andy sputtered nervously, fiddling with his phone.

Ken frowned at him, jaw tensing. “I don't have anything to say.”

“You—You're just totally…invasive. In this way that really makes me uncomfortable.”

“In what way?” Ken asked impatiently, lifting his voice. “What are you talking about?”

“You're always touching me. You look at me, and…I get this sense that…you—you might have feelings for me.”

“Oh my God, yer such a fuckin' retard!” Ken spit at him. He reached out and punched Andy hard in the chest. “What the fuck are you talking about? Hell, that's fuckin' out of no where! You suggestin' I'm fag for you?!”

“Yes!” Andy exclaimed, rubbing at his chest. “Yes, I am.”

“Then you're fuckin' dumb! I can't believe you just spewed that shit at me, saying I'm a Goddamned homo—!”

“It takes one to know one, Ken,” Andy said sharply, not looking away once Ken processed that. Then he just looked startled, as if he'd seen something incredibly new. Andy wanted to laugh because he knew he'd never see that expression again.

Before Ken could say anything, Paul stormed out from the restaurant, to shove Ken completely off his feet and grab Andy by his hair.

“Fuckin' assholes! Pay up!” he howled, digging for Andy's wallet and pulling out a twenty before tossing the billfold onto the sidewalk. With his brother he kicked his thigh and attempted to do the same thing. Ken recovered and tossed him easily into the hedges nearby, stumbling towards Andy as Andy gathered the bills that had escaped his wallet.

Ken grabbed him by his arm and squeezed with enough force to have Andy shoving at him in retaliation, to make him let go. “I won't have you tellin' people lies about me!” Ken snarled low, amid Paul's hollering from the bushes. Customers from inside the restaurant watched the scene, unsure of what was going on.

“It'll stay between us,” Andy said, jerking his arm away. He didn't look away from Ken, noting the other's intense panic and recognizing a reaction of his own. “I wouldn't do anything about it. I just want you to know that it needs to stop.”

“You're fag, you're a fuckin' homo,” Ken rasped, but Andy wasn't sure who he was saying that to. He had a slightly crazed look in his eyes. “You got your fuckin' head on wrong, I weren't doing nothin' like that.”

“Right.” Andy jerked away once Ken tried to reach for him again. “I'm going home.”

The expression on Ken's face was unreadable for him as he turned and looked for a taxi, feeling relieved about having addressed the situation. Maybe Ken would leave him alone. He glanced back and realized that Ken was watching him go, his brother stuck in the hedge, a couple of waiters coming out from the restaurant to investigate.

Nearly twenty minutes later, Andy paid the driver and walked up the sidewalk to Adam, the other sitting on the first step of his porch. Feeling conflicted with what had just happened and last night's situation, Andy waited for him to say something first.

Adam rose and gestured at the door, and Andy opened it, feeling as if Adam were going to tell him something truly terrible. Instead, once Andy shut it behind him, Adam reached down and pulled him into a strong embrace, something Andy melted into almost instantly. He clutched onto him needily, feeling overwhelmed with a sense of relief, with being touched.

“I'm sorry,” Adam mumbled into his hair, and Andy closed his eyes, pressing his nose against his chest, to inhale deeply of his cologne and the smell of his clothes. His fingers dug into the hard muscles of his back and felt his body react to Adam's with almost embarrassing fervor. “I panicked yesterday.”

“I was stupid, Adam. I shouldn't have reacted the way that I did—!”

“Have you been drinking?” Adam then asked, pulling away from him slightly.

“I was upset.”

Saying nothing else on the matter, Adam held him tightly, just grateful to be allowed back after the way he'd reacted yesterday. Feeling Andy's welcoming embrace, the way he fit against him only caused him to forget about the things he'd been stewing over while waiting for Andy to come back home. Smelling the scent of him mixed with faint traces of alcohol made him happy. He leaned back to kiss him, feeling incredibly uplifted and bewildered as to why he'd waited to so long to taste him again.

Andy kissed him back with just as much vehemence, one arm snaking around his neck to pull him closer, Adam finding it hard to get his thoughts back together. He truly enjoyed tasting him, hearing his satisfied sounds, feeling the slick of his saliva. Adam forced his mouth open with his, to taste his teeth and tongue. And his breakfast. He pulled back with a chuckle, kissing him again, but not letting go.

“I was acting like an asshole. I guess I got scared,” he confessed. “He wasn't supposed to be there.”

“It's okay,” Andy said hurriedly, touching the shell of Adam's ear, pressing kisses against his neck and feeling so horny that he didn't give thought to his earlier worries. He pressed himself against him, wanting to feel more of him, to wrap his arms around his neck to pull him into another round of almost frantic kisses. The smell and feel of Adam against him was nearly driving all coherent thought out of his head. All he wanted was more physical stimulation, feeling completely starved of it.

“Don't act like you were the only one that caused it all,” Adam said, pulling away from him, to keep his thoughts in order. It was incredibly distracting to know that the other man wanted him just as much, and he thought he'd forget the intention that he had. “Look, you should come with me. With us. You like baseball, right?”

Andy caught the plural, momentarily puzzled by its usage. Though the heated haze of his physical needs, he managed to ask, “…`us'?”

“My friends. They want to you to come out with us tonight.”

At the thought of sharing his time with Adam with that man, Andy felt his earlier surge of sexual need melt away. He pulled away from the other, to twiddle his thumbs as he searched for the right reaction and the right words to express.

“I don't think that's…that's a good idea,” Andy said slowly. He felt like he'd been dumped into a vat of ice-cold water. Spending nearly three hours with Ian Peters as he manipulated his way through conversation and tricky gestures, all the while brandishing the fact that he was Adam's best friend was the last thing he wanted to do. At the same time, he was torn on wanting this extra time with Adam, even if to observe the way he behaved around his friends. To see him in his `natural environment', so to speak.

“Adam, that's not going to work.”

“Why not?” Adam asked.

“Because it'd…it'd be awkward.”

If there was one thing he disliked about Andy, it was his hesitation. “Awkward like what? We'd just be watching a damn game.”

Andy tightened his lips and said nothing, but his entire physical stature told Adam what he thought of the situation. Giving him an exasperated look, Adam snapped, “C'mon, Andy! Show them that you aren't what they think! You can do that easily—you fooled everyone else!”

Because the situation was something he felt he couldn't even attempt to handle, that Adam was pushing him into something he didn't want to do, Andy said crossly, “I can't!”

Adam gave him a look. “Who knew you'd be so fucking childish? Stop thinking how it's only going to affect you and start thinking about the long run!”

Andy chewed on his inner cheek to keep from snapping back. Looking at Adam, he knew he didn't have a choice. It was going to be his way, or a repeat of last night. And because he wanted more time with the man, he wasn't even going to consider a repeat.

“Fine, whatever,” he muttered, figuring he'd just self-medicate before hand. He felt childishly upset that Adam wouldn't attempt to persuade him with something physical and fun over it. Maybe he'd feel a little different after an orgasm or two. “When is this happening?”

“Probably tonight,” Adam admitted slowly, once he realized Andy wasn't going to fight him. He was almost disappointed. “Maybe once they realize you aren't the threat that they think you to be—”

“I said okay. Adam.”

“But you're pissed about it.”

Andy turned away from him, to go to the kitchen to find something to drink. He was desperately thirsty for something to dull the anger, expectation and aggravation he felt currently. He didn't say anything in reaction to Adam's words, busying himself with pouring a cup of milk.

“You don't act like someone they'd attack. Once they see that, they won't give you shit.”

“I'm not scared of anybody.” Andy sipped at his milk and wondered if Paul knew of his twin brother's orientation.

Adam exhaled heavily. He reached out to touch his waist, but Andy pulled away and put distance between them. It was amusing and exasperating to see him act this way, but Adam held himself from commenting on it.

“I'll call you with the time,” he said tightly, balling his hands into fists.

Andy busied himself with drinking from the cup once more, deliberately taking his time to prevent saying what he really wanted to at that moment. He stared out at the hallway and forced himself to wonder what Ken would do now. At the same time, he hoped Adam would take another step into touching him, to get the subtle hint that perhaps something besides talking was needed at this point.

Adam noticed he was being ignored, felt uncomfortable with it, and left the kitchen with a mutter.

Annoyed that the other man lacked the ability to guess what Andy wanted, he huffed and hurled the cup of milk into the sink.

Sam hurried into the house, his expression frantic. He'd gotten the message only an hour ago, having slept through most of the day due to his late night activities in flirting with one of the clerk girls. At the thought of all of them going to a baseball game with Andy, his stomach was in knots. He couldn't quite believe that Andy agreed to such a thing, after that last situation. Since he couldn't get the man on the phone, Sam decided to go right to the other source.

“Adam, what's going on?” he asked once he saw the bigger man, sullenly jabbing at a protein shake while the others milled around the living room, making plans for meeting up at the ballpark.

“We're hanging out. That's what.”

“Andy agreed to this?” Sam hissed, darting a look at Ian and finding the man laughing with Jensen over his attire. Both of them were wearing the same hometown team shirts with jean shorts, but it seemed Jensen was more stylish with his color coordination. “Do you know how uncomfortable this is going to be?”

Adam gave him a look, and Sam quelled his rising round of protests. He fiddled nervously with his hat, bending and straightening the bill while his stomach burned with its rising level of knotting. He turned to walk away, muttering, “I can't believe he agreed to this.”

“If you two don't make it into such a big deal, it won't be a big deal,” Adam snapped after him, having worried about it himself the entire day.

Sam shot him a look and barged through the small group to walk outside, pulling out his cell to try to reach Andy again.

“What's that about?” Bridgette asked, pulling at her low-cut shirt, her shorts showing off thick, muscular legs. She'd even had her toes pedicured, showing them off in black flip-flops.

“He didn't score last night, I think,” Larson said sadly. “We're going to have to educate him. Show him how the game is played.”

Ian snorted. “I think I'll be giving out the lessons, tonight. No offense, Lars, but your game is weak.”

“How can you SAY that?! I got some last week!”

“Blow up dolls don't count!”

“Ah, sick!” Bridgette exclaimed.

“Don't say that in front of Suzie!” Larson protested, looking shocked. “She may be plastic, but she's got ears!”

“Oh, so you got a new one? You wore Valerie out so soon?”

“You name your blow up dolls?” Bridgette squeaked. “It's bad enough you got a blow-up doll, but you have to name it, too?”

Ian laughed hysterically, Larson unable to go along with it to laugh too. Bridgette punched them both, causing them to stop, muttering, “I actually wouldn't be too surprised if you both had one.”

Jensen fiddled nervously with his pregame beer and didn't say anything, feeling as uncomfortable with the situation as Sam felt. Adam glared at all of them, jabbing a spoon into his protein shake and mixing it around, not having an appetite to finish it.

“Well, we're heading out,” Ian said, looking at him questioningly. “You ready? Is he going to meet us there?”

“Yeah,” he muttered in response, having texted Andy earlier. The man hadn't answered either to his call or his text, so he was guessing he was still being ignored. It miffed him that Andy would act this way. He hated these kinds of games.

“What if he flakes?”

“He won't,” Adam snapped at him, feeling insecure about it. “Shit, get off my back.”

All of them cringed reflexively, and he struggled to rein in his feelings so he wouldn't continue to suffocate them with his aura of anxiety and worry. Setting aside his cup he said, “Sorry. I'm hungry.”

“Want to stop to get something to eat, first?” Ian asked tentatively.

Bridgette rolled her eyes and shoved through the group, heading for the open door. “Stop pussy footing around him! Adam, quit being a bitch just because you're worried about how they're going to treat the fag. Let's go! Sam, get off your Goddamn phone!”

“Did she say `pussy footing'?” Larson asked.

“You know what she's thinking about,” Ian joked weakly.

“LET'S GO!”

All of them winced at her bellow, hearing Sam's cries of pain next. Adam felt completely jittery and tense as he pulled away from the kitchen, his hands sweaty as he wiped them on his jeans shorts. He had half a mind in that Andy was going to flake out, hiding away from the activity with an excuse, and he actually didn't mind if he did. But at the same time, he wanted Andy to man up and follow through, because he did want him to get along with them. He now understood how Ian could feel in wanting people to get along with each other, because he definitely felt that notion.

Once they reached the ball park, Adam sent him another text. Spectators milled around the parking lot and front entrance areas, all of them in some display of cheer and joy in relaxing at a baseball game. Pregame activities were audible from their position, and while Ian directed them all to a window to redeem their tickets, Adam glanced around warily. He was sweating more from anxiety over the situation than the warm weather.

“Why isn't he here, yet?” Bridgette asked on a whine. “Where is he? Still primping?”

“Maybe he got lost,” Sam muttered, his face displaying everything Adam was feeling, still twisting his hat around in his hands.

“How can you get lost coming here? There's trains dropping people off here directly! Unless you're fucking blind, you can't miss the stadium!”

“Let's go find our seats,” Jensen suggested, taking her arm and cheerily dragging her off while she protested.

Ian tapped his foot, looking cross as he surveyed the area. Once Adam looked at him, the expression was gone, hurriedly removed as caution told him to relax. “Yeah, maybe there's a delay in the transit system. Fast Trac does that from time to time. Did you call him?”

“I wanna hotdog—wow. Look at those women. C'mon, Sam, let me teach you something,” Larson said, distracted as he surveyed a group of females lingering just inside the walkway. Sam protested as his arm was snatched, Larson dragging him along with a cheery lesson in approachability.

Miffed that he was missing out on the action, Ian watched them go. Then he looked up at Adam. “It's okay if it doesn't happen,” he said slowly. “Did you even talk to him, today?”

“Yeah. This morning,” Adam said tightly, struggling to calm down.

“We'd understand if he doesn't show. We were pretty shitty,” Ian said. He flicked at his hair, floppy dark blond strands catching the warm breeze. “But at the same time, I think I'd respect him more if he did show up despite that.”

Adam gave him a cross look.

“Well, when he shows, our seats our in the nosebleed section. The usual. I know you said you didn't want any alcohol involved, but that's like cutting off your nose to spite your face in this situation,” Ian said, turning to follow after the others. Only once he was sure Adam wasn't looking, he slipped away to start a search of his own.

Scowling, Adam surveyed the area once more and hoped that Andy would show.

Andy slowly ventured through the crowd of people, wiping his sweaty hands upon his cargo shorts. He spotted Adam standing outside one of the entrances into the front walkway, and paused to gather his strength by slipping around one of the pillars that lined the pathway to the ticket windows. He scowled at the massive parking lot and garage, at the people that were walking by. Anxiety had his stomach in knots, sure that the evening was going to suck. Because the more he dwelled on having to interact with Ian Peters, the more he was convinced that Adam truly hated him.

He licked his drying lips, then rummaged through his pockets for his tube of chapstick. His hand was shaking as he applied it, feeling completely bewildered as to why he didn't follow through with his self-medication. Somewhere along the way, he had come to the thought that doing so was perhaps only admitting a form of defeat; by dulling himself he was letting Ian Peters win.

“There you are!” Ian chirped cheerfully, almost out of no where.

Andy startled with the surprise of seeing him pop out from behind him. He had the feeling of being assessed and judged as the man plastered a somewhat friendly smile on his face. He knew it was fake because Ian's eyes said something completely different from what he was displaying.

“We were waiting for you over there. Maybe you didn't see us,” Ian continued on, gesturing for him to move. Andy moved away from him, to shove his hands into his pockets and feel embarrassed that he'd been caught hiding. “Everyone else went inside to save our seats. Hope you don't mind the nosebleed section.”

“It's fine,” Andy muttered. He cleared his throat. “Thanks for inviting me.”

“Maybe you'd have found us earlier if you weren't hiding from us,” Ian then said, smiling cheerily despite using a completely different tone.

Because he was caught, Andy reddened.

“Adam, wanna get some beers and snacks before we go sit?” Ian then asked once they reached the other man. “I know you want some of those chilidogs.”

Adam looked only slightly relieved, and it only made Ian more eager to get the evening started as he looked from one to the other. At the indication that his best friend was somewhat cheered, he himself started to relax.

Andy didn't look at Adam, and Adam knew he was still angry with him. But he was still cheered with his appearance anyway. He wanted to reach out to touch him, to say something in the lines of how glad he was that he was there, but with Ian watching both of them intently and inserting himself between them, he held back.

“`Bout time,” he said, somewhat jokingly.

“Sorry I'm late,” Andy replied lightly, still tense as he noticed Ian watching them. He felt as if he were radiating his orientation with simply talking to Adam and found it difficult to say anything else to the bigger man.

“Did you just wake up?” Ian asked Andy, in a tone that Adam caught as snide. “You look like you're still gathering your senses.”

“Ian, go get something to eat,” Adam said, shoving him in the direction of the concession stands.

“Fine. You want a couple of beers, Andy?”

“NONE. We'll get it later,” Adam said, giving him a pointed look that clearly told Ian that Adam knew what he was doing.

Sulking, Ian walked off.

Adam looked at Andy and indicated that they go inside. Andy's jaw was clenched tightly, and he was looking everywhere but at him. Despite his obvious emotion, Adam said quietly, “I'm glad you made it. I was starting to think you were going to chicken out.”

“I want to be with you. That's all,” Andy replied tightly, Adam handing over their tickets once the bored teen inside the kiosk asked for them. After their hands were stamped, Adam led the way inside. A brief weapon search of their persons held up their entrance, but once they were free to go, Andy said nothing more, trailing after the other man as Adam led the way.

Once they reached the top floor and started the long walk towards the back of the stadium, Adam stopped in mid-step and waited for him to catch up. He noticed that Andy was holding his mouth tightly, that wrinkle standing out as testament to some pouting thing he was thinking over.

“They won't bite right off the bat,” he said, referring to the others. “Just relax a little.”

“It's difficult when everything I'm doing or saying is being scrutinized by him,” Andy snapped. “I feel like I'm going to slip up somehow.”

“Will you stop acting like a damn child about this?” Adam hissed, as if people could hear them.

Andy frowned at him, then continued walking, every step telling Adam that he was very reluctant to carry on with the evening. Adam caught up, starting to feel angry again with his behavior.

“This is so fucking stupid,” he muttered under his breath.

“Sorry,” Andy said tightly, jamming his fists into his pockets.

“Once they get hold of this fucking attitude of yours, they're going to eat you alive. And I'm going to let them.”

“You would. You wouldn't want to blow your cover.”

“Oh, Andy, you fucking—! You always have to say something sneaky—!”

“Whew, that was a long walk,” Ian interrupted them suddenly, startling both of them with his presence. He'd spilled beer over his hands, and was licking them clean while he walked in-step with them. “Hey, Adam, did you check out that blond that was walking by? What a rack, huh? Here, Andy, got this for you. It's not the one I spit in…to…claim…”

He trailed off as Andy took the overfilled cup and immediately drank it down. Adam wanted to reach over to make him choke on it, but Ian said loudly, “Wow you were thirsty. Hey, Adam, remember when we were here last time? We got those chicks to sit with us. Whatever happened to Andrea? I thought you liked her.”

“I'm going to get another one,” Andy said, throwing the empty cup away and heading for the concession stand nearby. Adam wondered how he could hit Ian without making it obvious.

As if sensing the notion, Ian instead grabbed Andy's arm and dragged him towards the stands, pointing with his cup. “There's the others! Look, Sam's waving at us. Let's go sit down. Oh, hey! And there's a bunch of women sitting nearby…I bet you could give him a little advice on how to hit on them, because he's really needing our guidance in getting women.”

Because he was sure he was going to make a big scene out of it, Adam held himself back from rescuing his boyfriend from his conniving best friend. He clenched his teeth, hearing them grind as he listened to Ian continue to relate tales to an obviously furious Andy over how they always picked up chicks while at the stadium.

After everyone greeted each other, seating themselves in various order with both blondes sitting next to each other with similar expressions of tension, Adam managed to convince Ian to sit away from him so he could take Andy's other side. With a majority of their section empty due to the horrible view of in-field, Ian simply maneuvered himself so that he was sitting in the row behind him, so he could look over them and talk without having to raise his voice. Larson got into the same row and did the same. Being surrounded by them made Andy think he was being sized up by viciously hungry predators looking for an easy kill. Two innings went by with sporty conversation between them all, with Andy hardly able to relax as he answered double-sided assaults given so casually by four of them.

Bridgette leaned over and asked loudly, “You have any cover-up with you? I'm sweaty as a pig and need a reapplication.”

“I don't wear makeup,” Andy said tightly.

She snorted, rolling her eyes, and then reached over. “Let me check those pockets—!”

“Don't let her, she's going to feel you up!” Jensen said quickly.

In alarm, Andy pulled away, unsure of whether or not the woman was serious.

“Knock it off,” Adam growled, glaring at her. Bridgette hurled her empty cup at him, and he ducked.

“I have to go to the bathroom. Come with me?” Sam asked Andy.

“Girls go to the bathroom in groups,” Ian interrupted, giving him a frown. “Not guys. We don't do things like that.”

“But I don't know where it's at.”

“What do you mean—? It's over there. Next to the concession stands.”

“I change my mind.”

“I have to go, anyway,” Andy muttered, rising from the chair.

“CATCH THE BALL!” Larson hollered, lunging over him for a foul ball and losing his balance. Both of them went sprawling over the seats while other spectators fought over the ball that bounced out of Larson's outstretched hands.

Ian laughed hysterically while they tried to untangle themselves, Larson stuck between the seats while Andy hollered aloud at the mess he'd landed into on the concrete floor. Adam closed his eyes in exasperation and wiped the sweat from his forehead while Sam hastily yanked at his teammate.

Jensen helped him while Bridgette laughed. “You are so fucking blind! Get off the gay guy!”

Ian hurled his empty cup at her. “Quiet! That's not the word of the day!”

“Thank you,” Andy said tightly, brushing himself off and stomping up the stairs, Sam running after him hastily.

“All of you are fucking assholes!” Adam snapped at them.

“I just wanted the ball,” Larson muttered. “I thought he'd catch me.”

“If he weren't, he'd say something to laugh it off,” Bridgette said testily. “I gave him every opportunity to do so.”

“Jensen, go get us another round,” Ian ordered, stuffing cash into the other's hand and giving him a pointed expression. He hurried off while Ian leaned over Andy's seat to talk to Adam. “It's going okay, man. Don't get upset about things.”

“Don't even talk to me.”

“Loosen up. Want a beer?”

“NO!”

“Adam, you wiener, you black out a couple of times, and you're scared to do it again. So what?” Bridgette said nastily. “You afraid to do something gay?”

“Fuck you, you chunky bitch.”

“Hey, how many has Andy had?” Ian then asked.

“ `Ch. About four cups so far. Your friend's really slamming them back,” Bridgette said with a bored tone, leaning back in her seat. She gave a wolf whistle at the batter, as if she could be heard from their positioning. “Show me your balls!”

“Should we cut him off?”

“See what happens when he's drunk. Maybe he'll loosen up.”

“All of you should just—! Shut up! Stop making asses out of yourselves!” Adam snapped.

“What the fuck's up your ass?” Bridgette asked. “Him later on?”

She picked up Jensen's empty M&M's box and hurled it at him. He hurled it back.

Ian picked up the carton and tossed it over his shoulder, plopping himself in between them to break anything else up. “Changing the subject, you seen the new Chris Brown video?”

“If you're going to talk about those big-ass chicks, then I want the subject changed,” Bridgette muttered in annoyance. “I'm so sick of seeing my female species degrade themselves like that.”

“How'd he convince Samsara to be in the video with him?” Larson asked, chuckling about it.

“Those dancers?” Bridgette asked skeptically. “They're too tall.”

“I bet he's this tiny Asian guy,” Larson continued, then holding up his index finger and thumb, indicating a small space. “Pocket-sized. Yoshida puts `im in her pocket, ha ha! Man, those guys are tiny. It's like, where do you get all your energy and mass to be doing that stuff?”

“What if…Samsara wasn't a guy?” Ian ventured, looking thoughtful as he picked at his short nails.

“HAH! Shut up! He's totally a guy.”

“He does guy things, so why wouldn't he be?” Bridgette asked in annoyance, while Adam stared off into the distance, wondering why it still bothered him that Ian was speaking of the East Sider in such a respectful tone. He then glanced around himself, looking for Andy's return.

“Girls have a totally different physical set when it comes to having cars slammed off them. They holler, scream, shout expletives, but they do this cautious thing to make sure they're not injured in some secret way,” Larson said, giving an eye roll. “Guy Supers just totally take it with a shake. That's what guys do. And girls hesitate with huge decisions, especially when it comes to taking people's life. Hello? Samsara does none of those things. He's totally a dude.”

“I'm just saying…because you never see him without that hood…so you don't know.”

“Why are we talking about that bastard anyway?” Bridgette asked, almost on a whine. “Fuck that guy.”

“Because Ian watched the new Chris Brown video. And the dancers look like Samsara,” Larson answered, distracted by the announcer's cheer of a home run. “Except taller.”

“I bet he's a better dancer, too.”

“Why do you think that?” Bridgette asked with some exasperation, looking at Ian.

“Oh, yeah, definitely. You can totally tell just by looking at the guy that he's got moves,” Larson said, giving her a frown. “It's manly to admit things like that.”

“Check it out,” Ian then said, leaning over to Bridgette, showing her the video on his phone.

“You have it saved on your phone?!”

“I like the song.”

“You're fag! That's all!” She then smirked in Adam's direction. “Oops, sorry, that's not the word of the day, is it?”

“It's not like he's here anyway,” Ian snickered.

Nearly a half hour later, Adam lowered his watch and looked over at the concession stands. The three of them were taking a long time to return, and while Ian was distracted in speaking with a couple of the women sitting nearby, he left his seat to go search for them.

He found the three milling around the concession stand's side entrance, talking grimly amongst each other. “What's going on?” he asked impatiently.

“There's a lot of people getting headaches around here,” Jensen said, a wondrous tone in his voice. “We saw at least ten people complaining about it.”

“A lot of that happened this morning, too,” Andy muttered, finishing off his sixth cup of cheap beer. Adam snatched the cup from him and gave him a dirty look. “What? It's so watered down I don't feel anything.”

“That's not the point,” Sam insisted. “Let's eat something.”

“I'd rather not,” Jensen said. “There's too many people complaining. What if it's the food?”

“What kind of complaints?” Adam then asked tiredly, reaching up to rub his neck, feeling a tension headache coming on.

“Headaches, mainly. But it looked like they were getting sick.”

“Maybe it's a virus going around,” Andy said with an annoyed tone. “It's summer. It might be some cold.”

“It's weird how often it—there goes another one,” Jensen pointed out, causing the three of them to look over at an older couple.

Andy then sighed tiredly, plucking out his phone. It had been ringing, the sound amplified only by the removal of it from his pocket. He handed it to Sam. “Answer it. I've been getting these weird calls all day.”

“What kind of calls?” Adam asked sharply, overhearing it.

“It's just static,” Sam reported, furrowing his brow.

“It's not Ken playing a prank on you?” Adam asked snidely.

Andy frowned at him. Jensen lifted an eyebrow as he drank at the contents of his cup.

“It's coming from a private number,” Sam continued, still listening. “There's absolutely nothing but static.”

“Why do you keep bringing up his name?” Andy asked Adam in irritation.

“And another, and another,” Jensen muttered, looking at the spectators around them and feeling entirely worried. He started walking away, saying, “I'm going to tell Peters. This is too weird.”

“What's he going to do? Administer aspirin to everyone?” Adam asked sarcastically.

“When did they start?” Sam asked Andy, handing the phone back.

He shrugged, hanging up and sliding it back into his pocket. “I don't know. This afternoon, before I left home.”

“And no one says anything?”

“Probably trying to get the balls to say something stupid,” Adam muttered.

Andy threw him a dirty look, Sam frowning at both of them. “What's wrong with you two?”

“Nothing.”

The trio watched as a couple walked by, dragging each other. Andy moved over to them. “What's wrong? Are you two okay?”

The couple ignored him, sluggishly trudging down the hall, disregarding various calls and looks while others watched them pass.

“That's weird,” Sam commented. “Look over there.”

Adam and Andy looked down the hall to see a group of people moving in the same manner, oblivious to concerned calls and stares from other spectators. The shuffling group moved passed them, their coordination off, faces blank.

Sam shivered. “That…was weird.”

“What's up?” Ian asked, returning with Jensen and watching the group curiously. “What's with them? There's a lot of people moving out of here with that sort of coordination. Was the beer that strong, Andy?”

“Something's going on,” Adam said, speaking over Andy's irritated reply. “That's weird.”

“Small groups here and there throughout the stadium are moving from their seats to the halls,” Ian said. “I've been watching them since we got here. Some of the people sitting around us were talking about headaches. I didn't pay too much attention to it until Jensen said something. You think something suspicious is happening?”

Andy drew out his cellphone and made a face upon examining it. Adam snatched the phone and stared at the ID screen, noting the private number indication before answering it.

“You answer everyone's phone, buddy? Isn't that private?” Ian asked him sarcastically.

Hearing nothing but static on the other end, Adam used a finger to plug his other ear shut to listen for anything else.

“What's that about?” Ian asked Andy, gesturing at him.

“I've been getting these calls all afternoon,” Andy muttered, irritated at having to speak directly to him.

Ian snatched the phone from Adam and listened to the very same thing. He frowned and hung up, ducking when Adam tried to take the phone back.

“Well, it ain't me,” he assured him. “Maybe it's Larson!”

He raced off, Andy giving a start at the sight of him taking off with his phone. He raced after him, Adam sighing heavily as he wondered what the man was up to.

“Don't you think it's weird a lot of people are getting sick around us?” Sam then spoke up, holding onto his phone nervously. “It needs to be checked into. What if it's some ploy or attack? This is a large group of people.”

“Call it in,” Jensen suggested. “Err on the safe side. Adam? What do you think?”

Adam didn't answer as he moved after the others, decidedly annoyed with everybody, shoving aside a couple of blank faced people that shuffled past him.

Jensen frowned as he avoided their pathway, Sam already on the phone and talking tentatively to an operator to base.

“It ain't me!” Larson exclaimed, waving his hands. “I don't even know your number!”

“I'd say something if it were me,” Bridgette said with a burp, leaning back in her chair. “Hell, I don't hide anything.”

Larson gave her a pointed look, and then looked at Ian to say something. In a panic, she reached out and yanked hard on his hair, Ian noticing their physical violence with amusement, looking away from Andy to do so.

“Peace, you guys. Christ, I can't even turn my back without having one of you trying to kill the other. I need my team intact!”

“Can I have my phone back, please?” Andy asked tiredly, reaching for the device Ian held.

“It could be a serious problem. Larson can trace its origin,” Ian said, nodding pointedly at the bespectacled man. “If it's Ken, we need to take care of it right away.”

“I'm off-duty!”

“Lars, do it. I'm curious, here.”

“I just want my phone back! Just give it back! I don't care who it is! It's probably just a wrong number!” Andy argued impatiently, wondering if he should punch the man.

“Fine,” Larson said in exasperation, digging out his own phone and taking the one Ian handed out.

“I don't want to know! Just give it back!”

“Just let me take care of it,” Larson said, ignoring him as Ian set himself as barrier between him and Andy as Andy tried reaching for it again. Pulling out a small cable from his own phone, Larson plugged it into the charging slot into Andy's, his thumb moving over his keypad to input a command. “Using this awesome application, I can trace the call back to its location. Literally. GPS will pinpoint where the perp's calling from, including the phone number, yadda, yadda, yadda.”

Concerned that it could be Ken, Andy balled his fist in frustration.

“It'll be a lot easier doing so, knowing who the jack-ass is,” Ian assured Andy with a sort of arrogant manner. “That way, we'll take care of the situation. I mean, for you. We're just helping out.”

Fully annoyed that Ian was insinuating Andy couldn't take care of himself, he gave him an irritated stare.

“What are you guys doing?” Adam asked, finally joining them. “Lars, give it back.”

“From a moving location downtown. While the number doesn't register to a formal number, it does register shady, meaning it's illegal. I only get a general location lock, and not a pinpoint, which means it has some sort of scramble shield affecting any investigative lockdown from such applications as mine,” Larson finally announced, unplugging Andy's phone from his and handing it back. “Unknown transmission, but it is a transmission, which makes it a shady sort of tech that you should be concerned over. Meanwhile, what's this about Ken?”

“Ken's jealous that he's hanging out with Adam,” Bridgette said with a sigh. “You need to break it off with Ken before you get involved with Adam, Murphy. Adam gets jealous easily.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Adam snarled at her.

“Could you stop with those comments?” Andy asked, almost whining in exasperation.

“We do not show weakness with that one, or else she'll get even worse,” Larson muttered, fiddling with the information he now had on his phone. Jensen rejoined them with another beer, taking a seat away from Bridgette.

“Why does Ken want to be involved with you, anyway?” Ian asked Andy.

Because Andy knew Ian was goading him, he felt his temper bubble. “I—that is just—!”

Sensing it, Ian gave something of a crooked smile, and attempted to smooth it over with, “I didn't mean it like that, I'm just saying both of you have completely different personalities, so I don't see why you both are friends. I guess. I didn't mean it in another way—”

“You guys are boyfriends,” Bridgette chimed in, Jensen looking away with an expression of fatigue and embarrassment, “you are boys who are friends, so I think that's how Ian means it.”

“Either way—” Andy started when Larson held up his phone to show him the screen.

“I think whoever's calling you is in a vehicle because they are moving fast—FOUL! Catch it!” Larson hollered, running through them, knocking Ian to the floor and stomping on Bridgette's feet as he raced others in reaching for the foul ball.

Andy looked at his phone, then at Adam, the chaos within their group causing them to miss the look of exasperation on his face. Adam looked away.

Sam hurried back, saying, “They're going to send some squads over. Along with a hasty team of med-officers and HAZMAT. Just to check things out. Wait…what?”

“Nothing,” Andy muttered, trying to smooth out the agitation that had to be visible on his face, because Sam stopped talking upon noticing it.

“What are you talking about?” Bridgette asked Sam tiredly, rubbing the shoe treads off her feet.

“All this weird stuff going on,” Jensen supplied. “People with headaches.”

“This game's so fucking boring anyway, it's almost no wonder,” Bridgette said. She let loose with another wolf-whistle, causing all of them to cringe. Ian was fixing his sandals as she kneed past him, causing him to fall backward with a protest.

Andy flopped into a chair and exhaled heavily as he shut his phone off, Sam sitting next to him. Both of them cringed and held limbs close as she passed by with a huffy shout that she was going to use the ladies' room.

Adam gave with a low exhale, rubbing at his neck, Larson returning with a forlorn expression.

“That fat asshole snatched it right out of my hands,” he said. “Now…what were we talking about?”

“Speaking of assholes, Adam, how's that hemorrhoid coming along?” Ian asked, rising and sitting next to Andy, knowing that it fully irritated him. “Larson mentioned you were having problems.”

“You lie!” Larson screamed. “I didn't say that!”

“Buddy, if you're too embarrassed to go out for some crème, I'll do it. Y'know. As your best friend.”

Adam clenched his fists, growing increasingly furious at their behavior. They eyed him with some caution, then looked at Andy, who was speaking low with Sam, his face tight with tension as well. Ian then used the toe of his sandal to get their attention, saying, “As medical personnel, what would you recommend for such problems? I mean, of course you encounter such things in your line of work, right?”

“That's a ridiculous question,” Andy muttered in response. “I'm sure hemorrhoid problems are treated by doctors, not field medics.”

“But you don't know anything about it? Are you familiar with the subject?”

“No, I'm not.”

“Peters, why does it matter?” Sam exclaimed. “If you're so embarrassed about the subject, ask Neilson to help you out, because she was in line for Monistat the other day, and knows how the privacy thing works when it comes to personal body issues.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Bridgette asked, seemingly appearing out of no where with a cup of beer.

“Uh…I'm just…Peters…”

“Peters just confessed he wouldn't touch you with a ten foot pull because of some smell you've been emitting,” Andy said, rising from his chair. “He knows about your situation, so you might want to re-establish some sort of protocol with him on his attitude towards your infatuation.”

Both Ian and Bridgette looked somewhat mortified, glancing at each other and then looking away quickly. Sam snickered, also rising from his chair and giving a stretch, giving the indication in his getting ready to leave.

“I'm done. I know who's going to win. Thanks for inviting me out,” Andy then said, heading for the stairs. “It was so awesome.”

“Yeah, I'll call you later,” Adam said, waving them off, somewhat more cheered than he was earlier as Bridgette and Ian gave awkward expressions.

Larson laughed, slapping his knee. “Well! That went splendid! But I think he's done with us.”

“He didn't pass the queerball test,” Bridgette muttered, pulling anxiously at her hair. “He and Sam are pretty. They make each other pretty. He has that eyeroll thing down pat.”

“Who's Pat?” Larson asked, bewildered.

“Yeah. Yeah, Adam, he's still queer,” Ian said with a sigh, shaking his head. It looked as if he were literally shaking off the comment on Bridgette, but Adam noticed that he was studiously avoiding her. “Sorry. I just really couldn't relate with him at all.”

“Wires just fizzed,” Larson said with a shake of his head. “He didn't even try to participate in our convos. We're a great group, we need great friends that'll take our jokes and run with them.”

“You know what? You're assholes. All of you. You didn't even try—he knew you were going to act this way, and he came out here anyway. He proved you all right—you're fucking assholes. I'm going to check out, too,” Adam said, speaking quietly as he felt fed up, eager to get away from their wounded expressions. “You're so set in your ways. You're stupid. And small.”

“I think anybody'd feel small standing next to you,” Bridgette muttered, examining her nails.

“Fuck you. All of you.”

Ian frowned as Adam walked off, nearly shoving aside a couple of older men with beers. As both of them turned to yell at him for his action, he sighed, flopping into his seat. “Well, now we know. Right? Hell. I don't feel bad. We just proved to Adam that Murphy can't hack it. We gave him every opportunity to join in, and he didn't.”

“Sort of a snob, isn't he?” Bridgette said. “Like he barely spoke unless he had to. He didn't even get to know us individually.”

“But whatever. If Adam still wants to be his friend, for whatever mysterious reason, I think we should respect that.”

Jensen rose from his seat, clearing his throat. “Me too, guys. I'm out.”

“Ah, hey! We'll catch ya tomorrow! We still got that tourney goin' on down at the bowling alley,” Larson said, waving after him.

Jensen waved to indicate that he knew, disappearing into the throng.

Larson held up his phone, and Ian realized that he was still running his application. “Whoever it is, lost the signal once he turned his phone off. They're running ghostie on the other end, but still trying to track him through the last answered call. Which means…”

Ian blinked. “He's still being monitored.”

“Yup. I recognize the type of format that's being used, as a virus that usually overrides the main system carrier of the phone. Sort of like somebody sneaking around the house and peeking in through the windows? Except they're also using his phone to track him down, to pinpoint his location.”

“Why would they do that? He was cleared. They said he was cleared. Interesting,” Ian then muttered, rubbing his chin.

“They ever find Dorsal?” Larson asked curiously.

“Nope. Or the shipment he'd purchased. Or what it was he purchased specifically. Still all a mystery.”

“If it's a virus…like those kids said…how do you think it's carried out?” Larson asked, suddenly absorbed by the thought.

Ian shrugged, the question running through his mind as well.