monaboyd | FIC: Ignition & Key

Title: Ignition & Key
Author: Vensre
Rating: G
Pairing: Monaboyd
Itinerary: From the convention center to the Chicago Skyway, exiting onto 65 south to Indianapolis. Get on 74 as far as Cincinatti, then take I-75 through four states, cut around Orlando, and follow 95 the rest of the way down.
Disclaimer: The way that I can imagine is not the true Way.
Notes: Written for

__sarah's challenge. Honed by

puddle_took's betaing genius. Dedicated to

aralinde.
Feedback: Will save my soul.

[Hawksley Workman - Safe and Sound]

~:

It's a long way, even for somebody used to driving on the wrong side of the road. Five or so hours in, Dom blinks away the little pattern overlaying his vision that means his eyes have been open too long, and takes the next exit. Billy's turn.

The decreasing road noise or that swooping curve off the freeway wakes him, so Dom doesn't have to. They idle in the parking lot of yet another McDonald's and grin muzzily at each other.

"Whose idea was this, again?"

"Yours. Probably."

"If so, then. Hnn. Sorry." Dom yawns and sighs and knocks his head against the doorframe when he gets out to stretch his legs.

They stagger inside to use the loo. Billy buys the least disgusting looking thing on the menu and cheap fancy coffee. Dom gets chicken nuggets and chips and a milkshake, and curls his lip at Billy's breakfast.

"That looks disgusting."

"Well..." Billy stares at his food. "Yes. That it does." He eats it anyway.

:~:

For an excruciatingly long time there was nothing but flat cornfields and featureless clouded skies. While he was awake, Dom was perpetually adjusting the ever-changing radio stations and playing a game in which Billy had to guess whether city names Dom was listing were actual places on the map. Now there are great rolling hills, the volume is turned down too quiet to hear anything more than hissing little drumbeats, and Dom's head is cradled forward in his seatbelt. Takes a kind of balance that Billy doesn't really have, he muses. Particularly not while asleep.

Less of a sunset, more of a bluegrey loss of light is happening. Sweet humid air flushes through the AC when it begins to rain.

:~:

Rock juts up on either side of the road, and it is darker than dark. The wipers squeak as they work. Dom is hunched forward, reading the map by the light of the glove compartment and shaking his head.

"We should get a hotel. This explains why Sean laughed at us."

"What? Somethin' besides the obvious, I mean?"

Dom marks a scale rule on his finger and calculates on the back of his wrist. "Ever look how many times a map of the UK would fit into a map of the US?"

"...You're kidding."

"We have at least two more days ahead of us at this rate, Bills. Hotel. Hotelhotelhotel."

"All right! All right. Hotel."

"One with a buffet?"

"May as well. There's first and second breakfast taken care of, then."

"And a pool!"

The tires kick up a wake behind the rental car. Rain pounds down on the roof. And Billy squirts Dom with his water-bottle.

:~:

Dom is the one awake when daylight gets around to illuminating the mountains that have sprung up around them in the night, the ones they had known must be there from the wide, winding curves of the road. He picks one of the towns puddled in valleys along the pass and they descend to seek out a decent hotel.

Billy stirs from his nap. "It reeks of marker in here."

The back of Dom's hand now reads MIAMI OR BUST. Pleading exhaustion, he waits in the car while Billy procures a room.

Once in the hotel lobby, Billy is vaguely aware that he is drawing stares. But thinks nothing of it until the receptionist excuses himself and darts into his office, shuts the door, and has a laugh that is clearly audible through the wall. Billy ducks to check his reflection in the metallic finish under the counter, and learns that he has a curling, cartoon villain-style sharpie moustache drawn on his upper lip.

(It comes off with a little soap, as he has reason to know.) He cackles and pretends to twirl it on his way out, to the sound of the receptionist sliding off his chair.

:~:

They don't bother with separate beds. It would be ridiculous at this point.

Dom is honestly half asleep by the time Billy leads him to their (blissfully ground-level) room. Slowly they port their bags inside, under the wet daylight, and start shedding travel-creased clothing as soon as the curtain is secured. Billy claims the shower first, and within the five-minute interval (oh, ten at the most), Dominic is breathing sleep-slow. The suspicious bedspread has been shucked off onto the floor, and Dom's patchy sleeping bag is draped over the whuffling lump on the bed.

There is plenty of room for two to lay without touching - these two, at least - but they don't bother with that, either.

:~:

There are caves, in this part of the country, which have bats and blind white crickets and weird glittery rock formations. And up on the peaks there are frozen waterfalls with icicle trickles and cascade stalactites. And views ~ everywhere another incredible view.

Billy is reading, though. And Dom reins himself in from pointing out every panorama or interestingly-shaped boulder as their little car navigates the curves of the road south through the Great Smoky Mountains. Because sneaking glances of Billy's face, emoting rawly, absorbed in his book? Is every bit as great, to Dom's way of thinking.

:~:

Billy is in a mood. Dom tells him so.

"Rush hour in Atlanta, Dominic. And will ye just-- oh, roll down the window!"

"T's too hot. It'll never dry that way." He fans his hands, smirking.

"Don' know what they've been telling you in L.A. and I don' care. Putting on nail varnish during a tailback will never be cool."

There is quiet for a while. The elevated roads and multicoloured buildings give the city an alien look, all lemon and lavender, and almost clean under the smog. Dom shifts in a way that means what little restraint he has is running out.

"No, Dom."

"C'mon. Please? Just the left foot, then."

"I am not. Painting. Your toenails. While you're driving."

:~:

They have fresh oranges from a touristy roadside stand, and candy bars and bottles of soda in a little cooler. The pace is steady--

"Fffuck!"

No more than a dun flash careening from behind a stand of trees. Dom slams on the brakes, and everything spins hard and there is a noise behind the shouts. But when the semi behind them has howled past and the dust under the tires has drifted up the road a bit, the engine is still running, sort of. He puts it in park, laughing high in his throat and shaking like anything, and shuts it all down. Looks at Billy, who is clutching his chest-belt.

"Nice evasive action, there, mate."

Dom coughs. "Thanks." From the ditch of the speed lane - and pointed the wrong way, to boot - they watch cars zooming by. "Did you see what it was?"

"An armadillo?"

Dom knuckles a pressure point in Billy's upper arm. "Heh. Guess who gets to drive the whole rest of the way, Bill?"

Billy turns in time to watch the deer reach the opposite side of the dual carriageway and leap away into the sparse forest. "It's all right."

Another barking laugh. Dom's head falls back against the rest, eyes squeezed shut. "We could have both just died."

Billy's hand on his friend's forehead erases the lines that were gathering there. "We're all right."

:~:

The purple sky hangs oddly close as they ease down the boulevard, windows open to admit the salty breeze that hisses through the palm fronds even over the noise of the motor.

"Finally here. Finally."

Dom grunts. He is chewing down the last Baby Ruth like a starving man, the map crumpled onto the car floor.

"We should do this again sometime, shou'n't we? It was... fun." No reply. "It's not still about that deer, is it?" The car slows even more as Billy leans a little to touch Dom's wrist. "It was a close call, but--"

"Oh, it's not that. America is too big. No one country should take that long to cross by car. It's just... wrong."

"But imagine if we'd ha' set this film of ours in California. Surfing's good there, too."

There is a moment of silence for the horror of that much distance to cover in a cramped rental car. Dom's fingers thread into Billy's and rest there. "We'd have flown," he says fervently.

"At least this car doesn't stink."

"Eh, it sort of does, I thought."

"Well..."

"Yes."

Billy becomes aware of the scent of hot plastic. "Yes."

Their destination is in sight; yet another low, pale building of the coastal style, but this one with their names on it. The car crawls the last few metres into the driveway, then Billy kills the engine and they sit listening to the headlight alarm. Dom kicks his door open and sets his bare feet (complete with toenail polish) down on the still-warm tar.

"You ready for this?"

:~

{words: nail varnish, sleeping bag, baby ruth}

Current Mood: under pressure
Current Music: Hawksley Workman - Safe And Sound

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Date: 2004-05-01 07:22 pm (UTC)

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