"Pete, no."
"You're really being very close-minded about this, Don. It was your suggestion, after all."
"That was a joke, Pete. I'm not going to walk into a potential client's place of business pretending to be a homo with you."
"Why not?"
Pete was close, tantalizing so, to something he had been pushing for almost since he had met Don. And Don was…well, Don was scared.
"You know someone needs to go down there before they close for the holiday," Pete pried on. "You can't do the work if you haven't seen the product."
"Then I'll go alone. Get out of my office." Don could feel heat gathering at the base of his neck
Pete made to oblige, but stopped at the door with his hand on the knob.
"You know, you always taught me that two sets of ears were better than one in situations like this. I really am surprised that you of all people would let the challenge of pretending to be someone else stop you from doing your best work."
The heat had become too much; Don jumped to his feet. He groped for his coat and hat through the brief blackout that comes with the rush of standing up too quickly, and before he was really aware of what he had done, he was wrenching the doorknob out of Pete's hand.
"Go get your coat," he barked, pulling the door open so forcefully that Pete stumbled a bit getting out of its way. "And we're not a couple. You're just my friend helping me look for a car."
Pete couldn't bite back the smirk that came up at that.
"I think that's what they all say, Don."
Don waited in the lobby with his heart in his throat. Although the office was mostly empty by that hour, everyone else having left early for holiday parties and dinners, he still started at each creak, at each ping of the elevator passing their floor.
This is insanity, he chided himself, swallowing hard and straightening his back. This is far and away one of the most innocent things I've ever done.
Pete strode into the lobby with a smile on his face. Don had always found the younger man's refusal to wear a hat annoying, and focused on that instead of the sprightly bounce in his step.
"Just friends," Pete repeated as they stepped onto the elevator. "Although by the look on your face, that might be harder to make believable than us being a couple. Friends usually look happy to be together."
Don didn't have anything to say to that; he just cocked one eyebrow and sighed a sigh he hoped sounded indifferent.
Downstairs, Don rejected Pete's offer to pay for a cab ride – he didn't think he could handle just sitting there with him, staring at his hands. At least on a walk, there are distractions, other people to acknowledge and things to look out for, to step around. But despite Don's intentions, Pete was the only one interacting with their surroundings, calling merry greetings to each passerby and looking about himself with childlike wonderment. It was nearing dark, and Christmas lights were coming on. Don only saw their reflections in the puddles at his feet, eyes glued downwards.
The man at the dealership winked at them when Pete told him the friends story, and grinned too mischievously while telling them they couldn't test drive it alone. Don thought that maybe he would have liked to be Pete's friend, and this embarrassed him even further.
"We see a lot of coup-" The man cleared his throat. "I mean, friends like you. It's so nice to have someone to help with things like this. The big decisions."
That was when Don took out his checkbook, brandishing it like a weapon, and pushed $6,000 into the man's hand, just to stop him talking.
They took the car on a long drive, towards Brooklyn and then through Brooklyn and then out into a dark night, littered with the occasional diner or entrance to a planned neighborhood. Don didn't know where he was going or how long it would take to get there, but it felt good to have his hands on the wheel, to have to shift and brake and, occasionally on that frosty night, fiddle with the windshield wipers. Pete was simply glad to be along for the ride that was Don Draper's fantastical life.
Finally Pete complained of hunger and Don pulled off at a diner advertising 24 hour service. However, once inside, they were informed by a stern waitress that they had 30 minutes to order and eat – they were shutting down entirely for the holidays that very evening.
"Goodness, is it already 8:30?" Pete said, glancing at his watch. He didn't say it, but Don knew what he was thinking – there was someone in the city worried sick over his absence.
"We should just go," Don said, turning back to the door.
"No." Pete stuck his arm out forcefully to stop him going. He struck Don's chest with a thud, and although neither cared to acknowledge it, left his hand just below Don's breast pocket for a beat too long. "You need to eat, have some coffee. It's a long drive back."
Don locked eyes with him, wondering for a moment what he looked like himself. Tired, he guessed, with dark circles under his eyes and the pallor of a man whom no one cared for. But Pete wasn't looking at him like he looked that way at all – he was looking at him in a way that made Don, somewhere under layers of cigarette tar, feel something. He didn't know what, exactly, but it had been so long since he'd felt anything at all that the simple pinch of something – fear or joy or pain or something – felt like nothing else ever had.
"Two ham sandwiches on rye, with mustard, and two cups of coffee," Don yelled to the ornery waitress. He raised his eyebrows for verification from Pete, and was met with a warm smile.
"And two pieces of cherry pie," Pete added, sliding into the nearest booth.
They ate quickly without saying much, but something in the air between them had changed. There was no more awkwardness, no thick wall holding them apart. At some point during the meal Don thought but couldn't be sure that Pete's foot came to rest against his. It was the slightest touch of sensation, soft enough to be the table leg or nothing at all. But it was there.
The waitress didn't force them out exactly, but she did stare at them from behind the counter with such intent that Don could feel her gaze on the back of his neck. He paid the bill at 9:04 pm, and was sure when Pete held the door for him that he heard the woman mutter something that made him want to turn around and punch her square in the face.
As soon as the door swung shut behind them, the lights clicked out, and by the time they were back in the car, shivering and pulling their coats tight, the waitress was locking the door.
Don put the key in the ignition.
He turned it.
Click.
Click.
Click.
"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, forehead coming to rest on the steering wheel.
"Well, it's cold out," Pete urged. "Try again."
Don tried and tried, but it was no use at all. The car wouldn't start.
"Cooper was right. Lemons," he said. "If we had listened to the old man we wouldn't be here at all."
"I'll call a tow truck, and I suppose I had better call Trudy as well. There's a payphone just there."
"I don't suppose the wicked witch will let us back in to wait."
"Didn't you notice her leave? She and the cook got in a car and went about a minute after we came out. I'm surprised you didn't notice, the way they screamed out like they had just pulled a bank job."
"Just go make the call, Pete."
"Fine."
But although his voice was terse, Pete was glowing inside.
"They said 20 minutes," he announced when he returned. "But only after I told them we were in danger of freezing to death."
"And Trudy?"
"Hm?" Pete was looking out the window, smiling to himself in a way that, although perfectly innocent, unsettled Don. "Oh, she just wants us to be safe."
Don wondered if he had really called Trudy at all.
"What do you say?" he asked Pete as he placed a cigarette in his mouth. "Should I keep it?"
Don offered Pete the pack, but he refused, and then coughed when Don lit up.
"I have to admit, I wouldn't. I'm feeling a little guilty about bringing you on this joyride."
"Really?" Don asked, sarcasm dripping.
"If I'm being honest, I think I was just hoping to get out of the city myself, on the open road. But you know I can't really drive, and it isn't the same on the train."
"I thought you learned how to drive."
"I did, but I wouldn't want to do something like this on my own."
The words "on my own" lingered between them for a moment.
"I can't drive stick, is what I mean to say. Sort of unfortunate for a man my age."
Don tended to agree with that, but didn't have the heart to say so. They sat in silence until the end of Don's cigarette. Not wanting to mar the perfect, returnable ashtray, he cracked the door to toss the butt on the ground. The brief chill of wind pulled him slightly from his haze, and with the slam of the door he turned back to Pete.
"Why are we here, Pete?" he asked, looking him straight in the eye. For the first time all day, Pete looked to have lost his confidence.
"I really am sorry, Don. If they won't take the car back after so long…well, I'll make them take it back. Or I'll go in on it with you, or we could get the company to buy it, for people going on business trips."
"Relax, Pete. They'll take it. It's a piece of garbage; they have to take it. If it worked that would be one thing, but this is another."
"Yes, I suppose you're right."
Another moment of silence, this time broached by Pete.
"You're quite a figure, you know, when you pull your checkbook out like that. I wish I had that kind of bravado."
Don chuckled. He was feeling lightheaded – probably, he reasoned, because he hadn't had a drink in hours. He closed his eyes and put his head back on the seat, tugging his coat close around him, although he wasn't as cold as he knew he should be. The heat under his collar was still there, an unpleasant reminder of something he wanted to push away.
There was a pressure on his arm, through all the layers. One eye peeled open, and glanced down. Pete's gloved hand was there, at the crook of Don's elbow, fingers curling in and creating five scorch marks on Don's skin, even through all the wool.. The other eye opened, and by then Pete was too close to see, really. Don just felt the breath on his face, and the warmth radiating off the other man's skin. He closed his eyes, and waited.
A brief impact, cold chapped lips on his, leaving him empty and new and light, and then headlights roamed across them, and gravel crunched. Pete jerked back, and before Don really had a chance to open his eyes, he had rocketed from the car to greet the tow truck.