Chapter Twelve


Two days later, with the thermometer holding steady at eighty-three degrees in the shade, Joey and Tristan practiced on their own in Tristan's backyard. Living in suburbia only left the Taylors a postage stamp of grass and a single large tree. It was surrounded by a privacy fence, and was cooling now as the afternoon slid away.

With a desire to practice and none of their own music to work with, the two boys spent the first portion of the evening experimenting with the Taylor CD collection. To their surprise, a remarkable amount of music that wasn't 'Latin' at all had a beat that they could work with. It was easier to rumba to music that didn't sound like it would've been more at home in an elevator.

Much less lame, Joey insisted. Because that was the most important thing.

Tristan's older sister Erin caught them an hour ago, and now commandeered a folding beach chair underneath the solitary maple to watch. She held the boys' stereo balanced precariously on her knees. Her swollen belly took up the rest of her lap.

Joey was getting into the lyrics of the song as they worked out, mouthing them without singing. He closed his eyes and arched his back when he and Tristan rolled forward. Bent his knees and dropped his body low as though he were driving every ounce of effort into holding the long notes.

Erin watched him, laughter bubbling from deep within her chest. "So help me, if I go into labor early because of you…"

"Then you gotta name the kid after me!" He clowned, circling his partner, falling easily into the rhythm.

Tristan tried to ignore him. The blond slid over and bumped him hard with his hip.

"—Inch from pounding your ass, pal," Tristan threatened as he recovered from the consequent stumble. Joey straightened; stared at him.

Obviously, neither one had actually considered the double meaning behind that statement until just now.

Erin's presence was suddenly excruciating, whereas a moment ago she had merely been a spectator. Tristan rubbed the back of his neck, scooting in reverse, and opened his mouth to apologize.

"Eh, don't be s'cranky," Joey interrupted his train of thought, and pushed his shoulder before slipping across the lawn to where their very pregnant DJ sat with the stereo.

"You wanna start that one again?" He asked, smiling down at her with artless appreciation. Charmed as always by her brother's companion, Erin grinned and backed the disc up to the beginning of the song. The curve of her stomach was at the right level to touch, and Joey patted the front of her tee shirt, smiling over his shoulder at Erin before he walked back to Tristan.

The brunet boy arched an eyebrow at him, though he was smiling too.

"What?" Joey asked, drawing out the word until it seemed set on springs. "I want her to name the kidlet after me." His grin drew up on one side, teasing.

"She's not gonna name it after you," Tristan countered, "Give the poor kid a complex."

The music started, and they didn't speak for some time after that, intent on trying to match paces. Tristan was actually starting to enjoy himself as the minutes passed, laughing for no reason – maybe a little triumph – when they managed to move in sync.

An hour later, both boys flopped down onto the grass with an utter disregard for the 'chiggers' that Tristan's mother came into the backyard to warn them about. It was dark and getting darker, and the grass was cool and pleasantly damp with dew.

Erin excused herself, insisting that the stereo needed to be taken in before it got wet. Joey sweet-talked her into bringing them both a bottle of Gatorade, which she did.

"I hate Lemon Ice," Joey complained idly, sucking on a bottle of the very same.

"Trade you," Tristan offered his across the grass to where his friend sprawled, "Something berry."

"Berry what?"

"Like I know? Just berry. It's not Lemon Ice, so what d'you care?"

"Ain't you afraid of gettin' my cooties?" The blond boy snickered, and then both of them started to laugh. The sound was nervous. They switched bottles and went back to being quiet.

Fireflies came out, winking on and off in the dark. Tristan rolled his head to the side; felt the heaviness of exhaustion, and watched the sky slowly purple to the west. He was tired, but he felt really good. Hadn't expected to feel this good, given how close Joey was to his elbow, but really…

"Lookit." Joey said unexpectedly.

"Huh?" Tristan turned his eyes towards his friend. The Gatorade bottle balanced in the center of his chest fell off and sloshed into the grass.

"Lookit – up there. Y'see?"

Tristan could only just make out the darker outline of Joey's pointing arm against the indigo sky. He snorted. "I don't see anything."

"Yeah you do," Joey argued, "blinking red lights. Y'gotta see 'em up there."

"Oh." Tristan squinted, turning his eyes up to the sky overhead, and made out a pair of bright red lights flashing on and off in the middle of pinhole stars. "Bet that's a jet."

"Wonder where it's going."

This took Tristan by surprise, not being among the usual kinds of things Joey wondered over. "Come again?"

"Just kinda wonder sometimes why dice boy's still here."

The train of conversation switched tracks without warning and started rolling rapidly downhill. Tristan turned over onto one elbow and stared at his friend in the dark. "You're not making sense," he said.

"Y'mean you don't wonder what's keepin' himoff a jet like that?" The grass hissed softly as Joey shifted. He folded his arms behind his head and lay back again. "He's always long gone when it gets boring around here."

"Whatcha mean, always? He's only been here a coupla years."

The blond turned his head a little toward Tristan; looking at him was easier when he couldn't see the eyes properly in the dark. "Yanno what I mean," he replied, soberly.

After a minute or two of quiet, Tristan agreed that he did know. "It is a little weird that he's still here."

"Try major weird, bud," On the scent of a mostly direct train of thought and not sure what to do with it, Joey restlessly pushed himself up onto his elbows, and then his hands. "That guy don't ever sit still. He's got an electric ass, I swear, and his battery's always runnin' on full power, yanno? He should be outta here. And last year he said he was gonna be outta here."

"Since when does your memory go past lunch?" Tristan retorted automatically, borrowing time to think.

"Shuddup," Joey replied, without venom, and ran his palms through the grass, searching for his bottle of Gatorade. He found it, wet with dew, and wiped both bottle and hands on his shirt before uncapping the nozzle for another drink. "What…" he interrupted himself, wiping his mouth with the back of one wrist, "…what I don't get is this. All this. The dancin' and the hangin' out and agreein' to teach us how t'do the rumba… 'cause I thought he figured we were losers, same as Kaiba does. And maybe Téa talked him into teachin' us for a while, but she sure as hell didn't make him sign on for nothin' like he's doin' now."

Joey left his own thoughts and focused outward, realizing that he was being stared at. It was even sort of uncomfortable in the dark, but he stared right back, rubbing a wet hand against the back of his neck. "All I'm sayin' is it's weird, bud. Quit lookin' at me like that."

"But…you gotta point."

"I do?" Joey leaned back.

"Well, yeah," Tristan said, and rolled his head back to look up at the sky. He didn't move. If he moved, the dew would soak into his shirt and he'd lose his focus. "You're right. There's gotta be another reason for Duke sticking around. 'Cause you and I both know that he doesn't just do things outta the goodness of his heart."

They both laughed, and then fell abruptly quiet, looking at one another in the dark. It didn't seem to matter how much they both wanted to pretend that Monday afternoon hadn't changed anything. Wherever it went, something was different between the two of them.

It was the first time in four days that Tristan used Duke's given name in front of Joey. Four days that made a huge difference. Now, saying it made him awkward…and at the same time, made him want to say it again.

He wanted to tell Joey about Duke. About the car, about the pond…just wanted to talk about it. Not because it was all that important – though his conscience disagreed on certain key points – but just because it'd feel good to talk to someone about the confusing boy with the green eyes and the weird streak down his face.

"Joey…" Tristan started, hesitantly, and cut off when the same feeling pounced on his stomach that got him when he mentioned Duke.

"Yeah…?" Joey asked.

Something in the tone of the single word made Tristan wonder if hearing it felt that way, too. He sat up. A warm feeling filled his stomach, taking the place of the strange nervous flutter. Why was he not telling Joey about this? He could tell his best friend anything.

Present…situation…notwithstanding.

That didn't make any logical sense, keeping some secrets and telling others when they were all related, but…

"Yoohoo. Earth to Tristan. Did I lose ya?" Pause. Joey sounded uncertain, still waiting for the other boy to explain himself. "Tristan?"

"I gotta tell you something…" Tristan blurted, and before he could stop himself, the whole embarrassing story fell out.

Too fast to be edited.

"…And I think he was gonna kiss me."

"Whoa, WHOA, bud. How'd you get from drag-racin' to suckin' face?"

The admission physically rocked Joey backward. He couldn't define one single clear feeling – everything came shooting down the pipe at once and got into a traffic jam halfway.

He just knew it was a shock and a half. Duke? Duke Devlin?

Wait a minute. That explained a lot.

But meanwhile the parameters he'd set based on what he thought Tristan wanted were rapidly turning into bunk.

Joey listened to Tristan unsteadily explain himself a second time, too stunned to speak now. He wasn't deaf. He would have heard it if the other boy was grossed out or pissed off.

Mostly, he just heard scared.

Joey knew what scared sounded like.

Something told him that letting the quiet go for too long was a bad thing. A light in the kitchen of the Taylor house snapped on, edging Tristan's cheek and shoulder in gold.

Joey leaned across the gap between them, trying to fill it with uncertain words. "Buddy, y'know…well…things happen for a reason, like Yugi says. Just…you and Duke, you're friends, and you and me…" he got lost trying to define them, and swallowed hard. "I dunno what's going on. But it's okay, yanno? Whatever."

Why hadn't he said that Tuesday morning? Or hell…Monday night?

'Because you were scared,' his conscience reminded him. Like he needed another reminder. Joey stopped leaning toward Tristan, because the little space between them was almost vibrating and he had the weird thought that if he got any closer the bigger boy was going to break. He cleared his throat, and went on quietly. "So…y'like Duke…huh?"

All he got was a tiny miserable moan. Tristan finished the lean for him, slumping against his shoulder.

Joey swayed under the sudden press of warm weight, but didn't move away.

Didn't really want to.

The tightly-guarded memories from Monday afternoon resurfaced, and tentatively, Joey let his fingertips comb through Tristan's hair.