I spent entirely too much time laying in the pillow pile, after he left.

I was too agitated to sleep, so I stopped trying. Instead, my eyes drifted over to the collage. I'd caught Apex looking over it some mornings, when we'd woken up around the same time. It seemed a morning ritual of his.

Amidst a scrapbook's worth of ticket stubs, fan letters and other mementos, there were two dozen pictures. Some of them I recognized, printed-out versions of photos I had saved myself, once upon a time. Big-name celebrities. Shaking hands with Jon Stewart, flexing with Terry Crews, pretend-pouncing on Steve Irwin. Some were people I didn't know, smiling, sometimes dwarfed in his embrace, sometimes perched on his back or hanging from his arms. He was so small, once. Almost human.

Others were more candid, clearly polaroids or cellphone selfies. Half of them were out of focus, partially obscured by an errant claw, or both. Apex and Burnout, Apex half on fire, the photo badly washed out from the bright green flames. Apex and Duct Tape, taken from her point of view, perched up on his shoulders so she could fix a broken stage light, her tongue out, throwing up devil horns with her free hand. Apex and Happy Pill, her smiling beatifically while Apex writhed on his back behind her, tongue lolling out, legs and arms half sticking up in the air, fur a technicolor rainbow, clearly high off his tits. Apex and Pizza watching a movie at a drive-in, their silhouettes lit up from the silvery glow of the projector. It was some action movie, judging from the man in the black domino mask and bandanna onscreen, wielding a rapier.

Apex and me, my cheeks flushed, hair wild, body pressed to the ground, everything below my bare shoulders covered by him, silently snoring. The edges of cop cars were clearly visible in the background, red and blue lights coloring his fur.

Damnit.

I didn't actually have anywhere to go. I technically had a bunk with the other crew, but I wasn't about to face them, ignore their questions about why I wasn't staying with him in his trailer. It bothered me to think I hadn't even considered a backup plan, but shit, why would I have needed one?

That fucking bastard. That beautiful, arrogant, gorgeous, selfish bastard.

It was late at night when we stopped to set up camp. Most of the crew passed out quickly, and I wasn't in the mood to join any of the poker games or drinking sessions of the ones who didn't, even if I could have faced them without exploding. I considered finding Duct Tape, but the thought of her indifference—or worse, her pity—drove that thought out of my mind. Plus I had the weird feeling she didn't like me very much.

When I finally grew too restless to stay in the trailer, I discovered it was cold. Snow drifted down, not heavy enough to stick, but enough to make the sweater I'd dug out from beneath the pillows and cushions chilly and damp. I eyed the warmth and light of the crew trailer jealously, but resisted, instead huddling beneath the overhang of one of the other campers. Might have been the one with the impromptu jail cell I'd stayed in my first night with… with the band. Birds cawed miserably overhead, perched on the roof of the camper, just as unhappy as I was.

Pushing my hands deeper into the pockets of my insufficient sweater, my hands found a crumpled pack of cigarettes, courtesy of Jack or James or one of the other smokers in the crew. Maybe it was their sweater. Clothes kind of got around in the tour, like we were one giant, smelly Brady Bunch.

I fished out a slightly dimpled cigarette and a lighter from the pack, lit up. Nasty habit, but I was in a nasty mood. Took a few slow drags, watching the smoke curl up, get whipped apart by the wind, mingling with dancing snowflakes.

A puddle of light suddenly spilled out from a door on the trailer I was leaning against, and, absurdly, I found myself chucking the cigarette into the gutter like I was still back home, hiding my sins from my dad. One of the black-feathered birds swooped down to grab it and disappeared into the dark sky, little ember fading into the distance. I looked back at the face that peered out from the door, saw a bald head silhouetted against the yellow glow.

We looked at each other for a while before his quiet, faintly accented voice called out, "You look cold."

I scowled at him. My mascara had run in streaks down my face, I was wearing torn leggings and a sweater three sizes too big in the midst of a blizzard, and I was visibly shivering. "Yeah, a bit," I said, trying to keep from snarling the words.

He nodded at me slowly, like I'd just revealed some great wisdom. "Would you like to come inside?"

Well, at least he didn't ask why I wasn't in the trailer, covered under a pile of warm blankets. His blankets.

I grumbled a little, but when he wheeled backwards, accompanied by a small electric whine, I climbed onto the short ladder beside the little elevator thing. Warmth wrapped around me like a down comforter, and I shuddered reflexively. I couldn't close the door fast enough.

The trailer was a little more spacious than the others—not the prison trailer after all—and while it wasn't a clear open space like… like where I'd been staying, it still had a lot of open areas and wide, well-cleared paths. A bunch of sound gear lined one wall, mixers and monitors and several miles of cables, while the opposite wall held shelves and a giant tower PC, two flatscreens laid out side by side; one vertical, one horizontal. A bed, lined with hefty metal rails, filled the back wall of the trailer, and behind me was a small kitchenette and an expanded bathroom with its own seated shower. Swank.

The host puttered over to the kitchenette, its lowered countertop putting the little electric kettle within easy reach of his stubby arms. He heated up some water, letting me look around and enjoy being out of the cold. Ginger Chainsaw, all patched up after helping with the Ninnies, was nestled in a tangled web of cables beside the computer, sleeping peacefully.

"You're…" I racked my brain, trying to remember his name. "Pizza, right?"

He nodded absently, eyes on the kettle. "Pizza the Hutt."

I wrinkled my nose at him. "What?"

Turning my way, he grinned faintly. "It is a bit of a joke. It helps him remember me. And it is better than what I used to be called." He was bundled up in the fluffiest blue Snuggie I'd ever seen, the shapes beneath it rotund, ending just above where his knees would be if… if he had legs. I hadn't really paid him much attention before. He wasn't really my preferred kind of… nontraditional body type. Idly I wondered if… I mean, he had the mass, but it was hard to pull muscle out of fat, and bones from nothing was even harder. Probably not within my power. I hoped he wouldn't ask. Just like I wouldn't ask what could be a worse nickname than Pizza the Hutt.

He offered the bed to sit on, since he had his own chair. Nowhere else to sit, really, and it was quite soft. Alien, after the lumpy cushions and dog beds I'd grown accustomed to. He made us both tea, and I sipped it, bitter and unfamiliar. I wasn't much of a tea drinker, but it helped soothe some of the roiling feelings still churning inside me.

"He left again," Pizza said without prompting, after a few quiet minutes.

I grimaced. "Yeah." Then I glanced sideways at him, suspicious. "How did you know?"

He gestured with stubby fingers at the computer monitors. One of them showed a map, lines on a dark background, subtle in night mode. "He has us track his phone. He gets lost sometimes."

I snorted humorlessly. The big idiot. Then scowled again. "Again? He does this a lot?"

Pizza nodded, jowls wobbling a bit. "It's been happening with more frequency the last few years." He sipped his tea. "He usually returns after a few hours. Like a cat." Grinning, he added, "Complete with little gifts."

I couldn't help but snort again at the mental image of the bastard proudly dropping a dead bird on the steps of the trailer, spiked tail wagging. "What kind of gifts?"

"Strays, sometimes." It took me a second, and he was lucky he didn't make any kind of gesture at me when he said that, or I might have been offended. "Other times, buried treasures. Time capsules. Messages."

Well that was just mysterious as fuck. "What kind of messages?"

He waved a hand, dismissive. "It is not my story to tell."

Fine, keep your damn secrets. I didn't care anyway.

Conversation was light, but between the warmth, the softness of the bed, the exhaustion from the fight, and the tea, I didn't put up too much protest when he suggested I nap on his bed. He was mostly nocturnal, he insisted, and had work to do. I didn't argue, and slipped into a light coma, snuggled amidst fluffy clouds.

"I need to go to New York," declared the thunder, and wind howled at the sound of his voice.

I snapped my eyes open to see the trailer dark, the only light coming from the dim computer screens reflected on the side of Pizza's face and… and Apex, lit from above by a small ceiling light, draped in shadow, his front half just inside the trailer's entrance. The storm had picked up outside, and little flurries of snow drifted in around him, whirling past his spine crystals, his fur waving animatedly.

My breath caught in my throat when I laid eyes on him. He was back. He was here. He… wasn't even looking at me, bundled up in Pizza's bed. His eyes were laser-focused on the other man, who simply nodded, then checked the computer screen.

"There is a week before the next performance. A few hours outside Rochester, in fact. Will you go on ahead?" Wait, what? He was leaving again? Just like that?

Apex nodded. Then he reached into the pouch he sometimes wore, usually just for his phone and some chapstick he only carried for my sake, and pulled out something small, wrapped in yellowed, stained paper. Without leaving his position by the door, he held it out in one of his larger hands, passing it to Pizza, who carefully unwrapped it. There was something small in his hand, which he plugged into the computer.

Glancing at me, he shifted one of the monitors so I couldn't see what was on it. Rude.

The two were silent for a moment, and I tried to say something, anything. Pick up the fight where we left off, yell at him, call him a bastard, tell him I was sorry, yell at him to come closer so I could kiss him or tear a whole horn off… but I couldn't decide what to do, all of those things spinning around in my head, and so I just watched him. Saw the snow melting off of his fur dripping onto the faux hardwood flooring, ignored. Watched as he never so much as turned his head my way; also ignored.

A thought struck me. Did he… did he even remember we had fought? Had I already become so inconsequential to him that whatever the fuck this mystery prize was had claimed all of his attention off of me?

The thought made me sick and furious in equal measure. Enough to get my ass off of the disturbingly comfortable bed and my bare feet onto the cool floor of the trailer. "What the hell is in New York?" I asked, the first words that bubbled up from the churning emotions in my gut. The tip of his horn dug into the middle of my chest, where it had shifted as I'd slept.

Pizza glanced at me, then up at Apex, but then turned back to the screen, eyes flickering over text I couldn't see. Apex, though… he turned the purple-red pits of his eyes my way, as if seeing me for the first time, head slightly tilted as though he couldn't understand what I'd said. Like I was speaking another language.

I tried to stand tall under his intense gaze. I was not something to be forgotten or discarded. I would make my goddamn mark and he'd never fucking forget me.

Then I jumped as something thumped the side of the trailer beside me, from the outside. His tail?

"Lipstick." That stupid fucking name, but coming from his lips…

"Whatever it is, I'm coming with you." The words slipped out, but I wasn't about to deny them now. And if he fucking tried to leave me behind this time…

He glanced at Pizza. Pizza glanced at me, then back up at Apex. In his soft voice, carefully neutral, Pizza said, "I will have Duct Tape coordinate transport, call in some favors. There should be enough time before you are needed with the band. The rest of the crew has their jobs, we are running a bit lean, and…" He smiled softly, looking back to the computer screen, the faint silhouette of the screens highlighting the edges of his face. "And it is your story, my friend."

Apex stared at me.

I glowered back, barefoot, ankle bracelet an awkward lump on my leg, mohawks tilted from the bed, sleep still in my eyes, fists clenched.

"It may be dangerous," he rumbled, a pleased sound in the back of his throat. Before I could argue with him, he added, "Get ready. We leave soon."

And then he was gone, somehow squeezing into, turning around in, and slipping out of the trailer entrance in one smooth movement, the last I saw of him the spiked tail slapping the door shut with a thwack.

Pizza let out a little sigh. I wasn't sure if it was relief, disappointment, or something else.

I unclenched my fists, sagged backwards with a sigh until I fell, once again sitting on the bed. Looked at Pizza, who looked back at me, expectant. I thought about what Apex said, what I may have just signed up for… and made one demand.

"I need a pet store."