"Take care, philosophers and friends, of knowledge, and beware of martyrdom! Of suffering 'for the truth's sake'! Even of defending yourselves! it spoils all the innocence and fine neutrality of your conscience; makes you headstrong against objections and red rags; it stupefies, animalizes, and brutalizes when in the struggle with danger, slander, suspicion, expulsion, and even worse consequences of hostility, you have to pose as protectors of truth upon earth - as though 'the truth' were such an innocuous and incompetent creature as to require protectors! . . .Rather, go away. Flee into concealment. And have your masks and subtlety, that you are mistaken for what you are not, or feared a little. . . .The martyrdom of the philosopher, his 'sacrifice for the sake of truth,' forces into the light whatever of the agitator and actor lurks in him; and if one has so far contemplated him only with artistic curiosity, with regard to many a philosopher it is easy to understand the dangerous desire to see him also in his degeneration (degenerated into a 'martyr,' into a stage- and platform-ranter)."
--Neitzsche "Beyond Good and Evil" Part Two, The Free Spirit
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"Philosophers of Maybe"
a murder by numbers fanfic By: SchizoAuthoress

Warning: slight OOC-ness, I think. . .and cursing. Definitely cursing, as I'm focusing on Richard this chapter. ;)

"Philosophers of Maybe"

Richard was only half-listening to Lawrence's tirade about how "ashamed" he was of Richard's behavior with "that queer" and so on. Richard wasn't worried at all. His father hadn't touched him, in affection or anger, since the first grade.

" . . .do I make myself clear? You're not to see this Jason--"

"Justin," Richard corrected automatically.

"Whatever!" Lawrence snapped furiously. "You're not going to go anywhere *near* that little faggot. I'll disown you. . .don't think I won't."

"All right," Richard said in his supposedly 'deferential to Daddy' tone. Lawrence *always* bought it, and this time was no different, "May I go now?"

"You're staying in the house."

Richard shrugged. "Okay, whatever you say, Dad," he deadpanned. It was a habitual response that didn't mean anything.
****
Richard walked up to his room, quietly shut the door, and locked it. Then he went to his closet and dragged out a large black suitcase.

-If that bastard thinks he can control *me* anymore, he's got another thought coming,- Richard told himself. -I'm outta here. For good.-

He found, to his surprise, that he could not exactly hate Lawrence Miles Haywood for the way the man felt. It was just the way things were, like he and Justin 'just were'. The methodical procedure of packing had a very calming effect on his thought processes. In fact, the events of the day were probably the closest that Richard had ever come to having an actual plan.

His clothes and shoes were in the black suitcase. His camera equipment, which he had brought to his room after Justin found out about his voyeurism, was in its own case. He was definitely bringing that--and the videodiscs--along, even if Justin would throw them in a trash compactor, as the blond had threatened once.

A smile flickered momentarily over his features at the thought of Justin driving his car into a city dump and chucking handfuls of computer discs into a trash compactor along with a junked '54 convertible. Not likely to happen, but amusing nonetheless.

His cell phone was charging on the desk, next to his computer. He disconnected the adapter and punched in Justin's home number.

Four rings and a woman's voice came on the line. "Hello. You've reached the Pendleton residence. We are unavailable to take your call. Press one to leave a voice-mail message for Katherine. Press two to leave a message for Justin."

"Dammit," Richard hissed. He pressed 2. A different message than the one he was used to played.

"Richard, you know I never check my voice-mail unless under strong coercion. Just send me an e-mail, or call back sometime later, okay?" A slight pause, then, "Talk to you then, I love you."

"Strong coercion, huh?" Richard said loudly, after the beep. "How's this for strong coercion, Justin? If you don't pick up the phone right now-- because I know you're at home--I'll leave an obscene message to you on your mom's---"

"Hello?" Justin sounded slightly breathless over the phone.

"I knew that would do it," Richard gloated.

Justin sighed. "What do you want, Richard?"

"Truthfully, I'd like to be fucking you senseless right about now, if that's what you mean." Richard murmured huskily.

"Not *that,*" Justin said irritably, "Why are you calling me?"

"Think you can come by late tonight and pick me up? I wanna get out of here."

A short, thoughtful silence interposed itself between them, after which Justin asked, "Out of your house, or out of town?"

"You pick up quick, babe." Richard said, purring the last word in a way guaranteed to provoke his emotionally taciturn boyfriend.

"Don't call me that. Answer the question." Justin said shortly.

Richard responded with similar brevity, "Out of town, yeah."

"You planned this, didn't you?"

"Not exactly. It just happened."

Justin let this pass without his usual comment about how things didn't 'just happen.' Instead, he instructed quietly, "Be by the street on the side of your house at one. I'll be there."

"'Kay," Richard agreed, and that should have ended the conversation. But he whispered softly, "Love you, Justin."

"Love you. See you in about five hours. . ." A smile tinged Justin's voice as he finished, "babe."
****
At one-fifteen in the morning, idling at a red light, Richard asked, "So, where do you want to go?"

"This is your brilliant plan, Richard." Justin replied noncommittally.

Richard leaned over, kissing Justin's cheek. "I told you, it's not really a plan. And, if you're not going to give me any input, I order you to drive over to the Nile nightclub." He nibbled at Justin's earlobe and rasped, "We'll stay there until *we* make up our minds."

"The light's green." Justin said in a slightly strained voice.

Richard smiled and began trailing damp kisses down the side of Justin's neck. "So go."

"I can't drive with you. . .hanging on me. . .like this." Justin mumbled.

"It's not that difficult," Richard slid one hand up the inside of Justin's thigh, "just keep the car straight between the lines."

"You horny son-of-a-bitch. . ." Justin groaned, pulling away from the intersection.
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to be continued. . .

Oh yeah! Hate me, baby! I'm evil! Review chicas, please do!