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Chapter Two: Billy and the Kid

He blinked in disbelief at the man on the bed. "What?"

"I—" the man looked up at him with a lost look. "I don't know who I am."

"What? How do you not know who you are?" he demanded. This was just getting better and better wasn't it? Not only was some weirdo lying half-naked in his bed, but the guy didn't even know his own name. The guy really was a freaking weirdo.

The man shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. I just woke up and. . . nothing. How about you?"

"What? I don't know who you are," he replied.

"But you know who you are?"

He shot the man a look that clearly asked 'what kind of stupid question is that?' Out loud he replied, "Of course I do!" From the bed the man gave him a questioning look, waiting for him to continue. "I'm. . . uh."

What the Hell.

Who was he again?

He blinked. "I, uh—" He fumbled in his pockets and pulled a wallet from the back of his jeans. He pulled out a few cards until he found the one he was looking for. Pulling out the driver's license he stared at the picture a long moment.

The image, a picture that was presumably him, meant nothing to him. The short dark hair, the facial features, none of it seemed familiar at all. He looked over at the name. Billy Greer. Somehow, that meant nothing to him either.

However the kid, well he was practically a kid anyway – couldn't be more than about twenty-three – was still looking at him expectantly so with a half a shrug he said, "I'm Billy Greer." Apparently.

"But you don't remember?"

This was really starting to freak him out. What in hell had they been drinking last night?

"No," he finally admitted dropping his wallet on the nearby dresser and wondering exactly what they should do next.

"Maybe we had some kind of accident?" Kid suggested, then added, "My head really hurts."

"Mine did too, it went away though," he said with a shrug. And how would they have really ended up half-dressed in a motel room if they'd been in an accident? He pointed to the bathroom. "Go get dressed, then we'll figure this out."

Nodding, and still clutching his sheet, the young man grabbed his clothes from the floor and practically sprinted for the bathroom, the door swinging shut behind him.

Slipping his own shirt on, he took stock of his belongings. He was wearing a t-shirt and a oldish pair of jeans. Across the room was a small duffle bag, which probably held someone's clothing. Whose, he did not know.

In another corner of the room a leather jacket was drapped over a chair. He walked over and picked it up. Judging from the size he decided it would not fit tall-naked-guy. Therefore it had to be his. He slipped the jacket on and sank down into the chair.

A weight in the pocket caused him to investigate, revealing a pair of keys. Car keys. Well at least he knew they had some way to get. . . well, somewhere.

A moment later, a now dressed Kid walked into the room. He looked about almost timidly. He started to say something then stopped.

"What?"

"It's just. . . I can't find my wallet," he admitted.

Billy sighed. "Well I don't know where you put it," he replied.

"Right. 'Course not," the kid muttered sinking back down on the bed. "Uh, Billy?"

"What?"

The kid swallowed nervously. "Why d'you think we were, uh. . . you know," he finished rather lamely.

"Were what?" Billy prompted.

Blushing, Kid looked away. "Not wearing much," he muttered.

Jumping up, Billy moved away. "I have no idea who you are, or why you're in my motel room, but I can guarantee you it wasn't for that,"he snapped.

"Your room?" Kid asked not making any reply to the other half of Billy's statement. "How do you know it's not my room?"

"'Cause it ain't, Fruitcake."

"Hey! I'm not a fruitcake!" he argued back.

"No? I'm not the one who seems to think we're gay!"

"I never said. . . I just mean. . . why else would we wake up half dressed in a room with only one bed?"

"I don't know, but I can tell you that it isn't that."

"How? You don't remember your own name."

While Fruitcake may have had a point, it was clearly not one Billy was going to consider. Ever. But the comment did bring up another very important issue. Neither of them knew who they were, and they really probably ought to do something about that.

Like find out where exactly they had gotten one hundred proof moonshine and shoot the guy who had sold it to them.

"Um, Billy?" Fruitcake was talking again, so he looked up to where the kid was now going through his wallet.

What the hell was the kid doing in his wallet?

"What are you doing?" he snapped.

"I just thought maybe there was something of mine here. But, uh, I'm not so sure your name is Billy—"

"What do you mean?" he asked striding across the room to retrieve his wallet.

"Well, your, uh, credit card kinda says Tom Scholz," he explained meekly handing back 'Billy's' wallet.

"Well uh. . . huh," He muttered looking at the two contradictory names. "Weird."

"Weird? That's it?"

Shrugging, he looked back at Fruitcake. "I'm sure there's a reason."

They both fell silent for a while. After a while Fruitcake looked at him again, "You think we should go to a hospital?"

"What for? Does your head still hurt?"

"No not really. I kinda meant for the whole mass memory loss, amnesia thing. . ."

"Oh. Right."

"I mean it's not normal right?" Fruitcake questioned worriedly.

"No," Billy/Tom replied, "Certainly not normal. But I really don't know how much help doctors would be. I mean physcially we're not hurt so it's not like a brain injury or something."

"Well, what do you suggest? Just sit around here wondering why we woke up half-dressed in some motel?"

"Right. Lets go, then," he announced standing up and pulling out the set of car keys he found.

Fruitcake followed him to the door but paused once they got outside. The motel rooms opened onto a cement walkway which shortly later became a parking lot. A full parking lot.

"How do we know which one is ours?" Fruitcake asked.

Examining the key closely he announced, "We're looking for a Chevy."

Fruitcake scanned the lot and pointed at a dark green new model car, "There's one over there."

But Billy/Tom was not listening. He had noticed another Chevy parked only a stall down from their room. "Not that one, Fruitcake," he muttered moving towards the shiny black vehicle.

Fruitcake turned to see where he was looking. Following him to the car Fruitcake looked at it skeptically. "This one?"

Sliding the key into the lock of the gorgeous '67 impala, Billy/Tom grinned widely as the lock clicked open. "Oh yeah."

"It seems kinda. . . old."

Whirling to face Fruitcake, he gaped openly at the younger man. Did he not see the beauty that was right in front of him? "Old?" he spluttered.

"Uh. . . No, I guess not."

Narrowing his eyes, he glared at Fruitcake. The man fidgeted a bit under his gaze. "Maybe I just won't let you ride in my old car."

Fruitcake seemed about to apologize but changed his mind at the last second. "How do you know it's not my car?" he asked.

"Oh, trust me, Fruitcake. This baby does not belong to you. Besides the keys where in my pocket," he added smugly. "Now get in before I change my mind."

Obediently Fruitcake slid into the passenger seat as Billy/Tom made his way around to the driver's side, admiring every inch of his car as he went.

Finally he sat down in the driver's seat. He was taking in the feel of the steering wheel in his hands, when Fruitcake's voice intruded into his moment.

"Hey look at this! We're feds!" Fruitcake announced excitedly.

Billy/Tom turned to see what had his passenger so worked up. The kid had opened the glove compartment and found a small box. On the top of which two federal ID tags lay, bearing their pictures.

"Maybe we were undercover or something, that's why you have fake ID's." Fruitcake rattled on while Billy/Tom took the box from his hands.

Pushing the top ID's away revealed more laminated tags. Different agencies, different names, but all the same two faces. His and Fruitcake's.

"Uh, Fruitcake?" He called, interrupting the kid's excited rant. "I don't think we're feds. In fact, I'd hazard a guess and say we're about as far from it as one can get."

Fruitcake looked confused so he tilted the box to let the other man see the multitude of forged badges. He blinked, still confused, "But why would we have—?" he asked, his mind clearly not caught up with the newest theory yet. Finally, his eyes widened, rather comically. "We're – we're crooks?"

"It would seem so," Billy/Tom replied, removing the key from the engine. "C'mon."

"But the hospital?"

"Not happening," he told the kid curtly. "Not so long as we don't know who's out there, waiting for us."

They sat in silence for a while. "I don't feel like a criminal," Fruitcake finally muttered quietly.

"You don't look like one either," Billy/Tom commented. He was really going to have to find a better name for himself. Fruitcake suited the kid just fine, for now. He'd even stopped complaining about it.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, Fruitcake."

The kid sighed. "Would you stop calling me that?" Okay, scratch that part about not complaining. Not like he could do anything about it. Fruitcake may be tall, but he was scrawny. Billy, or Tom, or whoever he was, felt certain he could take the kid if he had to. Not that he would have to, right?

"Maybe we should ask around," Fruitcake was saying uncertainly, craning his neck to see around the parking lot. There was no one else there. "Maybe someone knows us, or knows what happened to us, at least."

"If we've been using fake credit cards and IDs, I doubt anyone around here knows who we really are." And that kind of sucked, when he thought about it.

Fruitcake threw his arms up in a helpless gesture. "Well, what should we do then? We have to figure out who we are soon, especially if we're. . . if we're bad guys. . ." He didn't look too happy at the thought.

"Yeah, later," Billy/Tom agreed. "I'm starving, man."

Fruitcake did a double take and stared at him as he returned the key to the ignition. Oh, how that car purred. He could see himself driving it, even if the memory completely eluded him.

"You're hungry?" Fruitcake's disbelieving voice broke through his thoughts rather rudely. "At a time like this? Don't you think we have slightly more important things to worry about?"

He was quickly becoming very annoying. Billy, or Tom, wondered how he had ever put up with the kid before. Assuming, of course, that he actually knew the kid.

"You better shut your cakehole, Fruitcake. I'm letting you ride in my car, and I say we get food."

Fruitcake slouched in his seat, looking decidedly uncomfortable for his height. As the car weaved out of the parking lot, he heard the kid muttering. "It could be my car. . ."

A/N: Hopefully this chapter was less confusing than the last one. Let us know what you think!