Chapter 13: XX

When he was twenty, Jim finally started slowing down.

(An object in motion will not change unless acted upon by an outside force.)

The late July sun is beating down at full force, has been for an hour, and even though he started working on the barn a full two hours before sunrise, he's only just finishing up at noon. It was supposed to be a simple patch job to stop a leak, but while he was up on the roof, Jim decided to give the rest of it a look, as well. If he hadn't done that, the four other potential leaks probably would have gone unnoticed until they finally sprung.

It's long, boring work, and though Mrs. McKlusky brought him water quite a few times during the day, Jim finds himself parched as he climbs down to the ground with his tools.

He picks up his shirt when he reaches it, tugging it back on before making his way to where Mr. McKlusky is sitting on the porch swing, their basset hound at his feet and a data PADD in his hands. When Jim reaches him, the older man looks up with a smile, offering him a glass of water from the table next to him as he notes, "Well, that looked like quite some work. Was the hole really that bad?"

Jim smiles easily once he's finished his water and replies, "No, I got the leak fixed up hours ago, but then I noticed a few others just waiting to spring, so I closed them up while I was up there – thought I'd save you the trouble of finding someone else to do it again in a month."

The answering smile tells him he made the right choice, easy and appreciative, with that hint of true gratification that only comes from unexpected kindness. "Well, son, you didn't have to go to all that trouble – how much extra do you want for that?"

Jim nearly flinches at the word, uttered with the genial fondness reserved for those getting on in years, but he restrains himself and waves the offer off, "It was nothing, really, there's no need to give me anything more than you already have."

Fairmont, Nebraska has been good to him, the past week, and he's been feeling that itch that drives him for the past couple of days, so Jim doesn't put up as much of a fight as he maybe should. He's been staying longer than usual, the past few towns, and even though motels are noticeably cheaper in the heartland than in the cities, he hasn't quite managed to save up as much as he's going to need to get him as far as his instincts tell him to go before stopping.

When Mr. McKlusky gets his wife outside and they both start insisting they pay him more, he can't really fight it, just resolves to spend the extra money in the town, doing his part to help the local economy, and all that.

At the bar that night he meets Ret and her partner Aaron. Her brown hair is falling in her face, but he keeps pushing it back for her, and they both keep throwing Jim these looks, and by the time he catches him saying something about an "agreement" Jim has a pretty good idea of how it's going to go.

He uses the extra money to settle their tab, and it's really a refreshing change of pace to go back to someone's apartment instead of his hotel room.

In October, he finds himself in a town at the base of Rendezvous Mountain, passing from Idaho to Wyoming, moving back East again.

Though there's hardly any jobs for him to do around town, he stays for a few days, taking the time to do some snowboarding and skiing because, quite frankly, he can, and it's been far too long since he has. Rather than pay for lift tickets and rentals, Jim works maintenance at the lodge, refurbishing an old lift that hadn't been in use for at least fifteen years, fixing the boiler, and anything else they needed.

Speeding down the slopes is every bit as freeing as racing down roads and highways on his bike, with the added bonus of no cops to stop him for speeding. It is alive as he's felt in a long time, careening down the mountain, avoiding the patrons and seeing how quickly he can get down the slope. Flying over jumps, he can almost forget about all of his ghosts, just for that moment, when he is weightless and above the Earth, where he belongs.

When he pulls into Brookhaven, it's approaching two in the morning, and he's lucky to find a motel with a staffed reception desk. It's cold this far into fall, even in Mississippi, and when Jim gets into his room he collapses on his bed with little bravado. His intent had been to drive all night, but for the last couple of miles it was all he could to keep his eyes open, let alone drive straight enough to avoid the attention of the 'cops.

He wakes before sunrise with a start, covered in a cold sweat from head to toe and gasping. The nightmares haven't been this bad in years, but he also hasn't given them the chance in years. Usually he's too drunk or beat up or post-coital for his brain to actually start Remembering Things, like it did tonight. He gets up and moves to the bathroom to splash water over his face, gulping down a glass while he's at it, trying to remove the taste of rotting food that he can't quite forget.

He has to stare at himself in the mirror for a couple of minutes to remind himself that it's been years since he was that emaciated, that the only marks on his body right now are scars, faded from angry red to silvery white way back when his weight started to fall within the 'normal' range again.

"Hey! Stop staring at my girl's tits!"

Jim takes his eyes from the – admittedly stunning – blonde in front of him to see the bristling man storming over. He's not so bad, himself, but Jim knows it's not going to be that kind of night tonight.

"Look, I was just reading her shirt, okay? I happen to be a fan of Blackmayne, I've got all of their chips at home, and was just about to inquire about any further listening she recommends. I haven't been able to find anyone who can match their sound for years."

Mr. Insecure and Overbearing doesn't seem to appreciate Jim's running commentary, winding his arm back for a punch before the blond with great taste in music slaps him. "We've been over this, Ty, I'm not your 'girl.' You can't own a person, and if you're going to react like this every time we go out, you need to grow the fuck up."

Jim watches her leave, head held high, and lets out a low whistle. He can't tell if he's relieved or not that he didn't make a pass at her – the ones with fire are always great in bed, but there's less of a chance they'll actually go for it.

As Ty gives him one last glare and sulks away, Jim sees the woman turn back and approach. She gives Jim a tense smile as she does so, and offers before leaving, "If you really are a fan of Blackmayne, you should look up Ackbar's stuff. Pick a song, any song, you can't go wrong."

When Jim gets to a console the next morning and looks up the band, he isn't surprised to find she was right. Ackbar is new, but the band has potential, and is great for blasting while he drives.

The house really hasn't changed much over the years, except for all the ways it has.

When he turns down the driveway, Jim can see the fence he painted last time he was home, chipping again already. Back behind the house, the barn door sits weirdly on its hinges, and the chicken coop wire is mangled and out of shape. The shutters, once the blue of the sea, have worn away back to the faded red of years past, and the 'car in the driveway is a new model, released in the last year, replacing the near fifteen-year-old one that had, admittedly, been on its last legs.

There's always something, each time he stops by, and though he can remember exactly how everything was when he left the first time, Jim can't actually recall each specific change that befell the house inside and out over the years. The changes pile up, though, enough that he always feels somehow off when he stops home, like he doesn't quite fit in his spot, like everything is moving on without him in that most unsettling way, even when he reminds himself that he left for a reason.

The snow on the ground is on its way out, but within the week there'll be more to take its place. Winter won't officially start for another week yet, but if there's one constant Jim can count on, it's the weather in Riverside.

The door opens easily under his hand, and he calls out as he enters, taking in the familiar pictures on the walls, the new knickknacks on the side table. "Mom? Are you home?"

There's a muffled clanking from the back of the house, and he makes his way through the living room and down the hall to the kitchen, the source of the commotion. When he turns into the room he sees Winona, moving a smoking pan into the sink with muttered and creative curses.

Jim huffs out a soft laugh at the familiar sight and she turns, smiling when she sees him. "Jim! I wasn't expecting you for at least another hour! I was going to use that time to remove all evidence of this mishap…" She crosses the room and pulls him into a hug, squeezing harder as punishment when he starts laughing in earnest at the state of the kitchen. "I was cleaning upstairs and didn't hear the timer. I guess we're stuck with the Replicator, tonight."

This time, Jim restrains himself to a smile as he says, "Honestly, I'm not sure what I'd do if that ever changed, really."

A few days later, the vertigo starts.

I'm planning on making a mix for this story, at some point, and there'll be a link on my profile when that happens - keep an eye out! (If you've got any song suggestions, let me know!) [There was supposed to be more to this, but I figured I'd made you wait long enough...]