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“Do you actually want to look at the stars,” says Larry, “or was it a pretense to get away from the rest of everything?” “Just didn’t want to be found for a while,” says Ian. He’s sitting cross-legged with his sketchbook in his lap. He sits back and looks up at the stars, studying the vastness of the cosmos, with very little appreciation for the nuances of the sights above. He’d brought his drawing kit in the hopes of accomplishing something out here, but if you’ve seen one star, you’ve seen ‘em all. He decides not to say that. He feels Larry wouldn’t appreciate it, and Larry’s his only good company right now. Again. “Well, thank you for gracing me with your presence,” says Larry, a tad self-conscious in the silence. He runs a hand through his hair, feeling his fingers tangle in it. Out here on his self-imposed hiatus, it’s grown longer than he usually lets it. He sees an odd look flash across Ian’s face, reacting to his comment a second late, and immediately regrets it. “I didn’t mean that sarcastically, by the way. It seems to have landed a bit amiss.” “It’s not you. It’s me,” says Ian, with a rueful smile. “‘Gracing you with my presence’? Why would you say that? Nobody’s gonna touch me with a ten-foot pole right now. Not after what I did.” “You think you did something wrong in…” Larry gestures vaguely, summarizing what Ian had told him. It’s a sordid and exciting tale, the stuff of serial television. And yet, it’s just another day in the life of Larry’s friends and acquaintances. “...In all of that?” “Absolutely not,” says Ian. “But the others do, and it changes how they treat me.” “If nothing else, I’m highly immune to peer pressure. You needn’t worry.” Larry nods respectfully. “Would you have done anything differently in hindsight?” “Only thing I’d change is electrocuting the bitch that framed me with a higher fucking voltage,” says Ian, alarmingly calmly.“Perhaps a few broken Christmas ornaments on the floor, too,” says Larry, with an awkward little laugh. “...Home Alone?” He looks sidelong at Ian. “Have you seen that masterpiece of modern cinema?” “Not by choice,” says Ian. “Caught it on TV once. Nice to see a kid like that be a main character for once.” “Oh, tell me about it,” says Larry, and declines to elaborate. Ian doesn’t pry. Instead he looks around, studying Larry’s deeply mediocre, obviously untrained camping setup. “I’m guessing you picked math camp over Boy Scouts?” “Perhaps,” says Larry. “Nothing a little remedial outdoors education can’t help.” Ian gets up, boots crunching on the surface, and starts rearranging and improving Larry’s weak attempt at outdoorsmanship. After several minutes of this, he’s satisfied with his handicraft. He gets up, resting his hands on his hips, and looks over at Larry. Larry’s paging through his sketchbook. “Give me that!” Ian lunges for it like a panther, snatching it from his hands, and stuffs it into the inner pocket of his coat, eyes burning like coals. He takes a deep breath, consciously steadying himself, quelling the anger seething and surging. After several more deep breaths, he’s fine. He’s just fine.Larry stares up at him, wide-eyed. “I apologize! Sincerely, I had no idea. You left it open--” “On a blank page,” says Ian. He shakes his head, dismayed at himself and his carelessness more than Larry’s slight social misstep. He sits down, shoving his hands in his pants pockets and squeezing them in fists as his frustration slowly subsides. He stares off at the horizon. “I’m sorry. I’m still on edge.” “Pun not intended, I assume.” Ian looks at Larry. Larry glances aside. “Sorry.” “Nah, just not the first time I’ve heard jokes about it.” “Am I allowed to make more?” “Watch it, Flintstone.” Larry opens his mouth, then closes it again. “I’m glad Don trusted me in all that shit,” says Ian, after a length of silence that’s become borderline unbearable. “Not sure what I’d have done if I had to play out that whole scenario to the end.” “You would’ve done whatever you needed to do,” says Larry, shrugging. “As is your way.” “That is my way,” says Ian, feeling a much-needed hint of validation. “Why did they all forget about that so goddamn fast?” “Ah,” says Larry, unsure what angle to approach this from. “For the… er, less normal among us… everyone else is quick to find reasons to assume the worst.” He tilts his head to the side, thoughtfully studying Ian’s unique face in profile. “And for some of us, it’s easier to hide than others. Many of us retreat into academia. Others, into the mountains.” “Or the desert,” says Ian, gesturing around them. “Better hope you still have your CalSci tenure. You’re not gonna win Survivor anytime soon.” “My status at the university is not in dispute. At least, that I’m aware of.” A sudden look of horror flashes across Larry’s face. “They wouldn’t do that to me, would they? If they were going to do that, would they even warn me?” “Calm down, Fleinhardt,” says Ian. “You’re not replaceable over there.” “Well, that’s rather affirming,” says Larry. “Though I have questions about how easily they found substitutes for my courses this semester.” “If it’s anything like regular substitute teachers, they’ll have them watching movies all semester.” “Getting less than their tuition’s worth,” says Larry, a touch forlornly. But a second later, he laughs. “You’re impressively smooth at the subject changes, you know?” “I know,” says Ian. “Were you trying to ask what’s wrong with me?” “Not quite,” says Larry, nervously. “Just voicing my observations. Sympathetically.” “Good. Cause you don’t want to know.” “I don’t?” “No one does.” Ian runs his hand over the gun strapped to his leg beneath his loose jeans. He wanted to leave it at home, to symbolically represent freeing himself from his responsibilities. Couldn’t do it. “People like to guess, though. Right to my face.” “I think I’d better not speculate,” says Larry. “Wise choice,” says Ian. Larry looks at him sidelong. “Someone accused you of… whatever it is?” “Yeah,” says Ian, incredibly curtly. “I hadn’t even done anything that bad.” “What prompted it?” Larry’s curiosity runs ahead of him. “Was it your innovative feat of electrical engineering?” “Ah, shuttup,” says Ian, saying it as one word with a little playfulness in his tone, just to be sure Larry will know he’s not really ending the conversation. Larry takes the comment as it’s intended, and laughs a little. Ian likes that. It’s nice to be able to make someone laugh. It’s been a while since that happened. It’s part of why he kept going out with Nikki, beyond keeping up appearances. Sometimes it’s fun to spend time with people. Even someone like Ian can admit and accept that, maybe even embrace it. Not that way, of course -- a Dodgers game is the least romantic thing he could think of -- but it’s a good time. Almost makes him wish the concept of dates wasn’t so damn tangled up in romantic ideas. Why does it have to be a couple thing if two people go out to spend time together? Even if it’s something sappy, like sitting out at night and staring at the stars. Larry’s utterly oblivious to the expressions flashing across Ian’s troubled face. Finally, he senses someone looking at him other than the lurking coyotes. He flinches at that unpleasant reminder delivered by his anxiety, and briefly, very briefly, catches Ian’s intense, direct gaze. Then he looks away. It’s like looking at the sun. “I better go,” says Ian, unfolding himself into a standing pose in one smooth motion. “Thanks for humoring me.” “Go? Must you really?” Larry looks up at him plaintively. “But the coyotes…?” “Tell me you didn’t bring me all the way out here to get a free bodyguard against the wildlife.” “Oh, no, not that,” says Larry, quickly. “I was concerned for your sake.” “Sure you were,” says Ian, looking back over his shoulder at the vast expanse of desert, and then back at Larry, and then up at the stars.But he sits down again.It’s a while before the chatter resumes. The night is calm and still and so very silent, and it’s a relief for both of them not to be forced to carry on a conversation. When Larry tunes in again, grounding his consciousness from adventures in the cosmos, Ian’s quietly voicing a complaint about the TV coverage of his ordeal. “They issued a correction to clear my name, but too little, too late.” He pauses, seemingly wondering if Larry’s paying any attention at all. “Hope no one googles me before going out with me.” Larry picks up on the wrong aspect of that sentence. “You know, the term googol originated from--” He notices the look on Ian’s face. “What?” “Do you just take any mention of math as carte blanche to be weird?” “Well, yes, as a matter of fact, usually.” “Can’t believe you didn’t take the curiosity bait,” grumbles Ian, who’d rather enjoy a chance to talk about all the things he avoids when he’s close to security cameras and eavesdroppers and civilization as a whole. Too bad. “Never mind.”Larry clears his throat politely. “Once in a while, I’m capable of sensing a trap.” Ian laughs -- an actual laugh, not just that little chuckle under his breath to acknowledge amusement. “Well, do you want to ask?” “Do you want me to?” offers Larry. “I suppose I just have to wonder at your motive. You're suggesting you might confide in me, of all people?” “I am sick and fucking tired of keeping secrets.” It starts to pour out. “I keep everything about my life on lockdown, I don’t leave any tracks I can’t erase, and what do I get for it? For this? All of this? Everything I’ve given, everything I’ve done? I do the jobs no one else can so they won’t have to. This is my repayment. They were all just waiting for a reason not to trust me.” Ian’s face twists in scorn. “There’s nothing to know about me, and they still dug into anything they could get their claws and teeth on. I’m just… sick.” Ian is hurting. Ian never shows that if he can help it. Larry reaches out with the thought of consolingly patting Ian’s shoulder, then thinks better of it. He doesn’t seem like much of a touchy-feely person, to understate it massively. “I feel much the same,” he offers instead. “The mortifying ordeal of being too deeply known.” “Or of being known at all,” says Ian, bitterly.“Well, we have to let people know us just a little bit,” muses Larry. “Otherwise, how can we be sure that there is anything to know?” Ian twists around to look him in the eye. “Is that what's got you sacrificing your chance at fame and fortune to wander around out here instead?” “More or less,” says Larry, wilting slightly. “I suppose you and I have very different reasons to hate the thought of seeing our faces on television.” “Yeah. Twice is enough for a lifetime.” “Twice?” “I had to talk them into airing my ID with the correction, just to make sure I don’t get weird looks in grocery stores. And I still get ‘em anyway.” Ian shrugs with one shoulder. “Can’t help it. I don’t look like anyone else.” Larry nods. “And that's why you fled to the wasteland?” “If I wanted a wasteland, I’d just go take an office job. It clears my head to be out here.” “Me, too. Though I do yearn for the modern luxuries we’ve come to take for granted.” “Like food and bathing?” “Dental hygiene, too.” Larry sighs. “Ah, indoor plumbing, I’ve never wanted you more.” “No kidding. You can really see why the Romans took over the world.” “That’s a popular misconception,” says Larry, snapping into academia mode. “Although the Romans became well known for their aqueducts as a system of carrying water -- that’s quite literally what the word means, from aqua, water, and duco, ducere, to carry--” Larry looks at Ian, and can’t tell if that smirk is amusement or pity. “Should I stop?” “No, go on, Professor.” “Well, in summary, sanitation was not their strength.” “They shit in a hole in the ground just like everybody else?”“To put it bluntly.”“There’s a metaphor in that somewhere.” Ian drifts off into a thought for a while. He’s outwardly inscrutable, inwardly seething with well-contained anguish. Then he breaks the silence on his own terms. “You want a motel room?” “Um,” says Larry.“Not with me. Hell no. Just so you can take a bath.”Larry winces. “You didn’t need to be quite emphatic with the ‘hell no’.” “That was for your comfort, not mine.” Ian raises his eyebrows. “I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.” “Ian,” says Larry, slightly unsure what else to say. “About breaking your hiatus, I mean." Ian laughs softly. “Aren’t you supposed to be wandering around philosophizing?” “Like the ancient Greeks of old, yes.” “All you need is a barrel,” says Ian. “Like that one guy. You know?”Larry scratches his head. “I get the distinct sense that you’re more well-educated in history than you’re willing to share with the casual observer.” “Maybe a little,” says Ian. “I forgot which one of ‘em had the barrel.” “That would be Diogenes.” “Not Zeno?” Ian rises to his feet, stretching out his long limbs, and kneels down again, beginning to pack up again his camping gear. He’s heading back for the motel room, with or without Larry. Roughing it doesn’t hold quite the same appeal it used to. Maybe he’s just been doing it too long. This whole ordeal activated his fight instincts, and then his flight instincts, and now he’s just out of adrenaline and tired to the bone. He rubs his eyes and looks over at Larry. “Why did I think it was Zeno?” “Most people don’t know either of them,” points out Larry. “All I remember is it’s the guy who told Alexander the Great to fuck off.” “That would be the one,” laughs Larry. Ian really does have a certain way about him. A turn of the phrase filled with brutal precision. “Say, how did you come to know so much?” “I read a lot of boring books in my job. Gotta fill the time somehow, and I don’t want fiction.” “Really? I enjoy it immensely.” “Me too. It’s distracting, so I avoid it.” Ian finishes shoving his sleeping bag into a heavy hiking backpack, then curtly looks over at Larry’s scattered mess of camping supplies. Ian would swear he’d just neatened it up fifteen minutes ago, but the man is a walking example of entropy. “You waiting for Smokey the Bear to show up and help?” “Oh, you were serious about leaving?”“Dead serious.” Ian drops his backpack on the ground again and crouches beside it, moving back down to Larry’s level. “Why’d you think I was packing up?” “Probably not to activate my fear of abandonment,” observes Larry. “At least, not deliberately.” “Can’t relate.” Ian gives him another once-over. “I’m getting the room with or without you. Last chance for a shower and a shave.” “Oh, we’re down to just one room, now?” “Two if you come along. I’m not trying to make it weird.” “That’s the difference between us. I strive to make it weird.” “I can’t afford to do that. My kind of weird scares people.” “I’m not scared.”Ian snorts. “Which is a testament to how weird you are.”“Self-preservation instinct has never been my strong suit,” points out Larry. “Wanderlust, however, that’s a habit I can’t seem to shake.” “If you want to wander, you gotta look after yourself,” chides Ian gently. “Or at least, have someone with you who does.” “Which would you recommend, Ian?” Ian blinks, unaccustomed to being addressed by his first name. “Hard to say,” he says, and thinks, the second one. “Well, there’s a thought.” Larry miraculously packs up his belonging in a matter of minutes, restoring order to the system. He slings the backpack over his shoulder and intrepidly sets out towards his car, following the compass built into his watch. As a cloud passes over the moon, he gestures around through the darkness, hoping to rely on Ian’s superior instincts. “Do you see any coyotes?” “See them? With what?” scoffs Ian. “How the hell am I supposed to know? You think I’m Superman?”“Not that the title would be inaccurate, but no.” “Really now.” “You do come across as quite noticeably… super.” “Ehh, that’s just because I’m unapproachable.” “And unstoppably competent. It’s an appealing trait.” Ian head-tilts at him. “Objectively,” Larry hastily clarifies. “Not just to me.”“That’s more like it,” sighs Ian. Larry glances up at the taller man. “What on Earth does that mean?” “Surprised you said ‘Earth’ and not some nebula.” “I thought about it,” acknowledges Larry, “but I’m adjusting my communication style for my intended audience.” Ian makes a noise under his breath. “Anyway. Point is… never mind. There’s no point.” “There must have been a point,” says Larry. “At some point.” “There was. It’s gone. I forgot.” “You don’t forget anything.” “Sure I do. Everything that doesn’t matter.” There’s an unspecified sound off in the distance. Larry’s anxiety suddenly spikes. “Won’t talking so loudly attract the coyotes?” “Nah, it’ll scare ‘em off. We’re bigger and stronger.” “Maybe you are,” says Larry. “You could probably fight off a coyote, too.” Ian sizes him up. “Could you drop-kick a small dog if it was going to kill you?” “Er… yes?” “Then you’re fine.” Like an oasis mirage on the horizon, Ian spots Larry’s vintage car. “Our ride is here.” “There she is,” declares Larry. Ian looks down at him. “She?” “Force of habit,” says Larry, a bit self-consciously. “In hindsight, one does wonder about the use of the female pronoun for inanimate objects. Ships, cars, countries…” “Some sociologist probably figured that shit out already,” says Ian. “But if I had to guess, it’s about gender roles. Feminine mystique. Whatever. Never did anything for me.” “Yes, well, women are an enigma. Maybe you’re missing out,” Larry says carefully, “or maybe you’re better off this way. Perhaps the rest of us should be jealous.”Ian stops short. "You actually figured it out?” “Figured out what?” “What I--” Ian falters for no reason. There’s no one paying attention out here. No one but the endearingly obnoxious Larry. “What I’m all about. What I like, what I don't.” “Oh, that?” exclaims Larry. “Yes, I deduced that a long time ago. It just didn’t seem worth mentioning, unless you wanted me to, but I got the impression you never did.” Ian’s surprised, but not by Larry. He thinks, and realizes he has very little to say in response. He expected he would, if this ever happened, but he doesn’t. He’s disappointed in himself for that. “Well done, Larry.” Larry’s suddenly flustered at Ian using his first name. He stammers, fumbling with the car keys in the depths of his pockets. “Need I mention that, er, as for myself, I’m… not immune to the masculine mystique…” Ian stares him down, but there’s no hostility. “You bi?” “As a matter of fact, yes.” “Yeah, no shit.” Ian starts loading up the camping gear in the back of the convertible. It almost hurts to make himself say it outright, but it's a necessary kind of hurt, like resetting a bone. “And I’m gay, but you knew that.” Larry nods and clears his throat. He’s a bit surprised by Ian’s deliberately sanguine nature, but Ian’s like this about everything else, too. “I assumed a general disinterest in the fairer sex, but I wasn’t certain how far that extended into the realm of romance, or more. And it seemed better not to pry.” “It’s always better not to pry.” Ian holds out his hand. “Keys?” “You want to drive?” “I know where we’re going.” Ian grins suddenly. “I booked the motel room already, just in case.” “Well, that sounds, er... vaguely suspicious.” Ian’s grin abruptly disappears. He withdraws his hand, leaving Larry and his keys alone, and retreats to the passenger side. “I’ll give you the address. You can drop me off there and come back.” Larry awkwardly fumbles to compensate for his misstep. He hadn’t meant to hurt Ian’s feelings. Ian’s feelings, now there’s a phrase not often heard. It would be uncharitable of Larry to say so, but he’s still surprised that Ian seems to have feelings at all, let alone ones that are vulnerable to being hurt. “...How’d you get here to visit me?” “Taxi,” says Ian. “A bit of a risky endeavor,” observes Larry. “What if I hadn’t agreed to come back with you?” Ian’s suddenly back to his old self. “C’mon, you can’t turn down that kind of offer. Running water, breakfast, toothpaste…” “No, I suppose I can’t. I’m not immune to creature comforts.” “Nobody is,” says Ian, stepping over the side of the passenger door and sprawling out languidly in the seat. “Not even me…” Larry also gets into the car, much less suavely, and struggles to get comfortable in his seat. Even in his outdoorsy outfit, Ian has the look of a magazine model, all long limbs and elegant poses. Larry sometimes feels like a ragged little mustang in a field beside a glossy racehorse. He side-eyes Ian carefully. “I have to ask, your remarks keep sounding a slight bit suggestive. Is my mind in the gutter, or is yours?” “Hey, you’re the one that said creature comforts.” Ian gathers himself up, draping his arm over the side of the car door, and observes as Larry correctly inserts the key into the ignition on the second try. Larry flicks the headlights on, illuminating the darkness ahead of them. It’s full of tumbleweeds and sand and dirt. He looks over at Ian instead -- a much more interesting and unique subject to observe. Far preferable to an empty desert that stretches on for miles. He just sits there, looking at Ian, until Ian sharply looks back at him and he averts his eyes. Instead he starts the ignition, carefully guiding the car in reverse along his original set of tire tracks..Larry finally thinks to turn the car around properly, executing a multiple-point turn maneuver that’s impressively un-smooth. When his attention’s on the path ahead, he finally glances over to Ian, ending his invisible suffering in suspense.”Onward we go.”“Nice to see you haven’t forgotten how to drive,” snarks Ian.“It hasn’t been that long! Of course I can drive.”“One for you, zero for the Ancient Greeks.”“You know,” says Larry, after a very long minute, “you don’t have to get two rooms.” “Are you kidding me?” exclaims Ian, throwing up his hands. “I’ve been flirting with you for an hour, and that's what registers?!” “You were flirting?” Ian pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales deeply. “God, for a genius, you are the dumbest man alive.” “There have been much dumber men in history,” says Larry,” but they’re dead now.” Ian laughs, completely sincerely. He points ahead, guiding Larry towards the highway as the sun cracks over the edge of the horizon. “Eyes on the road, Fleinhardt. Quit looking at me. There’ll be time for that later.” “That’s progress,” muses Larry, “for a man who prefers not to be seen.” “Yeah, careful, there. Don’t blow your progress.” “Not to worry.” Larry guides the car up over the shoulder of the road, wheels gripping the smoothly paved highway, and cheerfully hits the gas pedal so fast Ian’s grateful for the invention of the seatbelt. “Progress is never linear.”