There's No Place Like Home

[Continued from About Last Night]

C.C. could add "deafening" to the list of things she loved about her Harley. She'd been hoping to make the trek on her own, just as a matter of pride, but if she had to have company, she was thankful, at least, that the mode of transport negated anything resembling conversation. Not that Reggie seemed to be speaking to her anyway. But it was nice to pretend, at least for a little while, that the fight had passed.

She felt a pang as she turned from the main road onto the dirt one leading to her former home. She was forced to slow down to a crawl as they progressed deeper into the woods, four years worth of growth choking the already narrow path into little more than a wide gametrail. Rounding the last bend, she was forced to a halt by a massive black oak, felled sometime in the intervening years. With some reluctance, she gave the arm encircling her waist a light tap, signaling Reggie to let go, and killed the Harley's engine.

Pulling off her helmet, she surveyed the tree for a beat, ultimately deciding to go around, rather than over.

"And me without my breadcrumbs," Reggie muttered behind her.

C.C. scowled. "No one said you had to come."

"Actually, Quinn did."

"That explains that, I guess," C.C. snapped, swatting at a particularly clingy bit of foliage. She'd been wondering he'd followed her into the garage, but hadn't wanted to give him the satisfaction of asking. Figured that he'd been ordered after her.

"Which leaves just one question. "

They emerged back onto the overgrown path, and C.C. paused to shake free of the underbrush. She looked wearily over her shoulder as Reggie followed suit. "That being?"

"Where the hell are you going?"

C.C. nodded down the path to the ramshackle cabin. "Home."

* * * * *

The living room/kitchen was a mess, but not much more so than she'd left it, save for the grey haze of dust dulling the surfaces and rounding the corners. The air was warm and stagnant. Hints of spent cigarettes and booze tinged it, but more than anything, it was just the musty reek of disuse, heavy and solid in the bars of late day light filtering through the bare windows. C.C. lit a cigarette the second she was inside her front door, despite being in no particular need of one, just to experience the almost-forgotten joy of smoking inside.

"Huh," Reggie said, peering over her shoulder.

"What?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. It's just.. not what I pictured."

"Whatever," C.C. grumbled. "I'll just be a couple of minutes. Wait here."

She headed towards the back of the house, through the narrow hallway that lead to its solitary bedroom. Perching on the edge of the bed, she lit another cigarette and eyed the space. The door to her tiny closet stood open, emptied of clothes by Odessa early in C.C.'s stay as the pack's ward. Her hat still hung from her four-poster bed on the post nearest the door, a bottle of vodka and a bottle of aspirin on the bedside table where she'd left them.

Let's hope everything else is right where I left it too. Camel clamped between her lips, she dropped to the dusty hardwood, and reached her hand under the bed. There came a brief grip of panic when, instead of metal, she found nothing but tumbleweeds of dust and dog hair, but she leaned further, fingers straining, and finally, found the stock of the M4.

"There she is," C.C. murmured, drawing the gun from beneath the bed. She sat up, feeling the familiar heft of it. Aside from the aforementioned dust and hair, it seemed fine, showing no sign of its age or abandonment.

Her fingers found the selector lever easily enough, and she set to work inspecting it for less obvious signs of damage. First to safe mode. Her finger on the trigger, the hammer still and silent. Check. She moved the lever to semi, and squeezed the trigger again, and this time the hammer fell. Sounded solid. Her other hand went to the charging handle, pulling towards her shoulder, and released the trigger. The hammer fell again. Check. Selector lever to burst, the motions effortless, almost instinctual and most definitely comforting. She wasn't sure she agreed that happiness was a warm gun, but it sure as shit didn't hurt when faced with the prospect of an angry werewolf. This time, she pulled the charging handle first, releasing before she held the trigger. The hammer fell and she drew the charging handle again. Twice. A third time. She released the trigger, then pulled it again. The hammer fell. Check.

Cracking the gun open, she peered down the barrel. That sight was less pretty, an army of dust bunnies apparently having mistaken it for a rabbit hole. A quick blow cleared the space. A proper cleaning was probably in order, but aside from the fuzz, it looked good enough. No carbon build-up. Clean chamber. And the back-of-her-head hope that she wouldn't have to fire it anyway.

Bracing the stock against her shoulder, she raised the weapon until the sight was at eye level, head cocked, listening intently to the inner-mechanics as she charged and dry-fired through the open door. Once, twice, and...

She jumped, the empty hallway no longer empty. "Christ, Reggie. Wear a bell, will you? I think you just took ten years off my life."

"Your life?" he stared, eyes wide. "I'm the one that's on the wrong side of a gun. You gonna lower that thing, Ripley?"

C.C. did, letting it rest across her lap, then looked at Reggie expectantly. "Did you need something?"

Reggie shrugged. "Just wondered what you were doing."

"What did you think was doing?"

"I dunno." A slight grin twitched at the corners of his mouth. "Changing?"

"So... you thought I was changing, and decided to just walk right on in." She paused, ducking her head to let her hair fall over her face, masking her own amusement. "Sounds about right."

Reggie came further into the room, eyeing the gun. "What is that anyway?"

"M4. Want one? I think I've got a spare in the cellar."

"Uh, no thanks. On a related note, remind me never to get on your bad side."

"Too late," C.C. countered. But her tone was light, and when she looked up, her smile was genuine. She held out her hand. "Help me up?"

He took her hand and pulled her to her feet, the momentum carrying her closer.

"Thanks," she said, flushed.

"Anytime."

"You still have my hand," she observed, though she made no effort retrieve it.

"Right. Sorry." He quickly let go, taking a step back.

"I wasn't complaining, Reg."

"That doesn't sound like you," he chided.

"Great," she said, crossing to the closet to resume the task at hand. She was 90% sure there were a few boxes of ammo on the upper shelf. "You're finally talking to me again, and all you wanna do is bust my chops," she glanced over her shoulder, brow arched so he would know she was joking. She propped the M4 against the wall and rose to the tips of her toes, pawing blindly at the shelf for the rounds.

"I was never not talking to you," Reggie corrected her. He joined her at the closet and reached over her head, plucking the box easily from the back of the shelf. "And I wouldn't say that's all I wanna do." This last, close at her ear, his lips grazing her neck.

And then he was gone, a box of bullets and an unacceptable distance suddenly between them. "Was this what you wanted?"

She shook her head. "Not anymore."

Reggie frowned, looking back to the shelf. "Well, there's another box up there but it's the same--"

Christ. "Reg?" she interrupted him, closing the gap between them. "Not talking about guns."

"No?"

"No," she confirmed, continuing forward, inching him towards the bed. "How late..." It was her turn to be interrupted when his lips covered hers, the kiss carrying them the rest of the way to the bed. "...can we be to this thing?" she finished, breathless.

As if on cue, Reggie's cell phone went off, and they both winced. "I'm guessing approximately this late," he grumbled, putting the phone to his ear. "Garret. Buddy. Your timing sucks."

Hang up, C.C. mouthed the words, fingers working at the buttons of Reggie's shirt.

I can't, came his silent reply. "Yeah, man, we're just finishing up here."

From C.C.'s pockets came the opening notes to "Sweet Home Alabama," and C.C. sank to the bed, defeated and scowling as she answered the phone. "I hate you," replaced "hello" in greeting Odessa.

"My place," she answered to the Odessa's polite "where the fuck are you." "Gun." Pause for protestations that the higher ranking wolf had sent guns in the Expedition. "A real gun," she amended, eyeing Reggie, who had, with an apologetic glance in her direction, begun rebuttoning his shirt, moving to the hall to continue his conversation while C.C. continued hers. "Yeah, Odes. I get it. We're leaving now. Yeah. Yeah. Fine. Okay. I said we're leaving. Alright. Bye." She hung up the phone and resisted the urge to throw it against the wall.

Instead, she broke down her gun and tossed it, and the ammo, into her bag.

Reggie was just finishing his call. "So. Odessa was just calling to say hi, right?"

C.C. shook her head, unamused, and tossed him the keys to the bike. "You're driving."

"Awesome. But also, why?"

C.C. smiled sweetly. "Because if you don't, I'm driving it back to Crestwood and strangling my best friend."

"Aww." He dropped a kiss on the top of her head. "You're cute when you're full of murderous rage." Heading towards he door, he called over his shoulder, "These things are just like riding a bicycle, right?"

"Watch it, Walker. You wreck my Harley and I'll be downright adorable."

Reggie watched C.C. as she reached for something on the top shelf of her closet. Women apparently just didn’t know what they did. At least C.C. didn’t seem to. As she got up on her toes to reach to that high shelf, it elongated every one of her muscles on her back half. Her legs look longer, butt looked firmer, waist looked even more criminal than usual. Reggie allowed himself the quick fantasy of he and C.C. living together in a house where everything was kept on the top shelf. Then she ruined it. The same way women always ruined it. She talked. “Great,” she said, “you’re finally talking to me again, and all you wanna’ do is bust my chops.”

Of course, she had a point. In fact, Reg had been somewhat surprised how quickly, once away from Crestwood and its now itinerant house guest, they had fallen back into their old patterns. Made one wonder what else they could so quickly fall back into. “I was never not talking to you,” Reggie said as he stepped to finally help her get the ammo off the shelf. Of course, that may have been good advice. Probably would have been less drama if I had just stopped talking to you. As he reached over her his nose was filled with her scent. Heaven. Like cinnamon cookies on Christmas heaven. As his hand grabbed the box of ammo, he dropped his nose in closer for a better sell, whispering in her ear, “And I wouldn’t say that’s all I wanna’ do.” He dropped just the slightest hint of a kiss on her neck before bouncing back to a more “junior high dancing chaperone” acceptable distance, the yellow and green cardboard box of death in between them. “Was this what you wanted?”

“Not anymore.”

What? But… Reggie looked up at the top shelf. The only other thing up there was an identical box of ammo. This one felt full, so what on Earth…

“Reg?” She closed the gap back he had opened up once again entrancing him with her scent. “Not talking about guns.”

Oh…ohhhhhhhhhh. He quickly switched to Mr. Suave Mode. “No?” See? What a charming devil. He even raised an eyebrow.

“No.” She advanced on him. Close as she was that only left Reggie one option, back up. Reggie peeked behind him to make sure she wasn’t tricking him and pushing him towards a trap door.

Nope. Bed. Ohhhhhhhhhh.

Much like a woman, however, she kept talking. “How late --" Reggie had had enough talk. He covered her mouth with his, interrupting her mid-sentence. He’d never had make-up sex before, and with everything he’d heard it was something not to be missed. He did, however, need to come up for breath. It opened her up to being able to talk again. “--can we be to this thing?” she finished her earlier thought.

Don’t jinx this. I didn’t even think make-up sex really existed. All my fights kind of peter out over time, not eneding in some actual make-up that could then lead to…

She jinxed it. His phone rang. His first instinct was to just let it ring. How important could it be. It’s not like they were, oh yeah. Dammit. He pulled his phone up and did his best not to yell at the person on the other end. He checked the caller I.D. before answering. Figures. He opened the phone and thought he did damn well at talking more than growling. OK, passably well. OK, he sounded like he was auditioning to play Wolverine in the next X-Men movie, but Garret could deal. “Garret. Buddy. Your timing sucks.”

He made a face at C.C. She mouthed from him to hang up. Considering the situation in town, it wasn’t an option. He mouthed as much back to her. He wasn’t sure if she noticed, as she was a little preoccupied starting to strip him. Oh great. Torture me, will you?

Meanwhile, Garret was rambling on about being checked in at the hotel, the fun of rooming together, being excited about mutt hunting, and would they be heading that way any time soon because Quinn was getting impatient and surly. “Yeah, man, we’re finishing up here,” Reggie told him.

He was starting to feel a distinct draft on his abs when C.C.’s phone starting playing Skynyrd. You’ve never even been to Alabama.

She answered her phone with about the same friendliness he had, dropping onto the bed that was sadly not where Reggie was right now. See, we do have to answer our phones. Some day I’m thinking we go on vacation to somewhere with no cell reception. Fiji. Lower Egypt. Arkansas.

The moment was over. Reggie turned and started buttoning up his buttons while Garret went on about the drive into town.

****************************************

There was definitely power there. He didn’t care what the brochures said, this glorified street cruiser didn’t have near the acceleration or top speed of his Ninja, but it was still smooth riding. Handled well too.

All too soon, the ride was over. After all, in order to keep from sliding off the back, C.C. had to lock her arms around him. It was almost like snuggling and looked to be all the action he was likely to get tonight. Of course, they were headed for a hotel. They couldn’t mutt hunt all day. They’d have to sleep, or whatever…

He rolled into a parking lot next to the Expedition. The lot was mostly empty of other cars, not a lot of business apparently. There were a few other cars that looked like they’d be lucky to roll off the lot and one semi as some trucker seemed to believe that the Kokomo beds would be more comfortable than the sleeper portion of his cab. Must be some crappy cab pal.

Apparently, Quinn had been listening by the window. As soon as Reggie cut his engine and kicked out his kickstand, Quinn was out to meet them. He didn’t even wait for C.C. to climb off the back, much less for Reggie to dismount.

“Where you been?” Q asked.

Reggie started to answer, but was cut off by C.C. “My place. Had to get some gear.”

Quinn looked at her bag. C.C. opened it up to show him the pieces of the machine gun inside. Quinn nodded in appreciation then started barking directions. “Nice gear. Drop your stuff off in your room and then head to mine. We're rounding up to talk strategy.”

Reggie asked, “Which room is ours?”

“You’re in that one with Garret. Ceec, you’re with Jay in there,” Quinn directed, pointing at their respective rooms.

“Jay?” C.C. and Reggie asked in unison.

Quinn furrowed his brow a bit and looked at Reggie. “Yup. I figured you’d want to bunk with Garret, since you invited him”

Reggie protested, “I didn’t invite him. He volunteered. I didn’t even want him to come.”

Quinn gave him a solemn grin and patted him on the shoulder. “But you invited him to the house, which means you get to vouch for him…and bunk with him.” Then with a wink under his breath, “You’ll just have to save the cuddles for another time.”

Reggie gave up. Quinn had made up his mind and was senior. No point arguing now. He looked at the door of his assigned room and tried to get his mind ready. Oh good. Garret. I need a beer.


[OOG: To be continued at The Kokomo]