Stand By Me

Disclaimer: It is not mine if I'm a cat; it is not mine if I'm a bat. It is not mine if I'm a shoe; it's only mine if I am Yuu. …which, um…I'm not. *thumbs up*

Warnings: Some mild language (at least until Tasuki shows up, then that may change. ^_~.), eventual-possible-who-knows-but-it-always-comes-up-so-why-fight-it-anyway same-sex relationship stuff. If this offends you, go to your room until you have rejoined the twenty-first century, and don't you dare turn on that T.V., young lady. I mean it this time.

Summary: Nuriko. Hotohori. A diner, a small town, an abusive father, and the same title as that spiffy 1985 movie with Wil Wheaton and River Phoenix. What more can ya ask for??

Stand By Me
by Ryuen

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
When the night has come
And the land is dark
And the moon is the only
Light we see.

No I won't be afraid
Oh, I won't be afraid
Just as long as you stand
Stand by me.

--Ben E. King
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

---

It's okay. You're okay. It's okay. Take a deep breath and stop thinking about it STOP THINKING ABOUT IT and just drive. Drive or you're gonna stay here all day and then he'll come back and good God what will you do if he comes back and you're still here BUT HE WON'T if you get out of here so just drive. Just drive.

Letting out a shaky breath, I got the key into the ignition and pressed my $5.99-at-Payless loafer against the gas pedal. The engine revved once, the car inching forwards weakly, and for a moment I almost hyperventilated in blind panic—

God it's stalled or out of gas or broken and I'm going to have to walk to the bus stop and he's going to come back and find the car out front and know I was trying to leave and

--but then, a calm voice in the back of my mind reminded me of the gearshift, and I glanced down at it to find that I'd left it in neutral, and that was why I wasn't going anywhere. Shaking even more from relief than I had from fear and panic, I got my hand around the stick and jammed it up into first. A second later, my foot was on the pedal again, and the car was pulling out onto the street and I was free…I was free.

See? See, was that so hard? Now get the hell out of town before he comes back. Drive. Drive drive drive. You have to get out of here because you've come too far to turn back now and if he comes back and you're still here he's going to –kill- you. Do you understand?

Kill you.

So, drive. Drive drive drive.

I drove. I ran a stop sign, nearly plowed over a construction cone, and came dangerously-close to sideswiping one of the neighbor's garbage cans, but I was shaking so badly that it was hard to keep a grip on the wheel and so it kept slipping out of my hands and I knew that if I didn't calm down I was going to wreck and save him the trouble of killing me and—

My thoughts broke off, my foot slamming down on the brakes, as a little blond boy on a bike whizzed past, frighteningly near to the hood of the car. Breathing in quick, panicked gasps, I came to a full stop there in the middle of the road, just two blocks away from the house, leaned my forehead against the steering wheel and closed my eyes.

Calm down.

Calm down.

Deep breaths. Deep. Breaths.

In...

...out.

In...

...out.

Please. Please, Saihitei, you have to calm down, or you're never going to get out of this alive. Calm. Down. It's all right. You're stronger than this.

Stronger. Stronger…

Yes. Yes, I'm stronger than this.

I'm stronger.

I sat up, abating the pressure of the seatbelt against my chest somewhat, and leaned back in the seat. My eyes slid open as I moved, and I was suddenly aware of how strong and steady my hands were, of how smoothly the breath flowed in and out of my lungs. It was all right. I was all right.

Stronger than this. Stronger. Stronger stronger stronger.

Calmly, I brought my hand down on the emergency break, pushed it down and rested my foot on the gas pedal. A moment later, the car was sliding gently forwards, and as the engine started to roar, I shifted into second and brought it easily around the corner that would take me onto Route 403 and then out onto the interstate. Already feeling more in-control of myself, I realized that it was suffocatingly hot in here and rolled down the window; the air, warm and scented with turned earth and growing things, swept the hair back from my face, sent a new wave of peace into my heart.

I...can't believe it. I did it. Didn't I? I did it. I'm really leaving. I really...left.

For a moment, I eased up off the gas, gliding down the road towards the stop sign, and let my gaze flicker to the rearview mirror, to the white, steeplish rise of the house, just visible above the neighboring rooftops. I could see it in my mind; the black and white checkered tiling of the entryway, the plush white carpeting in the living room, the shelves of expensive glass figurines and stylish picture frames, the latter of which carried any number of carefully-posed portraits of myself, my mother, my father...

I can never come back here, I realized with a sick, gnawing feeling. Never. Or...not until he's gone. Or dead. Never.

And, despite all the mental and physical and emotional anguish this place caused me, I found myself hesitating.

Was...was it really so bad? It's a rough world out there—are you ready for that? You're going to have to get a job, find a place to live, find new friends and new places to feel safe and new everything. You have a car, yes, and a wallet full of cash and a handful of belongings. But, that's all you have. How long is that money going to last? How long will it be before he just calls the police and reports the car stolen or something?

My foot thudded onto the brake, and for a long, sick moment, I seriously considered turning the car around, backing it into the driveway, and going back inside to get started on my work. And I would have, if not for the ache in my side, still lumpy and bruised from the grip of his fingers, and the sharpness of the memories inside of me. I spent a long time sitting there with my head leaned back against the headrest, my eyes closed and my breath coming quickly in memory—

my mother my mother on the floor, her cheek bruised and her lip swollen and the tears running down her cheeks and me standing over her with a frying pan in my hand and his face in front of me, a nightmare of bloodshot eyes and bellowing voice and swinging fists and I know he wants to kill me and will someday but not today today he'll just grab me and throw me up against the wall and

--and then I opened my eyes, spent a brief moment checking for oncoming traffic, and then pulled out onto 403 and pressed my foot hard on the gas. Ten minutes later, I was speeding down the interstate with the wind sweeping back my long brown hair, and the man on the radio was singing a song about freedom.

I wanted to sing along, but had a strange feeling that I would cry if I did, so I just sat there and smiled and drove, instead. And it felt good, to be free.

~*~

Three hours later, hungry and weary of driving, I pulled onto the first off-ramp I came to and found myself in a little town called Hamry. After catching a glimpse of its Main Street--a narrow little road with cracked pavement and a total of three shops (a barber, a pharmacy, and a dingy outlet store)--I was less than optimistic about finding a reputable place to eat in. I was scanning the side streets for a place to turn around in when I saw it.

The sign was chipped and faded, dangling from a lamp post like a bat, the wind sending it swinging idly back and forth. The sign itself was made of a mottled brown wood that had been smoothed over with white paint, but the edges were flaking off in long strips—even so, I could still make out the words, and they drilled into my soul like a memory.

The Phoenix, the sign announced in old-fashioned block letters.

And there beneath the words, red and feathered and completely intact despite the degredation of the sign, was a painting of a phoenix, rising up towards the letters with wings spread and beak tilted upwards.

And before I knew what I was doing, I was turning onto that street and inching towards that sign, and then I was pulling into the dusty parking lot and tugging the car into a parking space and shutting it off and getting out and walking towards the door.

Why? I demanded as I moved, shivering once despite the warmth of the morning. Why? Why here? What is it about that sign that...

I came to a slow halt, the gravel biting into the bottoms of my feet through my sandals, and spent a moment staring at the building, frowning.

What on earth was that? Subliminal advertising?

And yet... I glanced around the parking lot, discovered only three other cars aside from my own darkly-colored BMW—a beat-up old pickup truck, a red Beretta with a dent in its door, and a fairly new-looking Suzuki, its paint glowing a snowy white in the sun.

All right, I amended, glancing a bit hesitantly up at the building, perhaps not. But, if not that, then what?

I was staring blankly at the dark wooden siding, my lips twisted downwards and a crease in my brow, when I realized rather abruptly that I was not, in fact, invisible.

"You planning on standing there all day?" a dry, pleasant voice asked. "The food tastes much better inside, you know."

My gaze shifted almost guiltily, a slight flush creeping into my cheeks, and I wondered how I'd managed to miss the door opening, the footsteps down the walk...

Whatever the case, there, leaning her shoulder up against the corner of the building, arms folded over her chest and eyes locked on me, was a young woman. She looked to be about my age, although she was a fair amount of inches shorter than I; not that that was surprising, as I towered even above some men, but still—I made a note of it, and continued in my silent inspection.

Her hair, a dark, silken shade of violet, had been pulled up into a stylish twist on the back of her head, various escaped strands of it fluttering out around her face like a purple halo, dangling down over her eyes. Her skin was pale and blemish-free, making the darkness of her eyes and the fullness of her lips even more pronounced and exotic. What really caught my attention, however, was what she was wearing—a soft white button-up, tucked neatly into a black skirt, the former of which sported a dark vest and what was unmistakably a name-tag.

Oh, I thought, mildly surprised, she works here?

Well, of course she does. And if the cars parked here are any indication, business is slow enough that any new addition to the place would cause a stir. Of course. They must've been watching me since I got here...

Feeling vaguely embarrassed, I took a few steps towards her, sliding my hands into the pockets of my shorts and offering my usual winning smile. Granted, it wasn't typically the sort of thing that worked on women, but one never knew.

"I apologize if I was loitering," I offered diplomatically, sliding into my usual stoic politeness without too much difficulty. "I was just...admiring the building. I've...I've never seen a structure this old that was—" I glanced at the dark, knotted wood, the layer of grime that had attached itself to the shingles, the crooked, crumbling brick of the chimney. "—holding up so well."

She laughed, a light, melodic sound that rang through the quiet street like a song. "Well, you're a good liar, at least." And then she smiled, and I noticed for the first time that her eyes were an odd mixture of brown, violet, and rose, that she had a small mole, just beneath her left eye, and that her name tag called her Ryuuen. "Are ya hungry?" she asked, still grinning. "Business is a little slow this morning, so I promise you, we'll cook you just about anything you want without much argument."

My stomach growled in answer, and—flushing red—I clamped my hands over it. Ryuuen laughed again. "C'mon," she said, tilting her head back towards the front entrance. "We can't have you collapsing from hunger out here in the parking lot. We try to avoid attracting the vultures, at least until garbage day."

I smiled, closing the distance between us and extending my hand. "I'm Saihitei," I said, the warmth in my words surprisingly-geniune.

"Although it's no great mystery," she offered, glancing down at the nametag, "I'm Ryuuen." Her fingers slid into mine, smooth and surprisingly-strong, and something like a tingle fluttered up my spine.

"Ryuuen," I echoed softly. "It's…nice to meet you."

We lingered there for a moment, our hands folded into each other, our eyes locked…and then, she smiled, and I carefully drew my fingers out, just as she pulled back hers. "C'mon," she said again, and was it my imagination, or was her voice shaking just a little...?"If you like the outside," she said wryly, "you're gonna be really impressed with the inside."

"You know what they say," I found myself murmuring, "it's what's on the inside that counts."

Her eyes widened, just slightly, and I was startled by the depth of emotion lingering in those dark pools of violet, by the almost…stricken look that had flickered onto her features. And then the door slid open behind us, and a smiling bald head poked itself out to look at us.

"We serving lunch outside today, Ryuu?" a dry voice called.

Ryuuen glanced at the man over her shoulder, and from what I could see of her face, she was smiling again. "Coming, Uncle Joe," she said. "Tell the Pretzel Queen to get the grill fired up."

Joe grinned. "It's been so long, not sure if she'll remember how!" And then, he'd vanished back into the building, calling out, "Anne! Fire up the grill!"

Amused despite myself, I cast Ryuuen a quizzical smile when she turned back to me. "The Pretzel Queen?"

After the initial look of surprise, she smiled and started to walk towards the door; I followed. "Her name is Anne," she explained, "and she's my aunt. Aunt Anne? Auntie Anne? Get it? Like the pretzel company?"

I laughed. "I see. Does it bother her, that you call her that?"

Ryuuen paused, her fingers lingering on the doorknob, and offered me a smiling shrug. "If it does, she doesn't say much about it. And trust me, if it bothered her, she would say so. She's very...ah..."

"Ryuuuuuuen!" came a woman's shrill voice from inside. "Are you going to bring her in, or should Joe and I drag the grill out there to you like the poor common slaves that we are??"

She winked at me. "...vocal." And then her hand slipped into mine, even as the other tugged the door open. Before my brain had caught up with the warming touch suddenly blazing up my arm, she was pulling me into the diner, and all I could do was follow.

It's what's on the inside that counts, my brain reminded me softly.

It's what's on the inside.

~*~

Author's Note:

Readers: WTF, Ryuen!?! They're GIRLS?! BOTH of them!?!
Ryuen: Hai, hai. And here to tell you whyyyyy, is everyone's favorite crossdressing seishi. Soooo, go ahead, Nuri-chan. Tell 'em why.
Nuriko: Ahhhem. Because gender doesn't matter, and thusss...it shouldn't matter if Hotohori-sama and I are both men, a man and a woman, or two women. *nod*
Ryuen: There ya have it. ^_~.

More to come soon. Until then, leave a review! I'd love to know what you think. ^^