The Cryptic Muse

The building was different. It wasn't the same garage that they'd picked out together. The concept was similar though. It was in a run down section of the city. It had a stone front with living space above one half of the garage. There was still a balcony on the roof but Archer didn't use it except for storage.

The garage had three lifts and each of them had a car suspended. There were two smaller lifts and only one of them were occupied. Unlike the last garage, this one had a basement that was accessed via a hidden door situated behind the antique coke machine. It wasn't elaborate. It was just a panic room down there. Food stored and some guns. Archer didn't like having the guns but he didn't feel like getting caught with his pants down. Again.

A lot had happened in the first six weeks that Chase had disappeared. The gang had gotten busted and a lot of the crew ended up in jail. Them that weren't sent into the slam were dead. Archer had managed to slip through the cracks with only a couple of others. They'd found this place and holed up. Forget trying to make waves. It was self defense to go to ground, do some honest work and try to stay alive.

Then it was two months; no Chase.

Three.

Archer's hope started to fade after four and into five months he had a good talking to by Merc. She was a realist and she all but kicked his ass for keeping his hope alive about Chase. Move on, she'd said. Give it up. Archer argued it was his hope to spend how he wanted. He didn't want to give up. She gave up and nearly left the new little family. She came back after a couple of days citing Archer's lack of being able to finish the work on the new restoration projects without her. He almost told her to fuck off but was glad she was back. There was safety in numbers. And the garage was starting to get a name for quality restores and enhancements. The street racers didn't take too long in finding them either.

They all slept at the garage but most bunked in a sort of half-way house in the back of the garage. It had a kitchen, a living room and three bedrooms; enough for the crew that they currently had. Archer slept upstairs though, in the apartment. Alone. He didn't like the nights and finally started self-medicating to sleep. Some whiskey and a couple pills were enough to get some sleep but with that came some really messed up dreams. When he woke, he had a hard time often trying to separate the dreams from the hallucinations. Sometimes he woke up outside on the roof on a cot he didn't even remember purchasing or putting out there. Other times, it was just a chair in the apartment, or the floor surrounded by bottles. Seldom the bed but sometimes he actually did wake up there.

A cold shower was the best way to try to force that separation between drugged fake world and the real world. Archer stumbled his way into the shower and twisted the knob. It always came out cold and this morning was no different. He gasped when the cold needles rained down against his bare skin. Archer leaned back against the wall, rubbing a hand across his face. Another day, another dollar.

Honestly, Chase had missed him on the couch. It was just a shadow in the confusion of those first few minutes of consciousness. The shower helped him claw back to reality and fight back the hang over. Soap and shampoo used, rinsed off, he left the shower to drip his way to the sink. The face that looked back at him was scraggly. He couldn't remember the last time he'd shaved. Why he went for the razor today, he couldn't put his finger on. But he took his time with it and the shaking hand managed the job without nicking himself even once.

A little victory.

He didn't need the towel draped around his waist but he wrapped it there anyway and headed for the bedroom to get clothes. It was on the way back that he noticed someone sleeping on the couch. Reality and dreams started fighting again for his brain. Chase. Archer almost chuckled at himself, not a nice sound. Was he so desperate that he was seeing things now? He rubbed a hand over his face but the figure on the couch didn't change. He frowned and went toward the couch. Finer details began to be noted. Disheveled, shot up, blood .. sleeping or dead? Breathing. Alive.

Archer stood staring at Chase for several minutes without even blinking. Then a bare foot nudged at Chase's leg, just to see if his toes would go through the figure or confirm that Chase was real.

The reaction to the nudge and the hiss caused his brows to lift a little. It was Chase and he was alive. Right there on his couch. Archer couldn't decide if he wanted to add to the blood by beating on Chase or to just walk away. Fingers pinched the bridge of his nose. "No. They usually stay dead or get hauled off to prison." There was only a brief pause before he continued, "What the fuck? Gone for half a year and then back. What the hell happened to you?" He wanted to haul Chase to the hospital on one hand and on the other he wanted to go back to the first open, beat the hell out of him.

"This is my garage." He lifted a hand to encompass the place. "Couldn't stay at the other place. It was sorta shot to hell in a gang war. Most the crew are in prison or dead. What we got here is all we got left." Sounded pretty pathetic but Archer was pretty proud of the place. "Haven't had any trouble here." He turned to head for the bedroom so he could get some clothes on. Turning his back left a clear view of the trail of gunshots that went from his left shoulder to his waist. It had been a hellfire sort of war, bullets everywhere. Sorta why he had the panic room now. He dropped the towel and grabbed for shorts then some jeans, jerking them on. There was a haunted expression on the face that looked back at Archer. Was he going crazy? Was Chase really out there or was Merc right and Archer was finally over the edge?

"You look like shit, Chase. You still bleeding? Need a medic or something?"

Working. That's what had gotten Chase gone for years. Archer should probably have been thankful it was only six months this time but Archer wasn't in a very charitable mood. Blame the hang over. The money? "Yeah. Got some of that and then things bad started happening. I figured it was someone tracing the money. I stopped trying to use it."

Still alive. "Yeah. Still alive." The words were quieter, less angry. He was still alive no thanks to his own self-destructive tendencies. He'd managed to win races that he shouldn't have been able to even finish. He shook his head, hand passing over his face again. Back into the living room where Chase was curled up on the couch, Archer looked at him for a long time before finally sighing.

"You are not fine, Chase. You look like hamburger." Archer sighed. It was hard to stay mad at Chase. He sank to the floor next to the couch. "You need food before you sleep again? Something like eggs or a sandwich?" That about covered everything that he had in the fridge. "Or cold pizza." Yeah, there was always cold pizza. And beer. But he wasn't going to offer that. Not yet.

Archer wasn't sure exactly what had happened other than the 'work' explanation that really didn't quite cut it for a reason to be gone so long but there were so many twists and turns, Archer didn't know if he wanted to hear all the spider webs that Chase had gotten himself tangled in. It was just another of those things that left Archer on the outside looking in; knowing he wasn't up to whatever it was that Chase was into. He was just a kid from Jersey who was better behind the wheel than most.

The snap of fingers just got a look from Archer as if to ask without words if Chase was really giving a command with the snap and point. He shook his head. "I only did what I had to do." Maybe in the moment that's what he had thought but he wasn't going to admit to being reckless. Then he might have to explain it and right now thinking too much was not something Archer wanted to do.

"Yeah, you said you're fine but you don't look it. So shut the fuck up. I don't want to hear the bullshit." Archer pushed himself up from where he'd been sitting by the couch. A beer sounded like a good way to wash away the hang over. He didn't 'go shopping'. He just picked up what he needed for the night or weekend. "Whatever." He could empathize with the idea of nothing sounding good. Archer disappeared into the kitchen and leaned against the fridge, opening the main door so he could fish out a beer. The rush of the cold air felt good against his chest. "Lemme know when you want to eat. We'll figure the rest out from there."

The rest. What was there to figure out? Was Chase here long enough to get healed up and then leave again? Archer closed his eyes as he tipped the bottle to his lips. He didn't want to think like that but there was a track record here to consider. Had Chase fixed it so he wouldn't have to leave again? That had been a plan at one time. Questions flew around his head faster than he could really articulate them even to himself.

"So sleep. Heal up." Archer pushed away from the fridge, slow steps taking him back to the living room. Was the figure going to be gone? would Archer need to go get some more booze and drugs to forget this conversation ever happened?