"Shit. He's here. Mayson, come on." Mayson didn't move. Mayson checked out. A skill he developed before the age of ten whenever his mother would climb on top of him, he used it when the stimuli around him became too overwhelming for him to bear. The world disappeared and he with it. He was in a room of white. Like a blank canvas, he stared through the eyes of a painter, but unlike the artist, he failed to find beauty within this chaos.
Jonathan, having experienced this side of Mayson before, wasted no more time with words. Bodily he picked Mayson up and all but sprinted into the back room. He had bought himself some time when he was running around the house the last thirty-six hours.
Carefully he opened the wall in the closet, carefully listening to see if they'd made it to the house yet. He'd set up motion sensors one mile away to give him some time to get the last bit prepared.
Jonathan set Mayson down in the little hiding space and kissed him. "I love you, little duck. No matter what happens don't leave this room." Jonathan smiled as Mayson looked at him.
"I love you, too, Jonny. Stay with me?"
Jonathan wanted to cry at the request. "I can't. Stay quiet. Remember I love you, Mayson."
With that, he closed the wall, closed the closet door, and made his way out of the room. He turned left and headed further down the hall before making a right. Here he came into the mudroom and slipped out the door into the outside.
He looked around a moment before hearing a rustling of voices, hushed in tones.
He saw four men approaching then slip around the other side of the house.
He reached a certain spot and gave a signal to somewhere in the darkness before continuing on to the front. Jonathan peeked around the side of the house just as the four men checked the front doorknob. Jonathan left it unlocked.
The frontman, who Jonathan knew not to be Lucius, bravely walked through the front door. As he pushed it open and walked in, a flash of fire and a large bang! rang out into the night. The man was thrown back several feet, shouts of surprise carried with the shot, drowned out in the sound.
Jonathan ducked back around the side and gave another signal. Then the darkness began to move. Black shapes filed around the house, three of them slipping in the door Jonathan had earlier exited.
Jonathan shot a quick thought to Mayson, hoping he was staying put and staying quiet. As the three remaining men entered the house, Jonathan was behind the last man. The two in front, who, like the others were dressed in black clothing and masks, heard a crunch sound. They stopped and turned around, fear and adrenaline starting to make them have second guesses about this attempt they were engaged in.
They saw their partner in crime lying on the floor at their feet, his neck twisted at an unnatural angle, his eyes still wide with the fear of death. They looked around but nothing moved. Even the air was still and the gulls quiet. As if the night itself were mourning their lives.
They turned, unsure where to go. They saw no one and the house was silent. The taller one pointed towards the back hallway and they made their way slowly toward it. They passed the threshold of the hallway not seeing the tripwire that was set to bring a sledgehammer down swinging. The taller man ducked at the last minute causing the hammer to smash into the other man's jugular. The man grabbed at his throat and dropping to his knees, made gurgling sounds from his crushed throat. Lucius watched as Manley started to convulse before succumbing to death. He knew he was done for, but he was damned if he was going to go down without a fight.
"Come out here and fight to my face, you son of a bitch." There was no sound but behind him, the darkness moved. Lucius turned toward the hallway but saw nothing. He knew he heard something.
"Lucius."
Lucius turned back again to face the living room. He sneered but thought better of taking an unknown step.
"Jonathan. Where is he?"
Jonathan's whole body was tense, ready to move. Behind Lucius, the darkness moved again.
"He's safe."
"He's mine." Lucius did take a step then, his anger and possession making him forget his caution.
"You will never fucking touch him again."
Lucius laughed. "You're wrong. Even if you kill me where I stand...I will fuck him in his dreams...he'll wake up screaming my name in terror, remembering how my hands felt when they roamed him." He took another step and another before producing a pistol and aiming it square at Jonathan's chest. And fired.
Jonathan felt the bullet impact him, sending him flying backward before hitting the ground.
Lucius turned and there before him stood Mayson and behind him six men. Mayson pointed a gun of his own at the same area Lucius shot Jonathan. Lucius started to pick up his arm when Mayson expertly squeezed the trigger, once, twice, three times into his chest like Jonathan had taught him years ago. Lucius was dead before he hit the ground.
Dropping the weapon Mayson ran over to Jonathan and collapsed at his side.
"Nonononono, Jonny. I need help!" He screamed at the men behind him. "Help him."
The men rushed forward, one pulling Mayson off Jonathan and backing away from the crowd. Mayson turned into the man and sobbed tears of fear and worry.
Mike Callahan wrapped his arms around the younger man, trying to comfort him as best he could. "He'll be okay, kid," Mike whispered as they placed Jonathan's unconscious body on a stretcher.
Mayson heard someone call for life flight, and then crumpled, unconscious in the detective's arms.
Three days later
Mayson walked into the hospital room to find Jonathan awake. He had been in and out of wakefulness for the last few hours and the overwhelming need to eat, and Mike Callahan's gentle prodding finally went and pushed himself into eating.
"Jonny?" Mayson approached slowly. Tears filled his eyes and he took a deep breath.
"My little duck," he whispered hoarsely and reached out his hand. Mayson took his hand as if it would shatter if he took it too roughly.
"I'm okay, duck." Mayson, not moving, began to sob. "Just some bruising, baby."
'Some bruising' consisted of a massive chest contusion that broke several ribs. One rib punctured his lung and he almost died twice in surgery.
Mayson couldn't control the tears, nor could he make himself walk closer to the bed.
Over the last three days, Mayson managed to hold himself together to keep vigil watch over him. Jonathan slipped on a Kevlar vest under his jacket, hiding it from view before attempting to get Mayson to eat.
"Duck, my love, come here," Jonathan coaxed. He did, and he sat when Jonathan gently tugged his hand.
Mayson gathered himself and wiped his eyes, managing a small smile. "Hi."
He leaned down and gently kissed him before pressing his forehead to Jonathan's. "I was so scared, Jonny."
"Sh, baby, I'm okay." Gently he ran his fingers through Mayson's hair.
Just then a doctor walked in and in tow Mike Callahan. Mayson jumped up as she approached, a shy rising blush on his cheeks.
She smiled gently at him before looking to Jonathan. "Well, you gave us all quite a scare. How are you feeling, Jonathan?"
"Kinda sore. I don't think I'll be working out anytime soon." He smiled.
"I would say not. Those ribs will take some time to heal, as will the contusion in your chest. We'll keep you here for the next few days for observation, but I would say you're pretty much out of the woods now." She checked his vitals, made some notes on her clipboard, and announced that someone would bring along some food shortly.
Mike Callahan, who had stood quietly in the background until the doctor left, came up to the bed, a soft smile on his lips.
"Hey, kid."
"Hey, Mike. Thanks for taking care of him, huh?" Jonathan smiled glancing at Mayson.
Mike smiled and nodded. "Well, I knew if I didn't I'd have you to answer to."
Jonathan smiled, running his fingers through Mayson's hair.
"You look tired, kid. Get some sleep, huh? Gina and I will come to check up on you tomorrow." He nodded once, gently squeezed Jonathan's free hand, and quietly left the room.
Mayson sat up, tears still trekking down his face. "I-I thought he-he-he k-killed you. I was so scared...I...I killed him, Jonny. I..."
Jonathan interrupted him. "Little duck, baby...I promise we will talk about everything that happened. We will hold each other and cry and do whatever we need to do...but not here, baby. When we get outta here we'll go somewhere, okay? Just us."
Mayson nodded and swallowed his emotions. Jonathan was right. He needed to rest. To heal. The least he could do was hold himself together for a while longer.
One month later
Mayson waited by the door of the beach house for Jonathan. He was gathering the last bit of their things before they left.
Over the last month, Jonathan had mostly healed. His ribs and his lung still gave him issues, but the doctor assured him he was in the clear. He was sent home with instructions to take it easy. Not to overdo it. Jonathan hated every second of it. Mayson had been doing a good portion of most things. Cooking, cleaning, etc.
By the time they'd arrived back at the beach house from the hospital all evidence of Lucius or that night had been wiped away. Carpets replaced, new door, new paint. Mayson looked around. His eyes landed on the spot Jonathan had fallen when Lucius shot him and his throat automatically closed up and his eyes watered. He jumped slightly when he felt a warm hand against his cheek. When he opened his eyes he saw Jonathan's face. He was so beautiful Mayson still didn't understand how he had ever gotten so lucky.
"Okay?"
He almost nodded, but then he shook his head and looked down. He was far from okay.
Jonathan pulled him with one hand toward his chest. Mayson lay his head against it. He was reassured by the heart beating strong under his ear.
"I'm here, little duck. Right here, baby. I'm okay. A little sore, but alright."
Mayson nodded and dried his eyes and took a deep breath. It wasn't time yet to fall apart.
"Hungry?"
Mayson nodded and took another couple deep, calming breaths. "Yeah."
"Come on, then."
They arrived at the restaurant a short time after they left the island. There was no wait so they were shown directly to their seats. While they waited to be served they chatted lightly, sharing smiles and fun memories; each steering clear of anything even remotely related to Lucius or the events over the last few months.
"Jonny, look." Without preamble, Mayson stood from their booth and approached an older man and a younger man, who was bound to a wheelchair that could have been the man's son.
Jonathan watched Mayson, perplexed. The younger man almost hid behind his companion at Mayson's approach. The sight made Jonathan angry and he wanted to protect the boy.
Mayson slowly approached the two men, not wanting to frighten the younger one. His smile slipped a bit when he did anyway. The older man smiled wide, pleased to see his bruises had healed and he no longer walked as if in great pain.
"Well, isn't this a surprise!" The man said in delight. "You look much better than the last we saw each other."
Mayson smiled. "Yes, I imagine I do. I feel better, that's for sure. Um...are you two meeting anyone? Would you like to join us?"
"That would be lovely. We would be happy to."
Mayson smiled brightly, his eyes shifting to the boy. He knew the posture and his heart ached for him, "Great. We haven't ordered yet, so we can all order together."
They all made their way back to Mayson and Jonathan's table, where Mayson slid next to Jonathan and the man sitting opposite, the boy locking his chair at the end of the table.
"Hey, if it would be easier for you, we can move to that table. You would have more room."
Mayson slid from the booth and gathered his drink, Jonathan following suit.
"Thank you. That was very kind of you," the boy said once they'd all settled at the new table. He spoke in a near whisper.
"It's no problem. I'm Mayson. This is my boyfriend Jonathan. You're Alex, right?" Mayson said, his eyes going to the boy's left to the older man.
He smiled. "That's right. This is my son, Jamie." He put a hand on Jamie's shoulder and the boy shyly smiled.
"Hi," Jamie looked down then back up. "It's n-n-n-nice t-to mee-mee-meh," He stopped and took a breath. "Meet y-you." He looked down again, shame in his face.
"It's nice to meet you too, Jamie." Mayson smiled at the boy, his eyes sending a message that, by the boy's smile, was received.
I won't ever make fun of you.
They all ordered and ate, Jamie even joining in more confidently to the conversation. The meal was pleasant and in the end, they exchanged numbers and emails with a promise to keep in touch.
They met Mike Callahan and his partner Gina Thomas a couple of hours later at the airport. "Thanks for looking after my car while we're gone, Mike. I appreciate it."
Mike smiled and hugged Jonathan. "No worries, kid. You know I would do anything for you."
Jonathan smiled. "I know. Mike...?"
Mike raised an eyebrow at the sudden nervousness in his voice but didn't say anything, allowing Jonathan to gather his thoughts.
"Well...I just wanted to say...well, that...I wish I'd have had a father like you. Thank you for all you've done for me."
"Aw, kid." Mike pulled him into another hug. "It would have been an honor to have had you as a son."
Many hours later
"I never thought we'd never get here!" Mayson exclaimed dropping everything he was holding off to the side of the front door. Jonathan chuckled adding to the pile of baggage.
"How you feeling, Jonny?" Mayson asked turning to him. His face was drawn in pain and fatigue, and his breathing was almost labored.
"I'm okay, duck," he said tightly.
"Liar." Mayson smiled softly. "Why don't we go lay down for a while? It'll be dark soon anyway."
"Kinda hungry," Jonathan told him as he captured his lips with his own. "How about some food first?"
"There's food here?"
Jonathan laughed. "Yeah. When you rent these cabins they have an option of getting it stocked with food. We're set for a bit. So...dinner?"
Mayson smiled. "Alright. Go sit down. I'll make us something."
That night Mayson lay awake, unable to sleep as thoughts and memories zipped across his mind in rapid, unorganized entropy.
He looked over at Jonathan who slept peacefully. He screwed his eyes shut to stop the incoming tears. The attempt failed.
He reached out and lightly touched Jonathan's arm as a torrent of tears flowed forth. Mayson buried his face in the pillow and wept silently and alone.