Walk a Mile

by Sarah Madison

  “It comes in handy.” Jerry wondered briefly how Flynn viewed him. For someone who had only recently adopted the concept of the soundproof booth, Flynn was scarily adept at controlling and shielding his thoughts from Jerry. “I can always count on him to do the paperwork.”

  It’s too soon to kiss him. It’s not as if we were big on doing that sort of good-bye when he was growing up. All that wasted time. I wish I could make him understand…. Jean walked him to the door. “You should be nice to your partner, John. I’m sure he’s good for more than just paperwork.”

  The memory of their first evening in DC flashed into Jerry’s mind, the way he had folded over Flynn kneeling on the bed, fucking Flynn from behind while he arched his back into Jerry and begged for it. Jerry felt the rush of heat under Flynn’s skin, knowing it was rare for Flynn to flush and yet unable to stop it.

  Oh dear. Jean frowned slightly. I certainly hope this is not what I think it is. I had hoped he’d put all that behind him. First Tommy, then Mitch, and now this new partner?

  Whoa, what? Jerry tried to put on the brakes, but Jean was firmly moving him out the door. The half-hidden implications of Jean’s thoughts were like pebbles on the bottom of a stream. The water was clear one moment and disturbed the next, and the streambed was obscured by a tumble of silt and mud.

  “How much longer will you be in town?” Jean paused with one hand on the open door and the other on the frame, looking like the homeowner keeping out the unwelcome salesman. I mustn’t follow him out. I don’t want to look pathetic. That will just drive him away again.

  Jerry stopped on the porch, giving a helpless shrug and resisting mightily the urge to run back and hug her again, which would be out of character for Flynn. “I really can’t say. The, um, case we’re on is complicated.” He’d said that once already. “I’ll let you know before we leave town, though. Maybe we can get together for dinner before I go?” Surely that would give him enough time to get back in his own body and explain things to Flynn. He ruthlessly shoved away the worry that they wouldn’t switch back. Of course they would change back. They had to.

  “Okay. Be careful driving through the city. The police are everywhere during the evening rush hour. Don’t speed.”

  “Mother.” Jerry dragged out the two syllables in a manner only Flynn could do. “I’ve been driving myself for years now. I think I can manage. Besides, if I get pulled over, I’ll just flash my badge.”

  Jean gave him a bewitching smile that was purely Family Flynn. “Of course, dear. I just figured, with you living in California recently, you would have forgotten what the traffic is like around here.”

  “Yes, because they don’t have bad traffic in California.” Jerry refrained from rolling his eyes. Flynn frequently used his eyebrows to good cause in a conversation, but not so much the eye-rolling. Jerry realized it was an inherently dismissive gesture, and one he should probably use less. He was tempted, sorely tempted, to steer Jean back to the subject of Tommy and Mitch, but how could he do that without it seeming odd or prolonging the visit when he’d already made excuses to go? This telepathy thing definitely had some shortcomings when it came to getting information. “I’ll be in touch.”

  She closed the door only when he had started the engine and was backing down the driveway. He’d taken out the cookies when he’d buckled the seat belt and laid them on the passenger seat. The paper napkin had started to unfold; he could smell the sweet sugar of the frosted surface.

  He hated oatmeal. He hated store-bought cookies. However, how could he explain their presence when he went to meet Flynn?

  He reached over and broke off a piece of cookie, tapping the crumbs on the napkin and bringing the piece to his mouth as he turned out of the subdivision and back onto the main highway. The crisp cookie tasted nothing like any oatmeal cookie he’d ever eaten; there was a hint of nutmeg and cinnamon, reminding him more of a ginger snap. The frosting was a thin glaze that offset the spicy flavor of the cookie. It was good, much better than he’d expected.

  He ate the rest as he headed back into town. Damn, they were good.

  Chapter 10

  IN THE end, he chose to text Flynn back rather than call. Yes, it was cowardly of him, but he couldn’t speak to Flynn just then. Maybe, somehow, he could keep this meeting with Jean a secret. That fantasy lasted a whole five minutes, after which he realized it might even be worse coming out of nowhere on short notice, blindsiding Flynn when he least expected it. No, he’d have to tell Flynn what he’d done. The realization that he’d probably crossed an unforgivable line added weight to his already worsening headache. Either way, he wasn’t in a mood to talk to Flynn.

  Although he resented like hell having to pay four dollars for a packet of ibuprofen at a convenience store when he had an entire bottle back at the hotel, he caved in under the pressure of the growing headache and stopped at the nearest gas station. He needed something immediately. He sent his text then, only mentioning the collection of the artifact. He had a bad feeling about how Flynn would react to what he’d done, and yet he knew it had been the right thing to do.

  Heaving a sigh of relief, as though washing down the ibuprofen with a bottle of water was going to instantaneously resolve the headache, he pulled out onto the highway again and made his way back to the ramp for the interstate. They were spending as much time on the road here as they had in the Bay area. It would have made more sense if they’d checked out of the hotel room this morning and taken a room wherever they’d wound up that night, but of course, that had been before the Big Switch. Everything depended on what happened next, now that they had the artifact in their possession. The thought of sitting in the car outside Nancy’s apartment all night made him feel tired, very tired. It would be a long, boring, chilly night. Damned uncomfortable all the way around.

  Before it had been stolen, they’d tried revisiting the original artifact at the Weir Museum in an attempt to undo the telepathy. It hadn’t worked. There was no reason to expect anything different this time around. Except, that is, for the fact that people didn’t switch bodies. Not outside a B-rated sci-fi movie anyway. Jerry wondered now how much longer they could delay their return home.

  Flynn jumped up from his chair as soon as Jerry entered the hotel room. “Where have you been?”

  Jerry glanced at his watch. It was almost two p.m. He had a lot of time to account for. It hadn’t taken that long to meet Nancy and relieve her of the artifact. As he thought about his reply, his headache stabbed behind one eye with the intensity of an ice pick. He rubbed the left side of his neck, muscles as tight and unforgiving as steel rods, as he tossed the keys to the rental on the table.

  “I picked up the artifact from Nancy. Stayed to help with the press release. Hopefully, whoever wants the artifact knows she doesn’t have it now. How’d it go at the police station?” It was interesting to hear his normally detailed sentences devolve into a sort of Flynn-speak. He was beginning to have his suspicions about Flynn’s terse manner of communication.

  “There was no mention of a white van in any of the police reports, so I spent the better part of the day cross-referencing white vans with that partial plate with people who might have lived in the neighborhood. No luck.”

  Jerry couldn’t help but notice how very still Flynn was when he spoke. If Jerry had been describing his morning, he would have circled his index fingers at “cross-referencing” and spread his palms at “no joy.” It was weird seeing himself from this perspective, with the accompanying epiphany that at least some of his mannerisms were simply bad habits.

  “It was a long shot.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Flynn looked tired just the same. “What about you? Did you hang out at the museum shadowing Nancy?”

  It would have been so easy to say yes. A part of him was severely tempted to do so. A wiser part of him insisted their relationship would never survive if he lied now. He had to ignore the tiny voice of fear that whispered his relationship was doomed no matter what he did. He swallowed hard a
s the realization of what he’d done hit him in the gut. Christ. Flynn would never forgive him.

  “No. We met with the investigating officers about the break-in, and I made it very clear the artifact was in an undisclosed location. Nancy drafted a press release, which I approved. Then I went to see your mother.”

  “What?” The incredulity in Flynn’s voice made Jerry wince. The blast of unshielded thought that followed was even worse.

  You went to see my mother? What the fuck where you thinking? How dare you interfere in my life like that? You knew I didn’t want to see her.

  “Look, I only wanted to help. I knew you didn’t want to talk with her because you were afraid of what she might really think of you, but you’re wrong. She wanted to apologize to—”

  How dare you? Who the fuck do you think you are? It wasn’t your choice to make.

  Jerry opened his mouth to speak, but Flynn cut him off.

  “I don’t want to hear it.” Flynn, wearing Jerry’s face, had gone beet-red—not Jerry’s best look, if he did say so himself. “You had no right. You knew I didn’t want to speak to her! What’s going to happen now, when I cut off all contact again? Because that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

  This wasn’t good. Flynn’s thoughts boiled over, a flow of lava sending blistering heat in Jerry’s direction. Flynn stood in the center of the room, every line of his body bristling with anger. His hands were clenched into fists. He thrust his shoulders back and his chest out, ready to take a swing at something. For a brief moment, the realization of what he’d done struck Jerry as certainly as if Flynn had landed a punch.

  The crushing grip of the headache flared with a spurt of anger, making it hard to tell which came first—the pain or the defensive ire. Not that Jerry gave a fuck. He was beyond caring if Flynn was pissed or not. Flynn, Flynn, Flynn. It was always about Flynn. For once, would it be so bad for him to put himself in Jerry’s shoes? At the moment, he didn’t give a rat’s ass if Flynn was angry. His neck hardened into concrete, the muscles in a spasm that made his teeth hurt.

  “You were never going to see her. It wasn’t fair to her. She didn’t know why you were avoiding her. What was she to think?”

  “That maybe she deserved it.”

  “You don’t mean that.” Jerry winced and grabbed the back of his neck briefly before going on. “Look, she’s given up drinking. She wanted you to know that, and to ask for your forgiveness.”

  “That wasn’t your decision to make!” Flynn roared.

  Flynn was yelling at him. Flynn never yelled. Oh sure, he could snark with the best of them. He could be downright chilling at times, or coolly cutting, especially when he was interrogating a suspect, or royally pissed. But this red-in-the-face yelling was not like him. That kind of explosive anger was more Jerry’s speed, only he’d been walking around on tiptoes ever since he’d met Flynn. Flynn, the poor telepath, who needed all the sympathy he could get.

  Jerry could almost feel the security doors shutting within him, steel doors that clanged shut between decks on a spaceship, trying to seal off a hull breach. “I’m sorry.” He tried to soften his voice, but it was about as stiff and unyielding as the muscles in his neck. “I thought this was something I could do for you while we were swapped. I could meet your mother without any pressure, find out what she wanted, and then tell you so you could decide how to deal with it.”

  Flynn ground out his words. “You had no right to see her—not without asking me. Sorry just doesn’t cut it.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me. You can’t pull shit like this and expect an apology to cover it.” I might have to stick with you until we get our bodies back, but after that, we’re done.

  Jerry’s heart plummeted through his stomach and out the other side. He couldn’t tell how much of his sudden nausea stemmed from the blinding headache, but it didn’t matter. What mattered were Flynn’s thoughts. They were breaking up. Just like that.

  “Wow.” Jerry took a deep breath. “I think maybe we’ve been done for a while. I guess I was just too stupid to see it.”

  “Yeah. Maybe so.” I don’t know why the fuck I thought this time would be any different. Who am I kidding? Whatever else Flynn was thinking disappeared into the booth. Somehow he’d gotten right up in Jerry’s face, as unstable as a roadside IED, a hair trigger looking for an excuse to explode.

  Black and yellow spots swam in Jerry’s vision. It felt as though rats were gnawing on his spinal column. Flynn wanted out? So be it. The sooner they switched back, the better. Because Flynn wasn’t the only one who was done here. Jerry was done too. Tired of constantly dancing around Flynn’s issues, always being the one to capitulate to Flynn’s needs.

  “Fuck you, then.” Jerry almost didn’t recognize the voice coming out of his mouth. It was Flynn’s voice at its coldest, its deadliest. “I didn’t sign up for your shit.”

  You think I wanted this? The telepathy? Living in your pocket because no one else knows our dirty little secret?

  Flynn’s hand jerked up, as though he meant to hit Jerry, but at the last second, he swerved to collect a coffee mug off the table. With an animal growl of frustration, he hurled the mug across the room to shatter on the wall by the door. Breathing heavily, nostrils flaring, he made eye contact with Jerry. His hands shook with rage; his fingers curled into claws.

  Ice encased Jerry’s emotions. A detached part of him marveled at how self-contained he was at this moment. Like being faced with a pit bull on the verge of attack, Jerry knew the wrong move would escalate things to a point of no return for both of them. The fact that he’d probably already forced that issue by going to see Jean was something he wasn’t going to think about right now. He couldn’t.

  “Whatever.” Every line of his body implied how uncool he thought Flynn was being. He took the artifact out of his pocket and set it on the table between them. “Just so you know, it’s been ticking ever since I picked it up from Nancy.”

  “Ticking.” He sensed Flynn reeling in his anger, trying to regain control so he could think clearly. Briefly, a sensation of dismay could be detected, but it was quickly swamped by Flynn’s fury. You’d better not be fucking with me now.

  Jerry rolled his neck with casual unconcern. The muscles pulled at their attachments on his skull, where a dull ache was rooted. “You heard me. Ticking. I noticed it when I picked it up. I don’t know what it means. It wasn’t ticking the other day.”

  Flynn picked up the box, turning it over carefully as he examined it. Jerry could tell he was making sure he saw all the symbols, that it was completely committed to memory. “Maybe we armed something when we activated it.”

  Jerry felt a small muscle twitch in his jaw and concentrated on stopping it. “Armed? Well, that’s just fucking great. Well? Is anything happening?”

  Flynn set the artifact on the table. “Nothing. I don’t suppose it felt any different to you when you picked it up the first time, did it?”

  “No.” Like the previous artifact, which had lit up spectacularly when Flynn had accidentally bumped into it but was as dead as a burnt-out sun when they’d come back to it a second time, this prettily decorated box was just as inactive.

  He’d closed his eyes without realizing it. He wasn’t aware of that fact until he opened them and found Flynn holding out two white tablets and a glass of water with a frown.

  “Here. Take it.” Flynn was obviously still pissed with him. His expression was one of grudging assistance.

  “What’s that? I already took some ibuprofen a while ago.”

  “Tramadol. I recognize that look. You feel like someone has your head in a vise and they’re slowly winding it closed, right? And any sudden movement might make you puke.”

  “Don’t mention puking.” Jerry grimaced. He accepted the tablets from Flynn. “I didn’t know you took anything besides the occasional aspirin.”

  “Well, now, see, there’s something else you’ve learned about me today.” The bitterness in Flynn’s voic
e sparked momentarily like a log catching fire in the hearth before he damped it down again. “You need to put some ice on the back of your neck and lie down.”

  “Ice!” Jerry had seen Flynn do this, but he still mentally shuddered at the thought. “No way. I’d rather have a hot pack.”

  “Ice works ten times better. Trust me on this one.” The look Flynn shot him didn’t carry a ton of sympathy with it, but Jerry thought he spotted a glimmer of compassion for his situation. “Sit down. I’ll get some ice.”

  Jerry washed down the tramadol and wondered when Flynn had started carrying prescription pain medications. In the time they’d been together, he’d never seen anything other than ibuprofen or aspirin among Flynn’s things. Either it was a new development or he’d been hiding it. Neither thought made Jerry happy. Taking a seat at the table, he rested his head in his hands as he waited for Flynn to return. He didn’t even look up when Flynn came back into the room with the ice bucket. Flynn disappeared into the bathroom and returned with a hand towel, deftly wrapping it around the plastic bag of ice and handing it to Jerry.

  “Back of the neck. At least ten minutes.”

  Jerry tried not to whimper as he placed the makeshift ice pack at the base of skull. A little hiss escaped his lips despite himself.

  “Tough it out, it’ll be worth it.” Flynn sounded nearly normal. There was even a rueful note to his voice. “I usually have to take something by midafternoon, or else it gets like this. Sorry. I should have warned you.”

  “Tough it out. That’s your problem.” Jerry spoke through clenched teeth. “You know what? This is insane. No one should have to live with this level of pain. Not on a daily basis.”

  “My problem is you think you know the answer to everything. You’ve been in my body less than twenty-four hours, and you think you can swoop in and fix everything.” His voice was flat, dead. Without heat. It disturbed Jerry more than any of the yelling.

  Wow. They really were done.

  “If I’m going to be stuck in this body, then I’m the one that has to deal with it. Sorry if I don’t have what it takes to live in the Fortress of Solitude. You know, I don’t think anyone will take your badass title away for seeing a doctor. Have you ever thought about seeing a pain specialist? Or trying massage therapy?”