Making Promises (8 page)

“What’s wrong with these?”

“They are baggy.”

“They’re comfy,” Shane said, shifting his hips inside the roominess and deciding that this could be a very nice way to be costumed.

Mikhail scowled at him and pulled at the sides of fabric at Shane’s hips, making the pants taut around his crotch. He looked up at Shane and smirked.

“There is another style that is fitted—you will look very good in them.”

“I don’t like to flash that around,” Shane grunted, jerking the loose fabric out of Mikhail’s hands, and Mikhail grinned at him.

“I should think not, if you’ve only had one lover.” He grinned then with all his teeth, and Shane rolled his eyes.

“One
man
,” he said with emphasis. “I’ve had women too.” Mikhail’s eyes narrowed as though he didn’t like the thought of competition. “Did you like them?” he asked tauntingly, and Shane felt the need to clarify a few very personal things about his life.

“I liked them fine,” he said firmly. “I’ve just got an equal opportunity pecker, that’s all.”

One corner of that sulky little mouth came up in a pure sneer of scorn. “Then why so few lovers?”

Shane grimaced. “Because I’ve got a one-chance heart, okay? Now let me go put on my jeans, and I’ll buy our clothes.” 36

Mikhail opened his mouth in surprise and then something like outrage. “I’m not going to sleep with your ‘equal opportunity pecker’ just because you buy me clothes!” he protested, and Shane rolled his eyes.

“I’d be disappointed if you did. I just feel like being nice. Now shut up or that urge will pass right quick.” And with that he stalked into the stall to change.

By the time he’d gotten situated with the clothes (kept the tunic on, took the trousers off, put the jeans on, folded the T-shirt) several things had settled themselves in his mind.

One thing was that Kimmy needed him. She might not have admitted it—and she might not even be prepared to act on it—but he knew without a doubt that she needed him. He was her only family, and there was a reason she’d started keeping contact and a reason she hadn’t asked for help when she’d had a tough time, and he needed to be there for her just like Deacon and Crick were there for him.

Another thing was that he was way out of his league with Mikhail.

The man was… beautiful, and quick, and funny, and very, very full of himself. How he could make arrogance appealing was beyond Shane, but Shane liked it very, very much.

And the third thing—the thing that didn’t occur to him until he was approaching his sister and Mikhail as they held up the faerie wings and little girl dresses and big girl dresses that he wanted to buy for Parry Angel and Benny—was that Mikhail knew exactly what Shane had meant when he was thinking kittens and yarn.

He wondered if he could clone that quality and inject it into someone who was not so beautiful it made his breath stop in his chest.

She don’t lie, she don’t lie, she don’t lie…

“Cocaine”—Eric Clapton

“SO,” SHANE said meaningfully when they were on their way again. The vendor was holding his enormous bag of purchases for Benny and Parry Angel, and he had to admit that if he didn’t have a lifetime whack of mad money, he’d be eating Top Ramen for a year. It was okay though—he had a shirt, he was on his way to get some more really expensive shit that would help him fit in here, and even though it had been messy, he and Kimmy had held their first real conversation since her argument with their parents. (Shane had not needed to argue with his parents. He had simply signed up for the academy and moved out of the house. Kimmy had needed their money to push her through dance—it made a difference.)

“So?” Kimmy was holding on to his arm and she was leading him somewhere specific. He didn’t know how she and Mikhail could keep track of all of the different clothing vendors and what they sold, but he’d heard the hurried conversation between them as he’d been paying for his purchases.
Do we go to X? No, they don’t have this, this, or this. How
about Y? Yeah, but he’s a total asshole. How about Z? Perfect. And then
we can go to X-sub-1 for this and this. Excellent. We have a plan.

Shane was content to allow himself to be led about the Faire, surrounded by people in full dress trying gamely to talk in fake Olde Englyshe and happy to be somewhere, anywhere, besides their ordinary, everyday lives.

“There was something you wanted to tell me, Kim?” he probed gently, and she sighed.

“Yeah. The coke got pretty bad. I’ve been clean since rehab—

but….” She shrugged. “I started when I was really young, you know? It keeps you awake, keeps you thin—sort of a win/win situation, until you figure out you’ve spent all your tip money on it and you don’t have anywhere to sleep. I hit Mom up for the cash so I could go in style—one of those real swank joints that give you the ‘poor-pitiful-you’ song and dance—but mostly?”

“Yeah?” Shane asked, dodging a couple of children chasing their parents. The little girl had on a dress way too big for her and had hauled the train of the thing through the neck of it, exposing a chunky bottom in Tinkerbelle underwear. Shane thought of Parry Angel and went
awwwwww.

“Mostly I just felt alone. Really alone.”

Shane turned toward her and remembered when they were kids.

Their house had been cold and lonely, and they had, at the end of the day, each retreated to their own rooms. Shane went to his books and his stories, and Kimmy went to her dance, and they forged alien personal worlds where pain was distant and they could each be the heroes of their own stories.

Shane had a sudden memory. “I came home from the hospital,” he said, “and went to my apartment, and it was… four white walls and a couple of concert posters. I decided that whatever I did with myself, the next time I got shot, I wanted someone to miss me.”

“I’d miss you, Shaney,” Kimmy told him earnestly, and Shane smiled at her, and they both knew it to be the lost, lonely smile of their childhood.

“I’ve
missed
you, Kimmy,” he said truthfully, and her lower lip quivered.

“I used to be so mean to you,” she mumbled. “I called you all those horrible names and made fun of you, but I was in rehab and you were… in surgery, and I just kept thinking that you were my only family, and you didn’t even know I gave a shit, and that wasn’t right.” Shane looked away for a moment and realized that Mikhail was standing idly in front of another clothier’s, waiting patiently for them to Making Promises

finish their personal bullshit. Shane watched him perk up and cock his head as though listening, and then swear, trotting over to them reluctantly.

“Kimmy,
lubime
, you are going to be late, and then your asshole boyfriend will come yell at me! You need to run!” Kimmy dashed her cheeks and grimaced. “Look, Shaney—you don’t want to come to this one—it’s an ensemble and…. Okay, I’m not going to be the center of attention, so you have my permission to skip it, okay? Go shopping with Mikhail here and meet us at the jousting in an hour—”

“Not long enough,
lubime
,” Mikhail said decisively. “We’ll meet you before curtain.”

“Mikhail!” she protested laughingly. “He’s
my
guest!”

“And I want to keep him for an hour or two. Give over, cow-woman, and go dance.”’

“Bastard,” she muttered sourly, but she grimaced again, gave Shane a quick peck on the cheek, and called “Don’t be late!” before vanishing into the crowd.

Mikhail watched her go with a combination of amusement and satisfaction, then turned to Shane, grabbed his hand, and said, “The time is ours, Kimmy’s brother. Let us go spend your money frivolously and talk some more like kittens and yarn.”

Shane looked bemusedly at their twined hands in the thick, gold October light. “Pretty day, but not a season,” he said, wondering if Mikhail would follow him this time too.

Mikhail tugged at his hand imperiously, and Shane met a pair of speculative gray eyes. “No seasons. Only days.” His voice was clipped and short—he wanted Shane to understand, and Shane did—but he wasn’t necessarily going to just fall in line.

“I don’t do single nights,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “One-chance heart, remember?”

Mikhail pursed that sulky mouth and blew out a frustrated breath.

Then he smiled smugly. “Pretty day,” he said simply. “I will hold hands with a pretty man on a pretty day, and we will enjoy the Faire. Agreed?” Shane smiled, and although he’d never have called himself the kind of man who kept secrets, there must have been
something
enigmatic about his expression, because Mikhail’s eyes narrowed. “Come on, Mickey,” 40

Shane said, enjoying that imperious glare immensely. He
never
had the upper hand. “We have shopping to do.”

“I am not a cartoon mouse,” Mikhail said disdainfully as they started for the shade inside of the booth.

Shane laughed and started singing to an old pop standard, clearing things up a little. “
Oh, Mickey, you so fine, you so fine you blow my mind,
hey Mick-ey! Hey, Mickey!
”

Mikhail gave a disdainful little sniff, curled that upper lip, and shrugged. Shane knew he was pleased.

“So,” Mikhail asked while Shane was in another dressing room, fiddling with the hooks on the side of the
very
fitted trousers.

“So what?” Fuck. He was going to need a larger size. He hooked them anyway and started with the jerkins.
Yeah, buddy, you know what
you’d like to be jerkin’. Shut up—I’m trying not to be a complete
spazzmonkey.

“So how did you get shot at?” Mikhail’s voice was muffled as he searched through rack upon rack of clothes for just the perfect set of trousers and jerkin or huntsman to make Shane’s outfit complete (Shane realized that he was going to have to start visiting the faires on a regular basis just so he didn’t feel like an idiot to be owning all these clothes.)

“Same way most people are—someone aims a gun at them and pulls the trigger.” With that vague answer, he looked in the mirror and took a gander. Ewww—some parts of his body just did
not
need that much definition. Shane sighed and stuck his head out of the dressing room. “I’m too fat for this stuff, Mickey—could you start picking a size extra-large?” He was greeted by a pair of icy gray eyes. “I don’t know which is more irritating. The way you won’t answer this question or the fact that you think you are fat.” Boldly, Mikhail reached out and pinched at the flesh of Shane’s stomach. Shane yelped and threw himself backward, clothes jumping off the hangers as he knocked into them, and Mikhail still glowered, apparently not giving a shit.

“That’s not fat, that’s skin. You are a big man, but you are not fat.

Now take off those clothes and give me a straight answer, you obnoxious man—I just want to know if you are going to be dying anytime soon.” Shane rolled his eyes and tried to bend over in the over-tight pants to pick up the clothes. He stood up before the pants could rip, and Mikhail Making Promises

rolled his eyes and shooed him back in the booth, bending to pick up the dropped clothing with the same preternatural grace he showed in everything else he did. “Don’t try to change the subject—now change!”

“Bossy little prick, ain’t ya?” Shane muttered, but he was charmed just the same.

“I’m going to leave you in there naked unless you start talking,” Mickey’s voice was set on “saccharine” and Shane sighed.

“You know that ‘blue wall’ you always hear about when people talk about the police force?” Shane asked, pulling the laces out of the jerkin and then pulling the thing over his head.

“Da,” Mikhail muttered. Shane could hear the clinking of hangers as he set things to rights.

“Well, let’s just say it’s not really pleased when there’s a pink brick in it.”

There was a digestive silence. “Are you sure you’re not a purple brick?” Mikhail asked, with just enough of a bitchy edge to make Shane poke his head out quizzically.

“That really bothers you, doesn’t it?”

Mikhail looked sideways and shooed him back inside. “Hurry and give me those clothes, so I can give you something that fits. And yes. It bothers me. Too many stupid men saying ‘bend over, boy, and give me that—but I’m not a faggot, I have a wife!’”

Shane took off both his garments and put them on hangers in the silence that followed, and then stuck his head out of the booth, holding out the hangers. When Mikhail reached for them, Shane grabbed his hands and made sure he had the man’s complete attention.