Page 30 of Gunpowder

“Understood.”

The police cruiser was close enough for its lights to turn the back of the Mustang violet for a moment before Felix tore out of the parking lot. Blair straddled his bike and started it up. He kicked off as soon as the engine was running, since his Yamaha was essentially a neon sign that said “I’m a member of Incindious, please arrest me” if the cops saw it from the side. His skin flashed blue as he pulled around the cruiser turning into the parking lot. Felix had gone right, so he went left. It was a good mile or two before he worked up the nerve to check his rearview mirror; the bar had disappeared around the block, and none of the cops had followed him.

He let himself relax, finally. His head was throbbing and his leg was on fire but he no longer had any problems that a couple of aspirin couldn’t fix. He looked to the sky at the sound of thunder, and cool raindrops slid over his face. Blair rode through the steadily increasing drizzle until he saw the first open gas station that didn’t look busy. He had been riding long enough that he was likely in a different law enforcement’s precinct.

Blair walked into the small, harshly lit gas station and bee-lined for the bathroom to assess the damage now that he was out of College Point. He got the distinct prickly sensation of being watched and looked around. The only other customer in the place was staring at him, and the cashier watched him warily from around the lottery case.

He let himself into the bathroom, the motion activated lights flickering on as he locked the door behind him. “Shit,” he muttered when he saw his reflection, immediately finding the reason for their stares. A cut ran through his eyebrow with a trail of blood leading down to his eye where it was caked in his lashes. He barely remembered blinking away something wet during the fight—everything had happened too fast to worry over such a small thing at the time.

Blair turned the faucet on and set to scrubbing his face. At least the cut must not have been too bad, since the bleeding had already stopped. It stung when he splashed water over it and left a pinkish tint on the paper towel he dried off with, but there was no fresh blood when he checked the mirror a final time.

The relief on the cashier’s face when he left was palpable. He couldn’t blame her. It wasn’t a bad part of town, but someone walking in the door bloody and disheveled just spelled trouble. The suspicion wasn’t even unwarranted, since Blair had just been running from the cops.

Blair didn’t consider himself a bad person but he wasn’t the best, either. He was an okay person who did bad things. There was definitely worse out there. He shuddered as Jinx’s face accompanied the thought. Yeah, way worse.

His phone rang as he started to get on his bike. He peered down at the ID, but the number wasn’t saved in his phone. Huh. He had all the members of Incindious in his contacts as well as his few family members. It was a Manhattan area code.

It occurred to him that it could be a member of Phantom, trying to get a trace on him, but after the fight back there they were probably still regrouping. Blair also wasn't a particularly hard man to find, so tracing his phone would be a waste of energy on Phantom's part when they could just look for the flashy street bike with the gang logo on the side. He sighed and swiped the green button. “Hello?”

“Hello, Blair.”

He almost dropped the phone onto the wet pavement at his feet. Warmth flooded his body, erasing the fatigue and pain, if only for a moment as the sound of Wren’s voice wrapped around him. “Hey, Sunshine.” Then he remembered the texts and the warmth crept up his neck into his face. I’m never drinking again, he promised himself on the spot.

“I dropped my phone. I didn’t get it replaced until today.”

“At midnight?” Blair said, the incredulous words leaving him before he thought to just be grateful that Wren wasn’t mentioning the texts. He wanted to entertain the idea that Wren had fucked his phone up before Blair sent them, but Blair was never that lucky.

Wren clicked his tongue. Blair idly wondered when he had started finding that noise attractive. “I got it back on my way to the hospital this morning. I just got home.”

“Oh, right. Yeah.” Blair toed the ground, the moment heavy with silence until rain began to pelt the pavement. “How was your day?” God, what a mundane question. Maybe Wren had a point when he said Blair liked to fill the air with small talk. He leaned against his motorcycle with a hand over his eyes.

“It improved once I had a phone again.” There was a gurgling noise in the background. A coffee maker, knowing Wren.

“Missed me that much?” Blair joked.

“Yes, terribly. I feared my self esteem would wither away and die without someone to call me pretty.”

Damn it. So he wasn’t going to be let off the hook for that. “I’m sorry about—”

“Come over.”

“...What?”

“I’m tired, I don’t feel like talking on the phone. Just come over if you’re not going to bed or something. I’ll send you my address.”

Blair was still making incoherent sounds when his phone beeped to signal the end of the call. Motherfucker had hung up on him again. He stared at the screen until a message popped up from the same unsaved number. It was as Wren promised, an address and nothing more. He continued to stare until he thought there might have been some damage done when that two-by-four connected with his head. A few hours ago he had been resigned to never hearing from Wren again—and even worse, that had bothered him—and now he was being invited to his apartment at midnight.

A million questions buzzed around in his mind. What about Doc? Was Wren going to ridicule him endlessly about those texts? Was Doc waiting there to beat him up for calling his boyfriend pretty? Blair ruled the last one out, at least. Doctors had to take a vow, first do no harm and all that. He didn’t think he was in any danger from Dr. Garrett.

Surely it was a bad idea to go. Wren was a bad idea.

Blair tried to tell himself he hadn’t decided, as he opened the address on a map. He tried to tell himself he hadn’t decided, as he committed the location of the building to memory and turned the key in the ignition.

He tried to tell himself he hadn’t decided, and he went straight to Wren, like he always did.

The rain was coming down harder the closer he got to Manhattan. By the time he stopped in front of the apartment building, his clothes were soaked through. It was a ritzy building, of course. He shouldn’t have expected any less.

At least the elevator was a lot nicer than the other one Blair had been in that night. He hit the button for the fourth floor and it gave only the slightest jolt when he reached his destination. Wren’s was the last door on the right.

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