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II.

Sunshine State of Bargaining

The morning after, Andrew awoke, as he often did, to the sensation of warm, smooth skin pressed his against his mouth. As he opened his eyes slowly, he moved from Cody's shoulder to nuzzle his ear, and ruffle his hair.

"Good morning…" he whispered gently.

"Mmm…?" came his boyfriend's drowsy response. "Morning…"

Andrew gingerly shifted in the bed, careful not to make Cody uncomfortable, before reaching to the nightstand to take his phone off the charger. As part of his morning routine, he always checked to see, first thing, if there were any messages from last night.

"How'd you sleep?"

"Um…" Cody took a deep breath, still trying to wake up. "Fine, I guess – until you left – could you not sleep again?"

Andrew swiped with his thumb to unlock the phone screen, frowning, looking over at Cody, studying how the morning light played at the edges of his hair.

"Yeah – sorry."

Cody smiled. "That's okay, I know you're worried about stuff."

Andrew shrugged, smiling back. "Thanks, but…it wasn't the usual stuff this time."

"No grad school?"

"Nah."

"That's an improvement, right?" Cody smiled again, bigger.

"Well," Andrew answered, rolling his eyes gamely. "I dunno. Just – got to thinking about life and stuff."

"Oh," Cody said, sliding his eyes to the pillow as though he should have said something else. "I'm sorry."

"No, it's not—"

"I get it, though. Sometimes I think about – everything – well, before…" He put a significance on the word that they both felt, but then he sighed, shaking his head quickly.

Andrew could feel the conversation running its course, and to ease out of it he leaned in for a kiss, which Cody returned with another smile. He returned to his phone, an eyebrow going up as he saw what was on it.

"Hey – oh wow, speaking of – Bligh messaged me."

"Oh yeah?" Cody stretched, shifting so that his hand rested on his head. "What'd he say?"

"I—" Andrew looked over his shoulder, frowning. "To be honest I'm kinda scared to look."

"Wait, what?" He saw Cody squint at him, alarmed. "Why? That's weird of you to say."

"It's been a week." Andrew turned back, slowly, to the waiting phone screen.

"Huh – I guess it has."

"And that – that ain't like him at all…" His voice trailed off.

All this time he'd been determined to not let their relationship become strained or weird, even over the distance – as if calling him drunk all the time wouldn't make things weird to begin with – but for four years, the nagging feeling that Andrew was wasting his time trying to fix some irreparable damage never went away.

Bligh was the person next to Cody that Andrew spoke to the most, and several states away or not, he was, next to his own brother, the strongest living link with West Virginia.

But what could Bligh tell him that Andrew hadn't already heard, for two decades already, about what went on in Tempest? Compared to what Andrew was doing in Tampa…sure, there had been some excitement when their mutual friend, Dan Dorsey, had killed himself, and again when Bligh's big dog Duke passed on – but most of West Virginia, not just that part, don't change much. For good or ill, most things have stayed the same, or gotten worse, for fifty, sixty years.

In his most selfish thoughts he felt that he was cutting a swath across the universe, and Bligh had done nothing at all…

"Andy – hey, Andy!"

Cody had jerked Andrew out of his intense introspection – he turned to look at his boyfriend, who looked concerned. Andrew hadn't realized, deep in his thoughts, that he had moved to sit on the edge of the bed, still staring down at the phone blankly.

"What is it? You look upset – you kinda zoned out, there."

"Sorry."

Cody slid from his position on the bed to come up behind him, nuzzling and kissing his cheek, wrapping his arms through Andrew's own to hold him close.

"Andy…you're worrying me. You've been crazy tense lately—"

Now Andrew leaned back some to stroke his boyfriend's face. "I know," he said, breathing out his apology. He kissed him again, but having put off the inevitable long enough, with Cody pressing his chin into his shoulder, he swiped the phone to unlock it again, and they read the text message together:

hey man turns out we wuz talkin bout me comin down sum time well im totlly free startin 2tomorro so i think i should come hit me bck man

"When did you tell him you wanted him to come down?" Cody asked.

But Andrew was still reading, re-reading, what was on the phone screen. He twitched his thumb to turn the screen off and sat in stunned silence – he heard Cody take a breath to press the question, but he answered before he could:

"Some – shit, like a month ago? I'd honestly forgotten about it…"

He did not like when he was not in control of his emotions, or when he failed to understand them well enough to name what feeling in sum they were supposed to be – but there he was, the late morning sunlight spilling with the flutter of his curtains in the air conditioning, plunged into a lethal, heady stew of dread, excitement, elation, anxiety, that cosmic apocalypse of at long last being made to put up or shut up.

He nuzzled Cody's head away off of his shoulder and rose off and out of the bed, his tongue running back and forth across his teeth as he thought, else that the very notion of seeing Bligh again after all this time

"When did he send it?" Cody asked, laying back down on the pillow to look up at the ceiling. Andrew knew what he was doing: used to his neuroses, he was just trying to be helpful, asking questions without escalating.

"Uh—" Andrew made a motion to pick the phone back up, but then nodded to himself as he remembered: "Nine something."

"So like an hour ago, I'm guessing?"

"Pretty much."

"And he's never come to Florida before, right?"

"Right." Andrew stood in the middle of their room, taking a deep breath to settle himself.

"How come?"

"He was always busy, like I—" He stopped. "Did I tell you that?"

Cody shifted on his side. "Kinda? I mean you talk about him a lot, and you talk – uh, to him a lot, and the whole time we've been together you've told me a lot about him." He smiled. "I'd like to meet him. If he's important to you, then – he's important to me."

Andrew smiled back, surprised at how relieved he felt hearing Cody say it. "Wow, really?"

"Yeah, I would – I've said that before, right?"

"I guess you have…" He sniffed. "You always know what to say, yanno that?"

Now Cody sat up in bed, bringing up the covers to himself so that he resembled a young mage draped in robes – he cocked his head, to coyly challenge him.

"So are you gonna worry about it anymore?"

"That's the thing, Baby, it ain't that simple." Andrew's eyes drifted to the carpet with a frown. "It's just – it's been—"

"Four years, I know. But, hey – you two are best friends!"

"I know that, but—"

"So then it won't be that bad."

Andrew paced back to sit next to Cody on the bed – he held out his hand, and Cody maneuvered his own from under his gathered covers to grasp it.

"It's just – it's not that simple, Baby. It's not."

"Why? Only because of – how long it's been?"

"Pretty—" Andrew nodded. "Pretty much." He paused. "Think – okay think of it this way. What am I even going to say to him? That I'm sorry? For leaving? I mean, I am – I'm sorry I left him – and Pappy and Stephen – but – I'm…also kinda not." Another pause "If…if I hadn't moved, where would I be? I wouldn't – I wouldn't have you…" Their eyes met briefly – Andrew shook his head sadly. "I just don't know…how do you feel about it? You seem really okay with it"

"Because I am!" Cody answered with a giggle. "I guess…we never really talked about him coming down here, or how'd you feel about it."

"Never really came up."

"Yeah, so the thing I'd ask—" He cocked his head again. "—if I were you, would be…" He paused for effect, withdrawing his hand from Andrew's with a final squeeze. "…to know exactly what Bligh's thinking.

Andrew blinked hard. "What's that?"

"I think you need to ask him. I think—" He paused again, but this time he acted a little more cautious. "I think if you two kept talking all this time, then – you'll be fine, it should be, but – you – you gotta ask him first, don't ya think? You hafta be absolutely sure, and clear the air, or – or you'll just keep – uh, what's the – um – second-guessing yourself, like you're doing n—" He stopped mid-word as he saw Andrew's eyes suddenly widen, lighting up. "Uh…"

"No, no – Cody – holy shit, you're right. You're really, really right!"

Cody shrugged with a little smile, letting himself go limp so that his forehead landed on Andrew's, pressing them together – Andrew smiled back at him.

They sat in silence like this for a few seconds, giving Andrew enough time to fully process what Cody had said – if it was true, really true, that Bligh had been hurt most by what Andrew hadn't told him until now, then maybe he could find a way to at last bridge the gap. He was surprised – pleasantly surprised, anyway – that though his usually analytical mind had failed this time, Cody had, as he always did, come through.

And it was Cody who broke the silence. "It's just an idea, maybe there's other stuff—"

"Don't be so humble – you're really smart."

Cody shrugged again, as though literally shrugging off the compliment. "I – try."

"And I – yeah I need to clear the air, but – shit, there's definitely – uh – other stuff—"

Cody leaned back. "But you can fix that, don't you think? If you could just talk to him about all of this—"

"—in person," Andrew finished for him. He glanced away, thinking more. "Yeah…"

"And I mean it won't be all bad, we can still have fun and stuff."

"We haven't been to the beach in awhile," Andrew said, somewhat to himself – his eyes came back to Cody.

"You still gotta answer him."

"Yeah, I guess I do…" Andrew sighed, trying to deflect his unease with a goofy look.

But Cody was unmoved. "So – then – whatcha gonna say?"

Andrew was through thinking – a kind of impulsive action shot through him, and he heard himself say the words: "I'm gonna say yes." He nodded, in affirmation of his own idea. "Alright. What's today, Wednesday? It'll take him about a day or so to drive down…I'll tell him to come tomorrow."

Cody beamed. "Awesome!" He giggled. "I finally get to meet the famous Bligh!"

Andrew looked over Cody's face before leaning in to give him another affectionate squeeze.

"Thank you, Baby. Thank you for – for talking this through with me."

"It's alright, I'm glad to help…"

He kissed Andrew, who for the second time rose off of the bed to stretch. He grabbed his phone off the nightstand and unlocked it again, before his eyes shot up at Cody at the thought of something he had just said:

"Wednesday – it's – it's your day off, isn't it?"

Cody rolled his eyes playfully. "Andy, that's why I slept in with you – that's why I'm here—"

Andrew groaned aloud, a hand coming to his face. "Oh, well – right—"

"Wooow…" Cody teased.

"I'm going back to bed."

"Nope!" Cody flung the covers off, revealing his lithe, nude form – he threw his arms around Andrew and whispered in his ear: "You're gonna make me pancakes."

Andrew laughed, genuinely, for the first time that day.

After they had breakfast together, they spent that Summer day as they had been for some time: Cody relaxing on the couch, shirtless, with those blue and black Adidas gym shorts Andrew had bought him, playing his 3DS and giggling at some recorded It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia on their DVR, while Andrew had quiet existential breakdowns at his laptop about grad school.

It was August, and while school had not yet started, Andrew was graduating soon, and now he would spend hours preparing personal statements, emailing professors he wanted to study under, looking through graduate handbooks…it was exhausting and he worried that he was exhausting, thinking about it, talking about it, with Bligh and Stephen and Cody all three. Profound decisions were to be made about his future which was, for the first time in his mortal life, totally out of his control – questions needed to be asked, to himself, about himself, who he really was and what he really wanted.

Cody's job at the Green Room, a skateshop where he worked as a keyholder, with low late-Summer traffic, had given him two days off. He and Andrew could enjoy the Wednesday together, when Andrew was not inside his own head about what the next year would bring.

Andrew wanted to study moths – there was an extremely distant dream of having a new species named for him, or letting an Attacus atlas ryukyuensis perch on his finger amidst the mangroves of Yaeyama, feeling the sweeping breeze on his hand as it flapped its enormous wings…

I am a scientist – he would tell himself this, when he was down and even Cody could not help, when he was uncertain he should continue in his chosen hobby, the intellectual altar at which he had sacrificed so much.

It was the dearest heartwish of his boyhood – a scientist.

The little boy he tutored, Davey, was deaf, and Andrew had learned enough American Sign Language at USF, almost fluent in it, to tutor him in junior high sciences – his parents, Tim and Gabby, owned the Green Room where Cody worked. When Davey had asked him what he did, what was his job, Andrew had answered back, in sign, with a flourish, just so – a scientist. It wasn't yet true, of course, and it wouldn't even be true after he graduated, he was barely halfway there, right now he was stuck where he was…but Davey's eyes went wide at the idea in wonder.

A scientist. A grand thing – a dream of greatness…

…and it was Cody who would bring him back to Earth. When Andrew could take it no longer and needed a break, he would come to the couch to cuddle with his beloved, his

whole being bubbling with delight as he ran his hands over the soft, tanned skin of his boyfriend.

They made love twice that morning and afternoon – they were both sexual people, Cody's past as a hustler for money forgotten and forgiven with this man who loved him for who he was beyond being pretty. And although Andrew was confident in few things, he was assured of his own looks, and how he had cared for his body – he knew how to fuck, he knew how to please.

Cody was always the bottom, and their relationship had become strong enough that he felt he could let Andrew in on his strangest kink – pretending that Andrew was impregnating him. Andrew never asked where it came from, or why – he just went with it, he found himself enjoying it, it brought them closer together and he saw nothing wrong with roleplay like this. Cody would ask him to detail what would happen to his own body if Andrew impregnated him – Andrew, the Biology major, would grunt polysyllabic scientific jargon in between thrusts, explaining how his sperm would fertilize Cody, how Cody would eventually give birth to their young, how he would be mother to Andrew's sons. All of it – every word – would send Cody into rapture, and when he would see his love in such a state, Andrew was never too far behind him in finishing.

The day went on like this – Cody made tacos for dinner, stuffing them with extra cheese like he liked, and they watched some more recorded stuff on their DVR, snuggling on the couch at one end in a cuddly heap…a perfect lazy Summer's day, waiting for tomorrow when Bligh would arrive.

That night, however, Andrew was troubled by a dream – more troubled than he'd been in months.

He and Cody had made love the third time that day with unusual but welcome ferocity, the boy yelling as loud as he dared, in danger of waking the neighbors for harder, for more, for babies – not just anyone's babies, but Andrew's babies. The action was exhilarating, but tiring, and they both drifted to sleep, in each other's arms, not ten minutes after Andrew had inseminated the love of his life with the hopes that this time, it finally took.

Not long after falling asleep, Andrew found himself in a dreamscape that was distant – yet familiar.

Out past Lewisburg – south, a wrong turn for many – in the Greenbrier Valley, the roads become dense with vegetation and rolling hills of endless meadows. Beyond them are the mountains, enrobed with luxuriant forest, that in the Autumn of the year – and it was Autumn in Andrew's visions – turn into vast fire opals, the nests of phoenix, shimmering red and yellow and gold, never looking the same way twice. Every color of the trees compliments the other perfectly, until they harmonize to create an orchestrated symphony of textured Autumnal hues.

This was where Andrew was.

He was back in West Virginia.

There he stood, in a field that rolled hilly before rising up in the distance to meet those same mountains – overhead, geese flew, and he heard his father's voice from his childhood, happy and loving and unjudging, as it only was in precious moments he fought not to cherish…

Goodbye! Goodbye! Goodbye, geese!

Here, Summer was over – the trees and their Autumnal symphony rang in beautiful tones of psychedelic synesthesia, allowing Andrew the precious hallucination of hearing their colors, and seeing their quiet contentment rustle with the occasional breeze that blew from nowhere.

Echoing off these mountains were the cries of the coal miner's children – upon these mountains were the lonesome ghosts of forgotten years – within these mountains rested the souls of generations who pressed onward, undaunted, through desperation and destitution. Their dreams – of a better life, of making it through, of loving and dying with dignity and honor – were clutched so tightly no god or man could ever pry them from their dead hands.

Yet – atop these mountains strode, sword in hand, the terrible phantasm of the founder of the Lightfoot dynasty, wild-eyed and sin-smeared Nicholas Lightfoot, Old Nick in name and deed. The legend, recorded in a crumbling tome that moldered, unread and forgotten, amongst other obscure books in his father's library, says he went mad from the isolation of the wilderness – such that even his trusted companions and his freedman feared him. One fateful Summer's day he led a band of Iroquois to eradicate, by musket and by fire, a tribe of mysterious natives whose names were lost to history but who were – the local chroniclers all gullible enough to write it down – not indigenous to the American continent at all, said to be descended from the Celtic wayfarings of Saint Brendan and Prince Madoc, whose eyes glowed in the dark, chased even today by searchers of the strange as the Moon-Eyed People.

Andrew caught a flash of him, Nicholas Lightfoot, in the armor of a Seventeenth Century harquebusier spattered with gore, smiling – and in that smile was a psychotic drive for death, a wish for the flames of Hell that would surely await all his children, all his descendants, peerless and companionless.

Such was Andrew's heritage – he, the last heir of an ancestry he barely understood, too medieval for any other place but West Virginia, Virginia, Appalachia…a cobwebbed haunted house that could never be the freshness and youth of the jungles and the beaches of Florida. Just as his ancestor was interloper to the lands of an unremembered tribe, so too was Andrew in a place he did not belong.

Goodbye! Goodbye! Goodbye, geese!

This Autumnal perfection of the Greenbrier Valley…it was cold enough here to wear that flannel shirt that Bligh had made for him, by hand, that he sent him for Christmas two years ago. But he had never worn it, because it never got cold enough in Florida, like it would in West Virginia…

…so would he ever come back?

And if he did, would he come honorably?

Would he, who had been born to rule, bow himself, to the memories and spirit of his ancestors, still leering at him through the dead decades?

And now came an echo – sad, desperate:

"Drew – Drew? Where are ya? I can't see ya—"

"Bligh…?"

"Drew? Come back, Drew…"

He searched about him for the source of the voice, Bligh's voice, which seemed near though invisible, but his eyes darkened, and the landscape fell from view, and the ground opened up beneath him – and he plunged…

He awoke, startled and immensely uneasy.

In the span of his sleep he and Cody had separated, and Cody's face was to the wall – he rose from the bed and moved back to the kitchen, where he sat down at the table and stared, listlessly, at his unopened laptop. It stared back at him – and like his dream, had no answers.

He put his head in his hands, elbows on the table, as he realized, trying to calm himself down – he wanted a drink, he wanted to relapse, to undo all the progress of sobriety he had made just to calm his fucking nerves, because the pressure of the future immediate and distant, and the past vast and yawning, were getting too much, much too much, he needed therapy, he needed to sleep.

But he couldn't.

He sat alone in his kitchen at 2:31 in the morning, his throat dry and his eyes wet – Bligh's words from his dream were pressed upon his heart, in a way understood only by boys who have been friends since early childhood, but separated at the cusp of being men.