Impact
Summer went by in a flash, and before I knew it, I was a sophomore. Well, okay, technically I had enough credits to be a junior but it was my second year. Peter, Egon and I had gotten used to each other really fast. It was like I'd been waiting for the two of them to drop into my life. Kismet is what my Aunt Lois calls it. The kind of fate that is unavoidable, and binds people together unexpectedly. The Japanese have a myth that people can be bound by cords of fate, red as blood. At least that's what I learned in my Occidental Mythology class during the summer. I don’t know about cords, but it does seem like a kind of miracle.
While I was learning about all sorts of neat stuff over the summer, Egon got the majority of his dissertation done. For a while, I sort of worried that I was in his way. He and I would talk in the lab for hours and hours, sometimes so late that I left for my morning class still in yesterday's clothes. After talking about it to Peter though, I calmed down and just enjoyed it. Peter had said that Egon was thriving off of having another scientific mind around that took some of his kookier ideas seriously.
I'd given Peter a puzzled look, and he'd just grinned at me. "I don't have a scientific mind, Ray. And besides, that's not what he values me for anyway."
He'd waggled his eyebrows in a Groucho Marx fashion, and I'd laughed. But I didn't take him seriously. I mean, he might deny it but I knew that he followed a lot of what Egon and I talked about. Egon told me that Peter had originally started college in the engineering department and was going to graduate with a minor in it, so he wasn’t exactly out of his depth when we talked shop.
He didn't join in our discussions after a while though, not once the football team kicked into full summer routines. I'd met him in the spring, which I guess was their down time. By mid-summer, training and everything was in earnest.
Peter took it seriously despite it being his last year. He went on a controlled diet and because he was cooking most of the time, so did we. Sometimes he'd haul me into his morning warm-up routine, which was the first time I’d ever seen him get up with even a bit of enthusiasm. After a few weeks, I was in better shape than the farm had ever made me. Still stocky, but that's my dad's genetics. I didn’t really lose weight but got more muscular. Peter teased me some about joining the team. When Hannah got back in late August, she was, um, pretty appreciative.
Wow.
But, well, um… Anyway, the house got busier in a lot of ways. The whole idea of sanctuary, it did and didn’t come to pass. I mean it never really was silent, between Egon and I talking, some of our experiments going up in smoke, and Hannah’s visits and all. I spent a lot of time with Hannah, seeing movies and the sights. It’s funny. When you live in a place most of your life, you never really seem to see it. I had a great time seeing the tourist side of the Big Apple.
So the house was noisy and full of commotion, if not lots of people. But it was a sanctuary. I hadn’t felt so at home, so safe, in years. It wasn’t just living in my old home…no, actually, it wasn’t that at all. It was sharing my home and my life with two great friends who widened my horizons in all sorts of directions. They introduced me to new ideas, new people, new challenges, everything that maybe I should have done in my freshman year but hadn’t.
Oh well. It’s never too late.
Peter even brought a few people over to meet us. Not many. He’s still awful over-protective of Egon, heck, of me too. Some of the people he deals with in the frat and on the team, he’s said he’d never let them within a light year of the house. That started him and Egon off on another battle over semantics. I’ve learned to tune those out.
I knew what Peter meant and that was all that mattered. I’d been hassled by those kinds of guys and didn’t have Peter’s knack for keeping them in their place. Not that I can’t fight back. I can keep pretty much on par with Peter and Egon when they start zinging each other. If there were an Olympic sport in sarcasm though, Peter would win the gold.
I had a few more meetings with my old roommate Hank. He’d joined a frat, not Peter’s but a decent one. I think Peter had forgiven Hank, but not enough to let him join Tri Kappa Beta. The pledge week was rather amusing actually. About a week into classes, I was having lunch on campus with my gaming group, plotting the next campaign, when a few fraternity pledges decided to pick on us. It had happened last year too, and my friends were about to do the easiest thing and just leave. I was pretty angry though and was going to stand my ground…when the room fell into that kinda silence that heralded a disaster.
I looked up…and there was Peter Venkman with his arms crossed, looking, well, furious. Behind him was the most colossal guy I had ever seen. A mountain that walked. He looked just as mad as Peter.
Peter narrowed his green eyes, and in a silky smooth tenor that fooled no one, said “You got a problem with my pal Ray?”
The giant behind him boomed, “Our pal Ray, Venkman.”
Peter grinned back at the guy. “Sorry, Rowler, being possessive, aren’t I?” He looked back at the lot of us. The rushers were gaping at the two of them. The others stopped gathering the hex maps and gaming stuff that had been dumped on the ground and stared.
“Venkman? The quarterback?! And Rowler the Prowler?” There was some muttering from the rushers, and they started to edge back.
The giant stood up even taller, and then in voice that was audible probably in New Jersey, said, “Hey, Ray, you sure you won’t reconsider? Pete and I still would like to sponsor you for the frat.”
My jaw dropped. What? Peter tipped me a wink, and smiled at the other gamers.
Oh.
I brushed off my sleeves and stood up. Peter had a glitter in his green eyes that was part fury, and part laughter, and a hundred percent unnerving even if we had been roommates the past four months. I faced him, and gave casual shake to my head. “I can’t, guys, I told you. I really won’t have the time this year, not if I want to graduate as early as I mean to.”
Peter grinned. I guess I’d hit the right note. He said, sounding really disappointed, “Damn. Well, look, Stantz, if you change your mind, just grab either of us. We really would like you in the frat, and not just ‘cause you’re a whiz in classes. We’ll keep a place open for you. “
I smiled at the two frat guys, and with sincere gratitude, said “Thanks.” The huge guy, Rowler, lazily strolled over and clapped my shoulder so that I nearly fell down again. Then with an ease I really envied, he picked up the table with one hand and helped Lizzie and Kei up.
The pledges muttered some hasty apologies that Peter, hamming up dusting my D&D book off, ignored. They left, throwing worried looks at us over their shoulders.
I gave Peter a thoughtful look. “Why the save?”
Peter grinned. “Told ya before that those kinda guys are predictable, Ray. Dime a dozen. Toby and I were talking about the last scrimmage over there,” and he jerked his head towards a corner, “and we saw them hassle a bunch of freshmen before they headed to you guys. Gives us fratmen a bad name. Can’t have that.”
Riiiiiggght. Peter and his over-protective streak. Looks like Egon’s not the only one that’s going to suffer it. I’d expected that but I still gave him an exasperated sigh which just earned an unrepentant grin.“Peter….”
Rowler formed a massive T with his hands. “Time-out, you two. Venkman, you dragged me into this, make with the introductions.”
“Sorry, Toby. Ray, this is Tobias Rowler the Third. Columbia’s Hawaiian rep, and as big as his state and Texas put together. Between him and me, we manage to bring the football team’s IQ to almost average.”
The big guy grinned. “All my work, really.”
“Hey!” Peter swatted him, and they started mock-brawling.
I rolled my eyes at them and grinned at my friends who were still looking a bit shocked, and said, “Kids.” My friends grinned back weakly as Peter and the giant split apart laughing and grabbed some seats to join us.
Rowler smiled at me. “Hear you got the occult bug too. I’m into it, sorta, getting my degree in Philosophy. God works in mysterious ways.”
“When Toby here takes to teaching, there’s no way some punk kids are gonna be able to ignore him. Forget Mohammed to the mountain. Rowler here is the mountain.”
They sparred back and forth for a bit, more physically than the verbal jabs he has with Egon. The other gamers left for classes and things. I hoped that this hadn’t spooked them. We’re supposed to play at the house next week.
Finally, I asked with some worry, “Do you really want me to join the frat?”
Peter’s eyes widened but it was Rowler who replied. “Ray, I’d support you in a heartbeat. We saw you getting ready to stand up to those jerks. Protecting your friends, holding up to yourself, your ideals, your goals, that’s what a fraternity should be. Brotherhood, ya know. Pity it tends to mean a lot less nowadays.”
“Would you want to join, Ray?” Peter spoke in quiet tones.
I thought a bit before replying cautiously, “I’d like it…if it was fraternitas. I don’t have much family, and it’d be neat to have lots of brothers. But, no, I don’t think a fraternity would suit me.”
“Hey, you need a big brother, you got me. Just call the house and ask for Toby if you want something, Ray.” Toby stood, and patted my shoulder. “Gotta run. Don’t want to be late for my Greek philosophy lecture. We’re working on Aristotle, and I think there’s gonna be a fight about whether he screwed up science for the whole of the dark ages. I’m pretty much pro on that argument. See ya.”
My eyes trailed him as he sprinted out of the cafeteria. Wow.
“Ray.” Peter’s voice grabbed my attention to my table. He smiled at me, a real smile. “Sorry for butting in. I just…” He gave a slight apologetic shrug.
“I know, Peter.” I grinned at him. “I’m probably going to get flak for hanging around with jocks, you know that, right?”
He laughed. “Me, ruining your pristine reputation, Ray? Can’t be.”
Whether it was the onrush of the new semester or my apprehension about the dissertation process, I found myself endlessly caught off guard by time in its myriad forms. It seemed that I was constantly forgetting appointments, or being either too prompt or too late. It came more solidly home to me one night when I was fully enmeshed in my laboratory work.
As I gazed into the depths housed within the petri dish upon my microscope, my first awareness of other company was through an unexpected tug at the long tail of hair that I had been endeavoring to grow.
Peter’s voice, filled with the mix of amused exasperation with which all my experimentation met, murmured softly against my ear, “Egon. Yoohoo, are you in there?”
I leaned back, startled, and winced at the unexpected stiffness that the movement disclosed. Peter noticed and tsked me as his hands flew to my back to unerringly find the aching muscles. I leaned into the massage, knowing that he would not have proffered it if the room was not empty. That realization puzzled me, and glancing at the clock I was stunned to see that it was well past 8pm.
“Yep. That’s the time, Egon.” Peter’s arms slid around me, hugging me briefly as I attempted to apologize. “S’okay, Spengs, I know how you are. But it’s a good thing I’ve tons of ego to spare. This is the second night this week you’ve stood me up in the name of muckology.”
“Peter, you know fully well it is mycology.” I cupped his cheek in my hand, and met his rueful but smiling eyes. “I am sorry, Peter…”
“Hmm.” He tilted his head to one side, and studied me thoroughly until I squirmed on my lab stool. “Forgiven, Spengs. One condition, no, make that two.”
I frowned. “Conditions?”
“One,” and he held up the fingers close to my eyes, as if my glasses might not have a strong enough prescription. “I want you to come to the game tomorrow afternoon. It’s the first of the season.“
The only time I had seen him in his role of quarterback had been the one practice game, and I was far more interested in the time at the delivery of my gift to Liger, and to Peter’s reaction. I’d never attended a proper game, and he was aware of it.
I nodded. “Very well.”
He smiled warmly at me, delight curling his lips. “Great. Ray’s promised to explain the rules and stuff to you, and lend you some binocs so you can keep an eye on me flashing past the other team to victory.”
Smiling in return at him, I grasped the hand that still rested upon my shoulder. “The second condition?”
His green eyes looked on me meditatively. “Spend the weekend with me. No lab. I know you don’t need to do anymore lab work for your dissertation. This is just icing for you.” He squeezed my shoulder, and his face took on a rarer, more serious mien. “Please.”
“Of course,” I replied immediately, surprised. I slid off the stool, and pulled him close.
Laughing softly against my ear, he repeated my words. “Of course. Spengler, I swear…” A straying hand tugged my hair lightly once more before he withdrew, grinning widely. “You need to learn how to play hard to get.”
I smiled back at him. “I’d rather not. It’s more enjoyable this way.”
Peter shook his head in mock resignation, then slid his eyes towards the microscope. “You done for the night?”
“As soon as I place these back in storage.” I removed the sample and with heart-felt enthusiasm Peter assisted by holding open doors. His overly courteous gestures had me laughing in return. How I ever managed to do my research before without Peter to brighten up my lab time, I do not know. With a light heart, he and I left the building for my car and home.
The following day was clear and bright, and Peter seemed to crackle with anticipation of the game. It was, as he explained, not a major game, but the opposition would challenge his team in a fashion that he believed they needed to start off the season. I was puzzled by this remark to some degree until Raymond explained that a quarterback was in essence the team leader. It made sudden sense of things that I had not understood previously; the respect he was accorded by aficionados of the sport, his devotion to the regimen it imposed despite his apparent indolence, even the interest it held for him. Enlightened, I went through the morning in a state of expectation to match Peter’s own.
Ray and I set out at a reasonable time, swinging into Brooklyn to collect Peter’s mother. Mrs. Venkman tried to attend at least one of Columbia’s games per annum. When we arrived, the stadium was pandemonium in its rawest form. The din was nothing like I had imagined, a riot of noise and motion of a tribal nature more in keeping with the deepest jungle than New York. I suspect that without Ray and Mrs. Venkman beside me I would have fled back to the peace of my lab. Ray seemed particularly unconcerned by it all and found our seats with calm efficiency.
“Here you go, Egon.” Grinning, he handed me a soda and a rather dubious looking hotdog before doing the same for Mrs. Venkman. Uncertain as to how I should participate, I took a bite. Fortunately, the vast amount of mustard upon it masked its precise flavor.
“They’ll start pretty soon, once the cheerleaders do their thing.” Ray stood abruptly, and waved wildly at the field. Hannah, as I swiftly realized whom he was hailing, waved back and the girls all carolled ‘”Hi Ray!” at him. I raised an eyebrow as he returned to his seat, the envious eyes of the crowd around us fastened upon him.
“They like me,” he said simply, but flushed with pleasure. I took another bite of my hotdog, and watched him with bemusement. Mrs. Venkman sat between us, twinkling with carefully hidden laughter that I rather suspected was aimed at me.
“Hey, here comes the team! There’s Peter!” He stood to wave again, his popcorn scattering to the four winds.
It was an eye-opening experience. I had, since the beginning of my meeting Peter, had him almost entirely to myself. While I was well aware of his very public role, especially during the brief time he had withdrawn from me that first week, I had been mostly oblivious to the reality of it. Here, he shined. He waved at the crowds and they roared their approval back at him, a clamorous wave of enthusiasm. He hammed it up, played to them, and for a moment I felt as if I had lost him to the throng.
Then somehow he spotted us in the seats. As he caught my eyes with his, the noise faded to a pale susurration. Even at this distance, the smile he gave was the gentle one reserved for me alone. Then the game swept him up and away again, but it was all right. They could think they had him, but now I knew. I sat back, content to watch.
Ray kept me abreast of the game’s plays, and it was quite interesting. I had paid little to no attention to the sport and there were complexities that I had not considered it to hold. After the game began once more after the half-time activities, I had begun to feel part of the crowd. I’d even begun to enjoy myself.
I had kept my eyes upon Peter every moment he was on the field. It was curious to feel I was sharing him with so many people. People around us would yell his name as he moved with graceful speed around the lumbering opposition. My shoulder was clapped forcefully by a passionate supporter seated behind us during one of his more spectacular plays.
When the accident happened, it occurred so quickly that I barely had time to register it. One moment, he was in swift motion with the field empty before and around him. The next, a heap of players lay piled on the space where he had stood and a referee was blowing a whistle sharply. This had happened before earlier in the game, but as the various players stood, I could see Peter still seated upon the ground. A large player was next to him, and after talking to Peter, called over the referee. Within moments, a crowd of people hid him from our sight.
Confused, I turned to Mrs. Venkman. She was already beginning to stand.
The speakers came to life above us. “Number 25, Peter Venkman, has been injured. He’ll be replace by…”
I never heard the rest.
The docs sent me home with some painkillers and nagging advice. Mom had been through this before with me. Back at high school I’d managed to get thumped a couple of times, so she was pretty much inured to it. The assistant coach offered her a lift home, and she took it, bussing me good on the way out.
Egon, on the other hand, was a basket case, not that the term came up in any of my psych books. Between him and Ray, I managed the stairs in something just short of a fireman’s carry. None of my profanities against the other team did a bit of good against the grim look in Egon’s eyes. Ray noticed, and was bright enough to head out to see Hannah as soon as I laid down on our bed with grunt of relief.
A gentle touch on my shoulder made me look up to see Egon standing with a glass. “Drink this. Take these.”
Uh-oh, monosyllables. I gave arguing a quick thought. I hate taking pills. Still, Egon didn’t look like he was going to take any shit from me. Sighing, I snagged the water and took them, gagging slightly as they caught in my throat.
“Jeez, those things aren’t horse pills, Egon, they’re whale pills.” I slid a look up at him as he read through the prescription again. Yeah, he’s not happy. With his photographic memory, he doesn’t need to read things twice. Certainly not four times. I reached over and grasped his wrist lightly.
“Egon.”
He looked directly at me for the first time since we’d left the hospital. His blue eyes shadowed with worry hit me down deep. Dammit. I tugged at him until he perched on the bed, then wrapped my arms around him in a hug.
“Sorry I panicked you, big guy.” I felt him tense, then to my relief his hand slid up my back and threaded through my hair.
“We saw you go down, Peter.” He pulled me closer, his voice and body quivering. “There was nothing we could do.” That was the problem then, he felt helpless. I leaned back and looked up at him.
“It’s just a sprain, Egon. Happens occasionally.” I rubbed his forearms in slow circles, feeling the silken blond hair there whisper against my palms. “I know, I know, that doesn’t help all that much. But honest, it’s just part of the game.”
“I don’t consider it to be that much of a game.”
I ignored that. Despite the anger lacing his tone, I could tell it was just worry that was tipping him over the edge. Still, time to make a point. Clasping his wrists firmly, I tilted my head and gave him a sharp look. “Did you pick up that extra fire-extinguisher, Egon?”
He blinked, and tried to orient on the change of subject. I’d thrown him a curveball. “What..?”
“The fire extinguisher.” I pulled my legs up to my chest, wincing as the muscle in my bandaged right one stretched. Tucking my chin on my knees, I continued, “You know, to replace the kitchen one I used last week on that whatsit of yours and Ray’s.”
“It wasn’t a whatsit, Peter, it was a thermal modulator. And what does that…” His voice faded off as I grabbed him by that long chin of his and leveled a serious look into his eyes.
“Egon. I just scared you silly, right? How the hell do you think I felt when I had to race down the stairs to put out your gizmo?” He jerked back slightly in surprise and stared at me. I didn’t give him the time to cut in. “I worry, you know. You head off for the college lab, and hell, I’ve heard the stories. You and Ray are getting a rep for most explosions per week. I trust you, though, not to get yourself killed.”
“I…” His deep voice broke, then he suddenly grabbed me in a fierce hug and we came damn close to falling off the bed entirely. Still, I gave as good as I got. I hadn’t had the nerve to tell Egon how afraid I’d been when that boom shook the house. I’d spent the last two weeks hovering over him and Ray. Hadn’t wanted to be possessive, to show him how much… God.
I buried my face against his collarbone, and breathed the warm scent of him, cloves edged with the antiseptic tang of the hospital. I’ve no idea when he became one of the major cornerstones of my world. He shivered in my grasp, and pulled me so damn close we were practically fused. He murmured my name, “Peter, Peter, Peter,” a soft mantra that filled my ears. I really had shaken him.
I pulled back and kissed him hard. Yeah, I know you can’t banish fright with smooches, but it sure goes a long way. I had his earnest co-operation this round. Between us, his clothes got shucked onto the floor fast. His lips were still firmly on mine as he slowed to strip me. No rushing, not with me banged up. I gave him an apologetic look for the loss of pace, and it earned me a hair-ruffling. I swore benignly at him, and the shadows in his eyes took another few steps back.
Yeah, I’d put them there, but I was damn well going to get rid of them too. I felt the pale lashes tickle my lips as I kissed his eyes shut, then rolled him under me.
“The coach told me to sleep with a hot water bottle.” I squeezed his warm body, and waggled my eyebrows at him suggestively.
“I volunteer,” he said and smiled up at me. His hands spanned my back gingerly.
“Good, I was planning brute force, but it’s much better to have a willing vic…”
Dammit, he never lets me finish sentences like that. Still, he was kissing me so damn good that I surrendered. We stayed lip-locked for an endless time, his arms looped behind me securely, tho’ I bet the Ben Gay made things a bit slippery. Not the most sensual scent in the world, but neither was the lovely scorched plastic odor we’d made do with when he’d blown up the lab. Wonder if next big kerblooey we could manage to have with sandalwood….
Next thing I knew, we’d somehow rolled over so I was on the bottom and he was covering me. I tend to wander in my own head when he kisses me, and he makes damn good use of the fact. Not that I was complaining, mind you, not the way he kisses. He concentrates on me like the rest of the world could go to hell and he wouldn’t notice, like I was best thing that he’d ever examined on one of his fungal slides. All that focus, just on me, was flattering as all get out and terrifying too.
I ran my hands down to the small of his back, resting them briefly before pulling them up to tickle his ribs. It earned me a quick nip on my neck, followed by a warm suction.
I sounded less astonished than I felt. “You’re giving me a hickey?” Talk about a first.
His voice thrummed low against my neck in reply. “Who’d notice with all the bruises?”
“You may have a…” I started, then his hands ran up my thighs, those long sensitive fingers of his raking the inside until he cupped my balls and then… Oh god. I didn’t even think, I just arched against him. He laughed against my throat, happy that he’d made me lose the control that I tried, and failed, to keep each time. He skootched between my legs, thrusting against me once, twice, till I clenched my jaw to keep from moaning. The pain in my ankle took a back seat to the sensations flooding me as he moved. His tongue caressed my throat and each breath he took brushed against the damp skin, shooting straight to my groin. I grabbed his shoulders and made him kiss me and leave my damn neck alone.
He was still chuckling as I began to explore his mouth, trying to slow this down and savor it. Not that I managed it because seconds later his hands slid back down to my erection again, enclosing me with a tight hot grip. I nearly bit his lip, I was that surprised. Egon never rushes. Never.
“E.. Egon?” I managed to stammer. I mean, just when you get to know a guy…
He kissed around my lips gently, as his agile hands began a steady rhythm that shook my bones. “Just confirming, Peter.” He nuzzled right behind my ear, hitting one of my biggest hotspots, the bastard. I didn’t have a chance.
“What?” I managed after a few eternities, after the lightning had faded into a kind of twilight-soft languor.
“That you’re mine.”
I didn’t have the slightest doubts about that one, and set about proving it.
Sunday, we got flowers. And food. Lots of food. By the time the fifteenth girl had left our house, making Peter promise to eat every bite, we’d had enough meals to last us weeks. Egon was pretty boggled, and a bit upset.
Peter lightly nudged him in the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, Spengs. It’s the great unspoken mother-hen effect of football. You get whacked, and all the girls decide that you need to eat more.”
“Hmm.” Egon frowned at the gigantic pile of Tupperware and zip-loc bags.
“Look,” Peter said, swinging an affectionate arm around Egon’s neck. “If it’ll make you feel better, I swear none of them can cook like you can.”
I interrupted, “Do you mean that in a good way or bad, Peter? Because I rather doubt any of the girls made sweat sandwiches.”
They both winced. Peter tossed a damp dishtowel at my head, giving me a mock-glare. “I ate them, didn’t I?” Peter’s hand swung to his chest in a martyred way that had me grinning. “Anything for true love.”
Egon smacked Peter’s hand. “Enough, Peter. I’m not jealous.” Yeah, right. Peter and I exchanged an amused look that got us both harrumphed at. “I’m not. But I am uncertain as to what we do with these…” He waved at the dishes and boxes.
“Easy.” Peter shrugged. “We eat. Then I tell them that what they cooked me made me feel lots better and don’t glare at me, Egon, ‘cause it’ll be the truth.”
“Egon,” I added before he could spar with Peter anymore, “I knew most of the girls. They’re on the squad, and they all have boyfriends. It really is just affection.” I snuck a grin at Peter. “Peter sends them flowers when they catch colds.”
Hah! He can blush! Egon turned surprised eyes on him, and he waved his hands in surrender. “Busted. And you’ll pay for that, Stantz.” He glowered at me again and I just grinned at him. “Just daisies, Spengs. I’ve been doing it since I signed on as a freshman, just a way to make friends. It worked.”
“Peter,” Egon sighed. “You never cease to surprise me. And I do feel better knowing this. But I do trust you, you do know that.”
Peter rolled his eyes at me, but responded seriously. “Yeah, I do.” Then he nudged Egon off the counter. “C’mon. Let’s look at the haul, and pick out lunch.”
Peter did some minor gloating over the fact that he wouldn’t have to cook for a good part of the week. He’d sort of appointed himself the household cook from the start, claiming that it was because he’d worked as a short-order chef. Still, he hadn’t brought it up until I shorted out the toaster. No one had told me you weren’t supposed to put cream cheese on the bagel until after it was cooked. My foster mom never let me anywhere near the kitchen.
We spent the next couple of days eating some of the best food I’d ever had, with a couple of minor exceptions. We had a lot of fun trying to guess who cooked what. Egon didn’t really know the team or the cheerleading squad, but I could see that he was delighted just watching us puzzle it out. Peter took a bite of one casserole, and accused me of making it.
Tuesday, Peter forced some of it on me to take to college. I don’t know what his problem with it was, it tasted fine if a bit on the salty side. The day was clear and sunny, and I’d found the perfect place to eat, a tree just wide enough to support my back but thin enough that I was covered in dappled light that was idyllic for reading. I’d finished my Tupperware meal, and was munching on an apple and reading a book on quantum mechanics when a shadow covered me. I looked up.. and up, and up.
“Hi, Ray. C’n I join you?” Toby Rowler rested a huge hand on the tree behind me, and beamed down.
I skootched over some, moving my bag. “Sure! I’ve got another apple, if you want it.”
He sat with a soft ‘oof’. I wonder what it would be like, to have that much mass and yet move so surely. I’d seen him a few times more since he and Peter had scared off the fraternity pledges. He walked like I did, head down reading a book, except where I was constantly dodging people, people made sure to get out of his way.
“How’s it hanging, Ray? Venkman’s ankle any better?”
“I think it’s still bothering him, but he’s stopped swearing so much. Egon’s not the only one to have taught me some new vocabulary over the past few months.”
He grinned at that, then snapped open his lunch box. Cool, a Starsky and Hutch one! “The way the squad was going, you’d think he’d died. He’s sharing the wealth, huh?” I looked blankly at Toby, until he tapped the Tupperware.
“Oh! Yes, well, they really brought too much food. And Mrs. Liger, she baked tons of stuff.”
“Yeah, she’s the best. Not much too look at, but you know why the coach has that spare tire,” Toby said, then finished the biggest sub sandwich I’d seen in about two bites. I bit into my apple to hide my smile.
He eyed me as he unwrapped a second sub. “So how’s your third roommate taking it? He looked pretty upset when I saw him offside with Venkman’s mom.”
“Egon? He’d never been to a game before, and didn’t realize, well…That it can be a bit rough.”
Toby laughed. “A bit? Ray, no wonder Peter says you’re a grandmaster at understatement.”
I blushed a bit, then shrugged. “Well, you know what I mean. I’m just glad Peter didn’t get his face slammed into the turf. I’ve seen the kind of cuts you get from those helmets, and forehead wounds bleed like crazy. Egon would have flipped.”
“Mmm, yeah, my mom just about killed my dad when that happened to me back in Oahu. Then again, she wanted me to go into sumo. Get called ‘lovely flower’ in Japanese? Get real. I’d rather eat astroturf.” Toby wiped his hands on the grass, then turned to me. “You still willing to part with that apple?”
When Egon and I came back that night from a late physics lecture, we found Peter packing a small overnight bag. “Peter?” Egon was just as surprised as I was. I mean, we both knew the Lions had an away game, but it seemed that “Victory” Venkman was going to be on the bench for the next game or two.
“Hey.” He gave me a grin, then reached out and pulled Egon into a hug. “You’re gonna hate this. I hate this. But…”
Egon hugged him back, then moved Peter out to arms distance to give him a really stern look. “Is Coach Liger out of his mind? Peter, you can not possibly play with your ankle…”
“Yeah, I know, Spengs. But he wants me there in part for morale, and in part to study my replacement. Johnny’s going to take over when I graduate, and the coach’s decided this is a good game to try out some field plays that will suit Johnny better. He doesn’t have my throwing arm or my aim, after all.” Peter’s smile faded, and he nudged Egon. “It doesn’t totally kill our weekend, Egon. I’ll have to share a hotel room Friday night with Rowler, who snores like a gibbon. First thing in the morning we pack up and head back.”
I leaned across the baseboard of their wooden bed. “Maybe we can follow in your car, Egon.”
Peter brightened. “Hey, yeah. You can watch me sit on my ass, swearing at Johnny, then Ray and Rowler could share the room, and you and I can sneak out and find a cheap motel with a vibrating bed.” He grinned wickedly at Egon, who flushed slightly and whacked him with the nearest pillow.
“I can’t, Peter, as tempting as you make it sound. I’ve another late seminar Friday.” He chuckled faintly. “I was just going to tell you that as my bad news.”
“Typical. Hell.” Peter bopped Egon with another pillow, and then took aim at me for good measure. I ducked behind the bed laughing.
I had a doozy of a dream that night. The clock read five am when I woke, my heart pounding, adrenaline rushing through my body like a derailed train. I had to look up at glowing numbers as I’d managed to fall ass over teakettle onto the floor. Egon was peering over the bed at me worriedly, and fumbling for his glasses on the nightstand. I ran a hand through my hair, and sighed.
“I’ll get ‘em for you, Spengs.”
The second he had them on, he leveled me with a piercing gaze. “Are you alright?”
I shifted uncomfortably on the edge of the bed. “Do you mean me, specifically, or my ankle?”
“Both.”
“The ankle’s fine. I may get a bruise on my butt, but you’ll be the only one to know.” I grinned faintly and then shrugged at him, my heart already slowing to a normal pace. “Just a nightmare, ‘gon.”
“Do you remember it?” He nodded at my dream journal, some odd project I’d been assigned in one of my parapsych classes.
I snagged the book and the half-inch of pencil, and studied the ruled lines in the pale light that crept through the curtain. Usually, I don’t really recall my dreams. Fragments, sometimes. This one, though, was odd enough that I remembered bits of it. I spoke to Egon as I wrote, trying to capture the sense of it.
“I was in motion, with a lot of people in a circle. I think I was talking. Then there was the blur… blue, I think, just a streak of it. Then everything tumbled, and… I dunno, Spengs, I just woke up.”
He leaned forward to pull me against his chest. His words vibrated through me comfortingly as he asked, “What made it a nightmare?”
I shook my head, irritated with myself. “I don’t know. Just as I woke, there was something… something important. Then I had a close encounter with the floorboards.” Frowning, I tipped my head back onto his wide shoulder and glared at the ceiling. “This dream thing, it’s useless. I can never remember anything. I doubt there’s anything to it anyway.”
He laughed and nuzzled behind my ears, hitting that spot. Pleasure shot through me like a rocket. I completely forgot about the nightmare, and concentrated on him.
Friday rolled our way, and Rowler and I had snagged the front seats on the bus. Not that there’s much of a contest for it usually, as he and I’d laid claim on these seats two years ago. More convenient with Toby’s size, and I prefer watching the road to sneaking shots of booze in the back.
“Venkman, heads up!”
Muttering a quick oath under my breath, I dodged the Frisbee and glared at the back of the bus. Idiots. I faked a smile and then threw the damn thing back at them hard. Normally, I’d be into this, but today…I didn’t want to be here. I wanted to be home, even if I had to wait for Egon to escape his late night lecture. Feeling a bit resentful and kinda edgy, I slouched back into my seat and put my feet back up over the bar. Naptime, maybe. Maybe a snooze would shake the prickly feeling stirring the hair on the back of my neck.
“Hey.”
I cracked open an eye, and looked over at Toby who’d given me a tentative poke in the shoulder. He’d been thoughtful since we’d set out and I’d been half-wondering when he’d talk. I knew he and his girlfriend had been on the outs the past week or two, and I’d had a feeling he’d nail me for a talk on the trip.
I resigned myself to a lost nap and said, “Ya want to talk, Tobe?”
“Yeah.” He started tracing a meaty finger across the tread of his sneakers, and I knew this was going to be a big one. Dinah must have dumped him. Glancing warily over his shoulder at the rest of the team, he said, ”You doing okay, Venkman?”
That wasn’t what I expected to hear and I sat up straighter to look at him better. He shrugged and looked out the window before continuing. “I mean, your leg.”
Right, sure. That wasn’t what he meant. I leaned back and studied him, half shutting my eyes against the bright autumn light pouring into the bus. “Twinges. But it’s a hell of a lot better.”
He nodded, and kept looking out the window. “Your, ah, roommate, he been helping you out?”
Roommate. Singular. My eyes widened before I could stop them. That was what it was. I dropped my feet to the sticky bus floor, and said, “Egon’s been a complete nag and a half.” Toby flushed slightly the minute I said Egon’s name, and stared at the cats-eyes in the road.
I never thought this topic would come up on the goddamn football bus, although I wasn’t dumb enough to think it’d never happen. I wasn’t planning on being ‘outed.’ So far as I was concerned, my life was my own damn business. On the other hand, Toby and I had been decent friends for three years. Maybe not the closest of friends, but more than my usual group of acquaintances, the people I drank with or joshed but didn’t give a damn about really. Toby tho, he and I had spent too many trips to games talking about thing other than football. No way could I just pawn him off with a cheap lie as much as some small, swearing part of me wanted to.
Leaning my hand on my chin, I gave Toby a chance to continue. When he didn’t, I asked as quietly as I could while letting the noise level in the back mask my words to all but him, “You got a problem with it?”
He flinched a little, and then turned to me. Another nervous look at the riot behind us, then he shot a glance at me. “I… This isn’t really a good time to talk…”
“You started it, Toby.”
He winced, flushing a deeper red. “Yeah, well…”
Big guns time. As Egon would say, in for a penny in for a pound. “Your virtue in the hotel room will be safe with me, Rowler.” I said it only half jokingly. I don’t need my diploma in hand to see what was up. A part of me was seriously upset that he’d thought I’d changed so much.He then went for a Ray-type blush; a full body-check crimson like I’d caught him reading a Playboy in church. I just waited until he got all that guilt under control and started talking to me. “I trust you, Venk, I do, it's just… It weirds me out, ya know. I mean…”
He scrubbed at his face with a hand, and then gave me a kind of ‘help me, Obi Wan’ look. I could see all the things flicking through his mind, that we’ve shared hotel rooms and did that make him gay, or did others think that he and I were a couple? Those and all the other kinds of questions that anyone would go through, hell, that I went through myself when I realized what I felt for Egon. I’d spent a whole night wandering the streets of New York questioning myself and there was no way could I explain it quickly. Especially not on the bus with all the team on board. I liked Rowler though, and it looked like I’d have to talk with him about this regardless. So I nodded, and said, “Yeah, I know. Freaked me out too. Look, wanna talk later?” I jerked my chin towards the back, and he nodded as he got the point.
We settled back down into an awkward silence for the next couple of miles. I was piecing together what I’d tell him and what I’d leave out when Toby muttered, ‘Wanna soda, Venk?” Mentally, I sighed in relief at the carbonated olive branch and nodded. He half stood, reaching for the overhead compartment for his stash of sodas, when Johnny Becks and some of the other backbenchers who’d been helping celebrate his big chance tonight swung their way up towards the front.
They were singing more tunelessly than Egon, which took some effort, a pretty raunchy version of some old nursery rhymes. Next they’d probably start singing the ditty about Batman and Robin. Kids. I started yelling at them about their racket, taking the chance to vent some of my concern with Toby at the bunch of convenient nimrods. The wind screen of our bus in front of me reflected them in a semi-circle behind me, as well as a car passing the bus on the wrong side.
A circle…
My dream from the night before snapped into place like a missing puzzle piece just as the little car… Shit, a blue car… slid onto an oily patch on the road. I yelled something and grabbed Johnny’s shoulder and threw him into the seat behind us before attempting to shove Toby and myself down into a crash position. It was too late. Our driver veered the bus to compensate, and it tipped over. For a moment, everything hung suspended and then the bus turned into a tumble dryer. Bottles and football gear started flying through the air, and my ears filled with the sounds of screeching metal and people. My head made contact with the overhead compartment just as something whacked me from behind.
I was out for a few minutes at least, I think. Next thing I knew, I was kneeling on what should have been the roof of the bus, a jagged piece of strip lighting digging into my thigh. I shifted, and pain shot through my side. Dammit, no chance I’ll be in next week's game either. My head felt full of cotton, and for a moment everything around me swam.
A sound off to my left pulled my drifting thoughts together. Jeeesus. Rowler was next to me, jammed hard between the seats. Broken glass from the bus’s windscreen had got him pretty bad, and something about the way he sat looked wrong. He looked like the world’s biggest rag doll.
“Tobe?” I reached a hand out to grasp his shoulder, noticing the shaking of my fingers before I saw the blood on them. Mine, I think. I hope. I ignored it, leaving sticky red fingerprints on his pale blue jersey as I checked his pulse. Trying to remembering the first aid lessons my mom made me take way back, I felt for the spot under his jaw carefully and found it thready-feeling but there, same with his breathing. My thoughts were still churning like the bus had and I was developing the mother of all migraines, but I knew I didn’t dare shake him awake. I snagged a towel from a ripped sports bag to my side, and pressed it hard against the deep rip that I could see in his arm.
“Hey, Rowler... C’mon, Toby, wake up.” Nothing. My whole body joined my hands in shaking, but I kept talking. Pete, do what you do best. “Don’t make me say your middle name, Rowler. If that’s what it takes to get you talking, I’ll do it.” I’d cajole, threaten, hell, even plead if it’d get him to say something. Anything.
The noises I’d been half hearing all along behind me condensed into a vaguely familiar voice saying my name over and over. “Venkman.” I ignored Evans until he shook me, which hurt like hell. I glared at the assistant coach. He looked like the entire Princeton squad had kicked his ass. “Venkman, come on, we’re evacuating the bus. You two are the last that… well.” He glanced over to where the driver lay, and then tried to pretend he wasn’t there. Evans worked himself back into speech, finally saying, ” Let me give you a hand...”
“No!” The thing was that I knew we shouldn’t move Toby; the tearing light in my head pulsed with certainty. I batted off Evans’ hand, “We can’t, if we do it will kill him. Did you… is there an ambulance…?”
“But it’s dangerous, Venkman, and you’re blee…”
I snapped, “I don’t care. So’s he. So unless you know how to apply a tourniquet, Evans, get the hell out of my way.” He hesitated for a second, and then helped me take care of Rowler’s arm. Ten minutes, twenty, I don't know how long, but Toby’s breathing had shallowed and started getting erratic, and I was beginning to panic. How the hell do you do CPR with out moving the victim? I’d never done the advanced courses… and that glowing red-hot poker behind my eyes was numbing my arms even as I tried to keep the pressure up. There were sparkles dancing around my vision when Evans perked up and whispered a hoarse, “thank god.” I cocked my head to the side, feeling the blood trickle down my cheek in a brand new gravity-induced direction.
I’d never been so damn glad to hear sirens in my life.
The last of the warm summer sun filtered through the curtains, making everything look like it was cloaked in dusty gold. I had an old book that one of the parapsychology professors had lent to me for my own studies once she realized I was serious about it. Sections of it were in some pretty obscure Latin, so I had the TV turned down as low as possible so it wouldn’t distract me.
“Ray, wouldn’t it be easier to concentrate if the television was off altogether?” Egon asked me as he wandered past with some pretty big books of his own. It was mid-afternoon, but Egon was already getting ready for his evening lecture. Not that he was teaching it. I think it’s just something to do as Peter’s not here to pester him into going to the movies.
“Probably,” I replied as I snagged some more Doritos and my Cassell’s dictionary, “But I want to watch Scooby Doo. I’m almost never home from class when it’s on.”
He came back into the living room with some dirty dishes, and shook his head at me with amusement as he took them to the kitchen. “That’s the cartoon that features a group of paranormal journalists whose cases turn into anything but, correct?”
“Yep, that’s it.” I set aside the battered copy of Roylance’s Guide to Secret Societies and Sects. “The thing that always gets me isn’t the fact there’s always a rational explanation. I just wonder why they never write articles on Scooby. I mean, I talking dog? That’d be a big scoop in any of the supernatural mags.”
That got me a deep bass laugh and agreement. I kept a few of the mags around the house and I knew he read them. I settled down into the couch feeling glad I’d shaken my friend out of the faint gloom he’d been in. I was just about to dive back into the shamanistic rituals of the Connecticut druids, when something on the TV caught my eye.
“Oh my gosh.” The breath just whooshed out of me. I’d seen off the bus that was on the screen with the ‘live on air’ Channel 4 logo only two hours ago. It couldn’t be but…. Next thing I knew I was on my knees in front of the set, trying to turn it up and make sure the receiver was actually working. It couldn’t be, it just couldn’t.
“Egon!” I yelled as the volume came up and confirmed my fears.
“Ray? What is it?” Something in my voice must have alerted him, because he dashed in immediately. I just pointed shakily at the screen, and he promptly went white as he soon as he saw the bus that was flipped over on the highway there.
“…cause of the crash appears to have been an out of control Ford Pacer.” The reporter, who’d been talking as Egon slid onto the floor next to me, walked up to a big guy in a fireman’s suit. “Fire Marshal O’Hara, can you give us any details?”
“We’re not entirely certain as to the full events. An accident inquiry team is already on its way. It does seem that the small car veered into the lane of the Columbia Lions bus and that the bus driver’s attempt to avoid the other vehicle forced the bus to flip.”
“Can you tell us what the extent of this has been?”
“I’m afraid at this time we are currently attempting to contact all the families of those involved in this unfortunate accident, and cannot give out any names.”
“Of course. Thank you, Marshal. For you viewers just tuning in, the bus of the Columbia Lions football team, on their way to a game in Syracuse, have collided on I?. Channel 4 news will continue to bring you updates as we learn more…”
Even as the guy spoke, we could see the ambulance crews in the background obviously pull out some body bags from the wreck. The only thing I could feel was my nails biting into my palms. For a moment, it was like I was there… no, back in the wreck with my parents. I felt cold and numb, like I’d been dipped in liquid nitrogen and only a touch would break me. Oh, god, Peter… I shut my eyes tight and covered them with my hands.
A hand gripped my shoulder and I jerked back, shaking. Egon was half kneeling at my side and looking me in the face with a lot of concern. He had to be terrified for Peter but he was still worried about me. Some of the cold slid away from me. I let out a shaky breath and reached up to squeeze his hand. I had to hang in there for him.
“I just tried to reach Peter’s mother,” he said, his voice edged. I hadn’t even seen him go for the phone.
“Was she..”
“She wasn’t there. Whether she’s out or the police have collected her…” He shuddered, and his grip tightened. “I don’t know.”
“Egon, what do we…”
The phone rang, and we both jumped about a mile into the air. Egon raced to get it, and I could hear the urgency in the voice on the other end of the line. He grabbed a pen and started writing. Cupping his hand over the receiver, he whispered to me hoarsely, “Raymond, get my car keys.”
I dashed to the kitchen where he kept them on a hook and raced back. He was already waiting by the door, blue eyes looking worried but less so than a few minutes ago. He took the keys from me and gave my shoulder a squeeze. “That was the police. Mrs. Venkman had them call us, she’s already on the way to the hospital where they’ve taken Peter.”
“Is he alright?” I interrupted.
“He was injured, and they couldn’t give me the extent,” he said, and the deep precise tones that he always spoke in quavered just a bit. “But he’s alive.”
I don’t think either of us should have been driving, but I was glad Egon decided to take the wheel. In a way, it took every bit of courage I had to get in his car, but I steeled myself for it. I had to, Peter needed us. And he hadn’t been kidding when he said that Egon could drive really well and really fast when he needed to. We drove north at high-speed. I spent the whole drive up panicking about the man who’d become one of the best friends I’d always wanted. I bet Egon did too, but he didn’t have direct experience with this sort of thing. I remember the car crash that took my parents way too clearly some times. I’ve had people tell me all my life that they wish they had my recall. They say it must be lucky to have an eidetic memory, and that it must make tests a snap. Sure, it’s great for that, but if you have something you want to forget….
The car was barely in park before Egon and I tumbled out and made a dash for the hospital doors. We had to skirt around a ton of reporters who had Coach Liger held captive in the lobby. That was easier than sneaking past the first batch of security guards. I was trying to explain that we were Peter’s roommates to the scary blond nurse that caught us on the second floor when Mrs. Venkman rescued us. Well, actually she ran up to Egon and nearly broke his back with a hug. It took a bit for us all to calm down enough to speak in turns, and I guess the nurse finally believed us because she took us down the hall to a waiting room.
The minute the nurse was gone, Egon turned to Mrs. Venkman and said, “Peter?” I made it a stereo question.
“He’s fine. No, that’s not quite true. He was unconscious for a bit. The doctors said it was blood loss and a concussion. They’ve run him up for scans, and he groused all the way, but they’re fairly sure he’s not cracked his skull.” She attempted a smile, but it just wobbled on her lips. She’d been wringing a Kleenex, and bits of it had shredded all over her dress. Egon handed her his handkerchief, and sat her down. I sat to her right and held her hand. She tried smiling again, wanly at me, a faint image of Peter that made my eyes sting.
Egon collapsed into the other chair and asked, “Will we be able to see him? Will they be keeping over night… or longer?”
“I’ve told them you boys are family, but they still want to keep the numbers down so it will be one at a time. I think whether he stays depends on the tests.”
Egon nodded, running his hands along the arms of the chair in agitation. “Do you know what happened?”
“Not really.” This time her smile was more solid, and tinged with pride. “The doctors said Peter saved the life of another person on the bus. I knew that first aid course would be a good thing one day. And Coach Liger told me the driver of the small car was over the legal alcohol limit, and that it was unavoidable.” That was bad but I felt a small part of me that I hadn’t really been aware of before relax. The car my folks and I’d been in had hit a patch of ice. Somehow knowing that this accident was different helped.
We sat together for the next couple of hours waiting for more news. People wandered in and out, and I fetched tea for Mrs. Venkman. I needed to move. Egon was even quieter than usual, and moved around the room restlessly. When a reporter that broke in looking for a scoop, he had an angry diatribe with the man. I think the guy had no idea how badly Egon insulted him; Egon used words that are probably in the obscure section of the Oxford English dictionary. I absently wrote down a few that even I didn’t recognize, and added a couple of my own choice comments. Mrs. V. ignored it all.
When they finally got through with the test, the docs came in. Egon and I nearly got shooed out, but Mrs. Venkman stood her ground and they caved in. Peter was going to be all right, sore and he’d broken a rib so he’d be uncomfortable. Some flying glass had given him a few deep cuts, so he’d had to have some stitches too. They were going to keep him overnight because of the concussion. Then he was all ours, and judging by the nurse who was rolling her eyes in the background, we were welcome to him. Peter must be as bad a patient in a hospital as he is at home with the flu. Still, I’d take him even then.
When I was finally permitted into the hospital room in which Peter lay, I did so with a mix of trepidation and worry. The worry however was what crystallized when I saw him lying in the bed, dark lashes soft as smoke on his pale, bandaged cheeks. In a way, I was grateful for his sprained ankle the week before. I had little previous experience with hospitals bar one solemn visit to the bedside of a dying aunt. Without the exposure to the potential for injury to one I love given to me last week, this might well have broken me. Now however, I clutched to my heart the words he had told me then. These things happen, and while he was not immune to injury, neither was he fragile. He would recover. I felt certain of that.
This certainty did not keep me from approaching his quiescent form to take his hand in mine. I needed the reassurance that only physical contact would bring. For a moment, his fingers rested laxly there, then he tightened them around my own. Green eyes opened to look at me tiredly. There were thin lines of pain newly etched around his mouth and brow and I brushed them with my free hand, willing them away. It earned me a lusterless but fond smile.
For a moment, I just stood there swaying with relief. Resting my forehead against his, I tried to convey wordlessly all that I felt; the fear, yes, but also the overwhelming compassion I had for what he’d doubtlessly endured, and my love for him. His hand squeezed mine again, and I could see him soundlessly mouth my name.
We stayed that way for a time, then he tugged my sleeve. “Sit down, Spengs, you’re making me dizzy.” He patted the bed with his other hand. I hesitated, and he rolled his eyes at me in such a way that I was somewhat reassured as to his health. Still clutching his hand, I sat gingerly at his side.
“What happened?” We both asked at the same time, and I laughed in relief as he started chuckling.
“You start, ‘gon. The first part of this mess, I was too busy to really figure what the hell was going on, an’ the second part I really wasn’t in any shape to think about it either.”
I told him what little I knew, and my sources. It earned me a grimace, his hand sliding up my hand to encircle my wrist firmly. “Sorry ‘bout this, Egon.”
“Don’t be. You certainly didn’t intend this to occur.”
“Hell no. But…” His mouth down turned, and then he looked at me worriedly. “Is Ray okay? This has gotta be the mother of all nightmares for him.”
I nodded my awareness of this. “He’s been markedly quiet. But somehow I think he’s bearing up.”
Peter shut his eyes in relief, gripping my wrist tightly then sighing released me. Cupping his neck gently with my newly freed hand, I spoke soft meaningless words until he fell into a exhausted slumber. Ray entered after a time to assure himself of Peter’s well-being, and seeing us together seemed to ease the tension with in him somewhat.
I had already determined that I would stay the night at the hospital while we waited the outcome of the tests. When I attempted to talk Ray into returning home, he had faced me with a silent steadfast regard against which I could mount no argument. He needed to be here as much as I did. Truthfully, his presence bolstered my flagging reserves. Dawn arose to find me slumped against the warm flannel on Ray’s shoulder, quite probably snoring in the uncomfortable chairs. When a gentle hand shook me awake, I found myself staring blearily into Peter’s tired but humor-lit eyes.
“You two, jeez, why didn’t you get a room?” He sat on the edge of his bed, legs swinging idly. Bandages peeked out from under the gown, scattered across his limbs haphazardly. I must have involuntarily exclaimed, for he growled at me, “Glass, Egon, it was just flying glass. I’m fine.”
“Peter?” Ray stirred at my side, then woke fully. “You’re awake!”
“Astounding, Holmes! However do you do it?” Peter grinned at Ray, then me. “Look at him, Egon. From asleep to hyper in 60 seconds. Faster than a Ferrari. Almost as fast as your driving.” It was a near approximation to his usual humor. Near and yet not quite. It rang false to me, and to Ray as well judging by the worried frown he gave.
We didn’t have time to question Peter thoroughly, for he attempted to edge himself off the bed, and found himself being shoved back onto it by me. Raymond went to fetch the nurse, and to call Mrs. Venkman’s hotel.
A few hours later, we returned home laden with one sullen psychology student and a multitude of sympathy cards. Peter had been silent the entire drive, his earlier attempt at normalcy having faded with the exhaustion that he tried to mask. This concerned me greatly. He’d never been so quiet. Ray and I exchanged several concerned looks which Peter unusually failed to notice. Once again, Ray and I maneuvered him up the stairs with him reluctantly being drawn along. No witticisms about drunken sailors this time. His eyes were almost shut, not from the fatigue but from what appeared to be an intentional avoidance of meeting my eyes.
It frightened me in a way seeing him in the hospital had not. As I sat Peter gently on the bed, Ray tugged at my sleeve, brown eyes anxious. He mouthed to me ‘Do you want me to stay?” I gave Peter a quick glance, noting him pensively examining the back of his hands, and shook my head slowly.
Ray studied me, then nodded. “I’ll fix something to eat.” When no slurs about his culinary skills filled the void we left with concerned anticipation, Ray gave a resigned sigh and squeezed Peter’s shoulder before murmuring, “It’ll be okay, Peter.” Then he went downstairs, and I…
I was left alone to deal with this shadow of the man I love. Uncertain as to how I could bring Peter back to the shores of this reality, I drew him close to me. He came unresistingly, yet unresponsively, into my arms. I threaded a hand through his brown hair, still tangled from a night’s ill sleep in the hospital. Despite a zealous nurse and a vigorous shower, he still smelled of medical paraphernalia. Nevertheless, under it all there lay the scent of Peter which had worked its way into the very fabric of my being. As I waited him out, I gave myself the rather selfish luxury of just breathing him in to confirm his continued existence.
The shadows lengthened across the bedroom before at last his arms tightened around me and his head rose from my chest to hide beneath my chin. When he spoke, his voice was uncharacteristically unsteady. “Egon, remember that dream I had in here the other night?”
Instantly I did, and recalled the details of it as well. “The crash?” I instinctively tightened my hold on him.
“Yeah.” He burrowed deeper against me, nearly toppling us over in his urge to find a safe haven in my arms. A shaky mumble said, “It can’t be. I mean, it’s nuts, isn’t it? But a second before we hit the other car, it hit me. Just a second, Egon. That was all I got. Just enough time to throw Johnny in a seat…”
I had met Mrs. Becks in the waiting room, as she had wanted to thank Mrs. Venkman. Peter’s actions had most likely saved his next year replacement, and I told him so. He merely nodded, soft hair moving against my jaw as he did so. “Yeah, I knew that, one of the docs told me while they were zapping me with X-rays.” His arms spasmed around me, and he attempted to draw back, to push me away. Suddenly, I knew what caused the anguish that I’d seen lurking in his eyes, the strange silence that had wrought such havoc upon my and Raymond’s nerves. Mrs. Becks had not been the only one to talk with Peter’s mother.
“Peter, he’s alive as well.”
He swallowed, and turned his head away from me, still fighting to get away from my embrace and yet unable to let me go. I edged cautiously forward, trapping his knees with my own, and tipped his head up so that his eyes met mine. They were as opaque as they had been so often during our rocky first few meetings, although he did not have the energy to erect the mocking cover that usually companioned this mask.
I shook my head at him. “He’s alive.” The green darkened slightly, and his hold on me tightened. Then he spoke with sudden urgency, transparent pain wrapped in his voice. “I heard it, Egon. Toby’s spine snapping, I heard it. I didn’t really connect the sound at the time, but somehow I knew that I shouldn’t move him. If I knew that, if I could know to boot Johnny aside, then why…”
“Peter…” He was becoming agitated and rather wild-eyed, so I released his hands to shake his shoulders. When I was certain that I had his full attention, I said, “Listen to me. It might have been a fluke. It might have been an actual psychic event. We don’t know. Even if it was the later, you are human, Peter. Subject to errors. You did considerable good none the less.”
He stilled under my hands and drew a few slow deep breaths, visibly pulling himself under control and equally visibly not believing me. I enfolded his shoulders in a gentler hug, giving him the time to recover. When Raymond finally appeared, peeking around the door anxiously, Peter was sprawled across the bed asleep in my arms.
Stupid, really. I’d started out in psych, and had done the basic stuff freshman year and more interesting things as I got into it. I’d messed with the idea of going into clinical, taken abnormal psych and the like, then got interested in parapsychology…but not enough to believe in it. Oh no, I wasn’t falling for mumbo-jumbo, not Peter Venkman, nuh-uh. So like a complete hypocrite, I’d taken the starter course for parapsych and never once took any of the psychic tests. Administered them to other people, yeah, I thought it was pretty damn amusing. I could always catch the fakers and wanna-bes. Chalked the knack for that to Charlie and slid away from the tests because, well, it was screw-ball.
And now here I was with test deck that I had a classmate drop by, dry-mouthed and nervous as all get-out. Egon and Ray sat on the battered couch across from me as I shuffled. Ray was excited, practically bouncing on the cushions. Egon could tell I wasn’t happy and kept glancing at me, once touching my knee in reassurance as I explained how it went.
“Okay, I’ll run this on you guys first so you see how it goes. It’s nothing complicated. We coulda used a normal pack of cards, only I know the numerical odds for these better. “ I flicked the card shapes down quickly, cards running under my hand as smoothly as dear ol’ Dad taught me. “Star. Circle. Wavy lines. Square. Cross. There are other sets with more complicated shapes, but this is the original deck that Professor Rhine cooked up at Duke in the 1930’s.”
Ray and Egon leaned over to study the cards, tho they’re not all that interesting. I shooed them back. “Look, best way to do this is one at a time.” Before Ray exploded, I said, “You first, Ray.” Egon and I shared a glance of amused affection as Occult Boy slid down to tuck his knees under the coffee table, completely agog.
“Right. Ray, relax. If you’re all wound up, it screws up the results. If you concentrate too hard, trust me, it won’t work at all. So chill, or I’ll do Egon first.” One pale eyebrow rose at that, and I creamed the love of my life with a pillow for thinking below the belt. It made me feel better, though, and Ray calmed down after laughing hard at us both.
I gave the deck one last randomizing shuffle, then held a card up. Nothing shiny behind me, I’d taken care to move anything that might reflect the cards including where I positioned my eyes. Ray stared at the cards as if he was wearing a pair of those x-ray specs they sell in his comics. Then before I could whack him for over-concentrating, he looked down at his hands and let out a deep breath.
“Square.”
I set the circle card down with out showing it, and ticked the notebook on my lap. We settled into a steady rhythm and, as Ray relaxed, his accuracy went up. Above average, actually, but not by too much. Sort of surprising, as wired as he still seemed. After we ran through the deck for the full number, I switched to Egon.
“Peter...”
Both of them in puzzled duet. I shook my head at them. “I tell you the results now, and it’ll screw the scores.”
Egon went through it with steady patience. A bit above average too. I managed to catch myself before I started frowning at the notebook. I’d given this test enough to consider doing a version of it for my grad research, and my best friends were screwing up my previous data. Damn.
“Peter?”
“Hmm? Oh, sorry.” I gave Egon a half-hearted grin, then handed the cards over to him. “Here’s a piece of paper, and a 2B. Ray, just place the cards in a pile, I’ll check them.” I sighed as he held one up. “Swap places with me, and shuffle them.”
“Oh.” We moved, and he settled on the cushion, then shuffled the cards under the table a bit clumsily. Egon gave me some room, but watched me like a hawk. I took a few slow breaths, and then pretended it was a card game at the frat. With no booze and no loud music, that was a bit hard to do at first. Then it seemed the world just stilled and all that was in it was Egon, a intense and loving presence to my right, Ray, a blinding bright spirit in front of me, and five shapes.
The cards.
They moved in stately order, and as Ray held them, they seemed to blaze. I went through the deck in a fog so thick that Egon had to shake me out of it. When I looked up, brown eyes stared at me wide with shock.
“Peter.”
I closed my eyes tight, and swallowed. “I got ‘em all right, didn’t I?” He nodded, and Egon’s hand tightened on my shoulder as I started shaking slightly.
“Perhaps it’s a…”
“Don’t say coincidence, Spengs. The odds of a person getting just eight outta twenty is over one in a thousand.”
“I was going to say it might be a side-effect of your earlier concussion.” He enfolded me in those long arms of his, sitting on the floor with me. Ray got on my other side and they both held me, just waiting until I pulled myself together a bit more. A part of me wanted to pretend I never did this, to quit my parapsych course and go into something safe like basket weaving.
Nah.
Feeling me relax again, Egon traced my lips with a finger then spoke then fondly, “It looks like you are a better candidate for your electro-shock test version than I or your mother, Venkman.”
I sputtered with laughter and nipped his hand in revenge. “Wise-ass.” Turning a eye to Ray, who was still clutching the Rhine deck, I drawled, “You wanna know you two’s results?”
He looked at me seriously, and said solemnly, “Of course. But not if it upsets you.”
How can you hold a proper grumpy mood around someone who so obviously cares? Or with someone holding you tight enough to show his love that he can tease you and you know what he really means? It’s impossible. I gave it up, and ruffled Ray’s hair until it looked like I had used electricity on this test after all.
Then we talked. About the dream.
It was a few weeks after the accident before the doctors let Peter visit Toby in the hospital. I’d gone with him and Egon, the Hawaiian giant had become my friend too after all. Peter was still upset then because of the flashcard test, but he went anyways, Egon sticking to him like glue. Apparently part of what had Peter in an emotional uproar was the fact that Toby had picked up on their relationship and had started to talk to him on the bus. I probably should have realized that myself, what with the kind of questions Toby had asked me before.
Toby was just off the respirator, and looked pretty awful. Peter had blanched when we entered the room and looked like he wanted to run. Toby just lit up when he saw Peter though, dark eyes flashing and smile touching that big face like a sunbeam.
“Venk!”
Peter swallowed, then walked up in that sort of nonchalant slouch he uses when he’s not certain of something. Stopping at the edge of the bed, he hesitated then gave Toby a faint grin. “I tried to sneak you in a pizza, but when I asked for pineapple on it, Spengs and Ray refused. They got no taste.”
Toby gave a hoarse chuckle. “Heretics. Get the tiki-torches, I’ll send for the volcano.” The smile faded, and he looked up at Peter seriously until Peter looked back with shadowed green eyes. “Pete. Thanks, man. I heard you saved my life.”
“Rowler..” Peter squeezed his eyes shut, jerking his head slightly to one side to avoid us all. Egon moved to stand behind him, but Peter waved him off. Then hesitantly, he told Toby about his precognitive dream and the tests we ran, his hands gripping the metal side rails of the bed so hard his knuckles turned white. As he started to apologize, Toby sighed then his hand moved like a glacier to touch Peter’s.
We all stared. He waggled his fingers at us and grinned.
“So you think you saw the future and screwed up my life? My legs are gone to hell, and my football career went with it. Venk, I don’t give a shit about that. You know perfectly well I wasn’t going down that path. I still got a life thanks to you. If you hadn’t kept that dolt Evans from moving me, I’d be dead. D-E-A-D. And after what I, well, didn’t say but damn well implied to you…”
“Rowler…” Peter tried to break in, and Toby glared at him.
“You may be a psych student, but I got you beat this time, Venkman. My major’s philosophy, and if I can’t hack being in a wheelchair for a bit, I’m screwed. Optimism, Venkman. Learn to love it.”
Peter gave an involuntary snort at that and seemed to loosen up.
Toby grinned back at him. “Don’t you dare go and pull some kinda guilt trip.” He looked at me, then solidly at Egon. “You tell him, one of you two’s gotta have some sense and it ain’t Venk.”
Egon managed to keep from smiling at Peter’s affronted look, though I didn’t, and tugged Peter’s sleeve. “Mr. Rowler is correct, Peter.”
“Call me Toby.” A glance passed between them, then Egon nodded and not just at chance to use Toby’s first name. Peter was staring at both of them, then they both jumped all over him verbally. By the time they were through, or rather by the time the nurses kicked us out, Peter had accepted the fact that fate or something like fate had decided this course of action and that he’d done the best he could. Not that he wasn’t going to try harder in the future to keep anything like this from happening again. I could tell that by the look in his eyes. But Egon will keep him in line, I know it. Always.