Turbulence

 

"Ghostbusters, we are ready to believe you." The bored Brooklyn-accented tone of their secretary, Janine, made Doctor Peter Venkman wince as he sat in his cluttered office. Feet perched on a stack of magazines, the brown-haired psychologist was leaning back precariously in his chair, laptop resting on his stomach as he typed his next article. "Bet we just lost another customer," he muttered under his breath.

"I heard that, Dr. V." Janine opened the side door into his office and walked in, glaring at the mess and it's owner. "I should just tell the feds that you don't want the job."

"Feds? As in government?" Peter pulled his feet off the pile, sending the issues crashing to the floor. "As in government contract? Yes!" Jubilant thoughts crowded his head. Looks like all that work is finally paying off...and we'll be able to afford the upgrading that Spengs wants so badly.

Beaming at their secretary, Peter said the magic words. "Pay raise."

She grinned back. "Damn straight."

 

A few hours later, the four Ghostbusters were on their way south. The Ecto 1slid smoothly through the crowded I-95 traffic, drawing the usual stares and pointing hands in its wake. Peter was riding shotgun and would wave to children, and attractive ladies, but his companions ignored it. The team's engineer, Ray Stantz, was hovering over a map sent by fax of the complex to which they were heading, his deep auburn hair brushing Egon Spengler's blond coif as they both tried to look at the same small lettering. Peter rolled his eyes at Winston Zeddemore, and the black man grinned back and said, "Kids. Hey you two, keep that up and you'll get carsick. And if you mess up Ecto.…"

The threat, although unspoken, had the two scientists pull back from their intense perusal.

Egon pushed his red-framed glasses back onto the bridge of his nose. "Ah. Yes, Winston, quite."

Ray flashed an excited grin at Peter, and said, "And you went and arranged other busts, Peter? I've been wanting to go to that one in Alexandria since we got that letter months ago."

Peter met his eyes in the rearview mirror, his own green eyes smiling. "Yeah, Tex, that's one of them. We just couldn't afford to take on that job and a few of the other ones down this way, but hey, the feds are footing the transport, so what the hell."

"It's unfortunate that they would not let us take an airplane, Winston. This can be a considerable drive. Let me know if you get tired." Egon turned fond blue eyes on the engineer. "After all, we will need our nerves steady on this bust, and neither Ray's nor Peter's driving would allow for that."

 

"They didn't tell me this place was huge!" Peter wailed, and his complaint echoed hollowly around the chamber.

"Aw, come on, Peter, it's great working for NASA again!"  Ray bounced lightly on the balls of his feet and grinned enthusiastically at the grimacing psychologist.

" 'Sides, Pete,' said Winston with a broad smile that blazed in his dark face, "You were the one keen on the government contract, remember?"

Peter glared at him, and snapped, "Yeah, but I didn't expect to be chasing a gooper inside a warehouse the size of Arizona!"

There was a moment of silence, and then Winston poked a sharp finger at Egon. "You in there, homeboy? That was your cue to take Peter down."

"Hmm?" Concentration broken from the study of his PKE meter, Egon looked up.

"Actually, Winston, Peter does for once have a point. The NASA Langley base is very large, and this particular wind tunnel chamber is one of the largest in the world. The effect of the vast amounts of diagnostic and research equipment in this area presents a distinct problem. I've been trying to gain an accurate reading on the class of entity within the structure, and so far as yet been unable to ascertain..."

"Your favorite toy isn't working, gotcha," interrupted Peter. "Looks like we do it the old fashion way. Grid-search, anyone?"

 

"I hate splitting up like this, Ray." Winston kept his voice in a low undertone. He and Ray were in the offices below the actual test facility. Rows of computers stood humming softly, and the otherwise silent room was almost unnerving. Evidence of the panicked exit of the researchers was everywhere. Strewn coffee cups, scattered papers and files, jackets left flung over chairs, all testified to an obviously nasty fright. Winston and Ray had caught sight of the ghost, and had chased it down here from the upper lab facilities. The brief encounter with it had made them very cautious, as it had managed to rip open the sleeve of Ray's jumpsuit. Only a swift tackle on Winston's part had saved Ray from getting sliced by the ghost's razor sharp claws.

"I know, Winston, but Peter was right, this place is too large, and with our meters not working...," Ray frowned, eyes still scanning the room, thrower at the ready. "I'll try to reconfigure them when we get back to New York. This could happen again. We're having enough problems as it is, and this ghost is only a class 3 or 4.… Imagine what it'd be like if it was a class 8!"

"Great, just peachy." Winston snorted. " You know, I swear, all we have to do is stick Pete in the middle of the wind tunnel and watch. We wait for it to come and slime him, and we bag it. Simple."

 

"Goddammit, Spengs! How the hell do they always do that?!" Peter Venkman swiped his goo-drenched brown hair from his face with an irritated motion. "A huge building, four of us, and the goopers always target me. Me! Why don't they get you? You're the one who could use the extra mousse."

"Nonsense, Peter, you know fully well that this curl is natural," Egon said absently, looking at the array of testing machinery with transparent longing.

"Egon, we've been in this business years, and I can honestly say that your hair is the most unnatural thing we've ever come across." With a vicious sweep, Peter flung the last of the clinging slime from his hand, spattering the concrete floor. "Yuck. I swear these slimeballs have it in for me. Say, what's that?"

"Hmm."

"Egon." Peter drawled.  "Eeeeeegon. Are you paying any attention to me? 'Cause you know my ego can't take being ignored for a souped-up coffee machine."

"Hmm?" The blond head jerked up, and startled blue eyes stared at Peter over rims of glasses long since fallen to half-mast. "Sorry, Peter, did you say something?"

Peter rolled his green eyes upwards, begging the heavens for sympathy. "I'd asked what that thing over there is." He pointed a finger at a raised section in the floor a few feet away, with an array of wires and rods and what appeared to be a small plane attached. Peter and Egon had already climbed onto this platform from the main floor, with its unpleasant height of near twenty feet off the ground, and the plane appeared to be suspended almost twice that high.

Pushing his glasses to higher vantage point on his nose, Egon replied, "Fascinating. They must have simply left the model in place when the spirit appeared. This, Peter, is in fact the main testing area of the hanger. It was here that the Mercury space capsules were tested, this facility our country's first true launching pad into space."

Egon reached out a long slender hand, and caressed the metal struts supporting the plane with obvious awe and respect. Peter watched, and then, unaccountably uncomfortable, turned to look down the southern part of the structure...and froze.

"Ah, Egon. Hate to interrupt your communion with science, but, um, are those things supposed to be moving?"

"Hmm?" Egon looked up, hand still on the model stand. "Good god."

Before them lay the enormous propellers that were the heart of the complex. Slowly, as they watched, an eerie purple light flickered around them, and the blades began to turn.

Peter half-turned to Egon, and said, "This is bad, right?"

Egon grabbed Peter by the shoulder. "Bad isn't the word for it. No-one should be in this chamber when those fans begin to move.…"

The faint hint of wind that had simply caressed their hair began to slide into a rapidly stiffening breeze.

"Peter," Egon shouted, white blond hair starting to billow in his face blindingly. "Grab hold of the model's structure, it's the only secure object in the room!"

"What? Egon, can't hear.…"

Egon reached out a long arm, and grabbed the metal framework attached to the model plane, the other arm settling more firmly around Peter's shoulders, and gave his friend a shove on to the stand. "There's a small undercut access area beneath this. Get in there, Dr. Venkman!"

Peter grabbed Egon, and hauled him up by the straps of his proton pack. "Uh-uh, Dr. Spengler, you first. I insist." Exasperated, Egon shouted, "Peter, we don't have time to…" Green eyes met blue in a fierce glare, and Egon found himself being shoved down into the narrow space that ran parallel to the model stand. For a few seconds, as his head dropped below the edge of the concrete, the wind seemed to abate. Egon felt a sudden pressure tighten across his shoulders and midriff.

"Peter, the packs, they're too wide," Egon shouted upwards. "We have to remove them!"

"We toss them, and they'll get cuisenaired by those giant fans, Spengs." Peter yelled over the now roaring wind. "We'll be blown to bits! Besides, you know how much these things cost. No way." Egon felt Peter's legs brush against his own, as Peter attempted to wedge himself in alongside the physicist.

There's not enough room, Egon thought to himself with growing horror, and tried to undo the straps that held his proton pack. A hand snaked around his side, and smacked his arm sharply. Peter's face pressed near his, his lips moving, but the sound of the propellers now drowning out any semblance of sound. Suddenly, Peter pushed, and Egon was thrown firmly into the access floor, his pack jammed into the sides with such force that Egon realized he was stuck. For a few moments, he tried to free himself, and then realized that he no longer felt Peter alongside him. Craning his neck around, he peered franticly for Peter, and then stared in horror.

Peter had attempted to wedge his own pack into the metal struts of the plane's support, and while he had managed this, now all that separated him from the propellers blades were the thin straps of his pack. Peter's eyes were squeezed tightly shut, his mouth a thin line against the pain of the straps viciously digging into his shoulders and stomach.  Above, and unseen by Peter, hovered the ghost, a monstrous purple apparition with gleaming white teeth and claws, a white aviator scarf the only indication that it may have been human once. 

"Peter," yelled Egon, but his words were swallowed by the now hurricane force winds. Struggling to get out his thrower, Egon could only watch as the ghost methodically began to slice through the black straps with its claws. "No!"

Suddenly from below, two bolts of lightning, blazing with the brilliant colors of proton beams, flashed and, catching the ghost, pushed the horror back. It howled, audible against the roaring wind, and drew in its energy in an attempt to escape. The giant propellers started to slow, but not soon enough. Peter's last remaining pack strap gave out, and with a yell, he was carried off by the wind, even as Egon attempted to reach for him.

"Peter!"

Egon released the catches on his own pack and fought to get free of the access. Moments later, a pair of sturdy hands reached in, and Ray's voice said "Easy, Egon, let me help you out."

"Ray," gasped Egon, "Peter..."

"I know," Ray said quietly. "We trapped the ghost, so that's dealt with. Winston's gone up the ladder to the propeller platform to check on Peter. It's all right, Egon. He'll be okay."

 

Peter groaned and looked up. The edge of huge metal blades rose before him, and thick strings of purple slime festooned the structure, and, he noticed with disgust, himself. "Yeech, damn gooper, not content to get me once."

"Pete!" Winston slid on the slime and fell to his knees beside him. "You okay, Pete?"

"Yeah, think so." Peter levered himself upwards, gasping at the pain that went through his right shoulder. "Mostly."

"Man, next time you want to take flying lessons, Pete, take them when I'm not around. You scared the hell out of me and Ray." Winston ran his hands lightly over Peter's side and shoulder, stopping when Peter winced.

"Think it's broken?" Peter asked.

Winston shook his head. "I think the slime all over the fan here cushioned your crash-landing, Pete. You got damn lucky. Still, I think we ought to get you to a hospital and check it out proper."

Winston reached over, and slung an arm under Peter's uninjured shoulder, and helped him up.

"Egon alright?" Peter asked, concerned.

"Ray is over there checking on him. Look for yourself."

Peter cautiously turned his head, feeling a flash of pain through his neck, and looked across the gap to the model platform. Ray was bent over the proton pack with a crowbar, trying to free the equipment. Egon stood beside him, arms crossed, staring over at Peter and Winston.

Peter shouted "Hey, Spengs! If you decide we need to rent this place out for tests on Ecto 2, count me out, alright?"

His eyes met Peter's, and even across that distance, Peter could see the glare. Egon pushed his glasses up his long nose, and turning sharply bent to assist Ray.

"Pete, you're in trouble. He's mad."

"You think?"

 

A few hours later, the nearby hospital gave Dr. Venkman the all clear with  mutually felt relief. For once, Peter had been an ideal patient, but the tension between him and Egon had been palpable, and the nurses were happy to scoot them all out the door. They gave Peter pain medication for his strained shoulder, and advised icepacks for it and his side.

For the second time that evening, Egon silently grabbed shotgun. Winston shared a mutual look of concern with Ray.  Both Peter and Egon had been quiet for far too long, and it was unlike either man to simply ignore each other.

Ooookay thought Winston, as he got behind the wheel of Ecto 1. If this keeps up, I am damn well going to do something about this, if only for my own peace of mind. He gunned the engine, trying to draw a comment about the Grand Prix from Peter, and then, getting nothing, sighed and headed the car for the interstate.

Two hours later, deep in the heart of Maryland, Winston had had it. Both he and Ray had attempted to cut the tension in their own way. Winston had discussed some of the history of the area they were passing through, Ray had speculated on the work being done by the NASA researchers. Neither Peter or Egon had taken the conversational gambit. Peter pretended to sleep in the back, but often, as Winston glanced at him through the rear-view mirror, Peter's eyes would open and study the back of Spengler's head. Winston looked askance to his right at Egon. The blond was fiddling with his favorite PKE meter, ostensibly trying to correct the problem they ran into at Langley. Winston might not be as deft as Ray or Egon with the meters, but he could tell that in actuality the meter was set for Peter's biorhythms.

To make matters worse, there appeared to have been an accident far ahead, and the traffic was at a crawl. Winston gritted his teeth. Lord, keep me from the temptation to reach over and whack both their heads together.… He looked ahead at the congested highway, and made a decision.

"Alright you two, I'm tired, hungry, and I've had enough. I'm not driving any further, we are pulling into the next exit with a motel and that's final."

"But Winston," Egon and Peter both spoke up, stopping at the sound of each other's voice. Ray simply looked relieved.

"No buts," Winston said sternly. "For one thing, we did do a lot of busts in a row. Second, I honestly don't think Pete should be hunched in Ecto for another 7 hours, and by the looks of this traffic, it'll probably be even longer."

Peter tried to straighten up at the words to prove Winston wrong, and winced at the pain. Egon, who had been watching him surreptitiously in the rearview mirror, frowned and said, "Very well, Winston. You have a point."

Peter opened his mouth to protest, and found Ray's hand clamped firmly over it. "Forget it, Peter. Three against one." Ray grinned as he said it, but there was a determined look in his eyes.

Sighing, Peter gave in, holding his hands up in submission, "Hey, who am I to protest at a bit of pampering?"

Mentally, Winston gave a sigh of relief. First two hurdles over with. His eyes caught Ray's in the mirror, and Ray gave him a grin and a not very well hidden thumbs up. Winston smiled back, already feeling better.

Two miles and twenty three minutes later, the Ecto pulled off I-95 and onto a small badly lit secondary road. Heading west a few miles, they reached civilization, of sorts, and a Holiday Inn. Winston pulled the car up to the front, and turned off the engine.

"Egon, Ray, why don't you two start unloading the gear. This place is packed, but it doesn't look like it's got the world's most burglarproof car park. Ecto should be fine, but we don't need anyone swiping the packs." Winston pinned a hard stare at Peter, who was trying to get out of his seatbelt without doing himself injury, and failing. "Uh-uh, Pete, you just sit there. I'll go get us some rooms. Give me the card."

They had a brief face off, and then Peter, grimacing over losing yet another battle, handed over the Ghostbusters company credit card.  "Don't splurge on the honeymoon suite, Zed."

Winston snorted, and got out of the car. Egon, he noticed, had gotten out rapidly, and was opening the back. Ray, after checking on Peter, joined him, and then went in search of a luggage trolley. Right. Now that they're all distracted.… Winston thought a few minutes, and then headed to the hotel front desk for a quick talk with the concierge. By the time he was finished, Egon and Ray had loaded all the packs and blinking traps onto a trolley, much to the fascination of the bellboy, and Peter was standing as nonchalantly as he could while carefully clutching his sides.

Winston eyed Peter seriously. "Thought so, Pete. Muscle spasms?"

Sighing, Peter nodded and said ruefully, "Don't suppose the room comes with a waterbed and a Swedish masseuse."

"Nope," replied Winston, " 'Fraid not, and in fact, we've sorta got a problem."  The other three looked at him with some alarm. Winston held up his hands. "No ghosts. But the reason the car park is packed is there's a business convention on. The hotel could only swing three rooms. Two singles and a double. And before you start, Pete, I think it's just as well that you have someone with you tonight. The docs didn't think you got concussed, but better safe than sorry."

"Zed!!" Peter continued to protest loudly, as Winston took the first aid kit out of Ecto's glove compartment.

Locking the car door, he continued. "Okay, one of those singles is mine. For once, I'd like to get a decent night sleep before a long drive.  Who gets the other?" As he said this, Winston gave Ray a firm nudge in the back.

"Huh? Um…" Ray eyed Winston, and then with a shrug, went along with it. "Actually, can I have it? I've got that lecture at NYU in two days, and this would give me a chance to write something up."

Egon and Peter scrutinized both of them, and then Egon sighed, "Hand me the room key, Winston, and Ray, if you would get some ice for the compress?"

 

After Winston had placed the packs and traps in his room, and Ray had taken the luggage to each of the others, the two of them went down to eat at the hotel's restaurant. Peter had finally admitted that everything hurt, and with concern, Egon had ordered up room service for them both. Glancing through the menu like a motel food pro, Winston ordered the pepper steak. Ray didn't even bother with the menu, and asked for a cheeseburger. Once the waitress had left them, Ray leaned forward.

"Do you think sticking the two of them together will help, Winston? I've known them years, and I've never seen them have such a bad, well, it's not really a fight, is it?"

Winston held up his glass and peered thoughtfully at the water within it before answering. "Ray... Man, I know you've known them a long time. But have you actually really watched them? Those two.... Whenever any of us get into trouble on a bust, wham, Pete's there, saving the day. That boy even tries to protect us from ourselves. Now, Egon, he's a little less obvious about it, but he's just as bad in his way. And yet, neither of them are ever more protective than when the other is in danger. Think about it. Every major fight those two have had has always happened after one or the other nearly get killed."

Ray frowned. "I know they're both over-protective..."

"It's not just that, Ray," said Winston, setting the glass down. "Look. Peter changes girlfriends all the time, seems to date one just long enough to piss her off, and then finds another. Closest thing to a personal attachment he's had to a woman was Dana Barrett, and I honestly think that was just because he turned thirty and thought he had to settle down. He was damn relieved when she dumped him for that musician guy."

The waitress came over with their dinners, flirting with Ray, who smiled warmly at her. After she left, Winston picked up where he was interrupted.

"Egon, he doesn't really date anyone. Oh, he's gone out with a few fellow docs, and there's that woman he usually sees operas with...but none of them are really dates. There's Janine, who has been throwing herself at him from day one. I don't think he's even noticed."

Ray paused in eating, fork raised. Winston looked at him seriously, and then spoke, voice lowered. "Ray. Back when I was in 'Nam... It was hell, and we faced death every day. Ours, our friends', our enemy's. The tension was god-awful, and we'd get to the point where we'd be breaking. Some guys used drugs, where there are sellers, there are buyers. Other guys used booze. Most of us tho' used sex to keep sane. Now, there were the prostitutes, they seemed to follow the camps like bloodhounds. Always there, always available. But you get pretty paranoid in a war like that, and after a while, you just couldn't trust them. So a number of the guys, well..."

Winston paused to organize his thoughts, and Ray held his breath. The past few minutes, Ray had heard more about Winston's experience in Vietnam than the dark self-contained man had ever let loose.

Winston picked up again, "A number of the guys took to doing it amongst themselves. Happened a lot. Friends became fuck-buddies too, and while it made the fear of losing your friends that much worse, it was a comfort the rest of the time. Now, I didn't go there myself, too much religion, tho' I doubt Christ would have approved of any war, much less that one. But I knew people who did. Some were casual about it, but a few... Hell, it was real love, intense because of the dichotomy of death and war. They were loves that lasted."

Winston leaned over his now-cold dinner. "Ray. We're in a similar situation. I knew that after the whole thing with Gozer. It's a war, with an enemy that vanishes swiftly, and reappears silently with intent to do harm. Sometimes it's been damn scary. Now, both you and I date girls, go to movies, make out." Ray grinned at this. "But what do Peter and Egon do? They occupy themselves with futile busy work, Pete's dating that never lasts, and Egon's crazy experiments. When those things go bust, as they inevitably do, those two use each other like verbal punching bags."

Ray's grin faded, and after a moment, his brown eyes met Winston's with sudden understanding. "You think..."

Winston waved over the waitress for the bill, and said 'Yeah, man, those two dips are in love with each other."

 

Peter looked at himself in the motel's bathroom mirror, and sighed. Got to find my comb. Between the slime and that oversized NASA blow dryer, I look like Einstein's younger, more attractive brother. Why the hell didn't anyone tell me? 

Grabbing a handful of the towels off the rack, he leaned cautiously over to figure out the taps for his shower.

"OH NO!"

Egon's deep bass caused him to snap his head up. "Ow," Peter muttered, rubbing his neck as he headed for the bathroom door. "What is it?"

Spengler stood near the bed, staring in disbelief at his suitcase. With obvious distaste, Egon said, "You seem not to be the only one experiencing slime difficulties, Peter."

Peter moved closer, and looked in the case…and then burst out laughing. "Oh, god, Spengs! It musta been that gooper we chased in Alexandria! The one that ripped through Ecto before Winston managed to snag it." Peter chuckled, "Looks like we're going to have to get you a whole new wardrobe. Maybe without pink shirts for once."

Egon frowned, peering at Peter over his glasses. "Peter, please be serious. This is highly inconvenient."

Throwing a careless arm over Egon's shoulders, he replied, "Hey, don't worry, Spengs. I'm sure the hotel will launder your clothes for you. Heck, the big industrial washers they've got will probably do a better job than the one at the firehouse."

"True," Egon said reflectively. "But that still leaves the problem of what I sleep in tonight."

Peter snorted. "Think you are going to have to sleep in your shorts, Spengler."

"Really, Peter. Boxers are not suitable sleeping attire. My dressing gown..."

"Is more suitable for the Prom."

Glaring, Egon pushed up his glasses and finished "…maintains an even body temperature, which is scientifically proven to help against colds among other things."

"Fine, whatever, Spengs, but it's the boxers, or the buff. Knickers, or the nude. Shorts or the s…"

"I get the idea, Peter," Egon cut in dryly.

"If you're really desperate, we could hit the 24hour Kmart, I'm sure the ladies department will have one. Probably be too short tho', they're usually for little grannies. However, the lace is sure to be bonus for you."

"Peter?"

"Yeah, 'gon?"

"Shut up, and take your shower."

 

After half an hour in the blissfully hot shower, Peter finally decided he was almost human again. Damn hotel towels are always too small. He dried off as best he could, trying not to undo the good done by the hot water, and then flung an extra towel around his head. Moving with care, he pulled on a thin white t-shirt and his boxers, and then strode into the hotel room.

"Sit." Egon spoke firmly, and pointed at the seat in front of him. Peter grimaced. Egon had already laid out the various supplies from the first aid kit on the bed. Painkillers that he refused to take but the hospital had provided anyways were neatly placed on one side, with similar items meticulously place nearby. On the other side was the ice Ray had tracked down and a small tub of Goop, some god-awful stuff that looked like Slimer's nephew. Ray had picked up the recipe for it at one of those science fiction conventions, saying it was a cure-all for bruises and sore muscles. He'd had to trick Peter into using it the first time, but nasty as it looked, it was damn effective.

Peter sat in the chair, pulling the towel off his hair, and looked ruefully at Egon. "Sorry about this, Spengs."

Egon opened the jar of Goop, and remained silent, as he spread the thick gel over his hands. Uh oh, he's still pissed. Damn it, I know he is, I just don't know why.

Egon looked at him, and, tapping the t-shirt, said, "Off."

Sighing, Peter took off the shirt he'd gone to some effort to put on, muttering under his breath about it being unfair. He studied Egon from under the cotton as he raised it over his head. His usual complaints didn't seem to be breaking the ice that Egon had erected around himself. The psychologist frowned, as he discarded the shirt to the floor with out a reaction. He's not mad at me. He's mad at himself.

The first touch of Egon's hands made him jump, and tense, causing every muscle in his back to protest.

Egon noticed both the tension, and the sudden grooves of pain across Peter's face. He raised his hands, so that all that touched Peter's shoulders were his fingertips, and quietly said "I'm sorry, Peter, did I hurt you?"

"No. That stuff's just damn cold after my shower," Peter lied. It hadn't been the cold, but the blazing and unexpectedly fierce longing at the contact.

"It will warm quickly. Now hold still."

Peter let his jaw drop to his chest as the long fingers moved with steady assurance across his back and shoulders, slathering the lemon and herb scented goo into his sore muscles. The light touch strengthened into a firmer massage, the physicist's long fingers working deeper into the skin, and whatever ingredients were in the homemade gel began to heat and heal the aches as gently as the hands that spread it. Peter sighed deeply with pleasure, causing Egon to pause briefly and clear his throat before reapplying his hands.

Peter's eyes drooped, half-lidded, and he concentrated on the feeling, the solid contact with another person reaffirming his still being alive. The hands that worked such technical wizardry seemed to unerringly find all the knots in his back, smoothing the tension in slow sweeps. Egon maneuvered with care around the sorest areas, the side and palms of his hands running along the length of muscle rhythmically. Peter bit his lip at the sensations, and was grateful for the damp towel in his lap. The warmth of the shower and the long day won out, however, and relaxed to the point of boneless ness, Peter slid slowly into the chair further.

"Up, Peter." For the first time since the bust, Egon's bass sounded amused. "If you remain in that position, you will resemble the hunchback of Notre Dame even more than usual."

"Funny, Spengler." Peter shifted, and sat up, relieved at the relative lack of pain. Quietly, he said, "Thanks, Egon" as he reached for the t-shirt.

"I'll go wash this off my hands. Get into bed, Peter, and, though I dare say you don't need to be told this at any time, go to sleep."

Egon paused as he reached the doorway, and turned. Watching the psychologist as he began to pull the t-shirt back on, he spoke hesitantly. "Peter?"

"Hmm?"

"At NASA Langley, just before you pushed me into the access space...what did you say to me? I was unable to hear."

Peter froze, one arm in its sleeve, and then with a sudden jerk he pulled it fully on. Green eyes opaque, he gave Spengler a shallow grin. "Nothing but my usual witty repartee, Egon. You didn't miss anything." He stood, and turned his back on his oldest friend, and said over his shoulder, "Let me know when you've got that gunk off your hands. I forgot to brush my teeth."

Egon eyed him thoughtfully. It wasn't nothing. This isn't over, Dr. Venkman.

 

Peter woke, wrapped in warmth and darkness, and sighed blissfully. He stretched cautiously in case of bruises…and then realized the reason for the heat against his shoulder. Curled around, and partly over him, was Egon, blond hair scattered over the pillows and Peter's chest in disarray. Peter sucked in a surprised breath, taking in the smell of the hotel's shampoo and the slightly damp scent of his oldest friend's hair. 

The faint blue light of the motel sign entering the room illuminated Egon, tracing his pale eyelashes, and making his hair look like spilled moonlight. Peter swallowed hard.

Jeez, Spengs… Peter thought. It's not just your hair that's unnatural…how can you look so, so…

Peter's hand lifted involuntarily, reaching to brush aside the white forelock and then stopped, trembling mere inches away. All these years of wanting... I've never been so close. God.

The long face before him was relaxed in sleep, full lips parted slightly. Every breath touched Peter's shoulder, and sent his heart racing. The temptation to lean in, and once, just once, kiss Egon… I could do it. If he wakes up, I could probably get away with it, tell him I thought he was a girlfriend du jour in my sleep Peter shifted, slowly moving his shoulder from under Egon's head, causing the sleeping man to stir slightly and mutter. Hesitantly, Peter hovered over him, and then, with a feather light touch, brushed his lips over Egon's. It burned through him, faint as it was. Peter pulled back quickly.

That, Petey boy, was a mistake. Shoulda left it in fantasy land, but nooo, had to see.… He studied Egon, who had stirred briefly, and then with a sigh, moved in closer to Peter. Well.... one more mistake couldn't hurt... he thought, as he leaned in again, trailing his lips lightly across Egon's brow, then down the sharp cheekbones.

As Peter reached the full lips once more, Egon stirred again, and he froze. The long hand that had lightly splayed across his chest suddenly pushed down, and Peter found himself flat on his back, Egon lying fully across him now. The lips he'd touched so lightly now pressed against his strongly, overwhelmingly. He's got to be dreaming. I've got to be dreaming. Peter thought, desperately trying to keep hold of his senses. Unsure of what to do with his hands, Peter clutched at the thin hotel blanket tightly.

His eyes still shut, Egon's mouth drifted across Peter's, then slid roughly across his cheek to press against his jaw.

"Peter", Egon murmured, in a husky bass, and then opened his eyes. Blue eyes met green in mutual surprise.

Egon jerked back, and began to fall off the side of the bed. Peter reached out swiftly and caught him, pulling him back onto the bed and himself. They both froze at the sudden contact then Egon sat up, this time with more caution.

"Peter…" Egon cleared his throat, and even in the darkness, Peter could see the blonde scientist blushing, and at an obvious loss for words.

Peter reached out a slightly trembling hand, and grasped Egon's wrist gently. "Egon, it was my fault. I'm… I'm sorry."

Egon frowned, brows knitted together as he peered myopically at his friend. "Your fault? How…?"

"I..." Peter sat up, and tucking his knees under his chin, clasped his hands around them, and stared down. "I woke up, and you were…." Looking up at Egon, who remained motionless, Peter said quietly in his soft tenor, "I kissed you. After what happened today at Langley…. I just had to, just the once. I'm sorry, Egon."

Egon reached over and took his glasses from the nightstand, and then took a serious look at his brown-haired friend. "Peter.  Had to? "

Peter groaned, covering his eyes. "Spengler, you would pick out the operative words. Jeez." Under the continued scrutiny of Egon, Peter sighed, and then looked down again, uncertain of how to explain, or even what to explain. Long fingers gently gripped his chin, and lifted up his face. Before Peter could speak, he was firmly pushed back against the headboard, and Egon's lips covered his gently.

After what seemed a brief searing eternity, Egon pulled back. "Peter," he spoke in a ragged bass, "Do you know why I was so angry this afternoon?" Peter shook his head minutely. Egon sat back further on his heels, keeping one hand lightly placed on Peter's neck. "I was furious with you, for risking your life for my sake...and with myself, for being willing to do the same for your life, and yet unwilling to risk my feelings for something equally important, if not more so." His hand rose, caressing Peter's chin, his cheekbone then tangling lightly in the sleep-mussed hair. "I could deal with the possibility of death, but not...not love." Egon's hand dropped back into his own lap as he fell silent.

Peter stared slack-jawed at him for a few moments, and then he exploded from the headboard, tackling Egon to the mattress. Leaning over the blond man, Peter said in a near growl, "Repeat that, Egon. Now."

Blue eyes dilated to black in the darkened room, Egon spoke hesitantly, "I, well. Um. I love you, Peter. I have for years..."

Peter glared at the physicist. "Do you know what this means, Spengler? We have been wasting time. Years of it. Dammit, Egon..." Peter pulled himself back, running a hand through his hair, and looking with amused vexation at his best friend who lay there watching him stunned. He leaned over, resting his elbows on either side of Egon's head, until their breath mingled. "Egon, you idiot, I love you too," Peter spoke gently, and tilting his head downward, kissed him.

After a second of surprise, Egon's full lips softened, and his hands reached around Peter slowly. He traced the firm muscles of Peter's shoulders as he'd done earlier that night, but this time lingering, before climbing upwards to rub gently at his nape. Peter groaned softly against Egon's lips, and then tilting his head back, looked at Egon.

"There's just one problem, big guy." Peter spoke thickly, for Egon's hands had moved downwards, and now skimmed over the small of his back. "And don't you laugh."

"Just because I've finally declared my love, does not mean I'm going to change the habits of over a decade, Peter." Egon looked up at him with some amusement.

Peter, who had been gently mussing Egon's blond hair, tugged it. "Seriously, Egon. I've, well, this is completely new to me."

"Falling in love?" Egon's lips twitched in amusement.

"No, Spengs. I've, ah, no experience with guys." Peter shrugged, "Never wanted any before I met you...and afterwards, couldn't imagine being with anyone else."

Egon's pale eyebrows winged upwards in surprise at the frank admission, and the implications behind it. One hand moved up, and touched Peter's cheek, and Egon noticed the flushed heat with a smile. "Blushing, Peter?"

Peter swatted the hand off with a mock snarl, but then brought it back against his cheek. "So, Dr. Spengler, is this in one of your many areas of expertise, or are we both novices?" He turned his head, and pressed a kiss into Egon's palm.

Egon smiled again. "I did some undergraduate research, but, as in your case, after meeting you..." His other hand joined the first in gently holding Peter's face. "Although I would never have suspected you were a closet monogamist, Dr. Venkman."

Peter snorted, and lightly nipped Egon's hand as punishment for the remark. Looking down at the amused scientist, Peter smiled back. "Well, then. Looks like I'm back in school. Care to educate me, professor?"

Chuckling, Egon slowly dropped his hands to Peter's chest, and then sharply pushed him over, drawing a surprised whoosh of breath from the dark haired man. "You were an apt pupil before, Peter. And who knows, perhaps this time you won't be inclined to fall asleep in class," Egon said, before dropping his lips to Peter's once again.  He applied a slowly increasing pressure, then nipped lightly. Peter's lips parted with a slight gasp, and Egon took advantage of it, tasting mint toothpaste and feeling the slickness of Peter's teeth, before exploring further. His hands brushed over Peter's chest, defining the muscle groups and ribs, gently moving over the still tender areas where the pack straps had bitten into the flesh. 

Egon's lips moved, wandering over Peter's face, then meandered down his neck, outlining his collarbone. "Peter, you taste like Goop."

"Hey, with whatever stuff Ray puts in it, it might be an aphrodisiac," Peter said with wide grin...that faltered as Egon pushed against him, his arousal hard against Peter's.

The deep bass rumbled in his ears, " I don't think one is really necessary, do you?"

Swallowing hard, Peter ran his hands over Egon's smooth back, and then pulled him closer yet. "You've got a point, Spengs." Peter grinned again. "A rather large one."

Egon thrust against him once more, this time slowly. Peter's eyes slid shut, arching his head back. A moan escaped his lips, and his hands tightened around Egon. A sudden pause made him look up, green eyes fogged with desire. Egon was looking at him with fascinated bemusement.

"Why'd you stop, Spengs?" Peter asked huskily.

Egon's right hand came up, traced the side of Peter's jaw, and he replied, "I was just thinking, Peter, how incredibly fortunate I am."

"Think all you want, Egon. Just don't stop." Peter reached up, and pulled Egon's lips down to his, and took advantage of the sigh of pleasure drawn from his partner. Resting most of his body's weight on his elbows, Egon allowed the gentle invasion.

Slowly Peter moved his head back. "So, Egon, I think I've got that bit down. What's next?" The wicked look in his eyes and the raggedness of his voice belied the mild question.

Egon looked down, and then moved off Peter to lay at his left side. Peter protested the maneuver, but was silenced with another kiss. His eyes closed as he leaned into it...and then flew open as Egon's left hand, which had curled around his back drawing Peter onto his side as well, moved downwards. Peter gave a soft moan as the hand skimmed over his hips and the fabric of the boxers and then teasingly played with the elastic waistband.

"Spengler," Peter muttered warningly against the full lips of his partner, "You're not playing fair." The hand lightly snapped the elastic, and Peter jumped with a slight yelp that was swallowed by Egon's insistent mouth.

Egon's hand slid under the edge of the cotton t-shirt, and Peter mumbled approving sounds into Egon's mouth as it was slowly peeled off him. Pushing Peter gently on to his back once more, Egon ran his hands down his partner's lean figure. Each touch was followed with nibbling kisses, and the only grasp on reality Peter felt he had was his own hand gently moving through Egon's thick hair. He felt the blazing heat of Egon's left hand as it reached the edge of his boxers once more, but was distracted by a lap at his nipple followed by a soft breath across the damp area. It was like lightening, the jolt Peter got, and by the time he regained his control, his boxers had mysteriously vanished. Surprised green eyes looked down at Egon. "How the hell did you do that? Did you take lessons from Houdini?!" Egon gave a soft version of his deep bass laugh, and straddled Peter to kiss him. Peter broke away from the lip lock with a mock leer, and said "No way, Egon, don't distract me." He tugged at Egon's briefs. "Off."

Eyebrows raised, Egon sat back and complied. Peter let out a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding as he looked up. The light from outside now limned Egon, making his hair almost incandescent. He looks like an angel...though with that expression, one of the fallen variety. Thank god.  Peter rested his hands on Egon's knees to either side of him, and slowly moved them upwards, against the soft hair of his legs, around the narrow hips and the firm stomach, until Peter was sitting face to face with Egon. He felt Egon tense, trying to maintain his perpetual control. Curious, Peter decided to see if he could throw Egon over the edge. Splaying his hands against Egon's pecs, he moved them downward, raking his nails against the physicist's body. Leaning forward, he breathed almost inaudibly against Egon's lips, "Now what?"

Egon froze, and then shoved Peter back onto the mattress, kissing him with an overwhelming burning urgency. Whoa, that worked thought Peter in a daze, and then his thoughts were drowned out by sensation as he felt across his entire body Egon's naked flesh pressed against his. They rolled to their sides once more, and gasped as they tried to slow their rapid breathing.

"Now...who's not...playing fair?" Egon inquired, resting his forehead on Peter's.

Grinning unrepentantly, Peter pulled himself up on one elbow, and running his right hand across Egon's back asked, "Well?"

Pressing a light kiss on Peter's forehead, Egon twisted an arm over the edge of the bed, and pulled out the jar of goop. "Oh, no way, Spengs."

Egon chuckled as he opened the jar. "Trust me on this, Peter. It's not what you're thinking."

"Hate it when you pull the trust thing...," Peter muttered, and then forgot what he was complaining about as Egon kissed him yet again. The slick touch of Egon's right hand moved across his side to slowly slide under both of their arousals, cupping them together in his palm. Peter moaned deeply into Egon's mouth, and he grasped the physicist's shoulder. Still kissing Peter deeply, Egon took Peter's hand into his left one, and lowered it, until, hands meshed, they pressed their erections together in excruciatingly sweet contact. Peter's eyes widened and met Egon's blue and loving gaze. Trembling, Peter moved his hand, and Egon's moved in unison. He closed his eyes once more as the slick friction and silken pressure; the feel of Egon's mouth against his throat overwhelmed him. A rhythm established, they moved closer to each other, until a light as blinding as the white brilliance of the ghost trap wiped out all thought.

Drained, they leaned against each other, until their breathing slowed and reality returned. Peter looked into Egon's eyes. At a loss for words, he shook his head, and leaned in to tenderly kiss Egon, his lips a mere whisper. Long fingers moved upwards, dancing across the psychologist's firm stomach as the kiss lingered. Suddenly, Peter frowned, and drew his head back. "Egon, are you writing on me?" A deep bass chuckle against his ear confirmed his suspicions. "You are! What…and in Sumerian! Am I right?"

The chuckle turned into a laugh that vibrated through Peter's chest and heart. Momentarily distracted by the sensation, he shut his eyes...but reopened them to demand, "Alright, Spengler, out with it. What did you just draw on me?"

Egon leaned back. "I'll tell you...if you tell me what you said in the wind tunnel, just before you so unceremoniously shoved me into the access trench. Your possible last words?"

To his amusement, Peter blushed, the darkness not an adequate cover. "Um. Well..."

"Peter."

The brunet buried his head in the hollow of Egon's shoulder. After a few minutes, his muffled tenor said "I said I was gonna be damned if I'd let a couple of propellers made for the Stay-Puft marshmallow man's beanie hat dice up the man I loved before I could seduce him." Egon gave a snort of laughter, and wrapped his arms tightly around Peter.

Sighing, Peter arched into his partner, and kissed his way up the long neck. Resting his lips against Egon's ears, he said "Your turn, Dr. Spengler. Out with it. What did you write?"

Egon chuckled once more, and pushing Peter lightly onto his back covered his body with his own.

" ‘Mine.’ "

 

Egon woke with that strange prescience that inevitably meant the phone was about to ring. Honestly, I must run a test on us all for that, he thought, and then, looking nearsightedly around the room, frowned. It was a hotel room, but for some reason it seemed strange. Then he realized his feet were near the headboard. Why...? A warm breath wafted across his chest, and a faint sigh reminded him. Peter.

The phone then rang, and Egon fumbled for it, trying not to wake his sleeping partner. "Yes, Winston?"

"Figured I'd give you a two hour heads-up before check out time. You'll need at least that long to get Peter out of bed." A deep chuckle met his ear. "First time in ages that I had to wait through two rings with one of you guys. Distracted, Egon?"

Egon paused at the words, and then made connections with things he had subliminally noticed. "Winston," he said sternly, "For a hotel with convention, it has been remarkably quiet.…"

Unseen, but he could tell Winston was grinning from ear to ear, "It was a car dealer convention. Fifty sellers, each bringing a dozen cars to swap." In the background, he could hear Ray pipe up, "Did it work?"

Groaning, Egon covered his face with one hand, an unwilling smile twitching his lips.

Winston said, with quiet seriousness, "You mad, Egon?"

"Irate." Egon's rueful smile grew fond as he looked down upon the brunet snoring softly on his chest. "But grateful. Winston...," Egon chuckled. "Peter is going to kill you."

Winston laughed. "Already got my running shoes on, homeboy. Wake him up, we'll see you downstairs."

 

Winston and Ray were in the hotel lobby, each with a cup of coffee and a copy of the Washington Post, when the peace of the hotel was shattered.

"WINSTON!!"

Quickly swigging down a last gulp of coffee, Winston grinned at Ray. "That's my cue. See you!" He bolted through the lobby doors, and headed left. Ray sipped at his coffee as he turned to the international pages, and nearly spat a mouthful of it as Peter raced into the room wearing nothing but his green boxers.

Peter grabbed Ray by his sweater, and shook. "Okay, Stantz, where is he?!"

"Um, he went, ah, that-a-way?" Ray pointed in the direction Winston had run.

Peter snorted, and let go. "Ray, I swear you are the worst liar I have ever met," he said, and then tore out the hotel entrance racing right.

Ray chuckled. "Shows what you know, Dr. Venkman." He reached for his cup and paper again, and settled back in the chair.

Five minutes later, Egon appeared, neatly dressed. He sat down in Winston's former chair, and looked at Ray curiously. "Has Peter caught him yet?"

Ray grinned. "Nope. Although.…"

A sudden yell met their ears, and Winston came into view briefly, a furious Peter in hot pursuit.

Egon sighed, and picking up Winston's abandoned coffee, took a sip. "This is going to take a while, Ray. Would you please pass me the editorial page?"

The sound of the papers rustling as they read was occasionally interrupted by the two other Ghostbusters roaring past. Ray peered over the top of the comics section, and looked at Egon.

"Egon."

"Hmm? Yes, Raymond?"

Ray set the paper down and leaned over, looking seriously at the blond physicist. "How long... I mean." He ran a hand through his auburn hair, and then continued. "I've known you two for so long, why didn't I notice that you were…."

"In love with each other?" Egon smiled slightly. "It's not as if we were aware of it ourselves, Ray. Both Peter and I are very stubborn, very private individuals. I suspect that if Winston had not forced the issue, as it were, we would have continued years more in a perpetual state of inertia."

Quietly, Ray asked, "And now?"

"Things will change. But not by much. Peter and I have essentially dated each other the past twelve years, the only difference now is that we have, ah, expressed our love more physically." Egon smiled fondly.

Ray blushed and said, "Guess this means we'll have to rearrange the bunkroom." He looked at Egon. "I'll miss it tho', it was like a perpetual slumber party. I never had those when I was a foster kid, and it, well, it's been a comfort."

Egon's blue eyes studied his friend, and he reached out and lightly gripped Ray's shoulder. "We'll always be there, Ray. Perhaps not in the same bedroom, but only a step away, and never beyond your reach."

Ray smiled at that, his brown eyes looking slightly misted. He opened his mouth to speak, and shut it abruptly as Winston and Peter flashed by the front again, Peter this time wielding a broom that he must have swiped from some shocked hotel cleaner in passing.

Ray watched as the two raced around the corner. "Want to put a bet on the outcome, Egon?"

Egon chuckled, as he reached for another section of the newspaper. "My money is on Peter every time."

 

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