fic: you don't have to put on the red light, part 5
Title: you don't have to put on the red light
Part 5: spying
Author: she_burns1
Pairing: Bret/Jemaine
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Bret hires Jemaine to be his ‘companion’.
Disclaimer: I do not owns the ‘Flight of the Conchords’ or anything connected with them.
Spoilers: Through SS2 ‘A New Cup’ - though nothing too spoilery.
Warnings: crack!Jemaine!prostitue!fic
Back to Part 4, Part 3, Part 2, Part 1
“Bret, would you please stop spying on people!”
“It’s not spying if they leave it out in the open for everyone to see,” Bret remarked sagely from his seat by the window.
Jemaine looked up to the heavens’ for guidance as Bret peered out the window across the street. It turned out that the newlywed neighbors Bret had seen move in a few days ago, Sid and Nancy, lived not only across the street from them but literally across the way in regard to the view from their respective living room windows.
Bret had his arms rested on one of the windowsills and watched with rapt attention as Nancy went about unpacking. She pulled out another painting from a large box and Bret hammered a fist excitedly on the sill, “She just pulled out another picture! This one is a giraffe! Oh! It’ll go nice with the elephant and tiger from earlier…wonder if they’re a set…”
“Bret, it’s very rude to spy on people, especially people who don’t know you’re spying on them,” Jemaine reviewed what he had just said aloud in his head and, after some debate, decided what he had said to be satisfactory.
Bret just ignored him, “I wonder if they lived in Africa…a lot of their stuff seems sort of themed…that’s the third leopard print pillow I’ve seen…and now there’s one with a zebra pattern-”
“Bret, are you going to do that all day or are we going to practice?” Jemaine asked in a huff as he ran a hand up and down the neck of his bass restlessly. They were supposed to have started band practice over two hours ago and Bret had wasted the majority of their time spying.
He had gone to open the window to let in some fresh air when their practice started only to notice he could see perfectly into Nancy and Sid’s apartment and since that moment had not moved a muscle.
Bret looked over his shoulder at Jemaine, “I just…I can’t help it. It’s interesting. And they don’t have curtains so…it’s like they want us to look in.”
“I highly doubt that.” Jemaine said, though not with much conviction. One had to wonder whether or not what Bret said was true.
Jemaine came closer to Bret and peered out the window himself. Nancy was now unpacking some vases and shaking her hips rather rhythmically. Jemaine could only assume she had some music playing in her apartment and as he watched her, he realized unsteadily that she was rather beautiful and he rather liked watching her dance. He shook his head and looked down at Bret, “Okay, she’s pretty, I’ll give you that, Bret, but she’s also married so-”
“I’m not looking at her because of that,” Bret pouted, disappointed that his friend would think of him that way, “I’m looking because it…it’s like peering into another world.”
“Another world?” Jemaine asked, his face incredulous.
Bret shrugged, not sure how else to elaborate or unwilling to, and went back to staring out the window. Jemaine gave a heartfelt sigh and collapsed on the couch. He lazily strummed the bass, humming to himself.
Nancy disappeared into a room that Bret couldn’t see and Bret turned away to look at Jemaine, who was now lost in his own little world. Jemaine’s hands moved about the instrument, pulling sweet, low sounds from it and Bret fidgeted where he sat as he watched his friend.
Jemaine’s eyes were looking off into some far off space and his voice was deep and warm as he hummed some nameless tune. He looked so relaxed there on the couch, bass rested against his body, one leg draped over an arm of the couch and Bret realized he had the strangest feeling in the pit of his stomach.
It was a funny feeling and Bret wasn’t sure whether or not he liked it. The feeling seemed to grow up inside him, bubbling about, making him feel sort of like he had an itch he just couldn’t scratch. Maybe he just had to burp or something? But for some reason that didn’t feel like what it was…
The word ‘artful’ popped into his head as he watched Jemaine’s hands pull sounds from the bass, the strings of the instrument vibrating in succession with each tug of his fingers. And Jemaine’s voice, so rich and smooth, and then the word ‘sexy’ floated into Bret’s mind making him all the more unnerved.
He cleared his throat and rose to his feet, “I’ll-um-I’ll just get my guitar then.”
Bret shuffled off and Jemaine, who had been sort of daydreaming, snapped back into himself when he heard his friend’s voice. He sat up slowly and waited for Bret’s return. Bret sat back down next to him, his instrument slung over his front, a yellow legal pad and pen in his free hands.
Bret tuned his guitar and found himself shifting about the couch until eventually he was lounging back in much the same manner Jemaine had been, save that his legs rested on top of Jemaine’s. Jemaine looked at him with raised eyebrows and Bret shrugged innocently, “Three fifty, right?”
“You still owe me ten for the resting.”
Bret frowned, a sudden thought occurring to him, “Can you break a hundred?”
Jemaine groaned and rolled his eyes, answering Bret’s question. Bret seemed unfazed, “Goin’ by Dave’s later. I can ask him to break it.”
Jemaine could see Bret cracking yet again under any questioning in regards to his money and shook his head fiercely. Bad enough Murray knew, but if Dave knew…
“No, look…don’t-don’t worry about it. You can just…you can pay me when you’ve used it all up.”
Bret blinked, surprised, “You sure?”
“Sure. I trust you,” Jemaine paused and then said uneasily, “Least I trust you in that…”
Bret didn’t seem to take offense, instead saying brightly, “Wow, thanks, man.”
Jemaine gave him a tiny grin, “What are friends for?”
They had a decent enough practice, though a majority of it was not actually spent on playing but discussing songs they could potentially write and a variety of random topics that ranged from pretty famous girls to favorite types of cheeses. Bret’s legs rested resolutely on top of Jemaine’s and in time, Jemaine actually found himself sort of absent mindedly rubbing his hand over top of them.
Neither of them pointed it out to the other and neither of them questioned why, much less why they both were enjoying it in their own, separate way. After a time, Bret squinted and looked out the window, “What time is it?”
“Dunno. Think our practice has run its’ course though. You up for something else?”
Bret shrugged, “Dave’s?”
Jemaine rolled it over in his mind and then nodded. Bret pulled his legs from Jemaine’s lap, where they had ended up and Jemaine viciously ignored the stab of disappointment that rose up inside him.
They both put away their instruments and Bret took another peek out at Nancy. Once confirmed she wasn’t doing anything else spectacularly entertaining, he walked to the door, Jemaine waiting for him. As they got on the elevator, Bret found himself staring down at one of Jemaine’s empty hands.
Jemaine caught his path of vision and frowned, “What? What is it? Have I got something-”
“No, no,” Bret murmured and scratched at the back of his head. He didn’t know what was wrong with him. He had rested with Jemaine last night; he had had his legs on him not more than five minutes ago and yet…and yet…
“Jemaine…”
“Yes, Bret.”
“Do-do you think, I mean…if, if I paid you the dollar fifty, maybe, we could…” Bret took a deep breath so he could just breathe out the next words, “Hold hands?”
Jemaine blinked a few times, trying to process Bret’s words, “Hold hands? But…we’re in public.”
Bret tried his best to be casual, “Yeah, but, I mean…we don’t…we don’t really know anybody. I mean, on the street or anything. Anyone who’d see us we’d never see again.”
“What about that fruit seller? Or the guy on the corner who sells newspapers? Or that homeless person who shows up randomly and yells obscenities at us?” Jemaine shook his head, “Nope, ‘s too risky.”
“I…Jemaine, I don’t think those people will care.”
“What about Mel?”
Bret chewed on the inside of his cheek, “Point.”
Jemaine ran a hand though his hair, “Look, Bret, this…this thing we do. It has to stay indoors. Okay? It has to stay in the apartment.”
The wave of disappointment that washed over Bret was sudden and unexpected. He swallowed thickly and tried to ignore it. It was silly. Crazy. Jemaine was right. He was right. So why did Bret feel this way? Stupid, stupid feelings.
Bret took in a deep breath thorough his nose and tried to push away the well of bad feelings as they exited the elevator. He was the master in his own mind; he wasn’t going to be pushed around by his irrational emotions.
It was easier said then done, however, and he found his feet heavy and his eyes sort of prickly, like a strong gust of wind had been shot into his face. As they went outside and began to walk down the street, Jemaine stuck his hands in his pockets and looked at Bret. Bret’s face was…well, it was rather amazing to watch.
It was almost like when you flipped through channels on a television set, a variety of things seemed to be going on. Muscles were working in Bret’s face that Jemaine didn’t even know he had, and as they reached a street corner, Jemaine nudged Bret, who turned and looked at him tellingly.
Jemaine licked his lips, trying to think of what to say when a bus chugged up in front of them and let out a tired wheeze, the rickety doors clicking open. They didn’t have to take a bus to get to Dave’s. More often than not they rode their bikes or walked, but this time Jemaine sort of tilted his head to the open doors of the bus, signaling Bret to board.
Bret looked at him quizzically but did so, moving towards the back. Jemaine dug deeper into his pockets and fished out enough coins to pay for both of them, then went to the back of the bus to join his friend. This time the bus was almost entirely vacant, but still Jemaine sat down next to Bret.
He looked over at his friend, whose face continued to shift through its myriad of emotions and then he noticed Bret’s hands gripped to the hard plastic of the bus’ seat. Jemaine removed his hands from his pockets and flexed his fingers a moment. Then, with a firm nod to himself, he rested his hands on the bus seat, one hand right next to Bret’s. Jemaine licked his lips, and, with a shuddering breath, he hooked his pinky with Bret’s.
Bret, startled, turned and looked at him. Jemaine gave him a tentative grin, pinky jerking slightly and he cleared his throat to try and break up some of the intensity of the moment. Then, when that didn’t work, he said dryly, “Um…you…this’ll still be a dollar fifty.”
Bret just sort of smirked, shaking his head as his face finally setting on one emotion, one so strong that Jemaine almost couldn’t ignore what it was doing to him internally. Bret’s hand moved just enough so that he and Jemaine could fully clasp hands, fingers intertwining, as the bus moved on towards its’ next destination.
88888888888
“Hey Dave.” Bret and Jemaine simultaneously greeted as they entered the Pawn Shop.
“Dudes,” Dave said absent mindedly, not looking up from the VCR he was working on. The VCR was rather beat up and Dave was jamming a screw driver into the open mouth, trying to dislodge a tape inside.
“What’re you doin’?” Bret asked with curiosity, resting his folded arms on the counter as Jemaine wandered through the store, looking at the new merchandise.
Dave sighed and looked up, “Trying to fix this shit. My crazy roommate gave this to me and demanded I fix it. Can you believe that? Someday I’m going to kick her and her old man to the curb.”
“Dave, how can you kick out your parents? Don’t they own-”
Dave shook his head, ignoring Bret, “Serious, man, I’m tossing them out like two weeks old samosa. Speaking of which, you think it smells in here?”
Bret lifted his head and sniffed at the air, then nodded firmly. Dave shrugged, “Guess it’s time to clean out the mini fridge then…”
Jemaine finally joined them and Dave cursed, drawing away from the VCR and giving it a frustrated tap with the handle of the screwdriver, “So how you Bristol bitches doing?”
“It’s New Zealand and good,” Jemaine said, wondering vaguely how Dave could know so many places geographically yet never place them properly, “You?”
“Save from this VCR bullshit, pretty good. Though, hey, you guys gotta put a leash on that Ginger nut. He keeps coming in here bugging me. I’m so done with his same sex soap opera. Who cares if Jay or whoever the fuck doesn’t call him back? Not me, and I am not sitting through a two hour movie with him when you know, you know, he won’t keep his mouth shut during the good parts. I do not need someone babbling when I’m trying to look at tits and ass while watching ‘Skanks on a Plane’.”
Both Bret and Jemaine made faces at the title of the film while Dave went back to fiddling with the VCR. There was an audible pop and Dave hooted as he drew the tape out of the VCR at last, “Finally! Thought this bitch would never come out!”
He looked the tape over and frowned, “Not in bad condition but, still, you guys want this?”
He tossed the tape towards Bret, who surprisingly caught it. He looked it over, reading the title aloud, “E.T?”
“Yeah, if I give it back to my Mo-moron,” Dave cleared his throat, tapping the handle of the screwdriver against the open palm of his hand, “Moron roommate, she’ll just get it stuck in there again. And I can’t sell it here. No one who comes in here will buy that family friendly shit.”
Bret shrugged, “Yeah. Sure, wow, thanks.”
Dave crossed his arms, looking pleased, “What can I say? I’m awesome.”
The bell of the Pawn Shop dinged as Murray entered, he smiled brightly, “Oh! Hey guys! Didn’t expect to find you in here.”
Dave groaned and rolled his eyes, rubbing a hand at his forehead, right beneath his bandana, Jemaine was mostly indifferent, but Bret returned the smile, “Hey Murray.”
“So, what are you two up to then? Did you ask David if he has any harps for sale? I had made mention to him about how we’re looking.”
“Murray, we’re not - we don’t want a harp!”
“Bret, you can’t just waste away all your money on Jemaine! It’s one thing to have someone vacuum for you, but it’s another to spend ALL your money on just one service.”
“Whoa, back up,” Dave said with some amusement, “Bret, you’re paying Jemaine for services!”
Bret raised his shoulders near his ears, looking uncomfortable as Jemaine accusingly glared first at Bret, then at Murray. Murray, who was naturally oblivious, continued the conversation, happy to see he had Dave’s attention, “Indeed he is. He’s purchasing favors from him, can you believe that?”
“Holy shit,” Dave whistled, crossing his arms, “That’s pretty impressive, Bret. I mean, me, myself, I would have spent my money on a lady hooker, but you know, whatever floats your boat.”
“’S not like that, Dave,” Bret said lowly, a terrible blush forming.
“No, I mean, it’s cool. I’m just a bit surprised. I kind of always figured you to be the girl to Jemaine’s guy but, you know, the times, they are a’changin’. And since you’re holding the money, that must make you the butch and him the bitch which is-”
“It’s not like that, Dave,” Jemaine said a bit more loudly than necessary, his exasperation showing, “He’s just giving me some money to clean up.”
“Sure, right, whatever you want to call it,” Dave said smoothly, then he looked at Murray, shaking his head, “You shouldn’t just roll in here and announce people’s personal business, dude. It’s not cool.”
“I wasn’t - I didn’t-” Murray muttered, flabbergasted.
“What Bret and Jemaine do at their place is their business, bro. You sholdn’t just stroll in here and shout it from the rooftops, no matter how entertaining it may be,” Dave shook his head and put away the VCR, “You are such a dickhead.”
“I am not a dickhead,” Murray said hotly. He looked at Bret and Jemaine with some desperation, “I am not a dickhead, am I, guys?”
Bret and Jemaine both looked at one another then began to nod solemnly, both muttering various agreements.
Murray sighed, hands on his hips, “Well, isn’t this just lovely! First Jim, now you three. Maybe it’s true then. Maybe I am a dickhead!”
Bret was the first to relent, “Not…not all the time, Murray.”
Murray looked at Jemaine and Dave, “Well?”
Jemaine seemed reluctant to answer but Bret nudged him. Jemaine sighed and scratched at the back of his neck, “I guess…just…sometimes.”
Dave shook his head, “No way, man. I’m not budging. I stand firm on what I said.”
Murray let out a deep breath, ignoring him, “Okay, good, glad to hear that from all three of you. Makes me feel a bit better.”
Jemaine jabbed at Murray’s shoulder a few times in a lame attempt at comfort. It still seemed to do the trick though, as Murray brightened a smidge, giving them a self deprecating grin, “Since, I suppose, I rather rudely announced your personal affairs, which I will admit, as your band manager is a tad unprofessional, I should give you some good news. I was going to save this for our next band meeting, but, under the circumstances, we can just have an emergency band meeting right now.”
Murray reached into his jacket pocket and drew out a tiny notepad and pen. He flipped the pad open, made a few quick scribbles, and then cleared his throat, “Right then. Emergency band meeting. Bret?”
“Present.”
“Jemaine?”
“Present.”
“And Murray, present. Good, good, all right. Item one, a harp…well…actually, that was for the band meeting and I guess, that’s not necessary to discuss right now so, on to item two…oh no, wait, that-that was about how Bret shouldn’t waste all his money on Jemaine…okay, let me see…ah, yes, mm, no. No,” Murray scanned through the notepad, flipping pages, as he spoke more to himself than to them, “Nope. Yeah, see, a lot of this…a lot of this is better for a more…more formal band meeting. Not an emergency one. Hmm.”
Bret and Jemaine both looked at each other helplessly as Murray kept muttering to himself and flipping page after page through his notepad. Finally he stopped on one page, “Ah! Here we are, all right, item thirty seven. A gig! I got you guys a gig. It’s this Saturday, not far from your apartment; actually, it’s an outdoor event. There’s going to be a book fair and I have cleverly managed to get you a gig there.”
Bret looked surprised, “Really?”
“Yes!”
“A paying gig?” Jemaine asked suspiciously.
“Yes!”
“Wow, good job, Murray.” Bret returned, but Jemaine still looked unsure, “What are they paying us?”
Murray blinked, “What?”
“How much are we being paid?”
Murray fidgeted a bit, “That’s not…’s not really important.”
“So, what, in books then?” Jemaine asked cynically.
Murray cleared his throat, “Yes, well…one book a piece, for each of you. And free ice cream! That’s a bonus! I…worked that in…”
Jemaine was just shaking his head, but Bret still managed to look a bit pleased, “I like ice cream.”
“And you can have any flavor you want!” Murray tossed in encouragingly.
Bret nodded, “Cool.”
Jemaine just let out a bone weary sigh, “Bret, you ready?”
“Yeah, sure, bye, Murray, Dave!”
“See you,” Dave called as both Bret and Jemaine left. He looked at Murray with some exasperation, “So? What do you want? ‘Cos I’m closing up shop soon.”
Murray frowned, “But…it’s only six. You close at nine.”
“Yeah, well, it’s a half day,” Dave mumbled, crossing his arms as he stared icily at the other man.
Murray frowned, “Why?”
“’Cause it’s a holiday.”
“What holiday?”
“Saint-I-close-at-six-today-Day.
“Oh. Right! Well, then! Just came by to see if you changed your mind about-”
“Murray, like I told you yesterday, I am not buying your knitted underwear, all right? It has your initials. It’s gross.”
Bret suddenly popped his head back into the shop, “Hey! Dave! Forgot to thank you again. For the tape.”
“Yeah, man, it’s cool. You’re welcome. You want to take this with you?” Dave asked, jerking a thumb at Murray, “I’m closing up and I all ready told him I’m not buying his lingerie.”
Murray gasped, “David! You said you shouldn’t announce people’s personal business!”
“No, I said, you shouldn’t. I can do whatever I want, so…”
“Yeah, right,” Bret drew out, not exactly sure what was going on, he looked at Murray, “Come on then. He’s closing up.”
Murray was now the one to let out a weary sigh as, he too, left the shop.
On to Part 6
PS - Glad to have my computer back! Saw 'Watchmen' - as a long time comic fan, it was nice to see, but I still think they should never have made the movie, as your average audience will hate it.
Part 5: spying
Author: she_burns1
Pairing: Bret/Jemaine
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Bret hires Jemaine to be his ‘companion’.
Disclaimer: I do not owns the ‘Flight of the Conchords’ or anything connected with them.
Spoilers: Through SS2 ‘A New Cup’ - though nothing too spoilery.
Warnings: crack!Jemaine!prostitue!fic
Back to Part 4, Part 3, Part 2, Part 1
“Bret, would you please stop spying on people!”
“It’s not spying if they leave it out in the open for everyone to see,” Bret remarked sagely from his seat by the window.
Jemaine looked up to the heavens’ for guidance as Bret peered out the window across the street. It turned out that the newlywed neighbors Bret had seen move in a few days ago, Sid and Nancy, lived not only across the street from them but literally across the way in regard to the view from their respective living room windows.
Bret had his arms rested on one of the windowsills and watched with rapt attention as Nancy went about unpacking. She pulled out another painting from a large box and Bret hammered a fist excitedly on the sill, “She just pulled out another picture! This one is a giraffe! Oh! It’ll go nice with the elephant and tiger from earlier…wonder if they’re a set…”
“Bret, it’s very rude to spy on people, especially people who don’t know you’re spying on them,” Jemaine reviewed what he had just said aloud in his head and, after some debate, decided what he had said to be satisfactory.
Bret just ignored him, “I wonder if they lived in Africa…a lot of their stuff seems sort of themed…that’s the third leopard print pillow I’ve seen…and now there’s one with a zebra pattern-”
“Bret, are you going to do that all day or are we going to practice?” Jemaine asked in a huff as he ran a hand up and down the neck of his bass restlessly. They were supposed to have started band practice over two hours ago and Bret had wasted the majority of their time spying.
He had gone to open the window to let in some fresh air when their practice started only to notice he could see perfectly into Nancy and Sid’s apartment and since that moment had not moved a muscle.
Bret looked over his shoulder at Jemaine, “I just…I can’t help it. It’s interesting. And they don’t have curtains so…it’s like they want us to look in.”
“I highly doubt that.” Jemaine said, though not with much conviction. One had to wonder whether or not what Bret said was true.
Jemaine came closer to Bret and peered out the window himself. Nancy was now unpacking some vases and shaking her hips rather rhythmically. Jemaine could only assume she had some music playing in her apartment and as he watched her, he realized unsteadily that she was rather beautiful and he rather liked watching her dance. He shook his head and looked down at Bret, “Okay, she’s pretty, I’ll give you that, Bret, but she’s also married so-”
“I’m not looking at her because of that,” Bret pouted, disappointed that his friend would think of him that way, “I’m looking because it…it’s like peering into another world.”
“Another world?” Jemaine asked, his face incredulous.
Bret shrugged, not sure how else to elaborate or unwilling to, and went back to staring out the window. Jemaine gave a heartfelt sigh and collapsed on the couch. He lazily strummed the bass, humming to himself.
Nancy disappeared into a room that Bret couldn’t see and Bret turned away to look at Jemaine, who was now lost in his own little world. Jemaine’s hands moved about the instrument, pulling sweet, low sounds from it and Bret fidgeted where he sat as he watched his friend.
Jemaine’s eyes were looking off into some far off space and his voice was deep and warm as he hummed some nameless tune. He looked so relaxed there on the couch, bass rested against his body, one leg draped over an arm of the couch and Bret realized he had the strangest feeling in the pit of his stomach.
It was a funny feeling and Bret wasn’t sure whether or not he liked it. The feeling seemed to grow up inside him, bubbling about, making him feel sort of like he had an itch he just couldn’t scratch. Maybe he just had to burp or something? But for some reason that didn’t feel like what it was…
The word ‘artful’ popped into his head as he watched Jemaine’s hands pull sounds from the bass, the strings of the instrument vibrating in succession with each tug of his fingers. And Jemaine’s voice, so rich and smooth, and then the word ‘sexy’ floated into Bret’s mind making him all the more unnerved.
He cleared his throat and rose to his feet, “I’ll-um-I’ll just get my guitar then.”
Bret shuffled off and Jemaine, who had been sort of daydreaming, snapped back into himself when he heard his friend’s voice. He sat up slowly and waited for Bret’s return. Bret sat back down next to him, his instrument slung over his front, a yellow legal pad and pen in his free hands.
Bret tuned his guitar and found himself shifting about the couch until eventually he was lounging back in much the same manner Jemaine had been, save that his legs rested on top of Jemaine’s. Jemaine looked at him with raised eyebrows and Bret shrugged innocently, “Three fifty, right?”
“You still owe me ten for the resting.”
Bret frowned, a sudden thought occurring to him, “Can you break a hundred?”
Jemaine groaned and rolled his eyes, answering Bret’s question. Bret seemed unfazed, “Goin’ by Dave’s later. I can ask him to break it.”
Jemaine could see Bret cracking yet again under any questioning in regards to his money and shook his head fiercely. Bad enough Murray knew, but if Dave knew…
“No, look…don’t-don’t worry about it. You can just…you can pay me when you’ve used it all up.”
Bret blinked, surprised, “You sure?”
“Sure. I trust you,” Jemaine paused and then said uneasily, “Least I trust you in that…”
Bret didn’t seem to take offense, instead saying brightly, “Wow, thanks, man.”
Jemaine gave him a tiny grin, “What are friends for?”
They had a decent enough practice, though a majority of it was not actually spent on playing but discussing songs they could potentially write and a variety of random topics that ranged from pretty famous girls to favorite types of cheeses. Bret’s legs rested resolutely on top of Jemaine’s and in time, Jemaine actually found himself sort of absent mindedly rubbing his hand over top of them.
Neither of them pointed it out to the other and neither of them questioned why, much less why they both were enjoying it in their own, separate way. After a time, Bret squinted and looked out the window, “What time is it?”
“Dunno. Think our practice has run its’ course though. You up for something else?”
Bret shrugged, “Dave’s?”
Jemaine rolled it over in his mind and then nodded. Bret pulled his legs from Jemaine’s lap, where they had ended up and Jemaine viciously ignored the stab of disappointment that rose up inside him.
They both put away their instruments and Bret took another peek out at Nancy. Once confirmed she wasn’t doing anything else spectacularly entertaining, he walked to the door, Jemaine waiting for him. As they got on the elevator, Bret found himself staring down at one of Jemaine’s empty hands.
Jemaine caught his path of vision and frowned, “What? What is it? Have I got something-”
“No, no,” Bret murmured and scratched at the back of his head. He didn’t know what was wrong with him. He had rested with Jemaine last night; he had had his legs on him not more than five minutes ago and yet…and yet…
“Jemaine…”
“Yes, Bret.”
“Do-do you think, I mean…if, if I paid you the dollar fifty, maybe, we could…” Bret took a deep breath so he could just breathe out the next words, “Hold hands?”
Jemaine blinked a few times, trying to process Bret’s words, “Hold hands? But…we’re in public.”
Bret tried his best to be casual, “Yeah, but, I mean…we don’t…we don’t really know anybody. I mean, on the street or anything. Anyone who’d see us we’d never see again.”
“What about that fruit seller? Or the guy on the corner who sells newspapers? Or that homeless person who shows up randomly and yells obscenities at us?” Jemaine shook his head, “Nope, ‘s too risky.”
“I…Jemaine, I don’t think those people will care.”
“What about Mel?”
Bret chewed on the inside of his cheek, “Point.”
Jemaine ran a hand though his hair, “Look, Bret, this…this thing we do. It has to stay indoors. Okay? It has to stay in the apartment.”
The wave of disappointment that washed over Bret was sudden and unexpected. He swallowed thickly and tried to ignore it. It was silly. Crazy. Jemaine was right. He was right. So why did Bret feel this way? Stupid, stupid feelings.
Bret took in a deep breath thorough his nose and tried to push away the well of bad feelings as they exited the elevator. He was the master in his own mind; he wasn’t going to be pushed around by his irrational emotions.
It was easier said then done, however, and he found his feet heavy and his eyes sort of prickly, like a strong gust of wind had been shot into his face. As they went outside and began to walk down the street, Jemaine stuck his hands in his pockets and looked at Bret. Bret’s face was…well, it was rather amazing to watch.
It was almost like when you flipped through channels on a television set, a variety of things seemed to be going on. Muscles were working in Bret’s face that Jemaine didn’t even know he had, and as they reached a street corner, Jemaine nudged Bret, who turned and looked at him tellingly.
Jemaine licked his lips, trying to think of what to say when a bus chugged up in front of them and let out a tired wheeze, the rickety doors clicking open. They didn’t have to take a bus to get to Dave’s. More often than not they rode their bikes or walked, but this time Jemaine sort of tilted his head to the open doors of the bus, signaling Bret to board.
Bret looked at him quizzically but did so, moving towards the back. Jemaine dug deeper into his pockets and fished out enough coins to pay for both of them, then went to the back of the bus to join his friend. This time the bus was almost entirely vacant, but still Jemaine sat down next to Bret.
He looked over at his friend, whose face continued to shift through its myriad of emotions and then he noticed Bret’s hands gripped to the hard plastic of the bus’ seat. Jemaine removed his hands from his pockets and flexed his fingers a moment. Then, with a firm nod to himself, he rested his hands on the bus seat, one hand right next to Bret’s. Jemaine licked his lips, and, with a shuddering breath, he hooked his pinky with Bret’s.
Bret, startled, turned and looked at him. Jemaine gave him a tentative grin, pinky jerking slightly and he cleared his throat to try and break up some of the intensity of the moment. Then, when that didn’t work, he said dryly, “Um…you…this’ll still be a dollar fifty.”
Bret just sort of smirked, shaking his head as his face finally setting on one emotion, one so strong that Jemaine almost couldn’t ignore what it was doing to him internally. Bret’s hand moved just enough so that he and Jemaine could fully clasp hands, fingers intertwining, as the bus moved on towards its’ next destination.
88888888888
“Hey Dave.” Bret and Jemaine simultaneously greeted as they entered the Pawn Shop.
“Dudes,” Dave said absent mindedly, not looking up from the VCR he was working on. The VCR was rather beat up and Dave was jamming a screw driver into the open mouth, trying to dislodge a tape inside.
“What’re you doin’?” Bret asked with curiosity, resting his folded arms on the counter as Jemaine wandered through the store, looking at the new merchandise.
Dave sighed and looked up, “Trying to fix this shit. My crazy roommate gave this to me and demanded I fix it. Can you believe that? Someday I’m going to kick her and her old man to the curb.”
“Dave, how can you kick out your parents? Don’t they own-”
Dave shook his head, ignoring Bret, “Serious, man, I’m tossing them out like two weeks old samosa. Speaking of which, you think it smells in here?”
Bret lifted his head and sniffed at the air, then nodded firmly. Dave shrugged, “Guess it’s time to clean out the mini fridge then…”
Jemaine finally joined them and Dave cursed, drawing away from the VCR and giving it a frustrated tap with the handle of the screwdriver, “So how you Bristol bitches doing?”
“It’s New Zealand and good,” Jemaine said, wondering vaguely how Dave could know so many places geographically yet never place them properly, “You?”
“Save from this VCR bullshit, pretty good. Though, hey, you guys gotta put a leash on that Ginger nut. He keeps coming in here bugging me. I’m so done with his same sex soap opera. Who cares if Jay or whoever the fuck doesn’t call him back? Not me, and I am not sitting through a two hour movie with him when you know, you know, he won’t keep his mouth shut during the good parts. I do not need someone babbling when I’m trying to look at tits and ass while watching ‘Skanks on a Plane’.”
Both Bret and Jemaine made faces at the title of the film while Dave went back to fiddling with the VCR. There was an audible pop and Dave hooted as he drew the tape out of the VCR at last, “Finally! Thought this bitch would never come out!”
He looked the tape over and frowned, “Not in bad condition but, still, you guys want this?”
He tossed the tape towards Bret, who surprisingly caught it. He looked it over, reading the title aloud, “E.T?”
“Yeah, if I give it back to my Mo-moron,” Dave cleared his throat, tapping the handle of the screwdriver against the open palm of his hand, “Moron roommate, she’ll just get it stuck in there again. And I can’t sell it here. No one who comes in here will buy that family friendly shit.”
Bret shrugged, “Yeah. Sure, wow, thanks.”
Dave crossed his arms, looking pleased, “What can I say? I’m awesome.”
The bell of the Pawn Shop dinged as Murray entered, he smiled brightly, “Oh! Hey guys! Didn’t expect to find you in here.”
Dave groaned and rolled his eyes, rubbing a hand at his forehead, right beneath his bandana, Jemaine was mostly indifferent, but Bret returned the smile, “Hey Murray.”
“So, what are you two up to then? Did you ask David if he has any harps for sale? I had made mention to him about how we’re looking.”
“Murray, we’re not - we don’t want a harp!”
“Bret, you can’t just waste away all your money on Jemaine! It’s one thing to have someone vacuum for you, but it’s another to spend ALL your money on just one service.”
“Whoa, back up,” Dave said with some amusement, “Bret, you’re paying Jemaine for services!”
Bret raised his shoulders near his ears, looking uncomfortable as Jemaine accusingly glared first at Bret, then at Murray. Murray, who was naturally oblivious, continued the conversation, happy to see he had Dave’s attention, “Indeed he is. He’s purchasing favors from him, can you believe that?”
“Holy shit,” Dave whistled, crossing his arms, “That’s pretty impressive, Bret. I mean, me, myself, I would have spent my money on a lady hooker, but you know, whatever floats your boat.”
“’S not like that, Dave,” Bret said lowly, a terrible blush forming.
“No, I mean, it’s cool. I’m just a bit surprised. I kind of always figured you to be the girl to Jemaine’s guy but, you know, the times, they are a’changin’. And since you’re holding the money, that must make you the butch and him the bitch which is-”
“It’s not like that, Dave,” Jemaine said a bit more loudly than necessary, his exasperation showing, “He’s just giving me some money to clean up.”
“Sure, right, whatever you want to call it,” Dave said smoothly, then he looked at Murray, shaking his head, “You shouldn’t just roll in here and announce people’s personal business, dude. It’s not cool.”
“I wasn’t - I didn’t-” Murray muttered, flabbergasted.
“What Bret and Jemaine do at their place is their business, bro. You sholdn’t just stroll in here and shout it from the rooftops, no matter how entertaining it may be,” Dave shook his head and put away the VCR, “You are such a dickhead.”
“I am not a dickhead,” Murray said hotly. He looked at Bret and Jemaine with some desperation, “I am not a dickhead, am I, guys?”
Bret and Jemaine both looked at one another then began to nod solemnly, both muttering various agreements.
Murray sighed, hands on his hips, “Well, isn’t this just lovely! First Jim, now you three. Maybe it’s true then. Maybe I am a dickhead!”
Bret was the first to relent, “Not…not all the time, Murray.”
Murray looked at Jemaine and Dave, “Well?”
Jemaine seemed reluctant to answer but Bret nudged him. Jemaine sighed and scratched at the back of his neck, “I guess…just…sometimes.”
Dave shook his head, “No way, man. I’m not budging. I stand firm on what I said.”
Murray let out a deep breath, ignoring him, “Okay, good, glad to hear that from all three of you. Makes me feel a bit better.”
Jemaine jabbed at Murray’s shoulder a few times in a lame attempt at comfort. It still seemed to do the trick though, as Murray brightened a smidge, giving them a self deprecating grin, “Since, I suppose, I rather rudely announced your personal affairs, which I will admit, as your band manager is a tad unprofessional, I should give you some good news. I was going to save this for our next band meeting, but, under the circumstances, we can just have an emergency band meeting right now.”
Murray reached into his jacket pocket and drew out a tiny notepad and pen. He flipped the pad open, made a few quick scribbles, and then cleared his throat, “Right then. Emergency band meeting. Bret?”
“Present.”
“Jemaine?”
“Present.”
“And Murray, present. Good, good, all right. Item one, a harp…well…actually, that was for the band meeting and I guess, that’s not necessary to discuss right now so, on to item two…oh no, wait, that-that was about how Bret shouldn’t waste all his money on Jemaine…okay, let me see…ah, yes, mm, no. No,” Murray scanned through the notepad, flipping pages, as he spoke more to himself than to them, “Nope. Yeah, see, a lot of this…a lot of this is better for a more…more formal band meeting. Not an emergency one. Hmm.”
Bret and Jemaine both looked at each other helplessly as Murray kept muttering to himself and flipping page after page through his notepad. Finally he stopped on one page, “Ah! Here we are, all right, item thirty seven. A gig! I got you guys a gig. It’s this Saturday, not far from your apartment; actually, it’s an outdoor event. There’s going to be a book fair and I have cleverly managed to get you a gig there.”
Bret looked surprised, “Really?”
“Yes!”
“A paying gig?” Jemaine asked suspiciously.
“Yes!”
“Wow, good job, Murray.” Bret returned, but Jemaine still looked unsure, “What are they paying us?”
Murray blinked, “What?”
“How much are we being paid?”
Murray fidgeted a bit, “That’s not…’s not really important.”
“So, what, in books then?” Jemaine asked cynically.
Murray cleared his throat, “Yes, well…one book a piece, for each of you. And free ice cream! That’s a bonus! I…worked that in…”
Jemaine was just shaking his head, but Bret still managed to look a bit pleased, “I like ice cream.”
“And you can have any flavor you want!” Murray tossed in encouragingly.
Bret nodded, “Cool.”
Jemaine just let out a bone weary sigh, “Bret, you ready?”
“Yeah, sure, bye, Murray, Dave!”
“See you,” Dave called as both Bret and Jemaine left. He looked at Murray with some exasperation, “So? What do you want? ‘Cos I’m closing up shop soon.”
Murray frowned, “But…it’s only six. You close at nine.”
“Yeah, well, it’s a half day,” Dave mumbled, crossing his arms as he stared icily at the other man.
Murray frowned, “Why?”
“’Cause it’s a holiday.”
“What holiday?”
“Saint-I-close-at-six-today-Day.
“Oh. Right! Well, then! Just came by to see if you changed your mind about-”
“Murray, like I told you yesterday, I am not buying your knitted underwear, all right? It has your initials. It’s gross.”
Bret suddenly popped his head back into the shop, “Hey! Dave! Forgot to thank you again. For the tape.”
“Yeah, man, it’s cool. You’re welcome. You want to take this with you?” Dave asked, jerking a thumb at Murray, “I’m closing up and I all ready told him I’m not buying his lingerie.”
Murray gasped, “David! You said you shouldn’t announce people’s personal business!”
“No, I said, you shouldn’t. I can do whatever I want, so…”
“Yeah, right,” Bret drew out, not exactly sure what was going on, he looked at Murray, “Come on then. He’s closing up.”
Murray was now the one to let out a weary sigh as, he too, left the shop.
On to Part 6
PS - Glad to have my computer back! Saw 'Watchmen' - as a long time comic fan, it was nice to see, but I still think they should never have made the movie, as your average audience will hate it.