When September Ends

Chapter 8: Break

He couldn't remember it clearly. His house. Was it a ranch style or a sprawling English manor? Was it small but cozy with walls painted red and the floor covered in the bizarre gold carpet that his mother had found on clearance or was it large with blue-grey walls and white carpet filled with so many books that it could easily be mistaken for a small library.

If not Tom, who was he coming home to?

He should never have brought the damned diary with him, never mind red another twenty pages of the infernal thing before leaving the hotel room.

"Hello, Sir. Can I help you?"

Harry blinked, his green eyes focusing on the young woman who sat behind the desk as the sounds of talking, rolling wheels and shoes meeting the floor registering themselves on his mind. The Greyhound station. He was here to...why was he here again? "Er, I...I'd like to buy a bus ticket." He said lamely.

"Where to?" she chirped, unbothered by what was no doubt yet another of the many displays of vapid civilian idiocy seen on a daily basis.

That...was a good question. This wasn't far from the house that he shared with his husband. Couldn't he just...walk back? Poor Tom was probably ragged with worry by now. "Colorado, please." His mouth formed the words robotically. "I'm heading home."

Home was only a handful of miles back down the road. He didn't need a bus ticket to...Jesus, get a hold of yourself!

The woman was talking again. Harry forced himself to listen. "I'm afraid that the last bus heading there today already left an hour ago, and the next one headed out that way which isn't fully booked won't be leaving until two days from now at around seven in the morning."

He bit his lip. Staying in the town-Little Hangleton, if he remembered correctly-wasn't something that he planned on doing. For obvious reasons. The longer that he stayed the greater the chance of the mad attorney finding him became.

"Thanks." Harry said without much enthusiasm. "Can I get a ticket for the next one now, just so that it doesn't sell out too. It's rather urgent that I get...home."

"Of course. That'll be just a minute." She bounced off. Harry spent the intervening time looking nervously around at the ebb and flow of the crowd. Half ducking beneath the counter every time a man even vaguely resembling Tom passed by.

Tom never showed. Thank God. Tom wasn't there. Why wasn't he looking for him? Didn't he care that he was gone? Maybe wounded? Maybe scared?

You don't want him looking for you! You should be celebrating not panicking!

"Here you are, Sir. The bus should arrive at the station at about 7:30 on the morning of the listed date."

"Thank you." He took the ticket and left the bus station.

It was already six in the evening. He was tired and hungry and more than a little bit jumpy. Every loud noise had him looking around. Every sudden motion had him leaping almost a foot in the air.

He still had two days to go before he could truly be sure of his escape. It would be best, thereby, to hide indoors until then in order to ensure that the chance of the other man stumbling on him was as low as possible but first he needed food.

Harry ended himself at a booth in local almost rundown diner and he stayed there for another three hours eating pancakes and drinking coffee. He paid with the card and left. By the time he started walking back towards the motel apply named-at least in his own mind-Hell it was passed nine and had gotten very dark. Had it not been for the flaring red tail lights he might have missed the black jaguar.

Harry instantly froze, nearly choking on his heart as it leapt into his throat. He wanted to bolt, to hide, but his knees locked up. His throat was too dry to scream. The driver's side door opened and a figure stepped out.

A woman.

He could have probably dropped dead right there from relief and immediately ran back to his room, not even bothering with the light which he knew wouldn't work anyway, and locked the door behind him.

He was safe. It was a woman. He was safe. Tom had no idea. Where he was. He was safe. As long as he kept to himself he'd be fine. Just a little longer and he'd be home. His forehead hit the door with a dull thud as he focused on breathing, waiting for his heartbeat to slow.

"Harry."

It was back to racing. He leapt so far he almost hit the ceiling and whirled around, coming almost face to face with Tom. He'd found him. How had he found him? How had he tracked him down to this hotel? This room?

Was he going to attack him again? Beat him again? Did he have a weapon on him? A gun? A knife? Was this the moment that his life would end?

He'd sealed off his own sole route of escape. There'd be no way for him to fight back. So he did the only thing that he could.

He started screaming. Screaming at the top of his lungs. Screaming at Tom. About Tom. About who he really was. What he really thought of him. What he was doing. What he planned to do and why. He burst into panicked tears at some point during his rant, and ended it enveloped in Tom's arms.

Strong arms. Warm arms. The smell of his soap and cologne overwhelmed him. Drowning him. Forcing away even the persistent funk of the dingy motel room. His head swam and his throat clamed up and a wave of exhaustion washed over him. Hiccupping and sniffling, he buried his face in Tom's chest.

Somehow they'd ended up on the bed; he was curled up in the older man's lap, pressing his head into his now tears and snot soaked shirt as Tom rubbed his back in soothing circles. His chest vibrating with what Harry soon managed to work out was a soothing lullaby.

"Baby, Harry darling, hush. It's alright. I'm not mad at you, my love. You're just...you're still sick." He sounded pained, his tone genuinely distressed. "The illness...the treatment...the medication...it's made you so confused."

"Confused?"

"Yes, darling." His hands were running through his hair now. Stroking. Petting gently in a way which truly did feel marvelous. "You've bee...hallucinating. That's the real reason that I...that I locked you in your room I didn't want to tell you because you've already suffered so much. I'd hope that...it might save you some distress."

"Hallucinating?"

He heard the sigh whoosh free of him where his ear pressed against the other's chest. "Yes."

"The...kidnapping. You drugged me."

"I'd brought you back from the hospital that day."

"The beating?"

"Beating? Mercy, my love, you fell! I'd never raise a hand against you. Ever! On my life!"

"The news report?" he sniffled. "On channel twenty one."

"Darling, there is no channel 21. All that you would get if you tried was static."

His eyes were watering again and he was shaking like a leaf caught in a violent storm. Quivering from head to toe. Mind trying to process what he was being told. What it meant. Trying. Trying. Grinding to a halt, finally, when it realized that it couldn't. "What about Harry Potter?"

"Potter was your surname before we were married."

He felt like he'd been girded with a melon baller. But he also felt relieved. Hallucinations. It wasn't real. None of it was real. Tom wasn't the crazy one, he was.

It felt so incredibly liberating to finally be free of the constant turmoil. Harry sagged against his husband's body, his eyes falling closed with a gentle sigh. "Take me home, Tom. Please. Take me home and to bed; I'm tired."

"As you wish, my darling." Placing a tender kiss against his brow, Tom gathered his thin body up into his arms and carried him carefully out of the room.