Chapter Text
Town Hall is slowly beginning to empty out, the night’s festivities winding down to the soft murmur of a few lingering guests, the clinking of glasses, the occasional drunken laughter from a table off in the corner.
And Ray.
"Now, David, are you sure you don't want any special effects on your video? Because, like I said, with the friends and family discount, that would all be free of charge," he sings.
David grits his teeth. "Yes, Ray, I'm sure I don't want any special effects on our video."
Ray taps the end of his golf umbrella once against the floor. Outside the rain from earlier in the day has slowed to a drizzle. "Maybe we should check with Patrick first."
David’s mouth twitches and he’s about to make a snide remark when he feels a familiar hand on his back.
“Ah! Speak of the devil,” Ray says as Patrick comes up behind him.
“Ray,” he says with a wide grin. “Thank you again for doing all the photos and the video today. We really appreciate it.”
“Of course, Patrick,” he smiles back. “And since you boys had prohibited me from taking any photos at the --” he lowers his voice “-- first wedding, I made sure to capture every single moment this time,” he exclaims proudly.
“Oh, yeah -- no, Ray, we noticed,” Patrick says a little too loudly.
“Anyway, I’ll leave you two newlyweds alone,” Ray says, breaking out the air quotes and the impeccable Irish accent. He leaves with a wink and a skip in his step.
David sighs. “God --”
“-- Hey, so...” Patrick interrupts excitedly. He turns toward David and places his hands on his shoulders. “We have to leave.”
“What?” David looks around for a clock. He has no idea what time it is, but it can’t be later than 10 PM. His plate of food is untouched on their table, his pizza ice-cold yet somehow still tantalizing. He looks across the room and sees Alexis and Stevie crowding into each other in a fit of laughter, wine sloshing over the edge of their glasses barely missing Alexis’ wedding dress.
“I thought we had this place all night.”
“We do, but…” Patrick slides his hand down David’s arm and pulls on his elbow. He drops his voice and looks behind him dramatically. “We have to leave, Vincent.”
The sound of Stevie’s laugh pierces the room.
“Oh. Oh… ” David’s eyes light up.
…
“Oh.”
They’re standing in front of Patrick’s dirty Corolla, Patrick already halfway in the driver’s seat.
“I thought this was a sex thing,” David says, disappointed, as he opens the car door.
“A sex thing?”
“Yeah, like, you know, code for sex.”
“I didn't use our sex code word, David.” He puts the key in the ignition.
“I know, but, you said ‘we have to leave, ” David repeats out of the side of his mouth. He slides soundlessly into the passenger seat. “It sounded like a sex thing.”
“This is not a sex thing.” Patrick pulls the door shut and starts the engine. “Now, just... hurry and buckle up, we don’t have a lot of time.”
“See? Sounds like a sex thing.” David locks his seatbelt with a click.
...
The tires strike a familiar soothing rhythm on the road. The beam of yellow-white from the headlights bleaches the dark, damp pavement in front of them. Patrick likes driving at night, likes the stillness of it all, the feeling of being the only one moving down the empty highway.
They make it to Aloha Cafe in an hour and twenty-nine minutes, thirty-six minutes faster than their first trip. Patrick makes it a point to tell David. He seems so proud of this accomplishment that David wonders if he’s driven out to this spot since the last time they were here, if he had done trial runs trying to find the quickest route, if he had maybe even created a spreadsheet.
His stomach growls. He needs to eat something, anything, before he can start thinking about spreadsheets.
“God, I am starving,” he says, walking hand in hand with his husband into the familiar cafe. “I could really go for one of those pineapple pizzas right about now.”
...
"And a pineapple pie.”
Their waitress frowns noticeably. She leans in closely, her thick eyelashes fanning out against a swatch of bright pink eyeshadow. “You sure about that? Between you and me, that’s not one of our best sellers.”
The red vinyl booth sticks to the underside of David’s exposed legs. A framed photo of Elvis in an aloha shirt holding an ukulele hangs on the wall next to their table and Blue Hawaii is playing on mute on a small TV at the bar.
“Yes, I’m sure,” he says.
"Alright,” she gives him one last sidelong glance. “One slice of pineapple pie," she scribbles onto her notepad.
"Wait… maybe two slices?"
"Two slices of pineapple pie," she amends.
"Actually, could we get… the whole... pie?"
"Vincent." Patrick eyes him from across the table.
"What? I barely ate anything tonight."
"Well, hon,” their waitress interjects. “You did also just order the Ohana Breakfast, which is traditionally for at least two people, so… ”
David forces a smile. “Just the two slices, then, please.”
...
“Would you marry me again?” David asks. He's finished his first slice of pie and is working steadfastly through a mountain of scrambled eggs on his plate.
Patrick’s elbows are on the table, his sleeves rolled up to his biceps. He’s hunched over a large glass of sugary-sweet pineapple juice.
“Again?”
“Yeah, like… a third time.”
His mouth curls upward, plastic straw between his teeth. “I would marry you a thousand times, David,” he says, sitting up straighter and stealing a piece of bacon off his plate. He slides it into his mouth and bites down with a loud crunch. “And then maybe one more time after that.” A glimmer of the Christmas lights above them dances in his warm, brown eyes and he pops the rest of the bacon into his mouth.
David smiles, contented, then he dips his head down almost as if in embarrassment. "Good,” he says with a nod. He flicks his eyes back up at Patrick. “But I get to plan it this time.”
"I’m sorry, you get to plan it? You planned this one."
"I mean, technically I did? But then you… took over at the last second and forced us to get married at Town Hall,” David gestures with his fork, bits of egg flying onto the floor. “You have two, I still have zero."
"I forced us to get married at Town Hall? How about I saved our big day?"
"Yeah, yeah, you saved the day, it was great. Your ingenuity is remarkable. Anyway. So I'm thinking for the next one --”
Patrick swipes at David’s pie to shut him up. He pushes his juice across the table, a trade-off, and David takes a long, satisfied sip.
...
Their car breaks down somewhere near Heather Warner’s farm.
“No, David, we are nowhere near Heather Warner’s farm. We’re about 30 miles away from her farm. Maybe if you had the map…” Patrick hops out of the car and pulls out his cell phone. He takes two steps to the right, searching for reception.
“Mmkay, Patrick, I literally burned that map the second we got home,” David shouts out to him from the passenger seat.
He looks around at the blackness surrounding them. Of course they would get stranded on this particular stretch of road where the streetlights are all nearly a mile apart. He can hear the eerie creaking of some tree branches nearby, dark and mysterious in the wind, but the moon above them is peeking out tentatively behind a stray cloud and he relaxes at the comforting promise of moonlight.
“One hour,” Patrick says, standing outside the door. He tosses his phone inside onto the driver's seat.
“One hour? ” David leans over the center console and looks up at him.
“At least.” He sighs and rubs the bottom of his shoe against the dirt and gravel. “The nearest tow company is an hour away.”
“I swear to God, Patrick," David sits back in his seat. "If this is not a sign to finally get a new car, I don’t know what is.”
Patrick rolls his eyes and laughs, kicking a rock across the road with the side of his shoe. He takes a few aimless steps forward and tilts his head up toward the sky.
Back in the car, David bends down and unlaces his shoes. He tucks his socked feet up onto the chair and reaches over to fiddle with the radio. The stations are mostly static so far out in the middle of nowhere but he finally lands on one that’s playing something more folksy, less staticky. Patrick probably knows this song, he thinks.
He pulls out his phone, the dim blue light illuminating the contours of his face.
David is busy scrolling idly when the song changes to something a little bit faster, just some piano and some strings. Not as folksy but definitely just as old and timeless.
His eyes are still glued to his phone, his foot tapping silently on the seat, when he suddenly notices Patrick’s head dip down through the open door. His right hand is resting casually on the top of the car, his left hand extended outward. A crooked smile on his lips.
“What?”
Patrick simply swings his hand in through the door, signaling for David to take it.
“Come on, Vincent.”
“Come on where? It’s dark out there. I’m not going on another hike, I don’t care how romantic this moonlight is.”
Patrick ducks into the car, turns up the volume on the radio, then takes a few steps backwards into the road, motioning out toward the empty space in front of him.
“Dance with me,” he says.
David arches his eyebrow.
“What?” Patrick cocks his head. “You’re not a dancer anymore? I saw you and Jocelyn cutting a mean rug back at the reception.”
“Mmkay, that was like 50% fruit wine and 50% Zhampagne, both of which have definitely worn off by now.”
Patrick laughs. “David, just put on your shoes and come out here and dance with me.”
The song ends by the time David finishes lacing up his shoes. He steps outside, leaving the passenger door wide open. The next song drifts out from the open doors into the crisp night air, small bits of static popping through the speakers.
Patrick catches David’s elbow in his palm and brings him in close. He drapes his left hand around David’s waist, laces their fingers together and leads their entwined hands up close to his chest.
They’re swaying more than dancing. The song is a little bit of a waltz, a little bit rhythm and blues. The man’s voice is rougher, grittier, but soulful, and David thinks he recognizes the tune, vaguely, maybe something Adelina played often when he was in elementary school. His eyes slip closed.
“Happy wedding day, Michael.”
Patrick squeezes his hand tighter. “Happy wedding day, Vincent.”
The night deepens around them.
“Can you believe we’ve been married for over two whole months already?” Patrick asks, moving his hand to the small of David’s back. “And to think Ray didn’t even spill our secret.”
“Mm-hmm,” David presses a kiss into the side of Patrick’s head and nods. They sway together for a few seconds just listening to the music.
“Well…” David says, breaking the silence. “ I have a secret.” He clears his voice softly.
"What's that?"
"I didn't actually burn the map."
The radio hits a patch of dead air suddenly, or maybe the station has just called it a night because no one is listening at 2 AM ten miles south of the middle of nowhere anyway.
Either way, the music has stopped and they’re left there dancing, swaying, to the soft, familiar sounds of the nighttime instead. The distant chirp of insects, the rustle of the leaves in the wind, the hum of the telephone wire above them.
David’s grin is loud on his face like an overtold secret. Patrick leans in to his chest and smiles at the ground wistfully. He looks at their feet moving back and forth, almost undetectably on the pavement, their shadows dark blue in the moonlight. There was a time he had secrets, too, he remembers. Lonely secrets that became too much to bear, and he remembers, with startling clarity, how he wanted nothing more than to rid himself of them all. He moves around slightly, angling his head upward to look at his husband. He remembers Ray saying that word to them that secret afternoon two months ago. He feels the weight of that word now on the back of his tongue, feels the weight of David’s arms resting languidly on his shoulders, and he thinks that this is one secret he wants to hold on to a little bit longer.
The sole of David’s shoe scrapes abruptly against the gravel as Patrick pulls him in even tighter.
"Hey," David whispers. "Where'd you go?"
“Just thinking about being your husband.”
David smiles, tiny crow’s feet forming at the corners of his eyes.
Patrick sighs loudly then. “But,” he breathes, “it’s too bad I have to head back out to sea next month.”
David laughs quietly into Patrick’s hair. “Is it crab season again already?”
“Mm-hmm,” he nods, resting his head back against David’s chest. He feels tired all of a sudden. “The crabs wait for no one.” His voice is lazy and muffled by David’s jacket.
“Will you write to me?”
“I always do.”
They sway together in silence, their movements slowing down.
“Are we going to make it back to the motel in time to see my parents off?” David mumbles absently after a while. A hint of worry creeps its way up into his voice.
“Yes.” Patrick slides his hands to the nape of David’s neck. “I promise.” His second vow of the night. “If the tow truck doesn’t come in an hour, we’ll walk to the nearest rest stop.”
David stops moving. He pushes Patrick away, his fingers perched gingerly atop his shoulders. “I’m sorry, we’ll walk to the nearest rest stop? It’s 2 AM, Patrick. I’ve seen this movie. No, thank you.”
...
It’s 2:30 AM and Patrick is sprawled out on the hood of the car. David is huddled back in the passenger seat because he’s “not going to risk being mauled by a bear or murdered by a highway vagrant the day I get married, Patrick.”
“Technically you didn’t really get married today,” Patrick reminds him. “But can you just come back out here please? I want to lay with my husband. We got married today.”
David pokes his head out of the window. “You -- you just said… ”
Patrick tilts his head downward and grins at him through the windshield.
David rolls his eyes in resignation. He pops open the car door and steps out begrudgingly. "What if they find us out here, Michael?" he tries in his best English accent. He pulls his jacket in tighter. “You said they were coming for us. They could be here any minute.”
"Well, Vince," Patrick’s inimitable old-timey accent is back and David groans as he climbs onto the car. "If it's our last night as free men, then I want to see the stars." His head lolls backward, gazing up at the sky.
They’re not very comfortable at all there on the car, the angle of the windshield hitting their backs just wrong, but above them the moon finally lets go of the edge of the one, stray cloud in the sky, and suddenly the night seems luminous. They breathe in the earthy scent of damp grass and wet bark and a gust of wind shakes through the trees next to them.
David pushes himself up a little more so his back is lying a little more agreeably against the curve of the glass. Patrick tucks in his legs and maneuvers himself so he’s nearly parallel to the windshield, his head resting comfortably on David’s stomach. But then his left foot keeps slipping down the front of the car every couple seconds, and as he moves around to give himself more leverage, he accidentally kicks David’s bare shin in the process, the car hood creaking noisily under all the commotion.
“Mm,” David mumbles through the pain, eyes closed. “Is this a sex thing?”
They’re half asleep when the tow truck arrives an hour and a half later. They climb in and start out down the road, the morning coming in slowly, soft and blue over the horizon.
…
“We look like death, Michael,” David says, absently kicking up a cloud of dirt with his shoe as he steps out of the tow truck. He squints through the 6 AM light at the motel in the near distance.
His bow tie is undone, hanging loosely around his neck. He turns to Patrick and lets out a short laugh followed by a barely audible click of his tongue. A haze of dirt from the side of the truck had left its mark on Patrick’s shoulder. David reaches out to brush it off.
His fingers move down to straighten Patrick’s tie, pressing squarely on the knot to secure it in place. He pulls on the ends of his shirt to smooth out the wrinkles.
There’s still a slight chill in the air, the early September morning just on the cusp of fall, but their jackets are lost, forgotten, crumpled together somewhere in the back of Patrick’s car.
Patrick tucks himself under David’s arm and David settles easily against him.
“Death ain't got nothing on us, baby,” he says lazily through a yawn, his voice tapering off to a low hum.
He laces their fingers together and brushes a quick kiss across David’s knuckles. A glint of the morning sunlight bounces off David’s wedding band and flashes quickly across the side of Patrick’s face, down his lips, like a momentary secret, as they walk across the parking lot toward the motel.