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It’s an expression of restlessness, the kind of bout of spontaneous recklessness at which Neil has always excelled. A new city with new teammates and a new apartment and new stress, and Neil turns to Andrew one summer night, the smell of cigarette smoke mingling with the perfume of Andrew’s flowers on the balcony because they haven’t picked the lock to the roof yet, and says, “let’s get out of here.”
Their apartment is still littered with boxes and there’s only a few weeks until fall training begins and they don’t have anyone to look after the cats and as a whole the idea of skipping town, even temporarily, is impractical and foolish. But Andrew looks at the way Neil’s fingers are tight around his cigarette and allows himself to acknowledge the itch of restlessness inside his sternum and takes another drag from his cigarette and nods.
Neil smiles, quicksilver in the moonlight, and looks back out over the city.
They pack the next morning, clothes and cigarettes and alcohol. Andrew catches Neil staring blank-faced at his suitcase and prods at his ribs with an impatient finger until Neil looks up from the clothes that won’t fit in his bag. He stares at Andrew and Andrew stares back until the memories fade from behind Neil’s eyes and he shakes his head, rueful. “I thought I had gotten over this years ago.”
Andrew shrugs. Recovery isn’t linear, or at least that’s what Bee would say. But she isn’t here, so Andrew says, “You think I’m not used to your issues by now?” That makes Neil laugh, quick but delighted, and Andrew counts it a success.
Andrew picks up a road map from the corner store and they lay it out on the kitchen table. Neil points out the towns he’d like to see again, and the ones he wouldn’t. Andrew draws a route that avoids their memories of violence and fear, a winding trail that ends in Los Angeles, where they’ll visit Kevin before making their way back. Their meandering route turns a two day journey into four, and Neil calls their new coach to let her know they’ll be out of town for the next eight days.
The real complications with their plan to drop everything and leave Boston for a cross-country road trip arise when Neil starts looking for a cat sitter for King and Sir. Neither of them quite trust their new teammates yet, and none of the potential sitters he finds online are good enough for Neil. Andrew suggests stocking their food and water and leaving the cats to fend for themselves, but Neil shoots that down immediately. The idea was only half-serious, but Andrew still levels Neil with an unimpressed look.
“Since you apparently can’t find anyone worthy of making sure they stay alive, what do you suggest?”
Neil hesitates, his gaze shooting to where Sir is batting a toy mouse across the floor and King is watching, waiting for her chance to strike. “We could… take them with us?”
Andrew looks at Neil. He looks at the cats. He thinks of their car, not the same Maserati from their days at PSU but just as fancy and sleek and small. “That,” he says, “is a terrible idea.”
He doesn’t actually say no.
That afternoon sees Neil wrestling an extremely uncooperative pair of cats into their carriers while Andrew watches, eats the last of their ice cream, and makes no move to help. “It’s okay, baby,” Neil coos through the bars of King’s carrier. “We’ll let you out in the car.”
Andrew, sucking the last streaks of chocolate from his spoon, raises an eyebrow at Neil. “We will?”
“Well, we can’t just leave them in there for the entire trip,” Neil says, sitting back on his heels to meet Andrew’s gaze.
“You’re right. We could just leave them with someone.” Andrew gets up to wash his dishes and drops the bowl into the sink slightly harder than he really intended to. He can feel Neil go quiet and concerned behind him.
“We don’t have to bring them along, Drew. I can find a sitter.”
Andrew looks down into the sink and thinks about a stranger in their home with their cats. The idea, he can admit if only to himself, is not one he enjoys. “If they wreck my car, you’re paying for a new one.” It’s not a very impressive threat – even with the majority of his salary disappearing into Moriyama bank accounts, Neil could easily afford even Andrew’s particular brand of indecently expensive vehicles.
“Deal,” Neil says, pleased, and Andrew sighs.
They leave that evening, suitcases in the trunk and cats yowling in the back until Neil takes mercy on them and lets them out of their carriers. King immediately climbs up into Neil’s lap, loudly announcing her discomfort until Neil pets her into complacency. Sir settles in the back, quickly falling asleep on the blanket nest Neil had created.
They make it out of Boston just as the sun dips below the horizon, and Neil smiles at Andrew in the golden light, one hand buried in King’s fur. “See?” he says, “this’ll work out just fine.”
Andrew hums noncommittally and reaches one hand for the pack of cigarettes in the glove compartment. Neil intercepts him, loosely clasping his fingers around Andrew’s. Andrew shoots him a look but Neil just smiles back, stupid and warm and not at all subtle in his efforts to get Andrew to abide by their new team doctor’s guidelines. Andrew huffs and rolls his eyes but turns back toward the road. Neil lightly squeezes his fingers and lets their hands settle on the console between them.
Something warm rises in Andrew’s chest. It’s familiar after nearly a decade stuck with Neil at his side, and he doesn’t try to fight it. Instead, he tightens his fingers around Neil’s and lets the engine roar beneath his feet.
Andrew drives through the night, thoroughly uninterested in stopping at some shitty roadside hotel any sooner than he needs to. Neil alternatively naps and attempts, largely unsuccessfully, to keep their increasingly uncomfortable cats calm and entertained. By the time the sun starts to rise, Andrew is exhausted, itching for a cigarette, and no longer attempting to keep King off of his lap.
“I’m pretty sure that’s illegal,” Neil murmurs, and Andrew almost jumps. Neil had fallen asleep against the door a few hours ago, and hadn’t even stirred when Andrew couldn’t avoid the occasional pothole. Now he’s blinking tiredly at Andrew, half his hair flattened against his face and the other half curling wildly.
Andrew snorts and looks back at the empty country road, giving himself a moment to recover. “As if driving with a cat in my lap is the most illegal thing either of us has ever done.” King meows in agreement and Andrew feels a tug at the corner of his mouth as he strokes a hand down her spine.
Neil concedes the point with a nod and a yawn and reaches down to where Sir is huddled at his feet. “We’ve got to stop again to let them get some water and stretch their legs.” He rakes sharp eyes over Andrew. “And so that I can take over driving.” Neil had accepted Andrew’s assurance that he was good to drive the last three times they had stopped, but it was clear he wasn’t budging now.
Andrew doesn’t respond at first, evaluating his own condition and deciding if he wanted to argue with Neil. Then Sir mrows grumpily and Andrew has to suppress another yawn. “Alright,” he says, and Neil isn’t quite fast enough to turn towards the window before Andrew catches the triumphantly pleased look on his face. Idiot.
They pull into a deserted rest-stop a half hour out of Cleveland and Andrew pulls the litter box out of the trunk while Neil sets out food and water for the cats.
The sun is fully up by the time they set off again, King and Sir content for the moment in the back and Andrew reclined in the passenger seat with a pillow. It’s hard for Andrew to fall asleep under the best circumstances, and a very expensive but ultimately small car with two cats and the sun coming up isn’t the best of circumstances. He watches Neil instead, tracking the way the rising sun catches his red hair. If Andrew were poetic, he might say it looked like fire or gold or something else ridiculous. But he’s not, so he just watches Neil until Neil, feeling his gaze, turns toward him. “Get some rest, ‘Drew” he says quietly and reaches out to brush his fingers over Andrew’s cheek.
Andrew blinks in acknowledgment and Neil turns his attention back to driving. Andrew continues to watch him, eyes hooded, until exhaustion and the soft sound of the radio drags him into sleep.
He wakes a few hours later to the feeling of claws in his leg. Andrew’s past the days of mindlessly lashing out when startled awake, but the unexpected pain has him swinging wildly. The glove box pops open when he punches it, and King, whose claws are currently latched in Andrew’s jeans, yowls in annoyance. Andrew blinks confusedly at the scene in front of him, then turns toward Neil. Neil looks distinctly frazzled, his hair a mess and a new set of scratches stretching down his neck.
“Okay,” he says, “maybe bringing the cats on a week long road trip wasn’t my best idea ever.”
Andrew stares at him for a long, silent moment. Then he pulls out his phone.
“Andrew,” Neil says after another minute passes in silence. He sounds faintly desperate. Sir is clawing at his shirt.
“We’re an hour out of Chicago,” Andrew says shortly. “I'm texting Matt; I'm sure he would love to take care of your cats for a few days.”
“Our cats,” Neil shoots back, but the tension eases from his shoulders.
Andrew doesn’t dispute it as he pulls the pack of cigarettes from the glove compartment. Neil holds out a hand, and Andrew obligingly puts his freshly lit cigarette between his fingers. He can’t resist the urge to tease, “given up on the doc’s plan?”
Neil huffs. “He just said we shouldn’t go over a few a day. And besides,” he casts a rueful look at Andrew, “he didn’t take into account the kind of stress I have to deal with.”
“Bringing the cats along was your idea,” Andrew says dryly, as close to an ‘I told you so’ as he’ll ever get.
He feels Neil’s eyes on the side of his face. “Good thing I have you around to help out when I fuck up,” Neil says quietly, and Andrew scowls at the rising flood of emotions in his sternum.
“Keep your eyes on the road,” he says, because it’s better than ‘don’t look at me like that.’
Neil hums but obliges, a small smile on his face. They lapse into comfortable silence while Andrew fiddles with the radio. The songs are staticky and disjointed this far between large towns, and eventually, he gives up and just turns it off. The quiet reveals another sound - a rhythmic rasp from the seat behind them. Andrew turns to look.
“Your cat,” he says calmly, “is tearing up my leather seats.”
Neil grimaces. “We’re forty minutes from Matt’s!”
The upholstery will be in ribbons by then, and Andrew realizes they forgot to pack any sort of scratching post. With an internal sigh, he detaches King from the backseat and pulls her into his lap. The cat immediately goes to town on his leather jacket and Andrew leaves her to it as he rolls down the window for a cigarette.
He catches Neil eyeing Andrew’s quickly-ruined jacket with a guilty frown. “Don’t be stupid,” he says on an exhale of smoke. It means: don’t feel guilty, I’m okay.
Neil nods and stretches out a hand to stroke down King’s back. It settles her enough that she curls up in Andrew’s lap. He settles the hand not holding his cigarette in her fur and leans his head back as Neil goes back to fiddling with the radio. He finally settles on a public radio station, and smooth jazz fills the car.
Andrew takes another drag from his cigarette and holds the bitter smoke in his mouth for a long moment. When he finally exhales it out the open window, he feels Neil’s eyes on him.
“Eyes on the road,” he repeats without looking.
Neil hums as he looks away, quiet and content even with Sir still angrily kneading at his legs. Idiot boy. Idiot cats.
Andrew closes his eyes for a moment and lets himself feel.