Chapter Text
David walks carefully through the dark, out behind the back of the motel. His phone illuminates a tiny spot on the ground ahead of him.
“You’re fine, David,” Stevie calls out, waving a flashlight in his direction.
“Sure I am,” he says, not looking up. “Tell me that when I fall into an abandoned well.”
“There aren’t any abandoned wells here.”
“Are you one hundred percent sure of that? Because if you’re not, I’ll just keep watching where I’m going, thank you very much.” He finally reaches Stevie and gingerly sets his bag down. There’s a pile of firewood next to what he assumes is the fire pit, although there’s no fire in it, so really, at this point, it’s just a pit.
“Where’s Patrick?” Stevie asks.
“Oh, he’ll be here soon. He stopped to get some snacks from the store.” And to give David a minute alone with Stevie. He apparently communicates a little too much of this plan in his face, and Stevie grimaces.
“I’m fine, David. We don’t have to talk about it.”
“I know.”
“It wouldn’t have worked anyway. Emir doesn’t even live near here.”
“I know.”
“It was just a dumb idea, to think that he’d want...”
David steps closer to Stevie, and she doesn’t move away, so he does what many emotionally competent humans would do and wraps her in a hug. She lets him, digging her face into his sweater. “He’s an asshole, Stevie. He would have been lucky to have you follow him around from one roach infested motel to another.”
She laughs wetly. “Yeah.” She sniffles and pulls back, wiping her face with the sleeve of her flannel. “All right. Thanks.”
David nods and lets her go, not even flinching at the thought of what Stevie might have just done to his sweater – it’s one of his least favorites, and he’s willing to risk it tonight.
He hates seeing Stevie so upset – and the fact that she is still visibly upset, hours and hours after Emir so casually broke her heart – tells him everything he needs to know. She really had thought that it could be serious, between them, and what she’s feeling now is not only disappointment, but embarrassment. David gets it.
He thinks back to that night at the hotel in Elmdale, Emir showing up late with his excuse about a fender-bender, and wishes he had done something then to head this off. But Stevie had been so happy when Emir arrived, and sure, it was possible he had actually switched phones with a student driver and so couldn’t call to tell her what happened… right. But hindsight isn’t going to help her now.
David is distracted from his self-flagellation by the sight of Stevie haphazardly dropping wood into the fire pit. “Hey, um, you don’t have to do that.”
“What, are you saying I don’t know how to start a fire?”
“Um, I have no idea whether your numerous skills include fire starting, but Patrick will be here soon and he can do it.”
“I’m tired of waiting for him.”
David cringes as Stevie tosses another log directly onto the pile she has already created. “Yeah, but, Patrick’s had kind of a shit day too, so maybe let him have this one?”
Stevie lights a match and waves it near the pile of logs, but doesn’t drop it in. “He didn’t get dumped, did he?”
A shudder runs through David. “No, no, we’re still very much together. But he and Ronnie had a bit of a disagreement.” It’s so rare for Patrick to suffer such a drastic interpersonal fail, David still can’t quite get his head around it.
“Oh, that’s not good.” Stevie tosses a lone lit match on top of the wood, where it promptly fizzles out.
“I’m sure they’ll be fine?”
“I doubt it. I mean, if it was anything even vaguely serious, Ronnie will never forget it. She likes to hold grudges.”
“Fantastic,” Patrick says, appearing next to David and making him startle in surprise. He hopes Patrick didn’t notice – he doesn’t need to know that dark open spaces make David nervous. “Just what I need to hear.”
David frowns in sympathy with Patrick’s dejected tone, and pecks him on his pouting lips. “It’ll be okay,” he says softly, his hand going to the top of Patrick’s shoulder and giving it a squeeze. He likes the feel of the flannel shirt Patrick has on. Patrick’s apparently going for campfire appropriate attire too, and David approves. He wouldn’t want one of Patrick’s few decent sweaters to get all smoky.
“Have you tried apologizing?” Stevie asks.
“Of course,” David says. “Patrick even brought her a gift basket.”
“Right?” Patrick asks, his voice rising. “And all she did was gripe about the lack of blue cheese. She wasn’t interested in accepting my apology at all, she just wanted to give me shit.”
“Yeah, sounds like Ronnie.” Stevie sighs. “Did either of you idiots bring anything to drink, or are we just going to stand here and stare at these logs?”
Patrick takes this opportunity to examine the fire pit, and immediately sets about rearranging the wood in some kind of Boy Scout-approved shape. David takes a moment to watch, indulging his competency kink, then digs around in the bags Patrick brought.
“Wine, or vodka?” David asks, holding up the bottles.
“Wait!” They all turn to the familiar voice, and soon see Alexis stepping carefully through the tall grass. “I brought drinks too.”
“I ran into her at the café,” Patrick says quietly to David. “She seemed pretty down too, so I invited her.”
Alexis proudly holds up a thermos. “Twyla made us cocktails. She said they’re perfect for a campfire.”
David unscrews the top and takes a sniff. “Oh my god. It’s definitely flammable. What’s in here?”
“I don’t know, I wasn’t listening.” Alexis throws a blanket down on the ground and arranges herself carefully on it, all legs.
Stevie takes the thermos from David and takes a sip, making a face as she swallows. “Not bad.” She sits down on the blanket next to Alexis and takes another sip. “Cinnamon schnapps, maybe?”
“Um, would you like a cup for that?” David asks Stevie. The alcohol should take care of the germs, but still.
“Nah, I’m good.”
Patrick adds another log to the fire, which is now blazing steadily, and stands back to admire his handiwork.
“Well done, Patrick,” David praises him. “Very flame-y.”
Patrick ducks his head and smiles. “It’s just a campfire, David. I’ve done this a million times.”
“Not for me, you haven’t.”
“Oh my god, get a room,” Stevie mumbles, but her face is fond. Alexis offers David another blanket – apparently these are old bedspreads from the motel, so they are thoroughly unnatural fibers and won’t catch fire – and David spreads it on the ground. He and Patrick sit down and David pours them each a double shot of vodka into a red plastic cup. They touch their drinks together and toss them back. It’s not a night for subtlety.
They all sit and watch the fire for a few minutes, listening to the crackle and pop, and Patrick relaxes into David’s side.
“So,” David says, not sure if this much silence is appropriate, “are we listening or problem solving?” For once, David isn’t the one bruised at the end of the day. It’s a novel sensation, but he tries not to dwell on it. His friends are hurting, and he wants to help.
“Listening,” Patrick says quickly, rubbing his cheek against David’s shoulder, his hair filling David’s nose with the smell of burning wood. “Definitely listening.”
“Yeah, sorry, Patrick,” Stevie says. “There’s not much we can do about your Ronnie situation.”
“Thanks so much.”
“Not everything is a problem,” Alexis chirps. “Some of us are going to be stars.” She tilts her chin up and pokes Stevie on the knee a few times for emphasis. “Look at who got cast as Shirley.”
“Sally,” Stevie says quietly.
David feels a rush of pride towards Alexis, even if she got the character’s name wrong. Alexis had wanted the lead, no matter what she says now. It’s a rare moment of selflessness, this gracious approach.
“Besides, I think I may have just made things worse for myself.” Stevie continues. It’s unusually frank for her. Twyla’s cocktails must be doing their job. “I don’t know anything about acting.”
“No, don’t say that - we’re going to have a great time,” Patrick says, sitting up straighter. “Really, Stevie, it’ll be fun.”
“You think?”
“Sure. I’ll help you, if you want. We can run lines together.”
David rubs Patrick’s back, unable to control the fond smile tugging at his cheeks.
“We can practice together too.” Alexis gives a little shimmy. “I mean, luckily, I won’t have a lot of lines to learn, but I can help you with the dancing.”
Stevie groans. “Mrs. Rose didn’t say anything about dancing.”
“It is a musical,” David quips, and Patrick gives him a little shove. “What? Have you ever seen a musical without dancing? Half of this show takes place on stage in a nightclub, there’s tons of dancing.”
“Leads don’t always dance,” Stevie mumbles. “The chorus sort of dances around you.”
“This is Fosse,” David points out. Stevie gives him a “so what” shrug and David rolls his eyes. She’ll find out what that means soon enough.
“We can practice the choreo together too,” Patrick says reassuringly.
David searches for something to say to make Stevie feel better, but only one thing comes to mind. “My mother may be an opportunist, but she really wouldn’t have asked you to do it if she didn’t think you’d be successful. She doesn’t want her name tied to a flop.”
The stifled noise from Patrick indicates that this might not have been the right approach, but it’s still true. “David, maybe you could work with Stevie too,” Patrick suggests. “Since you know what your mother is looking for.”
David’s certain that Patrick only thinks this is a good idea because he’s tipsy. “No, that would be a huge mistake. You’ve seen enough of me in Moira Rose productions. No one needs more of that.”
“Won’t you be lonely if you don’t help out, though, David?” Alexis asks. “If we’re all in the show, and you’re not?”
It hadn’t occurred to David before, and he wonders for a brief second if Alexis is right – will he be anxious if the three people he is closest to are all occupied elsewhere four nights a week? As he takes in a deep breath, he realizes he has nothing to worry about; the thought of time to himself just makes him smile. He can decompress in the motel room, enjoy the quiet for a few hours without Alexis’ chatter. He can hang out in Patrick’s apartment, dig up an old sketch book and spend some time reacquainting himself with pencils that aren’t made out of twigs.
It sounds nice, because he won’t be alone, or lonely. Alexis will come back after rehearsal, eager to share the latest gossip. Stevie will text him every time anything awkward happens. And Patrick will return, maybe a little sweaty and tired, and curl up under the blankets with David.
“Nope, I’ll be fine.”
Patrick gives him a squeeze, and David kisses him, warmth spreading through his body that has nothing to do with the fire.
There’s a puff of breeze, and Alexis complains about getting smoke in her eyes. She shuffles over with Stevie until they’re all on the same side of the fire. Taking advantage of the situation, David reaches over and grabs the thermos from Stevie. “Let us have some too, greedypants. I love cinnamon.” He takes a gulp and then chokes, a hand over his mouth as the alcohol burns a path down his throat.
“What the hell is in there?” he asks, coughing. “It tastes like gasoline.”
“Oh, you don’t like it?” Stevie says, all innocence. He sees the smirk on her face through his watering eyes. Whatever’s in that thermos, it bears no resemblance to cinnamon schnapps.
“I’ll kill you for this,” David says. “Oh my god, Patrick, don’t.” He reaches to try to stop Patrick from taking the thermos, but Patrick snatches it from his hands and takes a reasonably moderate sip.
“I think it has limoncello in it,” Patrick says, taking another sip. “It’s not too bad if you drink it slowly.”
“Oh, Twyla said something about lemons,” Alexis says, “and she said it was really strong, so. It could be limoncello. And maybe whiskey.”
Patrick produces a bottle of water for David from the grocery bag, but doesn’t relinquish the thermos, alternating between taking increasingly larger sips of Twyla’s vile concoction and making soothing noises in David’s direction as David tries to calm his cough.
“Ugh, if we’re going to drink this swill, we should at least get to eat something with it,” David says, leaning over Patrick for the bag of snacks. He pulls out a container of crackers and digs around for the cheese which he knows must be in there.
“We should sing songs,” Alexis says, completely ignoring David’s snack suggestion. “That’s a fun campfire activity.”
“Are you reading from a Buzzfeed article right now?” David sees Alexis shove her phone under her leg.
“No, David.”
“We should totally sing,” Patrick says, nodding vigorously. He’s too cute to resist, and so David leans over and kisses Patrick for a while, swiping into his mouth with his tongue. He tastes almost as flammable as the limoncello. There’s no stopping him now, not when potentially embarrassing performances are on the table.
“Yeah, Patrick, let’s sing,” Stevie says, egging him on.
“Be nice, he’s drunk.” David puts his arm around Patrick. “Besides, he didn’t bring his guitar.”
Patrick looks around, as if to confirm, and then he sighs. “No, I didn’t bring my guitar.”
“Come on, you don’t need a guitar to sing campfire songs,” Stevie says. “We can just enjoy the glorious sound of our unaccompanied voices.”
“We don’t know any campfire songs,” David points out, feeling fairly confident on this point.
“David, speak for yourself. I learned plenty of songs at summer camp.”
“Alexis, you spent five days in Verbier before running off with the rock-climbing instructor.”
“Well, we sang a lot of camp songs in five days.”
“Name one.” David takes the thermos away from Patrick and braves a sip. He’s going to need fortification if this ridiculousness continues.
“There was one about a bear.”
“I know one about a bear,” Stevie says drily.
“She’s not talking about the Jimmy Buffet one,” David says. “Although ‘God’s Own Drunk’ would certainly be appropriate right now.”
“No, it’s a camp song,” Alexis insists. “First I sing, and then you sing, back and forth, it’s like ‘Na na na na, na na na na, up in the woods, na na na na.’”
Alexis can’t carry a tune in a bucket, but somehow Patrick gets it anyway, and soon they’re all singing at the top of their lungs about running away from a bear and jumping up to the nearest branch in a tree to get away, missing the branch on the way up – but catching it on the way down.
It’s the way David feels about tonight, and his chest throbs with the impossible beauty of it. He’s sitting on a polyester blanket in a weedy field and drinking cheap liquor out of a plastic thermos, while firelight flickers over the faces of three people he loves more than he ever could have imagined.
It’s not at all what David thought his life would be like. And it’s wonderful.