One More Stop

When he woke up it was with a shiver.

Head pounding Abel couldn't help but stare on stupid and happy to see him again. Moreso when he'd guided a cold cherry red drink to his lips. To which Abel took greedily into his own hands.

Even so, Emile still apologized profusely for the whole incident.

"I swear I didn't mean to, God you could have gone into shock or had an actual stroke. Abel I am so sorry," he mourned speaking over the AC turned onto full blast.

"Yes, I realize," he mused, looking down to his Caesar's salad. It was all too likely the heatstroke was a methodical move. Even now, two hours later and skin covered in goosebumps the mental fog still lingered.

"I just-- I know how you can be about your food and I know gas station stuff isn't one of your first choices or, appreciated. I wanted to make sure to get something you liked."

In that alone he was not wrong.

But such details were unimportant.

Turning over such a thing in his head it was simply ludicrous.

Would Emile prefer him weak considering the circumstances? Absolutely. It was only the logical course to take.

However to purposely harm Abel, that-- Emile wasn't capable of that. Was he?

Not emotionally surely.

There was no answer. Just as before, there is no longer an answer, no pattern of behavior to draw a rational conclusion from.

On an unending stretch of road, a vast open horizon of nothing farmland Emile picked out a shabby, unmarked rest stop.

Briefly allowing Abel to "do his business."

There was a police cruiser and yet Emile looked wholly unbothered. Simply wishing him luck and to "not stir trouble."

Yet, once inside, he could not conceive simply taking a dash through the otherwise barren field stalks.

As his guardian and being Emile's charge, he had full license to get him back when found.

"Thank you," he said back in the car, hands washed and still a bit wet.

Emile blinked. Untroubled at how glaringly he wiped said hands onto his seats. "Okay. But Abel, you never have to thank me for the absolute basics. Alright?"

Such a smile.

He wasn't entirely sure what his impression had been to first see the man.

Had it been that smile? The one that Emile turned into a silent promise: that no matter who paid him, Abel was the priority. The one to please even if that meant acting silly and hardly worth being called an adult much less aide.

Had it been almost three years ago?

****************************

Night had fallen and Emile informed him it was hardly an hour away now.

He looked much more excited than Abel did in that moment.

All the same, he'd not kept too idle. Granted, he may not get another chance to memorize the turns and road signs but there were other matters to attend with.

Such as a few small tests. Just what could Abel feasibly get away with? It would be best to establish the boundaries as soon as possible.

"Emile, I am hungry," he pointed out.

"Yes I expect you are," Emile agreed graciously enough.

"Bored too."

"I know, I know. Just a few--"

He struggled with the map.

"You don't have any books. Not even a game off a newspaper."

Abel slid down, emulating a petulant surrender.

Letting Emile believed he'd gone quiet for the moment.

The first kick jolted Emile harder than he had actually intended.

There were road markers for fast food and yet more gas stations. Steadily growing more scarce.

At some intervals he whined to stop. Just pick up a burger, anything he didn't care.

For the first kick Emile had only laughed. "Okay message received really. Please don't be too angry. I know you're smart so you know why."

Abel started up again and again.

Then for a third time.

Emile put down the map again, not bothering to fold it. "Abel," he said in a much sterner voice, one he had never made before.

"There is a bookstore and Goodwill just over there."

"I feel I shouldn't be rewarding this. What you're doing is childish and some kind of plan, which I doubt will work by the way even if you did get out of this car."

"By now I am aware of that. I want something to pass the time."

"There are books at home. I promise."

"Though I want one for now. Just one please."

"You... did say please." Emile made the turn, otherwise still questioning whether to formally park in the lot. Looking over he found Abel's expression unchanged. Unless what he supposed was a stony "business" expression counted.

"Now you really, really just want to read, in the dark?"

Abel nodded.

"You promise me Abby."

"I promise."

With a sigh Emile acquiesced. Fondness in his look all the same. "Okay, let's get you a book."

Choosing well-worn(loved) secondhand books there was a disappointing lack of selection. Many authors he did not recognize and by the few that caught his eye, were the kinds of stories perhaps a touch too abstract he would not be too proud to admit. Besides, the majority were paperbacks.

Theoretically, Abel could find a book hard and heavy enough to bash Emile's head in and run. Consequences be damned. If by chance he were caught by a car on the road--

Doyle.

Mostly battered he found the pages of The Hound of the Baskervilles mostly in tact.

Emile still inches away, watching religiously.

Perusing the lower shelf he found another name; Michael Connelly. Hardback and no dust jacket to indicate which of his stories it was. Plenty of force.

Emile kneeled beside him. "Find something fun? Not too graphic I hope, not sure how you read a lot of those to be honest."

Besides a slight startle Emile simply nodded, showing both books in a neat bundle.

"Okay then, come on."

Emile coaxed for him to take his hand, which he did.

Running furiously he waited with bated breath for Emile to stop. Per usual he tried to inch away like he did.

Only for Emile to giggle and pull with all his strength. Quite serious and holding too tight.

A checkout line slowly coming to view.

Clutching his finds tight, Abel yanked out of his grip and without a moment to waste ran.

He didn't dare look back, skirting around the divider for the line. Toward the exit sliding doors.

Unruly child, stolen items, and besides some learned tics he and Emile didn't look alike. Surely all three would raise a ruckus.

Until he was held by the small of his back from moving. The black man had meaty hands but were no less gentle, careful not to accidentally bruise him.

Abel squirmed, hurriedly glancing, to see Emile walking along with an affable smile on his face.

Grateful to the personnel who found his son.

"I'm sorry he gets so excited sometimes. Ah he just loves books, pity some of his other guardians never indulged him. I'll never understand why."

"Then you're currently taking care of him?" the guard asked.

"Yes Mr. Waylem," Emile read off, "just adopted. We'd just left dinner and I wanted to pick him out a gift. Again, I apologize for the confusion."

To his credit the guard did appear to be considering the story. Tipping his hat over to scratch at his head. By the looks of it he was certainly old enough to sympathize. Have kids of his own maybe.

"Sweetie please, the nice guard just wanted to make sure you didn't hurt yourself. You don't need to be so skittish," his eyes filled with sympathy. "Foster parents," and shook his head.

"I see, well then you both have a good night."

And left back to his post.

Emile keeping his hand on his shoulder, close as if in a show of hugging.

At the back of the line Emile tsked. "I'm gonna have to be real sharp to contend with you won't I? You're quick Abby, but I'm quick too," he crowed with a mischievous wink.

He never had liked such a childish nickname.

Keeping his voice low Emile giggled a bit. "Come on now, won't be much of a game if I don't take you seriously."

Abel had said that so long ago. Disinterested beyond measure to parlay with someone else who incorrectly assumed he had 'ego,' or too full of himself to take a loss.

Emile chatted up the girl on register once their turn came. Diverting often to Abel, to look and share stories. Thoughts.

Emile was wholly confident.

And made quite clear that outright saying the truth wasn't going to work. Not when 'the truth...'

"is quite troubled. Not that I blame him! Never."

Abel silently pressed upon this woman his current distress and dare he say; anxiety. This man was not his parent, he was not good and trustworthy. Abel was not here so far from his parents and his fine life by choice.

"Uh, three eighty is your change," she said faltering just slightly.

Biting her lip as the bills and coins were placed into his hand. "Take care of that well big man."

Nodding as the pair left.

Abel stared at the money, admittedly daring Emile, anticipating his swatting it away or nabbing it from his hands.

Neither happened. He was allowed to pocket it all.

"Consider it a bit extra. With some time and once you've grasped the ground rules we can talk about rewarding the chores with an allowance," Emile turned playfully sly again, "don't tell though okay."

"What would it matter if I did?"

"Besides the stares I would get from other parents and grown-ups you mean?" he asked, playing toward scandalized. "Just gives me heebie-jeebies."

"No one I can tell," he figured blandly.

"True. I think you scared her by the way."

Emile turned the key. "Poor girl couldn't exactly do much. Hardly a mandated reporter." More amused than anything. Truly playing a game.