Frost woke up to a distant chopping sound. He stretched his arm out to the side and felt no one in the bed next to him. The window was open, the chill fall air breezing through the window, billowing the thin curtains of the wood cabin.
The chill didn’t bother him that much, but the lack of a warm body next to him did. He glanced at the clock – it was six a.m. He got up and went to the master bathroom.
He heard someone come upstairs as he finished up in the bathroom. He looked at himself in the mirror – his hair was plastered down from sleep, so he brushed it up with his fingers. There was a “thump” as something was dropped to the floor.
Frost opened the door to see his lover on his knees, loading wood into the fireplace. Masonry was already dressed in a red plaid flannel shirt, tight jeans, and cowboy boots. He looked up and smiled at Frost. “I was going to surprise you.”
“With what?” he said with a smile, going over to him.
Masonry hugged Frost’s bare legs. “Get back in bed.”
“Not until you tell me what the surprise is.”
“You’ll have to stay in bed for it.”
Frost went back to bed. “You’re going to make me breakfast in bed, aren’t you?”
“Give you breakfast in bed, yes.”
“I don’t want to get the bed all dirty,” he said. “I’ll have breakfast downstairs.”
Masonry finished stacking wood in the fireplace. “All right. I’ll light this up tonight, then.”
Frost looked around for his clothes. “How long are we here for?”
Masonry stopped. “Homesick?”
“It’s so quiet out here.”
“It’s why I bought the place.”
“Can we go to town today?”
“I was going to suggest we go to Kittery.”
“Where’s that?”
“Maine.”
Frost looked thoughtful. “Okay.”
“In the meantime, I’ve got bacon.” Masonry grinned.
“Baaaacon…” Frost said, gazing out into space and looking slack. Masonry laughed and tossed Frost a shirt. Frost watched Masonry walk out, that red flannel shirt stretched ever-so-seductively across his broad back, and those jeans maybe a hair too tight.
Masonry smiled to himself as he poured the pancake batter on the frying pan. He loved the woods, the quiet serenity of it. Every three months, for a week or two, Masonry would escape here. Sometimes with Frosty, sometimes without him. The city was still too chaotic for him, too damn busy, and there was always the tempation to take up the cape and mace and head out to fight the newest invasion. Here, in the White Mountains, there was peace of a sort.
He’d started on his memoirs, large hand-written sketchpads of his life. He hadn’t told Frosty, thinking that he would think he was silly doing it. However, while Frosty was here, he wasn’t working on them, raking away the muck that he’d buried, the anger, hurt and pain. It was a lot more peaceful with his lover beside him, sharing the bed, the day, the very air.
He knew Frosty didn’t like it up here. He liked the hustle and bustle of the city, the crush of the crowd and the noise and lights. Mase always asked Frosty to come up with him for the week. He was surprised when he said yes this time. For two days they pretty much stayed at home. The cabin was so far into the woods that nobody was around to see them, and they had a spectacular view of the mountains and river below. They left the car parked near the base of the mountain and, instead of taking the winding trail up the side of the mountain, they flew up to the airie instead.
Masonry served Frost, getting out the pure maple syrup. Frost started eating, and looked up at Masonry. “I see another gray hair.”
Mase had started going gray three years ago, just before he officially retired. It was no where near salt-and-pepper, but there were streaks of gray along the sides. “Ha, ha,” Mase said, self-consciously passing a hand through his hair.
Frost chuckled, and he did the cleanup. Mase made sure everything was locked up and then they flew down to the car.
Mase headed parked in a parking lot and they did a lot of walking through shops. At the trading post, Frost was distracted by the displays, picking out small errors here and there in placement and design.
He saw Mase at a section and stopped short. Shotguns of all sorts were on the wall in front of Masonry. Men were gathered all around the area, looking at all different types of guns. Frost didn’t like guns, not at all. His abilities could freeze a bullet in flight, or, at worst, slow the trajectory down. However, if he wasn’t careful, it could still hit him, and if they were armor-piercing, they could shred his insides.
Masonry turned from him and saw him. He left the counter and walked over to him. “I was just looking, Daisuke,” he said quietly, knowing Frosty hated guns.
“Can we go?”
“We can go.”
They headed outside into the parking lot, and Mase casually looked to his left, to see a man and a woman arguing. He stopped, watching. Frosty got a few paces ahead before realizing that Mase had stopped cold, and looked in the same direction.
Other people were walking by, glancing at the couple and then turning away quickly or hustling their children away. The woman bent down and was tucking into back seat the car. The man followed.
Then came an ungodly scream of pain. Masonry moved, and Frost followed just as quickly. Masonry jumped over cars and landed right behind the man. He glanced through the rear window to see that he was holding onto something – the woman’s hair. Masonry reached in and grabbed the man’s bald head with one hand and squeezed.
The man yelped, not in pain, but surprise, and let go of the woman. Beneath the woman was a toddler in a car seat that she was trying to unbuckle. Mase let go of the man and let him back out of the car before grabbing him by the front of his shirt and hoisting him up to his eye-level.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Masonry asked calmly, his blue eyes bright.
Masony grinned, then threw him to the ground hard enough he bounced. Frost had gotten around the other side to the woman and was checking on her, speaking to her quietly, trying to get her and the child out of the way of the situation.
The man pulled a gun out of a paper bag while he struggled up. “I’ll fuckin’ put holes in you, mother fucker!”
Masonry had a longer reach than the man did, so he easily grabbed the man’s hand with the gun and twisted to the left and downward, snapping the man’s wrist. The man howled and dropped to his knees, trying to release the gun. Masonry still squeezed. He heard bones crunch. The gun went off, its bullet hitting the SUV’s door next to them.
Masonry pivoted on his foot and turned, grabbing a hold of the man’s elbow. He cleanly snapped the man’s forearm. Again, there was another howl, and Masonry yanked the gun out of the man’s crushed hand, throwing it to the pavement. He put a hand on the man’s shoulder and got ready to squeeze.
“Mase, stop, that’s enough,” came Frost’s voice. It was quiet, not judgmental, not begging, just telling him that he really should stop. Mase stepped on the gun and released the man, letting him fall forward. With his foot, he dragged the gun away from the man as the police car parked in front.
Frost brought the woman to the police, while another cop came over to Mase, his hand on his gun. Mase put his hands up. Another cop pulled his hands down and put a piece of plastic around his wrists. Frost turned to see them do that, and saw a smirk on Masonry’s face.
“Wait, you got the wrong guy!” Frost said.
Mase said, “It’s all right, they want to feel safe. I’m not under arrest.” He turned to the cop. “Right?”
The cop turned to another, who shook his head. Mase moved his foot away from the gun – and the man lunged for it with his good hand. Mase stomped on that hand savagely. “Shit,” he muttered. “Broke that one too.”
The cop claimed the gun, and an ambulance arrived. Another cop went through Mase’s pockets and saw the FBSA ID. He snipped the plastic cord. “Sorry.”
Mase only nodded, and Frost looked very much relieved. The woman was sitting in the police car, the child on her lap. Mase glanced at Frost, curious. Frost looked curiously back at him. Mase went to Frost and whispered, “That’s weird.”
“What is?”
He kept on going to the woman. He watched the boy, who looked like a normal boy, except he was perfectly still, his eyes wide, and unfocused. The cop left for a moment and Mase came over. “Are you going to be all right, ma’am?”
“Huh – me? I…I don’t know how to get home. And he’s the only way I can get home. We live together, you know. He takes care of Blake here.”
“Blake.” Mase passed a hand before the boy’s eyes.
“Oh, he’s blind. And he does’t speak, either. He hears only really loud noises, right against his ear.”
Mase turned to look at him – the boy didn’t have the white eyes of the blind.
“You do know he’s been abused,” Masonry said.
“What?” Now the woman was incredulous. “He is not! Ralph never laid a hand on him!”
“Ralph hurts you, though, doesn’t he?”
Frost put a hand on Mase’s arm. This wasn’t Mase’s fight. But if Masonry had his way, he was going to go to the jail, find the guy, and push him through the bars like meat through a grinder.
The woman’s eyes filled with tears as she said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, mister.”
Frost squeezed Mase’s arm, causing cold to run through it. Mase took one last look at the boy, and then turned to Frost. In silence, they went back to the car.
Frost got in the passenger side, and when Masonry got into the driver’s side, he gripped the steering wheel hard. Frost said in Japanese, “You’re not a hero, Masonry. Not anymore.”
Masonry’s shoulders slumped. “No,” he replied in the same language. “Not anymore.”