Chapter Text
Weeks had passed since the F4, and the quiet shutting-out afterwards. The electric charge of their night together had dissipated, replaced by a cautious, mostly platonic detente. They were partners again, efficient and professional in the field, but in the house, they moved around each other with the polite care of men handling unexploded warheads. Yet, in that space, a different kind of knowledge was cultivated.
Robby learned Denny hated tomatoes, that he hummed old country songs under his breath as he cleaned, that his disdain for "the man" was eclipsed only by the loyalty he had to the few people he held close. They bickered about movies, shared silent, comfortable evenings reading on opposite sides of the couch, and Robby found himself cataloguing the way Denny's eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed, a sight that was becoming more frequent. It was in these moments, watching Denny explain the mechanics of a carburettor with passionate intensity or seeing him gently relocate a spider from the sink instead of killing it, that Robby felt an inscrutable shift within himself. There was a feeling rising up, so vast and quiet it had no name, and needed none.
Robby was at the kitchen table as usual, fiddling with code on his laptop while Denny lounged on the couch, idly flipping through channels on the small TV. The drone of a daytime talk show gave way to the urgent, synthesised music of a news bulletin.
"Breaking weather emergency," a grave-faced anchor intoned. "The Storm Prediction Centre has issued a particularly dangerous situation warning for much of central and Western Nebraska, Western Iowa, and southeastern South Dakota."
Robby's fingers stilled on the keyboard. He didn't look up, but his ears perked.
Denny also seemed interested - he shuffled to the edge of the couch and leaned forward, turning up the volume. The screen filled with mesmerising satellite loops spreading across state lines.
"Meteorologists are using language rarely heard," the anchor continued, "citing 'historically favourable setup' for violent, long-track tornadoes. There are significant concerns for potential high-end F4 or even F5 tornadoes in the region within twenty-four hours. Citizens are urged to-"
Denny muted the TV. His head turned, his elbows still on his knees, and he looked at Robby. The look on his face was remarkably similar to the one he had while straddling Robby's lap - pure hunger. "You heard that," he said. It wasn't a question."
Robby cleared his throat. "I heard a weather report."
"It's going to be on our doorstep." Denny's voice was dancing on a knife's edge. "This is it. The one we… the one you hear about your whole life."
"I know what it is," Robby said, voice tight. He closed the laptop with a definitive click. "And the answer is no."
"You didn't even let me ask the question."
"You didn't have to. I saw it on your face the second that map came on screen." Robby stood, suddenly weary. "Denny, look at the scale. We'd be driving Bessie into a bombing run."
"She's built for it." Denny stood as well, facing him from across the living room. The couple of feet between them felt like no-man's-land. "So are we. The Pathfinder - this is its moment! The data would be incredible!"
"It's suicide!" The words burst out of him, much too loud. He saw Denny's face fall slightly and felt a little nauseous. "Don't you get it? We would be confetti! We were already pushing it with the four!"
Denny took a step forward. "So what's the alternative, Doc?" he asked, relentless as ever. "We sit here? We watch it on TV like everyone else? We wait for something else to get us?" He shook his head, then looked towards the mantelpiece. "Jeb… he always said there were only two ways to die. In your bed, soft and forgotten, or out there, hard and remembering. What other way is there?"
Robby knew, as certain as daybreak, that this was more than a chase for Denny. It was a test of purpose. A chance to make Jeb proud.
It was the chance for a pilgrimage.
He thought of the way Denny spoke of the old man - not with sadness, but with a reverent, burning ember of devotion. Jeb hadn't just given him a home; he had given him a scripture written in cloud formations and a congregation that met in the face of a storm. Every chase was an act of faith. It was Denny's way of proving he had been a worthy student, that the legacy Jeb had chosen to give to him wasn't wasted. The awareness of this simple fact filled Robby with cold and helpless dread, because he knew no logical argument in the world could ever compete with the need of a son to honour his father. But he had to try.
"Any other way, Denny," Robby pleaded. "Any way that isn't a walk into a wood chipper."
Denny held his gaze for a long, long moment. Whatever he saw there, he eventually looked away, his shoulders slumping slightly.
"Fine," he said, the word flat and hollow. He picked up the remote and turned the TV off, plunging the room into gloom. "Forget it."
He walked past, down the short hall, and into his bedroom, closing the door behind him.
Robby's heart was pounding. He had won. He had drawn his line in the sand, and Denny had, for the first time, not tried to cross it. The relief was immediate, but it was a shallow thing. It felt less like a victory and more like a surrender of something else - some vital, equally wild part of Denny that he had, for a brief time, been allowed to touch.
He assumed the argument was over. Denny's retreat, his quiet "forget it", was a concession. They would not chase the storm. They would be safe. Denny would be safe.
Robby ate a quiet dinner alone, a simple meal whose taste he barely registered. After washing the single dish, he made a cup of tea and took it out onto the porch. The air was perfectly still. To the west, the sky was beginning to bruise, high, wispy cirrus clouds catching the last of the sun's rays. Eventually, the tea having gone cold in his hands, he went back inside. He wrapped leftovers in clingfilm and placed them in the fridge. On the way to his room, he paused by Denny's door and knocked twice, the sound soft but stark in the hush.
"There's food for you in the kitchen if you're hungry," he said to solid wood.
There was no sound from within. He took Denny's surrender at face value, completely missing the grim resolve that had taken its place.
Robby woke up late. The digital clock on the nightstand glowed a guilty 10:17 am. Usually, he was up by eight, roused from his sleep by the rush of the shower through the wall, or Denny clattering around in the kitchen. This morning, there was just an unnerving absence of anything at all.
He sat up, his heart already beginning a frantic, panicked rhythm. "Denny?"
No answer. The floorboards were freezing under his feet as he moved through the small house. The bathroom was empty. The living room was empty. The kitchen was clean, the plate he made up yesterday still sitting untouched in the fridge.
No.
He moved quickly now, practically running to the front window, yanking the curtain aside.
Bessie was gone.
Robby's vision tilted on its axis. The argument, the silent treatment, the gathering storm - all of it coalesced into horrifying lucidity. The pure, undiluted horror was so potent it stole his breath. The images from the broadcast flashed behind his eyes, now intercut with the crunch of bones and cut-off screams. But this was worse. This was Denny. Stubborn, brilliant, reckless Denny, out there facing the unthinkable with no one to watch his back, no one to keep him steady, no one to pull him out when he went too far.
"The golden rule," Denny was wiping Bessie's windshield. "The one rule Jeb hammered into me from day one. You never, ever go out alone. No matter how good you are, no matter how sure you are. The storm will find your blind spot every time."
"Is that why…?"
"Yeah. That's why he died. I was buried at work. Jeb decided to go out without me. Said he'd do a quick scout. Thought he could handle it. One wrong turn, one missed cue… and that was it. There was no one there to call for help."
And now Denny was out in the Nebraska countryside breaking that sacred law. He had to stop him. He couldn't sit here, safe, and wait for a phone call that would shatter him. He had to go. Had to find him.
But how? Bessie was gone. Denny had a thirty-minute head start, at minimum. He'd be halfway to the target area by now, and he had the truck.
His eyes swept the room, landing on the keys hanging by the door. Among them, dangling from a simple ring, was the key to the Sportster Denny used for grocery runs. It was a suicidal thought - he was a good rider, but being exposed in a storm of this magnitude would bowl anyone over. A single piece of flying debris, a sudden rogue gust, and he would be a ragdoll in the wind. It was that, or stay.
The choice was no choice at all. "Oh, God," he whispered to the empty morning.
He didn't allow himself to think. Thinking would lead to doubt, and doubt would lead to inaction. He pulled on a heavy jacket, snatched the keys and sprinted outside.
The motorcycle growled to life beneath him, the vibration a familiar thrill. He kicked up the stand, twisted the throttle, and shot out onto the gravel road, the back tyre spitting stones. Wind ripped at his clothes, screaming in his ears, a pale imitation of what he was racing towards. He leaned into the curves, his body remembering the dance, his mind a blank slate of white-knuckled determination.
He pushed the bike harder than he ever had in his life, flying down empty backroads, his eyes scanning the green seas for a sign. He didn't know where Denny was, but he knew how he thought. He'd be looking for the perfect, unobstructed view. A high spot. A wide-open field.
After twenty minutes of frantic searching, Robby saw it. A flicker of dark blue among tall grass. He swerved onto a dirt track that cut through a fallow field, the motorcycle bucking beneath him. At the crest of a low rise was Bessie.
She was parked, facing west, a solitary sentinel. And standing on her roof, a silhouette against the ashy sky, was Denny.
Robby killed the engine, skidding to a halt by the side of the road. Rain was sputtering down over them both. He dismounted, legs trembling, and ran full tilt towards the truck.
"Denny!" he screamed, his voice ripped away by the gale.
Denny turned. The look on his face was one of pure, unadulterated shock. He stared at Robby, at the motorcycle, then back at Robby, visibly struggling to process the sight.
"What the hell are you doing here?!" Denny yelled down, scrambling down the side of the truck to meet him on the ground. "You could have killed yourself on that thing!"
"You're going to get yourself killed out here!" Robby shouted back, the words ripped from a place of sheer, terrified relief. He surged forward, his hands closing around Denny's biceps, reassuring himself with the solid, real flesh under his fingers. "Alone! You broke the rule, Denny! Jeb's rule!"
"Jeb's fucking dead!" Denny shot back. "And you wanna know why? Because in the end, the rules didn't mean a damn thing! He abandoned his own rule for one last look, so what does it matter?!" It was a knife meant to sever the tether Robby was trying to tie. It was a cry of help, not from the man in front of him, but from the lost boy Jeb had found and given a home to.
"Jeb told you never to go alone because he loved you!" Robby pulled at his hair with one hand, the other keeping Denny in place, to keep him from disappearing again. "He didn't want you to die like he did! He wanted you to live!"
Denny's eyes widened. He opened his mouth to say something, but a low rumbling began to overshadow the wind, a sound so deep it felt like the earth itself was groaning. They both looked north. The massive wall cloud was beginning to lower, a ragged, rotating cylinder reaching for the earth.
"It's too late, Robby." Denny's voice was almost peaceful. It was the first time he'd called him anything but Doc since they slept together. "It's coming. You should go."
"No." Robby's hands moved to cup Denny's cheeks, forcing his gaze away from the storm and into his own. "You told me the past is a sinkhole. You were right. My past, your past… It's trying to pull us both in. I'm not letting it. He looked at the forming tornado, a churning pillar in the distance. "We are not doing this alone. Not anymore. Either we both leave, right now, or we both stay."
Whatever he saw in Robby's face, it seemed to settle something within him. The tension in his jaw eased. "Get in the truck."
"I think it's far enough away that it'll pass us by," Denny said. They were huddled in the backseat, where they had scrambled. The front cab had felt too exposed. Now, wedged sideways in the confined space with their back facing opposite doors, they watched the twister cut a path of destruction a few miles out. Robby couldn't look away from Denny's profile etched in periodic lightning strikes.
"You shouldn't have come," Denny said eventually. He sounded resigned. Sad. "That was the dumbest thing I've ever seen. You could have died."
"So could you! I had to-"
"Why?" Denny turned on him, tears already gathering in his eyes. Robby fought the urge to reach over and thumb them away. "Why did you have to, Robby? Huh? 'Cause I had the Pathfinder? To keep your pet driver on a leash? What?"
"That's not-"
"Then what?" Denny's voice cracked. "What is this? Because I can't do… whatever this is." He gestured wildly between them. "I'm not some fucking damsel in distress."
Robby was stunned. "I don't think that about you."
"Don't you?" Denny huffed a laugh. "You think I don't see the way you look at me? God, I'm so fucking tired. Everyone always leaves me, you know? My parents didn't want me. Jeb's gone. You're just a fling."
"A fling? That's what this is to you?"
"What else would it be, Robby? You're a world-class academic. I'm a... fuck," he rubbed a hand over his face. "I'm a high-school dropout who fixes tractors for a living. You got your data. You had your… your curious little experiment with the local freak." The word was ugly and final.
"The… what?" Robby was completely lost.
"You know," Denny's voice was hoarse and venomous. He stared at his hands, where they were braced on his knees. "The tranny. The guy who used to be a girl. It's okay, you can say it. It's fine. I'm used to it. But I'm not… I'm not some exotic vacation you take before going back to your nice, normal life, okay?"
The blood drained from Robby's face. All the careful distance, the silent treatment, the retreat after their night together - it hadn't been regret. It was a devastating miscalculation of Robby's intentions.
"Denny," he said, his voice shaking with the force of his disbelief. "Is that what you think? You think I see you as a woman?"
"What else am I supposed to think?!" Denny exploded, finally turning to him. The tears had finally started falling, fury and humiliation all in one. "You come out here, use me for a driver, we fuck once in a drunken haze, then you go back to pretending it never happened! You think I don't know how this ends? Soon as storm season's over, you pack your bags, you write your paper, and I'm just a story you tell your colleagues about the crazy transsexual you banged in Nebraska. I don't do casual, Robby. I can't afford to. My heart's been through a goddamn meat grinder already, and I am not letting you be the one to turn it on for one last spin."
"You stupid, stupid man." Robby breathed. The storm raged outside.
Denny flinched. "Don't."
"I look at you," Robby said, gaining strength and volume with emotion, "And I see the most infuriating, intelligent, courageous person I have ever met. I see the man who drives by the feel of the wind, who reads the sky like it's sheet music. I see the man who took me in when my motel was a shithole, who welded a Faraday cage for my machine without me even asking. I see the man who makes terrible coffee and sings off-key in the bathroom and knows every back road in this godforsaken state."
He reached out, his hand hovering over Denny's, not touching, just a breath away. "When I look at you, Denny, I see a man. A man I…" He choked on the words, the fear coursing through his body like electricity. But the greatest fear was losing him. Always, the greater fear was losing him.
Denny was staring at him; his defiance crumbled into confusion.
"I look at you," Robby said, "and I see the man I'm in love with."
The confession sucked the air out of the cab. Denny stared at him, his mouth slightly agape. "What?" The word was a breath, a plea for confirmation.
Robby was breathing in shuddering gasps, his whole body trembling. "I'm in love with you," he repeated, the words softer now, but no less powerful. "I love you."
His fingers gently found Denny's, lacing them together. Leaning forward in the cramped space, he began to stroke slow, deliberate circles on the back of his hand. "I wasn't pretending it didn't happen. It meant something to me. It meant everything to me. And I thought you regretted it. I thought I'd pushed you into something you didn't want, and I didn't know how to deal with that"
Denny's eyes dropped to their joined hands. He brought Robby's hand to his lips and pressed a small, impossibly delicate kiss to his scarred knuckles. "I wanted it," he said quietly. "I wanted it so bad, and it scared me."
Outside, the roar began to diminish. The tornado was roping out into a fading, elegant thread, lifting back into the clouds, its job of destruction complete. The immediate danger was passing, leaving them alone in the quiet aftermath.
Robby slid his other hand to the back of Denny's neck, pulling him forward until their foreheads rested together. "I love you."
Denny let out a shuddering breath, his own hands coming up to frame Robby's face, his fingers sliding into his hair, anchoring himself. He didn't say anything for a long time, just breathed him in. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough.
"Okay," he said, the single word holding a universe of surrender and acceptance. "I love you too, for the record."
The decision hadn't been theirs. The tornado, in its dying act, had flung a massive cottonwood tree across the only road out, a gnarled, skeletal giant now caged in a tangle of power lines that hissed and spat like angry serpents. They were trapped. Denny had gotten on the radio to report the blockage. The response was a weary, crackled assurance that a crew would get to them… eventually. With the main cell moving on and the immediate danger passed, they were low on the list.
The adrenaline that had fused them together in the backseat began to recede. Denny was the first to move, reaching under the seats for thick wool blankets. He cleared his throat. "We're not getting out of here tonight."
"No," Robby agreed, his voice still husky. He looked out at the massive tree. The sickly light had been replaced by the deep purple of twilight, blurring the hard lines of Denny's face. "Are… are you okay?"
"Yeah, Doc. I am." He squeezed Robby's hand. "We should… get more comfortable. It's gonna be a long night."
They shifted. Robby stayed where he was, back against the door, but stretched his long legs out. Denny settled between them, leaning back against his chest. His head fit perfectly in the hollow of Robby's shoulder. They watched the stars emerge one by one through the breaking clouds, the world washed clean and quiet.
Robby rested a hand on Denny's stomach, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. He nuzzled his nose into Denny's hair, inhaling the scent of him. It was a kind of peace he had never known existed.
After a while, Denny tilted his head back. "You mean it?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper. "All of it?"
"Every word," Robby murmured, leaning down to brush his lips against Denny's forehead. "I love you."
The kiss he intended for his forehead strayed, finding its way to Denny's mouth instead. It was a slow, deliberate exploration. A rediscovery. Denny turned in his arms, hands cupping Robby's face, kissing him back with tenderness that was utterly disarming.
The careful dam of the past few weeks fractured completely.
Robby's palms slid under Denny's t-shirt, flattening against his back. Denny shivered, arching into the touch. "Robby," he whined against his lips, the name a prayer.
They kissed until they were breathless, until the windows of the truck were fogged up with their heat. Clothes became a frustrating barrier. Denny broke the kiss, his pupils blown with lust. "Help me with this," he said, pulling his shirt over his head.
"Fuck, you're so gorgeous," Robby whispered. He leaned forward, burying his face in the crook of Denny's neck, licking up a bead of sweat trailing down the side. His lips travelled lower, over a collarbone, and then, drawn by an instinct he didn't question, he nuzzled into the thatch of hair under Denny's arm. The scent was potent, deeply intimate, and utterly Denny. He pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss there, feeling Denny twitch and then melt against his with a low, guttural moan.
"God, Robby…"
Emboldened, Robby worked open the button of Denny's jeans, then his own. They shimmied out of them in the confined space, a clumsy, giggling, winded tangle. Skin met skin, and they both gasped at the contact. Denny's body was hot and alive against his, the coarse hair on Robby's legs rubbing against his slightly smoother skin.
Robby's hand slid between them, cupping Denny's clit. It was hard, throbbing, and velvety soft. Denny cried out, his hips bucking into the touch. "Please," he choked out. "Robby, I… I want to feel you. All of you."
There was a raw vulnerability in his voice that gave Robby pause. He stilled his hand. "Denny?"
Denny's eyes were squeezed shut. He took a shaky breath. "I've never… I mean, not… not like this." He moved in a small, slow circle, biting his lip to keep from making a noise. "There were… things. Before. But nothing that felt real. I was… I was saving this. Not for marriage or any of that bullshit but… for the real thing." His eyes opened. "I want to give it to you. I want you to be my first."
The trust inherent in those words was a weight and an honour that stole Robby's breath. His other hand tipped Denny's chin up, the touch reverent. "You are a gift, Den." He leaned forward, capturing Denny's lips in a deep, wet kiss. "All of you."
Robby laid Denny back against the leather seat, his larger body covering him, a protective, worshipping weight. He kissed a path down, over his collarbones, following the lines of his tattoos. He took his time, savouring the sounds Denny made, the way he bowed when his mouth closed over a nipple, the broken, pleading whimper that escaped when Robby gently squeezed his ass.
He was so, so careful, each touch a question. He used the copious slickness of his own saliva and Denny's wetness, preparing him with a patience he didn't know he possessed, his fingers stretching him slowly, watching his face for any sign of discomfort, finding only a dazed, wrecked look of pleasure.
"Look at me," Robby whispered, guiding himself to Denny's entrance. "I've got you."
He pushed in, inch by inch, giving Denny every second to adjust. His face contorted, a strangled yelp escaped his mouth, his fingers digging into Robby's shoulders. "Okay?" Robby breathed, every muscle in his body tensed in his effort to stay still.
Denny nodded, a single tear escaping from the corner of his eye. "Don't stop," he pleaded. "It's… It's so good. You feel… Fuck, you feel so perfect."
Robby began to move, a deep, measured pattern that was less about taking and more about joining. The confines of the backseat forced them into an impossibly close embrace, their bodies fused together. Denny's legs wrapped around Robby's waist, pulling him in deeper with every thrust. He was tight and hot and so, so responsive, every gasp and moan a symphony, a chorus of angels to Robby's ears.
He leaned down, capturing Denny's mouth again, swallowing his cries. The world narrowed to the musk of sex, the slide of skin to skin, the feeling of being buried so deeply in the heat of a man he loved. He could feel his release building, a slow tide coming in to port.
"I'm close," he warned, strained.
"Inside," Denny begged, his own climax imminent. His legs and his walls tightened around Robby. "Please, Robby, I want to feel it. I'm gonna come, fuck, please, inside me."
The begging undid him. With a final earnest thrust, Robby spilled into him, a hot, drumming rush that seemed to go on forever. Denny, always eager to please and so, so reactive, immediately came, holding Robby's cock in vice grip, a scream muffled against Robby's shoulder.
Even once they'd caught their breath, Robby didn't pull out, reluctant to break the connection. He flipped them over, so he was lying on his back with Denny nestled on top of him. He found himself guiltily pleased by the feeling of softening while still burrowed inside. A possessive shudder ran through him. Denny was his. He had claimed him.
Denny seemed to come back to earth. He nuzzled his face into Robby's chest. "So that's what that's like." There was a note of sleepy wonder in his voice.
Robby chuckled, pulling one of the abandoned blankets around them both. "Yeah. That's what it's like."
That's how they fell asleep, in the embrace of the night, the residual heat of their bodies steaming the windows. Robby's last thoughts as he drifted off were simply those of peace and comfort.
The drive back was quiet, but in a comfortable way. Denny drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on Robby’s thigh, the point of contact grounding. The sprawling, storm-ravaged landscape flew by, but neither paid much attention.
For two days, they existed in a bubble of newfound intimacy. The hard drive from the Pathfinder was a treasure trove. While the tornado had been a monster, it had also been a perfect testing lab. Robby sat at the kitchen table for most of that time, Denny moving around him, making coffee, cooking meals, occasionally resting a hand on his shoulder and pressing a kiss to the crown of his head - the simple touch still sent a jolt of wonder through him.
On the second evening, Robby let out a quiet, triumphant sound. “I found it.”
Denny looked up from the radiator belt he was cleaning at the sink. “Found what?”
“The flaw. The reason the predictive model kept failing.” Robby spun the laptop around. On the screen was a complex 3D model of the supercell's wind fields. “It was a feedback loop. The Pathfinder was so sensitive, it was reading the debris field we were kicking up on the dirt roads and incorporating it into the model. It was seeing a smaller, phantom circulation caused by our own chase. That’s why it kept giving false hooks and sudden directional shifts that never materialised. The data was contaminated by our own presence.”
He looked up at Denny, his eyes alight with pure, unadulterated joy of a solved puzzle. “We were the variable I hadn’t accounted for.”
A slow grin spread across Denny’s face. He wiped his hands on a rag, a familiar, fond amusement on his face. “So you’re telling me your multi-million dollar machine was getting spooked by its own dust?”
“Essentially, yes,” Robby said, a real, unforced laugh bubbling out of him, a sound that was becoming more common the more they spent time together. “It’s a simple filter. I can write a subroutine to isolate and subtract the particulate signature of Bessie’s tyres and our own wake turbulence. It’ll clean the data stream immeasurably.”
“That’s my girl,” Denny said with a wink. “Always causing trouble.”
They celebrated that night, not with the urgency of the very first time, but a slow, deliberate tenderness that felt like a language they were both just learning to speak. Afterwards, they lay in Denny’s bed, the sheets tangled around their legs, the moon casting low shadows across the floor. Denny was curled against Robby’s side, his head on his chest, listening to the steady, solid beat of his heart. Robby’s fingers traced idle patterns on the warm, smooth skin of his back, over the faint, silvery lines of old scars.
It was perfect. But in that perfection, an unspoken question began to grow wings.
They didn’t talk about the future.
They didn’t talk about what happened when the last storm of the season dissipated, when the Great Plains fell asleep for the winter. They didn’t talk about the University of Pittsburgh, or the lab space that may or may not still be his, or the grant applications that were waiting to be filled out. They didn’t talk about what it would mean for a researcher to stay on the Nebraska prairie, or for a storm chaser to follow him back to a city.
To speak of it felt like tempting fate, like poking a bruise that was just beginning to heal. So, they existed in the present. They talked about the data. They talked about improving Bessie’s suspension. They talked about the silly crime drama they’d watched the night before. They made love as if trying to memorise the feel of each other against the coming cold.
It was after one of these occasions that Robby felt Dennis shift beside him.
“Doc?”
“Yeah?”
“The… the thing you fixed. The dust problem.”
“What about it?”
Denny was quiet for a long time. “Just… It’s good you figured it out. It’s a hell of a thing.”
It wasn’t what Robby wanted him to say. He wanted him to say, Stay here with me. He wanted him to say What do you want to do? He wanted to talk about the future, but he couldn’t find the words, so instead, he closed his eyes. “Yeah,” he whispered into the darkness. “It’s a hell of a thing.”
He turned onto his side, facing away, and after a moment felt Denny do the same. The data was incredible. They were in love. The solution should be so easy. But they were both terrified, lying back-to-back in the dark, and neither of them was brave enough to sit up and grab what they knew they wanted.
The last storm of the season was a whimper, not a bang - a weak, disorganised squall line that fizzled out over the Dakotas. They had passed nearly a month in bliss, chasing, fixing Bessie or the motorcycle, fucking on every available surface, and talking well into the night. But the real world had a way of intruding.
Robby’s university had called. The news of the breakthrough had spread like wildfire in meteorological circles. The grant money he’d been denied was now not only approved, it was tripled. A full professorship with tenure was his. His old life, the one he’d been exiled from, was now rolling out a red carpet to welcome his return.
He’d taken the call on the porch, and when he came back inside, the atmosphere had changed. Denny was still on the couch, watching a nature documentary with a little too much focus.
“That was the dean,” Robby said, his voice too bright.
“Figured,” Denny replied, not turning. On the screen, a fox was breaking a rabbit’s neck with its teeth.
That was a week ago. Since then, an arm's length of distance began to reform. Denny started spending more time at his shop in town, stating he had to make up his salary again somehow. The easy touches, casual pecks, the way he’d curl into Robby’s side on the couch - all of it dwindled. Never flickering out in entirety, but the gaps between became larger and larger.
Robby was packing. His suitcase lay open on the spare room bed, which felt like betrayal in itself. He was due to fly out in the morning to finalise the new position. Every shirt he folded felt like another nail in the coffin.
He found Denny in the garage, tinkering with spark plugs that looked perfectly fine. He was hiding.
“My flight’s at twelve,” Robby said.
Denny grunted without looking up. “I’ll drive you. Wouldn’t want you to be late.”
The resignation in his voice ached. He had built a story in his head - the academic returns to his world, the roughneck mechanic stays in his - and he was playing his part.
“Den…” Robby started, his throat forcing the words out. “We can… we can figure this out. Long distance. I’ll visit. You can come to Pittsburgh.”
Denny set the part down with a clang. He turned, his eyes shadowed. “Don’t, Robby.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t make promises that’ll just be harder to break later. This was…” He swallowed and wiped his eyes with a sleeve. “This was the best month of my life. Let’s just leave it at that, okay? A perfect month.”
After all of it, he was still waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Robby felt something in him crack under the weight. He went back inside, finished packing in a numb stupor. That night, holding Denny close, he couldn’t sleep at all. He lay there for hours, the dean’s congratulatory words echoing in his mind.
The morning of the flight dawned clear and bright, the sky an untroubled blue. The drive to Grand Island was sombre. At the departures curb, Robby felt like a shaken cola bottle, every word, every plea, every declaration of love he'd held for weeks bubbling and fizzing under the surface, ready to spill all over Bessie’s cab.
At the departures kerb, Denny put her in park but left the engine running. “Well,” he smiled, bright and sure, a well-practised performance, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Go be a superstar, Doc.”
Robby’s hand was on the door handle. He took a sharp breath. “Denny, I-”
“Don’t,” the interruption was soft, lacking any hostility, but it was a wall nonetheless. Denny's eyes trailed somewhere past Robby's shoulder, onto the anonymous flow of travellers. “Just… don’t, okay? It was good. It was more than good. But this is your life. Go live it.”
The dismissal rang in his ears with the definitive tone of church bells. All the fizzy, desperate words inside him went flat. There was nothing left to say. He just nodded, stiff and jerky, and slid out of the truck.
He grabbed his suitcase from the back. He didn’t look back. He couldn’t. He walked through the automatic doors into the sterile, air-conditioned bustle of the small airport.
He had his passport checked. Got his boarding pass. Joined the security line, the mundane steps feeling like a march to the gallows. He looked at the people around him - businessmen, families, all heading to their futures. His future was a lab in Pittsburgh, a promotion, a life of quiet, ordered acclaim. It was everything he had worked for his entire adult life.
And the thought of it made him feel dead inside.
He saw it all, the pristine lab, the empty apartment, the handshakes that would mean nothing because there would be no one to go home to and share them with. No one to tease him for being too uptight. No one whose eyes would light up with a proud wildfire when he explained a breakthrough. No one to hold at night, to hold him back. Success without a heart.
It would all mean nothing without him.
The thought was a thunderclap.
He was at the front of the security line. The TSA agent held out a bin. “Sir?”
Robby stared at it, then past it, down the long corridor that led to the gates, the plane, Pittsburgh. He saw Denny’s voice from the back of the truck, heard him whisper, “I love you too, for the record.”
He was making a mistake. He was choosing who he was supposed to be over who he had become, the man who was loved by a storm-chaser in Nebraska, who loved him in return. The man he’d driven into near-death for.
“Sir?” The agent repeated, impatient.
Robby took a step back. Then another. “I… I’m sorry. I can’t.”
He turned and started walking, then running, the stupid fucking loafers Denny had made fun of all the way back in April slapping an unrhythmic beat against the polished floor. He dodged travellers, pulse galloping, a frantic, joyous terror filling him. He burst back through the automatic doors into the blinding Nebraska sun, his eyes frenetically searching the departures lot for a familiar, battered blue shape.
Bessie was gone.
His heart plummeted. He was too late. He’d hesitated too long.
But he saw it. A flicker of movement at the far end of the lot, near the exit. Without a second thought, Robby ran.
Denny was leaning against the driver's side door, smoking a cigarette and staring at the planes taking off. A small constellation of spent butts littered the asphalt by his boots. His shoulders were slumped, and even from 20 feet away, Robby could see his eyes were red-raw.
He skidded to a halt in front of him, gasping for air, his suitcase falling to the ground with a thud. Denny looked up, his brow furrowing in hopeless confusion. "Robby? What- Did you forget something?"
Instead of answering, Robby grabbed him by the shoulders and kissed him. It wasn't gentle, or questioning; it was hard and messy, a collision of teeth. He poured every regret, every foolish waver, every spark of hope into it, slipping his tongue past Denny's lips and forcing him even closer to the truck. The forgotten cigarette tumbled from Denny's fingers, scattering embers on the ground.
When Robby pulled back, he was even more out of breath than before. “You,” he panted. “I forgot you. I was a fucking idiot.”
Denny’s eyes were wide. “What are you talking about? Your flight-”
“I’m not getting on it.” The words were defiant, so Denny-like that it made him smile. “I don't want the lab. I don’t want the promotion. I don’t want any of it. I want you.” His hands came up to stroke the damp tracks under Denny's eyes. “It would all mean nothing without you, Den. Nothing. I can’t fathom losing you.”
“You… You want to stay? Here? With me?”
“Yes.” Robby was firm, not even an inch of room for doubt. “I can write my papers from here. I can collaborate remotely. The data is what matters, not the zip code. But you… You’re not replaceable. You’re my home.”
Denny let out a shattered sigh, and then they were kissing again. When they broke apart, he nudged Robby towards the passenger side, a familiar, cocky smirk finally gracing his lips. “Get in then. No time to waste.”
Robby didn’t need to be told twice. He climbed into the passenger seat, the familiar feeling of the seat under him like a benediction. As they merged onto the highway, Denny reached across the console and took Robby’s hand, lacing their fingers together. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. The road ahead was clear.
A year later, the first true storm of the new spring season announced itself not with thunder, but a soft chirp from the radio on the coffee table.
The house was different now. It was still Denny's place, the soul of it unchanged - same worn rugs, maps pinned to the walls, tools stashed in strange places. But it was theirs, now. A bigger, sturdier bed dominated the bedroom now, a necessary upgrade. The other bedroom was now littered with Robby's schematics, neat stacks of paper coexisting with Denny's dog-eared pulp paperbacks (he'd been on a science fiction kick lately).
On the mantle, next to the faded photograph of teenage Denny and Old Jeb, stood a new one in a simple wooden frame. It was from the steps of a courthouse three months prior. Both of them were wearing suits that looked a little too new, their hair tidied up, but their smiles were entirely, unreservedly their own - Robby's sunny and relieved, Denny's a little crooked and dazzling.
Robby looked up from the latest blueprints for the Pathfinder - a more streamlined, robust design. His eyes met Denny's across the room. The exhilarating hum of anticipation swelled once again. He grinned, grabbing Bessie's keys from their hook and tossing them in a high, perfect arc across the room.
Robby caught them without needing to look, his hand snapping out on instinct, the metal cool and familiar in his palm.
The storm was calling. It was time to chase it, together.