RoadTrip Oneshots

Forget Me Not ( Randy )

Rye starts by counting the weeks. They'd been told two months, three at the most (but when you're told that somebody you love is dying, what's an extra month? He'll be gone this time next year, no matter what you do.) and, as he crosses the 30th of June off of the calender, he wonders how the hell Andy can act like there's nothing wrong. It's been 15 days.

They have 11 weeks left (at most.)

The numbers are written so small that, if you were to squint, it would look like nothing but a blob of red in the corner of the box. He doesn't want Andy to see, doesn't want him to know that in 11 weeks there wont be a Andy Fowler in the world any more. Really, how can you put that on the shoulders of a twenty-threr  year old? It's not fair. None of it is.

"Tea?"

Andy's leaning against the door frame, beanie covering his blond locks and Rye wonders how long he's been standing there. How long he'll have until he can't stand there.

The whole god-damn world isn't fair.

Rye nods, forcing a smile because what else can he do? He's not God and he's not a fucking miracle worker, either.

(was his skin always that pale?)

.

"Rye, do me a favour?"

"What?"

"Don't treat me like I'm made of
porcelain."

.

It's surprisingly sunny for England. What's even more surprising is the fact that they have the day off, able to enjoy the heat without having to stay seated for hours upon hours due to a scheduled signing, or something of that variety.

They're back in Stockport and Rye knows that he shouldn't have come, that he should have gone to Bristol and let Andy be alone with his family, but he's selfish. He doesn't want to let Andy out of his sight for even a second, because what if?

Lesley doesn't seem to mind though. It's as if she knows something's up (which is impossible as he clearly remembers Andy begging him not to say anything to her. He doesn't want her to worry.) and she welcomes him with open arms, asking if they'll be staying in Andy's room or the bungalow.

They choose Andy's room.

("It's alright, Rye. We have plenty of time to come back to the bungalow before... you know.")

Rye wonders if he knows they only have nine weeks left.

.

The park is nice at this time of the year. Everything is so green, so fresh and new and Andy thinks that he might miss it. Everything's alive.

"I would have brought my kids here." he muses.

Rye's fingers slide in between Andy's, gripping tightly and not letting go. "Tell me."

"They'd like it, I think. I hope." Rye nods in encouragement, silently telling him that yes. They would. "And, they'd be playing. Football, or chasing a frisbee around, or something. The sun would be shining, rather like today, and I'd get them an ice-cream from the van and somehow nobody would recognise us. There'd be no cameras, just us. Having fun, and... and Darcie will complain because it's too hot, and Leo will take the piss out of her for being such a girl, and in the end you'd have to deal with them because I'm going to be the cool parent, yeah?"

The trees start to blur together as Rye's eyes cloud over.

(He starts counting the days after that.)