i want the bright lights and the big city

[waiting]

WHO: Rick Bradbury & Mitchell Hundred
WHERE: New York City (and en route to it)
WHEN: Mitch's birthday.
WHAT: Two best friends on a road trip to New York. What could possibly go wrong? (Answer: everything.)
WARNINGS: Mitch's potty mouth, shenanigans.

Another year, another birthday. Bradbury tried not to think too hard about what else this day marks and concentrate, instead, on trying to make sure it's as far from their minds as possible.

At the moment, he thought he might have succeeded a bit too well.

"Still alive in there?" He didn't know how it was even possible in America, but the rest stop they'd pulled over at only had one functioning bathroom stall. He's not sure what Mitch ingested that's causing the nuclear meltdown of his insides, but he's pretty sure he's going to be blamed for it.

After all, it was his idea to go on a road trip to New York, even if he's not sure how he talked Mitch into coming along in the first place. They've gone too far to turn back now, though, and he crosses his arms, avoiding leaning against the wall (he's not sure it's been cleaned since it was built) and squinting at his reflection in the grimy mirror.

Comments

[viced]

Honestly, he wasn't sure it had been cleaned anytime since...it was built. The bathroom smelled awful, looked awful, and right now, he felt awful. It was true, that something had happened, that he'd eaten something -- probably cheese -- but that didn't mean that he wasn't letting Bradbury off the hook.

He didn't say anything until he was leaving the stall, not exactly the sort to talk while...doing anything like that, but still. The poor stall.

"Why did I let you talk me into this, again?" he asked, gingerly looking down at the sink like it was going to give him some sort of disease. It was days like this that he missed Air Force Two.

[waiting]

"'Cause you're a sucker for a cute face." Bradbury would clap him on the shoulder if he wasn't pretty sure Mitch would take it badly. Besides, he just got finished taking what was presumably the mother of all shits; that's more than a little gross.

"And because it's New York." He shakes his head a little, crossing his arms. "You wanna see it too, don't you?"

Even if it's not home home, it's hard to resist the desire to see all the ways it's how they remember it and all the ways it isn't. A strangely human concession, bconsidering it's Mitch they're talking about here. Then again, it's unlikely he would have taken this trip on his own.

"It's your birthday." And god knows how Rick Bradbury managed to coax Mitch up here on a weekday.

[viced]

"I didn't come along for my health, Bradbury," he pointed out, eyes drifting back toward the room with a look that said it all. That that wasn't good for his health either, but then again, being in the damn room was bad enough, wasn't it?

"We could have just had a drink, but home's better," he finally clarified.

It wasn't that he didn't appreciate what Bradbury was doing, but instead it was the fact that it was Bradbury -- and that constantly put Mitchell on edge. Not that Bradbury knew, or would ever know, the full extent as to why, but it was certainly something that hadn't exactly left the air between them, in the years since Bradbury had arrived.

Probably never would.

"Thanks, pal. The thought's...nice. I'd appreciate it more if I wasn't trying to kill myself from the inside."

[waiting]

"Yeah, well, at this rate we aren't gonna have enough time to see much." Oh, the nightlife would be something to see even on a weekday, but that's too much noise for either of them to handle, and not really their scene either. Bradbury shook his head, still grinning faintly. If nothing else, at least Mitch's irritable bowels hadn't changed -- an absurdly comforting bit of normalcy in the face of everything else.

"You think you can hold out for the rest of the drive, or do you need a few more minutes?" He couldn't help smirking, making that almost though not quite a challenge.

It's only about two hours to New York from here. The ride thus far had been surprisingly smooth, all things considered, and Mitch's stomach upset was the first real road bump. Talking wasn't much more than their usual brand of shooting the shit, but that was just fine by Bradbury. Hopefully, that was the last of the problems they'd encounter today.

[viced]

"I think we'll be able to see enough," he mentioned, still leaning against a wall, holding onto one hand. With Mitchell, it wasn't just seeing, it was hearing -- experiencing that familiar, soulful sound. The one that was deep and ingrained into his bones. The one that was wholly him in so many ways. You couldn't take New York City out of Mitchell Hundred, even if you could pull him away from the city.

He was as part of it as it was of him. There was a familiarity, like an old friend that was settled deep in his bones. The kind of thing that he wouldn't ever be rid of, as if he wanted to be.

"I think that I can make it, as long as I don't eat anything else shitty," he grimaced, reaching up to run a hand through his hair, pulling it back for a moment, before he let it go, that familiar curl falling back into place. It made him look younger, so he often adopted it around imports. They didn't appreciate someone looking quite as old as the American public often did. "Come on, let's go."

[waiting]

He almost held out a hand to Mitch to steady himself, but after a moment's consideration, he held back. Mitch never did like being coddled, after all. That didn't mean he wasn't half a step behind him to grab him, if he looked like he was going to fall over.

Luckily for them both, that didn't turn out to be necessary, and they get to the car without further incident. Bradbury turned the radio on, although he doesn't really need to. Mitch could tell him more about the traffic conditions ahead of them than whatever eye in the sky the local news has, he's pretty sure about that, and he could probably hear more than just the friendly broadcast on the air too.

But as is par for the course with them, the idea of pretending normality matters more than it should. So Bradbury kept the radio on, though quiet, and kept up light conversation about nothing in particular, like how cruise control wasn't nearly as easy when you had up and down to account for too.

The elevation meant New York's skyline was visible long before they're anywhere near her, and Bradbury couldn't help the hitch of breath, taking in the view. He might not have spent his whole life in New York, but he had it in his bones, just as much as Mitch did. And there was still no place quite like home.

"Ain't that a sight for sore eyes, huh?" He nudged Mitch in the side with his elbow, grinning, before he started working on mapping their descent into the crisscrossing roads that led in. There wasn't any question of driving back within the same day, so he'd booked a motel for an overnight stay.

"Nothing fancy, but it'll do," he commented on the twin-bed arrangement, dropping his rucksack casually on the bed closer to the door. "What do you want to do first?"

[viced]

Mitch barely participated in the conversation, of course. Soft, non-committal conversation that barely scratched the surface. It was par for the course, with he and Bradbury. It was what was expected. They needed the pretense of normalcy, Mitchell needed Bradbury to think they were normal.

New York, though, that was a sight for sore eyes, for sure. He couldn't help the way his breath caught, looking at the city in front of him. New York City -- his city. No matter what anyone said, no matter where he was, seeing her was enough to make him rise up, straighten in the seat.

He could hear her, too, if he strained himself. He could listen to the City, the life, the energy, the machines all singing that familiar, sweet song that filled his ears, and made him ache to be back home. This wasn't, of course. It wasn't New York City, it wasn't his home, as he knew it.

But his movements were lighter, anyway. "Yeah, there she is," he murmured, his voice soft, almost wistful.

When they finally got in, and when he'd finally set his things aside, movements still antsy, he finally ran a hand through his hair, frown on his face. "I just -- Shit, Bradbury, you remember the place I used to stop by for coffee? Let's start there. Then maybe we can hit some of the old haunts."

[waiting]

"It's your birthday, remember? We can do whatever you want." Bradbury hadn't left off rummaging through his bag, though, and it was a long moment or two before he finally grunted in triumph and pulled out a camera -- not something digital, but what looked more like a child's toy than anything else, round and a shade of pastel blue that really didn't suit him.

"... But we're gonna get souvenirs, if we do." He gave Mitch a shit-eating grin. "Don't break the camera, I just borrowed it off one of the girls down at the bank. Kind of weird to be the tourists for once, right?"

Even if they both knew New York in better ways than any tour could give them -- Bradbury the waters surrounding it and the back-alleys, and Mitch heading every damn mechanical thing in it -- this still wasn't their New York, not really. They were strangers to this world and always would be. Stuffing the camera into his jacket pocket, he pushed the door open and headed out, pleased to feel the solid asphalt under his feet.

No place like home, even in another dimension.

Locating the coffee place Mitch was talking about proves a little difficult, but only because it's moved along a few blocks from its old position, and gotten bigger. Bradbury doesn't wait for Mitch to make his order, just waves his hand for him to sit before he wanders to the counter himself, ordering Mitch's usual -- and something sweeter for himself.

[viced]

"The fuck is with that camera?" he'd managed to ask, lips twisting into a wry look at his former friend, but even so, they managed to hit the streets, and the coffee place -- while still there -- but different, isn't the same. He tries to think of it as the same, but it isn't. Even the coffee tastes burnt, probably from all the patrons inside, and it's his face that probably gave it away more than anything.

He didn't bitch, though. It probably wasn't fair to bitch. This wasn't his city, after all. He'd been the mayor of a whole other New York City -- and then the mayor of a copy version -- not this one.

Although he listened, for signs of what their mayor was doing, if just because he wanted to know how they ran things. Just because he wanted to figure out how this place operated. He listened to phones and tablets blasting the news at him, and after coffee was in his system, he really just...wanted to walk. He didn't care about the landmarks, or the line of the skyscrapers -- beautiful as it was -- he just wanted to be home for a while. He wanted to hear the machines, feel the energy, and let his fingers rest on the pulse of the place that was still home in a lot of ways that no other city would ever be.

He wondered if Bradbury had ever picked up on the fact that he missed New York in a way that wasn't just being away from it now. When he went home -- if he ever went fucking home -- he wouldn't even be going to New York again. He had a duty, and it was Washington DC.

"Why don't we just...I don't fucking know, walk around? I don't know about you, but I miss this..." he gestured out to the street, where there were people milling around.

[waiting]

He'd picked up on something, maybe. Bradbury wasn't the smartest guy around, he'd own up to that much, but he knew Mitch ... better in some ways, maybe, than Mitch knew himself. He wasn't good with his words, didn't know the right things to say to get the truth out of him -- the truth that Mitch still wouldn't tell him about, even now -- but he was good at watching people.

And the set of Mitch's back, the invisible burden he carried around everywhere like it was his fucking cross? Maybe it was wishful thinking, but he thought it seemed a little lighter, now that they were here, and that was good enough for Bradbury. Later, maybe, he'd give himself the time to beat himself up about the things he hadn't been able to stop a year ago, but right now, there wasn't much that sounded better than a walk around the city with the man who'd been his best friend, once.

Still his best friend by technicality, on account of simply knowing him the longest, but there it was.

"Yeah, I get you," he said easily. There was always an energy to the streets here -- maybe Mitch heard the machines, but Bradbury saw the people. Driven with purpose, always with a destination in mind, the city hummed with life. The City had been close -- Heropa just didn't cut it. The whole place reminded him of the bases he'd lived in over the years, where even the towns around it picked up some of the military air themselves.

"It's still pretty different." He wasn't just talking about the hovercars skimming overhead as they started to walk, with him following Mitch's lead and curious about whether he actually had a destination in mind. "But it's probably close as we're going to get."