When I Should've Stayed Home (Track Twelve: III) 3, chapter 26

*Trista*

Lying on her bed, assailed by the ache of anaesthesia in her forearm, Trista closed her eyes. Emotions swirled through her mind; their confused skirmishes kept her from sleep. Trista winced as coldness squeezed her arm in its crushing jaws. Just when she thought her bones were about to become dust, the ache returned to numbness. Trista rolled to her side and drew up her knees. Tears flowed unimpeded from her bloodshot eyes.

Why was the one person she had left, the person that—why did Trista want to hate Knight? Somehow that too was Knight's fault. Her fault for dragging Trista all over the world. Her fault for putting her on duty last night. Her fault for the attack. Her fault for changing.

A sob caught in Trista's throat as she recalled the Knight of her childhood. Knight with the amazing fairy tales that somehow always involved a person with a name strikingly similar to Trista's. Knight who would sing all sort of songs, from haunting Old English ballads and bouncy pop songs. Knight who always listened to the lonely woes of a little girl. Knight who could do nothing wrong.

Damn Knight for being such a bloody coward! More tears slipped down Trista's cheeks. Never leave me. You said you'd never leave me. Never. Why aren't you here? Why? Come back!

Trista was not sure whether she sent the call to the living or the dead. The added confusion was more fuel for her tears. Swaddled in private grief, Trista wept into her pillow until her chest ached for breath. She tried to wipe her eyes on her sleeve, but stopped when a burst of pain from her arm made her eyes water ominously. Self-pity threatened to suck her under again.

"Are you okay?" To Trista, the bassist's voice was unmistakeable.

Trista instinctively buried her face into her pillow. She was moments away from proving that, in some cases, humiliation did lead to death. Trying to not appear infantile, she wiped her face in her pillow.

"I'm fine," she told Mike.

"You don't sound okay." His voice was soothing.

"It's nothing. Just me being a girl. Blubberin' all over the place." Trista kept her eyes rooted to the wall, and her back to Mike.

"Anything I can do? You could talk it out. I won't tell nobody," he said.

"Roadie problems aren't anything of your concern. I'll be getting along just fine, in a moment, thank you very much."

A long silence preceded Mike's receding steps.

A dry sob closed off Trista's throat. Damn Knight and her rules! It's like she's controlling my mind.

Wildly, she sat bolt upright. Trista had to stop the cycle of grief, tears, and rage. She was going to confront Knight. Trista's face contorted as she used her bad arm to get off the bunk. She paused to run a hand through her tangled hair. She needed to look sane so Knight would take her seriously.

After a few minutes of searching, Trista found Knight in the common room, presiding over the snacking roadies. Someone had obviously asked her to continue her tale, for she lounged against a wall and was speaking. Trista slipped in the door and snagged a plastic cup, filling it from a water cooler as she listened in on the story.

"—got pretty insulted over that one. So, off he goes with her dogs and she goes with her new boyfriend. She gets upset, 'cause she wants her dogs. Of course, the boyfriend, he knows he's gotta go get them. He goes after Gawain, and tries to get the dogs back.

"Gawain says, 'You had a good idea back there. Let's call the dogs this time, and whoever they go to, they stay with.' So, they each call the dogs, and guess where they go? Right back to Gawain. What does it tell you if your mutts are more loyal than your wife? It didn't sit to well with Gawain, he was right pissed off.

"Meanwhile," Knight coughed to clear her throat, "the broad freaks out. She's not going nowhere unless she gets her dogs back. So, it's a bit of a stalemate. Being as he's really intelligent, the boyfriend decides he's going to attack Gawain and then take the dogs. Now, Gawain isn't all in armour, but this other guy is. I guess he—the boyfriend—figured that being in armour would cancel out the fact that Gawain was the best there was."

Trista's forced herself to take a large swallow of the overly-chlorinated water. She had not heard this legend when she was young. Knight had waited until Trista was older. A few years had not stopped Trista from hating the next part of the tale.

"They get up on their horses, whip out their lances, and charge at each other. The boyfriend's lance busts, but Gawain's doesn't. The boyfriend gets blasted out of the saddle, and lands in the mud. He loses automatically."

The sardonic glint in Knight's yellow eyes sent a shiver through Trista's spine. She likes it. She actually likes this part.

"Gawain drops his lance into the mud. He swings off his horse and unsheathes his sword. He stands over the boyfriend, and lifts up the sword. The boyfriend raises his hands saying that he surrenders and offers himself as prisoner to Gawain. He begs for mercy. That's the way honourable tradition goes.

"Instead, down comes Gawain's sword—it's so sharp it actually screams in the wind. The flat of the sword, not the edges, slams into the side of the man's helmet. Gawain does it again, and again, but the boyfriend's still conscious.

"So, Gawain lifts up his sword and then brings it down. He drops to his knees to get every last drop of speed. The butt end of the sword—they call it the pommel—smashes into the man's helmet. It makes a huge dent, and he's flat out." Knight's eyes coldly surveyed her enthralled audience. "Then, Gawain gets up and drives the business end of his sword into the man's side. Right through the armour. It's not for mercy; it's meant to wound him forever, so he can't fight ever again." Knight paused again, letting the act of violence sink in.

"Gawain's wife comes running over. She's gushing over him and pawing at him, saying how worried she was for him. He ignores her and gets on his horse. He knows she wanted to see some action, that she was bored with him. He knows that she chose some random prick over him, her husband. So, he whistles to his dogs and rides off. And what happened to her and her new boyfriend, nobody knows."

A stunned silence choked the air. Knight's bandana fluttered as she snorted derisively. "Any questions?"

"If Gawain was the best knight, why'd he break tradition?" asked Keely. "Aren't knights supposed to be honourable and good?"

"Says who?" Knight retorted.

Keely's perplexed expression matched that of many others in the room. "Well, isn't a knight supposed to keep to some sort of moral code?"

"They're supposed to. But they've all got what the storytellers call 'a tragic flaw'. He's only a man." Knight sipped from her cup.

"That's a stupid story," someone grumbled.

"Stupid?" Knight's voice sharpened. "Why? Because the hero isn't perfect? We're all grownups here. It shouldn't be a newsflash to you. Not everybody's story ends nicely. None of us are millionaires. None of us have our ideal life, I dare say."

"But Gawain could have tried to forgive his wife. He could have stopped being wrapped up in himself and paid attention to her. I bet she didn't get bored in one day. It had to take a while," Trista challenged.


"Which is why we have to continually keep an eye on what we're doing. It's amazing how many people don't know that they're doin' a botch job until something major happens. That means, I want everyone to double check whatever you do today." That said, Knight disappeared out of the room.

God, is work all she thinks about now? She totally missed that hint.

Trista disgustedly tossed her cup in the trash before she following after Knight. The older woman was already partway down the hall by the time Trista exited the door. Trying to push back the twinges of fear, Trista scurried after Knight.

She caught up to Knight just as she put her hand on the door to the parking lot. "Hey. We need to talk," Trista said firmly.

"Right now?" Knight's icy stare was enough to make Trista cringe inwardly.

"Not at all would work better for you?" Trista shot weakly.

Knight's brows furrowed and she leaned on the door with her arms crossed. "Do you have a problem?"

"Yeah. I do."

This is hard. I can't think of anything!

"Well, spit it out," Knight drawled. Trista stammered, trying to summon up enough strength to attack. "Today would be good," Knight prodded, scattering all of Trista's stockpiled courage.

"You don't give a shit about me," Trista blurted. "I'm like your dog or something that you really didn't want. You make sure I've got all the necessities, take me to get fixed up, and basically let me wander around. Unless, I'm doing something you don't like, in which case you come down on me like a ton of bloody rocks."

"If I didn't give a shit about you, you'd be in a foster home right now. You're right, I never asked for you. You probably never asked for me. We're stuck with each other. I'm doing the best I can. I thought you'd be able to manage without me holding your hand." Knight's tone was level, without heat.

You don't even care right now, do you?

"I don't want a hand holder! I want you to listen when I'm trying to tell you something. I want you to—arrgh!" Trista ground her teeth together in frustration. "I can't tell you this stuff. You're just supposed to know it! It's like basic human whatevers! What happened since the start of this tour that's made you so screwed up? You treat me like I'm just some employee. Then, these last few days, you've been treating me like we've never met!"

"You are one of my employees. I have to do it to be fair to everyone else."

"You're not the same, even from a month ago. You just scowl and bark at me, at everybody. Look at the story you told everybody. You know happier ones. What is your problem?" Inwardly, Trista trembled at her own boldness.

"Sometimes the hero isn't perfect," Knight said flatly. "Get over it Trista. The world is a hellhole, and it's not going to get much better. I don't know how to be a parent. They don't teach you that. I never learned. I'm sorry if I'm failing, but it's the best I can do right now."

"It's not good enough!" Trista spat.

"Look around you, how many kids your age still rely on their parents?" Knight demanded.

"That's not fair," Trista cried. "This is different."

"Everybody thinks they're different."

Does nothing touch you? Why won't you just be human for once!

"I... I hate you!" Trista snarled.

Not even the faintest glimmer of pain appeared in Knight's eyes. "And what am I supposed to about that?" Emotionlessly, she stepped outside.

Feeling like she had just attacked herself instead of Knight, Trista wandered away from the door. She spasmodically clenched her fingers to keep herself from chewing on the nails.

I hate you. That was supposed to get some sort of response. Something. And you still don't care. You didn't even yell back. All you did is the same thing you always do. Make me feel like garbage. I hate you now. I do. I. Hate. You.

Feeling a bit like a vermin, Trista slunk down the maze of hallways. She had no destination, just a need to keep moving. Following with the hiding instinct, she kept her eyes on the floor.

Rounding yet another corner, Trista came face to face with Nick. He put up his hands to stop her but stepped back so they would not collide.

One of his brown eyes narrowed suspiciously and his opposite eyebrow lifted. "What are you doin'?" he asked.

Feeling the last of her resolve begin to crumble, Trista drew herself up regally. "None of your business."

Nick's head lolled to one side. "C'mon. Tris, you're up to something." A smirk curved his lips as Trista stuttered. "If you weren't you'd have an excuse by now," he told her.

"I'm just walking around," she mumbled.

"Because why?" he asked.

Any way she phrased it, her explanation was lame. "I got into a fight with Knight. I wanted to piss her off, and it didn't work."

"So, you had a little suicidal moment," he said ironically.

A fleeting moment of admiration for the way his mottled hair lay in dishevelled tufts seized her. A blush tainted her cheeks as she realized Nick was staring at her, patiently waiting.

"So, how did you plan to piss her off?" he teased.

"I told her I was going to tie you to one of the catwalks and... ." Trista's flirting bravado spluttered out.

"If that would piss her off, I'm up for it." The dangerous emotions slithering under his words made Trista's skin prickle.

"Uh, well, she likes you. So, she'd probably be pleased if that happened," Trista said.

"She likes me?" Nick rolled his eyes. "Since when is trying to knife someone a sign of affection?"

"You pulled the knife first." Even deep in resentment, Trista sprang to Knight's defence.

Nick worked his jaw unhappily. "How's the arm?" he asked curtly.

The phrase, brief as it was, snapped Trista's mental dam. Tears instantly burned at the corners of her eyes. Screwing up her face, she ducked her head in a vain attempt to hide her emotions.

"Tris? What's the matter? What did I say? Tris?" Nick's voice, full of genuine sympathy, only fractured her control further.

Trista shook her head and cowered against the smooth wall, trying to make the tears stop. Nick's shoulder settled just inches from her raised hands as he leaned against the wall. "Hey. C'mon. Tell me." He bent his knees so he could look her in the eyes.

His hand rose to take her fingers away from the wall, but stopped just short of contact. The attempt at comfort was exactly what Trista sought. Without any idea what her actions might mean, she stepped forward to burrow her face against his shoulder.

As soon as her face touched his cigarette-scented shirt, both of them tensed. A second later, she was weeping on his shoulder and his hands were resting lightly on her back. Like a lost child, Trista placed her arms around his neck and he drew her instinctively into a hug. The action was incredibly natural. Trista felt slight amazement at how whole and solid—despite his wiry frame—he felt.

His voice dripped into a soothing croon, easing the ache in her chest. "It's alright. It's alright. Tris, you're fine. It's just a scratch. Believe me, I've had worse. It's alright. It's gonna be okay. You'll be fine."

His long fingers squeezed her ribs gently and nudged her away from the wall. "C'mon. Let's go somewhere where people aren't goin' t'gawk and say shit."

With his arm around her shoulders, he escorted her back to her bunk. He sat down beside her, close enough to be nearly touching.

"I really hope that wasn't all about a scratch. Was it?"

Trista's lower lip trembled; she bit it to hold it steady. Nick looked down at the palms of his hands.

"It was about Knight," he said. Trista was not able to reply. "If you want to talk, I guess I can... sit here, or whatever. Your call."

"I don't like you!" Trista complained.

A grin appeared on Nick's face. "I never said you did and I never asked you to."

Trista wiped her eyes on her sleeve. "Smug bugger," she mumbled. "Now I owe you one."

Nick's laugh was enough to bring a tremulous smile to her face. "Are you tryin' to tell me something?" he asked.

Trista swallowed a lump in her throat. For a long moment she studied Nick: his calico blue black hair, his piercing, the warmth at the corners of his lips, the ever-changing eyes. Abruptly, she looked away, covering up a faked cough with her hand. After the faux-coughing fit, she stared fixedly at her shoes.

"It's like I'm just a chunk of equipment," she muttered unhappily. "I was broken, got repaired, and now I'm left to my job... She wasn't always like this. She sometimes used to make cracks. But I can't help feeling as if I've done something wrong and she's mad at me. There's this wall that she's behind."

"She's the ice bitch. Welcome to the blizzard. You can't expect her to be nice," Nick said.

"She used to be nice, that's the issue. She changed, and gotten a lot worse these last few days." Trista twisted her fingers together. "You wouldn't notice, but I have."

"I don't think that it's fixable," Nick said slowly.

"I didn't think so." Trista sighed and shook her head. "So, what do I owe you?"

"Thank you's good enough," he muttered dismissively. "I didn't do it for a reward. I was just trying to be nice because you needed it. Learned that lesson."

"What do you mean?"

Nick rolled his eyes. "My ex-girlfriend was always bitching at me because I was never nice to her unless I wanted to get laid. Well, if I wasn't nice to her, she wasn't ever nice to me either. She always ragged on me for never being nice. Well, she wasn't exactly someone that you wanted to be nice to," he grumbled to himself. "So, I'll just take the thank-you. Doesn't come with strings attached."

"No. I don't want to do just that. Then, things... " she trailed off uncertainly, "get weird."

"So, if I name my fee, you'll feel okay?" he asked carefully.

Sensing a trap, Trista frowned. "It can't be something that means I have to clean up after you for months on end or do your work for you. And I'm not buying you a motorbike or some such. And I'm most definitely not going to let you 'have your way with me'."

Nick ran his tongue over his teeth, grinning evilly. "Okay. I've got it."

Trista crossed her arms, waiting for an impossible demand. "Make it quick then."

"The next time you're thinking about kissing me, like you were a few seconds ago, you have to do it," he said smugly.

"What? I was not! No way! Forget it. Pick something else," Trista stated indignantly. "That's just as bad as the 'way with me' thing."

Nick's eyes twinkled with mischievous intent. "No. I've made up my mind."

"So have I," Trista snapped. "You're not getting that."

"What if I take it?" he challenged. "When you're not looking?"

"Then you'll be getting one hell of a slap," Trista retorted.

"You want to. I'm not stupid," he teased. "I'm not going to stop ragging on you 'til you admit it."

"Fine. I admit it. I thought about it. I'm sleep-deprived, not thinking rationally," Trista explained. "I was just thinking about how much I wanted to eat fish heads as well."

"I'm not askin' you to get your freak on. I left you a major loophole in that respect. Why don't you take it?" Nick wheedled.

"I don't feel like kissing you," Trista replied smartly.

Nick leaned over and cheerfully bumped shoulders with her. "I know. I can wait. It won't be long." He gave her knee playful squeeze, making her nerves jangle like she had struck her funny bone.

"Hey!" she squalled, pulling up her knee and swatting at his arm.

Due to her one useless arm, Trista was unable to keep her balance and rocked back. Presently, she found herself with Nick leaning above her and his hand on her knee. His playful expression dissipated almost instantaneously. Like she was made of hot steel, he jerked away.

Swiftly, he rose off of the bunk and stood in the aisle facing her. He jammed his hands into his pockets and hunched over unnaturally. All the blood had drained from his face, leaving it unhealthily pale.

"I think that's enough for one day." A slight slur affected the smoothness of his tone. "I've got to go back an' move a few trunks or Landon'll kick my ass." Still hunched over oddly, he ambled off the bus.

Blushing hot with shame and embarrassment, Trista smacked her palm against her forehead. That's what you call uncomfortable. Is there nobody on this entire tour that I can get only with normally? she asked herself.