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cjs_own2010-03-12 06:45 am
katydidmischief) wrote in cjs_own2010-03-12 06:45 am
Fic: On the Corner (of First and Amistad), 1/1. Zach/Chris.
disclaimer. Not mine and none of the events described here in have any basis in reality.
title. On the Corner (of First and Amistad)
rating. R for Content
pairing. Zach/Chris
summary. Zach, the thirty-year old who's been there for so many years now the cops don't even waste the energy to bring him in.
warnings. AU - Hooker!Zach, mentions of drug use and abuse.
The furniture sucks, half of it found on goodwill and other pieces salvaged from curbsides, and his refrigerator is sparsely filled with an amalgamation of leftover takeout, microwaveable meals, and bottles of water. He doesn't ever think about the clothing now mostly threadbare in his closet or the letters sitting on his kitchen table still unread. His mother found his address and God knows how she did that, but he never answers, just reads the letters, marks them return to sender and tries to forget the clusterfuck his life has become.
Seriously, this was not the plan, living in a crappy studio with two strays and selling his body in order to pay rent and feed the three of them. He was supposed to get to LA, and, okay, he'd figured then that there'd be some struggling, but he'd expected to get some work. A commercial, a guest spot on some Disney show, maybe a bit part in a Theater production – something – that'd pay; instead, Zach had heard the words, "I'm sorry, but you're just not what we're looking for," over and over in various ways until his agent had dropped him and Zach had just stopped trying.
He grimaces at the thought, trying to push it away because there's nothing he can do about the past: it's done and over and it fucking sucks, but he's not crawling home to his mother to disappoint her. He's not calling her to beg for money because he can't even find work as a fucking cashier (he's tried. Fuck, but he's applied for every job he could possibly qualify for) and he certainly can't call Joe, doesn't even know where his brother is.
It's been a long night; he shifts on his feet, glancing up at the stars as he adjusts his peacoat collar and wipes ineffectually at the splotch of white on his jeans, wondering if he should simply give up and head for home. He has enough for rent, though he won't be able to afford much in the way of groceries and he won't be able to afford a damn thing from Goodwill to replace the clothing he's had ripped or stained on him, but it's cold out tonight and... Well, most of the Johns are more apt to go for Anton, the skinny twenty-year old, then Zach, the thirty-year old who's been there for so many years now the cops don't even waste the energy to bring him in.
A car slings up the block as he makes the decision to go short this month; he makes it a handful of steps away from his corner when the car stops beside him, and young man waves him over through the open passenger side window.
He's got that golden brown hair that Zach's always wanted and blue eyes that sparkle and it takes about four seconds for Zach to realize who he's looking at: Chris Pine, the new media darling according to his friends. What the guy is doing on this side of the tracks trawling for a hooker is beyond Zach – surely Chris could have his pick of cute starstruck fans.
Quinto leans in anyway, his forehead leaning against the top rim of the door. "Hi," he purrs, hoping Chris' bank account is as amazing as his acting.
Chris seems unsure of himself and Zach smiles internally at the discomfort. He's seen so many kids come through here in the last few years fumbling to ask how much he charges, where they go, how this works, that it's nothing new or annoying. It's actually somewhat endearing when some young kid picks him for their first misdemeanor, a reminder that perhaps Zach still has some beauty left in him, though he never does see it in the mirror.
"It's four hundred an hour," Zach replies once Chris manages to get the question out.
"And the whole night?"
Zach's eyebrows rise toward his hairline: no one has ever asked for an entire night with him. Two hours, sure, but not the whole night. He shrugs, glancing down at the book in Chris' front seat – War & Peace, surprising Zach – and says, "Twelve hundred?"
Pine nods in agreement and says, "Get in," before he slides the book into his hands, setting it gently into the backseat. He pops the door in the next moment, waiting until Zach is in the car with his seatbelt on to roll it up and put the car in gear.
"So..." Chris says, "where am I going?"
Zach just points straight ahead. "Two traffic lights, right turn at the third, and the motel is on the left," he explains, reaching into his back pocket for the fake ID he really doesn't need to give the clerk – the kid knows Zach's real name – but he clasps it in his hand all the same as Chris drives silently.
Rather, he drives silently until they reach the third traffic light and Chris must find the courage to ask, "How'd you end up.."
"A hooker? Prostitute? Rentboy?" Zach tosses out the words easily. He long ago stopped feeling anything but numb when he was working the streets and it doesn't hurt now to call himself those terms the way it once had.
"Yes."
Quinto shrugs. "I came out here to try my hand at TV and movies – failed spectacularly. And no decent job wants to hire a kid with no job history and a Theater Arts degree." He looks out the window as they pull in to the motel's disintegrating parking lot, admitting, "Lived in a shelter for a while, but when they kick you out, there's nothing left to do then this if you want to keep eating."
;;
Zach's not usually the type to fall asleep after being fucked into the mattress; he'd made the mistake of doing so once and woke up tied to a bedpost, sans the cash in his wallet and the eventual embarrassment of being released by a cleaning lady who'd spoken little English (he now knew her name was Felipa, she was a mother of three, and lived two blocks from him). He's too experienced to do so anyway, too used to sex to be blown away by whatever his John thinks could awe him. Oh, he'll moan and cry out like he's enjoying it, but it's all for show, all to make his client feel he deserves the money they're giving him.
Apparently, though, Chris Pine caught him on an off day because Zach's definitely half-asleep, crashed out on the pillows and uncaring about the pool of his own come drying on the comforter beneath him.
"Wakey, wakey," Chris whispers in his ear. One hand falls on Zach's ass as he crawls over the man, telling him, "I'd let you sleep longer, but I have a long drive home and an early call."
Zach nods. "Yeah, I got it," he says, pushing himself upright on the stained and dirtied comforter before sliding to his feet to pad toward the bathroom. There, he refuses to look in the mirror as he stretches, popping vertebrae and knuckles, toes, and knees; he turns the shower on, jumping in to the cold water.
Scrubbing off the lube and come from his thighs, he doesn't hear the door open, doesn't hear the drop of clothing onto the scummy counter top across from the tub. He does, however, notice when Chris draws back the plastic curtain to grin at Zach, telling him, "Saves time if we shower together," which makes Zach uncomfortable for a moment. He has to fight the fluttery feeling in his gut as he nods at Chris and makes space for Pine under the spray.
Like the car ride six hours earlier, Chris is silent for the most part until he turns and casts a quizzical look at Zach, asking, "Are you out there every night?"
"Have to be – some nights I get no one, some nights I have two or three people. And there are a couple of regulars who come around a couple of times a month," he answers. "Never know when they're going show up since the economy started failing."
Chris nods, grabbing for the soap in Zach's hand, and says nothing else during the course of their shower. He continues to say nothing as they dress and settle up with the front desk, as Chris hands over ten crisp one-hundred dollar bills after driving Zach back to his corner. But as Zach opens the car door, slipping from the seat with a grace no man should have, Chris speaks.
"See you around."
"You too, Captain Kirk." Zach smirks as he closes the door and slinks away into the dim morning light.
;;
Anton gets beaten up the next night by some bodybuilding ape of a man who'd wanted a fuck without paying for it, and Zach tries to tend to him as best he can. It's not like this job comes with health insurance; they'll get tossed out on their asses if they try going to the ER, so it's Zach and his high school first aid class to tide Anton over until morning when the free clinic opens.
"You don't have to come with me," Anton tells him as the alarm clock begins to buzz. Quinto slaps the off button and continues searching through the clean clothing pile on his bed for something to wear that doesn't scream 'I get paid to have sex with men and women for a living' – he'd gone once in his street clothes and they'd ignored him for hours.
"Oh, I'm definitely going with you. I don't trust you won't fall down somewhere and break your neck," Zach spits back, still angry about finding the kid on his front stoop where at least one of his neighbors had to have seen him and left him, unconscious, on the concrete. He yanks at something blue in the pile out of fury and comes up with his blue plain button down which'll do nicely for the clinic.
"Dude, I must have a head injury because I'm not even going to complain about that shirt."
"Not a head injury. That's subconscious jealousy since you don't have a shirt this handsome," Zach responds. He pulls Anton to his feet, steadying him with both hands on Anton's shoulders as he sways for the first few seconds; it doesn't bode well that the kid is still dizzy nearly eight hours later.
Zach does not look forward to forcing him to negotiate the stairs; he wishes, for the first time, that he didn't live on the fifth floor of a walk up.
They get to the clinic after some stumbling, much cursing and a lot of Zach bearing Anton's weight to find the place won't open for another hour due to the holiday. It starts another bout of cursing from Zach who's definitely not carrying Anton back to the apartment after lugging him all the way here – his knees are going to be killing him tonight as it is – so once his tirade of insults against various peoples' mothers ends, he helps Anton to sit on the sidewalk, their backs to the door so no one can dare claim to have not seen them.
Zach's just getting comfortable on the cold concrete when Anton asks, "So Kristen said you got an all-nighter two days ago. A special all-nighter."
The eye roll is involuntary. "Is there nothing sacred in my life?"
"Not when Kristen knows about it – if you really were an actor, I swear the entire internet would know about you and Chris 'look at the bulge in my pants' Pine." He grins. "Is he as big as he looks in pictures?"
Quinto groans, banging his head back into the door. "I hate you."
"No, you don't. You love me!" The kid's cackle is somehow endearing, but Zach shoves at Anton's shoulder like a brother would anyway; he's not sure when the kid became such an integral part of his life, or when Kristen did, but they're the closest thing to family he's got.
"Good thing I do, too, or you'd have woken up on my steps this morning with frost on your nose."
Anton nods. "Yeah, yeah. Stop trying to change the subject: how was Pine?"
Zach tells him the only thing he can, as much as he knows it'll only result in more questions – the truth. "He was nervous, but I passed out for a little while there so clearly nerves didn't detract from the marvel of that experience."
"You passed out? Seriously?" Anton asks, slightly amazed because of everyone, Zach's always the most careful, always the one lecturing the kids who came through about the dangers of the Johns who bought their time. He says, "Wow," after a pause, smirking as best he can with his lower lip split in two places. "How much he pay you?"
"Why? You going to try to hook him next time?"
Anton's eyes glint at him, the smirk a tease.
"Twelve hundred for six hours," Zach answers, "and you should be grateful because when they make me take you to the clinic on the other side of the city for bloodwork so we know your ass doesn't have AIDS, you won't have to beg for money from Andy."
The name of Anton's pimp – the one Zach had once answered to, the one he'd fought to get the hell away from after seeing other kids come back broken and bloodied – ends the smiles and turns them to a sharp scowl. Anton doesn't like to be reminded of the deal he'd made with the devil, nor that for every time he has to go beg from the man, his repayment is painful and degrading.
He nods once the chafe of Andy's name passes, because he is grateful: Zach's taken care of him a dozen times over since Anton had appeared on that corner. He hesitates to think how long ago he might have died if not for the generous nature of a man with so little to give away and hopes like hell that one day, he will have the ability to pay Zach back for everything he's done in Anton's name.
"I am," he swears.
Zach's reply is soft, "I know," and he pats the younger man on the shoulder awkwardly, before turning his attention to the clinic door when the lock pops. "'s about time."
;;
For two days, Zach locks himself, Anton, and Kristen into his apartment: the kid shouldn't be traipsing all over town doing acrobatics if he wants the sprains to heal and Zach wants Kris where he can see her given how she's been acting lately. Her moods are all over the place, making him wonder which of her idiot Johns didn't use the fucking condom and how much it's going to cost to abort.
"I have to go out tonight," he tells them over dinner, trying desperately to not stare at the flat of Kristen's belly while calculating expenses in his head.
Anton nods dumbly, still a little woozy from the pills Zach had bought from a dealer a couple of streets down to help the kid deal with the pain in his back. He's healing well, at least as far as Zach can tell – walking more, able to balance himself despite both ankles being fucked up, and and he's eating better, not passing any blood – but Zach's not letting him go back to hooking until he can throw a good punch again.
"Krissy," he says sweetly, gut churning,"do you need to go out tonight?"
She sighs. "I should. Andy cleared me out of every cent, said I shorted him last time he came to collect." Kristen twists her hand in her hair, elbow on the table, looking weary and drawn, so unlike her usual bubbly self that it hurts Zach.
Quinto makes a contemplative face, pretending to be weighing an idea; it's a farce, one that they've played out only too well over the years. She knows he's already made an executive decision, he knows that she's well aware that he's made that decision, but it makes them both feel better to act like it's a mutual one she's had some say in.
"Stay in. I'm not too convinced about how steady he his on his feet and Noah would like the company, I think," he says.
Bell nods. "Okay. Rent was paid up before he came over, so it's not urgent."
The safety of his dearest friends settled for this night at least, Zach pushes away from the table and heads into his bedroom to pour over clothing choices. As always, his age is at the forefront of his mind as he picks through the pile, discarding the respectable pieces for the darker, sexier cuts.
He doesn't dress like Anton does – torn jeans, stained converse, and muscle shirts – or wear low cuts like Kristen does. No, Zach tends toward black skinny jeans and fitted tee shirts, his peacoat in the colder months. Sometimes he slicks his hair back, sometimes to the side, and sometimes he steals Krissy's sunglasses, wearing them to add to the dark, forbidden feeling that comes along with being bought for sex. He does have some illicit looking things – a top that's sheer, jeans that are threadbare in the crotch and one rough session away from being garbage, shorts that cling to his ass in all the right places. Those are the things he saves for when he's desperate, when there haven't been enough men or women looking for a romp with a thirty-something, and he needs someone to look twice at him.
Tonight, he's not itching that badly for the money, so he yanks on his usual outfit and shrugs on his peacoat, popping the collar as he eyes Kristen's sunglasses which causes her to smile, pull them against her chest in a protective gesture. "Nuh, uh. These babies are mine!"
Zach smiles back, a bit happier that her mood's swung back toward normal, and grabs his keys from the table. "You kids be good."
"Yes, dad!" They answer in unison as the door closes behind him.
;;
He's just gotten to the corner when he sees a familiar car begin to roll down the street. The windows, this time, are up and Zach approves: there really is no reason to roll down tinted windows unless you're trying to get noticed and here, that's just a bad idea. Especially for an actor like Chris Pine.
It rolls to a stop in front of Zach, there's a pause, and then the window opens and Zach leans in the same as he did last time. "Hello again," he smiles, surprised and genuinely glad to see Chris again – regulars mean less worry about money, mean less worries about safety.
"Hi." Chris grins. "You available for another night?"
Zach nods, but doesn't open the door yet. "Price has gone up though," he warns, hoping Chris is open to paying a little more for the wonder that is Zach's body for two more hours then he got last time. "Sixteen hundred to have me til dawn."
"'s fine," Pine answers and tosses his bag into the backseat so Zach can get in, watching as he buckles in. The window closes, but Chris doesn't lock the doors. "You okay if we drive around for a while first?" he asks skittishly, as though expecting Zach to flee and ordinarily he would, but, oddly, Zach nods in agreement rather than running for the fucking hills.
Chris' car has a smooth ride, something Zach hadn't noticed the last time; the engine is a low purr, it comes to a stop in a slow, soft roll that's half Chris' driving technique and half the car itself. The seats are soft, buttery leather that's more comfortable then his own bed, and Zach's almost tempted to ask if they can go find a quiet place to fuck in the car because of it.
He's so lost in the beauty of the ride, that Zach nearly misses Chris' question altogether. "I didn't catch that," he apologizes, cocking his head toward the other man as he's asked if he has any family; he hesitates to answer. The last two people who'd asked him that had then wanted to help him track down his brother or his mother. They'd wanted to save him and Zach hadn't been then, and isn't now, ready to be saved.
Still, there's this draw with Chris, this feeling in his chest that says to trust the guy so Zach does, begrudgingly telling him, "Mom's in Pennsylvania – Pittsburgh – and I have an older brother. Not really sure where he is now. He could very well be in LA for all I know."
"Did they love you?"
"I think so."
Chris seems to hem and haw on the next inquiry, and Zach knows what he's about to be asked. He decides to cut it off at the knees.
"I floundered out here for a long time," he says, "Spent several months trying to keep my head above the proverbial water, but I figured out after a while that the moribundity of my career was right in front of me and by that point I could barely buy a burger from McDonald's, let alone a plane ticket."
"Your mom didn't know you were struggling?"
Zach doesn't know why he feels compulsed to answer that question when the last is the line he normally stops at with his own friends. "No, kept telling her I was doing great, going to auditions, getting callbacks. She probably knew I was lying – mothers are ridiculously intuitive – but she never called me on it and I didn't want to disappoint her."
He expects this will be the part where Chris will ask 'would you go home if you could?' or something equally cheesy and moronic, only to be pleasantly surprised when Chris mutters, "Okay," and steers them toward the motel.
;;
It's a deviation from the norm, driving him around like a chauffer would Paris Hilton before they crawl onto an uncomfortable mattress with Chris fucking into Zach in hard, measured thrusts, but Zach is shocked to discover that he likes it. He likes knowing that every three days, Chris will show up with a book in his front seat and enough money to take care of Anton and Kristen and the pets, and that they'll spent an hour just driving around LA while Chris asks questions that Zach answers.
He still wonders what Chris' motive is, but when he and Kristen walk into the Planned Parenthood to rid her of the parasite growing in her belly (her terminology, the only way she can do what needs to be done and still maintain her sanity about it), he doesn't particularly care.
;;
Zach keeps his crummy apartment even though Chris' money makes it possible to move somewhere safer with dependable heating and consistent hot water; when Kristen asks why one morning, holding onto Noah's leash as he sniffs at the only patch of grass in a one-mile radius, he explains, "One day, he's going to get photographed picking up a hooker and I'm sure his PR people will write it off as meeting a friend who's down on his luck or something heartrending like that, and he's going to realize it's not a good idea to be seen in this place.
"Why am I going to move to some place I will eventually be unable to afford? Besides, if I ever moved, I'd have to bring you and the kid with me and until I can get Andy's lecherous paws off of you two, that's not happening."
It's the biggest admittance of love from Zach in years; he'd once been quite casual with his affections, touching and kissing and giving pet names to his friends. Then they'd gotten wind of what he did to try to survive and Zach had learned that friendliness and partiality got him no where – he'd shut off that part of himself in order to keep going.
She gives him a sad smile. "One day," Kristin says, "me, you, and him. We'll make our own family. A big old dysfunctional one that'll freak out the normals."
Zach laughs, then stops abruptly as he sees Andy, enraged and backed up by two of his drug-dealing friends. They're approaching with purpose; Zach yanks Kristen behind him, silently orders Noah to protect her if need be, and when they're within ear shot, asks, "The hell do you want?"
"This has nothin' to do with you, faggot," Andy shoots back and makes a grab for Kristen, causing Zach to step backward.
He nearly falls over her, but Zach keeps himself on his feet in an almost inhumanely graceful manner and Noah begins to growl, lifting his lip at the goon that's too close to Kristen. The idiot backs up to Zach's delight – clearly his pup knows just who in this situation needs to be kept at bay – and Zach asks again, "What the hell do you want, Andy?"
"Bitch owes me! It's fucking pay up day and she can't since you've been keeping her in that cheap ass apartment of yours with the twink, so I'm taking her to get me my money." He makes another grab for Kristen as he speaks, making Zach lift a hand that causing Andy to recoil. They'd gone toe to toe once, just Andy and Zach, and Zach had won not only his freedom from the pimp but the fear of the guy too. It keeps Andy in check, keeps him away from the apartment, and keeps Anton and Kristen safe since Andy knows Quinto, if pushed, would kill for them.
"You'll get your money," Zach tells him in a low growl, fingers twisted in Andy's shirt.
"When?"
"Tonight. I'll bring it to you," he swears, "in front of the CVS. Before dark." Zach's not stupid enough to do a hand over anywhere else but in a brightly lit public place: Andy won't touch him, but there's no doubt in his mind that Andy's cohorts would love to take a shot at him.
Andy nods, shoves away from Zach and tosses a leer at Kristen before walking away.
Which, of course, is when he realizes what day it is.
;;
Kristen is jittery as she watches the street, bouncing her foot while she waits. She's seen the car a number of times now – hell, she's even seen Chris Pine right up close – so it's not the fear of missing him that's got her worked up. It's the fear of what could happen to Zach tonight combined with the self-loathing that she's the one that's put him in a position to potentially be harmed.
She bangs her head into her hand, annoyed with herself beyond words that she's once again depended on Zach's loyalty to her to keep her from being abused by Andy's dealers, the ones who use her like a toy and throw her away before giving Andy the drugs he would have bought with the money she collected.
Anton, thankfully, will be spared that horror since the kid finally went back to hooking days ago, managing to get together what he owes Andy in a short amount of time; Kristen's just been too tired after the abortion, and too sad, to do it herself.
The squeak of tires as a car pulls onto the street grabs her attention, but it's not Chris so she returns to her self-flagellation until a pair of shoes appears in her downward-cast view. She startles at first, shaken that she'd let herself that far into her thoughts so as to have allowed someone into her personal space, then her gaze travels up, over expensive jeans and a soft shirt cover in an ugly blue cardigan until she's looking into Pine's eyes through thick-rimmed glasses.
"Hi," she squeaks, somewhat awestruck. Seriously, it's LA and she's serviced a fair number of stars, so she shouldn't be so dumbfounded by seeing yet another one. This one is special though, because he's Zach's, her mind points out.
"Hi," he greets, smiling brightly.
She sees why Zach was drawn in if that's the grin that he sees every three days – who wouldn't want to be with a guy who can make you feel at ease in ten seconds with a grin and easygoing blue eyes? The rough, silky voice doesn't hurt either. Then he sits next to her like an old friend, like a person who doesn't look down on her and she wishes like hell she'd been the first person to meet Chris, not Zach, because clearly this guy has a hell of a lot more respect in him then most of the Johns.
"You must be Anne." He leans forward a little, putting his arms on his bent knees, and says, "Quinn talks about you a lot."
She makes a mental note to smack Zach around the next time she sees him for giving out a name so very close to his own this time; he never uses the same name twice, everyone calling him something different and she doesn't know how he keeps track of them all, while she sometimes has trouble with her one. He also never gives out anything close to his.
Except apparently with Chris.
"And you must be the infamous Mr. Pine," she says, a tired smile curving her lips. "Quinn wanted me to apologize to you for not being here tonight."
"Is he okay?"
She nods and shrugs her shoulders, hoping ambiguity will deter him. "He's taking care of something for me and he didn't realize until he made the promise that tonight was one of your nights."
Chris' expression goes shaded for a moment. "And he sent you to take care of me?" One eyebrow goes up as if the answer to the question makes a decision for him and it's so like Zach that she almost laughs – no wonder her boy likes this guy so much, they're practically cut from the same cloth.
"No, just the message and a," she puts up air quotes, "sincere apology."
He laughs, clearly amused, and when he stops, he gives her a casual smile. "Well, how about I wait here with you until he gets back?" he offers, stretching out his legs before tucking them back onto the step and putting his back to the rail: he's making himself comfortable.
Kristen is tempted for a moment to say no, because after all, it's best for Chris to not be seen out and about in this neighborhood, but Zach won't be back for a while – it's a long walk from the CVS to the corner – and she's in no rush to be by herself tonight. Anton won't be back for several hours yet, sent off by Andy to meet with some AARP-aged bigwig who likes them young and pliant, so Chris' offer means less time sitting in the cold, though it does mean no one's going to approach her while he's there.
"It's okay with me," she replies and settles in to wait.
;;
Zach looks exhausted when he gets back, his left cheek bruised and his shirt torn in several places. His lip is bloodied, his belt gone, and Kristen curses loudly at the sight of him – damnit, she knew she shouldn't have let him go alone.
"I'm fine," he tells her and then looks at Chris, the shock obvious. "You shouldn't be here," Zach declares, "Anyone with a fucking camera phone could take a picture of you."
"Wanted to make sure you were okay and from the looks of it, I was right to wait. What happened?" Chris asks, more a demand then anything else, and Kristen can tell that he's vibrating with anger that she knows isn't directed at Zach yet she still bristles.
"I was reminded that my life amounts to a series of spectacular failures," he states, then adds, "What do you think happened, Chris? I got the shit kicked out of me by two peons who wouldn't know a braincell if it bit them in the ass because I denied them something they wanted."
Pine ignores the bitterness. "Do you need a doctor?" He gestures toward the car in a silent offer.
"I need a shower," Zach sighs. "I'm... Give me some time to clean up and I'll be good to go."
Chris gives him a look of horror, as if Zach's just told him to wait while he burns a book in a ritual fire to the Devil, then its gone and he nods, "Yeah, sure," as if it's an afterthought. It throws Zach off, though he recovers quickly and sends Chris back to the car to wait the obligate forty-five minutes while he showers and changes.
Once together again, Chris is acting like himself. He drives them in square figure eights for two hours, then takes off for the motel where the world goes pear-shaped once more when Chris shoves him down onto the bed, strips him down and studies Zach's bruised body.
"Chris..." Zach murmurs when he hears the sharp intake of breath, feeling that he needs to say something to comfort this man and coming up with a lackluster, "I'm fine."
"No, you're not." Pine pulls the blankets then, tucking one edge around Zach and the other around himself, and orders, "Go to sleep."
Zach yawns. "Blow you in the morning."
"Whatever."
;;
Things change after that night and Zach doesn't know if it's for the better or for the worse.
Chris takes longer and longer to go to the motel now, driving around talking to Zach for hours until he seems to breakdown, as though trying to avoid it which confuses Zach to no end. Particularly when Chris randomly covers them in the malodorous blankets and coaxes Zach into sleep without ever fucking him. Those are the nights that turn into morning blow jobs because he just doesn't feel right taking Chris' money without giving something in return.
It goes on like that for weeks too. Zach had hoped that after some time had passed and the bruises healed, that Chris would get comfortable with him again, go back to where they'd been before that night. But it seems that something's changed between them, in Chris and in himself, that's making Chris protective while Zach's trying desperately to keep himself detached.
He can't get close, can't let himself get lost in ridiculous fantasies of a life beyond this town in a place where he can maybe see stars at night and the sound of cars, not guns, wake him up at night. It's dangerous; it makes him blur the lines between his morals, his ideals, and his method of survival and Zach cannot let it happen.
Then the night comes where Chris tells him, "Fame is contemptible," and stops the car under a street lamp with the corner mere feet ahead of them. "You never really have friends," he says, "Just people looking for something from you."
He wavers for a second, reaches into his bag and begins to count out the bills until Zach stops him with a hand. "Hey, night's not over," he tells Chris, voice soft. "Gotta let me do something for that."
Chris shakes his head. "You do more for me than you realize, Quinn."
That's when Zach knows this has gone too far.
He takes the money, splits it between Anton and Kristen, and ignores the lead feeling in his gut three nights later when he hides in his apartment with the blinds shut and the radio on to drown out the sound of his guilt. Kristen brings a message up from Chris that he's sorry and she adds that if Zach's done with him, she'll gladly take over – Zach might have the morals to not take payment from someone without an act in return, but she doesn't.
"You're being stupid," she tells him when he again lingers in his apartment long after dusk, more to keep himself controlled than an attempt to hide from Chris he tells himself. "Zach, it's sixteen hundred dollars to talk to a guy."
"One that's eventually going to want to save me." He sighs, "Krissy, I can see it in his eyes – that look like he thinks he's falling in love with me, but we both know that doesn't happen. This isn't Pretty Woman and I'm not Julia Roberts."
"No, but does that mean you have to give up a friend? Or here's an even better idea: why are you giving up a guy who could help you get the fuck out of here? He has connections, people who could hire you if Chris put in the right words with the right people."
Both of Zach's hands go up to his face, one rubbing the bridge of his nose while the other covers his eyes. "I don't even know if that's what I want to do any more..."
She's silent a moment before she looks at her wrist watch, the second hand ticking by loudly in the sudden quiet, and says, "Zach, the least you owe him is a goodbye. Give him that, so he doesn't keep coming around looking for you."
He can't argue that and goes.
;;
The motel room is dark for once, all the lights unplugged.
Zach lay with Chris, who's got one of Zach's hands in one of his own, spooned to his back. He's trying to ignore the sad feeling that's settled between them, as though this had really been a relationship that's breaking up.
It hurts.
"This is for the best," Zach tells him.
"No, it's not. You just think it is," Chris responds, his tone absent of any condescension or antagonism. A simple, neat statement of a fact that Zach can't confess to. Pine is quick to add, "You are so scared, Quinn, of anyone wanting to keep you, to love you, that you'd rather live this existence of survival."
"It's not fear, it's the reality that I don't need to be saved, Chris," he retorts.
"Who said I wanted to save you?"
The gears turn in Zach's head.
"I don't want to save you." Chris' voice is filled with vehemence; he pushes Zach onto his back and lays down atop the prone man, braced by hands on either side of Zach's head. "If you don't want to talk to your family, that's fine – it's not my place to make you have a relationship with them – and if you want to be an actor, even as fucking miserable as it can be, I'll cheer you on from the front row.
"I don't want to save you – I want to love you, and there's a difference."
Quinto looks away. "This happily ever after shit doesn't happen in real life, Chris."
"Why not?"
"Because eventually the world will find out that I spent a decade as a nearly destitute rentboy in the ghetto of LA, and I can bet they won't be as accepting as you have been." He turns his attention back to Chris, pushing a stray hair from Chris' eyes. "There's only so much people can say before you start taking it to heart. How long do you think it'd be until you started to wonder if those rumors were true?"
Chris seems to ponder this for a few seconds then leans in, kissing Zach for the first time, and when he pulls back, he tells Zach, "I would ask you if they were, and when you told me no, I'd believe you."
"You really are too much, you know that? Every word that comes out of your mouth is prose," Zach tells him, but his voice is a whisper and there's a catch in his throat and he rolls them onto their sides, feeling for a moment like he wasn't some hooker but someone's lover. He almost lets himself believe it, too, that he could be with Chris outside these walls, outside the confines of Chris' car, when Kristen and Anton pop into his mind.
"I can't leave," he whispers, "I can't leave them alone."
"Bring them with you."
Zach swallows around the sudden lump in his throat. "Can I... Can I have the day to decide?" he asks, voice cracking with the emotion he can't restrain.
"Okay," Chris agrees and closes his eyes as he drifts off.
Zach, meanwhile, lingers awake, memorizing every moment he has with Chris while exhaustion takes over and he falls asleep.
;;
They sit around the tiny living room, Anton on the floor while Zach stands with his back against a wall and Kristen splays out on the couch; none of them speak, too lost processing their thoughts to find the words to say something, anything, about the situation at hand.
It's an offer made to Zach, first and foremost, of a home and support. Someone who loves him and wants only for Zach to love him in return – which he does and they all know it. Chris has been good for Zach, treating him like a human being rather than a sexual object, and Kristen is well aware that he will only continue to be.
That is, if Zach will let him. Which he very well might not given Zach's unyielding loyalty to his friends – he won't leave them behind and even though Chris told him to bring them, Kristen knows there's a limit to things like this. After all, Chris might like herself and Anton, it doesn't mean he wants them living together.
But this is what they've talked about for years, getting away from this life, and she wants Zach to grab onto this chance before it slips away.
"Tell him yes," she says, eyes locked on Zach's.
Anton nods. "Do it, Zach."
Quinto slides to the floor, lets his head fall into his hands, and sighs. This is a monumentally bad prospect; when it goes south, Zach'll be right back where he is now and that alone is reason enough to end this now instead of later.
Except there's this odd ache in his chest when he thinks of life without Chris; it's the same one he gets when he thinks of something happening to Kristen or to Anton, of life without them and he knows what it means: he's already made his decision.
"He makes me crazy," Zach mutters.
Kristen only grins at the comment and lets herself relax.
title. On the Corner (of First and Amistad)
rating. R for Content
pairing. Zach/Chris
summary. Zach, the thirty-year old who's been there for so many years now the cops don't even waste the energy to bring him in.
warnings. AU - Hooker!Zach, mentions of drug use and abuse.
On the Corner (of First and Amistad)
His apartment is small and on the wrong side of the city. Gunshots and the scream of both police sirens and domestic disputes are the usual melody that lulls him into sleep; flickering glow of the gas station's broken sign light his bedroom through the dingy blinds from dusk until dawn which bothers Zachary little – his prime hours are overnight and it's not like his cat or his dog give a damn. They're just grateful to be off the street.The furniture sucks, half of it found on goodwill and other pieces salvaged from curbsides, and his refrigerator is sparsely filled with an amalgamation of leftover takeout, microwaveable meals, and bottles of water. He doesn't ever think about the clothing now mostly threadbare in his closet or the letters sitting on his kitchen table still unread. His mother found his address and God knows how she did that, but he never answers, just reads the letters, marks them return to sender and tries to forget the clusterfuck his life has become.
Seriously, this was not the plan, living in a crappy studio with two strays and selling his body in order to pay rent and feed the three of them. He was supposed to get to LA, and, okay, he'd figured then that there'd be some struggling, but he'd expected to get some work. A commercial, a guest spot on some Disney show, maybe a bit part in a Theater production – something – that'd pay; instead, Zach had heard the words, "I'm sorry, but you're just not what we're looking for," over and over in various ways until his agent had dropped him and Zach had just stopped trying.
He grimaces at the thought, trying to push it away because there's nothing he can do about the past: it's done and over and it fucking sucks, but he's not crawling home to his mother to disappoint her. He's not calling her to beg for money because he can't even find work as a fucking cashier (he's tried. Fuck, but he's applied for every job he could possibly qualify for) and he certainly can't call Joe, doesn't even know where his brother is.
It's been a long night; he shifts on his feet, glancing up at the stars as he adjusts his peacoat collar and wipes ineffectually at the splotch of white on his jeans, wondering if he should simply give up and head for home. He has enough for rent, though he won't be able to afford much in the way of groceries and he won't be able to afford a damn thing from Goodwill to replace the clothing he's had ripped or stained on him, but it's cold out tonight and... Well, most of the Johns are more apt to go for Anton, the skinny twenty-year old, then Zach, the thirty-year old who's been there for so many years now the cops don't even waste the energy to bring him in.
A car slings up the block as he makes the decision to go short this month; he makes it a handful of steps away from his corner when the car stops beside him, and young man waves him over through the open passenger side window.
He's got that golden brown hair that Zach's always wanted and blue eyes that sparkle and it takes about four seconds for Zach to realize who he's looking at: Chris Pine, the new media darling according to his friends. What the guy is doing on this side of the tracks trawling for a hooker is beyond Zach – surely Chris could have his pick of cute starstruck fans.
Quinto leans in anyway, his forehead leaning against the top rim of the door. "Hi," he purrs, hoping Chris' bank account is as amazing as his acting.
Chris seems unsure of himself and Zach smiles internally at the discomfort. He's seen so many kids come through here in the last few years fumbling to ask how much he charges, where they go, how this works, that it's nothing new or annoying. It's actually somewhat endearing when some young kid picks him for their first misdemeanor, a reminder that perhaps Zach still has some beauty left in him, though he never does see it in the mirror.
"It's four hundred an hour," Zach replies once Chris manages to get the question out.
"And the whole night?"
Zach's eyebrows rise toward his hairline: no one has ever asked for an entire night with him. Two hours, sure, but not the whole night. He shrugs, glancing down at the book in Chris' front seat – War & Peace, surprising Zach – and says, "Twelve hundred?"
Pine nods in agreement and says, "Get in," before he slides the book into his hands, setting it gently into the backseat. He pops the door in the next moment, waiting until Zach is in the car with his seatbelt on to roll it up and put the car in gear.
"So..." Chris says, "where am I going?"
Zach just points straight ahead. "Two traffic lights, right turn at the third, and the motel is on the left," he explains, reaching into his back pocket for the fake ID he really doesn't need to give the clerk – the kid knows Zach's real name – but he clasps it in his hand all the same as Chris drives silently.
Rather, he drives silently until they reach the third traffic light and Chris must find the courage to ask, "How'd you end up.."
"A hooker? Prostitute? Rentboy?" Zach tosses out the words easily. He long ago stopped feeling anything but numb when he was working the streets and it doesn't hurt now to call himself those terms the way it once had.
"Yes."
Quinto shrugs. "I came out here to try my hand at TV and movies – failed spectacularly. And no decent job wants to hire a kid with no job history and a Theater Arts degree." He looks out the window as they pull in to the motel's disintegrating parking lot, admitting, "Lived in a shelter for a while, but when they kick you out, there's nothing left to do then this if you want to keep eating."
Zach's not usually the type to fall asleep after being fucked into the mattress; he'd made the mistake of doing so once and woke up tied to a bedpost, sans the cash in his wallet and the eventual embarrassment of being released by a cleaning lady who'd spoken little English (he now knew her name was Felipa, she was a mother of three, and lived two blocks from him). He's too experienced to do so anyway, too used to sex to be blown away by whatever his John thinks could awe him. Oh, he'll moan and cry out like he's enjoying it, but it's all for show, all to make his client feel he deserves the money they're giving him.
Apparently, though, Chris Pine caught him on an off day because Zach's definitely half-asleep, crashed out on the pillows and uncaring about the pool of his own come drying on the comforter beneath him.
"Wakey, wakey," Chris whispers in his ear. One hand falls on Zach's ass as he crawls over the man, telling him, "I'd let you sleep longer, but I have a long drive home and an early call."
Zach nods. "Yeah, I got it," he says, pushing himself upright on the stained and dirtied comforter before sliding to his feet to pad toward the bathroom. There, he refuses to look in the mirror as he stretches, popping vertebrae and knuckles, toes, and knees; he turns the shower on, jumping in to the cold water.
Scrubbing off the lube and come from his thighs, he doesn't hear the door open, doesn't hear the drop of clothing onto the scummy counter top across from the tub. He does, however, notice when Chris draws back the plastic curtain to grin at Zach, telling him, "Saves time if we shower together," which makes Zach uncomfortable for a moment. He has to fight the fluttery feeling in his gut as he nods at Chris and makes space for Pine under the spray.
Like the car ride six hours earlier, Chris is silent for the most part until he turns and casts a quizzical look at Zach, asking, "Are you out there every night?"
"Have to be – some nights I get no one, some nights I have two or three people. And there are a couple of regulars who come around a couple of times a month," he answers. "Never know when they're going show up since the economy started failing."
Chris nods, grabbing for the soap in Zach's hand, and says nothing else during the course of their shower. He continues to say nothing as they dress and settle up with the front desk, as Chris hands over ten crisp one-hundred dollar bills after driving Zach back to his corner. But as Zach opens the car door, slipping from the seat with a grace no man should have, Chris speaks.
"See you around."
"You too, Captain Kirk." Zach smirks as he closes the door and slinks away into the dim morning light.
Anton gets beaten up the next night by some bodybuilding ape of a man who'd wanted a fuck without paying for it, and Zach tries to tend to him as best he can. It's not like this job comes with health insurance; they'll get tossed out on their asses if they try going to the ER, so it's Zach and his high school first aid class to tide Anton over until morning when the free clinic opens.
"You don't have to come with me," Anton tells him as the alarm clock begins to buzz. Quinto slaps the off button and continues searching through the clean clothing pile on his bed for something to wear that doesn't scream 'I get paid to have sex with men and women for a living' – he'd gone once in his street clothes and they'd ignored him for hours.
"Oh, I'm definitely going with you. I don't trust you won't fall down somewhere and break your neck," Zach spits back, still angry about finding the kid on his front stoop where at least one of his neighbors had to have seen him and left him, unconscious, on the concrete. He yanks at something blue in the pile out of fury and comes up with his blue plain button down which'll do nicely for the clinic.
"Dude, I must have a head injury because I'm not even going to complain about that shirt."
"Not a head injury. That's subconscious jealousy since you don't have a shirt this handsome," Zach responds. He pulls Anton to his feet, steadying him with both hands on Anton's shoulders as he sways for the first few seconds; it doesn't bode well that the kid is still dizzy nearly eight hours later.
Zach does not look forward to forcing him to negotiate the stairs; he wishes, for the first time, that he didn't live on the fifth floor of a walk up.
They get to the clinic after some stumbling, much cursing and a lot of Zach bearing Anton's weight to find the place won't open for another hour due to the holiday. It starts another bout of cursing from Zach who's definitely not carrying Anton back to the apartment after lugging him all the way here – his knees are going to be killing him tonight as it is – so once his tirade of insults against various peoples' mothers ends, he helps Anton to sit on the sidewalk, their backs to the door so no one can dare claim to have not seen them.
Zach's just getting comfortable on the cold concrete when Anton asks, "So Kristen said you got an all-nighter two days ago. A special all-nighter."
The eye roll is involuntary. "Is there nothing sacred in my life?"
"Not when Kristen knows about it – if you really were an actor, I swear the entire internet would know about you and Chris 'look at the bulge in my pants' Pine." He grins. "Is he as big as he looks in pictures?"
Quinto groans, banging his head back into the door. "I hate you."
"No, you don't. You love me!" The kid's cackle is somehow endearing, but Zach shoves at Anton's shoulder like a brother would anyway; he's not sure when the kid became such an integral part of his life, or when Kristen did, but they're the closest thing to family he's got.
"Good thing I do, too, or you'd have woken up on my steps this morning with frost on your nose."
Anton nods. "Yeah, yeah. Stop trying to change the subject: how was Pine?"
Zach tells him the only thing he can, as much as he knows it'll only result in more questions – the truth. "He was nervous, but I passed out for a little while there so clearly nerves didn't detract from the marvel of that experience."
"You passed out? Seriously?" Anton asks, slightly amazed because of everyone, Zach's always the most careful, always the one lecturing the kids who came through about the dangers of the Johns who bought their time. He says, "Wow," after a pause, smirking as best he can with his lower lip split in two places. "How much he pay you?"
"Why? You going to try to hook him next time?"
Anton's eyes glint at him, the smirk a tease.
"Twelve hundred for six hours," Zach answers, "and you should be grateful because when they make me take you to the clinic on the other side of the city for bloodwork so we know your ass doesn't have AIDS, you won't have to beg for money from Andy."
The name of Anton's pimp – the one Zach had once answered to, the one he'd fought to get the hell away from after seeing other kids come back broken and bloodied – ends the smiles and turns them to a sharp scowl. Anton doesn't like to be reminded of the deal he'd made with the devil, nor that for every time he has to go beg from the man, his repayment is painful and degrading.
He nods once the chafe of Andy's name passes, because he is grateful: Zach's taken care of him a dozen times over since Anton had appeared on that corner. He hesitates to think how long ago he might have died if not for the generous nature of a man with so little to give away and hopes like hell that one day, he will have the ability to pay Zach back for everything he's done in Anton's name.
"I am," he swears.
Zach's reply is soft, "I know," and he pats the younger man on the shoulder awkwardly, before turning his attention to the clinic door when the lock pops. "'s about time."
For two days, Zach locks himself, Anton, and Kristen into his apartment: the kid shouldn't be traipsing all over town doing acrobatics if he wants the sprains to heal and Zach wants Kris where he can see her given how she's been acting lately. Her moods are all over the place, making him wonder which of her idiot Johns didn't use the fucking condom and how much it's going to cost to abort.
"I have to go out tonight," he tells them over dinner, trying desperately to not stare at the flat of Kristen's belly while calculating expenses in his head.
Anton nods dumbly, still a little woozy from the pills Zach had bought from a dealer a couple of streets down to help the kid deal with the pain in his back. He's healing well, at least as far as Zach can tell – walking more, able to balance himself despite both ankles being fucked up, and and he's eating better, not passing any blood – but Zach's not letting him go back to hooking until he can throw a good punch again.
"Krissy," he says sweetly, gut churning,"do you need to go out tonight?"
She sighs. "I should. Andy cleared me out of every cent, said I shorted him last time he came to collect." Kristen twists her hand in her hair, elbow on the table, looking weary and drawn, so unlike her usual bubbly self that it hurts Zach.
Quinto makes a contemplative face, pretending to be weighing an idea; it's a farce, one that they've played out only too well over the years. She knows he's already made an executive decision, he knows that she's well aware that he's made that decision, but it makes them both feel better to act like it's a mutual one she's had some say in.
"Stay in. I'm not too convinced about how steady he his on his feet and Noah would like the company, I think," he says.
Bell nods. "Okay. Rent was paid up before he came over, so it's not urgent."
The safety of his dearest friends settled for this night at least, Zach pushes away from the table and heads into his bedroom to pour over clothing choices. As always, his age is at the forefront of his mind as he picks through the pile, discarding the respectable pieces for the darker, sexier cuts.
He doesn't dress like Anton does – torn jeans, stained converse, and muscle shirts – or wear low cuts like Kristen does. No, Zach tends toward black skinny jeans and fitted tee shirts, his peacoat in the colder months. Sometimes he slicks his hair back, sometimes to the side, and sometimes he steals Krissy's sunglasses, wearing them to add to the dark, forbidden feeling that comes along with being bought for sex. He does have some illicit looking things – a top that's sheer, jeans that are threadbare in the crotch and one rough session away from being garbage, shorts that cling to his ass in all the right places. Those are the things he saves for when he's desperate, when there haven't been enough men or women looking for a romp with a thirty-something, and he needs someone to look twice at him.
Tonight, he's not itching that badly for the money, so he yanks on his usual outfit and shrugs on his peacoat, popping the collar as he eyes Kristen's sunglasses which causes her to smile, pull them against her chest in a protective gesture. "Nuh, uh. These babies are mine!"
Zach smiles back, a bit happier that her mood's swung back toward normal, and grabs his keys from the table. "You kids be good."
"Yes, dad!" They answer in unison as the door closes behind him.
He's just gotten to the corner when he sees a familiar car begin to roll down the street. The windows, this time, are up and Zach approves: there really is no reason to roll down tinted windows unless you're trying to get noticed and here, that's just a bad idea. Especially for an actor like Chris Pine.
It rolls to a stop in front of Zach, there's a pause, and then the window opens and Zach leans in the same as he did last time. "Hello again," he smiles, surprised and genuinely glad to see Chris again – regulars mean less worry about money, mean less worries about safety.
"Hi." Chris grins. "You available for another night?"
Zach nods, but doesn't open the door yet. "Price has gone up though," he warns, hoping Chris is open to paying a little more for the wonder that is Zach's body for two more hours then he got last time. "Sixteen hundred to have me til dawn."
"'s fine," Pine answers and tosses his bag into the backseat so Zach can get in, watching as he buckles in. The window closes, but Chris doesn't lock the doors. "You okay if we drive around for a while first?" he asks skittishly, as though expecting Zach to flee and ordinarily he would, but, oddly, Zach nods in agreement rather than running for the fucking hills.
Chris' car has a smooth ride, something Zach hadn't noticed the last time; the engine is a low purr, it comes to a stop in a slow, soft roll that's half Chris' driving technique and half the car itself. The seats are soft, buttery leather that's more comfortable then his own bed, and Zach's almost tempted to ask if they can go find a quiet place to fuck in the car because of it.
He's so lost in the beauty of the ride, that Zach nearly misses Chris' question altogether. "I didn't catch that," he apologizes, cocking his head toward the other man as he's asked if he has any family; he hesitates to answer. The last two people who'd asked him that had then wanted to help him track down his brother or his mother. They'd wanted to save him and Zach hadn't been then, and isn't now, ready to be saved.
Still, there's this draw with Chris, this feeling in his chest that says to trust the guy so Zach does, begrudgingly telling him, "Mom's in Pennsylvania – Pittsburgh – and I have an older brother. Not really sure where he is now. He could very well be in LA for all I know."
"Did they love you?"
"I think so."
Chris seems to hem and haw on the next inquiry, and Zach knows what he's about to be asked. He decides to cut it off at the knees.
"I floundered out here for a long time," he says, "Spent several months trying to keep my head above the proverbial water, but I figured out after a while that the moribundity of my career was right in front of me and by that point I could barely buy a burger from McDonald's, let alone a plane ticket."
"Your mom didn't know you were struggling?"
Zach doesn't know why he feels compulsed to answer that question when the last is the line he normally stops at with his own friends. "No, kept telling her I was doing great, going to auditions, getting callbacks. She probably knew I was lying – mothers are ridiculously intuitive – but she never called me on it and I didn't want to disappoint her."
He expects this will be the part where Chris will ask 'would you go home if you could?' or something equally cheesy and moronic, only to be pleasantly surprised when Chris mutters, "Okay," and steers them toward the motel.
It's a deviation from the norm, driving him around like a chauffer would Paris Hilton before they crawl onto an uncomfortable mattress with Chris fucking into Zach in hard, measured thrusts, but Zach is shocked to discover that he likes it. He likes knowing that every three days, Chris will show up with a book in his front seat and enough money to take care of Anton and Kristen and the pets, and that they'll spent an hour just driving around LA while Chris asks questions that Zach answers.
He still wonders what Chris' motive is, but when he and Kristen walk into the Planned Parenthood to rid her of the parasite growing in her belly (her terminology, the only way she can do what needs to be done and still maintain her sanity about it), he doesn't particularly care.
Zach keeps his crummy apartment even though Chris' money makes it possible to move somewhere safer with dependable heating and consistent hot water; when Kristen asks why one morning, holding onto Noah's leash as he sniffs at the only patch of grass in a one-mile radius, he explains, "One day, he's going to get photographed picking up a hooker and I'm sure his PR people will write it off as meeting a friend who's down on his luck or something heartrending like that, and he's going to realize it's not a good idea to be seen in this place.
"Why am I going to move to some place I will eventually be unable to afford? Besides, if I ever moved, I'd have to bring you and the kid with me and until I can get Andy's lecherous paws off of you two, that's not happening."
It's the biggest admittance of love from Zach in years; he'd once been quite casual with his affections, touching and kissing and giving pet names to his friends. Then they'd gotten wind of what he did to try to survive and Zach had learned that friendliness and partiality got him no where – he'd shut off that part of himself in order to keep going.
She gives him a sad smile. "One day," Kristin says, "me, you, and him. We'll make our own family. A big old dysfunctional one that'll freak out the normals."
Zach laughs, then stops abruptly as he sees Andy, enraged and backed up by two of his drug-dealing friends. They're approaching with purpose; Zach yanks Kristen behind him, silently orders Noah to protect her if need be, and when they're within ear shot, asks, "The hell do you want?"
"This has nothin' to do with you, faggot," Andy shoots back and makes a grab for Kristen, causing Zach to step backward.
He nearly falls over her, but Zach keeps himself on his feet in an almost inhumanely graceful manner and Noah begins to growl, lifting his lip at the goon that's too close to Kristen. The idiot backs up to Zach's delight – clearly his pup knows just who in this situation needs to be kept at bay – and Zach asks again, "What the hell do you want, Andy?"
"Bitch owes me! It's fucking pay up day and she can't since you've been keeping her in that cheap ass apartment of yours with the twink, so I'm taking her to get me my money." He makes another grab for Kristen as he speaks, making Zach lift a hand that causing Andy to recoil. They'd gone toe to toe once, just Andy and Zach, and Zach had won not only his freedom from the pimp but the fear of the guy too. It keeps Andy in check, keeps him away from the apartment, and keeps Anton and Kristen safe since Andy knows Quinto, if pushed, would kill for them.
"You'll get your money," Zach tells him in a low growl, fingers twisted in Andy's shirt.
"When?"
"Tonight. I'll bring it to you," he swears, "in front of the CVS. Before dark." Zach's not stupid enough to do a hand over anywhere else but in a brightly lit public place: Andy won't touch him, but there's no doubt in his mind that Andy's cohorts would love to take a shot at him.
Andy nods, shoves away from Zach and tosses a leer at Kristen before walking away.
Which, of course, is when he realizes what day it is.
Kristen is jittery as she watches the street, bouncing her foot while she waits. She's seen the car a number of times now – hell, she's even seen Chris Pine right up close – so it's not the fear of missing him that's got her worked up. It's the fear of what could happen to Zach tonight combined with the self-loathing that she's the one that's put him in a position to potentially be harmed.
She bangs her head into her hand, annoyed with herself beyond words that she's once again depended on Zach's loyalty to her to keep her from being abused by Andy's dealers, the ones who use her like a toy and throw her away before giving Andy the drugs he would have bought with the money she collected.
Anton, thankfully, will be spared that horror since the kid finally went back to hooking days ago, managing to get together what he owes Andy in a short amount of time; Kristen's just been too tired after the abortion, and too sad, to do it herself.
The squeak of tires as a car pulls onto the street grabs her attention, but it's not Chris so she returns to her self-flagellation until a pair of shoes appears in her downward-cast view. She startles at first, shaken that she'd let herself that far into her thoughts so as to have allowed someone into her personal space, then her gaze travels up, over expensive jeans and a soft shirt cover in an ugly blue cardigan until she's looking into Pine's eyes through thick-rimmed glasses.
"Hi," she squeaks, somewhat awestruck. Seriously, it's LA and she's serviced a fair number of stars, so she shouldn't be so dumbfounded by seeing yet another one. This one is special though, because he's Zach's, her mind points out.
"Hi," he greets, smiling brightly.
She sees why Zach was drawn in if that's the grin that he sees every three days – who wouldn't want to be with a guy who can make you feel at ease in ten seconds with a grin and easygoing blue eyes? The rough, silky voice doesn't hurt either. Then he sits next to her like an old friend, like a person who doesn't look down on her and she wishes like hell she'd been the first person to meet Chris, not Zach, because clearly this guy has a hell of a lot more respect in him then most of the Johns.
"You must be Anne." He leans forward a little, putting his arms on his bent knees, and says, "Quinn talks about you a lot."
She makes a mental note to smack Zach around the next time she sees him for giving out a name so very close to his own this time; he never uses the same name twice, everyone calling him something different and she doesn't know how he keeps track of them all, while she sometimes has trouble with her one. He also never gives out anything close to his.
Except apparently with Chris.
"And you must be the infamous Mr. Pine," she says, a tired smile curving her lips. "Quinn wanted me to apologize to you for not being here tonight."
"Is he okay?"
She nods and shrugs her shoulders, hoping ambiguity will deter him. "He's taking care of something for me and he didn't realize until he made the promise that tonight was one of your nights."
Chris' expression goes shaded for a moment. "And he sent you to take care of me?" One eyebrow goes up as if the answer to the question makes a decision for him and it's so like Zach that she almost laughs – no wonder her boy likes this guy so much, they're practically cut from the same cloth.
"No, just the message and a," she puts up air quotes, "sincere apology."
He laughs, clearly amused, and when he stops, he gives her a casual smile. "Well, how about I wait here with you until he gets back?" he offers, stretching out his legs before tucking them back onto the step and putting his back to the rail: he's making himself comfortable.
Kristen is tempted for a moment to say no, because after all, it's best for Chris to not be seen out and about in this neighborhood, but Zach won't be back for a while – it's a long walk from the CVS to the corner – and she's in no rush to be by herself tonight. Anton won't be back for several hours yet, sent off by Andy to meet with some AARP-aged bigwig who likes them young and pliant, so Chris' offer means less time sitting in the cold, though it does mean no one's going to approach her while he's there.
"It's okay with me," she replies and settles in to wait.
Zach looks exhausted when he gets back, his left cheek bruised and his shirt torn in several places. His lip is bloodied, his belt gone, and Kristen curses loudly at the sight of him – damnit, she knew she shouldn't have let him go alone.
"I'm fine," he tells her and then looks at Chris, the shock obvious. "You shouldn't be here," Zach declares, "Anyone with a fucking camera phone could take a picture of you."
"Wanted to make sure you were okay and from the looks of it, I was right to wait. What happened?" Chris asks, more a demand then anything else, and Kristen can tell that he's vibrating with anger that she knows isn't directed at Zach yet she still bristles.
"I was reminded that my life amounts to a series of spectacular failures," he states, then adds, "What do you think happened, Chris? I got the shit kicked out of me by two peons who wouldn't know a braincell if it bit them in the ass because I denied them something they wanted."
Pine ignores the bitterness. "Do you need a doctor?" He gestures toward the car in a silent offer.
"I need a shower," Zach sighs. "I'm... Give me some time to clean up and I'll be good to go."
Chris gives him a look of horror, as if Zach's just told him to wait while he burns a book in a ritual fire to the Devil, then its gone and he nods, "Yeah, sure," as if it's an afterthought. It throws Zach off, though he recovers quickly and sends Chris back to the car to wait the obligate forty-five minutes while he showers and changes.
Once together again, Chris is acting like himself. He drives them in square figure eights for two hours, then takes off for the motel where the world goes pear-shaped once more when Chris shoves him down onto the bed, strips him down and studies Zach's bruised body.
"Chris..." Zach murmurs when he hears the sharp intake of breath, feeling that he needs to say something to comfort this man and coming up with a lackluster, "I'm fine."
"No, you're not." Pine pulls the blankets then, tucking one edge around Zach and the other around himself, and orders, "Go to sleep."
Zach yawns. "Blow you in the morning."
"Whatever."
Things change after that night and Zach doesn't know if it's for the better or for the worse.
Chris takes longer and longer to go to the motel now, driving around talking to Zach for hours until he seems to breakdown, as though trying to avoid it which confuses Zach to no end. Particularly when Chris randomly covers them in the malodorous blankets and coaxes Zach into sleep without ever fucking him. Those are the nights that turn into morning blow jobs because he just doesn't feel right taking Chris' money without giving something in return.
It goes on like that for weeks too. Zach had hoped that after some time had passed and the bruises healed, that Chris would get comfortable with him again, go back to where they'd been before that night. But it seems that something's changed between them, in Chris and in himself, that's making Chris protective while Zach's trying desperately to keep himself detached.
He can't get close, can't let himself get lost in ridiculous fantasies of a life beyond this town in a place where he can maybe see stars at night and the sound of cars, not guns, wake him up at night. It's dangerous; it makes him blur the lines between his morals, his ideals, and his method of survival and Zach cannot let it happen.
Then the night comes where Chris tells him, "Fame is contemptible," and stops the car under a street lamp with the corner mere feet ahead of them. "You never really have friends," he says, "Just people looking for something from you."
He wavers for a second, reaches into his bag and begins to count out the bills until Zach stops him with a hand. "Hey, night's not over," he tells Chris, voice soft. "Gotta let me do something for that."
Chris shakes his head. "You do more for me than you realize, Quinn."
That's when Zach knows this has gone too far.
He takes the money, splits it between Anton and Kristen, and ignores the lead feeling in his gut three nights later when he hides in his apartment with the blinds shut and the radio on to drown out the sound of his guilt. Kristen brings a message up from Chris that he's sorry and she adds that if Zach's done with him, she'll gladly take over – Zach might have the morals to not take payment from someone without an act in return, but she doesn't.
"You're being stupid," she tells him when he again lingers in his apartment long after dusk, more to keep himself controlled than an attempt to hide from Chris he tells himself. "Zach, it's sixteen hundred dollars to talk to a guy."
"One that's eventually going to want to save me." He sighs, "Krissy, I can see it in his eyes – that look like he thinks he's falling in love with me, but we both know that doesn't happen. This isn't Pretty Woman and I'm not Julia Roberts."
"No, but does that mean you have to give up a friend? Or here's an even better idea: why are you giving up a guy who could help you get the fuck out of here? He has connections, people who could hire you if Chris put in the right words with the right people."
Both of Zach's hands go up to his face, one rubbing the bridge of his nose while the other covers his eyes. "I don't even know if that's what I want to do any more..."
She's silent a moment before she looks at her wrist watch, the second hand ticking by loudly in the sudden quiet, and says, "Zach, the least you owe him is a goodbye. Give him that, so he doesn't keep coming around looking for you."
He can't argue that and goes.
The motel room is dark for once, all the lights unplugged.
Zach lay with Chris, who's got one of Zach's hands in one of his own, spooned to his back. He's trying to ignore the sad feeling that's settled between them, as though this had really been a relationship that's breaking up.
It hurts.
"This is for the best," Zach tells him.
"No, it's not. You just think it is," Chris responds, his tone absent of any condescension or antagonism. A simple, neat statement of a fact that Zach can't confess to. Pine is quick to add, "You are so scared, Quinn, of anyone wanting to keep you, to love you, that you'd rather live this existence of survival."
"It's not fear, it's the reality that I don't need to be saved, Chris," he retorts.
"Who said I wanted to save you?"
The gears turn in Zach's head.
"I don't want to save you." Chris' voice is filled with vehemence; he pushes Zach onto his back and lays down atop the prone man, braced by hands on either side of Zach's head. "If you don't want to talk to your family, that's fine – it's not my place to make you have a relationship with them – and if you want to be an actor, even as fucking miserable as it can be, I'll cheer you on from the front row.
"I don't want to save you – I want to love you, and there's a difference."
Quinto looks away. "This happily ever after shit doesn't happen in real life, Chris."
"Why not?"
"Because eventually the world will find out that I spent a decade as a nearly destitute rentboy in the ghetto of LA, and I can bet they won't be as accepting as you have been." He turns his attention back to Chris, pushing a stray hair from Chris' eyes. "There's only so much people can say before you start taking it to heart. How long do you think it'd be until you started to wonder if those rumors were true?"
Chris seems to ponder this for a few seconds then leans in, kissing Zach for the first time, and when he pulls back, he tells Zach, "I would ask you if they were, and when you told me no, I'd believe you."
"You really are too much, you know that? Every word that comes out of your mouth is prose," Zach tells him, but his voice is a whisper and there's a catch in his throat and he rolls them onto their sides, feeling for a moment like he wasn't some hooker but someone's lover. He almost lets himself believe it, too, that he could be with Chris outside these walls, outside the confines of Chris' car, when Kristen and Anton pop into his mind.
"I can't leave," he whispers, "I can't leave them alone."
"Bring them with you."
Zach swallows around the sudden lump in his throat. "Can I... Can I have the day to decide?" he asks, voice cracking with the emotion he can't restrain.
"Okay," Chris agrees and closes his eyes as he drifts off.
Zach, meanwhile, lingers awake, memorizing every moment he has with Chris while exhaustion takes over and he falls asleep.
They sit around the tiny living room, Anton on the floor while Zach stands with his back against a wall and Kristen splays out on the couch; none of them speak, too lost processing their thoughts to find the words to say something, anything, about the situation at hand.
It's an offer made to Zach, first and foremost, of a home and support. Someone who loves him and wants only for Zach to love him in return – which he does and they all know it. Chris has been good for Zach, treating him like a human being rather than a sexual object, and Kristen is well aware that he will only continue to be.
That is, if Zach will let him. Which he very well might not given Zach's unyielding loyalty to his friends – he won't leave them behind and even though Chris told him to bring them, Kristen knows there's a limit to things like this. After all, Chris might like herself and Anton, it doesn't mean he wants them living together.
But this is what they've talked about for years, getting away from this life, and she wants Zach to grab onto this chance before it slips away.
"Tell him yes," she says, eyes locked on Zach's.
Anton nods. "Do it, Zach."
Quinto slides to the floor, lets his head fall into his hands, and sighs. This is a monumentally bad prospect; when it goes south, Zach'll be right back where he is now and that alone is reason enough to end this now instead of later.
Except there's this odd ache in his chest when he thinks of life without Chris; it's the same one he gets when he thinks of something happening to Kristen or to Anton, of life without them and he knows what it means: he's already made his decision.
"He makes me crazy," Zach mutters.
Kristen only grins at the comment and lets herself relax.