Chapter Five

One thing about Jon, Dot mused, was that once he’d made a decision he was pretty damned single-minded about achieving whatever he set out to do.

It was only two days since she’d arrived. Two days since she’d found him sinking into depression. Or, really, deeper into depression, she thought, knowing he wasn’t ‘better’ yet - not by a long shot - but at least the downward slide seemed to have halted for the moment.

Two days in which he’d spoken with Doc, who had immediately jumped on the opportunity, announcing that he’d come along with them on this little trip. Dot could see he had visions of himself as Peter Fonda in Easy Rider. Or maybe it was Dennis Hopper. Whichever was the craziest. She wasn’t entirely convinced it was a good idea, having him along, but Jon seemed happy with it, so she let it go. Since that, Jon had - on pain of death from Dot - called his parents, glossing over the deeper reasons and just telling them that they were taking off for a while, to get a break from everything. He promised faithfully to call at least once a week, shaking his head slightly at his mom’s worried tone.

“You’d think I was still a kid.” He had grouched to Dot, and she’d just laughed.

“Darlin’, she’s your mother. Face it - when you’re old and gray - or bald - you’ll still be her little Johnny.”

“Whaddya mean bald?” Jon had demanded, grabbing her from where she stood on the deck and sweeping her into his arms.

He’d swung her almost upside down, hardened fingertips digging into her sides, tickling until she was gasping for breath and panting her apologies for the bald comment.

“I’m sorry!” She’d giggled when he set her down again. “You’ll be fifty and still have a full head of beautiful hair!”

That had been yesterday. Now, today, Dot was in the house, fixing a sandwich lunch while Jon was closeted in the built-on garage, coddling his ‘baby’ - a nineteen eighty-eight Harley Heritage Softail - checking all the mechanical stuff and polishing the beautiful red and white paintwork until the bike gleamed, the chrome bright and sparkling in the artificial lights of the garage. In sunlight, it would be stunning. The black leather of the saddlebags was soft and clean, and as he worked on the bike Jon realised that, other than the odd brief trip along the coast with Richie, he’d barely even sat on the Harley since the day he bought it.

Richie. Jesus, that was a bigger problem that anything else he was dealing with right now. Since the very earliest days of the band, he and Richie had connected in a way that went beyond friendship and straight to brotherhood. Hell, regardless of the names used - the names had been changed to protect the guilty, as they’d joked on countless occasions - the song they’d put out on New Jersey - Blood on Blood - was about the two of them. Same damned thing with Wanted. That was them. The cowboys. The brothers. Jon sighed. The two men who couldn’t even be in the same room these days without one of them wanting to rip the other a new one.

Sadness creeping into him again, he gave the already shining gas tank another polish with a soft cloth, then his mood brightened when he heard Dot yelling to him that lunch was ready. Dropping the cloth, he headed for the house.

Hearing him stomping from the garage, Dot smiled. There was still a lot of kid in her man, and maybe that was part of the problem. He’d thrown himself headlong into the career that had skyrocketed so fast - maybe he’d lost a bit of that innocent optimism that was so much part of him. When he bounded into the kitchen, grinning, he reached for her, confused when she raised her hands and backed away.

“Not a chance!” She yelped, keeping out of his reach.

“What?!”

“Try looking in a mirror.” Dot advised.

Frowning, confused, Jon went into the hallway where a long mirror hung.

“Oh.” He said with a boyish grin.

He was shirtless - well, he already knew that - but from fingertips to elbows he was caked in a blend of oil, grease and God-knows-what-else. His chest had a fairly liberal coating of the same mixture of gunk, and he’d even managed to get a warpaint style stripe of black grease across his left cheek. Laughing, he returned to the kitchen, just leaning in through the open door to grin at Dot.

“So you’re saying I need to shower before I get a hug?”

“Uh, yeah!” She grinned back at him. “Go hit the shower, greasemonkey, and I’ll take lunch outside.”

“Greasemonkey.” He muttered as he left.

He was in the shower, finding that soap just wasn’t shifting the grease, when the bathroom door opened and Dot walked in carrying a plastic bottle. Without a word, she handed it to him, and Jon looked at it.

“What? You’re bringing me dishes to wash now?”

“No, dumbass.” She laughed as he looked at the bottle of washing up liquid. “It cuts through the grease better than soap. You should know that!”

“I guess. Thanks darlin’.” He flipped open the cap, squeezing some into his palm then raising an eyebrow in her direction. “Wanna scrub my back?”

“Nope. I have a sandwich with my name on it downstairs. I’ll see you outside.”

When he was clean, Jon threw on a pair of cutoff jeans and headed downstairs. The sun was bright, and he saw that Dot had left him a pair of sunglasses on the kitchen counter, next to a sandwich and a beer. Grabbing it all, he joined her out on the deck.

“So how’s your baby, then?” Dot asked, sipping her own beer.

“Perfect.” Jon’s voice was muffled around a mouthful of bread and chicken, and he swallowed before continuing. “Checks out fine. Gassed up, polished and ready to roll.”

“So when do we leave?”

“Tomorrow.” He grinned at the very thought of it. “Doc’s borrowed a bike from his buddy Mickey, and he’ll come over here tomorrow morning. Early.”

“How early is early?” Dot asked suspiciously.

“I dunno. Around nine?”

“You think that’s early?”

“It is for me.” Jon finished the last bite of his sandwich. “That was great, darlin’. Thanks.”

“Welcome.”

“So, the saddlebags are empty. I figure one each. Not like we’ll be needing much, right?”

“Nope.” Dot was almost as excited about this trip as he was. Not that the idea of being caked in dust and dead bugs, and having her hair snarled into irreparable tangles was high on her list of favorite things, but spending time just pressed against Jon’s back, free and easy out on the road, now that was worth any inconvenience.

For the rest of the day, they basically just hung out. Sitting on the deck, enjoying the sunshine and the breeze, taking turns at bringing beer and snacks out to share. Dot hadn’t mentioned it - and she wouldn’t, unless and until Jon did - but since she’d arrived they hadn’t made love. Hadn’t even really tried to, truth be told, and part of her wondered about it. Another part, though, was being reasonable about it, knowing that when he wanted to, he’d make it clear. If there was one thing her Jonny knew how to do, it was seduce a woman. She had to wonder, though, if it was related to his emotional state - she had read that depression could cause sexual problems, and she thought perhaps he just wasn’t ‘in the mood’ because of how he was feeling. She hoped that was all it was, anyway.

They headed to bed early, snuggling together under the covers, Jon spooned against her back and holding her close as they tried to get to sleep, knowing tomorrow would likely be a long day.

Pressed to Dot’s back, one arm around her, the other under his head, Jon lay with his eyes open, thinking. He’d loved Dot for so many years - hell, before they were even together, he’d loved her - but right now he was finding it hard to think of making love with her. It wasn’t that he didn’t love her any more - if anything he loved her more than ever - but he just didn’t feel the impulse to make love, have sex, whatever, and while he tried not to think about it, there was always that little nagging thought in the back of his brain. Finally, forcing his thoughts onto the days and weeks to come, he managed to shut off his worries enough to fall asleep.