The Detectives Meet

"You disgust me, as does your peasant food!" he shouted, absolutely appalled. "I...what is wrong with you?!"

He laughed.

"What, you only want me for my body? Come on, kid, eat something--have a bite of my burrito. I swear it won't kill you, otherwise I'd be long dead." He munched on his burrito, ravenously shoving it into his mouth.

"I don't want you for anything! I hate you, I despise you!" he shouted, near throwing a temper tantrum. "That's it, John and I are leaving!"

"Take your smoothie," he said, handing it to Fox. "I'll see you tomorrow, then--I'm glad we had a nice chat."

Why was he suddenly being so nice now? This man was so frustrating!

"Fine, I'll stay, you asshole!" he shouted. "But I swear, if you say one more thing, I'll leave for real!"

"One more thing," he said, finishing his coffee, "We're out of coffee. So, if you aren't going to eat, I'm gonna start driving."

He pulled into the street, almost colliding with a Prius.

"You exited, kiddo? Today's your first day seeing how real detectives work in the field."

"I'm not excited, I just want this over, so hurry up," he replied, crossing his arms. "Shut up, drive, and stop talking to me."

He placed his hand on Fox's knee.

"I'd be nice, if I were you--you've got a cute butt, and I have a thing for people who play hard to get."

He squirmed, attempting to shove himself up against the door.

"That's exactly what I meant, you homo!" he shrieked. "Augh, I'm getting queasy, let me out before I throw up!"

Despite his shouting, Fox wasn't just saying that. He was serious.

"You can roll down the window, or use this," he said nonchalantly, handing Fox the McDonald's bag.

"I hope you're not squeamish around blood. There's generally blood."

Fox almost screamed.

"I'm queasy because you won't stop touching me!!" he shouted angrily. "Everything else is fine!"

"Oh? That was all you had to say, Christ. I don't hate you or anything, kid, of course I'll stop." He patted Fox on the shoulder reassuringly.

"And we're here. Now you can get out the car and lose your lunch if you want--I suggest doing it before anyone sees."

"STOP TOUCHING ME, THEN!" he shouted, escaping the confines of the car. He grabbed John and lit a cigarette, attempting to relax as best as he could.

Vincent got out of the car and locked the doors, then patted Fox on the ass.

"Hey, I'm gonna go inside, okay? You should come with."

His hands shot to the bag, grabbing it and leaning over it. He didn't feel so good.

"Stop...!" he grumbled, praying he didn't touch him again. It hurt.

"...Do you have something against touching me?" he asked, frowning sincerely. "Or is it just people? Why are you nauseous, Fox?"

He leaned against the car, glancing at the cigarette Fox had dropped.

"It's important for me to know--seeing as we're kind of partners for the day. I won't tell anyone, if you tell me."

"We aren't partners!" he snapped, tearing the bag in his hands. "You have no right to ask me why I am nauseous until you swear to never lay your grubby, commoner fingers on me ever again!"

"But I like you, and I'm a touchy person." He grinned sheepishly. "Besides, I got plenty of money--not that it matters. Do you want a sugar-daddy or something? I've always wanted to try that."

"I don't want a relationship with you!" he screamed. "And I'm rich!!!! WHY WOULD I WANT YOU TO GIVE ME MONEY?!"

"That's true," he said, his grin widening. "So I guess you're only really interested in the sex an attention, huh? That's fine with me."

"I'M TERRIFIED OF SEX, IT MAKES ME NAUSEOUS, YOU ASSHOLE!" he screamed audibly, and John covered his ears. "WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!"

"So that's why you get nauseous," he said thoughtfully. "Interesting. I won't ask what the traumatic event was."

"It's not like I would tell you anyway!" he snapped angrily. "Let's just get this over with!"

"Of course." He reached out to touch Fox's shoulder, then hesitated.

"...You know, I actually do like you for you. The sex stuff is just jokes--I think you're a great kid. I like you just as a friend."

Fox glared at him intensely. "I don't believe your old, disgusting, perverted ass. You're gross, and if you touch me, I will cut your hand off."