Thousands of Hours Later

 

Jo leaned back in her seat, propping her bare feet on the dash of the car.

“What, were you raised in a barn?”

Archer slapped her ankle, but she didn't move. She was playing a game on her phone, and she was about to level up.

“It's my car, I can do what I want in it. Don't bother me right now,” she mumbled, squinting through her sunglasses as her fingers raced across her screen.

Suddenly, her phone was snatched out of her hand. She gasped and watched as Archer tossed it into the backseat. It fell to the floor with a thunk, then promptly slid under the driver's seat, completely out of reach.

“C'mon, Jojo, this is quality time we're spending here, and you're wasting it on your phone,” he teased her as he put both hands back on the wheel, steering them around a gentle curve.

“Quality time? We've been driving forever, that's not quality time. And honestly, I think it's okay for me to zone out on my phone for twenty minutes, seeing as how we spend every single today together.”

It was true. Since that fateful Saturday morning when she'd found Bernard Krakow's body in her trunk, they hadn't been apart from each other for more than eight hours at time. And really, that was pushing it. He drove her bat shit insane about half the time, but usually around the six hour mark, she started missing him and worrying about him.

Archer had been telling the truth – it was amazing how far a little drug money went in covering up their weekend antics. She felt kind of guilty, but really, she hadn't done anything wrong. Well, not too much, at least. She didn't want to go to jail because Archer was an idiot and his brother was insane.

Santana Rodriguez made most everything go away. Her apartment fire was blamed on “faulty wiring”; the building management even offered her a settlement, but she felt too guilty to take it. She was just glad the bad guys had somehow managed to escape with their lives, and that no one was any the wiser about Archer's Molotov cocktail skills.

The warehouse had made her the most nervous. They'd been long gone from the burning warehouse before any officials had shown up, but even so. There was a lot of evidence left behind, all of which could easily link her to the crime scene. Not to mention the fact that her car was burning in the center of it all.

But it never came back to her. Bernard Krakow's body was never identified and her car was never traced back to her. The whole thing was blamed on a chemical fire, mostly likely caused by squatters and those damn ravers who kept using the place.

The rave was probably the best part about that whole weekend, really. Maybe we should go to another one …

“Helloooo,” Archer's voice broke into her thoughts. “Earth to Jo. We're here.”

She snapped to attention and looked around. They were back at the Universal City Overlook, up on Mulholland Drive. Only this time it was broad daylight, and there were other people around. No twinkly lights to captivate her, but it was still a stunning view.

“Awww, here?” she sighed, slowly climbing out of the car. “That's sweet, Archer.”

When she'd woken up that morning, he'd informed her they were going for a ride. He wouldn't tell her where to, just said she needed to get ready and get in the car. She hadn't bothered to ask any questions, had just done as asked.

That's just how it was between two people who'd been best friends for years, and had been dating and living together for the better part of one of them. She trusted him implicitly. He knew her better than anyone else on the planet, loved her and took care of her. Gave her a home and a whole new family.

Turned out dealing coke had never really been Archer's thing. Shocker. Before their crazy weekend, he'd already done a lot of questionable things that had made him uncomfortable. But shooting a man and dragging his body around for a weekend? It was too much.

On top of that, it had also been one of Jo's requests. She would love him and stick with him no matter what, but the drugs and the danger scared her. It hadn't taken any arguing or convincing – she told him she was scared, and he promised he'd be done with it. He didn't care if he had to go back to working in a garage or if he had to actually work construction, or even something worse.

His father had been pretty understanding. Archer was, after all, his favorite. And just like he'd said, Santana liked to spoil his children. He said he would never ask his son to do anything illegal ever again, on one condition. He had to move closer to his father.

Stupid question. Archer had barely told Jo and she'd already started packing what few belongings she still had – who in their right mind would turn down a free house in Malibu!? And since he didn't have a job, his father got one for him, as a manager for a foreign auto shop. That made it easier for Jo when she told her mother she was moving to somewhere so rich. She explained that Archer's new job had come with a rental as one of the perks.

Archer told his mom he'd won the lottery.

“I still can't believe your mom bought the lottery story,” Jo chuckled as she moved around the car. He'd backed into the spot and she sat against the hood as she observed the view.

“Yeah. Her husband keeps hitting me up for money,” he snorted, leaning next to her. She turned and smiled up at him.

“Thanks for bringing me here,” she said. “But I have to ask – what's the occasion?”

“You don't know what today is?” he asked.

“Um … should I?”

He pressed a hand to his heart and feigned shock.

“I can't believe it. It's like our relationship means nothing to you.”

She snorted and racked her brain. It had been a little over six months since the first time they'd slept together, and since he'd saved her life. A little over six months since he'd almost ruined it. Didn't really seem like an anniversary kind of date.

“Apparently whatever happened on today's date meant nothing to me. What was it?” she asked.

“It has been exactly two years since the first time I saw your boobs.”

She burst out laughing and hit him in the arm.

“What? Two years? When? How?”

“We were at the beach, remember? Your top came off when you were coming out of the water.”

“Oh my god,” she gasped. “That's right! And there was that like French exchange group! A bunch of eighth graders. I thought I was going to get arrested.”

“I'd always had a thing for you, but after that day, Jo … there was no other woman for me,” he sighed. She hit him again.

“Such a romantic.”

“I know.”

“Pig.”

They were silent for another moment, then she turned to face him.

“That's really why you brought me out here?” she checked. He laughed.

“No. Well, I mean, I realized what day it was, and that kind of inspired it. It's a little surreal, isn't it? You and me, together. After all the years and all the crazy shit. I still can't believe it. I just … I wanted to say thank you,” he told her. She smiled at him.

“That's so sweet. You don't have to thank me.”

“I do. You're the best time ever, the best in bed, the best … the best friend anyone could ever ask for. You put up with my shit and you make sure I eat right and you do that thing with your tongue that drives me insane. So thank you, and I'm sorry we didn't get together a lot sooner.”

He leaned down and kissed her quickly.

“Well, you're welcome. And I'm sorry you were a drug dealing, lying, asshole who never had the balls to tell me how you felt.”

He barked out a laugh.

“You're one to talk. You had a crush on me for way longer, and never said a word.”

“I'm a delicate lay-dee, we don't just blurt things out like that.”

“Jo, there is literally nothing lady like about you.”

When Archer kissed her that time, there was nothing quick about it. He grabbed onto her hips and pulled her so their bodies were pressed together. She moaned against his tongue, but then when he started to slide his hands up her waist, she yelped in pain and pulled away.

“Ouch,” she hissed, and he winced.

“Shit. Sorry, I keep forgetting. Is it okay?”

They both looked down while Archer gently lifted the bottom of her tank top and examined the right side of her rib cage. There, from just under her bra line and all the way to her hip, was a brand new tattoo. Her gift to Archer on his birthday – her first ever tattoo. It was a tree, done in heavy black ink. Identical to the one he had on his rib cage, and the one she now knew his father also had on his side.

Archer had gotten his tree tattoo just before moving to Van Nuys, and he'd always refused to tell her what it meant. After seeing it on his brother's rib cage, Jo had realized it must have been a family thing.

It was Archer's father, Santana, who'd explained what it meant. The body of the tattoo was for their family – family tree. The roots represented the new home Archer had found. After he'd come up with the design, all three of them had gone and gotten them together.

Turned out, though, only Archer and Santana had been getting them to represent familial bonds. The elder Rodriguez son had only gotten his to avoid being the odd one out.

Malcolm Rodriguez. He hadn't died in the warehouse explosion, amazingly enough. He'd suffered second and third degree burns down the right side of his body, the explosion had thrown him several yards from the warehouse, and Archer had beaten him into a week long coma.

But he'd survived. He was angry and possibly psychotic, but he was alive. Santana had gotten him the best medical care money could buy, and then when he'd been well enough to leave the hospital, Santana had essentially banished him. House arrest, at the family compound in Mexico.

Neither Archer nor Jo had any direct contact with him, but there were whispers. Staff were saying he was getting crazier by the day. Jo tried not to think about it, because she knew Malcolm's story would never end well.

I just hope however it ends up going, it doesn't involve me.

Since Archer had essentially lost a brother, Jo had offered to get the tattoo. After all, she and Archer had practically been family for even longer than him and Malcolm. She'd worried that maybe it would offend him, and she'd been prepared for him to say no. Maybe it was a boy thing, maybe it was a family-only-thing.

But silly her, of course he'd loved the idea. The day after making the offer, he'd dragged her to his tattoo artist. Several sessions later, and she was marked forever by him.

Please. That happened a long time ago.

“It's fine. Just a week or so more, and then you can rub your hands all over me again,” she laughed, pushing her shirt back into place.

“A week?” he whined. “That's too long. I go through withdrawals when I'm not allowed to touch you wherever I want.”

“Jeez. How are you gonna handle it if I ever decide to get the other side tattooed?” she asked. He raised an eyebrow when she reached out and moved his shirt out of the way so she could hook her fingers around the top of his pants.

“Thinking about another one already?”

“Sure. Maybe another matching one.”

“Another one? You want the bow and arrow?” he asked, referring to the tattoo on the inside of his bicep. She shook her head and pulled him closer.

“Please. You know which one is my favorite,” she teased, running her finger back and forth behind his button. He rolled his eyes.

“Oh jesus. I'm getting it removed,” he swore. She laughed again and started pulling at his shirt, pushing it up his chest. He batted at her hands, trying to stop her.

“No. You can't, I love it.”

“It's stupid.”

“It's not stupid,” she said, holding still.

She looked down at the tattoo that was just behind his fly. Scrolling letters spelling out a famous quote.

“It's completely fucking stupid, Jo.”

“It's not,” she argued. “You know why?”

“Enlighten me.”

“Because you got this tattoo when you were black out drunk.”

“Um, I think that might be the definition of stupid.”

“No, because when you were blacked out and you wanted to get something permanently marked on your body, you got something that would always remind you of me,” she pointed out, smiling big at him.

“That's very sweet. But I think I got it because I was wasted and you've made me watch that movie a million times.”

“My point exactly.”

“You're ridiculous. Fine, the tattoo is about you, and always has been. Happy?” he asked. She nodded.

“Ridiculously so.”

“Good, because I have something I need to show you.”

Archer's voice had grown serious, surprisingly her a little, and he turned away from her. She followed his gaze and saw that he was staring at the trunk.

“What is it?” she asked, a little nervous. She was pretty sure she had PTSD regarding all trunks.

“Scared?” he asked, taking the keys out of his pocket and sticking one in the lock.

“Terrified. Trunks and I don't get along so well,” she replied.

“I promise, this body will be way easier to get rid of.”

She'd been ready to laugh at his joke, but then he opened the trunk and all that came out of her mouth was a choking sound. Her eyes bulged as she took in the roughly adult body sized lump sitting in the middle of her trunk, all wrapped up in her favorite fuzzy blue throw blanket.

“What … the fuck ...” she breathed, pressing her hand to her chest.

“I helped you when you came running to me with a body in your trunk,” he reminded her. “No questions asked.”

“Yeah, but you put that body there!” she growled through clenched teeth, slapping him in the chest repeatedly.

“Still. I helped, remember?”

“How could you do this? Archer, this is my car!”

“That I bought you, so really ...”

She shrieked and went from slapping to full on punching.

“You promised!” she started yelling. “You promised, no more drug bullshit!”

“Jo,” he laughed, grabbing for her wrists.

“No more danger! Remember that!? You dickfuck!”

“Dickfuck? Is that even a word?”

“What is wrong with you!?”

“Jo,” he stressed her name as he finally got a hold of her flailing limbs. “Stop. Just hear me out.”

“Hear you out? Oh, okay. Yes, please, tell me how your murdered this dude and stashed him in my trunk, AGAIN!” she shouted. There were several other groups of people at the lookout, and all of them turned to stare at the crazy screaming lady.

“Chill out!” he shouted back, then he abruptly let her go and reached into the trunk.

“What are you doing?” she asked, then gasped as he grabbed the edge of the blanket and started pulling “Don't do that! I don't want to see what ...” Her voice trailed off as the blanket unfurled, revealing its horrifying contents.

Pillows. Several pillows, arranged side to side. There was also a bottle of champagne, two mugs, and underneath it all, a pizza box.

“Seriously, Jo. Calm – you need to look the word up. Can you imagine if I had lost my shit when you showed me a body in your trunk? Not cool,” he sighed, shaking his head back and forth. She glared and elbowed him in the stomach.

“What the fuck is all this? A joke?” she demanded.

“Yeah. Pretty funny, right?”

“Wrong. Not funny. Not funny at all.”

“Oh. Too soon?”

“Yes, Archer. Too soon.”

He laughed at her and bent into the trunk. A couple pushes and the pull of a lever later and the backseats were folded down. He arranged the blanket so it covered the bottom of the car, then he pushed the pillows back before climbing into the vehicle.

“What are you doing?” Jo asked. He fumbled around for a minute – he was such a big guy, he didn't fit at all. Even with his head resting on the back of the seats, his legs still stuck outside. He moved the pizza box so it was resting sideways next to him, then he gestured for her to join him.

“C'mon. It's a picnic,” he said.

“Are you joking?”

“Get your ass in the car, Jo.”

She frowned, but she did it. She gingerly crawled over the lip of the trunk and ducked as she moved further into the vehicle. It was awkward twisting and rolling around, but eventually she was laying down next to him. He smiled and put his hands behind his head.

“You know,” she sighed, staring out at the clear blue sky. “This isn't so bad.”

“Right?”

“But the joke wasn't. You ever do that again, and I'll mace you.”

“Fair enough.”

He popped the cork on the champagne and managed to pour some into the mugs. He handed her one and they sipped at the bubbly in silence for a couple minutes.

“This was your idea?” she asked after she'd finished her champagne and had set the cup aside. She turned onto her side and moved so she was resting her head on his bicep.

“Yeah,” he replied, moving his legs around so he could kick off his shoes. They landed inside the trunk with a heavy thump.

“What brought all this on?”

“I told you, your boobs.”

“Archer. Please. Be serious, just this once?” she asked, laying her hand flat on his stomach and brushing it back and forth. She could feel his abs jump and constrict under her fingers.

“I don't know,” he finally answered. “I just … like I said, I wanted to say thank you. It may have had a really fucked up start, but this has been the best six months of my life. I honestly wouldn't change a thing that happened, because it all brought me closer to you.”

“Awww, Archer,” she sighed, curling her fingers and clutching at his t-shirt. “That's really sweet.”

“You've always been the best part of my life. Now I get to say it out loud and show you.”

“All thanks to a dead body in a trunk,” she chuckled, gently pulling his t-shirt up his body.

“Yeah, good ol' Bernie. A hell of a weekend, huh?”

“Yeah. Archer?”

“Hmmm?”

“Stop talking now.”

As she scratched her nails across his bare skin, he leaned down and kissed her hard. She would never get tired of the sensation. Archer touching her, kissing her. Turning her body into putty and setting it on fire. Giving her everything she never knew she was missing. She gasped into his mouth and wrapped her legs around one of his, seeking movement and friction.

“As much as I love this side of you,” he panted, one his hands moving under the back of her shirt. “I have to give a warning – you're perilously close to getting fucked in public.”

“Perilously close, huh,” she breathed, then she shimmied out of her shirt. He groaned and one his hands immediately went to her breasts. “That just won't do.”

“Goddamn, I am so in love with you,” he chuckled before biting into her bottom lip. She sucked air through her teeth and pulled away.

“Not as much as I am with you. How long will the drive home take?” she asked, reaching down and tugging at his belt.

“Too long. Good thing I planned for this,” he said, and she watched as he lifted his leg, struggling to use his toes to catch the strap that hung down from the trunk lid.

“You did?” she asked, then she laughed as he got hold of the strap and started pulling down the lid.

“Of course. Most people have a picnic on the grass, Jo. Why the fuck do you think I laid it out in the trunk?” he asked.

“Sick sense of humor?” she guessed.

“Well … yeah, that too,” he replied, and with one final jerk of his leg, the trunk slammed shut.

Saturday morning in Los Angeles in July. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and everything seemed right with the world. Anyone who came to Universal City Overlook that day and saw the classic 1970 Chevelle SS parked there wouldn't have thought anything was strange about it.

They certainly never would've guessed there were two bodies in the trunk, doing their best to become one.