Fic: Wild Geese
Wild Geese, by rakish. Tezuka/Ryoma, PG, humor/romance or something. I've received complaints (ahaha) about the lack of TezuRyo lately, so hopefully this will remedy that issue. Written for pillarchallenge's Absence/Lack Thereof theme. This brings me to something of a dilemma, since I'm not posting directly to LJ anymore. It seems like posting links to JF on an LJ comm might be... not good? Um. I'm not sure.

Notice also my amazing fic-titling skills. I was thinking wild goose chase and then I was like... oh hey! How creative! :D Yes I'm lame, stfu.


None of the vending machines in America sell grape Ponta anymore.

Tezuka finds this out the hard way, after their plane lands and Echizen is sleepy, wanting bed but wanting a can of Ponta more. The vending machines in the airport sell plenty of things: Pepsi, Mountain Dew, iced tea, water. Some sell orange Ponta, too, but even these are few and far between. Tezuka then checks at the food shops that line the terminal, but all of the cashiers look at him as though he’s speaking a foreign language, even though Tezuka knows his English is perfect.

He goes back to Echizen, who is curled up on two of the hard airport seats, using his own carry-on as a pillow and Tezuka’s as a substitute for Karupin. Neither of these is very effective, as they always bring their racquets and other tennis things in the carry-ons, the things they don’t want to lose most of all. However, tennis things aren’t soft, and Echizen shifts, and yawns, repositioning his head so that it’s not directly on a racquet handle.

“Echizen,” says Tezuka, and Echizen blinks up at him, bleary-eyed. “They don’t have grape anywhere.”

“Mm.” Echizen buries his face in his carry-on and hugs Tezuka’s closer.

“Do you want anything else?” Tezuka already knows the answer will be no, but he asks anyway.

“No. Maybe." Echizen pauses and reconsiders. "Tea if you get it.”

Tezuka hadn’t been planning on buying anything for himself, but he knows that a bit of rehydration will do Echizen good. “All right.” He only goes across the way so that he can keep an eye on Echizen, making sure that no one comes near. Iced tea is more expensive here than it is in Japan, but Tezuka buys it anyway. Then he fetches Echizen, letting Echizen lean on him on their way to the baggage claim. None of their things have been lost this time, at least, always a lucky occurrence.

Echizen winces when they step into the chill night air. “Stupid America,” he mutters, nuzzling closer into Tezuka’s side. “Cold and no Ponta.”

Tezuka smiles slightly and is glad he’d made Echizen wear his jacket.

***

The taxi driver is a tennis fan, but a thoughtful one: he’d recognized them, then noted Echizen’s sleepy state and added ruefully that it wouldn’t be the best time for an autograph, he was sure. Because of this, Tezuka has pulled out one of the signed tennis balls all professionals keep on them for this purpose, and will give it to their driver with the cab fare. It has both his name and Echizen’s on it already, which is good. If Echizen were to attempt an autograph at this point, it would end up either saying “Horio” or being completely illegible.

“Here.” Tezuka hands Echizen the open tea bottle, holding it carefully until he’s sure Echizen has a grip on it. Echizen doesn’t lift his head from Tezuka’s shoulder to take a sip. He makes a face when it touches his tongue, but doesn’t say anything, one of the rare times when he deigns to be courteous and silent.

Tezuka says, “They’ll sell grape Ponta somewhere.”

“Maybe. I don’t need it.” Echizen feigns nonchalance, something he’s only worse at when it comes to Karupin. He takes another sip of the tea, licking his lips to catch the drops that spill.

When the cab stops at the hotel, Tezuka leans forward to pay the driver (complete with autographed tennis ball) and to ask, quietly, whether he knows of any place in the city that carries that particular flavour of Ponta.

The driver shakes his head, looking disappointed that he’s unable to help. “Orange is all I’ve seen. Sometimes strawberry, but not usually.”

Tezuka thanks the man and gets out of the cab to find that their driver has gotten out also, and is more than willing to lift their suitcases out of the trunk. This makes it easier for Tezuka to support Echizen, and he thanks the driver again.

“Not a problem. And with that, you know, what you’re looking for.” The driver glances at Echizen and then back at Tezuka. “Might want to call around for it. I don’t know, some of the specialty stores might have it.”

“I will, then,” Tezuka replies with a nod. “Thank you.” As soon as they set foot into the hotel, the bellhop takes their bags and swiftly carts them away, up to their room on the ninth floor. Tezuka and Echizen take the normal guest elevator, not the quicker employee one that the bellhop has taken.

In the elevator, Echizen unexpectedly leans up and gives Tezuka a long, slow, somewhat messy kiss. “You tried to get Ponta for me,” he explains when he’s done.

Of course, Tezuka thinks, and gives Echizen another, briefer kiss before they reach their floor. Echizen keeps his arms around Tezuka’s neck, head on Tezuka’s chest until they arrive at floor number nine. It’s one of the most comfortable elevator rides of Tezuka’s life, aside from every other one he’s ever taken with Echizen.

By the time they set foot in the room, Echizen is more than halfway asleep, only able to take off his shoes and strip off his shirt before falling into bed. “You should sleep too,” he mumbles, eyes fluttering open for a second to focus on Tezuka.

“I will,” Tezuka promises. “I’ll sleep as soon as I finish something.”

That is, apparently, good enough, because Echizen is snoring softly a minute later.

***

Not many stores are open at this time of night, but there are enough twenty-four hour ones listed in the phone book that Tezuka feels it’s worth a try. Echizen drinks grape Ponta with breakfast, always. They’ve never run out, because one or the other of them always remembers to stock the fridge. They share a can in the morning, along with a cup of Tezuka’s customary tea. It’s not essential, not even important in terms of the wider scheme of things, but…

Tezuka makes the phone calls anyway.

“We’ve got orange Ponta, if you want that.”

“No, we don’t stock grape. We have orange, though.”

“Strawberry, orange and pineapple, no grape, sorry.”

“Huh?”

“Grape Ponta? I thought they discontinued that. We definitely don’t have it on the shelves, anyway. Hey Rob! When’s the last time we had grape Ponta in? Yeah, a couple years ago.”

These responses from the store clerks are not encouraging. He calls down to the hotel’s front desk as well, asking if they have any available at their restaurant or at the bar downstairs. “No, I’m sorry, sir,” says the woman. “We can try to locate some for you, if you’d like.”

“That won’t be necessary,” says Tezuka. “Thank you,” and he hangs up. They’ll try calling the same stores he’s already spoken with, which will do him no good. Besides that, he has one last source to try, and if that particular source can’t acquire what he needs, no one can. He dials the number; it’s long-distance, but he can afford to pay the fees.

“Yes, Tezuka?” Atobe’s voice comes from the other end of the line.

Tezuka raises an eyebrow at the phone. “Anyone could have been calling from this hotel.”

“Yes, but not from your room,” Atobe says dismissively, raising the question of why, exactly, Atobe knows which room number is Tezuka’s and Echizen’s. “Something on your mind?”

“Yes,” says Tezuka, and explains the problem. There is no grape Ponta available anywhere in New York, as far as he’s been able to find and as far as anyone can tell him. The stores don’t carry it, the vending machines don’t carry it, and even the generally-helpful hotel staff don’t know where it can be found.

Atobe is silent for a moment, then chuckles. “Why Tezuka, I had no idea you enjoyed Ponta so much.”

Tezuka sighs. “Now you know.”

“Yes, I do,” says Atobe, indicating that he knows far more than that. “I’ll see what I can do.”

After getting off the phone with Atobe, Tezuka changes into something more appropriate for bed, brushes his teeth, and then lies down carefully so as not to wake Echizen.

Echizen doesn’t wake up, but he knows Tezuka is there, even in his sleep, and cuddles closer with an incoherent murmur. His hand closes around the fabric of Tezuka’s shirt like a small child with a favourite blanket, or maybe, in Echizen’s case, with a favourite tennis racquet. Tezuka kisses Ryoma’s hair gently, and within a few minutes, he’s asleep too.

***

The next morning Tezuka wakes, expecting to find Echizen beside him, still snoozing. He finds an empty place in the bed, instead, and sits up, reaching for his glasses so that he can investigate this strange situation. He’s only just gotten his glasses on and focused his eyes through them when Echizen comes around the corner from the dining area and launches himself onto the bed. Tezuka is being kissed deeply a moment later, fallen back against the pillows with Echizen’s weight pinning him there.

Tezuka would wonder about the cause of this sudden, welcome attack, but then he realises that Echizen’s breath tastes of sweet, sugary grape Ponta. He makes a mental note to thank Atobe later.

“You found it for me,” says Echizen breathlessly. “Buchou.”

“Atobe did,” Tezuka corrects. “I only made the phone call.”

“More than one,” says Echizen, and smirks at Tezuka’s inquiring look. “I heard.”

“You weren’t-” Tezuka begins, and can’t finish with asleep, because Echizen is kissing him again.

“Monkey King sent a note with it,” Echizen informs him, once he has to pause for another breath. “He said to be grateful to you.”

“Ah,” says Tezuka.

“I’m grateful,” says Echizen, and then, “I made tea.”

Tezuka gives him a look.

“Not the same without it,” says Echizen, mock-defensive. He lets Tezuka up so they can drink their customary tea-and-Ponta combination. The Ponta comes, evidently, from a high-class restaurant across town that prides itself on having anything and everything its customers could possibly order. It comes in a large case of bottles, not cans, but neither Tezuka nor Echizen complains.

“America’s not so bad,” Echizen comments, resting his forehead against Tezuka’s so they can both sip at the tea from opposite sides of the cup.

“No,” says Tezuka, barely repressing a smile. “It’s not.”