Southern Hospitality

Chapter 2

It wasn't long before Mark awoke again to the smell of something delicious coming from the kitchen. Though his body ached, it didn't hurt enough to put off the growling of his stomach. He was still in Jo's house, had been for, as far as he could judge, a day or so. He'd not eaten since earlier that morning.   

Mark listened as the man began to hum from the kitchen, as Sly and the Family Stone's "Everyday People" slithered out of the speakers. This was all so surreal. Why hadn't the man taken him to a hospital?   

Mark looked down at his bandaged and bruised body and was at least relieved to see that he wasn't covered in blood. Though, true to his word, Jo did seem bandage him and stitch the wounds. But he was hella hungry.   

"I am no better and neither are you, We're all the same whatever we do..."    

Mark took the time to look about the room. The door was open and Mark could glimpse the tall form of the man moving about in the kitchen. The house looked old, judging by the state of the wood floors which looked scuffed an worn. 

  "You love me you hate me, You know me and then..."

Jo looked much too big for the kitchen, seeing as Mark could see him no matter where he moved, Mark couldn't help but wonder about this savior, what could have prompted the man to save him?   

"Still can't figure out the bag I'm in, I am everyday people..." 



Mark snapped out of his reverie when the man returned with a plate. " 's not much, but I hope you don't mind grits, eggs and bacon." he said to the man.   

Mark's stomach growled at the very mention of food and he winced as he tried to sit up. Jo placed the food on the rickety nightstand and helped to lift the man up onto the pillows he'd propped up. 

"Careful." he said softly, as he adjusted the man. Mark gave a pained, grateful smile to the man as he placed a wooden tray and the plate on Mark's lap.   

"Thanks." Mark said with another smile. Jo, looked at the man for a moment and nodded, standing up from the chair and heading back out through the door. Mark noticed that he was too tall for the doorway, he had to duck a bit to get through.   

Mark started on his breakfast, blinking up after the mysterious man. He wanted to be able to ask Jo more about himself, but had the sinking suspicion that he would only be ignored.   

It was safe to say that this was the absolute last place he thought he'd end up--not in a black man's house, but a stab victim recuperating in a black man's house. Not that Mark was a racist or anything, but he did believe that...each of them had their own places in life.   

He sighed a bit, as he slowly ate the food in front of him. He sighed, sitting back gingerly against the pillows as he thought over how he'd arrived in his bum-fuck town.   

~*~*~*~

Mark Felton sighed as he stepped off the dusty Greyhound bus that had pulled up three miles outside of Johnsonsborough, South Carolina. He'd taken a train and three buses to get here, and could honestly say that the destination wasn't worth the travel. Mark sighed as he shouldered his bag and grabbed up his suitcase, heading down the dirt road towards his grandfather's farmhouse. He was here to settle the man's funeral, his land, and house and get ready to sell the place off before he headed back to Chicago.   

Arriving at the farmhouse, Mark looked up at the large house he'd been to only a few times in his life. He walked up to the door, opening it and heading inside the large, spookily quiet house.   

Mark headed further into the house, the rustic decor, the years of wear and tear on the house somehow adding to it's charm. Mark sighed, looking around the place. He needed to clean the place up really well and get ready to set up the place for sale.  But for now, he would head upstairs for a shower and a rest before heading to town tomorrow for food and such.   

He hefted up his bags and made his way up the creaking staircase to find a room for the night. 

~*~*~*~*  

That day seemed so long ago in comparison to where he was now, though he'd only been here two weeks. Jo walking back in the room snapped him out of his thoughts as the man sat next to him with a bunch of bandages in his hand. Mark was surprised to find he'd eaten everything on his plate and the big man quietly took the plate and such and began to start unwrapping the man's bandages.  

Mark startled and Jo's hands fell away. "You startin to bleed through. I gotta clean ya up." he said in his smooth, deep baritone.    

Mark nodded, leaning up so the man could re-bandage his torso. Mark looked at the man, his blue eyes flicking over Jo's strong, silent form. He could see the strength coiled up in his limbs, hell, his arms were nearly bigger than Mark's legs! And he was...handsome, in a way. Not that Mark would know how to judge a black guy, but he wasn't bad to look at. He put Mark in mind of a Lumberjack, all rugged and strong.   

"What do you do?" Mark asked, the question surprising even him.   

Jo blinked, raising a black brow. "I work construction." he said quietly.   

"Oh," Mark said, leaning back. The man's answer didn't really surprise him. He certainly looked like he was in construction.   

Mark fell silent again as he watched strong dark hands gently glide a rag over his torso. He realized that the man probably didn't even know his name.

"I'm Mark. Mark Felton," he said, and then resisted the urge to flush a bit as those dark eyes leveled on him. "Just so you'd know, you know?" he said.    

Jo said nothing as he finished bandaging the man up. "You'd best get some rest." he said as he headed from the room.   

Mark looked after him curiously. Just who was he dealing with?