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“Three bedrooms, yours is upstairs across from the bathroom. I got the big one. Kitchen is fully stocked and we’ve got cable. A truck went into town this morning and I’ve requisitioned some clothes for you.”
“Thanks Matt. Believe me I want nothing more than to not smell like army issue.”
“Amen to that. You want coffee?’
“Only if it’s real.” Small things Connor missed, the soft cushion of the couch beneath him, the play of sunlight through the lace curtains as dust motes drifted carelessly in the air, the smell of heat and dust underscored with fresh flowers and perking coffee. And by degrees he began to feel like a human again. The months of emotional isolation and distress melting away as he ran his hand over the arm of the chair and flicked on the remote as the sunglasses hit the table and the TV flared to life.
Matt came back into the room and put a mug down on the table, cradling the second one in his palms as he flopped down into a well-worn and comfortable chair.
“Apart from the obvious how did you and Peter get together?” Matt grinned over the coffee and crossed his feet on the table.
“What not quite what you expected?” Connor smiled as he savoured the hot bitter liquid.
“No offense, but no. Peter is very confrontational.”
“I prefer passionate.” Connor’s voice dropped into a light-teasing mode.
“You would.” Matt laughed. “But he’s still a difficult man to get to know. On any level.” He added for emphasis.
“Well it wasn’t terribly romantic.” Connor smiled at the memory and his face softened.
“I can imagine.”
“Can you?”
“Probably not.”
“You always this curious?”
“I’ve spent nearly two years arguing with a man that I barely know and now I’m sitting in a room sipping coffee with his lover and still I don’t know him.”
“I got drunk.” Connor propped his feet on the small table and turned the volume down on the TV.
“Pardon?”
“We’d been on a case, Rollins was riding rough shod again and we lost a couple of the new recruits. I’d spent nearly four hours at HQ and already done the speech to their families.”
Matt shuddered sympathetically. “Done a few of them in my time, not pleasant. So you and Peter went out and tied one on?”
“No- I used to play bass with a band a friend started when I was in college. He was in town and took me out and got me drunk. And no I wasn’t sleeping with him. I was angry, and it wasn’t a good thing to do. Back then Peter would walk into a room and it was all I could do to be civil to him.”
“Wanted him that much hey?”
“Oh yeah, it hurt. So instead of asking, I was a bastard and treated him like shit.”
“I take it you don’t do casual?”
Connor shook his head, “Couldn’t afford to. Navy is still homophobic and I had too much to lose, so I studied instead and by the time I realized what I wanted I was in a position that made it difficult if not fatal to explore my options.”
“I can understand that.”
“Can you Matt? Let me ask, you’re what? Fortyish?”
“Flattery will get you nowhere.” Matt replied dulcetly.
“And heterosexual all your life?”
“Your point?”
“Is this, while you were screwing your way through school and university I was studying and doing a tour of duty in the Navy. My opportunities were a lot less than yours and probably never as satisfying.”
“How so?” Matt was fascinated and watched intently, his heart warming to the man in the room with him.
“Correct me if I’m wrong but while the back of a car was a rarity most of your conquest happened on a couch.”
“Hey I got class, used to rent a room at the local motel.” Matt smiled.
“Try a brick wall, or a dark alley. While it’s true, I was far from a virgin when I met Peter, I’d never been made love to.”
“Wow.”
“I didn’t realize it bothered me quite that much either until I started thinking of what ifs.”
“And when you did?”
Connor shrugged elegantly his fingers slid around the mug. “Knew what I wanted and generally I do get what I want.”
“Now that I can believe.” Matt teased. “But what does getting drunk have to do with how you got under his guard?”
“You sure you want to hear this?” Connor frowned.
“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t. Go on.” Matt made shooing movements with his hand and leaned back.
“Alright. Peter and I were barely civil to each other. I rarely drink, well not to the extent I did that night. I was rotten.” Connor winced. “Mark, my band friend and I got into a fight in a bar, to this day I have no idea why but the two of us thought we could take on Boston and win.”
“I take it you didn’t.”
“I’m not really sure. But we all got arrested and I ended up in the local drunk tank.”
“Frank would have loved that.”
“I was lucky.”
Connor drifted back to the moment and recalled the events, his voice soft and lilting in the late afternoon.
“Hey Harry, what’ve you got?”
“Local brawl at the Boat House. Got a few who’ll need to sleep it off.” The young officer called back as he shepherded his motley group into the cells.
“Much damage?” Vaughn Johnson enquired as he looked at the bloody faces and torn clothing.
“To the bar? A bit, judge can work it out. I’ve got to process the paperwork.” Harry turned and dropped a bag of ID, a black leather wallet springing open to show an OSIR ID card.
“Hang about, which one owns this?” Vaughn bent down and picked up the ID and peered intently.
“Ugh?” Harry looked at the photo and pointed to the back of the cell. A man in his early thirty’s lay where he fell across a bunk and looked decidedly the worse for wear. “That one.”
“Do me a favour Harry, don’t process that one just yet.”
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