by Jane Seville
So now to hear that curl in his voice that he was there with Jack, spent the night with him and let the warmth seep into his bones, Megan’s caution slipped enough for her to feel glad for it. “I’m about twenty minutes out,” she said now, these thoughts passing through her mind in a flash.
“Listen, lemme do this: I’m gonna call Churchill and have him meet you at your place. He’ll have t’escort ya here anyhow. And could ya bring me my bag? I ain’t got no clean clothes.”
“I doubt your present company objects to you walking around in the buff.”
“Maybe not, but I ain’t too keen on you ‘n’ Churchill seein my block ‘n’ tackle.”
“Fair enough. I’ll see you soon, then.”
“Lookin’ forward to it.” His voice went distant as he took the phone from his ear. “All right, smartass, get that ass on over…” was all she heard before he hung up. She chuckled. Boys.
~~~~~
“Think that’s funny, huh?” D said grabbing Jack’s bare ankle as he tried to get away and dragging him back across the bed. “Cain’t a person have a civilized conversation?”
Jack gave in and let himself be dragged. “No. Not when you’re talking to your girlfriend.”
D yanked Jack half onto his lap, ducked his head in and kissed him hard, working his mouth until Jack sagged in his arms and opened to him, forgetting what he’d been saying or doing or even thinking. D pulled back, smirking. “My what, now?”
“Huh?”
“Yeah, thought so. Anyhow, she’s on her way. Gotta call Churchill ta meet her at her place.”
Jack nodded, pulling himself together. “Guess I’ll take a shower, seeing as I have clean clothes. You’ll just have to bivouac in a bathrobe till they get here.”
D chuckled. “Jesus, Jack. Usin’ words like ‘bivouac’ in casual conversation.” Jack grinned, bent down and kissed the top of D’s head before heading into the bathroom.
He grimaced at himself in the mirror. He was disgusting. Covered in sweat and hickeys and God knew what else, not to mention the bruises from the fight night before, other bruises and assorted marks from later the night before -- he looked like he’d been rode hard and put away wet.
He smiled. As good a description as any.
He stepped beneath the hot spray, sighing in contentment. It was ridiculous that he should feel any kind of peace at this moment; after all, he was still wanted dead by a number of people and facing a long separation from D, whose safety he was increasingly worried about, in no small part because the man didn’t seem to worry about it himself. And yet it was peace in his heart, and joy, and even hope.
D was here, he’d come of his own free will, and he’d told Jack the truth about things that until very recently he’d have kept from him. He felt there in a way he never had before. Until now, Jack had always had the sense that even though he knew D was emotionally attached to him, and physically attracted, he still had one foot out the door and was hedging his bets with every word, every conversation. But last night…how he’d been, the things he’d said. He was still a close-mouthed, grumpy son of a bitch but he had seemed like a committed close-mouthed, grumpy son of a bitch. Committed to him, to Jack, and to whatever they might have together in the future. Committed to them actually having a future.
We do. We DO have a future. Someday.
Jack leaned against the tile of the shower, some of the giddy draining out his toes. Someday might be a very long way away.
~~~~~
D wrapped up in a hotel bathrobe and paced, waiting for Churchill and Megan to arrive. He didn’t want them to come. They represented the world, the world that he and Jack had been holding themselves apart from for months now. He hoped he had the rest of the weekend with Jack and that nothing Megan brought with her would fuck it up, but he wasn’t feeling optmistic. He might have to subsist on the meager diet of the memories he’d stored up last night for however long he was forced to fast, without another two days to gorge himself on Jack.
Quit bein so fuckin’ selfish. You got shit ta deal with and better now than later. All yer thinkin’ on is more time with him in this room when you oughta be thinkin’ on how ta make sure he’s safe, not ta mention yer own damn hide, for as much as it’s fuckin’ worth.
He scrubbed his hands over his skull. Why’s it gotta be this way? Little bits ‘n’ pieces, one night, tryin’ ta cram it all in, all the talkin’, all the not-talkin’, all the other stuff. Nothin’ pure, everythin’ tainted by what-next, worries ‘bout when the next fuckin’ calamity’s gonna rain down on our heads spoilin’ what little time we got.
But someday. Someday it won’t be like that. I promise you, Jack.
Jack came out of the bathroom stark naked, towelling his hair, smiling when he saw D watching him. He detoured to stand in front of D and slip his arms inside D’s bathrobe and around his waist. “There. All clean.”
“Maybe I oughta check,” D murmured, leaning in, but before he even touched Jack, the flirty smile fell off Jack’s face and he looked away. “What’s wrong?”
Jack sighed. “Nothing. Just…you’re going to have to leave soon.”
D nodded, running his hands up Jack’s arms. “Yeah.”
“I mean, I knew that, but right now all I can think about is that I might not see you like this for a long time.”
“No use dwellin’ on things we can’t do nothin’ about.”
“Are you sure we can’t do anything?” Jack said, meeting his eyes.
“What y’mean by that?”
“Let’s just go,” Jack said, his words coming out in a rush like he’d been damming them behind his teeth for too long. “Once I’m in Witsec I’ll just tell you where I am and you come join me, and we’ll just be anonymous and no one will have to know where we are.”
D was shaking his head before Jack had even finished talking. “No, Jack. You think I ain’t thought a that? It’s real temptin’, I know. But them folks’re lookin’ fer me, they ain’t never gonna stop. They come too far and they’re too pissed off fer whatever reason. I cain’t be with ya till that score’s settled. And what about the brothers? Might be they trace me ta you, and then where’d we be?” He paused. “Jack, I know you think Witsec’s gonna solve all yer problems, but have you thought bout the fact that you won’t be no surgeon in Witsec?”
“I know,” Jack said, very quietly.
“You’ll hafta take some job won’t draw no attention. You ready ta give up yer whole career that you worked years ‘n’ years for?”
“I don’t care!” Jack hissed. “I mean, I care, but…” He paused, looking away. “It isn’t like my life was so great before, you know. I was almost relieved to leave it behind. I was divorced, bored, I wasn’t dating, I’d lost a lot of my real friends and I just felt like I was waiting for something, but I didn’t know what.” He met D’s eyes. “Yeah, I miss my work. And I care about it. But not as much as I care about being with you.”
D was nearly struck dumb by that sentiment, but he didn’t let it show. “That’s las’ night talkin’, and all this drama,” he said. “That ain’t fer real. Come a time you’d be sorry, and you’d regret it, and I ain’t gonna be enough ta make all that go away. I don’t want that fer you, y’hear me?” Jack said nothing, eyes downcast. “I ain’t gonna let you lose what you worked for. It’s part a who you are and I ain’t lettin’ no part a you get destroyed.” He hesitated. “You gotta trust me, Jack.”
At that, Jack lifted his eyes and met D’s. “I trust you.”
D couldn’t think of anything more to say. All he could do was draw Jack close and kiss those lips, feel that warm, smooth body in his arms and against his chest, the rasp of Jack’s stubble against his own, his damp hair and the smell of shampoo. Jackdrew away after a few moments. “I guess I better get dressed before we end up back in that bed when Churchill and Megan get here,” he said.
He started to turn away but D held fast to his arm. Jack turned back, a questioning look on his face. D just looked
at him, his eyes searching Jack’s face, unable to ask for what he wanted. Jus hold me a little longer, Jack. Tell me again that ya wanna be with me, fer real, cross yer heart ‘n’ let me know you ain’t foolin’, cause I dunno how or when it happen but somehow I come ta need ya like air, like blood. Touch me again like ya do with them gentle hands make me feel like somethin’ precious. Say it again that ya love me, cause hearin’ that was like openin’ up some big bottomless well that ran dry years back and it cain’t never be full enough now, I cain’t never hear it enough, but once more, one more time and maybe I’ll believe it a little more, and then a little more the next time, till someday I believe it fer true enough ta be able to say it back ta you like y’oughta hear it said cause God knows I love you more’n my own life, more’n anythin’ in this world, but it cain’t get outta me yet cause I still ain’t the man I need ta be, the man who’s gonna stand before you and declare.
D just stood there, mute, but Jack seemed to get the gist of it from his face because he moved close again, wrapped his arms around D’s neck, kissed his face and held him, whispering in his ear words that seemed plucked from D’s own head and returned to him, except when Jack said them, he believed.
~~~~~
When the knock came at the door, D and Jack both jumped and glanced at each other, the same thought passing between them: here we go.
Jack got up and peered through the peephole; it was Churchill. He opened the door and stood aside. “Hey, Jack,” Churchill said, clapping his shoulder as he passed by. He was followed by a no-nonsense-looking blond woman who had to be the mythic figure he’d so often wondered about with varying degrees of jealousy.
He followed them into the room to where D was sitting on the edge of the bed in his bathrobe. He stood up, appearing exquisitely uncomfortable without his usual armor of black clothing. Jack trailed along behind, feeling useless. Megan was glancing at him. D cleared his throat. “Uh…Megan, this is Jack,” he said.
She smiled, a warm smile that took the hard edges from her face and some of the tension from Jack’s shoulders. She held out her hand, which Jack shook. “It’s really good to meet you, Jack,” she said, breaking into a full grin. “Finally. And up close.”
“I guess you know a lot more about me than I know about you.”
“I’m sorry about that.”
“Don’t apologize. I’d have to be some kind of an asshole to resent it after you saved my life, and D’s.”
“Ya got my bag there?” D interrupted, clearly eager to get out of the damn bathrobe.
Megan handed him the duffel she was carrying. “Here you go.”
“Thanks.” He headed for the bathroom. “Back in a few,” he said, glancing at Jack.
The door closed behind D and the remaining three people stood in an uneasy triangle. Jack blinked, looking from Churchill to Megan, who he realized had only just met themselves, and it became suddenly clear that even though all of this was supposedly about protecting him, it was D that was their common thread. He was Jack’s lover, Megan’s friend and Churchill’s colleague, in a way. “Sit down?” Jack offered, feeling absurd to be playing host in a damn hotel room.
Churchill took the desk chair. Megan sat down on the untouched bed, while Jack hastily drew up the covers on the other bed, acutely aware that it was a bit…well-used. He sat on the edge, his hands clasped between his knees. “How’s your head?” Churchill asked.
“It’s okay. The bruises are a little tender.”
“Churchill filled me in on what happened last night,” Megan said, leaning forward.
Jack sighed. “If you were thinking of lecturing me on my stupidity, don’t bother. I’ve had more than an earful from D already.”
She shrugged. “I was going to say that you were very brave. But also stupid.”
“I’m starting to think that ‘brave’ and ‘stupid’ go together more often than not.” He met her eyes. “You didn’t bring good news, did you?”
She looked away. “Depends on your definition of ‘good news.’ Given the situation it becomes something of a relative term.”
Jack nodded. “Well, that’s a non-answer.”
“After Monday you won’t have to worry about it anymore,” Churchill said.
Jack whipped his head around to glare at him. “Are you kidding me? You think whisking me away to God knows where will stop me from caring about what happens to D? You think I won’t be worrying myself into an early grave over it?”
“No, of course not…that’s not what I meant,” Churchill spluttered.
Jack rubbed a hand over his face. “Jesus, Churchill. You know, half of me just wants to say fuck Witsec and stay with D.”
Churchill’s face went slack with horror. “Jack, you can’t seriously be considering…”
“What if I said I was? You can’t make me go into the program if I don’t want your protection.”
“Jack, D wouldn’t want that,” Megan said.
“How do you know what he’d want?” Jack exclaimed, rounding on her. He was working himself into what D might call a “hissy fit,” but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. Everyone was so goddamned busy planning his life for him, the idea of wresting control back into his own hands was seductive as hell. “Watching him from a distance for ten years doesn’t make you an expert, you know!”
“Sleeping with him for two months doesn’t make you one, either,” she said, cool as a cucumber.
Churchill recoiled with a wide-eyed “oh no she didn’t” expression that might have been funny under different circumstances.
Jack watched her face, looking for signs of malice, but saw none. “No, it doesn’t,” he said. “But I know things about him no one knows, not even you.”
“I don’t claim to know much about him,” she said. “But I know how he feels about you. And the only thing keeping him going right now is the knowledge that in a few days you will be in Witsec and safe and he can concentrate on what he has to do, both for you and for himself. You think the best thing to do is to endanger yourself by refusing protection? “
He sighed. “No. I just…I hate this,” he muttered. “It’s like a lose-lose situation, with some extra lose on the side. There’s no win.”
“There’ll be enough win if you both come out of it alive,” Megan said, quietly. “Try and think of that.”
Jack nodded. “But what does it say that I’ve reached a point where ‘alive’ is the best I can hope for? How low can you set the bar before you start wondering what’s the point of even having the bar at all?”
“Well, ‘alive’ might not be the most inspiring goal,” Churchill said, “but it’s a place to start. And preferable to the alternative, right?”
The bathroom door opened and D came out, showered, dressed and shaved. “All right,” he said, coming to sit next to Jack on the bed. “What’d I miss?”
“Nothing,” Jack said, gloom circling in his mind like a Halloween fog. The hope and peace of just a short time ago seemed far away. “Just pondering the nature of existence.”
D wasn’t paying attention. “Megan, what’d you find out?”
She took a deep breath. “Okay.” She reached into her messenger bag and pulled out a few files. “I wasn’t able to trace who, exactly, accessed your files. Not directly, at least. I started suspecting that whoever it was wasn’t looking for you. No one knows your former identity, or that you were ever in the military, so it might have been someone researching someone else who just came across your file. So I asked myself, who was most likely to have done so? I started to wonder if it had something to do with Major Baldwin.”
“Who’s that?” Jack asked.
“Man I killed,” D said, quietly. “First man I killed. The one who helped plan the OKC bombing. Was him…well, that’s what started me. On this.”
“His death was officially ruled a suicide.”
“That’s cause I made it look like one.”
“But if somebody got suspicious, and started digging into his life just pr
ior to death, they’d discover that you had an appointment with him the day before.”
D nodded. “The officers who wanted me ta kill him arranged that. So I could get the lay a his office, and so he’d know my face and not be suspicious when I showed up the next day ta do the job.”
“If someone were being thorough, they’d investigate anybody who had contact with Major Baldwin in the days just prior to his death, which would lead them to you, among others. So I did the same. He had contact with at least a dozen officers, civilians and enlisted personnel, according to his appointment calendar, the days before he died, and all of them had their records accessed the same time as yours, D…except all of them saw the Major after you did.” D sighed, nodding.
Jack was confused. “I don’t understand the significance.”
“It means somebody worked their way backwards from his death, but when they got ta me, they stopped. Musta found what they was lookin’ for,” D said.
“I think they did,” Megan said. She stared at the file folder in her hand. “D, I don’t quite….”
“Just spit it out,” he said.
“Baldwin had a daughter,” she said. “She’s about your age. She has a criminal record, mostly white-collar and some criminal solicitation.” Megan seemed to brace herself. “Her name is Catherine Baldwin, although she has many aliases.”
D was still waiting. “And?”
Megan wordlessly handed him the file folder. D opened it; Jack looked at her picture over his shoulder. She had straight, dark hair and a heart-shaped face. Jack had never seen her before. D, on the other hand, clearly had. He jerked as if he’d touched a live wire and sucked in a breath. “Oh sweet Jesus,” he rasped.
Jack grasped his arm. “What? Who is she?”
“It’s Josey,” D choked out. “My fuckin’ handler.”