by Eleanor Dax
"Taking off?"
Gomez's voice surprised him. She hadn't spoken to him in so long he'd almost forgotten she was there.
"Yeah." He dawdled for a minute, fixing random crap on his desk. It was cluttered but not too bad. "You sticking around for a while?" He eyed the candy bowl by her computer.
"Little while," she answered, sitting back in her chair. She eyed him for a minute. "You got plans tonight?"
Roy just gave a small nod, plucking a mint from the bowl. She didn't bite his hand off or slap it away, and he took that as a good sign.
"Anything I might want to know about?" The way she cocked her head so pointedly to the side, she may as well have spelled it out for him on a big neon sign. The Adams business.
Not looking at her, Roy popped the candy into his mouth. He shook his head. "Nope. Family thing."
She seemed surprised.
"Got to go."
It wasn't the full truth but not a lie either. Roy took a vehicle from the pool and went down to Colma. He had a brother there, running a little bar and grill near the ocean with his wife. Fog was thick but Roy made it okay and stayed a while, mostly just catching up. At nightfall he said goodbye.
He'd made his mind up to find Casey that night. He still felt sore about how things had gone down between them and wanted to make it right. He'd grown defensive, let his temper get the best of him, and really mucked things up just as they'd started to get better.
Casey's closed up, muddied gaze still haunted him, and he wanted to fix it. Not just for the case or his own guilt, but for Casey. Because Casey had worn that look in the past, Roy could tell, and gotten plenty of use out of it. Other guys had put that look on his face, and the last thing Roy wanted was to number among them.
He cruised around the SoFA Disctrict a while, peering into shadows and alleys, and finally parked the car. Might do better to search on foot.
A couple hours passed and he was close to giving up. Casey could be anywhere. He finally ducked into another bar, a raucous place crammed wall-to-wall with men. The music was loud and not to Roy's taste, but he was tired of walking around and wanted a drink.
Ginger ale, though. He intended to keep his head.
A few men made advances but he fended them off, finding a spot near the bar to just stand and watch. He could practically smell the stink of chemicals on the patrons around him, and the pupils of any eyes he happened to catch were blown wide open. Bodies pushed on the dance floor, mouths fused to shoulders, necks, other mouths. Other things too, Roy guessed, and that was why he didn't look too hard in any corners, or go anywhere near the bathroom. Too bad, he could do with a leak.
It had been some time since he'd hooked up with anyone, since before he moved down to the city. Wasn't that he didn't get horny because he did, there was just something about cruising bars and anonymous sex that made him feel guilty after. Troubled. He wanted more than that. Didn't know what, but more.
Finally draining his beer and leaving it on the bar, he was ready to go, thinking maybe he'd hit the next establishment. There were plenty around, all of them promising hard drugs and harder sex. What a mess. Squeezing through the crowd, a hand latched onto his arm. He shook it off, but it grabbed him again.
"Fuck off," he growled, and stopped short. The hand was attached to an arm covered in familiar fabric, attached to a neck and a head and a face he knew well. "Casey?"
It was him, and he looked like shit. Worse than the other night, with his bruised eyes and tired demeanor. He looked strung out, half dead on his feet, with heavy shadows under his eyes. Roy pulled him out of the building.
"Jesus," he said. "What the hell happened to you?"
Casey was weak; knees shaky, his gaze restless. Roy grabbed hold of his chin to keep his head upright and felt the heat burning right up off the skin. "Oh, hey. Hey in there, can you hear me?"
The bar's door banged open and a man rounded on them, stopping suddenly short and taking them in. Casey propped up against cool brick and Roy holding him there. The guy seemed angry, like he wanted to say something, then saw Roy's face and thought better of it. Roy watched him leave and turned his attention back to Casey.
"You're burning up,"" he said, cupping a palm over Casey's forehead and pushing sweaty curls aside. He stared, chewing at his bottom lip in thought.
Casey stared back, eyes shining with fever. He said, "Yeah." Still holding Roy's arm. "I thought it was you." His voice was rough, like rocks grinding together. Roy winced in sympathy.
"You thought right. Where's your car?"
"Just saw you and-" Casey glanced away, brows knitting together. His grip on Roy's sleeve tightened and fell slack. He brought his gaze back again. "I'm not like what you think," he said, seriously.
"What?" Pulling him off the wall-it was cold, he should have known better-Roy tucked him close. Casey shivered against him. "Your car," Roy tried again.
With deliberate movements Casey stopped them. He closed his fist tight over Roy's arm once more, and his eyes blazed with sudden fervor. He said loudly, "I'm not like what you think."
Roy stared in dismay.
"You'd probably like me if you knew me better," Casey went on. "I'm not some pervert, okay?" He searched Roy's gaze and tried again. "I'm not a bad guy."
The words touched something in Roy, made him feel tender in a way he just hadn't for a very long time. "Okay," he said. He gave Casey's arm a light squeeze, hoping to reassure. "I hear you," he said, gazing deep into muddy brown eyes.
Casey looked doubtful.
With half a smile Roy brushed his knuckles over one cheek, felt the heat there. "You're a good guy," he said. "I know. But you don't look so good."
A rough laugh was his only response, and Roy realized then that Casey needed him. So tough all the time, full of piss and vinegar, but vulnerable, too. Roy had glimpsed that part of him a few times; at the diner, getting pizza. In the motel room. Roy didn't let himself think too hard and just made the decision.
"Come on," he said, pulling Casey close to him once more-just to help him walk, because he was so unsteady. Would have felt damn good, though, if he wasn't so worried. "Let's get your car," he said. "And get you somewhere warm. How's that?"
Chapter six
Casey couldn't bring himself to care when Roy brought them back to the motel. He was pulled from the vehicle-his car, which Roy had driven-and guided into a small room.
He waited unsteadily by the door, gaze roaming over the cramped, stained walls and paint-by-number in a cheap frame. All familiar. Roy went ahead checking the place out, the fluorescent bulb in the bathroom flickering a few times before finally lighting, the faucet running strong. He appeared again a moment later, brows drawn together in a tight frown. He looked grim.
"Come on, then," he said to Casey, who took a step back.
"Hang on," he warned. He was a little high, coming down, but it wasn't just drugs. It was that damn tickle in his throat, that scratch in his eye from a few days ago.
"It's okay," Roy told him. "I just want to help."
Casey stared, unmoving. "Motel room," he said. Hadn't they been over this? His voice was fucked. Cracked and worn. He could hardly stand to listen to himself.
The moment ticked by, and Roy chewed at his lip. "It's not like that," he said, brusque. "Not what you thought before. I just want to help."
Casey stared at him, trying to think if he was angry or not. His head was all fuzzed out, and all he could think about was washing the stink from his body, the grease from his hair, and sleeping for a fucking week. "Whatever," he said, and brushed by into the bathroom. Rusty hinges kept the door from closing all the way and it stood ambivalently open a crack.
He got a good whiff of himself and balled his clothes in the sink. A dull ache had settled behind his brow, and for a long moment he let the lukewarm spray pound the back of his head and neck. He soon got to work scrubbing himself down and stepped out, dripping water over the cheap tile floor.
The room outside was silent, but
he listened anyway, that high feeling creeping back. That fuzz. Casey glanced in the mirror and saw he looked bugged out, his eyes wide and bloodshot, his face white. He shivered once and a soft knock came from the door. Roy's voice followed and Casey stared in surprise.
"Everything okay?" Roy called, a little awkward, like he didn't know what the fuck he was doing.
"Uh, yeah." Casey grabbed a towel and rubbed it quickly over his hair and body, then wrapped it around his waist. He remembered his bags in the car. Shit.
Right on time Roy said, "I got your things. Do you-um." Floorboards creaked and, with some caution, Casey opened the door. His backpack sat neatly on the bed, the brown messenger bag nowhere in sight. Casey knew he'd brought that in. His eyes narrowed.
"Put it in the drawer." Roy nodded helpfully at the nightstand. Top drawer was slim, the bottom deep enough for Darren's bag.
Casey stepped out, eyes still narrow. His guard was faltering but it was up. "Right."
"Didn't think you'd want it sitting out."
Casey eyed him once more before going to the bed. "I don't. Thank you." He found a light t-shirt and fresh underwear-thank fucking god. Obliging, Roy turned his back and Casey dressed. "When's checkout?" He stared down and thought, a fucking bed, but didn't crawl gratefully into it just yet.
"Don't worry about that," Roy said, peeking around. Casey was dressed-somewhat. Legs bare and gooseflesh rising, but his bits were covered. Almost against his will Roy's gaze flitted down and up again, and the room went quiet.
"So what the fuck do you want from me?" Casey asked plainly, his voice rough in the stillness.
Roy's reply was instant, but slightly guilty. "Nothing.
"Then why are you still here?" Casey wasn't sure what to make of the surprise that passed over Roy's expression.
Stubbornly, the cop said, "I just want to see you're okay."
Casey cut right in, harsh. " And I am."
After a second Roy dropped his gaze. "Understood." An awkward moment passed, one Casey thought normal people might have used for goodbye. Finally Roy went to the door and Casey felt like a jerk.
"Wait," he said, because, shit, he was an asshole. He frowned at his toe for a second and looked up. "I am okay," he said, quiet. "Thank you." The room was cool, and a thin shiver crawled up his spine. He crossed his arms.
Roy accepted the thanks without saying anything for a minute. "You should rest. You were pretty-um." He hesitated, didn't finish, and Casey looked away.
Another awkward moment and Casey muttered, "Yeah. Sorry about that."
"Shit, no. Don't be." Roy pushed a hand through his short hair with a sharp grimace. "Sorry. Look, I saw a couple machines outside. I think I could get you some aspirin-that all right?"
Again, Casey stared at him. "Um, yeah. That would be great." He watched Roy go and stood dazed by the bed. "The hell," he said to the room. He sat, and covered his hands over his face. His palms felt cool over his flushed cheeks and forehead, and he sighed.
He'd run himself hard the last week, pushed himself too far. It was fear that made him do it, and while the cash piled up he felt like bits of himself were being eaten away. Like he were a non-person now, a ghost just floating on by. He was surprised Roy had even noticed him. Some minutes passed and two soft knocks came from the door. It opened.
Roy gave him a quick, nervous kind of grin and locked up. He carried a small bundle of items over, and in spite of his exhaustion Casey had to smile.
"You should keep hydrated." Roy set no fewer than three water bottles on the nightstand. "The tap is shit so drink this." A few tabs of medicine followed and a bag of crackers. "Sorry it's not real food."
Casey popped the pills into his mouth and washed them down with the water. "It's fine," he croaked. "God, thank you." He stared at Roy. As angry as the cop made him sometimes, he wasn't anything even close to being like Darren. A chill came over him. He'd almost forgotten.
Frowning, Roy said, "You should lie down."
Too tired to fight the suggestion, Casey just went with it. "There's stuff I have to tell you," he said, sliding his legs under the sheets. They were cool on his skin, and heavy.
Roy stood over him, troubled. "Darren?"
Casey let his head hit the pillow with a sigh and closed his eyes. "Yes."
"Urgent?"
Casey gave thoughtful hum in reply and murmured, "Maybe. What day is it?" He cracked an eye open. Roy stood in the same spot, still wearing that brown leather jacket he seemed to like so much. Casey eyed the way it hugged shoulders and arms and thought he liked it too.
Bemused, Roy said, "Wednesday night."
The sleepy contentment Casey had settled into fled, leaving him cold. He said, "Oh."
"What is it?" Roy grabbed a chair and pulled it close. He looked slightly rough to Casey, ragged around the edges. Hadn't shaved in a couple days, at least. His chin was thick with whiskers and Casey focused on that as he gave his reply.
"Supposed to meet Friday." He supposed he could be feeling better by then, but that wasn't even the issue. The thought of seeing Darren again, after the other night, it just made him feel knotted up. Sick inside. Like everything said about him was true. Casey had never felt so much like a-well-what he was.
"Where?"
"Don't know yet."
"Casey. What?"
Casey turned on his side, pushing his face into the pillow. "I don't know," he said into it. His words were clear but muffled, and his voice sounded even more fucked up to his ears. He squeezed his eyes shut and let the dampness soak into scratchy fabric. It was the headache, he reasoned, and the fuzz in his brain. Roy treating him nice. It was fucking with him. A hand came down light over his shoulder. Unsure.
"Casey?" Roy hesitated for all of a second, then plowed ahead. "Listen, don't see Darren Friday. Don't even talk to him. Just stay away and I'll fix this."
Processing those words took several moments as they didn't make a bit of fucking sense. Finally Casey turned his head to look. "What?"
Roy's face was determined. "I shouldn't have dragged you into this," he said. "That was wrong. You just concentrate on-on getting better. Understand?"
"Better?"
That intense look came back to Roy's eyes. It started Casey's heart thumping wild like he was scared, but he just lay still in the bed and said nothing, staring up.
"Something I have to talk to you about," Roy began.
Casey swallowed hard. "Okay." He didn't know what that meant. Jail? Please no.
Roy aimed his gaze downward and said, "I got a brother. He lives with his wife in Colma, a little bit south from here. They run a place together, seafood place. Kind of a bar but mostly food and beer-that kind of thing. Anyway, they're looking for help. You said you'd worked a line before, well. This wouldn't be too different. It's not much but the wages are fair and they're good people. They'll want to meet you first but basically if you want the job it's there. I know you've got a degree and all, but it's something."
Casey didn't know what to say. Roy's cheeks colored and he stared hard at his hands, slowly rubbing them together. He took a breath.
"There's something else. You'll be needing a place to stay, I guess. Not a long-term solution but they've got an in-law studio in back. Not connected to the house. It's clean and everything, not much in the way of furniture but that's easy to get. You'll have to talk to them about rent but they're open to working with you. Maybe cut you a break for a month or two. Like I said, you'll have to talk to them." He fell suddenly quiet, still staring at his hands. He stopped rubbing them and just pressed his fingers together, a deep frown on his face.
It was too much. Casey didn't know what to say so he just said, "What?"
The line of Roy's mouth hardened and he didn't look up from his hands. "Just what I said. If you want it, there's a job and a place. Like I said, they're good people."
The moment stretched and, numb, Casey put his hand over Roy's. He stared until their eyes caught. Roy's hands were brown from the sun,
a few dark hairs spread out. Casey asked him, quiet, "But why?"
Roy's jaw twitched as he thought what to say. "You seem like a good guy," he said at last. "You seem like-" He stopped. "I don't know." They stared at one another. Roy's mouth was fixed, tense at the corners. "I just feel bad about-everything. Bringing you into this."
Casey moved his hand away. He stared at Roy from the pillow and gave a low, humorless laugh. "You feel guilty." He wondered at himself, at when he'd grown so damned bitter. Jail, or before that?
Irritation passed clear over Roy's face. "It's more than that."
"Okay."
"Damn it, Casey. I know you think I'm just some jerk, but that's not what this is about. I'm not just another guy with a badge."
The corner of Casey's mouth curled up in a half-grin. "You're in the wrong line of work, mister."
It was unexpected, but Roy reached out. He touched Casey's face and just looked at him, so open his eyes seemed black like they went forever. Casey stared back, too shocked by the sensation of knuckles skimming his cheek to react.
"I mean what I say. This isn't just about Darren anymore. Do you understand?"
Roy seemed to be trying to tell him something, but Casey was too shit scared to wonder at what it might be. "Do you want to sleep with me?" he blurted.
Roy's eyes widened, and then he looked sad. "Casey," he said, more gently than anyone had said Casey's name before.
Like an idiot Casey went on. "I'm just saying, you're being so-I don't know. If you wanted, you could." He shut up then, cheeks burning with something more than fever.
Roy breathed deeply. "You don't have to do that."
"I know." Anger colored Casey's words. He was embarrassed and-disappointed? Maybe. Who the fuck knew? He was pathetic, offering himself like this. Sick and broke and unable to think straight for more than two seconds. "Sorry," he said again. "Fuck, I'm just-I don't know. Sorry."
"Shh." A thumb smoothed his brow. Casey's eyes pricked and he swiped a hand quickly over them. Roy's voice was deep, a comfort now. "Don't think about that."