Smoke and Mirrors

by Lillian T. MacGowan

  “I hate you,” he shouted after her.

  Laura ignored Deck and hammered on the bathroom door, yelling that Freya and Spellacy had better not be making out in the shower again.

  Naim smiled a little nervously, and Deck noticed his hands were trembling again. God how different this world must be to Naim’s life of physicians and people of prestige.

  Deck turned to him, his face soft and open. Naim stopped laughing but couldn’t quite manage to get rid of the smile. “You don’t have to go right away, do you?” Deck asked cautiously.

  Naim paused, his gaze darting around the room, clearly uncertain. He glanced up at the clock on the back wall. “I…I have another hour,” he nearly whispered.

  “Ignore those fuckwads. They’re just…” Deck sighed. “Shit. How the hell am I stuck for words? Goddamn. But I’m trying to be better about my language. I’ve never really talked to anyone like you before. Ya’know. All cultured. Educated. Except Jen of course, but ya know, she’s Keller’s wife so…”

  Naim stayed silent, but he smiled softly.

  Deck sighed again and closed his eyes for a moment. God he was an idiot. “You don’t then, right? Have to go right now?”

  Naim was quiet for a few seconds. “No. Not quite yet.”

  Deck grinned hugely, and he swore Naim blushed. “So what—what’s with the…” Deck waved his good hand at Naim, indicating his clothes.

  “Oh. Yeah.” Naim looked around, embarrassed.

  Deck caught himself. “You look great. You look…just great,” he murmured.

  “I, um, I had a few errands this morning and didn’t feel like changing. Nobody’s particularly fussed about it on the overnight shifts.” Naim swallowed.

  “Overnight? You’re going to be here all night?”

  Deck knew his attention was probably a little overwhelming, but he couldn’t help it. And as nervous as Naim seemed, he was still there. He had to feel safe with Deck. He just had to.

  “I’m on overnight ER surgery. Any emergency cases that come in, I’m first man up,” Naim breathed.

  Deck did his best to scoot his massive body closer to the edge of the bed, closer to Naim, and tried to will Naim into making eye contact again. “Are you okay? About everything?”

  “Yeah,” Naim answered, nodding. “Yeah I am. I’m not sure how likely it is that we’ll even get a suspect, but at least now I know it wasn’t carelessness on our part.” He sighed but shook it off and gave Deck a small smile. “We’ll see what happens. I don’t want to make myself crazy thinking about it too much when there’s nothing I can do right now.”

  “Yeah, no, of course. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” Deck glared over at Peyton, who’d taken to glove-balloon boxing with Mac.

  “It’s okay. You don’t have to apologize,” Naim said. “You really don’t have to apologize,” he repeated softly. Glancing over at the crowd on the other side of the room, he scooted his chair closer to the bed.

  Deck watched him moving closer, and he lit back up again.

  “In fact, I should be thanking you,” Naim muttered from his new spot up against Deck’s bed. He looked at his hands, hovering near his knees.

  “Thanking me? For what?”

  “FOR HELPING. I know you have a personal stake in this investigation too, but, well…” Naim finally looked at him and stopped, looking almost stricken. Taking a breath, Naim continued, “This could mean the difference between rebuilding or not. That…means a lot to me.”

  Deck blinked something back, he didn’t know what. “Will you tell me if there’s anything else I can do?” While he spoke, Naim was moving, seemingly without even knowing it, lifting his hands to the edge of the bed and placing them next to Deck’s wrist.

  Deck felt the heat from Naim’s strong, beautiful hands at his wrist and it warmed him from the inside out.

  “Yes,” Naim answered, meaning it. “I will.”

  DECK SHIFTED; HIS heart fluttered; it actually fucking fluttered in his chest, and he moved his hand, letting his fingertips rest on Naim’s.

  The contact was barely there. Just fingertips to fingertips, Deck’s moving lightly, slowly against Naim’s in a gentle, easy touch.

  “Good. I want to help. You. I want to help you.”

  Naim looked surprised at his boldness as he turned his hands over slowly, letting Deck’s slide easily into his, between them. He held Deck’s hand in his right and touched the top of it lightly with his left and Deck wondered about the contrast of their skin, his rough fingers catching gently on the smoother flesh of Naim’s.

  “You don’t have to help me, Deck. I’m okay. Besides, there are a lot of hands in this already.” He blushed as a brush of his hair fell against his cheek, and Deck longed to tickle it against Naim’s flesh and see if he would squirm.

  DECK’S GRIN ALMOST exploded. “I know. And there isn’t a lot I can do from here, but if I can, you just tell me. You said you would.” He squeezed Naim’s hand slightly, and Naim blinked slowly. Heavily.

  “Yes. I did. And I will.” Naim’s fingertips danced up to Deck’s wrist and slid to the pulse there. Deck felt it pounding under his own skin. “How are you feeling?” he asked. There simply wasn’t anyone else in the room anymore. “First day with rehab and a temper tantrum.” His eyes danced a little, heavy wisps of black hair falling, framing them, and he smoothed his fingers lightly over the warming, hammering pulse point. “You must be tired.”

  “I was. Not anymore.”

  DECK SLOWLY CURLED his fingers under Naim’s hand, tickling his palm, swallowing the feeling of warm skin, lines, indentations, and the map of his palm print. He ran his fingers under, across, and around Naim’s palm, feeling it grow slightly damp and hot, muscles jumping beneath his touch.

  He shifted in the bed again; it was too warm under the blankets. He was too hot inside his own skin, but if he wasn’t careful, everyone would see what this was doing to him. He didn’t want to embarrass Naim. “But you’re not supposed to ask me that, right? You’re not my doctor anymore, right?”

  “No. I’m not.” Naim’s breath was thicker and rougher. His thumb ran slowly along the smooth, thin skin inside Deck’s wrist, tracing the small bones, pressing against his pulse as it jumped harder. “But I do…” His voice trailed off when Deck’s fingertips met Naim’s pulse, and he pressed them in gently, nails catching his skin lightly.

  “What?” Deck asked, the word coming out in a breath of air he had to force from his lungs.

  Naim was dragging the tips of his fingers along the top of Deck’s, barely touching, barely hinting. But Deck knew. He knew, and he felt it in his fingers, along his arm, and down his spine.

  “Care.” Naim’s voice came out a harsh whisper. He breathed hard through his nose.

  A soft sound came from the back of Deck’s throat—half sigh, half mewl—and he closed his eyes, absorbing the warmth, the comfort, the heat, and the joy.

  Fuck the world. I’m in love, and I’m going to marry this man.

  Chapter Five

  With Dixon’s official report and an investigation underway, Naim was able to submit a claim to the insurance company and prepare for the board meeting three weeks away that would decide whether they would rebuild. Dr. Barrett was on his side, but the other board members were all wild cards, and Naim was apprehensive.

  Laura’s captain was letting her work closely with the detectives and Dixon to keep Naim informed, but despite reassurances from everyone, he’d learned long ago not to be optimistic when it came to dealing with crime and criminals among nobodies like him and the rest of the Bottom. It was like he’d told Laura: No one really gave a shit.

  Meanwhile, life carried on.

  And it was nice.

  It had been a little more than a week since the fire, and Naim had visited Deck every day. After work if he was on days, before if he was on nights. Usually the room was full of exuberant firefighters, occasionally not. Those occasional times were the times Deck liked best even though he knew Naim ha
d grown accustomed to his boisterous friends and felt a little more comfortable when they were around; he was still skittish when he and Deck were alone. He’d even, once or twice, gotten involved in some of the boys’ shenanigans, teaching Mac, Spellacy, and Bosko how to play “bedpan footie.” Deck suspected the intent was more to get them to stop wearing them as helmets while they sword fought with tongue depressors, but whatever. Naim had fun, and Deck fell more in love as he watched the dark, often sad-eyed man laugh and shout, “GOAL!” as he kicked a bedpan right past Bosko’s ear.

  Naim was still laughing as he sat in what Deck was already considering Naim’s chair, brushing hair out of his eyes and undoing the top two buttons of his shirt. He’d come in this afternoon impeccable and creased in gray flannel trousers and a dark gray vest over his shirt, and every time Deck saw him, he tried to understand how he could possibly be more handsome, more beautiful than the last time.

  But he was.

  Now he was a little flushed and warm from the game, more from jumping and pushing than anything else; there wasn’t a lot of space in the room for bedpan footie.

  “Did you just make that up?” Deck asked, laughing and staring at the space of skin newly revealed by the two open buttons.

  Naim took a sip of the coffee he’d grabbed on his way up; it was lukewarm now, and he grimaced. “No.” He laughed, shaking his head. “We used to play that in med school all the time. Lots of long, ridiculous hours, where you’ll do anything to keep your adrenaline going. A couple of football addicts from Toulon made it up.” He took another sip, and his eyes gleamed a little. Deck’s heart never failed to jump. “I got pretty good.”

  “Yeah, you did. You just kicked Bosko’s ass.” Deck grinned, looking over at Bosko, who was trying to balm his wounded pride by making Mac play goalie.

  Naim chuckled and shook his head. “He’s never going to make himself feel better that way. He’s too big for a goalie. He can’t move fast enough—but Mac can, so he’s likely to get his ass kicked again.”

  Naim didn’t swear often, and it did something funny to Deck when he did. It shouldn’t, considering his own filthy mouth and that of everyone he hung around with. But it made him know, just know in his bones, that there were so many layers and levels to Naim. He wanted to peel them all away. Starting with that cream-colored shirt that made his marvelous dark skin and eyes glow. But that was… He didn’t know what that was yet.

  He was stuck in this hospital for God knew how long. Besides, he knew from PT that he still didn’t have much more energy than a fifteen-year-old house cat. There were great bursts for all of three, sometimes even five minutes at a time. Then a two-hour nap. Three to five minutes was not what he had in mind with Naim. Fucking hell, he’d make sure he lasted longer than your average piece of toast. Probably it would be difficult enough as it was. Probably he’d have to use every trick he knew just to wring ten minutes out of himself.

  Deck sighed. Probably he was going to jizz in his pants if he ever got the chance to fucking kiss Naim. He looked over at the guys again. Yeah, he definitely liked it better when they weren’t here.

  Grumbling a little, he reached over and grabbed Naim’s coffee, taking a sip. “Ahhh,” he breathed, closing his eyes in ecstasy.

  “You’re not supposed to be doing that.” Naim grabbed the coffee back from him and set it on the side table, as far as he could out of Deck’s long reach.

  “Don’t fucking care,” Deck grumbled. “I miss coffee.”

  Naim grinned, “I know. Sucks to be you. I can’t even imagine—”

  “Shut up. I hate you.” Deck’s bed was low; he’d been napping when Naim arrived. He turned onto his right side and stuffed his hand under his pillow, gazing up at Naim through shining gray eyes.

  “I know.” Naim’s smile grew soft. “I’m a bastard. But the last thing you need is caffeine. Even if you weren’t already naturally jittery, they’re watching your blood pressure.”

  “If they were watching my blood pressure, they wouldn’t let you visit me.” Deck’s eyes crinkled in the corners, but he didn’t really smile. “Especially if you’re gonna come in here and unbutton your shirt.” Deck winked at him. That was starting to be okay. Mostly.

  Naim blushed, and he looked down. “Shut up. I hate you,” he mumbled.

  “I know.” Deck grinned hugely. “I’m a bastard.” He reached out and took Naim’s hand in his.

  It was late, after midnight, but Naim knew Deck didn’t sleep well at night. He napped on and off during the day, especially after physical therapy, but he just couldn’t get comfortable in the hospital. Naim had taken to checking in on him if there was time. If he was awake, they’d sit and talk or just watch television, leaning awkwardly against each other and holding hands in that way they’d grown used to. Something that was more of a communication than a place of physical contact.

  He slipped in quietly, and Deck was awake, a low light on over his raised bed, and he was reading a hardcover book that rested on a pillow in his lap; he sniffled.

  “Deck?” Naim questioned.

  “What? Shut up. What?” He started, and when he looked up, Naim could see his eyes were wet and his nose was a little red.

  “What on earth…?” He hurried to Deck’s side as Deck slammed the book shut, stuffing it under the pillow.

  “What? Nothing. What?” He snorfled loudly, giving Naim a weak smile. Naim was thankful. He was getting used to Deck’s tremendous smile, but it didn’t affect him any less. Bloody Lucifer he was, the fallen angel.

  “Deck. What are you doing?” Naim wasn’t sure if he should be worried, flabbergasted, or both.

  “Nothing. I have allergies. I’m totally allergic to this fucking hospital,” he complained, then immediately looked apologetic. “I mean, just to the hospital. Not you, I like it here with you.” He grinned, but when his eyes crinkled, a tear leaked out of one corner. He wiped at it, mumbling, “Allergies.”

  “Allergies, huh?” Naim squinted. “That’s funny. I don’t remember seeing anything like that in your chart.” He was giving Deck his best suspicious-doctor look when he realized there was quiet music playing. He turned and saw a brand new iPod dock on Deck’s side table from which Sam Cooke was singing softly.

  He opened his mouth to say something, turned back to Deck, who was still wiping at his eyes, then closed his mouth and frowned.

  “What?” Deck demanded. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Like…” Naim looked back to the iPod dock just to make sure. Yes, that was indeed Sam Cooke, and he was crooning about not knowing much about geography, but one and one was two. Naim’s brow crinkled further. What the hell?

  “Naim!”

  “Huh?” He snapped his head back to Deck, and a bit of his hair, loose from his braid, caught in his mouth. He chose to ignore the sound of Deck’s breath catching in his chest as he spat at it.

  “Wha—” Deck cleared his throat. “What’s the matter? You don’t like Sam Cooke? I mean—how…?”

  “No I…” Naim still looked perplexed, and he was staring somewhere not at Deck, and Deck scowled.

  “You don’t.” Deck breathed out and slumped a little. “Okay, that’s”—he swallowed—“okay. I can turn it off.”

  Naim snapped out of his daze as Deck was lifting the remote to the dock. He reached and gently lowered Deck’s hand. “No. Don’t turn it off. It’s Sam Cooke. Who doesn’t like Sam Cooke? I just—”

  “What?” He’d let loose of the remote and was threading his fingers into Naim’s.

  “I just didn’t really figure you for a, you know, Sam Cooke sort of guy.” Naim still looked a bit bewildered, but he was wearing half a smile and responding to Deck’s fingers, his own curling around and through and between.

  It was becoming a ritual.

  “Naim. Please. Who doesn’t like Sam Cooke? What, did you think I jammed to Whitesnake or something?” Deck grinned.

  Naim laughed outright. “No.” He chuckled. “I most definitely
did not think you had any feelings about Whitesnake whatsoever.” He was still laughing, picturing Deck hooting and hollering over big hair and spandex, and he laughed a little harder.

  Deck grinned wider. “My tastes are broad and varied, Doctor.” He put on his haughtiest tone—which he could not pull off at all. “And I will thank you not to make assumptions about me just because I happened to be a giant sex god.”

  Naim snorted. Deck might be trying to manage an English accent, but mostly he sounded like a Kennedy with a cold.

  Deck laughed too. He loved making Naim laugh. He loved the way his face lit and how laughter made him look young and like he might be happy. Deck forgot all about his book.

  “You’re absolutely ridiculous.” Naim chuckled. “Now about those allergies…”

  “Oh goddamn it.” Deck groaned and laid his head back on the pillow. He squeezed Naim’s hand and tickled his palm a little.

  Naim shivered slightly. “Nice try, but you’re not distracting me.” He grinned. “Deck, what are you reading?”

  “Nothing,” he answered a little too fast. “I mean…nothing.”

  He couldn’t think of anything quickly enough, and he knew was going to get caught. He couldn’t lie to Naim for anything and didn’t particularly want to. But he also didn’t want him to see the book.

  Lifting an eyebrow, Naim went back to doctor voice. “Are you going to tell me, show me, or make me fetch it myself?” The words weren’t fully out of his mouth when a look of horror crossed his face.

  Deck’s entire face lit up, and his eyes glittered hotly. “Help yourself,” he said through his grin, then immediately grimaced, regretting the words. Naim was still uncomfortable with Deck’s raunchy humor, and Deck was still working on that brain then mouth thing. He looked down, feeling shitty. “I’m sorry, that was stupid,” he mumbled and glanced back up at Naim, who was blushing and staring at their intertwined hands.

  “N-no worries.” Naim gave him an uncertain smile. “I kind of walked into that.”

  Deck was aching. He hated making Naim uncomfortable, and he wanted to smack himself. He was desperate to fix it.