by G. D. Cox
VI.
COLE DOESN'T TELL THE other agents a thing about Clyde's specific memory loss. Part of him is curious in a detached, clinical way if Clyde will tell them himself or continue to act as if nothing is wrong. As if he's always been a straight man who finds only women to be sexually attractive, a man who is in no way an aberrant homosexual. Another part of Cole doesn't want the other agents to ever learn about it, especially if it means that the situation ends up with the agents asking too many questions and pushing Clyde into a corner from which he can't escape.
When Clyde's trapped like that, Cole knows that Clyde will fight back.
He knows that Angela and Don have noticed the changes in Clyde's behavior around Cole anyway. He knows other agents have also noticed the way Clyde no longer touches him at all, that Clyde always stands with at least three feet of space between them, that Clyde has reverted to calling him sir and not his surname, much less with that familiar, fond tone that speaks of years of camaraderie and rapport (and love, so much of it that Cole alone was privileged to receive). He knows that they know something is wrong between him and Clyde, but none of them have so far dared to approach him about it. He can't blame them for it.
His and Clyde's reputations have not only preceded them, it's also created a crevasse around them that separates them from the other agents, a moat that has no bridge to cross it. He's Asterion, cursed from birth by a spiteful god and trapped in desolate Knossos, in a corner in a labyrinth within the impenetrable boundaries of that moat. He's a minotaur. He's a monster.
Jesus, he never perceived himself as one, not even when he was still so closeted about his bisexuality and raging at a god he no longer believes in why he has to be different. But maybe he really is one, after all, with the scars all over his body - in particular the one on the right side of his chest with its twin on his lower back, courtesy of a kukri shoved through him during a showdown with mercenaries in Rio Rancho, New Mexico - and his thinning hair and blood-soaked hands and the fact that Clyde can't even look at him anymore sometimes. Sometimes, Clyde can't even be in the same room with him, although Clyde doesn't just leave the instant he enters, especially if there are other agents present. Clyde will glance at him, greet him with a polite, "Sir," or a nod, idle a bit, long enough that it doesn't seem like Clyde just wants out and away from the queer.
And each time, once Clyde's gone, the room gets a little more colder, a little more empty. A blank space, with nothing to say or feel.
Just like him.
Again.
VII.
COLE IS IN HIS OFFICE two floors down from Nate's, skimming through a daunting pile of paperwork on his latest, completed mission when Nate calls his comm pad to say, "My office, in an hour."
Cole doesn't know that when Nate makes the call, Nate is observing Agent Clyde Barnett being jumped by four other agents in HQ's main gym during a close combat and self-defense training session. Cole doesn't know that in the twenty seconds after Nate ends the call, Barnett takes down all four agents without breaking a sweat, leaving enough of a final impression on Nate for Nate to give Barnett the identical command before departing from the gym with a swish of his black leather coat.
Until Barnett arrives too, until their eyes meet across the carpeted floor of Nate's extensive and grandiose office, Cole doesn't know just how much Nate's decision will change him.
Cole is there five minutes earlier, let in by Nate's secretary, Ms. Jackson, who smiles at him with crinkled, brown eyes and lips of dark red after he thanks her. Ms. Jackson's been in the GATF longer than he and Nate have, having been the secretary of the previous director too. Nate has never said anything about the unidentified man and neither has Ms. Jackson. After Cole logged into the top-level databases to find that everything about the man had been blacked out or above his clearance level even as a Level 9 agent, he figured that whoever he was, he was better off not knowing. Certainly after hearing from old-timers that the guy getting fired and hurriedly replaced by Nate had something to do with Ms. Jackson and a 'recorded assault'.
The only reason, he finds out later from Nate, that Nate didn't go after the bastard himself was because Ms. Jackson already beat the living shit out of the guy just fine on her own. Broke the guy's right clavicle in two places and shattered his wrist, and made sure he will never violate another woman again.
Yes, he gets why Nate has kept Ms. Jackson on as his secretary all these years.
What he doesn't get is Nate's obsession with turning him into a handler and entrusting him with another agent.
"You're getting an asset."
Cole glowers at Nate from where he's sitting in an armchair in front of Nate's black, ostentatious, glass-top desk. Goddamnit, how many times have they already had this discussion? He is not going to budge on this.
"I haven't changed my mind, Nate," he says coolly. He may as well have crossed his arms over his chest and stuck out his lower lip in a pout, seeing how Nate stares back at him with an utterly deadpan face while laughing his ass off at him inside.
"You're getting an asset," Nate, his boss, reiterates with the same dry tone.
"I am not," Cole says coolly, his arms very much loose and resting on his seat's cushioned arms.
"Yes, you are," Nate, his boss, replies as dryly, leaning back in his black leather, wingback chair with his fingers steepled on a firm and flat belly.
Cole wisely decides to not say anything this time. He feels his lips twitch for a second, the only giveaway of his budding, involuntary amusement (and exasperation). He sees a similar giveaway in the glint of Nate's eyes. A twinkle.
"Do I have time to think about this?"
"Yeah." Nate raises his left wrist to glance at the multi-dial, silver watch there. "Ten seconds."
Cole glares at Nate, who goes back to staring at him with that aggravating deadpan face. Ten seconds? Really? Does Nate think he will change his mind that fast -
A beeping noise emanates from a sleek panel embedded in the left side of Nate's desk. Nate leans forward to press a button on it.
"Director Fabry," Ms. Jackson says through a speaker set into the panel. "Agent Barnett is here."
Nate sits back in his chair and replies, "Send him in."
Cole is still seated and glaring at Nate when the door of Nate's office opens. Ms. Jackson, in a chic, dark gray pantsuit, strides in and then stands aside to let the named agent in. When Cole turns his head to look at Barnett, he sees Barnett turned away from him and Nate, blatantly ogling Ms. Jackson from behind as she exits the room and shuts the door behind her. Cole would have raised an eyebrow if not for the impassive expression he's donned.
Then, he hears Nate let out a derisive snort. He turns his head towards Nate and does raise an eyebrow. Nate is keeping an eye on Barnett, his lips slightly curled up in what appears to be ... an amused smile. Hm. Interesting. What's so amusing about Barnett eyeballing Ms. Jackson? Does Nate think that Ms. Jackson is way out of Barnett's league?
Months from now, Cole will of course realize the answer to those questions after seeing through Barnett's hypermasculine act for what it is. Barnett will ogle women particularly in front of him for months more after that, often to the point of making vulgar statements about certain portions of their anatomy and detailing what he'd love to do to them in bed. The irony is, these very comments will become the triggering rock of the avalanche pulverizing Barnett's hypermasculine act to dust, when Cole looks Barnett in the eye and placidly states that being a man isn't reliant at all on how many vaginas a man's fucked, if any.
Barnett won't be able to look him in the eye for days after that.
But now, after Ms. Jackson has left and Barnett has swiveled around to face him and Nate, Barnett is doing just that with those large, wide-set jewels for blue eyes, locking onto him like the tenacious jaws of a big cat. Standing up while buttoning the pin-striped, navy blue jacket of his suit, Cole stares into those eyes and falls. Oh, he falls.
"I'm Agent Phelan Cole," he says to Barnett, off
ering his right hand. "I will be your handler from now on."
He doesn't have to look at Nate to know that Nate's grinning inside like a smug asshole while putting on a stony expression. (Nate does indeed rib him for years to come about his abrupt change of heart, the asshole.) He maintains eye contact with Barnett who stares back while approaching him, who still does so as Barnett extends his own right hand to firmly grip his. Perhaps a little too firmly.
Cole isn't quite sure what to make of Barnett's expression as Barnett scrutinizes his face. Barnett does a quick job of scrutinizing the rest of him, those sharp eyes flitting down his body to his shoes then back up to his face in a second. There's something almost ... anxious about the briskness of Barnett's scrutiny of him. It's so contrary to the way Barnett had ogled Ms. Jackson, as if Barnett doesn't want to have to look at another man any longer than he has to, other than his face.
"It's an honor, sir," Barnett replies, looking him in the eye once more. "Clyde Barnett. Maybe you know me better as Long-Shot."
Insight - an old insight, one he gained so many years ago - clicks hard for Cole as he and Barnett continue to grasp each other's hands and look each other in the eye. The purposeful ogling of a woman in front of other men? The briskness of Barnett's gaze sweeping over him, especially his body? The tense handshake? The purposeful control of outward behavior to maintain a veneer of hypermasculinity?
Well, damn. That's exactly what he used to do, when he wanted to eyeball other men but was too apprehensive about getting caught.
And Nate knows that.
Still, he may be projecting here. He only met Barnett minutes ago. He'll have to interact much more with the younger agent to get a more accurate reading of him. Get Barnett's GATF file and update himself on whatever he can about his new asset. Whatever Nate's motive is for assigning Barnett to him, whatever Barnett's sexual orientation and sexuality may be, the only problem he sees is if Barnett is a homophobic -
Cole is suddenly and acutely aware of his surroundings and the other two men in it when Barnett whips his hand away from his. He is acutely aware of the sting across his palm, so hastily did Barnett withdraw from him. His face remains impassive as he lowers his tingling hand to his side, as he gazes at Barnett who's glancing to the side and has taken an evident step back from him. He can sense Nate observing both of them from behind his desk. He's tempted to glance at Nate, to see whatever Nate is willing to reveal on his face or in his eyes, but he doesn't do it.
He's too fascinated by how red Barnett's face has become. The flush goes down below the high neckline of Barnett's black-and-red outfit. Is it a flush of annoyance? Embarrassment? Or ... something else?
Cole scoffs at himself inwardly. Oh, now he's really projecting. What are the chances that Barnett isn't straight either? That Barnett isn't straight and may find him mutually attractive? He probably has a higher chance of getting married within the next decade.
Nate displays some mercy at last by deliberately clearing his throat, drawing his and Barnett's attention to him. They sit down in the twin armchairs in front of Nate's desk, him taking the left one and Barnett taking the right. Nate speaks to them. Tosses them memory keys storing their GATF profiles and other relevant files for each other to peruse. Speaks some more, but hell, Cole doesn't recall a word.
Every sense he possesses is focused on the blond, blue-eyed man sitting next to him. From the corner of his eye, he sees Barnett glance at his face now and then, as if Barnett can't help it. He listens to Barnett's raspy, low voice as Barnett answers Nate's questions. He inhales and breathes in a scent that wasn't here before Barnett entered the room, a spicy, darkly sweet scent like flowery smoke mingled with honey. He craves to grasp Barnett's hand again. To run his hands down those bare, brawny arms and feel their muscles flex beneath his palms.
Damn. He can't remember the last time he'd felt such instantaneous, overwhelming attraction to another person, giddy like he's drunk on euphoria. He's always been more of a slow burn kind of guy, one who takes his time getting to know the other person while lust flourishes along with love. This had also applied to the men with whom he'd been in long-term relationships. (Two, after he turned twenty-eight and stopped lurking in the closet, compared to the three women before then and another in between those two men.) This is new territory for him, even at the age of thirty-four. New, unforeseeable territory.
If he's already feeling like this just after a half hour of being in Barnett's presence, what the hell is going to happen to him when he really gets to know Barnett?
Damn, what has Nate done?
When the meeting is over, Nate gives him a calculating look that speaks volumes. He can't bring himself to decipher exactly what it is Nate is saying to him, much less that glint in Nate's heavy-lidded, brown eyes, so he simply nods at Nate as he stands and prepares to leave. He feels Nate's eyes on him all the way to the door as he walks beside Barnett and then lets Barnett leave the office first.
(In two years' time, when he informs Nate about the new and very welcomed development in his relationship with the younger agent, Nate will say to him, "Well, it was about fucking time, Boots. Do you even remember the last time you had sex?")
What also registers on his nebulous mind, even after the mystifying hand-yanking moment in Nate's office, is how comfortably he and Barnett walk side by side down the hallway to the elevators, as if they've always done this, as if they've known each other for a lifetime. As if Barnett is meant to be there at his side.
He checks his watch to find that it's lunchtime and that, yes, he is hungry. (And not just for the man beside him.) It's Wednesday and that means only one thing for lunch.
"Meatloaf," Cole blurts out while they wait for an elevator to reach their floor.
It would have been a rather awkward exclamation (and so atypical of him), if not for Barnett glancing at him with wide, jubilant eyes and asking, "Ground beef meatloaf? Is that what the mess is serving today?"
Cole's lips twitch hard. Then, they quirk up.
"It's Wednesday. Betty did say that they're serving meatloaf on Wednesdays now instead of Mondays."
"Oh my god," Barnett says, and Cole hopes his lips aren't stretching up into a goofy smile at Barnett's almost childlike excitement. "I love the meatloaf. It's like heaven in meat form."
"With those roasted garlic potatoes -"
"Oh my god, yeah, they are fucking delicious too." A second later, Barnett grimaces and mutters, "Sorry, sir. I'm, uh, it's a tough habit to break." Barnett rolls his eyes. "Four handlers, man, and none of them could break it either."
Cole raises one eyebrow, just a bit. Barnett sees it and grimaces even more.
"Uh, yeah. You're my fifth handler. I kinda figured Director Fabry was gonna chuck me at another one soon when Mitchell told me to 'keep my crazy ass away from him'." Barnett's eyes blaze and narrow in a fleeting scowl. "Easy for him to talk. He was just sitting there on his lazy ass and he put the whole team in danger! I wasn't gonna stand for that!"
Cole's eyebrow rises even more up his high forehead. Barnett scratches the side of his neck above his outfit's collar, grimacing again.
"Yeeeaah, but okay, seriously. Would you believe me if I said I have a good explanation for each of them not being my handler anymore?"
"I'm sure you do."
Cole makes a mental note to read up on Barnett's previous handlers first thing when he gets to Barnett's file. He'll have much to discuss with Nate later about them, he already knows. If Barnett is telling the truth, this Mitchell has very likely already been culled from the active duty roster by Nate. (And indeed, the next time he meets with Nate, Nate confirms it, along with a droll account of how Mitchell was apparently handed his ass big time by Barnett with one high kick to the face into an open sewer.)
"It's a, uh, long story," Barnett replies, straight-faced, nodding once. "For each one."
"Good thing we're just in time for lunch, then," Cole says coolly, his lips still quirked up, but he feels anything but cool when Barn
ett smiles at him with crinkled, gleaming eyes and straight, white teeth. Burning up inside is more like it. Goddamn, when Barnett smiles, the man's whole face softens into something young and radiant and breathtaking.
Cole is in such deep trouble.
Cole is still gazing at Barnett's face when the other agent abruptly glances away and clears his throat, his smile tapering off into a smaller, strained one.
"Yes, sir," Barnett says, staring at the elevators' shut doors. "Might as well hit two birds with one bullet."
Cole isn't bothered by Barnett seemingly giving him the cold shoulder again. Barnett may not be looking at him anymore, but Barnett hasn't stepped away from him either. Barnett is still standing at his side. Barnett's face is red again.
Interesting. Very interesting.
When the elevator arrives, they enter it together and stand side by side in it, gazing forward as the doors slide shut in front of them. Cole allows himself one glance at Barnett's face, only to find Barnett already gazing at him and glancing away the instant their eyes meet. Cole allows himself to look for a few seconds, just a few, at Barnett's unique profile (that he will later learn resulted from a bar fight with five guys gone pretty bad in Modesto when the younger agent was twenty).
Maybe he's wrong about Barnett being anything but a full-fledged heterosexual man. Maybe Barnett's behaving the way he is around him right now due to his reputation, worried about appearing unprofessional or about pissing off Director Fabry's right-hand man and a Level 9 agent (with Barnett being Level 3). Or maybe he's right about Barnett being anything but a full-fledged heterosexual man, that Barnett's hiding behind a facade of hypermasculinity just like he did so many years ago. That Barnett doesn't smile like that at just anyone. That Barnett flushes after looking at him for the same reason that thing in the left side of his chest skips a beat when Barnett does so.