Love for the Cold-Blooded. Or

by Alex Gabriel

  Clearly Cat was spending way too much time with his sisters, because she snorted and rolled her eyes at him in a very familiar way.

  Nick came in a lot, after that. It got to the point where Pat started looking out the window as soon as 2 o’clock rolled around, eager to catch his first glimpse of his — of Nick.

  Absurdly enough, he was seeing way more of Nick than he ever had before. Well, he saw him more often, anyway, though more briefly. And of course he’d seen far more of Nick in the literal sense as Padraig the companion… talked to him more, too. Now, Pat could only look forward to a few brief, meaningless words exchanged as he slid a hot beverage across the counter.

  It was ridiculous how much Pat missed Nick, and he never missed him more than when he was right there, sitting in his chair with his mug, eyes glued to a datapad as though the world around him didn’t exist.

  “Oh my gods, you loser,” Cat said scornfully, and then snapped a towel at his hip for no reason at all, giggling.

  Nick had to miss Pat too, at least a little. Right? Why else would he be coming here every night, to a place he would never ordinarily have known existed? He was a creature of habit, but he had changed his routine — was venturing forth from his lab every night just to see Pat, force down a sub-par beverage that must be offending him down to his very soul, and exchange one or two bland words with him. If he just wanted to keep an eye on Pat to make sure he wasn’t up to any mischief, he could have installed some kind of surveillance at Happy Beans.

  The hope swelled inside Pat for several nights before he let it carry him over to Nick’s table, ostensibly to check if he wanted a refill (though nobody at Happy Beans ever did).

  “Hey,” he started by way of greeting.

  Nick looked up from his datapad, raising both eyebrows in polite inquiry.

  “There’s this party on Friday,” Pat went on before he could think better of it.

  Nothing changed in Nick’s expression. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” There was always a party somewhere on Friday, so it was a safe bet. If he had to, Pat would simply lure over a bunch of neighbors and people from the swim team with the promise of free beer. Hey presto, instant party. “You wanna go?”

  “I don’t like parties.” Nick’s face was entirely blank, and he was holding himself so still that Pat couldn’t tell what the answer meant. He was briefly tempted to poke the dude in the shoulder just to break through that unnatural stillness.

  “I bet you’ve had a good time at parties before, though,” he soldiered on instead, stubbornly refusing to feel insecure. “Once, at the very least.”

  Nick lifted one shoulder in a minimalistic hint of a shrug. “It’s hard to find a party like that.”

  That was an opening, right? Whatever, Pat would take it. “Not really, bro. It depends on the company more than the party.”

  A small sliver of eternity crept by as Nick watched him, all fierce dark eyes and piercing stare. He should have looked like the last person Pat would want to invite to a party; instead, he looked like the only fix for the Nick-shaped hole in Pat’s life.

  Say yes, Pat urged with his mind and his glance and every fiber of his being, all of it straining towards Nick. Say yes, you dumb hoagie fuck.

  “Not yet,” Nick said, and smiled. It was a thin, pale kind of smile that did not seem at all certain it wanted to be there, but it was a smile nevertheless, and Pat’s heart leapt at the sight, crowded with hope and joy and apprehension. “Ask me again next time.”

  Next time was not the next night, or the one after that, because Nick didn’t show up on either. Nor was it the night after those. Which, Pat wasn’t overly insecure or anything, but. What if Nick had changed his mind and never wanted to see him again? What if Pat had been too quick and too eager and too pathetic — or what if he’d misunderstood and Nick had just been at Happy Beans to make sure Pat wasn’t running around being evil and seducing innocent hoagies or something? What if…

  Cat was beginning to throw Pat worried glances when three o’clock rolled around with no Nick in sight. She’d stopped teasing him about his ongoing flirtation with the handsome regular by the second Nick-less night, and Pat was grateful for it, even though he took her uncharacteristic diffidence to mean he was looking pretty rough.

  When Nick did finally come in on the fourth night at sixteen minutes after two, Pat was wound so tight he felt like he would shiver right out of his skin in another moment; would jump over the counter and — gods, he didn’t even know. A second nightbird drifted into the coffee shop after Nick, but Pat didn’t even glance at him (or her, whatever). He had no attention to spare.

  He was going to act normal. He wasn’t going to be an idiot. Nope, normal, that was the watchword.

  “Black, please,” Nick told him, exactly the same way he always did.

  Pat concentrated fiercely on his hands as he fixed a latte macchiato, adding an extra helping of milk and several generous squirts of vanilla syrup to cover up the taste of the actual coffee. It was for the better, and anyway, Nick had only complained that one time. Tacit permission, as far as Pat was concerned.

  He made a special effort to create a perfectly symmetrical lattice of caramel syrup on top of the milk foam. He hadn’t read the Nicholas Andersen Coffee Manual, but some things were universal.

  “I’m not going to any party with you,” Nick said, coolly.

  A thick, jagged squiggle ruined Pat’s careful right-angled pattern, and he set down the syrup bottle with a too-loud bang. What the fuck! It wasn’t as though he’d been expecting anything… except that he had. Of course he had. Why had Nick come back at all, if he hadn’t been going to say yes? Why had Nick practically told him he would say yes (just not yet), if the answer had always been going to be no?

  “I hadn’t even asked yet,” he snapped, voice shaking only very slightly. “You’re not that hot. Maybe I wasn’t going to ask again. Maybe I already have a date, ever think of that?”

  It was a weak effort, and Nick gave him an appropriately disgusted glare. “You were going to ask again, though.”

  “Well, yeah, obviously. But I might not have. No way for you to know, is there.” Great, now he was heading straight for petulant. Petulant was not a good look on Pat. Hadn’t he been determined to weather this with — well, not exactly dignity, but at least something?

  “You should ask me to join you in the storeroom instead,” Nick said, bland and flat as ever.

  What?

  Wait, hang on. He’d actually thought he’d heard Nick say — but that couldn’t be right. Could it?

  Suddenly, Cat was right beside him, trying to shoulder him away from the counter and towards the storeroom. She was doing a far better job of muscling Pat around than should have been possible, considering she was a head shorter and about half his weight soaking wet. “Go do inventory, you loser.”

  He looked at her helplessly until she nudged him in the hip, giving him a taste of hidden claws. From the other side of the counter, Nick was leveling a punishing ‘why are you so stupid’-type stare at him. Which, for the record, was totally unfair. Pat wasn’t the one going totally off-script here.

  “Uhm,” Pat said at last, fumbling for words. “Yeah. Inventory. Let me just check on — stuff. In the storeroom. You should, you know. Come have a look, or whatever.”

  Cat seemed mildly disgusted with Pat for some reason, but Nick merely gave a brisk nod of acquiescence and followed Pat to the storeroom without further comment, stepping inside after him without being asked.

  As soon as the door had fallen shut, Nick turned and grabbed Pat, pushing him against the nearest set of shelves. Pat gave a low gasp as Nick leaned into him, bracing his arms against the shelf on either side of Pat’s shoulders to fence him in.

  Long moments passed in silence as Nick’s eyes roamed over Pat’s face, evidently cataloging every feature. He was frowning slightly, and Pat didn’t dare to do any of the things he would have liked to do. He still didn’t know what was going on, and m
aybe Nick wouldn’t be okay with being kissed, or pulled in closer, or —

  Nick’s brow smoothed in the same instant the steel went out of his posture; he sagged forward slowly, bowing his head until his face was buried against Pat’s throat, nose nuzzling against his jaw.

  It was weird as fuck. It was damn uncomfortable, too, what with the shelves behind Pat digging painfully into his shoulders. Not to mention they were surrounded by sacks of coffee beans, plastic vats of syrup and stacked boxes of take-away cups and straws, and Pat was looking straight at the disturbing poster of dancing coffee beans on the wall behind Nick. Every one of the beans was watching him with beady red eyes and a wide, rictus-like grin filled with tiny teeth.

  It was perfect. Pat never wanted to move.

  “I miss you.” The words were muffled against Pat’s neck; the feeling of Nick’s breath hot against sensitive skin made him shiver. “I should put you out of my mind and move on. But I miss you.”

  At this point, Pat was clutching Nick a good deal too tightly to pretend at a cool casual attitude. It had probably been too late for that anyway, all things considered. “The model clones aren’t cutting it, huh?”

  As soon as the words left his mouth, Pat realized that he shouldn’t have mentioned this particular topic. Trust Pat to put his foot in his mouth at the earliest possible opportunity… but Nick didn’t pull back, didn’t give any sign of anger or displeasure.

  “What does that mean, Patrick? You do realize, I assume, that cloning is neither ethical nor at present technologically possible when it comes to —”

  “Oh my gods, seriously?”

  Now Nick did pull back, apparently in order to give Pat an unimpressed stare. It was even more effective from this close, and worked surprisingly well with the tiny lurch of loss in Pat’s stomach. If Pat had kept his mouth shut, Nick would still be doing that thing with his face and Pat’s neck…

  But come on, how could Nick not know what Pat was talking about? It was so obvious. “Your companions, dude! You have such an extreme type it’s creepy, not to mention super obvious. All of those dudes look pretty much exactly like you… tall dark and ripped in that generically gorgeous underwear model way. Narcissistic much?”

  Nick’s expression cleared to a small, smug smile. “You think I’m gorgeous?”

  “That’s what you take away from that?” Pat had to laugh. “You’re hopeless, man. Like, totally —”

  “To return to your original question.” Nick’s chin came up as he fixed Pat with a belligerent gleam in his eye. “I wouldn’t know whether the companions you speak of are ‘cutting it’, whatever that means. I haven’t been seeing anyone, companion or otherwise. It would have felt wrong.”

  Pat broke out into his broadest, sunniest grin, beaming up at Nick like a maniac. He couldn’t help it, not that he tried to stop himself. Really, Nick had been missing him too much to want to spend quality time with anyone else?

  Before Pat could think of a suitable reply (preferably one that conveyed his approval of these tidings while not being completely undignified), Nick tilted his head a little, looming purposefully over Pat as he leaned in.

  The kiss was no more than a soft brush of Nick’s mouth against Pat’s, but it felt like it kicked loose a dozen rusted-shut doors in Pat’s heart, flooding him with warmth and hope. When Nick tried to straighten away, Pat grabbed his head with both hands and held him steady, deepening the kiss into something raw, needy and demanding.

  Nick looked appealingly flushed when he finally pulled back. “Are you trying to seduce me to the dark side?”

  “Yep, you got me.” Pat grinned, waggling his eyebrows as lewdly as possible. “Is it working?”

  “Maybe I’ll seduce you to the side of good instead.” But not right now, looked like, because Nick was drawing back, disentangling himself from Pat.

  Regretfully, Pat let his hands wander to Nick’s shoulders and slide loosely down his arms. Gods, those muscles. “Well, if that’s your plan, you better bring your A game, yeah? Get out the big guns. Dazzle me with science, or whatever.”

  Nick didn’t reply, unless you counted the minute nod he accorded Pat before he left. He didn’t even give Pat a chance to abandon his good intentions — which, fine, was probably just as well. The Happy Beans storeroom in the middle of Pat’s shift, with Cat listening outside and psychotic dancing coffee beans on the walls, watching their every move? Really not the place or time.

  Go out with me (Nicholas) this Saturday, an unknown number texted him five minutes later. I’ll pick you up at 19 o’clock.

  Pat spent a few minutes grinning down at his phone before texting back: Sure, but how will I (Patrick) know what to wear?

  He was just teasing Nick a little, but needless to say, Nick didn’t get it. Wear whatever you want, Patrick, it doesn’t matter.

  A moment later, though, Pat’s phone buzzed again. He hadn’t even stopped grinning at it (like a dope, if you believed Cat) yet. As long as you don’t have Jaguar’s name, face or logo anywhere on your person, that is. Jaguar fan articles are never acceptable attire.

  That time, Pat laughed out loud.

  ~~~~~

  Dad had called from the airport to leave a voicemail full of muffled background crowd noises and tinny announcements. Elation burst from every word he spoke. “Patpat! I’m about to board my plane back home — and I have great news. Family dinner on Sunday, bring dessert. Got to go, kiddo, see you soon!”

  Given the circumstances, it wasn’t exactly a mystery which happy news Dad would be sharing with his children. And the thing was, Pat would be really happy to see his dad again; he’d been gone for nearly half a year now. Pat hadn’t seen his mom for way longer than that, and he’d missed her a lot, too. So, yeah, he couldn’t wait to see his parents. Couldn’t wait for the entire family to be together again.

  But.

  Mom had been hibernating for the better part of two years. Why did she have to rise in terrible glory now, of all times? Couldn’t she have taken another couple of months to cast off her skin, or another half a year? Couldn’t she have begun her ascension at a time when Pat was not right in the middle of patching up his relationship with Silver Paladin’s alter ego?

  Pat guessed he shouldn’t complain, though — things could have been much worse. For one thing, Dad could have scheduled the family meeting for Saturday instead of Sunday. That really would have put Pat in a bind… canceling on his dad (“not this Saturday, Dad, I have a date with Silver Paladin and hope to get in his pants or at least his good graces again”) would have been just as awkward as canceling on Nick (“we’ll have to reschedule, there’s a family meeting about the impending resurgence of Serpentissima that I really can’t miss”).

  Not to mention that not long ago, Pat had been convinced Nick would never want to see him again.

  So, really, Pat’s glass was definitely more than half full. And if he’d have to juggle some tight schedules to fit in both Nick and his family, then hey. He could do that.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Once your reputation is ruined, enjoy yourself.

  Nick had a private box at the opera, all velvet seats and privacy curtains. A personal attendant met them at the door and showed them the way. A second attendant was waiting in the box when they arrived, ready to serve them champagne and a selection of bite-sized pastries that exploded on Pat’s tongue like tiny pockets of pure, flavorful bliss.

  Unsurprisingly, Nick accepted the solicitude with an utterly matter-of-fact air. He looked like a million thalers in a charcoal gray evening ensemble, complete with snowy shirt and silken cravat. His hair had been trimmed and styled in the effortless, slightly tousled way that only a professional hair-dresser could achieve, falling attractively into his face; earlier, he’d been wearing a coat that swept behind him like a cape when he walked. He was altogether strange and distant and alien, like a creature from an entirely different world. Nicholas Andersen: billionaire, genius, superhero.

  Pat was wearing his bes
t clothes, too… except that in his case, that meant his warm winter sneakers, the fairly new pair of jeans, his favorite flannel shirt and the hoodie without any holes (except the one right under the hood, which you totally couldn’t see, so it didn’t count). He still hadn’t gotten his hair cut, although he’d been careful not to put too much product in it when he’d tamed it earlier.

  The second attendant left amidst assurances that they had only to push the button at the side of their chairs and she would be there with metaphorical bells on. At least Pat assumed the bells would be metaphorical.

  “Tell me, Patrick,” said Nicholas Andersen, all foreboding stare and five-thousand-thaler suit. “If you were a character in a video game, who would you be?”

  All of the tension that had been building in Pat because of the limousine, the evening dress, the private box and everything else relaxed, letting go in an instant. He was so relieved he actually sagged forward a little, gasping out a breath that was half laugh.

  Really, he should have known better than to let himself be thrown by meaningless trappings like a dumb private box and a stupid suit.

  “Let me think,” he said, and gave Nick his most blinding smile. “I’m not the Princess of Mars, even though she’s my favorite. I’m not a kicking ass and taking names kind of guy, though. That’s also why I’m not any of the characters from Sanada’s Ten Heroes. I’m not the grim and ascetic type, plus they’re all so dour, too. So… hey, I know. Narc Narcissus! He’s super cool, and he looks great, and he gets a bunch of great lines that —”

  “Narcissus is comic relief,” Nick said flatly. The stare he gave Pat spoke clearly of what he thought of his choice (idiotic, what else was new). “He’s not even a playable character.”

  Look at that… someone had been playing Mars Ascending when Pat’s back was turned. The Narcs didn’t turn up until the Io quest, so Nick must have gotten quite a bit into the game, too.