by VK Fox
Everest’s eyes were sliding over Dahl’s forearms. The leather jacket, the long sleeve shirt, the poor light, did not cover his vulnerability. He’d seen. In his bedroom the night Mordred had broken in, he must have noticed. Dahl yanked out a pack of cigarettes and lit up with shaking fingers.
“Why are you still doing it?”
Dahl blew smoke towards Orion. It did not settle his nerves. “I wish I could tell you.”
There was a long, careful pause before Everest responded, “I would listen.”
Dahl spoke past the catch in his throat, “I know. There’s nothing I can say.”
Both men lapsed into silence, blowing smoke into the sky. Everest puffed out a few smoke rings. Dahl watched them spread and dissolve, intertwining with his tobacco haze.
Everest’s voice was halting. “I didn’t have someone who loved me either.”
“Well, you were community-raised, right?” The change of subject was an intense relief. It hardly mattered what they discussed, as long as his past stayed silent. Sana Baba’s children had every need met instantly from birth. Try explaining the cat and mold-infested smell of the house or sitting on the floor weeping over a sealed can of tuna because after days of trying he couldn’t get the can opener to latch.
“It’s different from Ian’s experience. In my program I wasn’t allowed attachment. I wouldn’t have been suitable for bonding otherwise. Do you remember your mother?”
“Not really. I remember the house. I remember she used to sleep on the couch in front of the TV. I can’t forget her voice, but I can’t recall her face. I could find a picture on record, but I prefer not to. She was never really mine. Do you remember your caregivers?”
“I remember wanting them to look at me. I’m sure they must have, sometimes, but my strongest memories are where they turned away or were doing something else and wouldn’t look up. I had dreams for years of people with blank faces. I fell once and skinned my knee. A new girl lifted me onto her lap and hugged me while I cried. The supervisor pulled her aside and reprimanded her for it. I could hear what she said, ‘Were you holding that boy? What were you thinking? Not that one, you’ll spoil him.’ I remember she had red hair. I still think about her sometimes.”
Dahl studied him. There wasn’t anything to say. Mordred was blessedly silent. With a slow, deliberate motion, Dahl took Everest’s hand. Everest laced their fingers.
“I’ll sign your papers. You need to figure out how to wean off whatever you’re on safely. Agreed?”
“Yes.” Dahl found Ursa Major and searched for Scorpio. When the food was gone and the hood turned cold, they started driving home. Everest helped work the stick shift and ghosted smiles when they got stuck in neutral and the engine revved. He didn’t speak again or let go of Dahl’s hand until they pulled up to his house thirty minutes later.
After he closed the door, Dahl drove two blocks away before pulling over. He sat in the dark with his hand on the stick, breathing in Everest’s smell and trying to find forgiveness for the last five years in the mess of writhing emotions in his stomach.
Chapter Eighteen
Last March - Two Months Ago
Sifting through objects at a scene of interest and stringing them into a story was a professional area where Everest excelled. Today, sorting the possessions of a man he knew better than anyone else in the world and seeing so many gaps, the missing pieces hit close to home. The picture created by Adam’s belongings was slanted and incomplete. All of their years together and this was what was tangibly left: so much junk.
The linking ceremony was scheduled for May. He would fly to Vegas and watch someone else bond with the power which, until a few months ago, was part of Adam. When he came home, it would be better if the house was clean.
Everest penned a commitment before he began: he would only keep a few sentimental objects. His second sight made him a curator of the weird and seemingly worthless, but it also allowed him to differentiate clearly what was important and what was simply stuff.
Adam’s office doubled as a storage closet for various hobbies and family paperwork, and most of it should go. Built-in bookshelves over deep, clean fronted cabinets concealed an impossible amount of clutter. Windows on the east wall let in the morning light and brought out red tones in his heavy wooden desk in the center of the room, buried under stacks of books, files, and mail.
Everest filled boxes and trash bags, and the space slowly cleared. What would he do with the room when it was done? Everest already had an office. Overnight guests were not a part of his life, so a guest room didn’t make sense. For a surreal moment Everest imagined stuffed animals and board books lining the shelves, toys strewn across a colorful carpet. Adam hadn’t wanted children, and Everest had wanted Adam so much he didn’t raise the question a second time, but maybe… His hand closed over an empty prescription bottle, chest constricting. The idea of handing Mordred that kind of leverage was strategically appalling. What if his child actually succeeded in linking someday? The pain and weariness on Ian’s huge face lingered in the back of his mind. What kind of life could Everest possibly offer a child?
The rest of the morning was spent boxing Celtic accessories and garb for donation, sorting through which books would interest him and which were just Adam, and shredding endless stacks of old paperwork. He set aside Adam’s Calvin and Hobbes collection and his fiddle. Those would stay. Maybe he could learn to play it. His ears rang with the memory of My Darling Asleep with all the flourish that Adam had played. Everest sat in the middle of the floor cradling the instrument while the minutes ticked by and, for the first time since Adam died, he allowed himself to weep.
After waiting for a dose of his prescription to kick in, he forged ahead, clinging to the idea of getting it all done today. Heavy, cherrywood, locking desk drawers were a stumbling block until the key dropped out of Animal Farm when Everest pulled it off the shelf. The top drawer had enough narcotics to start a small distribution chain. Everest wasn’t sure how to dispose of those, so he closed the drawer again. He should let Sana Baba’s pharmacy know to come collect. The second drawer held a deck of playing cards composed entirely of the king of hearts, a half-eaten bag of Oreos, and several hours of pornography on VHS. Everest tried not to laugh. In Adam’s mind, these items ranked just below a massive stash of drugs for security purposes. In fairness, Everest would have eaten the Oreos if he’d found them. Adam had always been shy about pornography. A deck full of a single card seemed unusual, but also not particularly illicit. The third drawer was a built-in safe with a keypad. Everest tried Adam’s acquisition date, linking date, their anniversary, the date for the battle of Hastings, and his lucky numbers. Nothing. He peered through his second eye.
This drawer was a conspiracy riddled with nerves. A lifeboat in a hurricane. It was a death sentence. Everest jerked his hand back and scrambled away on the cluttered floor.
Edging back to the desk, he opened the top drawer again—slowly, silently— afraid of disturbing the safe. Pulling out a bottle of white pills, he shook one into his hand and tossed it back. Pills worked faster than pot. He suspected they were cutting back the potency of his injections this refill—they were notably less effective. Everest went back to the bookshelf, waiting for the meds to kick in. As he pulled out a copy of Orwell’s pièce de résistance, something in his mind slid into place. Everest walked back over to the safe and steeled himself, keying in the code 1-9-8-4. The lock opened with a mechanical click. Everest carefully kept his second eye closed and levered the handle. Resting in the safe, alone in the darkness, was the conscious copy of The Once and Future King.
An action movie played. Explosions, dramatic music, and Tom Cruise’s commanding shouts. The soft suede couch pressed against Everest’s cheek, and Adam was gently stroking his hair. No, not Adam. He was miles away, frozen in the frozen ground. Everest shuddered. He should have stayed on the edge of awareness, pretending for a few seconds. He shifted slowly, as if in sleep, and the hand recoiled. He willed his mind
to drift back to Adam playing with his hair, but the moment had vanished in favor of a cinematic soundtrack.
Everest sat, finding Dahl staring at the screen with flushed cheeks. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, Everest searched for context. They were hanging out, waiting for the car shop to call. Something was wrong with Dahl’s Mustang, and Everest had agreed to be transportation. Dahl had accused Everest of breaking the transmission. He was almost able to say it with a straight face. Everest probed to see if Dahl actually knew any parts of the car other than “engine” and “transmission.” The data he gathered was inconclusive.
Happily, they managed to find excuses to get together three or four times a week. They shot anything that would shatter, burst, or explode at Ian’s field. They explored tumble-down shacks full of abandoned memories. They played board games at home and wandered through the Smithsonian in the city. Tonight was a normal night: take-out and movies. Everest sat quietly for a few minutes, regaining his senses. “Have you seen this one before?”
“Yes, I caught it in the theater when it came out.” Dahl adjusted his posture to be more casual and patted his pockets, searching for cigarettes.
“What was happening, just now?” Everest’s heart was beating fast. Why was he so nervous?
“Car bomb, stabbing, the works. The spy team is getting slaughtered. The mission just went to shit.” Dahl located his pack and shifted forward, getting ready to stand.
“No. I mean between us.”
Dahl turned away slightly, “I, ah, I wasn’t thinking about it. I’m sorry.”
Everest folded his hands, “I thought you were…” he trailed off. How could he say it? I thought you were stroking my hair? Was it your intention to touch me with tenderness?
Dahl closed his eyes lightly, tensing, “It’s a habit I picked up from Ian. His default setting is overt physical affection. It’s one of the effects of his link: a drastically different internal metric as far as friendly contact. Lots of hugs, pats on the back, kisses on the cheek—it’s an ancient world thing. After he adopted me, I had that kind of exchange all the time. It made me feel happy and cherished: I can’t imagine what it would have been like without it. I know you were on the other end of the spectrum and it might not mean the same thing to you. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable; I should not have done it while you were asleep. I was watching the movie and I wasn’t thinking.”
Everest went still. The gesture was intimate, not like idle, thoughtless contact. “Are you thinking now?”
Dahl opened his eyes, swallowing hard. “I wanted… I want… you seem to like holding hands so much...”
Was he reading this correctly? Reaching out slowly, Everest put his hand on the side of Dahl’s neck. Dahl melted into his touch. “You wanted to feel loved? You want me to feel loved?”
Dahl’s neck blushed mottled red. “I, ah, I’m not asking you to... I didn’t mean… “
“What did you mean?”
Silence. Everest started to withdraw his hand. Dahl clasped it firmly against his pulse point and stared at him like he was the sun: with pain and awe—survival instincts eclipsed by fascination. Anxiety sharpened Everest’s senses and rang in his ears. Dahl closed his eyes and stilled so at least the whole tilt left or tilt right question resolved itself. The space between them vanished, his mouth and strong body warm and immediate, his heartbeat in Everest’s hand. Details solidified: the taste of cheap chocolate, the press of his entire body like they were suddenly magnetized, the startling slide of his pierced tongue. Everest opened his second eye, and Dahl’s guilty pleasure seeped into his palms, his lips, flowed into his mouth: everywhere their skin touched, frantic and indulgent. It flowed through his mind like wine as he slipped his other hand under the back of Dahl’s shirt, seeing his desires laid bare—more warmth, more skin, Everest’s hands on his body. He wanted kisses on his neck, shoulders, ribs, slowly working down. He wanted to wrap his fingers in Everest’s long hair and fill his mouth. The present and near future fused into a feedback loop of anticipation and gratification spiked with guilt. Why guilt? Everest paused reluctantly.
“Do you want to stop?” Everest whispered the question against his jaw. Dahl wasn’t saying anything, but that was no excuse. Something was off.
“I have a girlfriend.” He forced the words between them, “And my relationship with her is complicated, but I still don’t feel right about this. I’m sorry, I… I’m sorry.” He stroked the back of Everest’s neck with elegant fingers. The future was shifting, but longing was still there. Loud, physical desire and a deeper, more intimate craving: to be wanted, to be asked to stay, to light a fire instead of check a box. It made Dahl’s choice more difficult and more significant. After a pause, Everest nodded. Dahl took a long breath and gently pulled back. He stood awkwardly and shuffled to the kitchen. Everest tried to sort what had happened from what might have happened.
Dahl got a drink of water and lingered for a few minutes, putting dishes in the sink. Everest watched him over the back of the couch. He belonged here. Did he know he was welcome? Wanted? They complimented each other. Despite Mordred’s damage, Adam’s exploitation, and Everest’s folly, they could build something lasting. Soon Mordred would be gone. Everest could explain his role in all of this and ask forgiveness. Dahl was a good enough man he might give it.
Everest didn’t know how to approach it. Duration of experience was something he had in spades. Variety was not. Only the car wreck of a relationship with his first girlfriend, and then Adam who he’d loved for six years. His current pity partner didn’t count, since she was a rerun. Everest rebraided his hair in silence.
“Why do you wear your hair long?” Dahl’s voice was friendly, warm, and only moderately strained. Hearing his tone untied a knot of worry in Everest’s chest.
“Dumb pride—a taunt in close quarters fighting. When I worked in the field I would tuck and pin the braid, but the boast is: I’m so fast no one can touch me even if I give them an advantage.”
“I heard the one about no one being able to touch you. Lies.”
“Do you want to try to back that up?”
“Nope.” Dahl smirked mirthfully at the counter he was wiping. “I already did.”
The joke utterly wrecked Everest’s efforts to calm himself. His head buzzed and he folded his hands carefully. Dahl stole a glance across the room and caught the feeling. He stared at the counter, focused on nothing until his hands autonomously resumed the routine of patting down his pockets again while he bit his lip ring with closed eyes. Everest’s resolution slipped further, and he tore his gaze away and tried to smother his urge for desperate, regrettable action.
Focus on moving forward. Everest steeled himself to discuss the elephant in the room, “Tell me about your girlfriend. You’ve never talked about her.”
Dahl waited a few heartbeats before responding, “It’s rocky right now. I suppose you’ve read my relationships’ file.”
Everest smoothed back a few loose strands of hair, “No, I don’t have access.”
“Well, officially, but I’m sure people talk.”
“All I’ve heard about you is that when you were younger there were some civvies who tried to achieve a kind of Arthurian groupie status.” Everest shifted slightly, the first jitters of magical anxiety stirring. “You were a minor and some of them were of a legally inappropriate age, so Human Relations stepped in?”
“Ah, yes. I wasn’t in the habit of checking IDs.” He paused and stared at the ceiling, hands in his pockets.
Everest nodded, “That’s all I know.”
“Well, I have a steady girlfriend now. We’ve been dating for a year and change. Things have been strained since I got back from my last assignment. I’m sure in any relationship there’s bound to be some rough patches, though.”
“Why do you never mention her? It sounds like she’s a big part of your life.”
“Well…” Dahl dried his hands and met Everest’s eyes, “I thought it would make things easier between us.”
Everest shook his head, “When we started our S.A. mandated get-togethers I didn’t have feelings for you. Or do you mean because I’d just lost Adam?”
“Well, no. It would have been considerate, but my thought process was different.”
“Go on.”
Dahl signed, “Because she’s your ex, and we already had enough shit between us without trotting out the fact I’m dating a woman you once slept with.”
Everest’s mouth went dry. Once slept with? He was dating Olive Baum? Once slept with, as in, slept with three days ago and every week before for months? Dahl didn’t know. Everest shakily opened the drawer on the glass and metal end table and withdrew his prescription. He couldn’t look at Dahl.
Dahl sounded concerned, “I’m sorry, I’m not trying to rub your face in it. I wanted to be honest.”
Everest’s airways constricted. His body was light and oddly unreal, like a suit he could slip out of. The injection stung. He couldn’t get a breath. Gray mist framed his vision. Dahl was next to him. “Try to relax. We can figure this out.” Dahl’s voice was low and soothing, “You’re going to be okay.” After a few minutes Everest was on the way back to the surface. Once he could breathe normally, Dahl packed the rest of his prescription. “Didn’t you fill this four days ago? You only have two left.”
Everest was half-listening. What should he do? How could he possibly explain what was going on?