by KC Burn
Surprisingly, Davy sat. The man might not talk much, but nevertheless, Kurt had expected a bit of resistance. Maybe Davy realized Kurt was in no mood to put up with any shit today.
Kurt sat on the coffee table in front of Davy, whose eyes flared. He rolled his eyes. Undoubtedly Ben would have freaked by either butt or shoes planted on the table, but tough shit.
“What the hell is going on?”
Fine tremors shook Davy’s thin body. Faint sounds of traffic wafted into the room, meshing with Davy’s hiccupping breaths.
Kurt waited, blood pulsing in his temples. He was angry, but he didn’t want to be. Grief didn’t disappear after a few weeks, especially when your partner of ten years died. It would be months before Davy was better. He had to remember that, not get frustrated by the way Davy hid in here and pretended time stood still.
Long minutes passed before Davy’s head lifted. His eyes were bloodshot and wet, like Kurt hadn’t seen since the first couple of days.
“I couldn’t afford to pay the bill.”
The statement wasn’t a surprise, and yet it was. Kurt couldn’t imagine a man as responsible and by-the-book as Ben had been would leave his lover with crushing debts.
“I’m going to have to sell the house,” Davy whispered, more tears welling up to spill down his too-thin cheeks.
The urge to gather Davy in his arms again and tell him everything would be all right shook Kurt. He hesitated for a second—was that the type of solace Davy needed? Probably not. Not this time. Nevertheless, he slid onto the couch and wrapped an arm around Davy’s slender shoulders. Davy curled into him and clung like a limpet. How long had Davy been without any simple human contact?
“Whoa. Hold on a second. Your salary doesn’t cover the mortgage?” He was being unbearably nosy, and God knew, property values were insanely high, but the house was quite modest. Just an older two-bedroom bungalow with a finished basement.
In the crook of Kurt’s neck, Davy nodded, then shook his head. “Yes, but the funeral took all of my savings. Everything else comes out automatically from the bank. All the bills and the house are in my name. Ben….” Davy swallowed heavily and took a deep breath. “Ben usually transferred money to me each month, but the nursing home for his mom called and said they hadn’t received a check. I… didn’t know what else to do. I sent them a check, but that meant I couldn’t cover the electric or phone. I didn’t realize how expensive the long-term care facility was.”
Those were the most words Davy had strung together at once since Kurt burst into his life. Wait. The phone call from the corner. “Your phone’s dead too? What about a cell?”
Davy shook his head again.
“Jeez, Davy. It’s fucking dangerous not to have a phone. What if you got hurt? A fire? A burglar?” Kurt pulled away to glare at Davy.
His only response was a look of confusion. Kurt clamped down on his own fear. If he had to leave his own cell with Davy, he would. But Davy had other issues more worrisome than a hypothetical disaster.
“Okay, okay. Sorry. What about life insurance? Didn’t Ben have any savings? I can’t believe he wouldn’t have made provisions for his mother… and for you. He works—worked—in a dangerous field.”
Kurt made a will the day after he joined the force, not that he had much of anything to bequeath besides some savings. But he didn’t have people relying on him, not like Davy and Ben’s mom did on Ben.
Davy shrugged. “I don’t know. He never mentioned anything.”
The pulse in his temple got louder and more insistent. Ben had been pretty much a mystery, and Kurt conceded he had been a great cop, but the more he learned, the less sure he was he would have liked the person he never knew.
“Did he have a file cabinet? Or a file folder? A box with personal papers?”
Davy bit his lip for a second before nodding. “Yes.”
“Okay, bring it into the kitchen.” Uncomfortable chairs or not, he suspected he’d need the kitchen table to spread out papers. He wasn’t an expert, not by a long shot, but he couldn’t leave Davy with no fucking power and worried about losing his home just a month after Ben’s death.
Davy moved to the bedroom, and Kurt went straight to the drawer full of unopened mail. He hadn’t looked at it since that first day, but there might be something in there about life insurance or… something.
Kurt set aside the envelopes he assumed were condolence cards. There were so few. Probably because no one realized Davy and Ben existed as a couple for God’s sake. Some of the envelopes looked like bank statements, and Kurt set those aside. The two registered letters from a lawyer’s office, addressed to Davy, were of the most interest.
A trickle of sweat slid down his back, reminding him uncomfortably of that hot moment before the raid went all to shit. The baggy long-sleeve T wouldn’t be so hot if the A/C was working—he hadn’t worn a short-sleeve shirt in public since… well… since the day Ben died. At first it was to protect the bandages and then it became habit.
Screw it. He pulled the shirt over his head, hoping Davy wouldn’t mind.
Davy chose that moment to arrive in the kitchen, standing frozen in the doorway with an accordion file in his hands.
“Oh, hey, sorry. I was getting a little warm.” And possibly a little freaked out by the reminder of the explosion. “Hope it’s okay.”
Kurt never thought twice about wandering around his own apartment or his parents’ place shirtless, or even his buddies’ backyards for BBQ’s and touch football and the like. But Davy had spent ten years with the proper Benjamin Kaminski. When Davy’s normally pale face paled a trifle more, Kurt reached for his shirt. Fuck it. He’d just suffer.
“It’s okay.” Davy moved finally, setting the accordion file on the table.
Kurt paused in the act of twisting his shirt right-side out. “Are you sure? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” Because suddenly, he remembered Davy was gay. This wouldn’t be misinterpreted, would it?
“No. It’s just… I didn’t realize about your arm. I know you told me, but I somehow thought, with the cane and all, your knee was the worst injury. But it wasn’t, was it?”
Oh. Right. He hadn’t even considered how horrific his scar might look to Davy. Or anyone, really. The only ones who’d seen it thus far were doctors and family.
He tucked his arm close to his side and tried to wrestle his shirt on one-handed.
“I’ll cover it up in a sec.”
Davy grabbed his shirt. “It’s okay. I was just startled. With… everything… I forget sometimes you were hurt badly.”
He shrugged, shirt clamped in a fist, unsure if he should put it on anyway.
“And tattoos. I had no idea. They’re very nice. Can I look?”
“Uh, thanks. Sure.” People liked to look at his armbands. The intricate, two-inch wide Celtic knot-work bands were compelling visuals, or so he’d been told more than once, and Davy wasn’t the first to have asked. Usually women were the ones to want to get up close, but Davy hadn’t demonstrated interest in much, and Kurt was happy to encourage it.
Light fingertips along the deep black borders of the band on his left bicep gave him gooseflesh on the back of his neck, but Kurt remained still for Davy’s inspection. Surprisingly strong fingers gripped Kurt’s wrist and turned it outwards, exposing the long jagged scar.
“Does it hurt?”
“The scar?” It was still pink and a little angry looking, but healing well. “Sometimes. I probably overdid it a bit with the windows.”
A slight gasp, and Davy’s fingers tightened a wee bit. “I’m so sorry. I should have—”
“What? You didn’t know, and I knew better. It’s fine.”
Davy drew a thin forefinger along the scar to where it bisected Kurt’s tattoo. “You had it done all the way around? That must have hurt too.”
He snorted. “Not as much as the damned shrapnel, let me tell you.”
Was it punishment for his vanity? Because not only had the scar broken the p
erfect circle, the edges didn’t even match up and no longer matched his right arm, either.
“I don’t know if it will hurt tattooing over scarred skin or not, but I suspect they’ll have a bitch of a time trying to fix it.”
Davy nodded and let go of his wrist. Even in the overheated house, Davy’s fingers had been cold, and they left a cool spot on Kurt’s skin after Davy settled into a chair and shoved the accordion file at him.
After about an hour of sitting in silence, sifting through the papers—organized within an inch of their lives, to be sure—Kurt stretched. Davy sat there, watching, the entire time. He slid the registered letters over to Davy. “Open these up.”
“Why?” Davy picked them up by the corners as though they were contaminated. When his nose wrinkled slightly, Kurt’s budding exasperation melted away. Avoidance was clearly Davy’s MO. If he didn’t open those letters, he wouldn’t have to face the final steps in letting Ben go. And he was willing to sit in this dimly lit sweatbox in order to do so.
“Because it’s time. You know you’re the executor of Ben’s will, right?”
Davy shook his head. Seriously? Ben hadn’t told him? Hadn’t prepared him? No wonder. Davy didn’t have a fucking clue what to do.
“I’m actually surprised the lawyers haven’t tried calling you too.” A furtive glance at the phone told Kurt louder than words that Davy probably had messages he hadn’t returned. “Getting all this fixed up should leave you able to pay for the house just fine.”
“But what about Ben’s mom?”
A slight burning sensation alerted Kurt to impending tears. He blinked them back—Davy cried enough for both of them. Ben may have treated Davy poorly, but no matter Davy’s tendencies for avoidance, Kurt couldn’t fault Ben for choosing a caring, soft-hearted lover.
“There are two life insurance policies. One for you and the house and the other through the department for his mom.” Which fit Ben’s fucking pattern. God forbid anyone at work know about his partner of ten years, not even the benefits administrator. At least he’d manned up enough to make arrangements for Davy with a lawyer. “You’ll need to talk to the lawyer about dispersing those funds and who will make the medical decisions for Mrs. Kaminski. There may be a way to get some help from the province or a court-appointed guardian.”
“No.”
Kurt’s eyes widened. He hadn’t expected such a forceful response.
“No. Ben left this to me. I have to do it.” Davy splayed his hands over the documents as though hoping their contents would reach his brain through osmosis.
“You don’t have to do it alone. You know I’ll help, right?” A month ago, he would have helped solely because of his obligation to Ben. Now, though, he wanted to help because Davy was his friend.
Tears welled up in Davy’s eyes as he mouthed the words “thank you” at Kurt without looking at him. With a deep shuddering breath, Davy blinked back the tears, kept them from falling.
Kurt pulled his phone out and handed it to Davy. “Call the lawyer. Make an appointment. After that, we’ll order a pizza, and while we’re waiting, we’ll call and get your electricity and phone hooked back up.”
“How?”
“We’ll put the balance on my credit card.”
“No.” Davy sounded even more forceful than when he’d said the same word just minutes ago and waved at the table. “I can’t let you do that. This is my own stupid fault. I should have done this sooner.”
Kurt bristled. “You’re not stupid. You’ve had a hell of couple of weeks. I’m a friend helping another friend out of a jam. And I won’t let you stop me.”
He wasn’t lying. Somewhere along the line, Davy had become his friend, not just the lover of his dead partner.
The tears welled up again, but this time Davy was almost smiling. “A friend?”
Kurt’s gut churned. He really wanted to punch someone. Davy had told him about Sandra’s dangerous pregnancy and about how Ben had gradually isolated Davy from his other friends. Davy hadn’t put it in so many words, but Kurt knew. He’d seen enough domestic abuse victims to recognize it, and even though Ben hadn’t done anything overtly abusive, the isolation was bad enough. All because he didn’t want anyone to know he was gay. But Kurt couldn’t believe none of Davy’s former friends had extended an olive branch or even checked in to see how he was coping. Nevertheless, he smiled and nodded.
With another faint smile, Davy took the phone and began dialing. While Davy was on hold, Kurt gathered up the documents he’d need into a single pile, then stood and wandered back into the living room to give Davy some privacy.
Kurt hadn’t confessed to snooping in Davy’s closet, but he wondered if he should. This house needed some color.
Davy didn’t exactly bounce—he was kind of tall for that—but there was a definite lightness of step when he returned Kurt’s phone.
“I’m to go in at ten thirty tomorrow.”
“Perfect. I’ve got an early doctor’s appointment. After I’m done, I’ll pick you up and afterward, we’ll go out for lunch.”
“Out?” Well, shit, Davy didn’t have to sound like he’d just propositioned a Victorian maiden for group sex.
“Yes, out. It’s not a four-letter word, you know.”
“But… but… in public? Won’t people think….” Both his words and volume trailed off to nothing. Oh, Ben, what the fuck did you do to this guy?
“Friends, remember? Friends go out, you know. Besides, your neighbors probably already think you’re having an affair, and I’ve been coming over for nooners everyday, since we never leave the house together.”
Davy’s eyes widened, and his fierce blush looked almost painful. But then he sputtered and a stifled giggle escaped before he locked it down. The mirth remained in his eyes, and Kurt smiled. Soon, he’d get Davy laughing for real. Soon, Davy wouldn’t feel guilty about getting on with his life.
Next week, they’d both be back at work, Kurt mostly healed physically, but Davy with a mountain to climb to heal his heart and mind.
Kurt looked around the diner, wondering if he’d see anyone he knew. They were a little far afield from his own precinct, but Lettie’s was one of the best all-night diners in the city, so naturally, anyone who’d worked the graveyard gravitated to it. Cops were more likely to be there at midnight, not noon, when it was apparently filled with businessmen.
“So, how come someone who claims to be able to cook wanted to go to a diner?” Because as soon as Davy had seen where the lawyer’s office was, he’d asked if they could eat at Lettie’s.
“The food’s good. Or at least it used to be. I haven’t been here in years, but I used to eat here with friends all the time.” Davy glanced around, the fine lines of tension around his eyes smoothing out as he became lost in nostalgia.
“Food’s still good. A lot of guys on the force eat here.”
“They… do?” The tension returned as Davy glanced around again, furtively this time. Comprehension flooded Kurt. He wasn’t going to ask, but he’d bet his life savings Ben had been the reason Davy stopped eating here.
They spoke fitfully until their lunches arrived. All Kurt could do was show Davy he didn’t mind being seen in public with him, for Christ’s sake.
“I didn’t miss that little dig, you know,” Davy said with a mischievous look that Kurt was happy to see.
“What dig?”
“About my cooking.”
Kurt shrugged. Davy had made lunch for them a couple of times. It was good but not fancy. Mostly they had sandwiches or eggs of some description.
“Hey, no biggie. It’s okay to exaggerate your accomplishments,” he teased.
“Exaggerate?” Davy said in mock offense. “That’s it. I’m making my specialty this weekend. You’ll have to come over for dinner.”
“Oh, yeah? What’s your specialty?”
“It’s a surprise.”
Davy’s playfulness suited him so much better than the zombie-like catatonia or tears.
“Okay, then, what day is better for you?” Kurt wasn’t going back to work until Monday, but Davy had chosen to return to work tomorrow, figuring a short first week back would be easier to handle. One day or five, Kurt had no illusions—Davy’s first week back was going to be exhausting.
“Is Saturday okay? I know that’s usually date night.”
“Saturday is fine. I haven’t dated in a while.” His family life had been a safe topic of conversation over the past few weeks, but he’d not spoken much about his dating habits.
A hint of color appeared on Davy’s cheekbones, but Kurt didn’t know why. Was it weird to talk about sex or dating with a gay friend? Maybe. Kurt made a mental note to avoid the topic in the future.