by Kate Lowell
“No. He wasn’t. But I…” His voice trailed off. The loss of control was humiliating.
“But you were angry, and he was there.” Dave’s voice was soft, telling Julian’s truth for him.
Julian sighed and stared into the depths of his coffee. “Yeah.”
“How long has he been with the FBI?”
“Ten years, I think. I forget exactly.” During the operation, everything had been so clear, outlined in heavy pencil against a plain background. Now it was like a giant finger had smudged across the lines, blending his disparate memories into one difficult image.
Dave paused, his expression contemplative. “Ten years is a good stretch of time. I imagine he’s been a substitute target for someone’s rage before.”
“It was so fucking immature.”
“So?”
“So I still want him. And what in the hell would he see in the guy that got all pissy because he didn’t get his way? You know what I can be like.”
“So you’re worried he won’t think you’re mature enough.”
“I’m worried I’m not mature enough.”
Dave shook his head. “You don’t think like a twenty-one-year-old. Probably why we get along so well, because I don’t either. But it makes it hard to find someone you mesh with.” He picked up his tablet and propped his feet back up on the coffee table. “Give it six months or a year, see if you still feel the same, and approach him.”
“I don’t even know if he’s gay.”
Dave shot him a look that said, as plain as day, that he was being ridiculous. “He slept with you, didn’t he? He’s at least bi, then.”
“But what if he’s moved on?” Was he whining? God, he hoped not. He was. “Sorry, I know I’m being an idiot.”
“I’ve known you for six years, and we’ve lived together for three. If he’s moved on, then you know it was one-sided. It may be a moot point, but until you let this rest for a while, you won’t know how much of this is your heart and how much is left over from the job. The same for him. But if it was the real thing for both of you, you’ll know when you see him.”
“Are you sure?” He sounded like a child, worrying about the monster under the bed.
Dave laughed and put down his tablet again to grab Julian’s chin. He tugged their mouths together for a brief, friendly kiss that was over before Julian had time to think about it, then let him go. “Honey, you’re gorgeous. If you give him the chance, and he’s interested, he’ll come running. Hell, I’d take my chance again, if you’d only let me beat you on a regular basis.”
“Not gonna happen, leatherman.” The words came out sharper than he intended, and something of what had happened must have come through in them. Dave’s eyes widened, and his expression changed from laughter to concern and, a little, guilt.
Julian shook his head and patted Dave’s knee to let him know it wasn’t his fault. Then he said, in a softer tone, to wipe that guilt away, “Thanks. You unsnarl my brain like no one else can.”
David sat back, so careful of his body language that it gave Julian a pang. “I don’t expect you to tell me everything. But I’m always here for you. If you want me to be.”
“Yes, I do. Thanks.” Did he want to talk about Shiro? He did—fuck the NDA; Dave wouldn’t say anything—but the mere thought of it, of saying the words, brought his heart painfully up into his throat. He took a long, shaky breath and replaced the blanket on the back of the couch. “But maybe not yet. I need to…think about this some more.” Julian smoothed the blanket out, absentmindedly stroking while his brain spun its wheels. He waited for it to kick into gear again but soon gave that up as a bad deal. “Well, since that didn’t take all day, I’m going to have a nap. I’ll see you tonight?” He put his coffee on the table and stood.
“Sure. You want me to bring you back takeout?”
“Yeah, okay.” On impulse, Julian leaned down and hugged David. “You’ll find someone someday. I know it.” He gazed down at David for a moment longer. “You were right.”
“About what?”
“About wanting to win. I let it take me someplace pretty bad. But night before last, everything you tried to teach me about being in the moment and only listening to my body—I think that saved my life.”
For the first time since they sat down, Dave’s professional composure cracked. “Do you want to talk about it? I can call in sick.”
Julian shook his head. “I don’t think I’m ready. But when I am…I’d rather talk to you than the bureau shrink, if that’s okay.”
“You know it is.” Dave stood up and took Julian’s hands. “Best friends don’t leave each other in shit.”
“Except when the best friend gets caught with the rival’s mascot in his trunk.”
“No point in both of us getting in trouble.” Dave let Julian go. “Get some sleep. We can talk again later if you feel up to it.”
“Thanks.” Though the repeated offer made Julian wonder what Dave saw in his eyes.
Holding Pattern
By the time his two weeks of enforced idleness were over, Julian was nearly climbing the walls with boredom. Aside from the bureau psychologist, he hadn’t seen or spoken to anyone but Dave and, once, some administrative person from the Washington office, calling to sort out details of when and if he’d be finishing his internship. It had suited him for the first week. He’d spent a lot of time at the gym and in the dojo and jogging. It was almost as if he thought he could sweat the whole experience out of his body.
He still hadn’t talked to Dave about what had happened. Dave, being Dave, hadn’t pushed. Julian was fine with it staying like that, at least for now.
What had surprised him was how much the psychologist the bureau had provided had helped. He’d left Las Vegas with a heart and soul in tatters, an unassailable tangle of emotions and memory. Now—well, he couldn’t say that he was in good shape, but he’d managed a couple of bandages, and they seemed to be sticking. And as the shrink said, there was plenty of time to pick away at that Gordian knot.
But today was Monday, and he was supposed to be back in the office. He wondered if they were still tracking that fraud ring or if Ronalda had moved on to something else. At the back of his mind, he worried that everyone would know what had happened to him. Or that they wouldn’t. And it felt weird not to know which one it was.
He finished tying his tie, stroking it flat over the front of his shirt. A blue one, with pinstripes, that didn’t look anything like the gold one he’d worn that night. In fact, he’d gone through his closet and thrown out his one sort-of-tan shirt and the yellow one too. And the minute that garbage bag had gone out to the bin, a tiny pinprick of irritation had disappeared. That was great, but he couldn’t throw out the things that really made him uncomfortable. Like himself. Or all his stupid mistakes.
Dave shouted from the kitchen. “Breakfast!”
Julian had been smelling ham and eggs for a couple of minutes now. He scurried out to the kitchen and gratefully accepted the plate Dave held out to him. “Thanks. I don’t know why I’m so hungry.”
“There’s leftovers in the fridge too, for lunch.”
“You don’t want to take them?”
“I’ll get something in the cafeteria.”
There was a weird domesticity to the scene that unsettled Julian. It was just as well that he was back to work today. Whatever old emotions he was stirring up in Dave, he didn’t have enough energy left over after dealing with his own issues to avoid those landmines.
He practically inhaled breakfast, then washed the dishes in record time. “I’d better go.”
“I’ll see you after work.” Dave leaned against the counter and watched Julian’s frenetic movements. “Relax. They kept the job open for you, didn’t they? Everything will be fine.”
Julian smiled distractedly at him, his mind already focusing on the upcoming day. He grabbed his wallet and his ID and waved a quick bye to Dave before pelting out the door.
His actual entrance was anticlimactic. He walked i
n, put his lunch in the refrigerator in their little staff room, and said hello to the people who worked around him.
He walked down the hall to Ronalda’s office, feeling a thousand eyes staring at him, and wondering how much, if anything, they all knew.
Her door was open when he got there, so he knocked on the frame before stepping into the room. “Hi. Um, I’m back.”
She smiled, but the once-over she gave him was so thorough he felt like he’d been x-rayed. “Good to have you back. How are you feeling?”
“Good,” he said, and smiled like it was true. “Ready to work.”
“I could certainly use you. But before you get started, you’re to see Ramos in his office.”
A shock of adrenaline surged through Julian’s body. He shoved down his reaction, hiding it all behind his practiced public face. “Right now?” They were kicking him out; the psychologist must have said something. Or he’d done something that had ruined the investigation. Maybe Leo had complained.
He was a mess.
Ronalda gave him a sympathetic look. “It’s okay. He just wants to check in with you. Tell him not to keep you too long—I have a stack of paper with your name on it.”
And just like that, the fear evaporated, leaving him momentarily light-headed. He covered it well, taking a step back into the doorway to camouflage the way his body wanted to sway in place. “I’d better get going, then. Wouldn’t want to keep the paper waiting.” As he turned, he couldn’t miss the look of concern on her face.
The walk to Ramos’s office was both the longest walk he’d ever taken and the shortest one. His steps slowed as he approached the secretary’s desk.
She looked up and smiled. “Can I help you?”
Julian took a deep breath. “I’m supposed to see SAC Ramos before I start work. My name’s Julian Fitzroy.”
“Yes, he’s expecting you.” She picked up her phone’s handset and spoke briefly into it, then told him, “You can go right in.”
“Thank you.” He wiped his palms discreetly on his thighs and opened the door.
Ramos looked up from his computer screen. “Julian. Glad to have you back.”
And another bit of Julian’s unease faded away. “I’m glad to be back, sir.”
“Sit down. Would you like a coffee?”
“No, thanks, sir. I just had breakfast.” Like he needed to be any more jittery. Was he in trouble over the hotel room? He’d pay for the damage; that wasn’t an issue.
Ramos sat back and clasped his hands on the desk in front of him. It struck Julian that this was a characteristic pose and that it presaged some intense, important decision. He crossed his own hands in his lap and forced his shoulders to relax.
Ramos’s lips twitched. “I wanted to touch base with you before you started back to work. You shouldn’t feel like you have to finish out the internship if the events of the past couple of weeks have given you a distaste for the business. If you’ve changed your mind, I’ll give you a good reference, and you can look elsewhere.”
Julian’s heart shot up into his throat, and he had to swallow twice before he could force the words past it. “No, sir! I do want to finish it. I’ve wanted to be a special agent since I was…” He stumbled to a halt—he used to know the answer to this question. Now, he couldn’t remember when he’d first decided to join the FBI. “Since forever,” he finished weakly. The old panic rose up to smother him, and Ramos had to call his name twice before he woke back up. “Yes, sir?”
Ramos watched him intently. “Maybe we brought you back too soon. You seemed like the kind that would be better working than sitting at home, but appearances can be deceiving. Would you like some more time off?”
“No, sir, I want to be here.”
The SAC watched him closely for a moment, then nodded reluctantly. “I’ll allow it, but if you start having any difficulties, I want you to tell Ronalda, and we’ll work out something else. You went above and beyond, and I don’t want that to hurt you down the road.”
Time for some honesty. “I still feel a little weird, but I want to finish the internship.”
“Good to hear. I’ve set Ronalda to finding some way to keep you on our benefits until the psychologist is satisfied, even if it goes longer than the internship. I expect you to make all your appointments, or any deal we have is null and void.”
“Yes, sir.”
At this point, Ramos’s expression changed, and Julian detected a hint of discomfort in it, which sent another shot of adrenaline through his system. Ramos shrugged his shoulders, as if he was trying to loosen tense muscles, then caught Julian’s gaze with his own.
“I also want to talk to you about some promises that I believe were made to you when you accepted this role.”
Oh, no.
“Yes, sir.”
“I understand that Bert promised you a seat at the academy once you’ve graduated.”
This was it. He’d done something during the operation, and now they thought he was unstable or a risk. Dammit, he was usually better than that. “It was mentioned, sir.”
Ramos sighed. “There’s a reason we have the kind of evaluative process that we have. I have no doubt that you can pass our tests, but the fact is, you do still have to pass them.”
So it had all been for nothing. Julian set his jaw and concentrated on keeping his expression neutral and attentive.
Ramos continued. “That being said, I have a proposition for you. I want you to finish your degree, and then, if you still haven’t changed your mind, there’s a recent-graduate program that we use to fill entry-level positions. There’s also the possibility of extending your internship through the school year. It’s not much, about four hours a week, but it’ll keep your hand in, and then you can transition into full-time work after graduation if things are going well.”
And you can keep an eye on me in case I explode. It was better than what he’d walked in here expecting. Yes, losing the assured seat was a blow but not a surprise. “So you were happy with my work, sir?” He had to make sure of that, be certain this wasn’t just some political maneuvering.
Ramos sat back, his posture changing entirely, from that of an SAC at the Washington, DC, field office to just some guy. “Of course I was. I have three people singing your praises. Ronalda says you’re smart and you pay attention to detail, and Agent Gale tells me you reacted promptly and professionally to everything that was thrown at you. Harrow says you followed orders precisely and only deviated when things moved too far out of spec. Nothing that went wrong in this operation was your fault.”
Don’t be so sure about that. Rather than voice his own doubts, all he said was, “Thank you, sir. I’d like that.”
Quantico
Almost exactly two years after they took down the human-trafficking ring, Leo arrived at Quantico to do his third presentation on the operation. He came with nothing more than some emotional baggage and a USB stick to carry two slideshows.
Harrow was busy running the cleanup and the part of the operation that had continued after the raids. The database had yielded masses of information but almost no leads. They were neck-deep in pressure, and ankle-deep in places to look. But it was an excellent example of how a slow-burning operation worked, and Leo, as the agent on scene, had been nominated to do the presentations.
The first show he’d done had been for the White House. Still aching and carrying more than a little Dale Leon under his skin, he’d pulled no punches. He’d deliberately chosen images that disturbed him, pictures that still woke him occasionally from formless, heart-stopping dreams, his body drenched in sweat.
In between the pictures, he detailed the high points and the critical moments of the operation, following both the movements of the agents inside and the support team outside.
Through it all, he scattered pictures of the victims, stripped from the near-useless database that had cost Julian so much and earned the bureau so little. Anger led him to add a detailed description of how far Julian had gone to protect the o
peration and the price he’d paid to get that information. He owed the man that much, that he impressed on the higher-ups what sacrifices were being made on their behalf.
It was everything he needed to shock new recruits into understanding how deep an operation could take them.
The other show was the one he’d made up when he’d been approached last spring to present the case during new agent training. In that one, he’d removed all reference to Julian by name or image and simply called him J. If it were Leo, he wouldn’t want his classmates knowing everything that had happened behind those doors.
In the end, the extra work had been wasted—Julian wasn’t there. Leo asked after him, wondering if his psych tests after the operation had put him outside the parameters, but it turned out Julian hadn’t even applied.
Leo had to admit it wasn’t much of a surprise. Once he’d had a chance to absorb everything that happened, he’d been afraid the experience had burned Julian too badly.
It hadn’t been easy to squash the urge to hunt him down and see how he was doing, to try to convince him that not all cases were like that. After months of going back and forth on the decision, Leo pushed the idea away because he couldn’t tell how much of it was what he saw of Julian’s potential and how much of it was his own desire to see the man again.
And what would a twenty-one-year-old want with a man looking at the close side of forty? So he’d put all that aside and concentrated on his new position coordinating the agents cleaning up the mess he’d left behind in the trafficking ring.
The sound of feet on the stairs made him glance up at the men and women filing into the lecture theater. His gaze skated over the faces as he guessed ages, evaluated body language. One face in particular made him stop dead, except for his heart, which began racing like it was at the start line of the Indy 500. Leo couldn’t imagine what his own face looked like, but Julian’s was filled with a mix of surprise and happiness and then apprehension.
Not much wonder. The most obvious reason for Leo to be here talking to the new agents was the reason he actually was here. Quickly Leo closed the original version of the slideshow and opened the other, safer one. He met Julian’s gaze again and nodded slightly. The pinched look around Julian’s mouth eased a little, and he leaned back in his chair. It didn’t escape Leo’s notice that Julian chose a seat with a clear line to the door. He’d been known to pick his own seats like that.