Fic: Divided Loyalties (OP/NP)
Title: Divided Loyalties
Author: Rhianne
Fandom: The Professionals/The New Professionals
Summary: People do stupid things in the heat of the moment.
Notes: This story is a Professionals/New Professionals crossover. It was inspired by Naomi and Brenda's epic, Loyalties (NB: which I don't think is still available online, sadly), since we decided that it was high time Chris Keel got his point of view across. *g* This story covers Chapters 30 - 32 of Loyalties, and you'll definitely need to have read that for this to make much sense. From Chris Keel's POV. The New Professionals is Curtis/Keel slash, but the Professionals is gen.
The club is already pretty smoky as I walk in, and I find myself looking around for Sam almost before I make it through the door.
I promised myself I wouldn't do that. Sam's been walking on eggshells around me since I got stabbed, and I'm doing everything I can think of to try and get things back to normal. Well, normal for us, anyway.
Unfortunately, automatically searching him out whenever I enter a room like some kind of goddamn security blanket is not helping matters. Particularly since the irrational part of me is starting to wonder whether or not Sam really is questioning my ability to do the job and watch his back, and not just reacting to his own personal fears. He needs to be careful, though. Many more weeks like this one and I'm going to seriously lose my cool.
It's always the same after one of us gets hurt, particularly since we've become lovers. (See? Why can't Sam find it that easy to say?) The uninjured one hovers round like a mother hen for a few days, the victim ends up snapping in frustration, the hen backs off a bit and everything's back to normal.
This time is slightly different, though. Sam's been on edge ever since Bodie reappeared in his life, and he seems to have taken my injury as some kind of chance to prove himself to anyone - by that read Bodie - who dares to question his abilities. And if that means treating me like a six year-old child and denying that what we have together is of any consequence, then apparently so be it.
It was quite cute at first, because I wasn't up to jumping straight back in to active duty, but it's wearing rapidly thin.
I can't see Sam straight away, so I consciously dismiss him from my thoughts and head to the bar, where a stunning barmaid is pouring a drink of some sort. Hang on a minute...
Backup? I knew she was going to be here, but...wow.
That woman looks gorgeous, and if I wasn't already seeing someone...
But I am, and that kind of thinking doesn't help anyone. I wonder what she'd say if she heard me think that? After all, from what I can see she's not the kind of woman to get too wrapped up in other people's relationships, and it's not me she has a crush on.
Even so, I can't quite stop the sly grin from forming, and she pretends to glare back at me as I look her up and down and leer jokingly.
"Is this a permanent look for you, Tina?" the club may be practically empty, but Backup would probably sound a little odd to any stray ears. Sam's not the only one who can play at being sneaky.
Rolling her eyes, she hands me a Bud as I hear footsteps approaching. Backup turns to deal with the new customer, and I turn with her to greet the new arrival.
Sam.
I can't quite stop the warm smile that sneaks up on me. Whatever his faults, I still love him.
I move up beside him but stay quiet, listening to Sam swap banter with Backup. Until recently she hasn't felt comfortable enough with us to do this, and I've missed it. Sam continues talking, he's obviously seen me coming, but the smile in his eyes makes me feel better. Maybe things are going to be alright after all.
I know we're strong enough to get through this, if Sam can just pull himself together enough to stop treating me like a child. I really am trying to understand. I'm not a complete asshole, I know how difficult it can be to come out for the first time, but if he stops respecting my abilities as a colleague, how long is it before he stops respecting me as a person as well?
Anyway. Enough pondering - that's Sam's favourite pastime, not mine.
Whatever happens, we'll deal with it.
The main problem chooses that moment to put in an appearance, and I wink at Sam, trying to impart some of my confidence into him. Although I know what the answer will be before I start, I still suggest a shot of vodka to loosen him up a bit, but Sam's firmly in 'repressed agent' mode, and refuses.
When Bodie joins us, almost immediately he and Sam move over to a table, and I lean with my back against the bar, enjoying my drink and idly surveying the rest of the clientele while I wait for Backup to finish serving a middle aged man in a cheap business suit.
Sam's right - I do have CI5 business here, otherwise I wouldn't have come. As much as I might pretend otherwise for appearances sake, there are a thousand things I'd rather be doing than sitting in a smokey nightclub pretending to ogle the - and lets be honest here - largely unappealing women on the stage. Yes, I'm probably a little distracted these days, but I still like women. They're just not my type. Sam goes - used to - go for the long legged vapid blonde, I didn't. Blonde maybe, long legs are optional, but I like interesting conversation, people I'd enjoy spending time with. Which is one of the main reasons I love Sam so much. I'm not laying odds on finding too many people here at a table dancing club. Backup, Bodie and Sam aside from that, obviously. And there's only one of those three I'd seriously consider taking to bed.
No, I came because I have work to do, photos and information to pass on to Backup, and through her, to Bodie. Of course, keeping a discreet eye on Sam in case he plucks up the courage to tell Bodie about us and Bodie takes offence is just an added incentive. My turn to do the Mother Hen routine, I suppose. Though hopefully I won't be quite so obvious about it as Sam has been.
Though I don't know if Sam is ever going to tell Bodie about us, so that's probably all wishful thinking. I'm too far away to hear what they're saying, but even the low muttering I can hear is drowned out when some truly awful music that starts blaring over the speakers.
Backup has finally finished serving the suit, and winces as she returns to me. "If I have to listen to YMCA one more time..." She doesn't finish the sentence, but I can hear the barely controlled frustration in it.
Even so, I can't help grinning, still watching Sam and Bodie. The music stops suddenly, and then Bodie's yelling at some guy called Tristan, and we both hear him threatening to fire one of the girls.
I can't resist it. I know I should, but I can't. What can I say? I'm weak. "Here you go, Backup. If you get bored behind the bar, you can always try being out on stage instead. Might be a good career move for you."
She withers me with a look, and I grin, holding in a snigger as we're both distracted by Tristan mincing off into one of the back rooms. I know we're talking pots and kettles here, but my God. Just before the music starts again I hear yet another badly times remark about poofters from Bodie. Sam stiffens and looks miserable, and I can feel my good humour fade away. For God's sake Sam, just tell him. Then we can all stop dancing round on bloody egg shells and get on with more important things.
Backup sees my frustration, and lays a hand on my shoulder. "Is Sam still feeling insecure?"
"Yeah," I mutter. "Me running into knives last week didn't help, either."
She sighs. "It happens, Chris. We all have our fears."
Don't we just. Sam just seems to have more than most. I think briefly about sharing this pearl of wisdom with her, then decide against it. She's a good friend, but it's not fair to go around telling all and sundry about Sam's problems. It would be nice to have someone to share my own concerns with. Sam has enough of his own to appreciate me forcing mine on him as well.
"Right," Backup says, using her work voice. "What's this stuff Malone wanted you to give me?"
I appreciate the distraction, and together we both do the dutiful agent thing and focus on work for a bit. Malone should be proud - except he wouldn't be, since I get the feeling that most of the time he expects us to do nothing but work twenty-four hours a day. If he could replace us all with robots, he'd probably be ecstatic.
Finally I just about finish briefing Backup on all the new developments - or lack of them, since we don't seem to be getting anywhere with this case at the moment - and turn back to Sam, wondering if he's been able to speak to Bodie yet. I mean honestly, how hard can it be? All it takes is three little words.
Bodie, I'm gay.
Hell, he's even got a choice of words - 'Bodie I'm gay', 'Bodie I'm bisexual' - either would do.
However Sam wants to dress them up in long words, that's basically what he's saying. He and Bodie can discuss it till hell freezes over afterwards, but he has to tell him first.
Glancing up, I freeze as I realise that Bodie's nowhere to be found, and Sam is deep in conversation with one of the dancers.
Okay.
That's fine.
Sam's just being nice - killing time and being pleasant while he waits for Bodie to come back from wherever he's buggered (bad choice of words) off to. Though it would make it a lot easier, wouldn't it? If Bodie was gay, we wouldn't be having these problems in the first place.
And looking down her top every twelve seconds is just Sam's way of being friendly.
Stop it, Chris, I think to myself. This is no different to my having to dance with that girl at the club the other night. It doesn't mean anything.
It doesn't help that she's quite openly flirting with him, and if Sam was anyone other than Sam, I'd be quite convinced that he was flirting back.
Hang on.
He is flirting back. I'm not this paranoid, I know I'm not.
I suddenly realise that I'm biting my lip, and force myself to relax slightly. Getting wound up isn't going to achieve anything.
She certainly seems to have a lot to say for herself. Sam's leaning forward now, looking earnest as he gestures with one arm, obviously making a point of some kind. She laughs, and I sigh.
The hand reappears on my shoulder, and then Backup's leaning over the bar.
"Chris..." she warns gently.
Glancing at her, I take in the amused sympathy in her expression and sigh, giving her a tired smile.
"That obvious, am I?"
"Only to me," she replies. "He loves you Chris, remember?"
The affirmative I was aiming for gets stuck in my throat as the girl stands up and Sam's eyes follow her movement - about a foot too low to be looking at her face.
Sam says something, she giggles, and then they're kissing.
Shit.
Forcing myself to look away, I glance over at Backup, whose eyebrows are about to hit the ceiling. She gives me a watery smile, obviously not sure quite how to react to that one.
I'm not too sure either, but anger is definitely quite high up on the list of possibles. Along with bitterness and a slight trace of fear. When I finally bring myself to look back over, the dancer is halfway across the room, blowing Sam a kiss, and Bodie's on his way back to their table, a smug grin all over his face.
Right at this moment, I could quite cheerfully beat him to death with one of those bloody sequined costumes of his.
Backup pipes up again, her voice suddenly serious. "Cool it, Chris."
I bite back an angry retort and force myself to take a couple of breaths. I have to calm down. A couple of minutes and I'm back under a shaky sort of control. Which is just as well, really, since Sam is talking on his mobile, and beckoning me over at the same time.
Leaving the empty Bud bottle on the bar, I head over to him, aiming for calm and collected, and just about managing a slow simmer.
I reckon that's close enough.
And it'll have to be, since God (well, Malone, which these days doesn't seem much different) has spoken, and we're off on a job.
Even Sam's description of it, 'a nice, simple bugging operation' is enough to start winding me up again. Because obviously I'm not capable of something nasty and complicated anymore.
Bodie's surprised that we're leaving so soon, (probably wanted Sam engaged to the girl before he left), but spends a good few minutes wittering on about her. Sam seems just a little bit too enthusiastic at continuing the conversation as well.
Sam throws me an anxious look then goes quiet, simply nodding at Bodie enough to get us out of the club and into the fresh night air.
Happily he doesn't say anything about the dancer, because I'm not sure I could stay civil if he did. I'm not a master at hiding my feelings, and I know he can see I'm angry thanks to all the nervous glances he keeps throwing at me. I think about asking him if he's developed a nervous twitch, but decide against it. That would only drag us into an in-depth analysis of the situation, and I'm not interested in going through that at the moment.
Back to the job in hand, please.
Sam's driving, so I spend the drive on the phone to Spencer, finding out exactly what job Malone has got for us now.
As Sam said, a nice, simple bugging operation. Half the squad has spent the last few days bugging people, and most of the time with no idea of what the guy being bugged is supposed to have done.
Malone calls it 'covering all bases'. I call it clutching at straws - but not in his earshot.
I'm the one talking to Spence, asking all the relevant questions, and being told what we need to know, but Sam keeps butting in with questions of his own, which I'm expected to relate to Spence.
Whose house is it? Do we know if they're at home? Are they dangerous? What did they have for breakfast? It's as if he doesn't trust me to know what we're supposed to find out. I'm barely keeping a lid on my temper, but after I can hear Spence getting tired of the interrogation I'm giving on Sam's behalf, I finally hand the phone out to Sam's ear and ask as politely as I can: "Do you want to take over, Sam?"
Another nervous twitch, and he waves the phone away with a muttered no.
I wrap the conversation up pretty quickly after that, and before long we've arrived at the target house.
Martin Ritchie lives a couple of miles north of Potter's Bar, and being a customs official with vague links to Infamy and David Brown, Malone has ordered him bugged. Special Branch are tailing him as well, apparently, so provided they don't lose him, we should have clear and easy access to his apartment.
No problem.
So when Sam takes charge of our little operation and instructs me to stay in the car while he and Spencer go inside and do the deed, so to speak, I'm so stunned I actually can't come up with a response.
Even Spence looks surprised, and glances briefly in my direction before turning to Sam.
"Why should Chris stay outside, Sam?" he asks, sounding as confused as I feel.
"We need someone to act as lookout in case Ritchie or some of his friends come back."
Of course we do. Because most of Special Branch tailing this guy isn't enough of a precaution. I know I don't put much faith in the police force, but this is ridiculous.
Biting my lip to keep from yelling at him, I climb out of the car and go and check round the side of the building. Before I even have the chance to return to the street, Sam is behind me.
"You shouldn't start climbing through windows yet, Chris," he starts trying to explain, but I don't give him the chance, pushing past him and returning to Spence, who's waiting nervously by the car, obviously wondering what the hell is going on.
I pull a headset out of the glove compartment and fit it over my ear before handing one to Sam, who does the same.
"Be careful, Chris," Sam mutters.
I'm not even answering that one.
Obviously having decided what he wants to happen, Sam beckons Spence and they head inside the apartment block, using the lockpick to get in the outer door.
Getting back into the car, I sit and wait like the rookie Sam seems to have decided I am.
As I expected absolutely fucking nothing happens, unless you count Sam's voice coming over my earpiece a few minutes later.
"Everything alright down there, 4.5?"
"Fine," I snap.
Silence for a few minutes, before: "Report, 4.5?" Sam again.
"Malone's come down," I begin, just about at the end of my temper. "We're dancing in the street and playing limbo. I'm surprised you can't hear us, Sam."
"Be serious, Chris," Sam snaps back.
Count to ten, I urge myself. Then you can kill him. "Nothing to report."
This goes on for fifteen minutes, and I'm seriously starting to wonder how many ways Sam can ask if I'm okay without actually saying the words.
What does Sam honestly think is going to happen to me when I'm sat in a car in the middle of a suburban street? Or does he think the jerk and the ape are going to come back to take up where they left off the last time? I know I hover a bit whenever he's hurt, but this is fucking stupid.
They finally finish the bugging operation, and we drive back to HQ in silence with Spence following in another car.
Almost as soon as the car starts I turn on the radio and raise the volume, before staring out of the passenger side window, trying to rein my temper in before I seriously lose it.
It doesn't help.
~*~*~
When we arrive back at HQ, Spence makes his excuses and leaves as quickly as possible. I can't say I blame him, either.
Sam is trying to explain, but I'm in no mood to listen, and simply cut him down over Lucy. That he thinks she's the main problem simply annoys me even more. Yes, I was angry about her, but if he thinks that the way he treated me at Ritchie's is acceptable.
I finally tell him that's what's bothering me, and he sighs as comprehension dawns. Even then, he tries to justify himself.
"Don't forget Chris, you're still on sick leave."
"Oh fuck, Sam. Getting Spence to come in with you and leaving me outside - what sort of game is that? Since when do you go around calling all the shots, anyway?"
He just doesn't seem to get it. One of the things I appreciated so much about our relationship is the way that we take it in turns to do things, both at work and at home. If Sam destroys that because of his insecurities about being seen as effeminate, I don't think I can stay with him. I won't be made to feel inferior and incompetent in my own job simply to boost his failing ego.
Malone appears before I get the chance to try and explain this to him, and in spite of what I've said, Sam does exactly the same thing in Malone's office, speaking over me, taking total control and even answering for me when Malone directly addresses me. I half expect Malone to call Sam on it, (and wouldn't that be interesting to explain to our boss) but he doesn't, simply raises an eyebrow and carried on.
By this point I'm so angry I'm actually shaking, and everything Sam says is just making it worse.
I need to get out of the office, and away from Sam, so I stop trying to give any input into the conversation, and just wait for Malone to dismiss us.
When he finally does, I walk quickly through the office with Sam at my heels, and head for the garage.
"Chris..."
Sam sounds nervous, as if he's finally realised that he might have made a mistake, but I'm not interested.
"I'm going," I snap.
Obviously choosing to ignore this thinly veiled request for him to fuck off, Sam follows me down into the dark car park.
What follows is less than pleasant.
~*~*~
Less than two hours later I find myself in yet another dingy, smoke-filled club. This time, though, it's packed with people dancing and singing off-key. You'd think I would have had enough of places like this over the past few weeks.
I tried going home, but it didn't work. Every time there was a noise outside or a car in the street I kept expecting Sam to show up and want to continue the argument in the car park. Either that, or drop by with a box full of things and announce that he'd been thinking, that I was right, and that we don't have a future together.
What the bloody hell was I thinking?
Laying everything on the line like that, demanding he sort himself out in an instant and get everything back to the way it used to be was an insane thing to do. It would just about serve me right if he did what I all but told him to, and went and screwed that Lucy woman.
But at the same time, I know I did the right thing. This might just prove the kick up the ass that Sam needs to straighten himself out, because he's the only one who can. And on a purely selfish level, I did what I had to do to protect myself. While normally I'd move heaven and earth to help Sam, the things he's been doing lately have started to make me doubt myself. Much longer being treated like an incompetent child and I would have started to wonder if he was right, if I wasn't capable of doing my job.
Especially since he did have some small basis for his over-protectiveness. I was the one who managed to get stabbed. If it wasn't for Bodie.
But we're not going there tonight. Because Bodie is most of the problem.
So, after driving myself crazy jumping at shadows for a while, I decided I wasn't great company, and headed out to find some more of it. I'm not looking to find a soulmate - in spite of everything that's happened, I still believe that I've already found him. I just don't want to be on my own, and can't face Sam yet. I just want to find some vague connection to another human being - to try and replace what I'm so afraid I've just lost with Sam.
I didn't even particularly want to talk to anyone. Just being in a room with other people - people who are laughing and enjoying themselves - would have been enough. Hence the forlorn figure I am now, propping up the bar and drinking with myself, soaking up the atmosphere and occasionally people-watching.
It's not a great club, but it passes the time. And the drink is starting to help me unwind a bit, thank God. I'm still wrapped up in my own thoughts, though. So much so, that when someone slips onto the bar stool next to mine I barely notice, until a half empty packet of cigarettes is wafted around in my direction.
"Fag?" A fair haired guy asks, and I go to snap at him when I realise that he's talking about the smokes, and nothing else. Shit, Sam's got me paranoid now. I mean, this is a gay bar, for God sake. I think I'm probably safe from any and all kinds of homophobia here. Right, crisis over - back to the question in hand. My initial response to the cigarettes is no, but then I change my mind. Why the hell not? I used to smoke, long before I joined CI5, and what's more I used to enjoy it. One or two tonight isn't going to make any difference.
"Thanks," I grin in his direction. He smiles back, then leans closer to light the cigarette with one of those silver zippo lighters.
"I'm Mark," he says, reaching for the packet and lighting his own cigarette.
"Chris."
"It's busy tonight," he continues, gesturing to the dancing masses. "We're lucky there were some empty chairs by the bar."
I nod, too busy taking my first proper drag to say anything. The nicotine floods my system, and I can feel it working as I start to relax. Also not real, because I know that they don't actually reduce stress, but what do I care? It feels like it's working, and that's enough for me.
Mark turns his attentions to the barman and orders, and for want of anything better to do, I study him. He's tall, blonde, fairly attractive though nothing particularly amazing, but seems pleasant enough. What's probably most important tonight is that he's not Sam. It would be really nice to talk to someone without it ending up an angst session about sexuality, or having to be careful what I say because no-one is supposed to know that Sam and I are - were? - a couple.
Another Bud appears in front of me as if by magic, and I thank him as he pays the barman.
The conversation starts from there and flows quite easily between us for a while, ranging from what we both do for a living (my latest line about being an airline pilot is particularly easy to carry off) to commenting on the dubious dancing habits of some of the other people here. Before I realise it I'm the one buying the drinks, and the discussion is taking a more intimate turn.
"So what about you, Chris?" Mark asks after we've finished dissecting his apparently dull love life.
I grin and roll my eyes, taking another swig of beer.
He laughs. "That good, huh?"
After spending the last few weeks trying to help Sam, having a basic, simple conversation with no subtexts or emotional complications is a real relief. I'm finding myself enjoying the company more than I thought possible, considering the mood I was in when I came here.
"Tell me about it?" Mark suggests, which is only fair, really, since he's been entertaining me with talk of his past mistakes for most of the evening. Even so, I still can't bring myself to open up to him very much about Sam. That's private.
"Not really much to tell," I settle for dismissive. "My boyfriend...hell, probably my ex by now...he's just having trouble accepting that he's bisexual."
"Ah," Mark replies. "It's not easy, coming out, is it?"
"No, it's not. But you have to just face it, otherwise it haunts you forever."
"And tears everything apart along the way," I mumble. Didn't actually think he'd hear me, but he does, because he reaches over and hesitantly squeezes my hand, before flushing slightly and withdrawing it.
Far from being annoyed by the intrusion, I find it quite sweet. It's nice being the one sympathised with for a change.
Another beer, and the conversation begins again, but we don't really talk about anything specific. Just having the company is enough.
Finally, there's less than an hour to go before the club closes, and since it's a weeknight, people are already starting to leave. Mark finishes his drink, smiles and reaches for his coat.
"Are you leaving?" I ask.
Mark nods, and takes a couple of steps away from the bar before turning back to face me.
"Why don't you come with me?" he begins nervously. "We could continue the conversation back at my place."
I can't help grinning - Mark obviously doesn't do this very often.
The strange thing is, even as my head is working out a reasonable excuse not to go with him, my mouth is saying yes, and I've stood up and walked away from the bar.
Huh? I must have drunk more than I thought. The head is still sending out caution warnings as we leave the building, but for some reason I'm not responding to them. For the briefest of moments after the cloakroom but before the door I think about Sam. All the anger, all the worry that his insecurities have caused me flares up again, and I angrily push all thoughts of him away.
Carpe Diem, right? Besides, sooner or later I'm pretty sure that Sam is going to decide all this hassle isn't worth our relationship, if my little outburst this evening didn't ended it already, so why should I worry myself into an early grave over him? Our job is just as likely to do that on its own, I don't need anything else to push the odds into the Grim Reaper's favour. Enough worrying. Sam does more than enough for both of us.
This surge of anger is enough to get me through the door, and together Mark and I head towards the nearest taxi rank. Neither of us is sober enough to drive. The conversation is as easy as before, but there's more to it now. As much as there's still a small voice (which, oddly enough, sounds like Backup), asking me what the hell I think I'm doing, I'm well aware what this is leading to. What we've been working up to ever since he bought me that first drink.
Once we've got a few streets away from the club the roads are silent, and we're the only ones around. A hand on my arm stops me, and as I glance over, Mark leans in for a kiss. Instinctively I kiss him back, and for a few seconds we focus on each other. His tongue ghosts over my lips, and my lips part to grant him access. Like I probably do, Mark tastes mainly of beer, and there's a faint taste of mint as well. I'm still on autopilot as Mark continues his explorations, and don't react much as he puts an arm round my shoulders and pulls me close to him.
We're close enough that I can feel the hardness of his groin pressing against mine as he becomes aroused, and it's this that finally helps my head gain control.
What the fuck am I doing?
Is picking this guy up and screwing him through the mattress - or being screwed - really going to help?
Of course not. It's crazy.
I'm crazy.
The full realisation of what I'm doing hits me like ice, and I shiver as I pull away from him. For a second he stares at me, surprise and the lingering lust warring in his eyes, and I run a shaking hand through my hair.
"Mark..." I begin. Great start. Now what do I say? This is my fault. I led him on.
He doesn't say anything, but I can see disappointment colour his features. He knows what's coming.
"I can't...we shouldn't..." I stutter for a while, before finally settling on "I'm sorry," and turning to walk away. There's nothing else I can do.
"Chris!" Mark calls after me as I leave, but I don't respond. What am I supposed to say? Apologise for leading him on? Try and explain what's going on in my head? That would be clever, since even I'm not sure.
As soon as I turn the corner, I find myself breaking into a run, heading back to the club, and the car park. I may have had too much to drink, but I suddenly feel sickeningly sober. And slightly nauseous.
A shaking hand puts the keys in the ignition and I head slowly out of the car park, trying to work out where I should go. Home is the most sensible option, because suddenly I really want a shower, but my mind is whirling, and even after all this, I really don't want to be alone. That would give me way too much time to dwell on how much of a bastard I am.
Besides, I think suddenly, what if Sam's there? It's not beyond the realms of possibility for my overly analytical partner to have decided we need to talk, regardless of the time, and if he sees me stagger home, half drunk and smelling of cigarettes and someone else's aftershave, there'd be hell to pay.
Backup.
I can go and talk to Backup. It's not yet 2am, so the club will still be open. She'll know what to do.
Feeling slightly better for having at least made some small decision on my own, I put the car in gear and drive straight for the club. Infamy is, at least, one place where I can be fairly confident not to run into Sam - considering how nervous he is around Bodie, I can hardly see him choosing to spend his spare time in the man's club.
~*~*~
There's no traffic around, so it doesn't take me long to reach Kings Cross. There are still a few stragglers hanging around, but the club is obviously closing. None of the stragglers pay any attention to me as I walk inside, and I find myself standing in the doorway, my eyes scanning the room just as I did earlier in the evening, before everything started to go wrong.
Only this time, it's not Sam I'm looking for. Backup is cleaning up the bar, moving empty bottles and washing the surfaces down, and I watch her for a few minutes, suddenly uncertain. I know just how much Backup cares for Sam, and am not sure what her reaction is going to be when she finds out what I've done. I'm not sure I can handle anyone else's disapproval tonight - I have enough of my own.
I'm just contemplating leaving when she glances up and sees me.
Busted.
She's obviously tired, but she smiles and calls me over. Her smile doesn't last long, though. As soon as she gets a closer look at me her hand stills on the bar, and her eyes narrow in a mixture of concern and uncertainty.
"Chris? What's happened? Is it Sam?"
I manage to shake my head before clearing my throat and trying to speak. It's what I came here to do, right? "I had to talk to you. I need - um - a bit of moral support, I guess. Advice?" I hope my voice isn't as shaky as it sounds.
She relaxes slightly, obviously relieved that nothing bad has happened to Sam. At least, not in the physical sense. "What have you done?"
"Tonight," I force myself to continue. "There was...someone. I - "
Her confusion lasts for less than a second, and then she's rolling her eyes and sighing. "Oh Chris, you didn't!"
No, I didn't. Thank God. But if I had, I'm fairly certain I wouldn't be here admitting to it.
"Well, not quite," I'm happy to say. "But it was real close. I feel awful. What the hell am I going to tell Sam?" Only as I'm saying it do I fully realise the possible consequences of my stupidity. If Sam hasn't given up on us already, this should be enough to push him over the edge for good. Way to go, Keel. Full marks.
She's sighing again, but there's a determination in her face that I find reassuring. Backup will know what to do. And it feels nice to be able to just hand things over to someone for a while.
"There are some things you shouldn't tell a partner," she says firmly, and I wince again. Partner is relevant in more ways than one. God, what if he splits up our work partnership as well?
She walks round from behind the bar and puts a hand on my shoulder, steering me into a small side room.
I sit down heavily in a chair while she busies herself making coffee. I don't know whether she's making me coffee just because everyone thinks I live off the stuff, or because she's smelt the alcohol on my breath. Either way, I don't suppose it matters much.
After a few minutes she pushes a steaming mug into my hands, and I clutch it like a lifeline.
"Okay Chris," she begins. "Tell me what happened."
At first I feel hesitant, embarrassed, but I quickly find myself telling her everything. From Sam's insecurities about Bodie, right through to our argument in the car park and the insanity that followed.
By the time I've finished, Backup's expression of frustrated amusement has turned deadly serious. "I had no idea things were so bad between you," she mutters.
"They're not," I protest, even though I know they are. I certainly don't see how they could be much worse. "It's just..." I sigh in frustration and drop my head into my hands. "What the hell am I going to do?"
She's quiet for a few minutes, and we both sit in silence.
"I'm not sure admitting everything to Sam is the answer," she states quietly.
I glance up, but don't say anything.
"I know you're feeling guilty, Chris," she continues, her voice getting stronger as she works things through in her own head. "But you haven't actually done anything much wrong. Flirting with this Mark guy wasn't the most sensible thing to do, but you stopped things before they went too far. Doesn't that tell you something?"
"Like what?" I ask miserably.
"Why didn't you go home with him?" she asks.
"I couldn't!" I protest. "I...Sam still..." I trail off, but she gets the gist of what I'm trying to say.
"You still love him," she states simply.
I nod.
"Then work this through with him. I know you, Chris. You're not the kind of guy to cheat on Sam, and you stopped yourself before things went too far. Putting yourself through a major guilt trip over this isn't going to help anyone."
"It's all that bloody Bodie's fault," I mutter spitefully.
"Bodie?" she shifts uncomfortably. "What's it got to do with him?"
"If Sam wasn't so damned afraid of coming out to him..."
"Chris," she interrupts, and there's a slight edge to her voice that wasn't there before. "You can't blame this on Bodie. If it wasn't him, then sooner or later something else would have come along that would have put Sam in the same position. We both know Sam's not comfortable with people knowing he's bisexual."
"I just wish Sam would tell Bodie," I continue. "At least then we could deal with the outcome, whatever it was."
"How do you know he didn't?"
"Huh?" This catches me slightly unawares.
"Neither of us heard what Sam and Bodie talked about tonight. For all we know, Sam's told Bodie, but doesn't want to talk about it until he's worked things out for himself."
"Maybe," I feel a flare of hope, but it dies out pretty quickly when I remember Mark. "Doesn't change what I did tonight though, does it?"
She sighs again. "You didn't do anything, Chris. Okay, you came a little too close to crossing the line for comfort, but there's nothing wrong with flirting, as long as you don't take it any further. Which you didn't."
"But..."
Backup cuts me off impatiently. "Sam would expect you to be faithful, Chris, not dead. He can't expect you never to notice another man, or woman, again. Just as his casual flirting with Lucy tonight doesn't mean anything either. Hell, he probably only did that to keep Bodie happy, but even if he didn't, it's you he's going home with, isn't it?"
"I guess," I murmur hesitantly.
"Look, it's obvious that all this business with Sam has upset you more than you've let on. Maybe spelling things out for Sam the way you did wasn't such a bad thing. I love him to bits, but Sam does have a tendency to tie himself up in knots analysing things," she grins fondly. "Maybe he needed a wake up call that this was affecting you as well."
"You think I should just forget it?"
"Yes," she states firmly. "I certainly don't think you should tell him. Just go home, try and get some rest, and forget you ever went to that club tonight. As for Sam, the next time you see him, sit down with him and try to explain exactly how you're feeling. Without getting angry," she adds as an afterthought.
I can't stop the sheepish grin from leaking out.
Backup takes my coffee mug from me, and I'm vaguely surprised to find it's empty. When did I finish that?
Never mind.
"As for the nursemaiding," she continues, her voice a little harsher. "Sam might have gone a little over the top, but you can't really blame him."
"I can't?"
"No, Chris. You did get stabbed, remember? Sam was terrified he was going to lose you, he's bound to be a bit worried that something like that is going to happen again."
"I guess not."
"Besides," she goes on with a slight twinkle in her eyes. "I seem to remember a certain ex-SEAL who was so over-protective after his partner got shot, that Malone himself actually had to step in and warn you to back off."
Oh yeah. I feel myself flushing and glance away. A piece of our less pleasant history that I'd managed to conveniently forget in my frustration. I take a deep breath.
"Point taken," I reply sheepishly.
Backup grins and then stands up. I follow suit, and before I realise it she's giving me a hug. I return it gratefully, and after a minute she pulls away.
"Now, go home Chris. Get some sleep, and deal with all this in the morning. Do you want me to call a taxi?"
"No, it's alright. My car's outside."
She nods, and walks with me to the main entrance. "See you later Chris," she bids me goodbye, and I head out of the club feeling a lot more human than I did when I went in. Backup's right. Telling Sam about the near-miss with Mark will do no good at all, and it's more important to make things better between us than to ruin everything completely just to assuage my guilt.
I have plenty of that, one more bit won't make much different.
Decision made, I glance out my watch and grimace when I realise it's almost 3am. Thank God I don't have to be up too early tomorrow. The drive home is mercifully short, and I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding as I let myself in and realise that I'm the only one here. The lingering fear that Sam had come to have a serious talk and had waited for me to show up obviously hadn't been quite conquered.
Heading determinedly for bed, I pause only to draw the curtains so that the sun doesn't wake me up too early in the morning. A good night's sleep is definitely called for.
Collapsing exhausted into a comfortable bed, I hope briefly for a night free from dreams before drifting off to sleep.
Someone somewhere is obviously listening, because my sleep is deep and refreshing.
~*~*~
I wake up with a start, noting dimly the sunlight sneaking in between the crack in the curtains before another, more worrying noise attracts my attention.
There's someone in the flat.
Shit.
A door opens somewhere in the living room, and I reach silently for the gun under my pillow as footsteps approach the bedroom and a figure appears in the doorway.
Sam?
He's carrying mugs and hasn't noticed I'm awake, so I let go of the gun and relax back on to the bed. This is unexpected, but not necessarily unwelcome.
The smell of coffee reaches my nose, and I bite back a grin as Sam glances at me, and jumps when he sees I'm awake, spilling some of the hot liquid.
I watch him silently. This is his play, and for now I'm content to wait and see where it leads. He smiles slightly and hands me one of the cups, which I take, but don't look away from him.
"You were right. We had absolutely no future."
Not quite the beginning I was expecting, and I can't hide my surprise. Does that mean it's over? Uncertainty keeps me silent.
"Not like things were. Want to hold a coming-out party?"
My eyes narrow slightly, and I can't hold back my sharp reply. If Sam's making fun of me, I don't appreciate it.
"I'd do it," he says quietly, and I can see that he means it. Relaxing slightly, I take a sip of the coffee and think. This I wasn't expecting, but it sounds promising enough. In the end, I vote for staying cautious, just in case.
"Would you?"
His 'yes' runs to a dozen words rather than one, as usual, but it's a yes, and that's enough to make me smile slightly. This might actually work out alright after all.
We banter for a bit. Not quite back to normal, perhaps, but it's a start, considering we were yelling at each other twelve hours ago. Was it really only that long? Feels like a lifetime.
In the end I drag the conversation back to a more serious note, needing to get this all out in the open before putting all these feelings in a locked box and moving on.
"Sam, are you serious?"
"Never been more serious in my life," he replies. "I nearly woke you to tell you so at three this morning."
My heart stops at that. I can't believe I came so close to ruining things. The thought of what could have happened if Sam had seen the state I was in at three o'clock assails me - it could have destroyed us, and it would have been my fault. Pulling myself together before Sam notices, I remind myself that I got away with it, so to speak, and turn my attention back to Sam and demand more coffee.
He nods and leaves, looking relieved, and I draw a shaky breath. Could this really all work out all right in the end? When he returns with the mugs he looks more serious, and this time I'm the one trying not to smile.
It's going to be okay. It really is.
As if I needed any more reassurance, he suddenly produces pastries, and I grin, asking if they're chocolate.
"Just croissants. You really want it all, don't you?"
The guilt seeps out again, just for a moment, and I force myself to lock it away again before I do something stupid like confessing everything to Sam and begging for forgiveness. I do stay serious, though. After everything that's happened, Sam isn't the only one who needs to apologise.
"I guess I want a lot, yeah. I'm sorry. Maybe I over-reacted a bit to stuff. Happens." Not the most eloquent of apologies, Keel, but Sam suddenly smiles and glances away, looking slightly embarrassed. He takes refuge in the croissants, and I can't resist teasing him about crumbs and obsessions.
The banter continues, and even in those few sentences I can see a change in Sam. A more playful, relaxed side to him I haven't often seen.
I like it.
Grinning, I set my half eaten croissant to one side as the conversation takes its inevitable slide into lust and innuendo. This wouldn't be the first time we've resolved an argument by - reaffirming - our relationship, and even though it's only been one night, I've missed him.
Looping my arm round his waist, I pull him down onto the bed with me, and he smiles.
Things are going to be okay, I think, before Sam's explorations replace rational thought for the foreseeable future.
They really are.
Author: Rhianne
Fandom: The Professionals/The New Professionals
Summary: People do stupid things in the heat of the moment.
Notes: This story is a Professionals/New Professionals crossover. It was inspired by Naomi and Brenda's epic, Loyalties (NB: which I don't think is still available online, sadly), since we decided that it was high time Chris Keel got his point of view across. *g* This story covers Chapters 30 - 32 of Loyalties, and you'll definitely need to have read that for this to make much sense. From Chris Keel's POV. The New Professionals is Curtis/Keel slash, but the Professionals is gen.
The club is already pretty smoky as I walk in, and I find myself looking around for Sam almost before I make it through the door.
I promised myself I wouldn't do that. Sam's been walking on eggshells around me since I got stabbed, and I'm doing everything I can think of to try and get things back to normal. Well, normal for us, anyway.
Unfortunately, automatically searching him out whenever I enter a room like some kind of goddamn security blanket is not helping matters. Particularly since the irrational part of me is starting to wonder whether or not Sam really is questioning my ability to do the job and watch his back, and not just reacting to his own personal fears. He needs to be careful, though. Many more weeks like this one and I'm going to seriously lose my cool.
It's always the same after one of us gets hurt, particularly since we've become lovers. (See? Why can't Sam find it that easy to say?) The uninjured one hovers round like a mother hen for a few days, the victim ends up snapping in frustration, the hen backs off a bit and everything's back to normal.
This time is slightly different, though. Sam's been on edge ever since Bodie reappeared in his life, and he seems to have taken my injury as some kind of chance to prove himself to anyone - by that read Bodie - who dares to question his abilities. And if that means treating me like a six year-old child and denying that what we have together is of any consequence, then apparently so be it.
It was quite cute at first, because I wasn't up to jumping straight back in to active duty, but it's wearing rapidly thin.
I can't see Sam straight away, so I consciously dismiss him from my thoughts and head to the bar, where a stunning barmaid is pouring a drink of some sort. Hang on a minute...
Backup? I knew she was going to be here, but...wow.
That woman looks gorgeous, and if I wasn't already seeing someone...
But I am, and that kind of thinking doesn't help anyone. I wonder what she'd say if she heard me think that? After all, from what I can see she's not the kind of woman to get too wrapped up in other people's relationships, and it's not me she has a crush on.
Even so, I can't quite stop the sly grin from forming, and she pretends to glare back at me as I look her up and down and leer jokingly.
"Is this a permanent look for you, Tina?" the club may be practically empty, but Backup would probably sound a little odd to any stray ears. Sam's not the only one who can play at being sneaky.
Rolling her eyes, she hands me a Bud as I hear footsteps approaching. Backup turns to deal with the new customer, and I turn with her to greet the new arrival.
Sam.
I can't quite stop the warm smile that sneaks up on me. Whatever his faults, I still love him.
I move up beside him but stay quiet, listening to Sam swap banter with Backup. Until recently she hasn't felt comfortable enough with us to do this, and I've missed it. Sam continues talking, he's obviously seen me coming, but the smile in his eyes makes me feel better. Maybe things are going to be alright after all.
I know we're strong enough to get through this, if Sam can just pull himself together enough to stop treating me like a child. I really am trying to understand. I'm not a complete asshole, I know how difficult it can be to come out for the first time, but if he stops respecting my abilities as a colleague, how long is it before he stops respecting me as a person as well?
Anyway. Enough pondering - that's Sam's favourite pastime, not mine.
Whatever happens, we'll deal with it.
The main problem chooses that moment to put in an appearance, and I wink at Sam, trying to impart some of my confidence into him. Although I know what the answer will be before I start, I still suggest a shot of vodka to loosen him up a bit, but Sam's firmly in 'repressed agent' mode, and refuses.
When Bodie joins us, almost immediately he and Sam move over to a table, and I lean with my back against the bar, enjoying my drink and idly surveying the rest of the clientele while I wait for Backup to finish serving a middle aged man in a cheap business suit.
Sam's right - I do have CI5 business here, otherwise I wouldn't have come. As much as I might pretend otherwise for appearances sake, there are a thousand things I'd rather be doing than sitting in a smokey nightclub pretending to ogle the - and lets be honest here - largely unappealing women on the stage. Yes, I'm probably a little distracted these days, but I still like women. They're just not my type. Sam goes - used to - go for the long legged vapid blonde, I didn't. Blonde maybe, long legs are optional, but I like interesting conversation, people I'd enjoy spending time with. Which is one of the main reasons I love Sam so much. I'm not laying odds on finding too many people here at a table dancing club. Backup, Bodie and Sam aside from that, obviously. And there's only one of those three I'd seriously consider taking to bed.
No, I came because I have work to do, photos and information to pass on to Backup, and through her, to Bodie. Of course, keeping a discreet eye on Sam in case he plucks up the courage to tell Bodie about us and Bodie takes offence is just an added incentive. My turn to do the Mother Hen routine, I suppose. Though hopefully I won't be quite so obvious about it as Sam has been.
Though I don't know if Sam is ever going to tell Bodie about us, so that's probably all wishful thinking. I'm too far away to hear what they're saying, but even the low muttering I can hear is drowned out when some truly awful music that starts blaring over the speakers.
Backup has finally finished serving the suit, and winces as she returns to me. "If I have to listen to YMCA one more time..." She doesn't finish the sentence, but I can hear the barely controlled frustration in it.
Even so, I can't help grinning, still watching Sam and Bodie. The music stops suddenly, and then Bodie's yelling at some guy called Tristan, and we both hear him threatening to fire one of the girls.
I can't resist it. I know I should, but I can't. What can I say? I'm weak. "Here you go, Backup. If you get bored behind the bar, you can always try being out on stage instead. Might be a good career move for you."
She withers me with a look, and I grin, holding in a snigger as we're both distracted by Tristan mincing off into one of the back rooms. I know we're talking pots and kettles here, but my God. Just before the music starts again I hear yet another badly times remark about poofters from Bodie. Sam stiffens and looks miserable, and I can feel my good humour fade away. For God's sake Sam, just tell him. Then we can all stop dancing round on bloody egg shells and get on with more important things.
Backup sees my frustration, and lays a hand on my shoulder. "Is Sam still feeling insecure?"
"Yeah," I mutter. "Me running into knives last week didn't help, either."
She sighs. "It happens, Chris. We all have our fears."
Don't we just. Sam just seems to have more than most. I think briefly about sharing this pearl of wisdom with her, then decide against it. She's a good friend, but it's not fair to go around telling all and sundry about Sam's problems. It would be nice to have someone to share my own concerns with. Sam has enough of his own to appreciate me forcing mine on him as well.
"Right," Backup says, using her work voice. "What's this stuff Malone wanted you to give me?"
I appreciate the distraction, and together we both do the dutiful agent thing and focus on work for a bit. Malone should be proud - except he wouldn't be, since I get the feeling that most of the time he expects us to do nothing but work twenty-four hours a day. If he could replace us all with robots, he'd probably be ecstatic.
Finally I just about finish briefing Backup on all the new developments - or lack of them, since we don't seem to be getting anywhere with this case at the moment - and turn back to Sam, wondering if he's been able to speak to Bodie yet. I mean honestly, how hard can it be? All it takes is three little words.
Bodie, I'm gay.
Hell, he's even got a choice of words - 'Bodie I'm gay', 'Bodie I'm bisexual' - either would do.
However Sam wants to dress them up in long words, that's basically what he's saying. He and Bodie can discuss it till hell freezes over afterwards, but he has to tell him first.
Glancing up, I freeze as I realise that Bodie's nowhere to be found, and Sam is deep in conversation with one of the dancers.
Okay.
That's fine.
Sam's just being nice - killing time and being pleasant while he waits for Bodie to come back from wherever he's buggered (bad choice of words) off to. Though it would make it a lot easier, wouldn't it? If Bodie was gay, we wouldn't be having these problems in the first place.
And looking down her top every twelve seconds is just Sam's way of being friendly.
Stop it, Chris, I think to myself. This is no different to my having to dance with that girl at the club the other night. It doesn't mean anything.
It doesn't help that she's quite openly flirting with him, and if Sam was anyone other than Sam, I'd be quite convinced that he was flirting back.
Hang on.
He is flirting back. I'm not this paranoid, I know I'm not.
I suddenly realise that I'm biting my lip, and force myself to relax slightly. Getting wound up isn't going to achieve anything.
She certainly seems to have a lot to say for herself. Sam's leaning forward now, looking earnest as he gestures with one arm, obviously making a point of some kind. She laughs, and I sigh.
The hand reappears on my shoulder, and then Backup's leaning over the bar.
"Chris..." she warns gently.
Glancing at her, I take in the amused sympathy in her expression and sigh, giving her a tired smile.
"That obvious, am I?"
"Only to me," she replies. "He loves you Chris, remember?"
The affirmative I was aiming for gets stuck in my throat as the girl stands up and Sam's eyes follow her movement - about a foot too low to be looking at her face.
Sam says something, she giggles, and then they're kissing.
Shit.
Forcing myself to look away, I glance over at Backup, whose eyebrows are about to hit the ceiling. She gives me a watery smile, obviously not sure quite how to react to that one.
I'm not too sure either, but anger is definitely quite high up on the list of possibles. Along with bitterness and a slight trace of fear. When I finally bring myself to look back over, the dancer is halfway across the room, blowing Sam a kiss, and Bodie's on his way back to their table, a smug grin all over his face.
Right at this moment, I could quite cheerfully beat him to death with one of those bloody sequined costumes of his.
Backup pipes up again, her voice suddenly serious. "Cool it, Chris."
I bite back an angry retort and force myself to take a couple of breaths. I have to calm down. A couple of minutes and I'm back under a shaky sort of control. Which is just as well, really, since Sam is talking on his mobile, and beckoning me over at the same time.
Leaving the empty Bud bottle on the bar, I head over to him, aiming for calm and collected, and just about managing a slow simmer.
I reckon that's close enough.
And it'll have to be, since God (well, Malone, which these days doesn't seem much different) has spoken, and we're off on a job.
Even Sam's description of it, 'a nice, simple bugging operation' is enough to start winding me up again. Because obviously I'm not capable of something nasty and complicated anymore.
Bodie's surprised that we're leaving so soon, (probably wanted Sam engaged to the girl before he left), but spends a good few minutes wittering on about her. Sam seems just a little bit too enthusiastic at continuing the conversation as well.
Sam throws me an anxious look then goes quiet, simply nodding at Bodie enough to get us out of the club and into the fresh night air.
Happily he doesn't say anything about the dancer, because I'm not sure I could stay civil if he did. I'm not a master at hiding my feelings, and I know he can see I'm angry thanks to all the nervous glances he keeps throwing at me. I think about asking him if he's developed a nervous twitch, but decide against it. That would only drag us into an in-depth analysis of the situation, and I'm not interested in going through that at the moment.
Back to the job in hand, please.
Sam's driving, so I spend the drive on the phone to Spencer, finding out exactly what job Malone has got for us now.
As Sam said, a nice, simple bugging operation. Half the squad has spent the last few days bugging people, and most of the time with no idea of what the guy being bugged is supposed to have done.
Malone calls it 'covering all bases'. I call it clutching at straws - but not in his earshot.
I'm the one talking to Spence, asking all the relevant questions, and being told what we need to know, but Sam keeps butting in with questions of his own, which I'm expected to relate to Spence.
Whose house is it? Do we know if they're at home? Are they dangerous? What did they have for breakfast? It's as if he doesn't trust me to know what we're supposed to find out. I'm barely keeping a lid on my temper, but after I can hear Spence getting tired of the interrogation I'm giving on Sam's behalf, I finally hand the phone out to Sam's ear and ask as politely as I can: "Do you want to take over, Sam?"
Another nervous twitch, and he waves the phone away with a muttered no.
I wrap the conversation up pretty quickly after that, and before long we've arrived at the target house.
Martin Ritchie lives a couple of miles north of Potter's Bar, and being a customs official with vague links to Infamy and David Brown, Malone has ordered him bugged. Special Branch are tailing him as well, apparently, so provided they don't lose him, we should have clear and easy access to his apartment.
No problem.
So when Sam takes charge of our little operation and instructs me to stay in the car while he and Spencer go inside and do the deed, so to speak, I'm so stunned I actually can't come up with a response.
Even Spence looks surprised, and glances briefly in my direction before turning to Sam.
"Why should Chris stay outside, Sam?" he asks, sounding as confused as I feel.
"We need someone to act as lookout in case Ritchie or some of his friends come back."
Of course we do. Because most of Special Branch tailing this guy isn't enough of a precaution. I know I don't put much faith in the police force, but this is ridiculous.
Biting my lip to keep from yelling at him, I climb out of the car and go and check round the side of the building. Before I even have the chance to return to the street, Sam is behind me.
"You shouldn't start climbing through windows yet, Chris," he starts trying to explain, but I don't give him the chance, pushing past him and returning to Spence, who's waiting nervously by the car, obviously wondering what the hell is going on.
I pull a headset out of the glove compartment and fit it over my ear before handing one to Sam, who does the same.
"Be careful, Chris," Sam mutters.
I'm not even answering that one.
Obviously having decided what he wants to happen, Sam beckons Spence and they head inside the apartment block, using the lockpick to get in the outer door.
Getting back into the car, I sit and wait like the rookie Sam seems to have decided I am.
As I expected absolutely fucking nothing happens, unless you count Sam's voice coming over my earpiece a few minutes later.
"Everything alright down there, 4.5?"
"Fine," I snap.
Silence for a few minutes, before: "Report, 4.5?" Sam again.
"Malone's come down," I begin, just about at the end of my temper. "We're dancing in the street and playing limbo. I'm surprised you can't hear us, Sam."
"Be serious, Chris," Sam snaps back.
Count to ten, I urge myself. Then you can kill him. "Nothing to report."
This goes on for fifteen minutes, and I'm seriously starting to wonder how many ways Sam can ask if I'm okay without actually saying the words.
What does Sam honestly think is going to happen to me when I'm sat in a car in the middle of a suburban street? Or does he think the jerk and the ape are going to come back to take up where they left off the last time? I know I hover a bit whenever he's hurt, but this is fucking stupid.
They finally finish the bugging operation, and we drive back to HQ in silence with Spence following in another car.
Almost as soon as the car starts I turn on the radio and raise the volume, before staring out of the passenger side window, trying to rein my temper in before I seriously lose it.
It doesn't help.
~*~*~
When we arrive back at HQ, Spence makes his excuses and leaves as quickly as possible. I can't say I blame him, either.
Sam is trying to explain, but I'm in no mood to listen, and simply cut him down over Lucy. That he thinks she's the main problem simply annoys me even more. Yes, I was angry about her, but if he thinks that the way he treated me at Ritchie's is acceptable.
I finally tell him that's what's bothering me, and he sighs as comprehension dawns. Even then, he tries to justify himself.
"Don't forget Chris, you're still on sick leave."
"Oh fuck, Sam. Getting Spence to come in with you and leaving me outside - what sort of game is that? Since when do you go around calling all the shots, anyway?"
He just doesn't seem to get it. One of the things I appreciated so much about our relationship is the way that we take it in turns to do things, both at work and at home. If Sam destroys that because of his insecurities about being seen as effeminate, I don't think I can stay with him. I won't be made to feel inferior and incompetent in my own job simply to boost his failing ego.
Malone appears before I get the chance to try and explain this to him, and in spite of what I've said, Sam does exactly the same thing in Malone's office, speaking over me, taking total control and even answering for me when Malone directly addresses me. I half expect Malone to call Sam on it, (and wouldn't that be interesting to explain to our boss) but he doesn't, simply raises an eyebrow and carried on.
By this point I'm so angry I'm actually shaking, and everything Sam says is just making it worse.
I need to get out of the office, and away from Sam, so I stop trying to give any input into the conversation, and just wait for Malone to dismiss us.
When he finally does, I walk quickly through the office with Sam at my heels, and head for the garage.
"Chris..."
Sam sounds nervous, as if he's finally realised that he might have made a mistake, but I'm not interested.
"I'm going," I snap.
Obviously choosing to ignore this thinly veiled request for him to fuck off, Sam follows me down into the dark car park.
What follows is less than pleasant.
~*~*~
Less than two hours later I find myself in yet another dingy, smoke-filled club. This time, though, it's packed with people dancing and singing off-key. You'd think I would have had enough of places like this over the past few weeks.
I tried going home, but it didn't work. Every time there was a noise outside or a car in the street I kept expecting Sam to show up and want to continue the argument in the car park. Either that, or drop by with a box full of things and announce that he'd been thinking, that I was right, and that we don't have a future together.
What the bloody hell was I thinking?
Laying everything on the line like that, demanding he sort himself out in an instant and get everything back to the way it used to be was an insane thing to do. It would just about serve me right if he did what I all but told him to, and went and screwed that Lucy woman.
But at the same time, I know I did the right thing. This might just prove the kick up the ass that Sam needs to straighten himself out, because he's the only one who can. And on a purely selfish level, I did what I had to do to protect myself. While normally I'd move heaven and earth to help Sam, the things he's been doing lately have started to make me doubt myself. Much longer being treated like an incompetent child and I would have started to wonder if he was right, if I wasn't capable of doing my job.
Especially since he did have some small basis for his over-protectiveness. I was the one who managed to get stabbed. If it wasn't for Bodie.
But we're not going there tonight. Because Bodie is most of the problem.
So, after driving myself crazy jumping at shadows for a while, I decided I wasn't great company, and headed out to find some more of it. I'm not looking to find a soulmate - in spite of everything that's happened, I still believe that I've already found him. I just don't want to be on my own, and can't face Sam yet. I just want to find some vague connection to another human being - to try and replace what I'm so afraid I've just lost with Sam.
I didn't even particularly want to talk to anyone. Just being in a room with other people - people who are laughing and enjoying themselves - would have been enough. Hence the forlorn figure I am now, propping up the bar and drinking with myself, soaking up the atmosphere and occasionally people-watching.
It's not a great club, but it passes the time. And the drink is starting to help me unwind a bit, thank God. I'm still wrapped up in my own thoughts, though. So much so, that when someone slips onto the bar stool next to mine I barely notice, until a half empty packet of cigarettes is wafted around in my direction.
"Fag?" A fair haired guy asks, and I go to snap at him when I realise that he's talking about the smokes, and nothing else. Shit, Sam's got me paranoid now. I mean, this is a gay bar, for God sake. I think I'm probably safe from any and all kinds of homophobia here. Right, crisis over - back to the question in hand. My initial response to the cigarettes is no, but then I change my mind. Why the hell not? I used to smoke, long before I joined CI5, and what's more I used to enjoy it. One or two tonight isn't going to make any difference.
"Thanks," I grin in his direction. He smiles back, then leans closer to light the cigarette with one of those silver zippo lighters.
"I'm Mark," he says, reaching for the packet and lighting his own cigarette.
"Chris."
"It's busy tonight," he continues, gesturing to the dancing masses. "We're lucky there were some empty chairs by the bar."
I nod, too busy taking my first proper drag to say anything. The nicotine floods my system, and I can feel it working as I start to relax. Also not real, because I know that they don't actually reduce stress, but what do I care? It feels like it's working, and that's enough for me.
Mark turns his attentions to the barman and orders, and for want of anything better to do, I study him. He's tall, blonde, fairly attractive though nothing particularly amazing, but seems pleasant enough. What's probably most important tonight is that he's not Sam. It would be really nice to talk to someone without it ending up an angst session about sexuality, or having to be careful what I say because no-one is supposed to know that Sam and I are - were? - a couple.
Another Bud appears in front of me as if by magic, and I thank him as he pays the barman.
The conversation starts from there and flows quite easily between us for a while, ranging from what we both do for a living (my latest line about being an airline pilot is particularly easy to carry off) to commenting on the dubious dancing habits of some of the other people here. Before I realise it I'm the one buying the drinks, and the discussion is taking a more intimate turn.
"So what about you, Chris?" Mark asks after we've finished dissecting his apparently dull love life.
I grin and roll my eyes, taking another swig of beer.
He laughs. "That good, huh?"
After spending the last few weeks trying to help Sam, having a basic, simple conversation with no subtexts or emotional complications is a real relief. I'm finding myself enjoying the company more than I thought possible, considering the mood I was in when I came here.
"Tell me about it?" Mark suggests, which is only fair, really, since he's been entertaining me with talk of his past mistakes for most of the evening. Even so, I still can't bring myself to open up to him very much about Sam. That's private.
"Not really much to tell," I settle for dismissive. "My boyfriend...hell, probably my ex by now...he's just having trouble accepting that he's bisexual."
"Ah," Mark replies. "It's not easy, coming out, is it?"
"No, it's not. But you have to just face it, otherwise it haunts you forever."
"And tears everything apart along the way," I mumble. Didn't actually think he'd hear me, but he does, because he reaches over and hesitantly squeezes my hand, before flushing slightly and withdrawing it.
Far from being annoyed by the intrusion, I find it quite sweet. It's nice being the one sympathised with for a change.
Another beer, and the conversation begins again, but we don't really talk about anything specific. Just having the company is enough.
Finally, there's less than an hour to go before the club closes, and since it's a weeknight, people are already starting to leave. Mark finishes his drink, smiles and reaches for his coat.
"Are you leaving?" I ask.
Mark nods, and takes a couple of steps away from the bar before turning back to face me.
"Why don't you come with me?" he begins nervously. "We could continue the conversation back at my place."
I can't help grinning - Mark obviously doesn't do this very often.
The strange thing is, even as my head is working out a reasonable excuse not to go with him, my mouth is saying yes, and I've stood up and walked away from the bar.
Huh? I must have drunk more than I thought. The head is still sending out caution warnings as we leave the building, but for some reason I'm not responding to them. For the briefest of moments after the cloakroom but before the door I think about Sam. All the anger, all the worry that his insecurities have caused me flares up again, and I angrily push all thoughts of him away.
Carpe Diem, right? Besides, sooner or later I'm pretty sure that Sam is going to decide all this hassle isn't worth our relationship, if my little outburst this evening didn't ended it already, so why should I worry myself into an early grave over him? Our job is just as likely to do that on its own, I don't need anything else to push the odds into the Grim Reaper's favour. Enough worrying. Sam does more than enough for both of us.
This surge of anger is enough to get me through the door, and together Mark and I head towards the nearest taxi rank. Neither of us is sober enough to drive. The conversation is as easy as before, but there's more to it now. As much as there's still a small voice (which, oddly enough, sounds like Backup), asking me what the hell I think I'm doing, I'm well aware what this is leading to. What we've been working up to ever since he bought me that first drink.
Once we've got a few streets away from the club the roads are silent, and we're the only ones around. A hand on my arm stops me, and as I glance over, Mark leans in for a kiss. Instinctively I kiss him back, and for a few seconds we focus on each other. His tongue ghosts over my lips, and my lips part to grant him access. Like I probably do, Mark tastes mainly of beer, and there's a faint taste of mint as well. I'm still on autopilot as Mark continues his explorations, and don't react much as he puts an arm round my shoulders and pulls me close to him.
We're close enough that I can feel the hardness of his groin pressing against mine as he becomes aroused, and it's this that finally helps my head gain control.
What the fuck am I doing?
Is picking this guy up and screwing him through the mattress - or being screwed - really going to help?
Of course not. It's crazy.
I'm crazy.
The full realisation of what I'm doing hits me like ice, and I shiver as I pull away from him. For a second he stares at me, surprise and the lingering lust warring in his eyes, and I run a shaking hand through my hair.
"Mark..." I begin. Great start. Now what do I say? This is my fault. I led him on.
He doesn't say anything, but I can see disappointment colour his features. He knows what's coming.
"I can't...we shouldn't..." I stutter for a while, before finally settling on "I'm sorry," and turning to walk away. There's nothing else I can do.
"Chris!" Mark calls after me as I leave, but I don't respond. What am I supposed to say? Apologise for leading him on? Try and explain what's going on in my head? That would be clever, since even I'm not sure.
As soon as I turn the corner, I find myself breaking into a run, heading back to the club, and the car park. I may have had too much to drink, but I suddenly feel sickeningly sober. And slightly nauseous.
A shaking hand puts the keys in the ignition and I head slowly out of the car park, trying to work out where I should go. Home is the most sensible option, because suddenly I really want a shower, but my mind is whirling, and even after all this, I really don't want to be alone. That would give me way too much time to dwell on how much of a bastard I am.
Besides, I think suddenly, what if Sam's there? It's not beyond the realms of possibility for my overly analytical partner to have decided we need to talk, regardless of the time, and if he sees me stagger home, half drunk and smelling of cigarettes and someone else's aftershave, there'd be hell to pay.
Backup.
I can go and talk to Backup. It's not yet 2am, so the club will still be open. She'll know what to do.
Feeling slightly better for having at least made some small decision on my own, I put the car in gear and drive straight for the club. Infamy is, at least, one place where I can be fairly confident not to run into Sam - considering how nervous he is around Bodie, I can hardly see him choosing to spend his spare time in the man's club.
~*~*~
There's no traffic around, so it doesn't take me long to reach Kings Cross. There are still a few stragglers hanging around, but the club is obviously closing. None of the stragglers pay any attention to me as I walk inside, and I find myself standing in the doorway, my eyes scanning the room just as I did earlier in the evening, before everything started to go wrong.
Only this time, it's not Sam I'm looking for. Backup is cleaning up the bar, moving empty bottles and washing the surfaces down, and I watch her for a few minutes, suddenly uncertain. I know just how much Backup cares for Sam, and am not sure what her reaction is going to be when she finds out what I've done. I'm not sure I can handle anyone else's disapproval tonight - I have enough of my own.
I'm just contemplating leaving when she glances up and sees me.
Busted.
She's obviously tired, but she smiles and calls me over. Her smile doesn't last long, though. As soon as she gets a closer look at me her hand stills on the bar, and her eyes narrow in a mixture of concern and uncertainty.
"Chris? What's happened? Is it Sam?"
I manage to shake my head before clearing my throat and trying to speak. It's what I came here to do, right? "I had to talk to you. I need - um - a bit of moral support, I guess. Advice?" I hope my voice isn't as shaky as it sounds.
She relaxes slightly, obviously relieved that nothing bad has happened to Sam. At least, not in the physical sense. "What have you done?"
"Tonight," I force myself to continue. "There was...someone. I - "
Her confusion lasts for less than a second, and then she's rolling her eyes and sighing. "Oh Chris, you didn't!"
No, I didn't. Thank God. But if I had, I'm fairly certain I wouldn't be here admitting to it.
"Well, not quite," I'm happy to say. "But it was real close. I feel awful. What the hell am I going to tell Sam?" Only as I'm saying it do I fully realise the possible consequences of my stupidity. If Sam hasn't given up on us already, this should be enough to push him over the edge for good. Way to go, Keel. Full marks.
She's sighing again, but there's a determination in her face that I find reassuring. Backup will know what to do. And it feels nice to be able to just hand things over to someone for a while.
"There are some things you shouldn't tell a partner," she says firmly, and I wince again. Partner is relevant in more ways than one. God, what if he splits up our work partnership as well?
She walks round from behind the bar and puts a hand on my shoulder, steering me into a small side room.
I sit down heavily in a chair while she busies herself making coffee. I don't know whether she's making me coffee just because everyone thinks I live off the stuff, or because she's smelt the alcohol on my breath. Either way, I don't suppose it matters much.
After a few minutes she pushes a steaming mug into my hands, and I clutch it like a lifeline.
"Okay Chris," she begins. "Tell me what happened."
At first I feel hesitant, embarrassed, but I quickly find myself telling her everything. From Sam's insecurities about Bodie, right through to our argument in the car park and the insanity that followed.
By the time I've finished, Backup's expression of frustrated amusement has turned deadly serious. "I had no idea things were so bad between you," she mutters.
"They're not," I protest, even though I know they are. I certainly don't see how they could be much worse. "It's just..." I sigh in frustration and drop my head into my hands. "What the hell am I going to do?"
She's quiet for a few minutes, and we both sit in silence.
"I'm not sure admitting everything to Sam is the answer," she states quietly.
I glance up, but don't say anything.
"I know you're feeling guilty, Chris," she continues, her voice getting stronger as she works things through in her own head. "But you haven't actually done anything much wrong. Flirting with this Mark guy wasn't the most sensible thing to do, but you stopped things before they went too far. Doesn't that tell you something?"
"Like what?" I ask miserably.
"Why didn't you go home with him?" she asks.
"I couldn't!" I protest. "I...Sam still..." I trail off, but she gets the gist of what I'm trying to say.
"You still love him," she states simply.
I nod.
"Then work this through with him. I know you, Chris. You're not the kind of guy to cheat on Sam, and you stopped yourself before things went too far. Putting yourself through a major guilt trip over this isn't going to help anyone."
"It's all that bloody Bodie's fault," I mutter spitefully.
"Bodie?" she shifts uncomfortably. "What's it got to do with him?"
"If Sam wasn't so damned afraid of coming out to him..."
"Chris," she interrupts, and there's a slight edge to her voice that wasn't there before. "You can't blame this on Bodie. If it wasn't him, then sooner or later something else would have come along that would have put Sam in the same position. We both know Sam's not comfortable with people knowing he's bisexual."
"I just wish Sam would tell Bodie," I continue. "At least then we could deal with the outcome, whatever it was."
"How do you know he didn't?"
"Huh?" This catches me slightly unawares.
"Neither of us heard what Sam and Bodie talked about tonight. For all we know, Sam's told Bodie, but doesn't want to talk about it until he's worked things out for himself."
"Maybe," I feel a flare of hope, but it dies out pretty quickly when I remember Mark. "Doesn't change what I did tonight though, does it?"
She sighs again. "You didn't do anything, Chris. Okay, you came a little too close to crossing the line for comfort, but there's nothing wrong with flirting, as long as you don't take it any further. Which you didn't."
"But..."
Backup cuts me off impatiently. "Sam would expect you to be faithful, Chris, not dead. He can't expect you never to notice another man, or woman, again. Just as his casual flirting with Lucy tonight doesn't mean anything either. Hell, he probably only did that to keep Bodie happy, but even if he didn't, it's you he's going home with, isn't it?"
"I guess," I murmur hesitantly.
"Look, it's obvious that all this business with Sam has upset you more than you've let on. Maybe spelling things out for Sam the way you did wasn't such a bad thing. I love him to bits, but Sam does have a tendency to tie himself up in knots analysing things," she grins fondly. "Maybe he needed a wake up call that this was affecting you as well."
"You think I should just forget it?"
"Yes," she states firmly. "I certainly don't think you should tell him. Just go home, try and get some rest, and forget you ever went to that club tonight. As for Sam, the next time you see him, sit down with him and try to explain exactly how you're feeling. Without getting angry," she adds as an afterthought.
I can't stop the sheepish grin from leaking out.
Backup takes my coffee mug from me, and I'm vaguely surprised to find it's empty. When did I finish that?
Never mind.
"As for the nursemaiding," she continues, her voice a little harsher. "Sam might have gone a little over the top, but you can't really blame him."
"I can't?"
"No, Chris. You did get stabbed, remember? Sam was terrified he was going to lose you, he's bound to be a bit worried that something like that is going to happen again."
"I guess not."
"Besides," she goes on with a slight twinkle in her eyes. "I seem to remember a certain ex-SEAL who was so over-protective after his partner got shot, that Malone himself actually had to step in and warn you to back off."
Oh yeah. I feel myself flushing and glance away. A piece of our less pleasant history that I'd managed to conveniently forget in my frustration. I take a deep breath.
"Point taken," I reply sheepishly.
Backup grins and then stands up. I follow suit, and before I realise it she's giving me a hug. I return it gratefully, and after a minute she pulls away.
"Now, go home Chris. Get some sleep, and deal with all this in the morning. Do you want me to call a taxi?"
"No, it's alright. My car's outside."
She nods, and walks with me to the main entrance. "See you later Chris," she bids me goodbye, and I head out of the club feeling a lot more human than I did when I went in. Backup's right. Telling Sam about the near-miss with Mark will do no good at all, and it's more important to make things better between us than to ruin everything completely just to assuage my guilt.
I have plenty of that, one more bit won't make much different.
Decision made, I glance out my watch and grimace when I realise it's almost 3am. Thank God I don't have to be up too early tomorrow. The drive home is mercifully short, and I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding as I let myself in and realise that I'm the only one here. The lingering fear that Sam had come to have a serious talk and had waited for me to show up obviously hadn't been quite conquered.
Heading determinedly for bed, I pause only to draw the curtains so that the sun doesn't wake me up too early in the morning. A good night's sleep is definitely called for.
Collapsing exhausted into a comfortable bed, I hope briefly for a night free from dreams before drifting off to sleep.
Someone somewhere is obviously listening, because my sleep is deep and refreshing.
~*~*~
I wake up with a start, noting dimly the sunlight sneaking in between the crack in the curtains before another, more worrying noise attracts my attention.
There's someone in the flat.
Shit.
A door opens somewhere in the living room, and I reach silently for the gun under my pillow as footsteps approach the bedroom and a figure appears in the doorway.
Sam?
He's carrying mugs and hasn't noticed I'm awake, so I let go of the gun and relax back on to the bed. This is unexpected, but not necessarily unwelcome.
The smell of coffee reaches my nose, and I bite back a grin as Sam glances at me, and jumps when he sees I'm awake, spilling some of the hot liquid.
I watch him silently. This is his play, and for now I'm content to wait and see where it leads. He smiles slightly and hands me one of the cups, which I take, but don't look away from him.
"You were right. We had absolutely no future."
Not quite the beginning I was expecting, and I can't hide my surprise. Does that mean it's over? Uncertainty keeps me silent.
"Not like things were. Want to hold a coming-out party?"
My eyes narrow slightly, and I can't hold back my sharp reply. If Sam's making fun of me, I don't appreciate it.
"I'd do it," he says quietly, and I can see that he means it. Relaxing slightly, I take a sip of the coffee and think. This I wasn't expecting, but it sounds promising enough. In the end, I vote for staying cautious, just in case.
"Would you?"
His 'yes' runs to a dozen words rather than one, as usual, but it's a yes, and that's enough to make me smile slightly. This might actually work out alright after all.
We banter for a bit. Not quite back to normal, perhaps, but it's a start, considering we were yelling at each other twelve hours ago. Was it really only that long? Feels like a lifetime.
In the end I drag the conversation back to a more serious note, needing to get this all out in the open before putting all these feelings in a locked box and moving on.
"Sam, are you serious?"
"Never been more serious in my life," he replies. "I nearly woke you to tell you so at three this morning."
My heart stops at that. I can't believe I came so close to ruining things. The thought of what could have happened if Sam had seen the state I was in at three o'clock assails me - it could have destroyed us, and it would have been my fault. Pulling myself together before Sam notices, I remind myself that I got away with it, so to speak, and turn my attention back to Sam and demand more coffee.
He nods and leaves, looking relieved, and I draw a shaky breath. Could this really all work out all right in the end? When he returns with the mugs he looks more serious, and this time I'm the one trying not to smile.
It's going to be okay. It really is.
As if I needed any more reassurance, he suddenly produces pastries, and I grin, asking if they're chocolate.
"Just croissants. You really want it all, don't you?"
The guilt seeps out again, just for a moment, and I force myself to lock it away again before I do something stupid like confessing everything to Sam and begging for forgiveness. I do stay serious, though. After everything that's happened, Sam isn't the only one who needs to apologise.
"I guess I want a lot, yeah. I'm sorry. Maybe I over-reacted a bit to stuff. Happens." Not the most eloquent of apologies, Keel, but Sam suddenly smiles and glances away, looking slightly embarrassed. He takes refuge in the croissants, and I can't resist teasing him about crumbs and obsessions.
The banter continues, and even in those few sentences I can see a change in Sam. A more playful, relaxed side to him I haven't often seen.
I like it.
Grinning, I set my half eaten croissant to one side as the conversation takes its inevitable slide into lust and innuendo. This wouldn't be the first time we've resolved an argument by - reaffirming - our relationship, and even though it's only been one night, I've missed him.
Looping my arm round his waist, I pull him down onto the bed with me, and he smiles.
Things are going to be okay, I think, before Sam's explorations replace rational thought for the foreseeable future.
They really are.