FIC: Mar Azul
Title: Mar Azul 1/1
Author: sangueuk
Rating: pg-13, for language and sexual references
Character/Pairing: Kirk/McCoy, Jocelyn (AOS)
Wordcount: approx 2,700 words complete
Summary: Their marriage is over and Leonard and Jocelyn have one last, tense dinner. Leonard can’t help but notice the cook through the serving hatch.
Warnings: none
Disclaimer: I mean no offence and court no profits - this is just for fun.
Author’s notes: I got to thinking what if Jim and Bones met briefly the night before the shuttle ride, and this is the result.
Thanks to abigail89 for beta-reading.
Intriguing snippet: Leonard gave up on doing and saying the right thing half way through the appetizer, he’s on the beer now, drinking straight out of the bottle, despite Jocelyn’s aversion to such ‘ungentlemanly’ behavior, and he glances over at the hatch and watches the cook as he places dishes on the counter.
AO3 link
Mar Azul
Leonard holds the door open for Jocelyn, takes a precious deep breath, and indulges in an eye-roll behind her back, before slip-streaming her into the crowded Mexican restaurant. Mar Azul, corny name, corny décor but excellent food so they tell him.
He loves Mexican food and, while he won’t go as far as to say he hates Jocelyn, the two extremes will, he hopes, counter-act each other, thus making his evening non-descript and dull and in the process protect his stomach from bile burn.
As it is, they sit across from each other trading irritable glances over their pomegranate margaritas, while they go over the last details of their separation.
Leonard insisted they didn’t need to pay for a lawyer, that they were civilized human beings, despite everything, and surely, given the combined sizes of their brains, they could come up with water-tight documents between them. So they’d initiated a series of dinner ‘dates’ - neutral territory forcing them to keep their anger in check and acerbic remarks at a whispered level.
Sometimes he wonders if this pound of flesh will cost him dearer. Least he gets to hear about Jo-Jo, the one fucking thing he cares about anymore, gobbling up the details Joss gifts him with like a starving man, storing them up for the future, when he heads into the black. It’s pretty much all the luggage he’s taking.
Leonard faces the street while Jocelyn sits perusing the restaurant patrons. He tries not to sigh as she bitches about this and that and he appreciates that, despite her mood, she bites her tongue more than usual when it comes to him. This is the home stretch, the last dinner before he joins up. He’s still surprised she agreed to come all the way out to Iowa, nor grumbled about the cost of the shuttle, then he guessed she wouldn’t - now they’d agreed to sell the house, she’ll be set up for sometime. Taking the train here means he can afford his uniform down-payment, pay for the shitty motel and ‘treat’ her to one last meal.
Jocelyn hasn’t pulled out the document yet - Jo-Jo’s future lies folded in her pocket book and he knows it’s best looked at over coffee later. For now, he pokes at the whole red snapper, running his knife back and forth through the sauces and marinated red onions, his eyes on the ceiling, the water-wall, his thumb nail - anywhere but on that beautiful face - the reason he’d ended up here, lost and filled with rage.
“You’re not listening to me-“
“ ‘course I am, sugar.”
“What did I say then?”
Ah, he was good at this, listening but not; it had got him through school while he day-dreamed about becoming a pilot, then through the years when he wanted to be a paleontologist, through med training and he was the smartest one in class, bored and restless, through dull months as a country doctor, then his brief stint as a surgeon and now, here he was, dreams broken and face reddening before ‘teacher’ again. The circle of my fucking life, he thinks bitterly.
“You said, trust fund for Jo-Jo…”
“Yes?” Her manicured hand turns the stem of the glass so the last of the Piedra del Sol swills and catches the light, inching back down its legs like blood.
“Then you said - blah. Fucking. Blah-“
He has to smile. It’s like shooting fish in a barrel. She hates his cussing. Now he’s got no reason to care what she thinks.
He meets her eyes for the first time since they’ve sat down. Enjoying the irritated arch of her eye-brow, the thin set of her lips as she considers how to respond now she can’t throw crockery at him. Then, thankfully, for the rest of the diners, not him, because seriously, he can give a shit anymore, her comm buzzes.
He grinds his teeth when her face lights up, when she recognizes the caller ID.
“Hold on, baby, “she coos, puts her hand over the mouth-piece. “I’ll just go take this outside,” she says, all bright light and smiles. Yeah, and Leonard’s her rainstorm. Fucking great.
Poor bastard; soon enough Clay’ll have his balls cut off and handed back to him in pieces on a legal document. It almost makes Leonard feel better. Not as much as the booze maybe, but whatever…
Leonard gave up on doing and saying the right thing half way through the appetizer, he’s on the beer now, drinking straight out of the bottle, despite Jocelyn’s aversion to such ‘ungentlemanly’ behavior, and he glances over at the hatch and watches the cook as he places dishes on the counter.
It passes the time and Leonard kicks his legs out under the table, leans back half-hoping Joss will be a while so he can knock back the beer, get another in quick so she won’t notice.
He can’t see the cook’s face but he realizes his gaze had been drawn towards the serving hatch to the kitchen repeatedly throughout the evening, watching the too-tight, faded, black t pass back and forth, long fingers and broad palms spreading out the dishes on the counter for collection.
Leonard hears a rumble of laughter when the waitress leans down and says something to the guy, her back foot, running up and down her calf, a half-smile on her face when she turns and moves back into the dining area with an order.
The scent of cumin lifts his spirits for a moment and he raises his hand to catch the waitress’ eye.
“Another one o’ these.” Shit, he’s slurring, needs some fresh air.
When the bottle arrives, he drains half of it, eyes on the hatch again. The cook’s back, and he’s sweating, the heat in the kitchen has made the fabric of his t-shirt cling to his nipples and providing a pleasant contrast to the pale skin of his-- you know, from a purely dispassionate viewpoint-- nicely muscled arms. It’s not like Leonard’s attracted or anything like that. His cock is telling him different, though, and Leonard shifts in his chair, catching the table cloth so his bottle topples over and he’s not quick enough to stop a torrent of beer hitting his suit pants.
“Shit!”
The waitress is over like a shot, bunching up the cloth and Leonard’s mopping at his groin, eyes on the door, still no sign of Joss, then stops dead when his gaze flickers to the hatch and, a blond head’s ducked down to check out the scene, those fucking eyes, half-closed in amusement, blue, so fucking blue they cut right through him.
Shit.
He drops the napkin on the table and looks at the waitress, his voice a croak.
“Sorry, darlin’, guess I’ve had one too many-“
“You’re fine, sir. Can I get you another?” She’s all smiles and big eyes looking up at him.
“Maybe just a coffee. And a cigar.”
“Celebrating something, sir?”
“You could say that.”
“Anniversary?”
“Divorce.”
“Oh…”
She scuttles off and brings him his order just as Jocelyn settles opposite him.
“Spare me,” he says, raising his hand when he sees her mouth open when he stands for her and she spots the stain.
He’s purposely inconsistent in his irritating behavior, likes how he ‘surprises’ her with unexpected charm, wants her to wish she was still his when she’s laughing with abandon at some droll comment. Then he’ll aim and shoot with snark. Most of the time he remains impassive and even, hard as that is. But the booze, always the booze, loosens his tongue, smothers his compassion and makes him want to hurt like he hurt that time he walked in on her and Clay.
He drains what’s left of his beer, picks up his coffee.
“I’m taking this outside, need some air. You’ll be fine alone, not that you are, really.”
It takes a lot of rocks to build a mountain and things are so fucked between them now, his one regret is that tonight’s his last opportunity to hurt her.
He nudges the restaurant door open with his shoulder and turns left up the alley, shoves the cigar in his mouth and curses he forgot to borrow a lighter.
He leans on the wall and raises his foot against it, sips at the scalding coffee. He likes it sweet and milky and this is black and bitter but it’s what he needs, needs to try different things and wake the fuck up.
Funny, Leonard thinks, he never had himself down as the vengeful kind, but then, one thing he’s learned about people is the only thing’s consistent about them is their innards, while the stuff you can’t get your hands on--their minds, their needs, who they choose to love or hate - that’s beyond anyone’s control.
“You gonna smoke that thing?”
Leonard nearly drops the cigar, the amused voice cutting through his bitter thoughts like sugar.
“Fuck! Warn a guy before you give him heart failure.”
A chuckle and a shadowy figure moves towards him till he’s lit up by the light from the kitchen. It’s t-shirt guy, all dirty blond hair and smirk as he leans over and hands Leonard a lighter.
“Sorry.” Leonard doesn’t take the lighter, has no idea why he chooses instead to push the cigar back between his lips and cant towards the guy who takes the hint and lights it for him. Their eyes meet in the temporary glow of the flame and Leonard leans back on the wall, fascinated by how this has sent a twist of want to his cock.
“You on a break?” Leonard asks. It’s the cigar making his voice gruff. And it’s a stupid line, really. What the hell’s he got to say to a cook, a kid; he looks younger close up, can’t be older than twenty, twenty-one or something.
“Uh-huh,” but the kid’s not being shy, just casual, easy, like he talks to people he doesn’t know in alleyways all the time.
“Me too,” Leonard laughs, “different kind.”
“Can’t say there was any chemistry between you two, you know, the little I saw.”
The kid’s edged a little closer, Leonard’s sure he has.
“Used to be,” Leonard says.
“Here.” He hands Leonard a hip flask, who twists the stopper and inhales the whiskey fumes. When he tastes the good stuff, Leonard decides he likes this kid. He hands the flask back, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, notes the way the kid’s eyes fix on his lips.
“Thanks,” Leonard says, enjoying the warmth spreading through his chest.
“Now you owe me a drink.”
“I do?”
“Yeah, you fell into my trap.”
Leonard can’t say he minds one little bit, not when the kid’s got that habit of licking his lips like that.
Leonard angles himself so he can see the kid more clearly. He’s a pretty boy: tall, skinny, yet muscled in all the right places, easy in his own skin. Leonard would bet he gets a lot of action, job like that, all those pretty waitresses and, for the first time since all the shit with Jocelyn he actually feels old. What does he expect anyway? The booze always makes him feel like shit in the end.
“How old are you, kid?”
“Old enough. You think we should introduce each other, if we’re gonna get personal?” His tone’s cheeky, flirtatious maybe, and Leonard feels a little spark of lust. Most he’s ever done is kissed a guy before, and that was in a game of truth of dare. Maybe it is the booze, but he can’t deny this kid’s got under his skin. Can’t understand it, but he’s given up on making sense of his life, of anything, at least for the night. And what harm can just talking to the guy do?
“Sure.”
“I’m Jim, Jim Kirk.”
Jim’s holding out his hand. Leonard transfers his cup to his left hand and takes Jim’s hand with his right.
“Leonard McCoy.”
Their hands drop and Leonard watches Jim tuck his hand into his front pocket, lean back against the wall. His fingers are hot where they touched and he clenches them into a fist, a little angry at his reaction to the first contact he’s had with another human being other than a patient in months.
“You’re not from round here,” Jim says.
“And you’re a genius.”
Jim rolls his eyes, “Lucky you. This place is a shit hole and that’s the truth.”
“Atlanta, “Leonard says, “and I’m not going back.”
“Yeah.”
“So, you not smoking but you have a lighter. Bit of a player, huh?”
Jim laughs.
“Well, I’ve never been called that before, but yeah, it’s nice to be prepared. Wanna know what’s in my other pocket?” Those eyes seem to have sucked in all the colour from the big skies and made it their own. Leonard’s seriously never seen anything like it and manages to say,
“I’m sure you’ll tell me.”
Jim nods good naturedly and Leonard realizes he’s grinning ear to ear. He feels comfortable sharing space with this kid, like he’s known him for years, not minutes.
Then he remembers Jocelyn.
“Look,” he sighs, “I gotta go. I’ve got an early start tomorrow and, well, it was real nice meeting you.”
He stubs the cigar underfoot and holds out his hand. Jim looks down at it, back at his face, takes Leonard’s hand and grips it a little hard. He looks to the side and says, “I finish up in a couple of hours. I’m pretty wired after work, you know, takes me a while to get to sleep. If you wanna get a beer-“
“No thanks, kid, I’m just passing through. Thanks for the light.”
“I’ll take your cup,” Jim says and when he goes to take it, he leans close so Leonard can smell the kitchen in his short hair, on his black t. “If you change your mind, offer stands.”
“Okay kid, thanks.”
Fucking coward. Leonard’s half hard, he’s too scared to do anything about this. Dammit. He watches, shakes his head when Jim saunters back inside leaving the door open affording him one last image to take away with him and regret over, of a tight ass in faded jeans.
Joss is pissed, but to give her credit, she doesn’t say much about it. The papers are signed; it’s all over. Leonard even finds it in himself to give her a dry peck on the cheek when he puts her in a cab.
“Tell baby girl I love her,” are his last words to her.
Outside, he looks both ways up the street, unsure what to do.
He comms a cab hoping it’ll take a while since he’s not looking forward to a long night in his room. A knot of fear begins to unravel in his gut when he thinks about tomorrow’s shuttle ride.
He’s about to get in when he pulls back, one foot already in the cab and says to the driver, “Hold on, I forgot something inside…”
They haven’t cleared his table yet and he sighs with relief, his heart pounding in his ears.
He removes his watch, his daddy’s watch, and places it under a napkin along with his card, glances over at the hatch stacked high with plates as the diners leave for the night. There’s no sign of Jim and he’s glad. Wants his ass covered when the watch is found, wants to leave this to fate because he’s too damned weak to take that extra step and he’s turned on his heel, jumping into the cab before he can change his mind.
++
In Leonard’s motel room, his comm buzzes on the pillow. It’s 2am, he’s fallen asleep with his flask on his chest and his arm across his face.
You owe me a drink. I’m off shift and heading to Riverside Pub. And I’ve got your watch. No strings.
Then the comm buzzes again.
Unless you WANT there to be.
Leonard has no idea what he wants, he realizes, as he pulls on clean jeans and shoves on his sneakers. But he’s sure going to find out. He’d bet his future on it.
END
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The masterlist of all my fanfiction is here
Author: sangueuk
Rating: pg-13, for language and sexual references
Character/Pairing: Kirk/McCoy, Jocelyn (AOS)
Wordcount: approx 2,700 words complete
Summary: Their marriage is over and Leonard and Jocelyn have one last, tense dinner. Leonard can’t help but notice the cook through the serving hatch.
Warnings: none
Disclaimer: I mean no offence and court no profits - this is just for fun.
Author’s notes: I got to thinking what if Jim and Bones met briefly the night before the shuttle ride, and this is the result.
Thanks to abigail89 for beta-reading.
Intriguing snippet: Leonard gave up on doing and saying the right thing half way through the appetizer, he’s on the beer now, drinking straight out of the bottle, despite Jocelyn’s aversion to such ‘ungentlemanly’ behavior, and he glances over at the hatch and watches the cook as he places dishes on the counter.
AO3 link
Mar Azul
Leonard holds the door open for Jocelyn, takes a precious deep breath, and indulges in an eye-roll behind her back, before slip-streaming her into the crowded Mexican restaurant. Mar Azul, corny name, corny décor but excellent food so they tell him.
He loves Mexican food and, while he won’t go as far as to say he hates Jocelyn, the two extremes will, he hopes, counter-act each other, thus making his evening non-descript and dull and in the process protect his stomach from bile burn.
As it is, they sit across from each other trading irritable glances over their pomegranate margaritas, while they go over the last details of their separation.
Leonard insisted they didn’t need to pay for a lawyer, that they were civilized human beings, despite everything, and surely, given the combined sizes of their brains, they could come up with water-tight documents between them. So they’d initiated a series of dinner ‘dates’ - neutral territory forcing them to keep their anger in check and acerbic remarks at a whispered level.
Sometimes he wonders if this pound of flesh will cost him dearer. Least he gets to hear about Jo-Jo, the one fucking thing he cares about anymore, gobbling up the details Joss gifts him with like a starving man, storing them up for the future, when he heads into the black. It’s pretty much all the luggage he’s taking.
Leonard faces the street while Jocelyn sits perusing the restaurant patrons. He tries not to sigh as she bitches about this and that and he appreciates that, despite her mood, she bites her tongue more than usual when it comes to him. This is the home stretch, the last dinner before he joins up. He’s still surprised she agreed to come all the way out to Iowa, nor grumbled about the cost of the shuttle, then he guessed she wouldn’t - now they’d agreed to sell the house, she’ll be set up for sometime. Taking the train here means he can afford his uniform down-payment, pay for the shitty motel and ‘treat’ her to one last meal.
Jocelyn hasn’t pulled out the document yet - Jo-Jo’s future lies folded in her pocket book and he knows it’s best looked at over coffee later. For now, he pokes at the whole red snapper, running his knife back and forth through the sauces and marinated red onions, his eyes on the ceiling, the water-wall, his thumb nail - anywhere but on that beautiful face - the reason he’d ended up here, lost and filled with rage.
“You’re not listening to me-“
“ ‘course I am, sugar.”
“What did I say then?”
Ah, he was good at this, listening but not; it had got him through school while he day-dreamed about becoming a pilot, then through the years when he wanted to be a paleontologist, through med training and he was the smartest one in class, bored and restless, through dull months as a country doctor, then his brief stint as a surgeon and now, here he was, dreams broken and face reddening before ‘teacher’ again. The circle of my fucking life, he thinks bitterly.
“You said, trust fund for Jo-Jo…”
“Yes?” Her manicured hand turns the stem of the glass so the last of the Piedra del Sol swills and catches the light, inching back down its legs like blood.
“Then you said - blah. Fucking. Blah-“
He has to smile. It’s like shooting fish in a barrel. She hates his cussing. Now he’s got no reason to care what she thinks.
He meets her eyes for the first time since they’ve sat down. Enjoying the irritated arch of her eye-brow, the thin set of her lips as she considers how to respond now she can’t throw crockery at him. Then, thankfully, for the rest of the diners, not him, because seriously, he can give a shit anymore, her comm buzzes.
He grinds his teeth when her face lights up, when she recognizes the caller ID.
“Hold on, baby, “she coos, puts her hand over the mouth-piece. “I’ll just go take this outside,” she says, all bright light and smiles. Yeah, and Leonard’s her rainstorm. Fucking great.
Poor bastard; soon enough Clay’ll have his balls cut off and handed back to him in pieces on a legal document. It almost makes Leonard feel better. Not as much as the booze maybe, but whatever…
Leonard gave up on doing and saying the right thing half way through the appetizer, he’s on the beer now, drinking straight out of the bottle, despite Jocelyn’s aversion to such ‘ungentlemanly’ behavior, and he glances over at the hatch and watches the cook as he places dishes on the counter.
It passes the time and Leonard kicks his legs out under the table, leans back half-hoping Joss will be a while so he can knock back the beer, get another in quick so she won’t notice.
He can’t see the cook’s face but he realizes his gaze had been drawn towards the serving hatch to the kitchen repeatedly throughout the evening, watching the too-tight, faded, black t pass back and forth, long fingers and broad palms spreading out the dishes on the counter for collection.
Leonard hears a rumble of laughter when the waitress leans down and says something to the guy, her back foot, running up and down her calf, a half-smile on her face when she turns and moves back into the dining area with an order.
The scent of cumin lifts his spirits for a moment and he raises his hand to catch the waitress’ eye.
“Another one o’ these.” Shit, he’s slurring, needs some fresh air.
When the bottle arrives, he drains half of it, eyes on the hatch again. The cook’s back, and he’s sweating, the heat in the kitchen has made the fabric of his t-shirt cling to his nipples and providing a pleasant contrast to the pale skin of his-- you know, from a purely dispassionate viewpoint-- nicely muscled arms. It’s not like Leonard’s attracted or anything like that. His cock is telling him different, though, and Leonard shifts in his chair, catching the table cloth so his bottle topples over and he’s not quick enough to stop a torrent of beer hitting his suit pants.
“Shit!”
The waitress is over like a shot, bunching up the cloth and Leonard’s mopping at his groin, eyes on the door, still no sign of Joss, then stops dead when his gaze flickers to the hatch and, a blond head’s ducked down to check out the scene, those fucking eyes, half-closed in amusement, blue, so fucking blue they cut right through him.
Shit.
He drops the napkin on the table and looks at the waitress, his voice a croak.
“Sorry, darlin’, guess I’ve had one too many-“
“You’re fine, sir. Can I get you another?” She’s all smiles and big eyes looking up at him.
“Maybe just a coffee. And a cigar.”
“Celebrating something, sir?”
“You could say that.”
“Anniversary?”
“Divorce.”
“Oh…”
She scuttles off and brings him his order just as Jocelyn settles opposite him.
“Spare me,” he says, raising his hand when he sees her mouth open when he stands for her and she spots the stain.
He’s purposely inconsistent in his irritating behavior, likes how he ‘surprises’ her with unexpected charm, wants her to wish she was still his when she’s laughing with abandon at some droll comment. Then he’ll aim and shoot with snark. Most of the time he remains impassive and even, hard as that is. But the booze, always the booze, loosens his tongue, smothers his compassion and makes him want to hurt like he hurt that time he walked in on her and Clay.
He drains what’s left of his beer, picks up his coffee.
“I’m taking this outside, need some air. You’ll be fine alone, not that you are, really.”
It takes a lot of rocks to build a mountain and things are so fucked between them now, his one regret is that tonight’s his last opportunity to hurt her.
He nudges the restaurant door open with his shoulder and turns left up the alley, shoves the cigar in his mouth and curses he forgot to borrow a lighter.
He leans on the wall and raises his foot against it, sips at the scalding coffee. He likes it sweet and milky and this is black and bitter but it’s what he needs, needs to try different things and wake the fuck up.
Funny, Leonard thinks, he never had himself down as the vengeful kind, but then, one thing he’s learned about people is the only thing’s consistent about them is their innards, while the stuff you can’t get your hands on--their minds, their needs, who they choose to love or hate - that’s beyond anyone’s control.
“You gonna smoke that thing?”
Leonard nearly drops the cigar, the amused voice cutting through his bitter thoughts like sugar.
“Fuck! Warn a guy before you give him heart failure.”
A chuckle and a shadowy figure moves towards him till he’s lit up by the light from the kitchen. It’s t-shirt guy, all dirty blond hair and smirk as he leans over and hands Leonard a lighter.
“Sorry.” Leonard doesn’t take the lighter, has no idea why he chooses instead to push the cigar back between his lips and cant towards the guy who takes the hint and lights it for him. Their eyes meet in the temporary glow of the flame and Leonard leans back on the wall, fascinated by how this has sent a twist of want to his cock.
“You on a break?” Leonard asks. It’s the cigar making his voice gruff. And it’s a stupid line, really. What the hell’s he got to say to a cook, a kid; he looks younger close up, can’t be older than twenty, twenty-one or something.
“Uh-huh,” but the kid’s not being shy, just casual, easy, like he talks to people he doesn’t know in alleyways all the time.
“Me too,” Leonard laughs, “different kind.”
“Can’t say there was any chemistry between you two, you know, the little I saw.”
The kid’s edged a little closer, Leonard’s sure he has.
“Used to be,” Leonard says.
“Here.” He hands Leonard a hip flask, who twists the stopper and inhales the whiskey fumes. When he tastes the good stuff, Leonard decides he likes this kid. He hands the flask back, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, notes the way the kid’s eyes fix on his lips.
“Thanks,” Leonard says, enjoying the warmth spreading through his chest.
“Now you owe me a drink.”
“I do?”
“Yeah, you fell into my trap.”
Leonard can’t say he minds one little bit, not when the kid’s got that habit of licking his lips like that.
Leonard angles himself so he can see the kid more clearly. He’s a pretty boy: tall, skinny, yet muscled in all the right places, easy in his own skin. Leonard would bet he gets a lot of action, job like that, all those pretty waitresses and, for the first time since all the shit with Jocelyn he actually feels old. What does he expect anyway? The booze always makes him feel like shit in the end.
“How old are you, kid?”
“Old enough. You think we should introduce each other, if we’re gonna get personal?” His tone’s cheeky, flirtatious maybe, and Leonard feels a little spark of lust. Most he’s ever done is kissed a guy before, and that was in a game of truth of dare. Maybe it is the booze, but he can’t deny this kid’s got under his skin. Can’t understand it, but he’s given up on making sense of his life, of anything, at least for the night. And what harm can just talking to the guy do?
“Sure.”
“I’m Jim, Jim Kirk.”
Jim’s holding out his hand. Leonard transfers his cup to his left hand and takes Jim’s hand with his right.
“Leonard McCoy.”
Their hands drop and Leonard watches Jim tuck his hand into his front pocket, lean back against the wall. His fingers are hot where they touched and he clenches them into a fist, a little angry at his reaction to the first contact he’s had with another human being other than a patient in months.
“You’re not from round here,” Jim says.
“And you’re a genius.”
Jim rolls his eyes, “Lucky you. This place is a shit hole and that’s the truth.”
“Atlanta, “Leonard says, “and I’m not going back.”
“Yeah.”
“So, you not smoking but you have a lighter. Bit of a player, huh?”
Jim laughs.
“Well, I’ve never been called that before, but yeah, it’s nice to be prepared. Wanna know what’s in my other pocket?” Those eyes seem to have sucked in all the colour from the big skies and made it their own. Leonard’s seriously never seen anything like it and manages to say,
“I’m sure you’ll tell me.”
Jim nods good naturedly and Leonard realizes he’s grinning ear to ear. He feels comfortable sharing space with this kid, like he’s known him for years, not minutes.
Then he remembers Jocelyn.
“Look,” he sighs, “I gotta go. I’ve got an early start tomorrow and, well, it was real nice meeting you.”
He stubs the cigar underfoot and holds out his hand. Jim looks down at it, back at his face, takes Leonard’s hand and grips it a little hard. He looks to the side and says, “I finish up in a couple of hours. I’m pretty wired after work, you know, takes me a while to get to sleep. If you wanna get a beer-“
“No thanks, kid, I’m just passing through. Thanks for the light.”
“I’ll take your cup,” Jim says and when he goes to take it, he leans close so Leonard can smell the kitchen in his short hair, on his black t. “If you change your mind, offer stands.”
“Okay kid, thanks.”
Fucking coward. Leonard’s half hard, he’s too scared to do anything about this. Dammit. He watches, shakes his head when Jim saunters back inside leaving the door open affording him one last image to take away with him and regret over, of a tight ass in faded jeans.
Joss is pissed, but to give her credit, she doesn’t say much about it. The papers are signed; it’s all over. Leonard even finds it in himself to give her a dry peck on the cheek when he puts her in a cab.
“Tell baby girl I love her,” are his last words to her.
Outside, he looks both ways up the street, unsure what to do.
He comms a cab hoping it’ll take a while since he’s not looking forward to a long night in his room. A knot of fear begins to unravel in his gut when he thinks about tomorrow’s shuttle ride.
He’s about to get in when he pulls back, one foot already in the cab and says to the driver, “Hold on, I forgot something inside…”
They haven’t cleared his table yet and he sighs with relief, his heart pounding in his ears.
He removes his watch, his daddy’s watch, and places it under a napkin along with his card, glances over at the hatch stacked high with plates as the diners leave for the night. There’s no sign of Jim and he’s glad. Wants his ass covered when the watch is found, wants to leave this to fate because he’s too damned weak to take that extra step and he’s turned on his heel, jumping into the cab before he can change his mind.
++
In Leonard’s motel room, his comm buzzes on the pillow. It’s 2am, he’s fallen asleep with his flask on his chest and his arm across his face.
You owe me a drink. I’m off shift and heading to Riverside Pub. And I’ve got your watch. No strings.
Then the comm buzzes again.
Unless you WANT there to be.
Leonard has no idea what he wants, he realizes, as he pulls on clean jeans and shoves on his sneakers. But he’s sure going to find out. He’d bet his future on it.
END
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