Trauma
Somewhere in the dark, the phone rang.
For a long while, they were content to leave it, especially once the machine kicked on, blaring its automated message into the telephone wires. Anyone calling at this hour, invading their quiet privacy, deserved to hear the computerized greeting, not a real human voice. Once the shrill tones died, they decided victory was at hand, and for the five seconds of silence between calls, dozed off.
By the third call, it was apparent the individual on the other end was not content with leaving their name and number after the tone. And, judging from the groggy kick to the shin, it was Gavin's job to get up and answer it.
With no small reluctance, he dragged himself out of the tangle of blankets and limbs twisted up in the bed during the few hours of sleep. He sat on the edge, rubbing the confusion out of his eyes with a single-minded determination, and was promptly rewarded by an impatient sigh. He turned. Behind him, Leigh had burrowed deeper into the pillows, bare shoulders hunched up to sleep tangled and still-damp hair. Sighing himself, he stood, pulling the eclectic collection of blankets back into place around those pale shoulders, only to be given a mumbled reminder to, for the love of God, answer the phone before they both went deaf.
He caught up a pair of discarded pants before exiting the quiet warmth of the bedroom. No one else was around to see his indecency, but, he rationalized as he pulled the clothes on, it was a lot colder in the living area of the apartment than it was in here. Darker too, without the dull amber glow of the street lamp poking through the curtains, as it did back in the bedroom. Out here, there was only the pale reflection of the moon off the houses further down the hillside, and the even fainter glow of it off the bay. And, it was his place, so he knew it enough to find the phone by touch alone. Even if it hadn't been ringing fit to wake the dead.
“'Llo?” he mumbled into the receiver, finally getting it in hand. In retrospect, he probably should have said more-his name, demanded to know what the caller was thinking in dialing them so late, things like that. But the words, and the voice on the other end, drained both irritation and weariness completely from him.
“Thank God. What the hell took you so long, Voelker?”
Everything stopped-his heart, his breath, and thoughts. He could only stare straight ahead into the frigid darkness of the kitchen, acutely feeling the chill tile under bare feet. God, he knew that voice. Couldn't forget it, even if he tried to. It was smoke and steel, painfully feminine, carrying the weight and assurance of years of authority. He remembered to speak.
“Jordan?”
An exasperated sound from the woman on the line made something in his chest hitch. “You never used to ask such stupid questions,” she said. “Yes, it's me. Did you forget already?”
He shook his head, even though she couldn't see him. “No ma'am-No, I didn't.” The subordination was automatic. He was falling back into old habits just listening to her, and he grasped the counter-top to keep steady. “Are... I just... never thought I'd hear from you. Not again. Not after we... After I left.”
“Surprise,” she said dryly. “Look, I don't have time to catch up right now. The important thing is...” And she paused. Something she hadn't done before. When she spoke again, there was a note of anxiety in her voice he'd never heard. “Voelker. Gavin. I need your help. Please.”
“Where are you? San Diego?” he asked, almost before her last syllable finished. “I can get to the airport in a few hours, I'll find a flight when I get there.”
She cut him off, almost stern. “I'm in town,” she said. “Your town. That is... if you didn't decide to change forwarding addresses in the last five years.”
Six, his mind corrected automatically. Almost seven.
Aloud, he said only, “No, it's the same... Where in town? Where do you need me to go?”
Another pause. He could almost picture her looking around, short, red hair shifting just below her ears. Her gray eyes would be dark, probably pinched in a frown. It was the expression she wore to think. “The waterfront,” she said, then clarified before he could even ask. “One of the tourist parking lots, near the marina.” And again, she intercepted his question. “I've got a blue mini. You know the kind. European, white stripes. Gaudy as hell.”
“I'm coming.”
He didn't need to say anything else. Neither did she. Both of them hung up after that, satisfied with each other. It had always worked that way between them. Apparently still did. Nothing had changed-the fact almost tore him apart. How could it be so easy for her? It shouldn't be possible, after everything between them. She was exactly the same. And needed him again.
They hadn't spoken in so long. After he'd fled San Deigo-he couldn't call his retirement from the police force there anything but “fleeing”-she'd tried to contact him a few times, and he'd always been hesitant to respond. It always felt so awkward, to try and talk to her about everything but the one thing they had always needed to discuss. He had tried, asking how her fiancée was doing, but something would always break the conversation before it started. The two of them had let the matter drop, and with it went their friendship. To hear her making the first move, to finally, after so much time, pop back out of the woodwork, sent his mind running down a hundred different “what-ifs”, and his heart jumping in erratic rhythms.
Preoccupied, he almost collided with someone exiting the bedroom as he tried to enter it. Like Gavin, the other had managed to pull on clothing, adding a robe over pajama pants to ward off the cold. His arms were folded, glasses missing.
“Calls at this hour are usually important or telemarketers from India,” Leigh informed him, making it clear he'd heard every word. “And since I'm assuming Indians don't leave you looking like someone's hit you in the face with a brick, I'm going to guess that was important.”
He could just stare. The man should have been asleep still, or at least curled into a lazy ball on the bed and dozing. Not here, leaning in the doorway. It made what he had to do so much more difficult than before.
This was more suspicious than shoving wads of wedding ring catalogs into a kitchen drawer the moment someone else walked into the room-which had happened on more than one occasion, thus spoiling any attempt at a surprise. Love, and now lifelong commitment, were abstract ideas filed away under impossible after San Deigo. On another rainy evening only a handful of years prior, the abstractions became concrete in the form of Leigh Knight, and his decidedly caffeine-flavored lips. He had faced down everything, including the expectations of both family and society, to stay by this man who had never once shown anything other than biting, sarcastic loyalty to him in return.
Leigh knew exactly who Jordan Carter was-and what she had been to Gavin. Every May, every time they opened a bottle, or several, the story would come draining out of him. And each time it bled out, the memory got just the least bit bitter, coaxed back into healing by careful words offered in foreign and familiar phrases. It would be seven years, this particular May. He suspected Leigh already had the alcohol picked out and waiting.
“Jordan,” he started, hesitating, completely at a loss of where to go after that one word. Betrayal slid around in his stomach, hot and wrenching. “She... needs me to...”
Leigh just cocked an eyebrow, ducking back into the bedroom before Gavin managed to work up enough will to finish that sentence. He didn't say anything, or give any indication he had heard anything at all. Gavin's heart promptly took a nosedive off the proverbial Brooklyn Bridge. He started forward, following the silent Leigh, intending to explain everything.
Then, a clean shirt, along with his wallet and a set of car keys all but hit him in the face.
“What the hell?” Gavin sputtered, fumbling to catch the items before they ended up lost in the tangle of yesterday's clothing still on the floor. Confusion warred with heartache, then finally won out-if only due to the keys jangling in his hand.
Brushing past him again, Leigh just rolled his eyes. “Take your coat when you go,” he advised, heading back down the hall. “And my car. It'll be faster than that pile of tin you drive.”
Fighting for words, Gavin finally managed to ask, “Where are you going?”
All he could see of the other man was a hand waving at him from the kitchen. “Coffee.” The word was a song and a prayer all in one. “I'm going to need it if I'm going to meet the girl of your dreams.”
“She's not-You're all right with this?” he asked, juggling keys and wallet while he tried to pull on the plain gray sweater. So attired, he padded after Leigh, rounding the corner into the kitchen. “I mean... you know I... about her and me...”
The kitchen lights came on, but Leigh's back was turned as he poked around the cabinets, pulling his head backwards to inspect the contents without the aid of his glasses. His head tilted, and Gavin could almost see him squinting at the neatly printed labels before him. “Yep,” he said simply, finding the red container he was looking for. His shoulders slumped, and he shook his head. “You bought this?” he asked, finally turning to face Gavin. “Good Lord, you'd think you'd know better by now. It's an A for effort, but really, this is hardly worth the money you spent.”
“Don't change the subject.”
The tiles were still cold under his feet as he crossed the narrow space, getting close enough so that Leigh had to yet again squint to look at him. “Are you all right with me seeing her?” he asked, meeting the other's gaze.
And once more, Leigh just rolled his brown eyes at him. “You panic the minute you think you might have even glanced at someone else,” Leigh said. “Don't be an idiot. I trust you, I believe you, I whatever it is you want to hear from me that will make you go. Preferably before she beats down our door.”
Gavin reasoned stayed still, focusing on reading Leigh's eyes. They looked serious enough, if not amused at his persistence. The usual expression, really. Nothing concerned or angry about them as they steadily met his. Leigh meant every word he'd so flippantly said. There had never been anything to worry about.
Setting his hands on the counter on either side of Leigh, effectively trapping him, Gavin leaned forward to kiss him, hard. Caught off-guard, the other man flailed his arms a bit, before giving into the inevitable, and returning the gesture in kind.
“You don't... have to suffocate me,” was the somewhat strained response as they broke apart. He reached up to adjust glasses that weren't there, sliding his hands away from Gavin's waist. “Now get going. If she calls again, I'm not answering the phone. She could probably reach through the phone lines and kill me.”
He didn't argue, but stalled one moment longer, tightening his arms briefly around the other man, before ducking out the door.
As usual for this time of night, the streets were deserted, silent except for the howl of the wind coming off the bay. He paused at a stop sign, glancing westward out to sea. Without the sun up, it was hard for him to tell if anything was blowing in or not. It certainly looked like it-the moon had disappeared. Swaybacked pine trees bent under the assault, spindly limbs flying in all directions. A few drops of cold rain splashed against the windshield. Despite the heaters in Leigh's little gray sedan, he shivered, mangled leg aching, and making driving that much more difficult. He wanted to get to Jordan's location as quickly as possible. His leg, injured so many years ago in that fateful warehouse collapse, just wouldn't quit paining him, and he had to pull over more than once on the short drive down to the waterfront to breathe and curse himself to not taking the pain medication when he'd woken.
After far too long in the car, he made it down to the waterfront. Usually bustling with tourists and college students at any time of year, the storefronts and canneries were dark. Streetlamps were few and far between here, since businesses were meant to run between dawn and dusk, with the wiser locals taking their attentions elsewhere, save for a select few establishments, when the sun went down. The sudden absence of life gave the area a desolate, alien feel, as if he'd somehow taken a wrong turn, then driven into a ghost town. Headlights bounced off the massive cannery equipment, standing now idle in the light drizzle, turning them into hulking giants of unknown purpose and intent. Store windows stared like dark, hungry eyes at the passing vehicle. Here and there, the wind sang through narrow alleys, enacting some kind of sinister dirge.
Gavin kept his eyes on the road, still shivering.
The mini was the only car on the lot. It was impossible to miss, even if he hadn't known exactly what it was he needed to find. During the daylight hours, it was usually full with the vehicles of fishermen and tourists alike. The entrance to the marina connected to the lot, making it the perfect place for those making a living to leave their cars for free. Even in the dark, he could see the pale shapes of the boats bobbing on their moorings. Something about their mindless motions put him in mind of ghost ships, and he hurriedly focused on the form exiting the mini.
He slid into a parking space, facing it, his heart hammering and nerves turning his stomach into knots. So badly were his hands shaking, he had to forcibly still them before he could turn the car off. Cold rain hit him square in the face, a few spare drops working their way down the collar of his coat, while the wind sliced through the rest of his clothing. But all discomfort vanished the instant she stepped forward into the wan yellow light of the parking lot lamps.
She looked utterly unchanged-right down to the close-fit blue jeans and t-shirt she nearly always wore off-duty. The only change was the thick wool coat she'd thrown on over the top of it all, which somehow served to accentuate, rather than hide her trim, powerful figure. Dark red hair blew crazily in the wind, but she never lifted a hand to correct it, her gray eyes were always on him. They stared at each other, not moving, not speaking, while he tried to somehow figure out how to break the tense pall of silence that had fallen. He'd waited so long to see her again. And yet, when she was right there, he could think of nothing to say.
“Good to see you,” she said finally, looking up at him still. The top of her head came to his chin-just like always. “Thanks for coming out so late. I didn't really have another choice.”
Those last words brought up the same note of fear he'd heard over the phone. Hearing it again banished his hesitation, and he limped forward, closing the distance to barely a foot. “You know I would have come, no matter when you called,” he told her, his voice dropping low, despite the sound of the wind. There was another beat of silence, before he could hold it in no longer. “I... Jordan, what happened? Are you all right?”
Only now did she sweep her hair out of her eyes, her posture slumping from rigid attention to an unsure hunch of her shoulders. “I need to disappear for a while,” she said, looking away.
That could mean one of two things. Either she'd made a mistake, landing her under the scrutiny of local law enforcement. Or... he didn't want to think about the other option. His jaw tightened.
“And before you say anything, no, it's not trouble with the law,” Jordan said, gazing steadily at him. “You know I wouldn't do that.” Again, she looked away. “Saw something I shouldn't, and witness protection didn't work out.”
Tension mounted. He was about to protest. What could possibly have happened to where she'd gotten herself in so deep? San Deigo wasn't anywhere near as bad as LA, or DC. She should have been fine there-something he'd told himself time and time again after leaving, in order to help himself live with the choice. Something was wrong here. It wasn't like her to be so cryptic. She had always given him everything he wanted, or needed, to know. But she stopped him, shaking her head.
“I can't... tell you more than that. Or else risk you too.” She looked up at that, and he noticed she'd shifted subtlety closer. Probably cold, he reasoned. “And I can't risk you,” she told him.
Whatever he'd been expecting her to say, that wasn't it. Any protests or suspicions he'd had went wildly out the window with her simple words of concern. She cared. How could she, after so long? She still wanted their friendship... and he'd been a fool to throw it away like he had all those years past.
“I understand,” was all he was able to say to that-addled as he was by all the surprises of tonight. “We'll figure this out, Agent Car-Jordan. You'll be safe here.”
If she noticed his slip, she didn't say anything. “Thank you,” she said, still close, her head still tilted up to his. “Damn it, Gavin, I don't know how I can thank you for this. You don't know what it means to me.”
No, he wanted to say. You don't know what this means to me.
Instead, he said, “You can stay at my place. The couch is big enough until we can figure out a better solution.” Something less obvious than hiding her in his apartment. As much as he loved the man, Leigh was going to inevitably tell someone about it. Probably by accident, knowing him. “We can talk more when we get there,” he said, starting to turn and head back to his car. “Follow me in your car, it's not that far away.”
The sudden touch of her hand on his arm sent a shot of electricity through him, even through the layers of his clothing. Stunned, he stopped, staring down at her. She used his shock to pull him closer, her muscular frame against his. He could feel her body warmth, and was rendered speechless. “You don't know what it means to me,” he could hear her say, dimly, through the pound of his blood in his ears. “But I can try and show you... if you'll let me...”
And without any further hesitation, she leaned up and in, pressing her lips against his. Her hands wandered, seeking a way under his coat. All the while, she leaned in, making sure their bodies were always in contact.
For his part, Gavin's brain had shorted out. This moment was something he couldn't deny he'd wanted. Indeed, for a good long while, there hadn't been a day when he hadn't gone over the “what-if” scenario of this in his mind. He had wanted this more than anything. He'd been willing to do anything, to give anything, just for her barest touch. Just the faintest glance.
But now, as her tongue fought to find a way into his mouth, all he could think about was dark eyes, darker hair, and the painfully, gloriously sarcastic voice of the man in his apartment, sitting up over coffee and waiting for him. Those fantasies of Jordan had faded, new ones had taken their place. He knew what he wanted now.
So he broke away, taking a deliberate step back from her, and shaking his head. “You can't,” he murmured. “Nick...”
Again, she cut him off, her body moving closer to his. “We broke up.” Now her voice was hasty, hurried. “I was confused... I didn't know what I wanted...” Grey eyes were hungry. “I made the wrong choice, back then,” she said, plaintive. Another new tone for her usually strong voice. “Gavin... do you understand?”
“And I can't do this,” he finished, gently cutting her off. He tried an apologetic smile, because, God knew he hated being the one to turn someone down. He knew too well what it felt like. “I've... moved on.”
“You moved on.”
It wasn't a question. It was a cold, flat statement, so sharp he winced. She all but recoiled back from him, staring in accusation. The wind seemed to cut more deeply now that they'd stepped back, the warmth left from her presence quickly faded by the chill air. He'd never expected her to be angry, of all things.
“I'm sorry...” he tried, maintaining the apology, the gentleness. “Jordan, it was six years. You were getting married to Nick, I... I didn't expect it to happen. But I can't... do this. I love...” Here his breath hitched, and he paused, working out how best to let the bomb drop. Already, he'd hurt the woman-the one he never wanted to-in a way he couldn't have ever imagined. He took a breath, steadying himself. “I love him.”
The only sound was the howl of the wind, and the drum of rain on the pavement. She stared at him, silently. It was like looking into the eyes of a stranger. Nothing there was familiar, not even the color. He took an involuntary step backwards, before checking himself.
“You're gay,” she said, finally. Again, it wasn't a question.
He thought his heart was going to break. She'd come to find him, and all he'd done was hurt her again. Tentatively, he held a hand out to her, as if trying to ask for forgiveness that wasn't going to come. Water beaded on his palm, it was the only thing to touch him. “No, I... it's him,” he said. “It's not that he's a man-it's just him. Look, I can't... explain this right here and now. We need to get you home, make sure you're safe.” He closed his hand, moving it away to gesture back to the car. “Leigh-he's waiting for us. He can help. He's a hell of a lot smarter than I am half the time.”
Something in her eyes changed. The hardness, the chill, was still there. But something new sparked. Something stranger still than all her new emotions. “That's his name...?” she asked, tilting her head. Wet hair slipped around her face like liquid red. “Leigh?”
“Leigh Knight,” he answered, his voice as hesitant as his previous gesture. There was a sudden coldness in his gut that had nothing to do with the air around him, or the rain. “Why? Have you heard of him?”
Without warning, she smiled. It was a cadaver's smile-too wide and leering in her once-beautiful face. Her eyes dilated, the pupils spreading out to encompass even the whites. His turn to recoil, and he bumped his bad leg into the front bumper of Leigh's car. “Oh yes,” the woman purred. She no longer had Jordan's voice, but a lilting, too-feminine drawl. “Yes we have... and we hoped you hadn't. Because you are handsome, foolish man, Gavin Voelker.”
Her head suddenly rolled on her shoulders, the gaping grin parting to allow the tongue that had been trying to invade his mouth to loll out over suddenly sensuous lips like another appendage. It flicked at the air, before disappearing back into her mouth. He had to fight down the urge to vomit, clutching at his jaw. “We like pleasure before business.”
By now, he was pressed back as far as he could go against the hood of the car. His hands splayed over slick metal, clinging to something real and solid as her form further distorted-features and limbs elongating into something utterly alien. Its skin was a mottled color, made all the more sickly by the pale lights, and it gleamed, slick with something other than the gradually increasing rainfall. The black eyes regarded him like some kind of insect, before the spindly fingers plunged into a pocket of the strained and stretched wool coat. His mouth was dry, air wouldn't force itself into his lungs. There was no one to protect here but himself. No jumping into the path of an oncoming skinwalker, no diving into the sea to pull a drowning woman out. No Agent Carter to save. Just himself-and for that reason, he couldn't move.
“You see,” it hissed, its head swaying on its too-long neck. Even its speech was distorted by now, dripping with some foreign cadence. “Wasn't you we wanted. Wasn't foolish man seeking woman.” It actually laughed there, licking its lips yet again. “Wasn't sick man lying with man. Was... other man. Was one you claim. Ours. Ours for to kill. To drive to madness. To finish.”
Now he shoved himself off the car hood. Bitter rage was taking root, pushing back the fear and disgust. This thing, whatever it was, had come for Leigh-if he had determined what it was saying right. And no one-nothing-was coming near him. Especially not this monstrosity. The man was his. He would die for him, if it came down to it.
Forcing himself not to limp, he stepped forward, broad shoulders set and ready. Faded blue eyes stared straight into fathomless black. “You're not touching him,” he growled. “No one is coming near him. Not while I'm alive.”
In retrospect, it was possibly one of the least intelligent things to come out of his mouth that night. The cadaverous grin slipped away, and the stony, silent expression of hate that replaced it was almost as terrifying. “As you wish.”
There was a hot, sharp pain. Over the familiar crack sound he'd grown too accustomed to on the job, there came a high shriek and the sound of sizzling flesh. He barely noticed the thing throw the gun away-it had been keeping a gun in its pocket, unexpected for something so alien. Something warm and wet was working its way down his chest, and he staggered backwards, the world tilting crazily before his eyes. He sagged down against the car, sliding sideways off the hood. Dimly, he noted the streaks of red on the metal as he moved, the substance quickly washed away by the rain. His head cracked hard on the pavement, before rolling sideways.
Something blocked the light. A wicked, clammy hand brushed over his cheek.
“Mine now, foolish man-lover. Mine... mine... mine...”
Its voice drifted away. He had to go after it-stop it. Somehow. But nothing would move. His limbs refused to respond, and even his lungs were rebelling. There was nothing he could do but lie there, the rain beating down on his skin, pulling the warmth of it away into the puddles. Everything was screaming to give in, just rest. It would be so much easier that way.
The words came back to him, still with that familiar, but untraceable accent.
Mine now...
And everything in him screamed anew, even when his eyes slid shut.
For a long while, they were content to leave it, especially once the machine kicked on, blaring its automated message into the telephone wires. Anyone calling at this hour, invading their quiet privacy, deserved to hear the computerized greeting, not a real human voice. Once the shrill tones died, they decided victory was at hand, and for the five seconds of silence between calls, dozed off.
By the third call, it was apparent the individual on the other end was not content with leaving their name and number after the tone. And, judging from the groggy kick to the shin, it was Gavin's job to get up and answer it.
With no small reluctance, he dragged himself out of the tangle of blankets and limbs twisted up in the bed during the few hours of sleep. He sat on the edge, rubbing the confusion out of his eyes with a single-minded determination, and was promptly rewarded by an impatient sigh. He turned. Behind him, Leigh had burrowed deeper into the pillows, bare shoulders hunched up to sleep tangled and still-damp hair. Sighing himself, he stood, pulling the eclectic collection of blankets back into place around those pale shoulders, only to be given a mumbled reminder to, for the love of God, answer the phone before they both went deaf.
He caught up a pair of discarded pants before exiting the quiet warmth of the bedroom. No one else was around to see his indecency, but, he rationalized as he pulled the clothes on, it was a lot colder in the living area of the apartment than it was in here. Darker too, without the dull amber glow of the street lamp poking through the curtains, as it did back in the bedroom. Out here, there was only the pale reflection of the moon off the houses further down the hillside, and the even fainter glow of it off the bay. And, it was his place, so he knew it enough to find the phone by touch alone. Even if it hadn't been ringing fit to wake the dead.
“'Llo?” he mumbled into the receiver, finally getting it in hand. In retrospect, he probably should have said more-his name, demanded to know what the caller was thinking in dialing them so late, things like that. But the words, and the voice on the other end, drained both irritation and weariness completely from him.
“Thank God. What the hell took you so long, Voelker?”
Everything stopped-his heart, his breath, and thoughts. He could only stare straight ahead into the frigid darkness of the kitchen, acutely feeling the chill tile under bare feet. God, he knew that voice. Couldn't forget it, even if he tried to. It was smoke and steel, painfully feminine, carrying the weight and assurance of years of authority. He remembered to speak.
“Jordan?”
An exasperated sound from the woman on the line made something in his chest hitch. “You never used to ask such stupid questions,” she said. “Yes, it's me. Did you forget already?”
He shook his head, even though she couldn't see him. “No ma'am-No, I didn't.” The subordination was automatic. He was falling back into old habits just listening to her, and he grasped the counter-top to keep steady. “Are... I just... never thought I'd hear from you. Not again. Not after we... After I left.”
“Surprise,” she said dryly. “Look, I don't have time to catch up right now. The important thing is...” And she paused. Something she hadn't done before. When she spoke again, there was a note of anxiety in her voice he'd never heard. “Voelker. Gavin. I need your help. Please.”
“Where are you? San Diego?” he asked, almost before her last syllable finished. “I can get to the airport in a few hours, I'll find a flight when I get there.”
She cut him off, almost stern. “I'm in town,” she said. “Your town. That is... if you didn't decide to change forwarding addresses in the last five years.”
Six, his mind corrected automatically. Almost seven.
Aloud, he said only, “No, it's the same... Where in town? Where do you need me to go?”
Another pause. He could almost picture her looking around, short, red hair shifting just below her ears. Her gray eyes would be dark, probably pinched in a frown. It was the expression she wore to think. “The waterfront,” she said, then clarified before he could even ask. “One of the tourist parking lots, near the marina.” And again, she intercepted his question. “I've got a blue mini. You know the kind. European, white stripes. Gaudy as hell.”
“I'm coming.”
He didn't need to say anything else. Neither did she. Both of them hung up after that, satisfied with each other. It had always worked that way between them. Apparently still did. Nothing had changed-the fact almost tore him apart. How could it be so easy for her? It shouldn't be possible, after everything between them. She was exactly the same. And needed him again.
They hadn't spoken in so long. After he'd fled San Deigo-he couldn't call his retirement from the police force there anything but “fleeing”-she'd tried to contact him a few times, and he'd always been hesitant to respond. It always felt so awkward, to try and talk to her about everything but the one thing they had always needed to discuss. He had tried, asking how her fiancée was doing, but something would always break the conversation before it started. The two of them had let the matter drop, and with it went their friendship. To hear her making the first move, to finally, after so much time, pop back out of the woodwork, sent his mind running down a hundred different “what-ifs”, and his heart jumping in erratic rhythms.
Preoccupied, he almost collided with someone exiting the bedroom as he tried to enter it. Like Gavin, the other had managed to pull on clothing, adding a robe over pajama pants to ward off the cold. His arms were folded, glasses missing.
“Calls at this hour are usually important or telemarketers from India,” Leigh informed him, making it clear he'd heard every word. “And since I'm assuming Indians don't leave you looking like someone's hit you in the face with a brick, I'm going to guess that was important.”
He could just stare. The man should have been asleep still, or at least curled into a lazy ball on the bed and dozing. Not here, leaning in the doorway. It made what he had to do so much more difficult than before.
This was more suspicious than shoving wads of wedding ring catalogs into a kitchen drawer the moment someone else walked into the room-which had happened on more than one occasion, thus spoiling any attempt at a surprise. Love, and now lifelong commitment, were abstract ideas filed away under impossible after San Deigo. On another rainy evening only a handful of years prior, the abstractions became concrete in the form of Leigh Knight, and his decidedly caffeine-flavored lips. He had faced down everything, including the expectations of both family and society, to stay by this man who had never once shown anything other than biting, sarcastic loyalty to him in return.
Leigh knew exactly who Jordan Carter was-and what she had been to Gavin. Every May, every time they opened a bottle, or several, the story would come draining out of him. And each time it bled out, the memory got just the least bit bitter, coaxed back into healing by careful words offered in foreign and familiar phrases. It would be seven years, this particular May. He suspected Leigh already had the alcohol picked out and waiting.
“Jordan,” he started, hesitating, completely at a loss of where to go after that one word. Betrayal slid around in his stomach, hot and wrenching. “She... needs me to...”
Leigh just cocked an eyebrow, ducking back into the bedroom before Gavin managed to work up enough will to finish that sentence. He didn't say anything, or give any indication he had heard anything at all. Gavin's heart promptly took a nosedive off the proverbial Brooklyn Bridge. He started forward, following the silent Leigh, intending to explain everything.
Then, a clean shirt, along with his wallet and a set of car keys all but hit him in the face.
“What the hell?” Gavin sputtered, fumbling to catch the items before they ended up lost in the tangle of yesterday's clothing still on the floor. Confusion warred with heartache, then finally won out-if only due to the keys jangling in his hand.
Brushing past him again, Leigh just rolled his eyes. “Take your coat when you go,” he advised, heading back down the hall. “And my car. It'll be faster than that pile of tin you drive.”
Fighting for words, Gavin finally managed to ask, “Where are you going?”
All he could see of the other man was a hand waving at him from the kitchen. “Coffee.” The word was a song and a prayer all in one. “I'm going to need it if I'm going to meet the girl of your dreams.”
“She's not-You're all right with this?” he asked, juggling keys and wallet while he tried to pull on the plain gray sweater. So attired, he padded after Leigh, rounding the corner into the kitchen. “I mean... you know I... about her and me...”
The kitchen lights came on, but Leigh's back was turned as he poked around the cabinets, pulling his head backwards to inspect the contents without the aid of his glasses. His head tilted, and Gavin could almost see him squinting at the neatly printed labels before him. “Yep,” he said simply, finding the red container he was looking for. His shoulders slumped, and he shook his head. “You bought this?” he asked, finally turning to face Gavin. “Good Lord, you'd think you'd know better by now. It's an A for effort, but really, this is hardly worth the money you spent.”
“Don't change the subject.”
The tiles were still cold under his feet as he crossed the narrow space, getting close enough so that Leigh had to yet again squint to look at him. “Are you all right with me seeing her?” he asked, meeting the other's gaze.
And once more, Leigh just rolled his brown eyes at him. “You panic the minute you think you might have even glanced at someone else,” Leigh said. “Don't be an idiot. I trust you, I believe you, I whatever it is you want to hear from me that will make you go. Preferably before she beats down our door.”
Gavin reasoned stayed still, focusing on reading Leigh's eyes. They looked serious enough, if not amused at his persistence. The usual expression, really. Nothing concerned or angry about them as they steadily met his. Leigh meant every word he'd so flippantly said. There had never been anything to worry about.
Setting his hands on the counter on either side of Leigh, effectively trapping him, Gavin leaned forward to kiss him, hard. Caught off-guard, the other man flailed his arms a bit, before giving into the inevitable, and returning the gesture in kind.
“You don't... have to suffocate me,” was the somewhat strained response as they broke apart. He reached up to adjust glasses that weren't there, sliding his hands away from Gavin's waist. “Now get going. If she calls again, I'm not answering the phone. She could probably reach through the phone lines and kill me.”
He didn't argue, but stalled one moment longer, tightening his arms briefly around the other man, before ducking out the door.
As usual for this time of night, the streets were deserted, silent except for the howl of the wind coming off the bay. He paused at a stop sign, glancing westward out to sea. Without the sun up, it was hard for him to tell if anything was blowing in or not. It certainly looked like it-the moon had disappeared. Swaybacked pine trees bent under the assault, spindly limbs flying in all directions. A few drops of cold rain splashed against the windshield. Despite the heaters in Leigh's little gray sedan, he shivered, mangled leg aching, and making driving that much more difficult. He wanted to get to Jordan's location as quickly as possible. His leg, injured so many years ago in that fateful warehouse collapse, just wouldn't quit paining him, and he had to pull over more than once on the short drive down to the waterfront to breathe and curse himself to not taking the pain medication when he'd woken.
After far too long in the car, he made it down to the waterfront. Usually bustling with tourists and college students at any time of year, the storefronts and canneries were dark. Streetlamps were few and far between here, since businesses were meant to run between dawn and dusk, with the wiser locals taking their attentions elsewhere, save for a select few establishments, when the sun went down. The sudden absence of life gave the area a desolate, alien feel, as if he'd somehow taken a wrong turn, then driven into a ghost town. Headlights bounced off the massive cannery equipment, standing now idle in the light drizzle, turning them into hulking giants of unknown purpose and intent. Store windows stared like dark, hungry eyes at the passing vehicle. Here and there, the wind sang through narrow alleys, enacting some kind of sinister dirge.
Gavin kept his eyes on the road, still shivering.
The mini was the only car on the lot. It was impossible to miss, even if he hadn't known exactly what it was he needed to find. During the daylight hours, it was usually full with the vehicles of fishermen and tourists alike. The entrance to the marina connected to the lot, making it the perfect place for those making a living to leave their cars for free. Even in the dark, he could see the pale shapes of the boats bobbing on their moorings. Something about their mindless motions put him in mind of ghost ships, and he hurriedly focused on the form exiting the mini.
He slid into a parking space, facing it, his heart hammering and nerves turning his stomach into knots. So badly were his hands shaking, he had to forcibly still them before he could turn the car off. Cold rain hit him square in the face, a few spare drops working their way down the collar of his coat, while the wind sliced through the rest of his clothing. But all discomfort vanished the instant she stepped forward into the wan yellow light of the parking lot lamps.
She looked utterly unchanged-right down to the close-fit blue jeans and t-shirt she nearly always wore off-duty. The only change was the thick wool coat she'd thrown on over the top of it all, which somehow served to accentuate, rather than hide her trim, powerful figure. Dark red hair blew crazily in the wind, but she never lifted a hand to correct it, her gray eyes were always on him. They stared at each other, not moving, not speaking, while he tried to somehow figure out how to break the tense pall of silence that had fallen. He'd waited so long to see her again. And yet, when she was right there, he could think of nothing to say.
“Good to see you,” she said finally, looking up at him still. The top of her head came to his chin-just like always. “Thanks for coming out so late. I didn't really have another choice.”
Those last words brought up the same note of fear he'd heard over the phone. Hearing it again banished his hesitation, and he limped forward, closing the distance to barely a foot. “You know I would have come, no matter when you called,” he told her, his voice dropping low, despite the sound of the wind. There was another beat of silence, before he could hold it in no longer. “I... Jordan, what happened? Are you all right?”
Only now did she sweep her hair out of her eyes, her posture slumping from rigid attention to an unsure hunch of her shoulders. “I need to disappear for a while,” she said, looking away.
That could mean one of two things. Either she'd made a mistake, landing her under the scrutiny of local law enforcement. Or... he didn't want to think about the other option. His jaw tightened.
“And before you say anything, no, it's not trouble with the law,” Jordan said, gazing steadily at him. “You know I wouldn't do that.” Again, she looked away. “Saw something I shouldn't, and witness protection didn't work out.”
Tension mounted. He was about to protest. What could possibly have happened to where she'd gotten herself in so deep? San Deigo wasn't anywhere near as bad as LA, or DC. She should have been fine there-something he'd told himself time and time again after leaving, in order to help himself live with the choice. Something was wrong here. It wasn't like her to be so cryptic. She had always given him everything he wanted, or needed, to know. But she stopped him, shaking her head.
“I can't... tell you more than that. Or else risk you too.” She looked up at that, and he noticed she'd shifted subtlety closer. Probably cold, he reasoned. “And I can't risk you,” she told him.
Whatever he'd been expecting her to say, that wasn't it. Any protests or suspicions he'd had went wildly out the window with her simple words of concern. She cared. How could she, after so long? She still wanted their friendship... and he'd been a fool to throw it away like he had all those years past.
“I understand,” was all he was able to say to that-addled as he was by all the surprises of tonight. “We'll figure this out, Agent Car-Jordan. You'll be safe here.”
If she noticed his slip, she didn't say anything. “Thank you,” she said, still close, her head still tilted up to his. “Damn it, Gavin, I don't know how I can thank you for this. You don't know what it means to me.”
No, he wanted to say. You don't know what this means to me.
Instead, he said, “You can stay at my place. The couch is big enough until we can figure out a better solution.” Something less obvious than hiding her in his apartment. As much as he loved the man, Leigh was going to inevitably tell someone about it. Probably by accident, knowing him. “We can talk more when we get there,” he said, starting to turn and head back to his car. “Follow me in your car, it's not that far away.”
The sudden touch of her hand on his arm sent a shot of electricity through him, even through the layers of his clothing. Stunned, he stopped, staring down at her. She used his shock to pull him closer, her muscular frame against his. He could feel her body warmth, and was rendered speechless. “You don't know what it means to me,” he could hear her say, dimly, through the pound of his blood in his ears. “But I can try and show you... if you'll let me...”
And without any further hesitation, she leaned up and in, pressing her lips against his. Her hands wandered, seeking a way under his coat. All the while, she leaned in, making sure their bodies were always in contact.
For his part, Gavin's brain had shorted out. This moment was something he couldn't deny he'd wanted. Indeed, for a good long while, there hadn't been a day when he hadn't gone over the “what-if” scenario of this in his mind. He had wanted this more than anything. He'd been willing to do anything, to give anything, just for her barest touch. Just the faintest glance.
But now, as her tongue fought to find a way into his mouth, all he could think about was dark eyes, darker hair, and the painfully, gloriously sarcastic voice of the man in his apartment, sitting up over coffee and waiting for him. Those fantasies of Jordan had faded, new ones had taken their place. He knew what he wanted now.
So he broke away, taking a deliberate step back from her, and shaking his head. “You can't,” he murmured. “Nick...”
Again, she cut him off, her body moving closer to his. “We broke up.” Now her voice was hasty, hurried. “I was confused... I didn't know what I wanted...” Grey eyes were hungry. “I made the wrong choice, back then,” she said, plaintive. Another new tone for her usually strong voice. “Gavin... do you understand?”
“And I can't do this,” he finished, gently cutting her off. He tried an apologetic smile, because, God knew he hated being the one to turn someone down. He knew too well what it felt like. “I've... moved on.”
“You moved on.”
It wasn't a question. It was a cold, flat statement, so sharp he winced. She all but recoiled back from him, staring in accusation. The wind seemed to cut more deeply now that they'd stepped back, the warmth left from her presence quickly faded by the chill air. He'd never expected her to be angry, of all things.
“I'm sorry...” he tried, maintaining the apology, the gentleness. “Jordan, it was six years. You were getting married to Nick, I... I didn't expect it to happen. But I can't... do this. I love...” Here his breath hitched, and he paused, working out how best to let the bomb drop. Already, he'd hurt the woman-the one he never wanted to-in a way he couldn't have ever imagined. He took a breath, steadying himself. “I love him.”
The only sound was the howl of the wind, and the drum of rain on the pavement. She stared at him, silently. It was like looking into the eyes of a stranger. Nothing there was familiar, not even the color. He took an involuntary step backwards, before checking himself.
“You're gay,” she said, finally. Again, it wasn't a question.
He thought his heart was going to break. She'd come to find him, and all he'd done was hurt her again. Tentatively, he held a hand out to her, as if trying to ask for forgiveness that wasn't going to come. Water beaded on his palm, it was the only thing to touch him. “No, I... it's him,” he said. “It's not that he's a man-it's just him. Look, I can't... explain this right here and now. We need to get you home, make sure you're safe.” He closed his hand, moving it away to gesture back to the car. “Leigh-he's waiting for us. He can help. He's a hell of a lot smarter than I am half the time.”
Something in her eyes changed. The hardness, the chill, was still there. But something new sparked. Something stranger still than all her new emotions. “That's his name...?” she asked, tilting her head. Wet hair slipped around her face like liquid red. “Leigh?”
“Leigh Knight,” he answered, his voice as hesitant as his previous gesture. There was a sudden coldness in his gut that had nothing to do with the air around him, or the rain. “Why? Have you heard of him?”
Without warning, she smiled. It was a cadaver's smile-too wide and leering in her once-beautiful face. Her eyes dilated, the pupils spreading out to encompass even the whites. His turn to recoil, and he bumped his bad leg into the front bumper of Leigh's car. “Oh yes,” the woman purred. She no longer had Jordan's voice, but a lilting, too-feminine drawl. “Yes we have... and we hoped you hadn't. Because you are handsome, foolish man, Gavin Voelker.”
Her head suddenly rolled on her shoulders, the gaping grin parting to allow the tongue that had been trying to invade his mouth to loll out over suddenly sensuous lips like another appendage. It flicked at the air, before disappearing back into her mouth. He had to fight down the urge to vomit, clutching at his jaw. “We like pleasure before business.”
By now, he was pressed back as far as he could go against the hood of the car. His hands splayed over slick metal, clinging to something real and solid as her form further distorted-features and limbs elongating into something utterly alien. Its skin was a mottled color, made all the more sickly by the pale lights, and it gleamed, slick with something other than the gradually increasing rainfall. The black eyes regarded him like some kind of insect, before the spindly fingers plunged into a pocket of the strained and stretched wool coat. His mouth was dry, air wouldn't force itself into his lungs. There was no one to protect here but himself. No jumping into the path of an oncoming skinwalker, no diving into the sea to pull a drowning woman out. No Agent Carter to save. Just himself-and for that reason, he couldn't move.
“You see,” it hissed, its head swaying on its too-long neck. Even its speech was distorted by now, dripping with some foreign cadence. “Wasn't you we wanted. Wasn't foolish man seeking woman.” It actually laughed there, licking its lips yet again. “Wasn't sick man lying with man. Was... other man. Was one you claim. Ours. Ours for to kill. To drive to madness. To finish.”
Now he shoved himself off the car hood. Bitter rage was taking root, pushing back the fear and disgust. This thing, whatever it was, had come for Leigh-if he had determined what it was saying right. And no one-nothing-was coming near him. Especially not this monstrosity. The man was his. He would die for him, if it came down to it.
Forcing himself not to limp, he stepped forward, broad shoulders set and ready. Faded blue eyes stared straight into fathomless black. “You're not touching him,” he growled. “No one is coming near him. Not while I'm alive.”
In retrospect, it was possibly one of the least intelligent things to come out of his mouth that night. The cadaverous grin slipped away, and the stony, silent expression of hate that replaced it was almost as terrifying. “As you wish.”
There was a hot, sharp pain. Over the familiar crack sound he'd grown too accustomed to on the job, there came a high shriek and the sound of sizzling flesh. He barely noticed the thing throw the gun away-it had been keeping a gun in its pocket, unexpected for something so alien. Something warm and wet was working its way down his chest, and he staggered backwards, the world tilting crazily before his eyes. He sagged down against the car, sliding sideways off the hood. Dimly, he noted the streaks of red on the metal as he moved, the substance quickly washed away by the rain. His head cracked hard on the pavement, before rolling sideways.
Something blocked the light. A wicked, clammy hand brushed over his cheek.
“Mine now, foolish man-lover. Mine... mine... mine...”
Its voice drifted away. He had to go after it-stop it. Somehow. But nothing would move. His limbs refused to respond, and even his lungs were rebelling. There was nothing he could do but lie there, the rain beating down on his skin, pulling the warmth of it away into the puddles. Everything was screaming to give in, just rest. It would be so much easier that way.
The words came back to him, still with that familiar, but untraceable accent.
Mine now...
And everything in him screamed anew, even when his eyes slid shut.