Who: Preston & Shiloh What: A dinner between brothers Where: Bathos 106 When: 25 February, evening Warnings: Brothers being brothers? Booze? Bad pasta for dinner? Not much else.
Shiloh didn’t consider himself to be much of a cook, but he knew enough to be able to throw together some pasta and sauce from a jar, a loaf of garlic bread warming in the oven. He was settling in easily to some sort of routine here in Seattle, an environment that while refreshing was also different from the nomadic lifestyle he had enjoyed in Asia. There was something to be said settling down, growing some roots, finding a home.
With the table set and the food warming, Shiloh settled down at the desk he had set up in the living room, going over class information, making notes for his next lecture. The offer of a teaching position at Seattle University had come as a surprise, a welcome surprise. Teaching wasn’t his forte, but sharing his love of art history? That was easy. Get him talking about the topic and it was hard to get him to shut up.
So that’s where he was when Preston arrived, chin cupped in one hand, filling a notebook with his cramped handwriting, preparing for his next class.
Preston wasn’t absolutely, dead certain this was the right apartment, so he took the precaution of knocking once before he opened the door a crack and called in, “Shiloh?”
It had been a hell of a day, and he was looking forward to unwinding somewhere out of the way, where no one was waiting for him to trip over a secret or reveal some illegal activity. He reflected that even when he hadn’t been appropriating Anton’s tech for his own use, he had always felt faintly nervous outside his own home, as if someone was waiting for him to trip up.
Shiloh hadn’t ever made his brother feel that way, and he was probably the only person at the moment that Preston actually felt safe around. He edged his shoulder a little farther in. “Shiloh?”
He looked up from his papers in the direction of his name, a twist of his lips at the sight of his brother standing there. “You’re standing there, awkwardly, in the doorway why, exactly?” There was no hesitation as he dropped his pencil, abandoning his work and striding over to meet him at the door, giving him a look up and down. It had been a while since there had been anything but miles and oceans between them; it was good to share the same room as him again.
“Glad you could find the place. I know it’s a long trek down to the first floor, isn’t it?” Shiloh gestured him in, inclining his head towards the kitchen table. “Come in. Sit. Eat. We have a lot of talking to do, I think.”
Relieved he wasn’t breaking and entering, Preston pushed through the door. He was still in his workclothes, but without briefcase or phone--any phone, actually, quite a rarity. The scrutiny didn’t bother him, and undoubtedly to Shiloh he would probably look thinner and more tired than he was. He leaned forward and gripped his arm in greeting before closing the door and returning the look. Shiloh looked good; contented, even.
“It would be just like you to tell me the wrong apartment number for a laugh,” Preston said, not serious at all, and grinning as he pulled out a kitchen chair.
Shiloh trailed him into the kitchen, bypassing the table as he went to the stove to pull out the bread, hissing at hot paper bag the loaf was wrapped in. “Reminder to self. Buy an oven mitt,” he murmured as he put the bread on the table, soon joined by a bowl of spaghetti with sauce, joining Preston moments later.
“And am I the sort of person to do something like that to my favourite brother in the world?” he asked with a sidelong glance, lips quirked in that customary grin that showed up whenever he was having a good time. Pulling the bread out of the bag and onto a waiting plate, Shiloh broke off a piece for himself and soon started dishing up the pasta. “You wound me, dear Preston. Whatever shall I do with a brother who thinks such things of me?” Laughing, he pushed the bowl of pasta towards him along with the bread, occupying himself with pouring them each a glass of wine.
“Forgot to ask if pasta was fine. I’ve gotten rather tired of rice with everything, and I’ve been craving it since I got back.”
Preston took his bread and leaned on the table, tearing it in half and then continuing to tear it just because it so happened to be in his hand. “I should make you eat rice, but yeah, pasta is fine.” Preston had been wined and dined with the best of them, usually in the background of some Sparke function, but he preferred this. “Enjoying teaching, are you?” he asked, looking over toward the notes Shiloh had been working on.
“You eat rice for years upon years and tell me how much you like it,” he said as he chewed on a bit of bread, swallowing it down and watching as Preston proceeded to pull the bread apart, over and over, a brow arching. “It’s nice, something different. Not my normal thing, but until the museum opens, I have some spare time on my hands.” Pausing, Shiloh took a sip of wine, then inclined his head towards the bread.
“Did the bread do something to offend you? Just curious.”
“Oh.” Preston instantly dropped the leftover crumbs and brushed at his hands, embarrassed. “Sorry.” He found a napkin and scrubbed at his palms. “Still wound up from the day, I suppose. How long until the opening?” He still planned on mentioning the student he’d run into, but it slipped his mind again.
“That hard of a day?” It was a stupid question, given the way Preston behaved, the shadows under his eyes, the tired look that clung to him. But Preston would explain it in his own time, and Shiloh would wait until he wanted to share. “As for the opening, it’s not until sometime in March, and that’s only if they don’t push it back further for budget reasons.” He was clearly disgusted by the delay, but there was only so much he could do. “It’ll open when it opens. I’ve got the job at the university until then, so I’ve got plenty to keep me busy.”
Shiloh paused then, leaning back in his chair with his arms folded over his chest. “Enough about me and my troubles. Are you going to explain to me what’s going on with you? Or do I have to drag it out from you forcibly?”
Preston nodded to hear about museum and university, which he was, actually, interested in. Preston had an appreciation for academia that he shared with his brother, and just because he didn’t find that he was suited to stay within ivy walls, he still appreciated its draw. He started winding pasta around his fork, trying to figure out how to word it. “You’ll... have heard about the mess that hit the city. Before you came? Creations gone wrong tearing everything apart.” He glanced up for affirmation, and then continued. “Anton was gone, but I was holed up in one of his labs, and I couldn’t just... just sit there.”
“So you took it into your own hands to try and fix things?” Shiloh let out a sigh, leaning back forward, elbows braced against the table. “We’re Creations too. Meddling like this is only going to turn out badly, and from how tired you look, and stressed, I’d say that it’s already turning out badly.” There was a shake of his head and he took another sip of wine, glancing off to the side as he considered.
“Care to explain exactly what you’ve gotten yourself into? How deep?”
Preston pushed the pasta around. “I used his equipment, and hacked into some cameras and one of the non-military satellites so I could see what was going on and get people out of there. And... and obviously I didn’t want to tell them my name. So I made... something up. And afterward I ended up talking to... to people I know. As in me, personally, know.”
Shiloh simply stared at him then, an incredulous look on his face. “And how many of those people know that you are that alter ego you’re using as well? Preston...” He shook his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose for a long moment. “I’m supposed to be the one getting their nose into trouble. Not you.”
Awkwardly. “One. One of Anton’s interns I caught in the lab.” He gave up on the pasta, which he’d heaped onto different corners of the plate.
Silence reigned for a long while at that, occupying himself with a chunk of bread which he thoroughly chewed. “One too many. And you’re using your ability as well. I thought we agreed a long time ago that it was best to keep that sort of things private. As in, not using it in public. Ever.” When Shiloh looked at him again, his gaze was more intense, protective.
Preston pulled his glass of wine toward him. “It was an emergency. The whole point of staying on the phone and under another name was so that nobody found out about the ability, but... well.” He took a swallow.
“Exactly what kind of emergency had you out there, risking yourself?” There was concern laced throughout his words, that instinctual need to protect his family. “I’m not trying to control you or anything, but the more you say, the more worried you’ve got me. Sometimes, you just have to let other people deal with their own emergencies. If it’s a friend, sure, help them out. But if you can’t even reveal your true name and voice?” Shiloh gave a shake of his head, leaning back in his chair once more, contemplative.
“They just can’t know it’s me because if they know it’s me then they know what I can do.” Another deep swallow. It wasn’t getting the appreciation it deserved, really. “She was a healer and she almost got caught. Can you imagine, Shiloh? A damned healer. Running around Seattle. It’s a nightmare.” Preston rocked back into his chair in a slump he hadn’t indulged since boyhood.
“You can’t solve it all yourself, Preston. You need to remember that.” Shiloh surveyed his brother from across the table, wondering now why he hadn’t worked to come this way earlier. “Not that I have any better solution for it but...” Trailing off, he pushed at his own plate of pasta before shoving it off to the side with a wry grin. “Dinner sucked. Sorry for that. But...”
Shoulders shrugged up and his posture nearly matched Preston’s. “Let me help you. Don’t kill yourself trying to keep the world together on your own. Mom’d kill me if something happened to you.”
Preston looked up from the morose study of his wine glass, which was now mostly empty. “No, she wouldn’t. She might throw a party.” This is patently untrue and rather unfair, but... Preston wasn’t in a good mood. “Help me by doing what? Sending Anton a ‘please-may-I-thank-you’ note and telling all the masks that Rescue was just having a lark, have a nice night?”
Shiloh’s pleasant expression abruptly disappeared at his brother’s attitude, rising from his chair and retrieving the bottle of wine to top both of their glasses back up. “Listen, Preston. I know you’ve had it hard and you also know that I’ve been there nearly every step of the way and I thought I did a pretty good job at not treating you like a child. So don’t treat me like an idiot. I don’t know how to help, but you know what, I’m trying.” He sat back down heavily, leaning forward on the table towards Preston. “So stop with the attitude and tell me what I can do to make your life even one percent easier, hmm?”
That made Preston sit up. All four legs of the chair hit the kitchen floor, and he just stopped short of rubbing his face. “Sorry.” Preston shook his head. “I don’t... know what you can do. You could give me some advice, I guess. I don’t know whether or not to tell Eli I’m the same person.” He tipped his chin sideways to look into Shiloh’s face.
“It’s fine. Just remember who it is you’re talking to.” An apologetic smile was offered across the table to him and he let out a sigh, looking up towards the ceiling for a moment. “If you’re working as Rescue alongside Eli, then it may be advantageous to disclose to him what’s going on. Particularly if you are in any sort of relationship with him, it’s best to operate on honesty. Not that I know much about relationships but...” His shoulders shrugged up slightly. “It seems to be causing you some amount of stress to conceal it. Wouldn’t it be better to talk to him about it? Set some borders onto how you want to handle this?”
Preston tipped his wine glass back and forth on the table, palm over the top of the bowl, watching the liquid dip back and forth. “He doesn’t handle borders well. I just don’t know if he’d be able to handle me being involved in anything outside of the ordinary.” A flicking glance upward. “You know... Sparke and work.” Preston shrugged. His brother knew already that Preston’s highest loyalty (outside of Shiloh himself, obviously) was to Anton Sparke, misplaced as it may seem to many. Eli didn’t know about any of Anton’s clandestine experiments, so he wouldn’t know that Preston already had a little practice--and that was one thing he couldn’t tell Eli. Anton’s secrets were more important to Preston than his own.
That gave him something to think on, reconsidering the advice previously offered. “Then perhaps it’s best to keep this away from him. But if you do as much, I would also recommend keeping your distance from him as Rescue as well. I’m sure it’s difficult to manage being both yourself and Rescue in his company.” Shiloh was all too aware of Preston’s loyalties, and he had never been one to question his brother’s stance. “It’s hard to find a balance, I would imagine.”
Preston’s expression didn’t clear. “All or nothing, then, is your recommendation?” It wasn’t surprising, but it wasn’t an easy prospect, either. “Just tell him all of it--the ability, the Rescue thing--or don’t tell him anything?” Preston rocked the wine glass back and forth a couple more times, expression uncertain. “He’s volatile, it’s hard to predict how he’ll react. He’s having enough problems even dealing with the whole... relationship... thing. Or whatever it is.”
“I don’t think there’s really an in-between that will work for both of you. At least not with my limited knowledge of the situation and Eli himself.” Sighing, Shiloh reached out, putting his hand on Preston’s arm, stilling the nervous gesture. “My concern right now is how you’re feeling about all of it. You seem just as conflicted as you make him sound. And drink your wine. You’re going to spill it.”
Preston closed his fingers over the glass so it didn’t fall over, and looked blankly down at it. “Right.” He switched the glass to his other hand, gave Shiloh an uncertain smile and took another drink. “Maybe there isn’t an in between. I can’t tell if leaving him would just make it worse, or if it would be better for him in the long run... because then at least he’d have Rescue.” Preston took his hand off the table so he didn’t spill the wine. “And then there’s the... the bad history part.” He sighed. “We just have too much going on, maybe. I can’t tell.”
“Bad history? No, don’t tell me. I don’t need to punch anyone in the face, especially when I haven’t even met them before.” He gave him a tight smile and leaned back, wondering when his brother’s life got so complicated. “I think the question you ought to be asking yourself is what’s going to make life better for you. If it hurts him, so be it. But if it makes things better for you? Then it’s worth whatever pain or discomfort it might cause him. I know that sounds callous, but it’s gotten me through quite a few sticky social situations.”
Shiloh’s smile was weak, not quite reaching his eyes. “Take a break, Preston. Back away from Rescue for a while. Concentrate on being you and get a fresh perspective. Come back to it after you’ve let yourself breathe for a while.”
Preston glanced down at his hands. His phone went off, back at the apartment, but he wasn’t around to check it and when he reached into his pocket, it wasn’t there. Shifting again, he said, “I can’t do much as Rescue with Anton back in town anyway. He’s sure to notice someone borrowing his programs.”
“Perfect time to back off a bit then, isn’t it? You deserve it, Preston. You’ve always worked too hard for it to be healthy.” Shiloh rose from his chair, stretching his arms back behind his head. “You’re not leaving yet, are you?” he asked, padding towards the fridge and fishing around for a moment, returning with two bottles of beer, offering one towards his brother. “First time we’ve seen each other in how long? I was kind of hoping to make a better night of it than being morose around the dinner table.”
More alcohol, just the thing. “Not quite yet. I said I’d meet Eli later tonight; he’s irritated at me for changing plans. He’s generally irritated at me about something.” He smiled a little. The sad smile, the one that had hung around forever. “Sorry. The best way to do that is to talk about you, and not me. Wow me with your academia, professor.” He took his beer and worked the top off of it with the tail of a shirt too expensive for the task.
There was an exaggerated roll of his eyes at that, the top of his own beer worked off in a similar manner before he sat back down, long legs stretched out in front of him. “And since when are you interested in China or art history, brother of mine?” he asked, teasing. “It’s the same as it’s always been. Wish you could have joined me in China last time I asked, though. Even you would be wowed by the sights there. The Great Wall? The Terra Cotta Soldiers? It’s amazing, I have to say.”
Preston, who had only ever been to China’s capital for business, shook his head. He’d never been much for art or architecture, though he had his loves--mostly obscure literature he rarely had time for. He was impressed, in his own way, with Shiloh’s success in the academic field, and considered him the smarter of the two, despite the disparity in their salaries. “China is too crowded. I don’t know how you could stand it.” He tipped his head. “But then, you speak more of the language than I do, and know more people there. Make a lot of friends?”
“It’s only crowded if you stick to the cities. Get out into the country and it’s just...” The amazement was evident in his voice, reminiscing about a country he had grown to love so much. “You and me are going there together some day. Get you way from all the stress here. I’ll even make you leave your phone and work behind so Anton will have to learn to live without you for a week or two.” There was a certain brightness to his gaze then, and it spoke of Shiloh doing exactly that if the urge hit him.
“As for friends... a few, here and there.” That’s to say, someone everywhere he went. “A few that I’ll keep in contact with for the academic need, others that I’ve continued to keep up with over email. Remarkable people.”
Preston shook his head, smiling at last. Anton forgot to eat when his assistant wasn’t around, and Preston well knew it.When he ran off to foreign places Preston made sure there was someone there to bother him with an actual meal at least twice a day. “Well, it certainly paid off. I can see why they hired you at the museum; your references list must be at least ten pages.” He tipped the beer up.
“Either that or no one else wanted the job!” Shiloh let out a laugh and lifted his own beer towards the other man, giving it a clink with his own before tipping it back to down half of it in one go. Letting out a sigh as he sat the bottle back down, Shiloh glanced over towards Preston, giving him a smile. “I missed this. Having family around, that is.”
“Me too,” Preston sighed. “It’s hell not having anyone around I can talk to about more than one thing I’ve got going on. It’s hard to even fucking keep track of which one I’m supposed to tell whom.” Another swig.
“Keeping going on like that and you’re liable to slip and say something to the wrong person.” Shiloh gave a knowing nod as though he had any idea of what Preston was dealing with. “But you’ll figure it out. You’re a smart guy. Just like your brother.” And oh so modest, unlike his brother.
That, as intended, made Preston smile. “Not quite like, but close enough.” Preston took a deep breath. “Well, it feels better to have at least talked through it,” he said, with an expression of concentration.
Shoulders shrugged up as if to say ‘I do my best’ before he finished off the rest of his beer, putting the empty on the table, rolling it between his hands. “You’ll be fine, brother mine. You’re strong. You’ll figure it all out, and if anyone gives you shit, you let me know and I’ll go give them an ol’ one-two to the nose.” He mimed boxing for a moment before letting out a laugh, the alcohol doing a fine job of removing the few inhibitions that he had.
Preston laughed. There was still too much beer in the bottle for it to make a threatening impression, but he waved it a little still upright to get the point across. “And probably get beat for your trouble. You’re an academic, remember? You’re not supposed to be able to fight your way out of a wet paper bag.” Preston’s grin was teasing, and not at all serious. Shiloh had been angry on his behalf several times, and Preston didn’t want to make him repeat the experience.
Shiloh let out a laugh of his own then, leaning forward towards him, feigning absolute seriousness. “You’ve never seen me beat up another academic for a bit of information, have you?” The glint in his eyes lingered even as he pulled back and chuckled to himself, shaking his head in amusement.
“No, but I’d pay,” Preston said, relaxing still further. “I bet a lot of people would, though it might end up like a really sick home video.” Smirk. “Speaking of which,” he said, lifting the near empty bottle to indicate the apartment as a whole, “No wife?” It was partly a tease. Partly.
A smirk pulled at the older man’s lips then, giving Preston a look. “I’ll let you know next time that offer might be useful,” Shiloh said, settling back in his chair with his arms folded over his chest, the conversation turning to that which every family dwelled upon. “No, no wife. No girlfriend. No kids. Turns out that while most women are enamoured by the thought of a world traveler, few want to settle down with a man who spends more time on his work than he would on his family.” He shrugged in a moment of helplessness at that. “I’m starting to think the life of a bachelor is the one for me. Do you want another beer? Something else to drink?” Shiloh asked, gathering up their half-touched plates and dumping them in the sink for later, retrieving another beer from the fridge.
“But don’t get me wrong. There have been a few women. There was a sweet one back in Boston when I was still an undergrad. She danced at the ballet. But nothing really came of that.” Shiloh tapped the bottle against his lips, glancing towards the ceiling in thought. “I wonder what happened to her.”
“I vaguely remember you mentioning a ballerina,” Preston agreed, stretching his feet out and waving a hand in negative at the offer of another beer. “You were smug about it, as I recall.” Preston had been a little busy with his own life when Shiloh was an undergrad in college, and when he’d joined Shiloh at university, he’d been careful not to step on his brother’s social life. “I know you have a few ridiculous stories about your women abroad, anyway,” he said, smiling and letting his head loll back against the seat. “You never know. This staying-in-one place thing might work out for you, Shiloh. There are a lot of nice women around that wouldn’t even blink at the Creation part.”
“That was the pompous undergrad being all smug,” he said in reply, closing the fridge and taking his seat once more as he cracked the beer open. “Love ‘em and leave ‘em, that seems to be my modus operandi, at least.” Taking a swig, Shiloh sat the bottle back down on the table, watching his brother as he relaxed and sat back. “Staying in one place, hmm?”
Shiloh let the thought roll around in his head, eyes closing for a moment as he tried to imagine actually setting roots down someplace. “Maybe,” he answered in a non-committal tone, opening his eyes once more as he took another sip. “Not so sure many women out there could tolerate having to share me with my job, my studies. It’s possible, I suppose. The right person come around, and I may change my tune.”
Preston smiled at the ceiling, eyes half-closed. He hadn’t been this relaxed in a very long time. “Please. Successful academic, occasionally smug, with my looks? It’s you doing the leaving, and I think mom hammered enough morals in us to make it difficult to even swear in public, so you’re probably doing it politely over a nice dinner.” He opened his eyes wide and pointed his empty bottle at his brother. “That is called being ‘a catch.’ If you wanted to get married, you could get married.” He shrugged one shoulder. He was not opposed to Shiloh planting on one place so nearby, even if he was wary of having to deal with some female every time he wanted to talk to him.
A roll of his eyes was the answer at that, giving Preston a look that spoke volumes. “Are you trying to marry me off so you don’t have to worry about your brother getting into trouble?” he asked, teasing. “I see how it is. Not even in town for a month and you’re already tired of my yammering on.”
“Yammering? No. That’s what they pay you to do to students.” Preston rolled a little on the couch just in case he had to dive aside whatever might be thrown at his head. “I’m just wondering what your intentions are in Seattle. All this moving and now out of the blue you’re nesting.” He was grinning.
It was good that he had ducked given the throw pillow that was tossed in his direction, but it was all in good humour as he laughed. “No intentions. Just a job offer that happened to be in the same city as my favourite brother ever.” That sly grin spoke volumes more as he settled back down, pointing at the thrown pillow. “Now. Put that back where it belongs. You’re making an absolute mess of my bachelor pad.”
Preston leaned over the side of the chair, and in true fashion, put it back where it belonged. He had just finished this right before there was pointing and ordering, so just to prove he didn’t have to take orders, he picked it up again and chucked it at Shiloh’s head. He laughed as he did it, and put the bottle down in case he got pegged again. “‘Favorite brother’, right, I’m your only brother. Different name and all.” He sobered just slightly as he mentioned that.
Shiloh laughed as he caught the pillow in one hand, shoving it behind him to end the short-lived pillow fight before something got spilled or someone ended up with a black eye, both of which were completely possible given their history. As the mood sobered, Shiloh scrutinized Preston with a careful eye, an eyebrow arching. “Are you okay?”
Both of them would look unprofessional with a black eye, but at least people would be able to tell them apart. “Can I ask you something?” He took his feet up, and set them flat on the floor so he could lean over his knees. “Do you have issues not using my name. The first--the old one?” When he’d first changed it, Preston remembered being angry and bitter enough to just declare it to be so to the only person he thought could conceivably care, and he had been too caught up in himself to notice Shiloh’s reaction.
He didn’t say anything for a long moment, putting his beer off to the side as he leaned forward in a similar pose, fingers laced together. “I can’t pretend to understand every single one of your reasons behind the change,” Shiloh started, “but you were the same person to me, whether you were Ash or Preston, and I decided that I would support your decision.” He paused for a moment, trying to piece his words together. “It took some getting used to, changing the way I thought about you, but my issues were personal; just getting used to change.” Turning to look towards him, Shiloh had to wonder if his answer even made sense.
“But you don’t ever make a mistake,” Preston pressed further, frowning a little over the topic and pressing his knuckles together as he thought. “You never use the old one...” He looked up to asses Shiloh’s expression.
His lips quirked in a half-smile. “If it was important enough to you that you needed to change it,” Shiloh replied, “then it was important enough to me to remember it.” Reaching over, he gave Preston’s shoulder a rub, hand riding up to ruffle that immaculately kept hair.
Just as he had countless times in his youth, Preston made a face and pushed the hand away, but he was smiling when he sat up again. “Sorry I brought it up.” It was earnest, but embarrassed, and Preston scraped a hand down his jaw awkwardly. After a moment’s pause he sighed and reached out for his empty bottle. “Thanks for dinner. I don’t have time to eat anything cooked, usually.”
It was just like old times, just 20 years after the fact. Shiloh laughed to himself and refrained from picking further on his brother, instead occupying himself with another swig of beer just as Preston thanked him for dinner. “And it’s not a problem. Stop by whenever you want. I’m no gourmet, but it’s hot and here for you.” He gave him a nudge with one leg before leaving him be, enjoying the silence, the companionship that only family brought.