Cristobal Rodriguez ♦ Coyote (coyoti) wrote in paxemerituslog, @ 2018-01-13 23:26:00 |
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Entry tags: | ares, coyote |
you just gotta love
Who: Chris & Daniel.
What: Chris returns Daniel's car, and gets an answer he doesn't want to hear.
Where: Daniel's apartment.
When: Mid January.
Bending one of the window blinds, Chris peered out of his window for the third time, his eyes convinced that Daniel's vehicle was present; the fact that he could tangibly feel the car keys in his hand seconded the fact that the car was there, but Chris could not dispel the anxiety he felt. It would be simple enough to drop the keys off at Daniel's mail box, or have someone else deliver them. He did not trust leaving the keys in the ridiculously gaudy car and hope that no one else decided to help themselves to it. Letting the blind straighten back into place, he sighed and shuffled across the room to his kitchen. Filling a glass with water, he drank it all down, and then left it next to the sink.
He had his cane; sans brace, he fit more easily into a pair of comfortable jeans, a plain black tee covering his chest. The outfit was unconsciously a subtle reply to an earlier conversation (yes, he did own tee shirts) but also the best way Chris could think to make himself seem as unthreatening as possible. Pocketing the key, he took his own apartment keys, phone, and wallet, and left to go to the elevator and down one floor.
Approaching Daniel's door was a different matter; he waffled for a moment, rethinking his plan. Fix the car, tell Daniel, win an opportunity to clear his name. He'd discussed the idea briefly with his mother over lunch on Christmas; of course, she didn't know the full extent of how he was paying for the car, and neither did she ask, which left them both much more comfortable. And the idea had seemed sound, even smart. Now? Now it seemed grasping and possessive, maybe even stalkery. Chris drew himself up, and steeled himself to head toward 209. He paused again, fist raised to knock on the door; then, in a spurt of spontaneity, he let his knuckles rap against the hard surface.
He had approximately five seconds to decide if he wanted to doorbell ditch Daniel, and his cane wasn't going to give him any help in that regard. Neither was Daniel, who opened the door a scant few seconds later.
Though barefoot, Daniel was otherwise dressed more or less for work. In this case, on this day, that meant khakis and a dark blue button-up over a white undershirt, the first three buttons undone. He did a literal double-take, almost cartoonish, at the sight of his ex boyfriend. He blinked and shook his head.
"Well this is unexpected," he said, pushing the door open wide. Behind him Chris could see the better part of the apartment, more unkempt than he would have remembered it. Clothing was draped over the back of the sofa, illuminated by both the glow of the television and the laptop that rested open on the coffee table. The smell of fresh coffee drifted out from the nearby kitchen.
For once Daniel seemed utterly without words, bereft of any snide comment or verbal jab. "You, uh… you need somethin'?"
Chris shook his head, frozen like a deer in headlights for a moment. The reason for his visit vacated his mind, his eyes gorging themselves on Daniel's figure for a moment. Then he seemed to come to his senses, reaching down for the keys in his pocket. He did his best to not just thrust them in Daniel's direction, instead holding them dangling from his fingers so the other man could take them with as little physical contact as possible.
"I just wanted to give you these. Check the car out, let me know if anything's messed up or missing." Chris trusted the guys who he'd paid to fix up Daniel's car, but that didn't mean something wasn't exactly to Daniel's specs.
"Wait, what?"
Daniel stared at the keys like they were knives ready to cut him. His hand had risen of its own accord, but it seemed incapable of doing more; his fingers flexed, ready to take the outstretched offering, but the bulk of him hesitated still. Then he grasped the keys tight, his thumb running over the smooth keyfob, even as his eyes remained on his erstwhile partner.
"The car?" he repeated, feeling stupid even as he said it. "The car. The same one M—" He blinked, color suddenly flooding his cheeks. "How even—" He raised his free hand, waving his own words away. "Nevermind. Forget it. Uh, come in, OK? Come in for a sec."
He did not appear ready or willing to take no for an answer. He walked away from the door, moving into the kitchen. The keys still in hand, Daniel paused at the refrigerator, its door hanging as wide as the entry to his home. His eyes lingered on something on the very bottom shelf, but soon enough they darted higher up. "I kept waitin' on the boys at the shop to call me and tell me it was ready, or a total write-off, or whatever. Now I know why they were dodgin' my calls," he said, grabbing two long-neck beer bottles in his free hand. The other still clasped the keys, like a talisman he could not afford to let go. "So how much do I owe you?"
"Nothing." Chris hovered in the entryway, unsure of his welcome despite Daniel's words. He leaned into his cane, watching Daniel retrieve the drinks.
"You said you wanted something more concrete, so there it is. And it's a little early to start drinking, don't you think? You looked like you were headed out to work." Still, his eyes went from the bottles to Daniel's face, clearly wanting to come in and take the opportunity he'd so carefully (and expensively) garnered for himself but waiting for permission.
"Just video conferences and phone calls. I've been workin' from home more often since… well." Daniel raised the keys, a wry smile playing over his lips. "And one beer never killed any careers. So c'mon." He beckoned with a twitch of the bottles, setting them clanking merrily against one another. He did not wait any longer; he slipped the keys into his pocket and moved over to the counter, cracking open each bottle in turn. Then he moved to the kitchen table, setting one bottle down before the chair nearest the door.
Chris needed no further coaxing. He moved inside Daniel's apartment, closing the door behind him; then he helped himself to the chair, pulling it free from the table, his cane going to hang from the table's edge. His left reached for the bottle, eyes warily watching Daniel as he pulled out the other chair and took a seat to Chris's left.
"Saw the, uh, network exchange," he started, pulling the beer toward himself; the glass slid smoothly along the wood grain, but he did not yet bring it to his lips. His eyes flicked down to the label—heart sinking only a little into his stomach as he noted it was not from the kit he'd purchased for his former significant other for Christmas—and then back to Daniel's face, finally and somewhat arrogantly knocking back a sip.
A long pause followed, Chris carefully choosing what came out of his mouth next. "She do any other damage?"
"Nah. Not that I know of, anyway." Daniel took a long pull from the bottle. "Almost got me into a fuckin' fight, but other than that I think she's got it all out of her system now. Hopefully. My heart can't take another round of that." He tried for a laugh but it fell noticeably flat. "God knows I'm givin' her a wide berth from now on. Nate can have that." He punctuated this assertion with another sip, his tongue flicking out over his lips to sweep the hoppy taste away.
"Anyway, uh… thanks. Basically buyin' me a new car wasn't really what I had in mind when I said that, y'know."
A shrug met his words. "Not entirely sure what either you or Kal wants, so I'm just stabbing in the dark here. You're welcome."
Chris took another swig, putting both elbows on the table to lean toward Daniel's figure. "Besides, I know how much that car means to you. And if that buys me five minutes of your time..." He shook his head, the easiness of his words belying the worry he felt that he'd be kicked out at the first opportunity. He looked down at the table, thumbnail picking along a grain line. Daniel saw the nervous gesture for what it was. He watched it from the corner of his eyes, his gaze still fixed on Chris's.
"I was serious when I said I just wanted you to listen. Then you can decide if you want nothing else to do with me. At least then you'll have heard the whole story." Teeth chewed his lower lip as he glanced up at Daniel.
Daniel mirrored the motion without thinking. His nail slid under the label of the beer, picking at its edge. After another bracing sip—the bottle nearly empty now—he nodded. "OK, Chris. I'll listen." A small smile, a faltering attempt at his old, impish one, quirked at one corner of his mouth. "I reserve the right to ask questions and to interrupt when I smell bullshit, though. OK?"
The smile pulled one onto Chris' face, though he still allowed himself a small eye roll.
"Fine, fine. Never figured you'd be a captive audience anyway." He leaned back in his chair, hand slipping around the bottle once more to pull it close to him.
"I'll start at the beginning, and this is everything I told Kal, too. So if you wanna check me, you two can compare notes." It didn't feel good, being in the hot seat like that, and Chris shifted unconsciously in his chair. "I was contacted by a guy named Vidal a little over a year ago. Figured he'd heard about me through the grapevine, because I'd been making a small name for myself with real estate, among other things that I was trying to get away from." His eyes went to the bottle, tipping it to one side, still holding it firm.
"He said he had a job, that he needed some onsite management. Room and board covered, I just... Had to tell him some things about the people living there. I figured he just meant making sure people weren't beating up the walls, shooting up, whatever, you know, typical apartment management crap. And then..." Chris' brows rose, his eyes rising with them to meet Daniel's. "All the weird stuff started happening. The dreams, the changes. Inexplicable things.
"I thought he was fucking with me, when he sent out those April Fool's gifts. He sent me a microphone from a comedy store. Made me think all the apartments were bugged. It's why you caught me making phone calls outside."
Daniel's brow knit. He raised an index finger, pausing Chris's confession for a moment. "Wait, why the microphone, though? I mean… had he bugged the place?" He glanced up to the walls of his apartment, following the line where they joined the ceiling. Nothing seemed out of place, but management had, after all, changed; nothing said the Brandts hadn't undone whatever their predecessor had done.
"No, no," Chris replied, shaking his head, hands rising to negate the words. The bottle went down on its lonesome on the table, seated upright. "He was just... I think he was dicking with me. Reminding me who was in charge.
"And beside that, all the gifts, they matched the... the, uh, I guess deity he thought people had. But I didn't know that back then. I just thought he was being weird.
"And then shit got weirder, as time went on, and he wanted me to report back about...changes, or shifts, anything happening in the building. That time when you broke your leg breaking into that closet in the hall? He wanted to know who was involved. I said... I didn't know." He leaned back in the chair, grasping the beer this time with a familiarity that said he'd drank to forget many nights since all of this started. He tipped the rest of it down his throat, swallowing before speaking. Daniel watched every motion, the crease in his brow deepening with each admission. "That wasn't the first time I covered for you and Kal, but then you two wouldn't listen... But I guess I can't blame you. It's not like I had a good reason for talking you guys down.
"And that's when Vidal basically threatened that he had enough on me that the cops would be very interested..." Chris fell quiet, his beer between his hands on the table. "I can't go to prison, Daniel. Between my leg, and being...a fag... Do you have more? I could really use more. Or something stronger." He lifted up his beer bottle, brows kneaded together as he looked to Daniel.
Daniel watched him for a moment more, studying his face. He had seen enough liars in his line of work; not a day went by that he did not chide himself for failing to see through all the falsehoods and half-truths Chris had told him. But now, with no reason to hide from the truth, no reason to blindly believe the best of his friend, he saw only unfeigned honesty. With a sigh he rose from his chair. He pulled a bottle of golden tequila from the freezer, and two shot glasses from the nearest cabinet. He poured a generous measure for each of them when he returned to the table.
"First off," he said, raising his glass, an index finger pointed in Chris's direction. "Watch your fuckin' mouth in my house. You get that one free 'cause you're upset, and I get that, but you won't get another one."
He poured another shot and raised it just as quickly. "Second… OK, so this Vidal had a lot of dirt on you. So… what then? I mean you're not in jail, so you must've told him enough, but you obviously didn't give me or Kal up." He narrowed his eyes, leaning slightly forward, his weight resting on his elbows. "Wait. Did you give him BB?"
Chris' hand waited by his empty beer bottle, the pause alone enough of an answer. He sighed.
"I had to give him something," he started, almost starting down a path of excuses. He stopped himself, hands rising. "Yeah, I did. Her name, nothing else. I think he'd figured it out anyway, and he just wanted to know that I was on the ball."
Slowly, Chris reached tentatively for the glass he'd been offered. "It only satisfied him for so long. Remember the gun I had hidden in my closet?"
By slow degrees Daniel unclenched his jaw. Fresh anger flared bright within him, but so, too, did a greater understanding of the impossible position Chris had been forced into. The mention of the gun—the one he had helped rid Chris of—chilled him more deeply than the two shots of tequila racing through him. He nodded, but for once held his tongue, and only nodded.
"I kept keeping things from him, and he knew. He must have had other people in the building, or cameras, or something, I don't know. I still don't know. But he sent me that, and I don't know how he timed it, but right before I got a call from...an associate. Saying he wanted me to know my father was dead."
He knocked back the shot, gritting his teeth slightly before gently setting the vessel back on the table. Daniel refilled it without a moment's hesitation.
"That's all of it. Yes, I told him things. I told him things about you, before we got together. But nothing much had happened—I sure as shit didn't tell him about the dreams, and once Kal moved in, things were getting too personal. Everything was slipping out of my hands.
"How was I supposed to know you two would believe me? How was I supposed to know that you wouldn't just blame me?" The beer mixed with the tequila and high-running emotions brought stinging tears to Chris' eyes. He looked pleadingly at Daniel.
"I never meant to hurt anyone; I tried to keep my distance, but you don't exactly take no for an answer, do you?" A small laugh bubbled out of his lips. Daniel echoed it perfectly, shaking his head. "Not that I regret that you don't. But god, that makes it hurt all the more." He stopped, leaning back in his chair, hands up to cover his face as he pulled himself together. He wiped his face with a palm, fingers passing over the scratchy patch of beard on his chin. Looking down to the table, he slowly looked back at Daniel.
"Well?" He sniffed, the back of his hand wiping his nose. He let his arms go wide, waiting for Daniel's judgement. "Do I pass? Or should I just get out?"
Daniel's teeth were sunk firmly into his tongue; his hands were in his lap, loosely curled around his thighs, the better to keep them from reaching for Chris. He focused on his breathing, slow and steady, centering him amidst his whirling thoughts. He wondered how Kal had taken this, what path forward the men once close as brothers had found. His shoulders sagged. When at last he could trust his hands, he raised them once more, refilling his own shot glass.
"I still wish you'd told us," Daniel said. "But…" He gritted his teeth, clearly ill at ease with what he wanted to say. He tossed back the shot, sucking in a hissing breath as he set the empty glass aside. "Whew. I, uh. I get why you didn't. I'm sorry you couldn't. And I'm sorry for not… for not listening, when you finally did wanna talk."
He cleared his throat and put a smile on his face—a real one, now, though shaky. "I'm not sorry for not takin' no for an answer."
Chris let his arms fall to his sides, eventually gathering his hands in his lap. He was outrightly and unabashedly staring at Daniel, his expression a mixture that showed he was unsure how to take Daniel's response.
"Good," he said, finally, after a beat. "I'm glad neither of us are. 'Cause I don't wanna take it now. What I told you in the gym wasn't a lie, Daniel." Chris leaned forward, elbows on the table. "I love you. I want to be with you. Tell me what I have to do to make that happen." A slight grin graced his lips.
"Just don't say another car, because I don't think my bank account can handle that."
Daniel laughed, bright and sincere. He shook his head. He propped his elbows up on the table, as Chris had done, and raked a hand through his artfully tousled hair. His next exhalation was long and slow.
"Chris, you know, I just… I dunno, man. This is a good start. But I can't give you, like, a timeline." His voice softened. "You lied for months, Chris. I believed you for months, every time you told me it was the last time you'd lie. And I get it now, I get there were other things going on, other… factors, complicating things. But this is gonna take some time." He raised a hand, staving off any interruption from his former partner.
"I'm not sayin' never. I just… you really fucked me up, Chris." The laugh punctuating this assertion was raw and embarrassed. But his voice remained even, more akin to how he was at work than at any other time. "I gotta get past that before anything else. We both need to."
Chris' mouth shut with an audible click, his face falling. He did what he could to pull it back up, nodding.
"OK," he said, ready to agree to anything Daniel said. "OK. That's fair. I get that. I was, I am an asshole, but you are what you eat," he continued, a grin flitting across his face; Daniel chuckled, shaking his head once more. Chris sat back in his chair, one hand drawing back to fall in his lap.
"This isn't to be manipulative or anything, but I told my mom about you. I actually... I told her I was gay. It went a lot better than I thought it would, and she got kinda p.o.'d at me that she never got to meet you." Teeth went back to worrying his bottom lip, his eyes looking up toward Daniel to gauge his reaction.
Daniel—who at the best of times could not typically conceal his emotions, and who was certainly not helped by a beer and two tequila shots—had sharply arched one brow. He studied Chris's face, but saw no signs that this, too, was a lie, though he did not entirely trust the caveat that this was not intended as manipulation. Still, it was manipulation he could not help but appreciate.
"Yeah?" He was proud, but sincerely happy, too; now his smile proved difficult to curb. He nibbled at his lower lip, his thumbnail picking at the corner of his empty beer bottle's label. There was one salient point to focus on here, and he forced himself to do so. "Well I'm glad you told her. I know it's hard to come out even in the best circumstances. I'm glad you had somebody supportive to go to. How's it feel?"
Chris leaned into the table, sighing. He nodded, head bobbing. "Good. It felt really good, and like I was stupid for too long of a time.
"I still wish we were together so I could have you guys meet. I think you'd like her, and she'd like you. I definitely don't think she expected me to end up with someone, you know, with his shit together."
Daniel had to laugh at that. "I got most of it together, anyway," he said. "But y'know, look at you, man." He gestured vaguely to Chris's form, impressive even in relatively casual clothes. "You're gonna do fine." For a moment it seemed Daniel might say more. But then color rose to his cheeks again, and he cleared his throat, glancing uncomfortably back down to the tabletop. It was clear he was no more comfortable with the thought of Chris with others than he was with the idea of getting back together now. He shook his head.
"Uh, but yeah. I'm sure I'd like her. I mean she taught you how to make some fire tamales, right?"
Chris deflated more, the reaction he'd apparently sought unforthcoming. He rapped his fingers on the table, chewing the inside of his lip.
"Will you still help me at the gym?" He tried, one last attempt. "Just, I feel more comfortable with you, but I get it, if that's... If that's too much."
"No, no." Daniel was too quick to answer; he felt foolish and desperate the moment the words left his lips, though he had no desire, even now, to take them back. "Nah, I can do that. I'm still salty but I'm not about to let you crush your windpipe with a falling bar. How often you lookin' to go? Could you do three times a week? Rest on weekends?"
Shoulders rose and fell, details uncertain now that Chris had at least one agreement under his belt.
"Three times, maybe. I can work around your schedule. I don't... I don't exactly have a whole lot else going on." A hand rose, scratching at his chin. He licked his lips.
"So, thanks for the beer. I should probably let you get back to it, huh?" He glanced sidelong at Daniel's computer, at the clothes, the general, familiar chaos of the room. Then he looked back to Daniel, clearly waiting for further invitation.
It was Daniel's turn to shrug. He had work to do, that was true. But so, too, was the fact that he was glad to see Chris and did not want their surprisingly comfortable time to end. But in spite of how much he wanted to say and do otherwise, he nodded, and rose to see his old partner out.
"Yeah. But uh… try to rest up this week. Because Monday at 5 p.m. sharp, I better see you dressed and ready in the gym." He smiled softly, one index finger pointing at Chris's chest. "Don't be late."
Chris remained in his seat for another long moment, and then reached for his cane. He pushed a smile onto his face, trying to feel better about the outcome of this scenario despite seeming as though he'd come out with less than when he'd entered.
"Ugh, already gonna make me regret asking, huh?" He replied, heading toward the door with slow steps. He waited for Daniel to pass him, to open the door first. "Just remember, Ciin, I'm a fragile thing. Go easy on me, all right?"
"Nope." Daniel's grin flashed wider, and for the first time since their conversation began it was bright as it usually was. "You're not fragile, Cristobal Rodriguez, and I'm gonna prove it to you."
He swept a hand toward the door, a gentlemanly gesture to usher him out. And when Chris was gone, Daniel told himself he did not linger by the doorway simply to smell the warm, familiar scent he left behind.