Broken Glass
They did find Dix a better condo over lunch - every condo on the list was bigger and better equipped than her place, and were all going for about what she was paying. There were places so big that they'd easily accommodate three fully independent professionals who were disinclined to share more than rent with one another.
But she was comfortable in her particular place - "It's ugly, but it's home" - and left the bulk of the finds for Kelly to peruse. She did have plenty of advice for him about just about every unit on the list, but the truth was, he was hardly listening.
He was thinking about sex with a semi-stranger (and near colleague) on his desk. He was thinking about how easily he could have thrown everything he'd worked so hard for away. He was thinking about how easy, in fact, it had been to not throw it all away, despite the ridiculousness of the risk.
And he was thinking about just how cold he'd really been to Stanford the last couple of years.
Eventually, he realized she was no longer speaking. Her plate was clean, and there was a considerable dent in each of the large family style platters they'd been served. His own plate showed signs of a fairly healthy appetite, though he couldn't recall eating a thing. "I zoned out on you, didn't I?"
She nodded. "You okay?"
No, not really - but she already knew that, so why ask? To hear the socially acceptable lie? Alright, he'd tell it. "I'm fine. Thank you."
She smiled a little, and glanced down at his plate. "It was good, wasn't it?"
Another socially acceptable lie. "Yes." He couldn't let the lie stand, though. "But... I meant for everything."
She looked confused - he was deviating from the script of socially acceptable lies. "I - you don't have to do that."
A waitress appeared with the check, and he took it before Dix could even lift her hands from under the table. "Yes. I do."
Expense reports. Time cards. Memorandums from administration. Journal abstracts. Autopsy reports. There were about a million and one things Kel needed to be reading, signing, acknowledging in his downtime between patients. He pushed them all aside in favor of a legal pad (pilfered from the County, thank you very much) and a pen (part of the desk set his parents gave him upon his promotion, with the half serious admonition to at least write them since he couldn't make the 15 minute drive from Carson to Downey in order to see them anymore). The proper work he was supposed to be finishing between emergencies was pressing, but it would never be finished, not until some random disaster wiped out the entire county. Another fifteen minutes wouldn't hurt.
The list was short and simple. Four items, four promises to himself, and the people he cared for.
1) No more putting the job ahead of personal life - he was going to take proper vacation days, and let the experienced residents take on the shitty hours he was loathe to demand anyone to work without working them himself.
2) No more pushing away friends - he was going to have to make some gestures to Joe and Mike and Johnny and Dixie. Especially Dixie.
3) No more getting distracted by firemen - he was going to have to put an end to some of the ridiculous socializing he'd let himself slip into, and not allow himself to be alone with a certain fire captain.
4) No more shunning Stanford - if they were man and woman, they'd have married long ago. As far as Kelly was concerned, it was his beholden, if unspoken, duty to stand by his man through all circumstances. Maybe if he'd been standing by him properly all along, none of this might have happened. Maybe if he'd just talked to Stan in the first place, they'd be at home tonight, instead of pretending not to fight at Dixie's.
The list was drawn up in his scritchy doctor's hand, ripped soundly from its pad, folded and tucked away into his jacket pocket, where it would rest against his body when he went home - when he took Dixie home - that night.
He wasn't looking forward to closing the gap between himself and Stan, though. Yes, Kel was ready to take his lumps and admit that he hadn't handled things well between them, but the truth of the matter was, Stan hadn't handled things any better. And, to his surprise, Kel was also afraid of being rebuffed - he was more afraid of that than anything.
Fear made him drive slow, made him glaze out at green lights, made him clumsy and destructive when he tried to tuck his car into a long stretch of space near Dixie's building.
"Hey!" Dix grabbed his leg and whirled on him like a tornado. "Kel, what is going on with with you tonight?" She'd been patient all the way home, but the solid crunch of metal and tinkle of snapped plastics and glass was too much to stand. "There's a car there!"
"Yes," Kel said absently. He couldn't be bothered to defend himself or point out that her warning was a bit late. All he could do was fret about the wisdom of turning over new leaves before checking the soil underneath. He'd made no provisions for moving forward without Stan. What if he was being too presumptuous?
Nonsense. Stan had begged for his help in the hospital, had admitted to cheating, had offered promises to change.
But Stan had what he'd been after, too. He was in a nice, comfortable apartment, handling his clients' affairs via a junior on conference call, awaiting a trial that didn't seem to be swiftly arriving. They were tied to each other financially, but at this point Kel was as much at Stan's mercy as vice versa. If Stan skipped town, the last orderly bits of Kel’s life would be thrown into complete disarray, never to be righted again. And for now, the only guarantee that Kel had that Stan was sticking around was the carefully constructed eggshell bridge they’d built on Dixie’s head.
The apartment was warm and brightly lit when they entered. Stan was on the phone, as he often was when they first returned home, and a bottle of white wine sat in an ice bucket on the couch, perched precariously next to where he’d delicately tucked his giant lumberjack legs under himself. He was making notes on a fancier version of the long notepad that Kel had misappropriated for his list, while growling impatiently at the poor kid on the other end of the line. The condensation line on the bottle showed it was just a little less than half full.
After the first incredibly awkward days of Stan’s release, the three of them had settled into a routine where Kel would stagger immediately into the bathroom to wash off the days frustration, giving his best friend and ex-boyfriend a chance to split the remainder of whatever sat in the ice bucket before it had a chance to tempt him.
Ex-boyfriend. Such a trite phrase. Like Kel was the high school cheer captain, and Stan was the All-Star QB.
Don’t go there.
Kel crossed the room in three long, quick strides - stepped right over the coffee table - and grabbed the wine bottle. He could hear Dix scrambling to get around her furniture, was vaguely aware of Stan’s attention being suddenly split between his lover’s apparent meltdown and the frustrated junior partner trying to conduct third party business via telephone.
But they were both too slow. Kel turned the bottle upside down and drained it before Dix could get her hands on the neck. He ignored her disappointed eyes and heavy hearted sounds. It didn't matter. He was already lost - whether to drink or the comfort of a life that used to work, he was lost. This way at least he had the courage, the impetus, to ask Stan to hear him out. And if Stan said no, well, he had a nice headstart to -
No. Don’t declare defeat until you've been defeated.
"Finish up your call," Kel said. "I need to talk to you when I come back."
Stan stared at him, confusion and a hint of irritation on his face - he probably didn't appreciate not getting to finish his wine. Tough. Kel shoved the empty bottle into Dixie's hands, and went on to take his shower.
Kel decided that whoever said hot showers were relaxing was either a liar, a fool, or (most likely) a lying fool. He cracked open the frosted glass door to the tight shower stall, and tried to suck in some fresher air, but the whole bathroom was already too wet and hot to be of much use. Still, he gasped like a fish - the steam in the little tiled room was cloying, claustrophobic. He swayed in the stall as he pulled the door shut again and wondered peevishly if the two of them were in there plotting against him for daring to take a drink. The bastards. They were probably cooking a punishment that far outweighed his crime. He shouldn't have gone for the wine. He should have begged for some brandy - no, he should have put off the conversation until Dix had retired to her bed, so he could have nipped something from her stash while Stan was busy setting up his pillow nest on the floor for the night.
Kel was thirsty, and had been for days. Every cell in his body cried out for another drink - something better than water, sweeter than milk, finer than the virgin juice of any fruit. Not good, not good. He was a doctor. He knew better. No more. He'd tough out his fears on his own from here on out. Cold turkey, teetotaller, the whole shebang. Dix had been right to huff worriedly at him.
He stumbled out of the shower and into the slightly less dense humidity of the rest of the bathroom, and changed into hot, damp pajamas. Disgusting. He dragged himself out of the bathroom finally, and was dismayed to see the pair of his roommates sitting side by side on the couch, watching him warily as he fanned himself dry. He picked his way around to the armchair by the fireplace, and put on what he hoped was his most charming smile. He had a thought as to what they wanted to say to him, and tried to head them off at the pass. "I don't remember wine tasting so... regretful." The brief look they exchanged at his words told him he'd guessed right.
"Are you alright?"
Kel stared at Stan in awe - this was the first time he could recall in a very, very long time that Stanford hadn't decided on his own what Kel was feeling at a given moment. "I... I'm not sure," he said after a moment.
"Can we help?"
This he expected - Dix had been asking that very question in that very tone of voice for weeks now, and showed no signs of letting up any time soon. "You've been more help than you know, Dix," he said gently. "But I really can't accept any more of your help right now. Maybe tomorrow, if I need it. Now though... I've got to face the music, and you can't help me with that."
Dix and Stan shared a worried look before she cleared her throat and perched on the edge of her seat. She had a soft, gentle smile on her face. "And what does that mean, Kel?"
He returned a tight smile. "It means split, Dix. Your part in this play is over now."
"I wish I had a script for this play," Stan said with a nervous chuckle. The idea of a nervous Stanford was foreign and a bit frightening. Kel averted his eyes, and concentrated on remaining calm.
Dix, blessedly ignorant of the real Stanford, was unaffected by his odd behavior. "Yeah, I wish I had one too," she said, and got to her feet with a stretch and a sigh.
"Believe me," Kel said, "nobody wants a script more than I do."
"But you seem to know Dixie is exiting now, stage left," Stan said.
Kel nodded, vaguely relieved by the slightly combative tone Stan had taken, and just a little repulsed with himself for feeling that relief. He pushed it aside, and met Stan head on. "Yes, I do. She knows it too."
Dix blinked, mid-stretched, and looked at them both in confusion. "I do?"
"Yeah. The list."
"Oh..." She started gathering her belongings.
"What? List? What?" Stan asked. He was back to sounding nervous again. Kel thought it might be because he hadn't made much of an attempt at civil conversation since posting the man's bail. The change from hot to cold to hot again had to be unnerving. Good.
"Listen," Dix said. "How about I go grab a bite to eat, and you two can talk privately?"
"Wait," Stan said, and grabbed her arm. "We don't want to run you out of your home!"
She looked at Stan's hand and raised an eyebrow. He got the hint and let go. She patted his knee and reached back to give Kel's shoulder a squeeze. "An hour good, Kel?"
"That should be plenty. Thanks. For everything."
"Yeah, well," she said, waving her hand dismissively on her way to the door. "Just don't get into a fistfight or anything like that. Or, if you do, move it to the parking lot, okay?" She laughed as she closed the door, the kind of laugh that sounded exactly like she was dead serious.
Then the door clicked shut, and Kel was truly alone with Stan for the first time since before their anniversary - completely by Kel's design. Well, shit. They sat and stared at each other, unblinking, for damn near an eternity.
It was Stan who broke the silence. "I guess we're on our own for dinner tonight, huh?"
"She might bring us something."
"Hm. Still. I'm peckish." Stan got up and headed towards the kitchen. "Can I getcha -"
"Stanford." Kel's voice sounded like someone else's. His father's maybe. It certainly couldn't have been his own - his voice should have been shaking like a new leaf in a thunderstorm. He certainly was.
But the crisp, clear, steady command stopped Stan in his tracks, made him return to his seat, proverbial tail between legs. There was hesitation in Stan's movements, but return to his seat he did, and sat quiet, attentive. Waiting for the other shoe to drop.
The acquiescence was unsettling. Kel could find no triumph in the handling of this newly docile Stan. This was not the man who sheltered him for so many years. (Where'd that monster go?) This man was broken and pitiable, maybe even pitiful. Kelly wanted to put this man back into whatever murky closet he'd come from, and have his overbearing but elegant ogre back.
"Stan - we need to consider the future."
Stan closed his eyes, as if steeling himself for the worst. "I've already secured representation. I've been advised to plead out, but if I do that I'll be disbarred. I've worked too hard to let it come to that."
Kel blinked a couple of times. He hadn't given a single thought to what the upcoming trial might bring, not after signing his home away in the dead of night. In a way, he'd already heard the testimony, seen the evidence and convicted and passed sentence all in the court of his mind. Further outside consideration was unnecessary as far as he was concerned - but the California legal system didn't work that way, and Stanford knew it. He'd been considering one very particular part of the future all along.
That explained a great deal of Stan's uncharacteristic fear. He'd always been a big man on campus, literally with his great height and brawn, and figuratively with his education and connections. But now, because of one simple mistake, he could lose everything. The idea of being under that kind of pressure made Kel feel small and stupid. How could he think posting bail would ever grant him so much power over Stanford? He didn't hold a thing over Stan, the courts held all the power. "How-" Kel's throat caught on his insecurities. "How can I help?"
Stan looked at him warily. "You've already helped me, Kelly."
"Okay." Kel could feel his resolve crumbling to dust. He shouldn't have asked Dixie to leave - now he had no support. None but the knowledge that he had to get out from under her caring thumb before he lost his mind. "I need to find a place," he blurted out.
Stan nodded. "I thought so." He hesitated. "Is Dixie okay with keeping me on, or should I-"
"I want you to come with me."
Stan stared, as if he hadn't expected this particular bend in the conversation. "Kelly - you don't have to be my jailer. I'm a man of the law, such as it is. And besides, I wouldn't do that to you. I wouldn't repay your generosity that way."
Kel's cheeks blazed hot, and he cursed his winterfair complexion. "No... I mean... I want..." Fury began to bubble up in the stew of embarrassed confusion. "Why should I beg you to come with me?! You wanna stay here with Dixie? That's just fine!"
The outburst didn't make the pit opening up in his soul any smaller. He could feel all those feelings he'd tried to drown in the past weeks, and they were just as fresh and raw as they had been that first morning he tried to face the world on his own.
But then Stan was suddenly on one knee at his side, his soft blue eyes turned up to Kel, full of something that looked suspiciously like hope. "You don't have to beg, my Sweet Baby. I'll go anywhere you want."
The pit opened wider, and Kel could feel himself slipping away into its maw, where he'd fall forever and ever, until he hit the ground a million miles away, where his bones would shatter to dust. He was going to die, and there was nothing he could do about it.
Large, heavy hands pressed his face, turned him to look Stan in the eyes. And then he was enveloped in the warm, strong arms he'd longed for since the night he'd discovered they weren't his arms alone. Finally, finally, the pit of despair began to fade to a dull ache in his heart, and he felt himself go slack against Stan's big heavy shoulder.