Broken Glass
The apartment search only lasted a couple of weeks - and it had lasted that long mostly because Stanford refused to do any of the footwork without Kel. ("This is your place, Kel, this is something that needs to be perfect for you, in case of the worst.")
No, that wasn't really the problem. The problem was Kel refused to accept the right apartment straight from go. A beautiful loft in an old hi-rise near the Long Beach docks had been the first place Kel thought to look, but he'd immediately vetoed the place for being too far outside his budget. When a place wouldn't print the rent on a private company listing, it had to be astronomical. Besides, there were plenty of other places where Kel could look.
Except there was something slightly wrong with just about every unit they looked at over the next twelve days - too small, too dark, too long and narrow, too far, too close, too this, that or the other. Perversely, Stan seemed to like everything, but he also seemed to think that deferring to Kelly was his new life mission, a mission that was driving Kel slightly bonkers. This had to be the worst time for Stan to change his overbearing ways.
The night before he put an end to the apartment hunt, Kel dreamed he was serving a five course meal to the entire fire department in the beautiful old apartment that had to cost an arm and a leg. In the dream, he only recognized about half the men at the table, and when he awoke later, he realized that he'd actually only really known about four or five of them. The rest were as unfamiliar to him as the absolute unknown half had been while slept.
Regardless of his personal knowledge of these men, in the dream he was responsible for the care and feeding of all these men, and knew that the future of the whole world rested on getting the men satiated. But he didn't know why he wasn't preparing the meal at Rampart, where he belonged. (He kinda figured that part out upon waking.) Most of the men were eating okay, but a dress uniformed Roy DeSoto was pushing everything away, exclaiming that nothing was right, that these were the wrong dishes. Kel tried to tempt his finicky patient one last time with a cheese plate loaded down with several soft cheeses and cut fruits, but Roy turned his face away.
Joanne DeSoto appeared in turnout pants, a lab coat, and a nurses cap, and pulled Kelly aside. "You haven't paid the rent yet." Kel shoved the cheese platter into her hands, and pulled an IV bag out of the front of her pants. He set it up, clumsily, with fingers that were unused to the fine, detailed touch required by surgical work, and injected himself. He retrieved the platter from an impatient Joanne ("Hurry, hurry, Brackett, you're losing him!"), shoved the food off the plate, replaced the food with the IV bag, and presented the bag to Roy.
Roy smiled broadly and delicately plucked the bag from the platter. "Finally," he said and laid the bag across his lap. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, before he fell victim to a gran mal. The other firemen grabbed up their forks and knives, and descended on their shaking, foaming, choking colleague. Joanne patted Kel's shoulder in congratulations. "Good job, little lady. We'll make a homemaker out of you yet. Just look at that view." The Vincent Thomas Bridge twinkled in the picture window next to a dying DeSoto. "Absolutely worth the price," his charmed wife said.
Kel sat straight up on the couch and panted. Stan lay on the floor near his side, between the couch and the coffee table, and snored softly. Daylight began to creep into the window on Kel’s other side. He shook off the discomfort of his dream, and padded to the shower for a quick wake up. By the time he emerged, the only parts of the dream he could recall were dinner party, good homemaker, and a fantastic view of the San Pedro Bay. (He told himself he most certainly hadn't watched Roy choke to death on his own tongue, and promptly slotted the dream image in the same secret hideaway he'd slotted the real image of Stan's hand on some boy's back.)
He begged off carpooling that morning - he needed to get another look at that old building. Maybe he'd find something wrong with the unit if he looked hard enough, and then he could get it out of his head and move on to other options.
Maybe he'd discover that, in fact, the reason the rent hadn't been posted was because it was unusually low, and the reason it was so low was because one could hear the foghorns literally all damn night, half the year long (at least). Maybe he'd discover that he could totally and completely live with what was wrong with the unit. Maybe he'd discover that the management company had already approved him for a number of far more expensive units that he'd turned down, and that all he had to do was sign on the dotted line, and he could move in that night.
Maybe he'd discovered all that first thing in the morning, and maybe he'd discovered the bank was more than happy to make him a cashier's check to pick up at lunch, and maybe he'd discovered he had just enough time to drop it off at the office and sign on the dotted line.
Later, after telling Dix to pick up her errant house guest and meet him at his new place, it occurred to Kel that he ought to have said something to Stan about making his final selection. But Stan had been okay with just about every other unit they'd seen together. If he found this place unsatisfactory, well, tough. He should have spoken up sooner.
The hardwood floors gleamed in the soft light of dusk - they were sparkling in the morning sun when he'd decided to sign the lease - and the sounds of his cowboy boots click-clacking with every step he took made him sigh in rich contentment. When they'd first purchased their house, Kel had been disappointed by the wall to wall carpet. Stan had promised they'd pull them all up to reveal the wood underneath, just as soon as they found the time. They never did. Stan found the time to -
Stop.
Kel crossed the generous living room, to the picture window that overlooked their massive balcony, the soft golden sands of Alamitos Beach, and the cool but inviting surf of the San Pedro Bay. There was room on the balcony to put a table for six, a barbecue pit, and even a couple of lounge chairs.
A foghorn sounded, low, mournful, and yes, incredibly loud. But rather than being a disturbance, the sound was soothing. He'd been a typical South L.A. kid, half cowboy, half sailor. He'd missed the beach more than he'd realized.
"It's huge," Dixie said behind him, for the thirtieth time.
"Yes," he said dreamily. "It's a doctor's condo."
"It's a plastic surgeon to the stars condo, Kel, not an underpaid county hospital doctor's condo," she said with a snort.
Kel laughed and looked back at her. Even in the shadows where she lurked, away from the setting sun in the giant panoramic window, her bewilderment was obvious. "In fact, Dix, this is very much an underpaid county hospital doctor's condo. Hear that horn? It's supposed to go on all night. They practically shoved the keys in my hands."
"Yeah, well, they could park the USC Marching Band in the goddamned bedroom with me and I'd move in here. Unbelievable, absolutely un - holy mother of - look at that balcony!" She surged up next to him, her mouth agape. "It's huge!"
"Yes. It's a-"
"It's huge, Kel, okay?" She flailed around, as if she could find the words to express her awe floating somewhere in the air, and backed into a swinging door. "It's freakin... oh dear God, look at this kitchen. I think I hate you right now. Look at this. It's huge..." The door swung shut again, muting the rest of Dix's envious admiration.
Kel left her to explore the rest of the main floor on her own. He went up the spiral staircase tucked away in the back of the unit, to the small mezzanine that overlooked the wide open living room. He realized there was an awful lot of space to fill down there. But maybe that would be just the project to help him and Stan grow close again, like they'd been before. When he was young, still young enough to -
Stop.
He turned and went into the door that faced the landing and the beautiful picture window. Inside was another beautifully large space, with windows that went almost three quarters of the way around the room, taking in the broad views of the ocean just beyond the port, around to the expanse of sea itself, and around again to Long Beach's eastern public pier at Belmont Shores. The one whole wall was stuccoed a soft off white, bright and beautiful without being painfully dazzling in full sun, and was accented by rustic dark molding that matched the floors. Turning lazily above head was a pair of massive ceiling fans, also stained and polished to match the floors and molding.
And in the middle of the room stood a tall, quiet Stanford. He was solid, broad, stock still, like a pillar made to complete the room. He didn't seem to notice Kel's entrance. He was too busy staring at the strange futuresque structures a few miles off the coast, their tall shining forms glittering brightly under the multicolored lights that began to wink on at day's end.
Kel crept up to Stanford and took his hand. "What are you thinking about."
"You."
Kel smiled, flattered at the thought that he might still be the center of Stan's attention. "What about me?"
The fluttery, hopeful feeling in Kel's chest died when Stan turned to look at him. His face was barely lit by the setting sun and the twinkling lights at sea. The fading light made him look severe, angry. For a moment, Kel thought they were about to have another fight, that Stan was going to throw an epic revolt, and that all his plans to pick up the pieces of their ruined lives were going to be for naught.
"You're beautiful tonight," was Stan's quiet answer.
Kel laughed nervously - he'd been at work all day, had ended the day with his hands in some old woman's chest cavity. He could smell blood and antiseptic on his clothes, in his hair, in the fine creases of his skin. "Beautiful, huh? Me? Boy, there must have been some real gems in the lockup if you think I'm beautiful right now."
"I do," Stan said, still quiet. "You are. You were never more beautiful than when you opened that door downstairs tonight. Just watching you stand there, with the glowing sunset behind you, and the waves catching below-" Stan broke off suddenly, his face wrenched with emotion Kel couldn't begin to identify. "My God, Kelly. You were breathtaking."
"I... I don't know what to say..."
Stan brushed his cheek lightly with the back of his hand, a soft, featherlight touch he hadn't used in years. "Don't say anything." He looked back out the window, and sighed quietly, a soft, mournful sound. "I'm holding you back."
Alarms went off in Kel's head. "What?"
Stanford was lost in his own thoughts. He didn't seem to hear Kel, or feel the tightening of his grip. "I can see that now," he said.
"See what? Stan, what are you-"
"When Dixie said we were meeting you in the new apartment, I'd envisioned any number of the places we'd seen, but not this one. This one was for... I don't know, somebody else. Not you. Definitely not us. But here we are. And when you opened that door - you just - you looked like you'd finally arrived, like this is thing you'd been running to your whole life. Because you've been running, Kel, ever since I first laid eyes on you, you were running. And now you've stopped. And you got here without me. " Stan shook his head before finally looking Kel in the eyes again. "You don't need me."
"Don't say that!" Kel pressed his body against Stan's, stood chest to chest with him, until he could just tuck himself under the taller man's chin. "Please, don't say that. I do need you. You don't know-" Kel could feel the faint edge of hysteria threatening to bleed through the fine cracks in his armor. "I did this for us. Not me. Us. Don't talk like that, I almost-" He stopped and gripped Stan's arms tightly, as if to hold him in place. "You don't know the kind of insanity I fell into without you. I can't make it alone. Don't think for one instant that I don't need you anymore."
Stan wrapped him in his arms, and held him tight. "Do you mean that?"
"Yes." It had been entirely too long since he'd allowed himself to collapse against Stanford's broad, strong chest in an emotional heap, but that was exactly what he needed. "You're all I know, you're my whole damned world, Stan."
"Not your whole-"
"Yes," Kel said, just as fervently. "None of it means anything without you Stan. I tried. And I failed."
Large soft hands that had never done a day's work slid up to cup Kel's face like a vice. He looked up into intense glacial blue eyes that seemed to glitter with madness - possession, perhaps? - before the distance between their mouths closed quickly.
The crush of Stan's mouth on his was almost crude, but some part of him clicked into a comfort zone he hadn't realized he'd been craving. He whimpered, an embarrassing sound, and the painful pressure immediately gave way to a gentler, but no less insistent probing. He soon was divested of his jacket, his tie, his dress shirt and belt, and was on his way to losing his undershirt when his sense of propriety kicked in. "Dix is still here," he gasped.
Stan growled, but he released Kel, and watched with predatory intensity as Kel smoothed out his clothing. "We should probably have her over for dinner once the place is all fixed up," he said quietly. "But for now - get rid of her."
Kel bristled at the order - just like that, Stan was already moving to cut her out of their lives again without so much as a thanks-for-the-roof. But then Stan smiled, a sweet, mischievous thing, and swatted Kel on the back side, and Kel thought that maybe just this once he wouldn't complain.