Broken Glass
Hank should have been happy. He was happy, when it occurred to him to think about his current circumstances. He was doing a job he loved, he'd moved closer to the heart of the city, he'd made new friends, he'd been accepted as an officer of the line - hell yes, he was happy! Really. He was.
"So what would you have to do to not pass probation at this point?"
"Johnny!" The men hollered in unison, and the plate glass window by their table vibrated with the force of their exclamations. Only Hank himself remained quiet - he'd been wondering the same thing since he'd seen the announcement at shift's start the day before.
"He'd probably have to set someone on fire," Roy said. "I wouldn't worry about it."
"Well I would," Marco said. "Chet and Johnny are still on our shift, you know."
"Hey, what'd I do?" Chet rubbed the stubby bristles under his nose for the billionth time since they'd finished their shift, and pouted.
"What haven't you done?" Mike asked.
"Come on, I'm serious, now," Johnny said. "I mean, I have no doubt that Cap is gonna be at the ceremony and everything, but just... why put the names of the guys who haven't actually passed their probationary periods? It seems like a jinx or something, you know?"
Everyone grumbled again. "Really, Gage?" Chet sneered.
"I think it's to weed out the hidden jerks," Mike said, and shoved half a pancake in his mouth.
"That actually makes sense," Roy said.
"Well if Stoker and DeSoto think it's true, then that's gotta be the answer," Marco said. "Anybody seen the waitress? My coffee's gone."
"I'll get her, I gotta visit the head," Hank said, and scootched out of the booth. He stilled Roy's attempts to scrape his chair out of the way, and squeezed his way out of the group. He waved at the girl behind the counter, and made his way to the men's room. He didn't really need to use the facilities. He just needed to get away from the boys for a little bit. This breakfast wasn't supposed to be about him. It was for Roy, who'd finally been cleared to return to duty next shift. But that news had been overshadowed by the long list of names - twenty three in all - of men who'd been promoted to engineer, captain or chief, and would be finished with their probations by the spring equinox.
It wasn't that Hank didn't appreciate their enthusiasm. He was glad to know that they thought so well of him. And it wasn't that he thought he'd somehow fail his probationary period now that he was officially on notice. He'd made it this far. A few more weeks, and he'd be in the clear, and then a couple more weeks after that, and he'd be publicly recognized in a ridiculous ceremony.
It was that he wasn't happy.
Except he was. He was.
He wasn't.
Hank sat in his living room and stared at the telephone. He should tell somebody. He should invite somebody. He should pick up the phone and call someone and tell them the good news, and tell them to save the date. He should tell somebody. But who?
1) The guys at 21s - nope. They'd get the announcement at the beginning of their next shift, if they hadn't gotten it on their last. And anyway, if they wanted to congratulate him, they'd call him. The same went for all his former colleagues - they didn't need to hear it from him.
2) The folks - no way. They'd be happy for him for all of five seconds, and then the fretting would start: is it a desk job, why not, how big is the raise, is that enough to raise a family, why haven't you started on a family... no. He'd wait until closer to the ceremony date to invite them. Maybe.
3) Dr. Brackett - ha ha ha ha ha no.
Thus endeth a terribly short list. But he still felt like he ought to tell someone his good fortune, so he sat, and stared, and vetoed each item on the list ad infinitum. At one point, when the afternoon sun lit up the shelf where the telephone sat, and bathed it in golden shimmering fairy light, Hank was tempted to call information to ask for a general line into Rampart Hospital. But he came up with a million and one reasons why he should never, ever, ever give in to the temptation to seek out Dr. Brackett, and he couldn't think of any reasons why a handful of people he'd met once or twice (or three times at most, at Dr. Brackett's party) would want to know that his current position would definitely stay his.
Eventually, the room grew dim, and traffic began to pick up outside his window. He tore himself away from the silent telephone, and went to look down at the people milling about, as offices closed for the day, and men returned home to their wives and children. He could almost hear his mother's voice in his ear, "You'd be happier if you got married, Henry. You think I'm wrong, but I'm not."
He often tried to imagine a life like that, with a little woman in a hot kitchen, toys strewn everywhere, a couple of children - girls, always girls for some reason - running through the house, giggling and shrieking and demanding that their daddy show them what he'd brought home today. The image never moved him. It didn't repel him, but it didn't attract him either. It simply didn't move him. He tried it again, updating it with new details as he grew older, as the times changed around him. A little woman in a cool kitchen, with fresh takeout she'd picked up on the way home from her own part time job. Two girls, a little one in knee-highs and mary-janes, a big one in too tight jeans and lip gloss, having a rational, grown up discussion over which one of them should get to be in control of the television remote. They don't ask him for gifts when he comes in the door, because they've already gotten them from their mother. They have no use for him, and the thought isn't terribly distressing because they're nothing but a mental exercise, less than dandelion fluff in the wind. He loses the kids, and tries to focus on the woman. She's tall and dark, like him. She's smart, and she's very precise, and she knows what to say to make him feel better about himself. She knows all this, but she needs him, almost desperately, because even though she's impossibly perfect, no one ever told her before she met Hank. She never wanted to believe him when he told her what he thought of her. But she's learning for herself that he's right, she is perfect.
He closed his eyes, and imagined her smile - soft, shy, bedimpled. Full pink lips. A mouth full of beautiful white teeth. Expressive blue eyes that twinkled when she laughed.
He opened his eyes in surprise - for the first time, Hank was quite affected by his imaginary wife. Problem was, he knew exactly who she was, and that she - no, not she, but he - was as unavailable as a nonexistent dream woman.
Right. Time to look, really look, for someone to distract him from Foxy. Hank left the apartment, and promised himself he wouldn't return until he'd well and truly gotten Dr. Brackett off his mind.
Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
If you want to forget somebody, the first thing you should do is visit the place where you first met, right? That way you can be extra especially sure to remember every single stupid little thing about them, all damn night long. Common sense said he should pack it in and leave, find something else to distract himself from his loneliness. Maybe he could find a club somewhere, find someone to dance with. Go catch a movie. Walk in the park. Check out the city lights. The bar was just a few blocks from the beach, he could walk on the shore, put his feet in the water.
Or he could just sit at that same stupid table by the same stupid bar, and watch that same stupid booth where that one particular beautiful, perfect, stupid man sat that one stupid night. He could do that.
Maybe he'd get lucky, and some idiot would come through and call him sexy and try to take him home. Right. Some folks are naturally beautiful, and they become glorious when angered. Some folks are decent looking and look scary when they're angry. And then there's Hank - funny faced, gangly limbed, and positively vile when angered. Anyone with half a brain would run the other way as soon as they saw his thunderous face. He ought to go.
"Hey. Let me have a Michelob. And some chicken wings."
Okay, so he ought to start drinking and eat questionable bar food. Sure! Why not? He was supposed to be celebrating, after all. He could have a party all by himself. Hooray. A lonely party for one.
Okay. So go chat somebody up. There's plenty of guys hustling for a little action - get in on it. No need to be shy. He could take his beer and his chicken wings and he could say 'Hi, I'm with the L.A. County Fire Department, and somebody told me there was a fire!'
Or he could die alone, that's another option.
He paid for his order and took his food to a table in one of the back rooms. Maybe it would provide enough of a change of scene that he could stop thinking so hard about what he couldn't have. Maybe he'd be able to relax, watch a little football, do a little people watching.
After a while, a waitress with a better army buzz cut than Hank had seen in the actual army came by to check on him. He'd relaxed quite a bit, and found himself opening up to the gritty, earthy types in the back room. He was glad he'd given the joint another chance after all. He couldn't let one chance encounter rule his life, after all.
A commotion in the main room halted the easy conversation, and slowly people began to migrate towards the front to get a better look at the fuss. "Some drunk came in, wants Joey to sell him a drink," one of the women said. "I think Mike said he'd seen the guy tearing it up at Ruby's or something. Shame." There were murmurs of general agreement, and then the backroom chatter resumed. But Hank couldn't concentrate anymore. He could hear people trying to reason with the drunk, and he could hear chairs scraping and someone shouting drunken obscenities -
Okay, no. No. His mind was playing stupid tricks on him, he was gonna get to the front and it was gonna be some short wide Chinese dude with a peg leg, or a woman or something, and he was gonna go back to his chicken and beer and -
A bouncer was dragging a very red faced Kelly Brackett out of the bar by the arm. Hank's mouth dropped as he watched Dr. Brackett stumble backwards through the tangle of overturned chairs, to be swallowed up by the night.
All thoughts of celebration vanished, and Hank darted through the crowd after his friend. "Doc! Hey Doc!" He burst out of the bar, into the street, but he didn't see Kelly anywhere. Shit.
The way Hank saw it, he had two options. He could go back in the bar, drown his sorrows until he got kicked out himself, try to drive home, pass out alone, and wake up with a hangover. Or he could get in his truck now, and drive slowly up the street, in the hopes that maybe Kelly hadn't tried to drive himself home, that maybe he'd be crazy enough to walk back to his apartment - if Hank recalled correctly, it wasn't too far from the bar. He sighed and headed for the truck.
He found Kelly standing in the middle of the street, staring at back of his truck with a pained, confused expression. "Doc?"
Kelly whirled around, and nearly fell over his own tangled legs. Hank caught him and hauled him to the back of the truck, and rested him firmly against the tailgate. Kelly reached out a shaky hand. "I'm not really drunk. I'm just sad," he said, and touched Hank's face lightly. "You're here," he said with wonder.
Hank took Kelly's hand, and pulled away gently. "Yeah, I'm here. Got a little lonely in my apartment," he said, and then wished he hadn't said it. "Why are you sad?"
"I'm stupid."
Hank scowled. "I'm pretty sure that's completely untrue."
Kelly looked at his hand, the one Hank pulled off his face, and snorted. "Take me home, Captain Stanley."
Hank smiled gently and guided him to the passenger seat. "Sure, Doc."
They drove in silence. The colorful harbor lights played on Kelly's sad, drawn face, and Hank thought he looked like a painting, one of the kooky psychedelic things that the trendy folks were probably paying hundreds of dollars for. Hank would pay hundreds of dollars for a painting like that, if the subject was going to look like Kelly Brackett. Stop that. Hank kept his eyes on the road, and forced himself to think about local fire ordinances.
He turned off the main drag, and found the alleyway soon enough. He began to turn into it when a hand gripped his leg, hard. "What are you doing?"
"Uh, dropping you off?"
Brackett's breathing became sharp, harsh. "No."
"No?" Brother, he was definitely drunk.
"No. Stop the car."
"What? Why?" Hank pulled over, and watched in alarm as Kelly opened the door. "Wait, what are you doing?"
"Forget it," he said, and turned to twist out of the truck.
"Wait, wait, listen, I won't take you home! You said 'take me home', so I brought you home - at least, I thought you said..." Hank trailed off as Kelly turned to give him a strange look. "What?"
"Take me home with you."
Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh. "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Um, but... what about-"
Kelly suddenly surged up against him, hot and wild and smelling of wine and garlic. He pressed his cheek to Hank's, and said in his ear, "I want you to fuck me so hard the world ends."
Hank pulled back sharply to stare at Kelly. "How much have you had to drink, anyway?"
Kelly looked crushed. "Don't you..." He closed his eyes, and the tears began. He turned towards the open door.
"Wait," Hank said. "Just... just wait one second." Kelly waited. "I don't know what to do here. I don't want to take advantage of you, and I don't want to undo all that laurel leafing we did the other evening-"
"I want to be wanted," Kelly said.
Mission accomplished, Hank thought bitterly. "So do I," Hank said.
Kelly nodded. "Well, I happen to want you."
"Tonight."
"I need somebody."
"What about him?" Hank asked, gesturing at the hi rise at the far end of the alley.
"He's... busy."
Hank frowned. He was beginning to get the picture, and he wasn't too sure he liked what he was seeing. "Working?"
Kelly laughed, loud and sharp. "Well, he's with a coworker anyway."
Hank wrinkled his nose. "So, tit for tat?"
Kelly sighed. "It's alright. We have to work together."
Hank pressed his lips together. "I'm supposed to be celebrating."
"Yeah?" Kelly looked at him, and tried not to look too shattered. "What are you celebrating?"
"Possibly passing my probation." He explained the list of men to be recognized in the spring. "I get to keep my pips. Maybe have somebody special cheer for me when they call my name."
Kel smiled, wide and genuine. "That's wonderful. Congratulations, Captain." He leaned over and brushed a chaste kiss against Hank's cheek. Then he settled back in his seat. "Hey. Think you could give me a ride to Dixie McCall's place?"
Hank ignored the swell of disappointment, and forced a smile. "If you tell me how to get there, I can." They drove away from Kelly's gorgeous apartment, and headed back towards the hospital. The atmosphere in the car was melancholy, but neither of them would acknowledge it. Kelly directed, and Hank executed, and they were pulling up to the curb near her apartment inside of twenty minutes. "You got cab fare home, right?"
Kelly's face darkened, but he rallied. "Yeah, I'm okay. Thanks for the lift." He got out of the truck, and walked across the lawn in a straightish line. Hank watched him disappear into the courtyard, before he finally pulled away.
He drove slowly through the dark, unfamiliar streets, looking for a major thoroughfare that would get him home. When he found Artesia, he turned off and thought about driving as fast as he could to get back home, where he could fall asleep alone in his cold bed. Instead, he pulled into a gas station to make the world's most convoluted U turn (a clover turn?) and tried to figure out how to get back to the apartment building where he'd dropped a somber Dr. Brackett.
He never found the building, but he did find Dr. Brackett walking towards him, thumb out for a ride. Hank stopped and started to tease him, but then he saw Kelly's face. "She wasn't home?"
"She had a friend." Hank just nodded. But Kelly shook his head. "A friend."
"Oh. Damn. Everybody's getting laid but us," Hank said.
"Well, I was trying to get laid," Kelly said.
Hank smiled. "Listen. How about I take you to my place, and we'll have coffee, and we'll keep our clothes on, and we'll figure things out in the morning. Or is that too corny?"
Kelly looked at him slyly. "Sure. We can do that."
They did nothing of the sort.
The moment the front door closed, Kelly was all over Hank, kissing him, grabbing him, tugging at his shirt, his belt, his pants. Hank tried to protest, but Kelly dropped to his knees and ripped into Hank's pants. "Let me," he said roughly, and buried his face in Hank's warmth.
"You don't want this," Hank said repeatedly. He firmly refused to think about the fact that he couldn't bring himself to say that he didn't want it. Thinking about that would mean thinking about the fact that he very fucking much wanted it, and that would open a whole other ugly can of worms. "Kelly, baby, sweetie, you don't-"
"Don't call me that. Don't ever call me that."
Hank jumped, startled by the sudden vehemence. "What, sweetie?"
"Kellybabysweetie," he said. It all ran together, a mishmash of consonants, dripping with venom. "Call me..." He stopped, and his face, still pink from whatever he refused to admit to drinking, turned a deeper red. "I like..." He lowered his eyelashes, thick and dark, and chewed on those plush, rosy lips, and Hank was lost.
"What do you like," Hank whispered, all thoughts of protest gone. "Tell me, Foxy." Kelly smiled and ducked his head a little further. Hank reached down and tilted Kelly's chin up. "What have you done to me, gorgeous? I think you've cast a spell on me."
Kelly's answer was to open wide, and take Hank fully, up to the hilt.
"You fucking dirty, filthy little tease," Hank said, and was rewarded with a swallow and a hum that sent shivers right through to his center. Why had he fought this? "Bed," he said hoarsely. "Now."
Kelly pulled off with a pop, and smiled rakishly up at him. "First, say it."
"Say what?"
"It."
"Dammit, Kelly, don't tease me! Say what?"
"What you called me."
"Foxy?"
"Yes... but... there was more. In the bar. The first time. You said, you called me-" Kelly broke off, looking flustered and wanting and just a little bit put out. "I know it was just a line, but-"
"I don't drop lines, Foxy," Hank said, and he reached down and pulled Kelly to his feet. "I meant every word I said to you that night, and I haven't stopped thinking it since. You are one stone cold fox."
Kelly smiled, dark and luscious, and began to peel clothing off as he ventured deeper into Hank's apartment. "Prove it," he said.