Broken Glass
Kel lay awake all night. The sound of cars whizzing by on the street below sounded almost like the pounding of surf, but there was no foghorn. He squeezed his eyes shut and counted sheep, counted his breaths, counted the impossibly loud ticking of some clock in another room, but he never dropped off to sleep. He couldn't get the monstrous image out of his head.
That fucking blue velvet couch. It looked like a giant dead whale in the middle of his living room.
Go to sleep.
Tick tock, tick tock, zoom, zoom, zoom.
He opened his eyes and stared at the shade-drawn window in the far corner of the room. Moonlight seeped in around the edges where the shade didn't quite sit flush with the window, faintly illuminating the small, utilitarian bedroom. The dark, heavy blocks of furniture shoved against the three opposing walls made the room feel so anonymous, like a motel room, like the motel rooms he'd swept in and out of over the past several weeks. He couldn't stand it. He had to get out. He knew better - that was why he wouldn't talk to them, wouldn't give them the satisfaction of a name to go with the face. That was why he should have stayed far, far away from Captain Stanley.
The bed bounced lightly, and a slight snuffling at his shoulder pulled Kel's attention from the window. He felt eerie, like maybe he was broadcasting his thoughts to the man sleeping next to him. But there was no sudden waking, no long, strong arm thrown fitfully over Kel's chest to keep him close. After twisting onto his side, Hank settled easily back into sleep, apparently blissfully unaware of Kel's inner turmoil.
Kel peeled the covers back, slowly, gently, and eased himself out of the bed. He rooted around in the trail of discarded clothes that covered the floor until he found his boxers, and pulled them on. He gathered the rest of his clothes, and tiptoed out of the bedroom. He didn't want to trip over his feet or jostle the bed, or do something else silly to bring attention to himself. He needed room to maneuver in order to get dressed.
The living room was just as tiny and utilitarian as the bedroom, but the shade wasn't drawn in the two box windows that faced the street. The coffee table was shoved to one side, giving Kel plenty of space to dance into his jeans without fighting with furniture in the dark. He sat down on the edge of the coffee table to pull his boots on, and noticed Hank's keys on the floor. They'd fallen there the night before, when Kel had practically ripped the man's clothes off. Awful. Kel turned bodily away from the keys, and concentrated on getting dressed and getting the hell out of there.
Not that he had transportation - he'd left his car in front of Mallory's, three bars into his angry pubcrawl. And he was fairly certain that even if the buses were running at that time of night, that he'd have a few miles to go before he could catch one that would get him close to home.
Close to the apartment. He had no home.
Fucking hell.
He dropped his other boot and hung his head. He wasn't going to cry, not again. He'd been crying ever since this shit started, and he absolutely, positively was not going to cry again.
"Hey." Kel looked up at the sound, to see Hank standing in the mouth of his tiny hallway (which was really just a box that separated the living room/kitchen from the bedroom, the bathroom and the linen closet). He looked so calm and easy, probably because he hadn't bothered to cover up his long, taut body, or fix his sleep mussed hair. The moonlight streamed in and shone on his fair skin, so he was almost luminescent. He leaned in the archway and watched Kel with a serious face. "Gotta go?"
Kel wasn't sure what to say. Yes, he needed out. He needed to run, as far as he could, forever. But there wasn't any place to go that would get him as far as he needed to be. And even if there was, there wasn't any way to get there, not on his own. But...
"I can take you to your car," Hank said. "Let me get some pants." He turned slowly away, and disappeared into the bedroom. The door shut, and Kel could see light under the crack, and heard the sound of someone rustling through a dresser.
Maybe he could go back to the house. It'd be ugly, but he'd be alone. Away from his stupid mistakes. Yes, he'd be sitting in the middle of the biggest physical reminder of the biggest mistake he'd ever made, but at least he wouldn't be sitting with the mistake. Maybe...
He picked his tie out of the remaining pile of his clothing, and looked at it sadly, fondly. His ties were at the apartment. His ties and his good suits and shoes were at the apartment, where they'd belonged. They were in his apartment, with the biggest mistake he'd ever made, and with that goddamned ugly ass couch. His beautiful, perfect hardwood floors and stone fireplace and panoramic picture windows of the San Pedro Bay were all in the apartment he chose, with his precious ties and his favorite blue corduroy pants and his soft camel colored wool suit, and he'd left them all there with that cheating, scheming, sick fuck.
"Okay," Hank said, emerging in tatty jeans and an old athletic shirt. He paused and looked at the boot on the floor between Kel's feet. "Need help?" Without waiting for an answer, he got down on one knee, and positioned the boot in front of Kel's bare foot.
Kel burst into tears then. Hank froze for just a moment, boot still in his hands, but then he set it aside, took the tie from Kel's hands, and shuffled along on his knees to close the space between them. Hands slid up Kel's thighs, along his flanks, to his back, and then he was pulled into a soft, gentle embrace. Kel tried to fight back his tears, but soft words of encouragement at his ear seemed to melt the last of his defenses. He held on tight, and finally let himself feel the hurt, the mortification, the insult of the last couple of months. Just as he had for countless nights since the beginning of this nightmare, Kel was flooded with memories of a persistent unwanted touch, of false compromises and token capitulations. But instead of fucking his way through his rage, or obliterating the constant flow of pain with a bottle, he let each memory unfold one after another, stitched together like a panorama in his mind. And as the total hurt began to stretch out beyond his ability to hold in his mind at once, he found less and less reason to lie to himself - he was cut to the quick, and before long his whole body shook with the force of his sobs.
After far too long, the tears began to slow, and Kel deflated against the strong, warm body that held him up. He felt dizzy and sick, and more than a little disgusted with himself. How could he have let this happen? How could he have gone back? How could he have been so happy to see someone like... like that go free?
"It doesn't matter," came the soft answer. "It happened. You can't change that. All you can do is go forward."
Kel frowned. He hadn't meant to voice any of his nightmare aloud. "You don't understand."
Hank sighed and kissed the top of his head, before pulling back to sit on his haunches. He took Kel's hands in his, and looked up into Kel's face. "Everyday that I go to work, I encounter folks who've lost everything they have - sometimes everything they've ever known. They have nothing left, Kelly, nothing, but the future. They can sit in the ashes and cry over their losses if they want, but it won't rebuild their homes, and it won't bring back the people that don't make it. The only thing they can do is go forward. It hurts, and it's hard, and sometimes its more than their souls can bear at that moment, but that doesn't matter. All they can do is go forward." For a moment, Hank looked as anguished as Kel felt. But the moment passed, and he was a tower of strength again. "I wish I knew what to do, how to help you through this. You seem like such a good man, and you've been trying so hard to do everything right..." Hank shook his head, and sighed again.
Kel slowly pulled his hands free, and folded his arms, tucking himself away from Hank's kind words. "What are you after?"
"What?"
"You heard me."
Hank shook his head quickly, almost frantically. "I'm not after anything!"
"Liar," Kel said quietly.
Hank's mouth worked, but at first no sound came. "I... Kelly, I just... you seemed like you needed... I just wanted to help," he said finally, meekly. He looked crestfallen. "Have I done something wrong? I'm sorry - I didn't mean to."
"Nobody means to, but they always do!"
Hank winced and edged back. "I'm sorry," he said, more firmly. Maybe a little angrily. Kel wasn't sure. Hank grabbed the boot from the floor and held it out. "Think you can get it on now? Or do you need me to help you?"
The sting of rejection was sharp, sudden and thorough, and it left Kel feeling breathless. He stared at the boot in Hank's shaking hand, and wished he'd kept his mouth shut. "I can get it on," he forced himself to say. But he didn't take it - he couldn't.
Hank finally put the boot back on the floor. "Okay. Okay, Doctor Brackett. I'll tell you what I want from you. I want the same chance you gave that bastard that has you all twisted up inside. I want to be able to fuck up massively, and still have you take me back with open arms. I want to build a beautiful life, filled with beautiful friends, in a beautiful town, full of beautiful landscapes and beautiful days, and to have at the center, beautiful you." He slammed a fist on the floor. "I want to be good enough for someone," he said shakily.
And now Kelly could see a new set of painful memories, filled with just as much manipulation and heartache as his life with Stan had been - only, his part wasn't so innocent anymore. He'd been selfish and manipulative, pushing and pulling against Hank's heartstrings, taking what he could stand to get through the day, and leaving Hank to deal with whatever aftermath he'd left behind. He'd even told himself he'd been doing the right thing - forcing Hank to accept friendship when he'd clearly hoped for more, leaving before the rising sun, citing public duty and accountability to keep Hank just close enough to lean on when he wanted him... "You are good enough," Kel said, trying to swallow through fresh tears. "You're good enough for a man a thousand times better than I am."
Hank looked stricken at this, and surged up against him, wrapping his arms around his waist, his shoulders, tangling fingers in hair, tugging at the back of his waistband. Hank put his forehead to Kel's, and breathed deeply, as if trying to breathe in his very soul. "Don't tell me to find someone better, Kelly. I don't want someone better. I'm a simple man, with simple tastes. I could get a bigger apartment, and I could get a newer car. But I like my little shoebox mansion, and I like my beat up dustbucket." He pressed warm, dry lips to Kel's, and held them there, until Kel's whole mouth began to tingle, inside and out. When Hank finally pulled away, Kel couldn't help but swoon. This, apparently, had been Hank's plan, because he smiled, that dark, sweet, sensual smile, and said, "And I like you."
Kel tried to pull away again, but was surprised by the sudden embrace that threatened to squeeze the breath out of him. A quick peck dusted his cheek, and then he was released. Hank still smiled at him, but the eyes that held his were so very sad. Kel touched Hank's face hesitantly, and nearly came undone when Hank's eyes closed, and he nuzzled Kelly's palm with a lightly whiskered cheek. "I'm afraid," Kel said.
Hank's smile twisted into an angry grimace as he took Kel's hand in his own. "I know," he said, and turned his face into Kel's palm. It soon became wet. "I know," Hank said again. "I wish I knew how to make you believe that I am the last person on earth you ever have to fear." He lifted his head, and Kel gasped slightly, astonished by the sudden, naked rage on Hank's face. "I have never hated a man in my life, I swear, but I think I really could learn to."
Kel shook his head, and wiped at the angry tears with his dry hand. "Don't. Don't waste the energy." He slid off the edge of the table, down to his own knees, and held Hank's face in his hands. "Not on him."
Hank nodded, and visibly worked to pull himself together. "I'd rather spend it on you," he said shakily. "But... you have to let me."
"Yes," Kel said quietly. He ran his hands down Hank's shoulders, down to his chest, and began to inch up the shirt, bit by bit. "I know," Kel said.
Hank sat there, and let his shirt be pulled off, before reaching out a staying hand. "What's the score, Kelly? I don't want to hurt you, but... I can't take much more back and forth. Not right now."
Kel tried not to crumple. "I'm sorry," he said, nearly choking on the words. "I'm not... I didn't mean." He took a deep breath and tried again. "My friends are good people. They are, they really are. But... they just... They want to help me, but they never bothered to ask me what it is I want. They all have their ideas on what it is I need, what will fix me, what will fix this, what I should be doing, how I should be behaving, all that. In this whole sordid, sick mess, you are the only person who's bothered to find out what I want. And I've repaid that gift poorly." He balled Hank's shirt in his hands, and smelled it. It smelled like detergent and aftershave and Hank. It was a smell he was growing increasingly fond of. "I don't want to hurt you," he said, and waited.
Hank looked thoughtful. He nodded then. "Stay with me?"
Kel twisted around to bring his one booted foot in front of him, and worked the boot off.