Play It Again, Charlie (25 page)

He flushed and licked his mouth, and Will grinned. Charlie quickly looked from Will's sparkling eyes to Mark, who had followed Will in.

“Don't mind me,” Will said immediately, as though he hadn't just paused for dramatic effect. His chest was moving quickly, like he was out of breath, though he seemed calm. “I'm just here to look for something I left here yesterday.”

Charlie snapped his eyes back up from the forming bruise to Will's eyes, his white face, and then frowned. He knew better than to trust that tone. Will hadn't left anything there.

“Oh, really?” He crossed his arms, and Will let out a long, sad sigh as he stared back.

“Charlie?” Mark's voice brought Charlie's head up. Behind Will, Mark had his eyebrows up. “You have a visitor,” he announced unnecessarily. There was a tiny line in his forehead that made Charlie step forward. He would just introduce them and then he could hustle Will out of here, or ask him what the hell he thought he was doing.

“Will.” His mouth was dry. “Will, this is Mark Davis. Detective Mark Davis. Mark, this is William... .” He had to think to remember Will's last name, which only made Mark's mouth twist up. “Stewart. Will.”

Will turned with a little wave and then blinked when Mark stuck out his hand and said the usual, polite, “Nice to meet you.” Will shot a look at Charlie, and Charlie gave him a bland one in return. Not everyone had to call out greetings from classics. Will didn't protest, not out loud, but took Mark's hand only to let it go and clap his hands together in an exaggerated gesture of excitement.

“Detective?” he asked after one seriously loud inhale, and honestly, Charlie wasn't sure he'd ever seen Will this... was “twinking it up” even a phrase? It couldn't be a good thing. It didn't matter what Charlie had thought when he'd first met Will, he knew better now. Will was, for lack of a better phrase, a cunning little strumpet.

“Will,” he started, dropping his voice, and as though he hadn't spoken, Will leaned close enough to Mark to poke him in the chest, where a badge would have been if Mark had been in uniform. Charlie felt his heart rate kick up. This wasn't exactly panic; it was more like knowing a storm was coming and not being able to do a thing about it. What had Will said, that he got most people right away?

Christ. “Will, this is... .”

“An old cop buddy?” Will leaned his head to one side with interest, and Charlie closed his mouth without getting another word out. “Did you know Charlie when he was an
officer of the law
?” Will said it as though it had been Charlie's official title. That Mark had known Charlie then should have gone without saying. Maybe that was why all Mark got a chance to say in response was one sentence.

“I did, yes.” Mark shot a frown Charlie's way, and then Will drew his eyes right back.

“I bet he was amazing. How did he look in his uniform? Did he frown like that, scaring the... perps— are they perps?— into submission? Maybe looking so cute that they gave up just for a chance to be handcuffed?”

“
Will
.” The sharp command startled Charlie more than Will, though Will straightened like Charlie had yanked on his leash.

Mark glanced over at him, his expression registering surprise and then something deeper at Charlie's tone, though his frown disappeared before he smiled. A fake smile. Charlie's mouth tightened. This whole situation was ridiculous; if Will would be serious for a minute, he would see that.

“He was very good,” Mark told Will. His voice was so warm that Charlie felt himself blushing again. He didn't need to be defended. Mark was just a little slow because he didn't realize that Will didn't need things explained to him. Or perhaps he did; Mark had never been stupid either. “Charles— Charlie— could have had a great career.” He wondered if Mark was aware that his shoulders had gone back like he was testifying. “In the field, he was confident and decisive, and he never lost sight of who he was there to serve. People always responded to that.”

Charlie's head went back. Something about that phrasing made the heat in his skin seep away. He shivered as his lips parted, though there were too many thoughts and words pressing to come out.
In the field
, as though hinting that outside of work Charlie hadn't been,
should have
been.

But maybe the old feelings of uncertainty around Mark were making him think that and he was reading too much into it. Mark had never said much, not about things like that, about what he'd wanted, like he'd never asked what Charlie had wanted until analyzing everything Mark had said to try to figure out what he'd really meant had become a regular part of Charlie's routine.

Charlie breathed hard, aware that he wasn't talking, and just as aware, suddenly, that he didn't remember Mark ever saying
anything
to him about any of that.

“He could have done great things.” He had no idea what Mark had been telling Will and glanced sharply between them. Will was leaning back, slouching with one hand on a chair by the table. He looked relaxed, but when he arched his neck, Charlie's gaze narrowed on that bruise again.

“He still does.” Will flapped his other hand. Charlie brought his eyes up in time to see the leer. “You should see what he can do with his— ”

“Will.” That was enough of that, of all of this. Will shut up.

“Cranky.” Will held up a finger. “And
roo
.” He said that with a trace of a street accent. He turned back to Mark. “Poor man, he's a little worn out today.” Charlie refused to rise to that bait. He just glared, and Will caught some of it when he slid a look his way, because he made a limp-wristed gesture and then shrugged. “Don't mind me. I'm just looking for something.”

As if to prove that he was, in fact, there to look for something, he smiled at Mark and slipped past him to the kitchen. Charlie heard a cabinet open and then close.

“What, exactly, are you looking for?” Whatever it was, it wasn't going to be in any cabinet. Mark was watching him. Charlie ignored him.

“What you bought me yesterday. I left them here.” There was more banging and a muffled sound, like a swear word from inside of something. “Nice selection of coffee cups.”

Leave it to Will to make gardening gloves sound mysterious. Charlie had put them in the shed, hadn't thought Will would need them again, much less ask about them. But they would hardly be in his kitchen cabinets.

“What about you guys?” Will continued to call out, as though they both weren't right there. Charlie finally looked back at Mark. Now that Will couldn't see him, Mark was frowning. “You guys going out to reminisce about old times?”

Will seemed to be under the impression that Charlie was amused by him being this obnoxiously disarming. He ought to suggest that Mark use him to interview people; they'd think he didn't have a brain in his head and confess everything.

“Ooh, or is it more than that?” Will popped back into view. He studied Charlie, his chin up, his eyes bright. “
Charles
?” He stressed the name, and Charlie blinked when he realized that Will was irritated. Close to pissed, actually. Charlie shook his head without thinking, then flinched at the sound of Mark's voice.

“There's a project I wanted to run by Charlie.” Mark left the kitchen without a glance at Will and came into the living room to stand by Charlie's desk. “But we can talk about it now, Charlie, and go get lunch afterward.” There was a suspicious quiet from the kitchen once Will disappeared again. Charlie focused back on Mark, switching his weight to his other leg. Mark took that as a sign of interest and pushed up his glasses, the way he did when he was excited.

“You know how constantly the department is trying to update its sensitivity guidelines... .”

“And avoid lawsuits,” Charlie muttered and didn't think he imagined Will's muffled snicker. Mark just rolled his eyes. Policy written to cover a high-ranking official's ass more than to protect the public was old news.

“And how there are those classes they make us attend to make up for the fact nobody's been trained on this stuff since their Academy days. The only notice we get are the memos that go out when the policies are amended.” Mark leaned against the desk. Will was being quiet for once. “But an e-mail is something easily erased and just as easily ignored until there's a problem. There's a lieutenant who's finally starting to make noise about not just rewriting the policy but having the new, official policy as a handbook. Something a lot harder to ignore.”

“Not that people won't.” Charlie scowled. He was starting to see where this was going. It wasn't entirely a bad idea. A new book, the wording in a new rule book, would affect the way later books would be written. “Starting over instead of just piling stuff onto the old regs.”

“Exactly!” Mark stood up and snapped his fingers. “I knew you'd get it. That's why I was thinking about suggesting that you write the new one. Like a textbook.”

“Me?” Charlie stopped, wanting to slide a look over when Will appeared at the edge of the kitchen again.

“You're going to write a book?” Will breathed out. Mark looked over at him when Charlie didn't, then back at Charlie.

“A guidebook,” he corrected with a small pause that meant something. “I would help, of course, but you have the experience in teaching, not to mention the credentials to make them take you seriously.”

“Because I'm a twofer?” Charlie demanded softly, and Will made a lost noise. “Gay and a minority,” Charlie filled in for him, still not looking at him. “That's how they would see it.” See him. Mark bobbed his head in an unspoken apology for that, as though it was anything less than the reality.

“You really ought to put those degrees to use, Charlie.” He dropped that onto his list of reasons, and the inhale from the kitchen this time seemed more genuine.

“Degrees?” Will's voice got louder.

“He's a doctor.” Mark drew out the word, saying clearly that Will should have known that. Will's expression went blank. “In Criminal Justice.” Very slowly, Will's mouth formed a circle. Then he focused on Charlie.

“
You're all of that
?” he said in a whisper, and Charlie's jaw tightened. He didn't see why that mattered. He'd needed something else to think about while he was recovering. Will's eyebrows came together, and he bit his lip before turning toward Mark. “Well, I imagine you two must have a lot in common.” His tone was calm, pleasant. “A lot to discuss.” He turned away.

“I'm surprised Charlie didn't mention it.” Mark didn't look surprised, but he was smiling politely. Charlie narrowed his eyes.

“It didn't come up.”

“Other things to talk about?” Mark rolled his eyes again, giving Charlie a look he didn't need to interpret. “So, Will, what do you do?” He could tell Mark didn't think he needed to ask and Charlie winced. Will spun around on one heel and smiled so widely that Charlie had the feeling something X-rated was about to come out of his mouth.

“He does hair.” Charlie beat him to it, directing a brief, stern look at Will, who lifted his hands in a show of innocence.

“You're a hairstylist?” Mark asked Will, but he shook his head slowly at Charlie.

“Will's a colorist,” Charlie burst out, then realized he was glaring and tried to even out his expression. It didn't work. “More of a genius, really,” he added, clearing his throat to seem calmer, and then he shivered at the sound of movement, and then the blur of air as Will entered the living room and slipped past him. For a second he was very unnecessarily close, one hand grazing Charlie's lower back, and then he was gone. Charlie turned in time to see Will going into his bedroom with a lack of hesitation that implied he'd been in there before.

“I'll just check for them in here, okay, Charlie?” Will's voice echoed back to them, though he was out of sight, doing God knew what in Charlie's bedroom.

“There's no reason they'd be in there, Will,” Charlie called after him anyway and then found himself being studied.

“What would?” Mark had his chin up.

“Gloves.” Charlie kept his answer short, though he opened his mouth when he realized how strange that sounded with no qualifications. Mark arched one eyebrow, and Charlie licked his mouth without adding anything. Telling Mark they'd been gardening together just wasn't any of his business. He wouldn't understand, anyway.

There was a thump from his bedroom, and Charlie turned, then took a few steps that way, half expecting Will to be going through his drawers.

Will peered around the doorjamb and Charlie stopped. Will slid out the rest of the way, shrugging to let them know that— surprise!— he hadn't left his gloves in a room he'd never been in before.

“Anyway, Charlie, your movement has improved a lot since your last surgery.” Mark spoke from behind him, and Charlie turned back with a quick frown, not sure who he wanted to strangle more. The surge of irritation made him smooth his hands out against his sides. He knew he was breathing too fast.

“How would you know?” He spoke tightly. “It's been two years since you've seen me, and you weren't there for the last surgery.”

Will's breath caught noisily in his throat. Charlie ignored him. Mark's eyes met his, then he looked down.

Damn it. Charlie pushed out a breath when Mark's mouth started to curve up into another frozen smile. There was no reason to feel this angry.

“No, really.” Mark seemed earnest, warming a fraction. “You're much more mobile now. I'm happy to see you on your feet.” He studied his shoes again, then glanced up. “I meant to stop by. Before. Only... .” As though that were enough honesty for today, Mark fell silent. Just once it would have been nice if he could have called out what he wanted without shame. “Are you... ?” It wasn't like Mark to be openly hesitant, but then, he hadn't seen Mark in two years, either. Things change. “Did you still want to go to lunch?” He looked beyond Charlie after asking, so Charlie looked too, saw Will framed in his bedroom doorway.

“Couldn't find ‘em.” Will gave that statement with a straight face. “Guess I'll have to look for them later so you guys can get to your lunch.” The early afternoon sun was doing nothing for his pale skin, but it bounced off the glitter in his eyelashes.