Old Habits
His apartment felt almost foreign to him.
Will had never had a house. They’d been saving for a down payment when he’d been with Dru, but everything had gone to hell long before they’d managed that, and he’d been left with little more than the shirt on his back by the time everything had settled.
There was no reason for his apartment to feel so small and dark, except that he’d spent an inordinate amount of time away from it lately.
And he hadn’t turned the lights on when he got home.
Elizabeth hadn’t gotten home at five hours after her their regular shift ended. That meant that whatever had kept her at work was sufficiently dire as to allow them to make people stay more than twelve hours. It logically followed that she’d be exhausted and not up to the kind of conversation they needed to have, and he’d been sick of trying to kill time alone in her kitchen. He’d already been to the store, bought some supplies that weren’t microwaveable, and cooked them dinner. He’d killed more time storing it all away in her refrigerator and cleaning up his mess, and she still wasn’t there.
So he came home. And yes, he was sulking in the dark with a bottle of jack daniels and every light in the place turned off.
He didn’t know what he was going to do.
He’d almost gotten used to his work environment. There were no windows. There was only one door, and it was a security door. The flourescent lights seemed sufficient once you got used to them, but he could walk in sulight anymore without his eyes watering for the first fifteen minutes. His skin was pale and unhealthy looking, and he was pretty sure his eyesight was degrading from the monitors and his hearing was not at all what it had been. Some of that could be age, but tonight he was blaming the job. They warned kids about headphones all the time, and he had a radio or telephone headset on at least eight hours a day and usually more.
But there were the other things, too. The things he’d preached to his trainees and not so long ago to Gunn. Doing a job that meant something, actually feeling like you were helping other people.
He didn’t know what he wanted to do.
Well, yeah, he did. He wanted to bend Elizabeth over the railing of her staircase and take her from behind.
But she was at work, and his apartment didn’t have nearly as many interesting possibilities to explore. So he closed his eyes, and let the fantasy play out behind his eyes.
He was almost to the good part when the phone rang.
He put the bottle down so he could pick up the phone and leave his other hand where it was. There was only one person who would call him on his home number. Everyone else only had the cell.
“Just thinkin’ bout you.” Leaning back, giving himself better access. Only to freeze and feel like he was about to hurl when it wasn’t Elizabeth on the other end.
“Is that so?”
“Well, actually sir, not you in particular.”
There wasn’t even a hint of amusement, but this guy wasn’t easily amused at all. Will didn’t think he’d ever seen him smile.
“I’ve been told that you were indisposed, Giles.”
“Feelin’ a might off, sir, yeah. Be fine in a coupla days, I’m sure. What can I do for you?”
“Meet me in an hour.”
Not at all what he’d expected, and not in the regs either.
“I’m on sick leave, sir.” And, so that it didn’t sound like he was a complete slacker, “I’m most probably contagious. Is there any way you can just tell me over the phone.”
“Not advisable.”
“Breakfast then.” He winced at his own voice, but there was no way he could drive anything in his current condition, and he’d only just managed to pass his psyche. He didn’t need the Captain over Vice Division to think he was in the habit of taking sick leave because he was drunk. And he was definitely drunk. And the man on the other side of the phone probably suspected as much. “I’m medicated right now. Couldn’t really drive.” Yeah, meds made lots of people sound drunk.
There was a long pause.
“No bullshit, Giles. Just how drunk are you right now? Because we both know you weren’t really sick when you left this morning, even if that’s what all the paperwork will say.”
Fuck. Bloody buggering fuck. And, also, balls. Shit damn hell et cetera and so forth.
“Marginally. Wasn’t even really properly started. But not drive-able.”
“I’ll be there in thirty minutes. Start a pot of coffee. We need to talk before you talk to anyone else.”
He closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. He didn’t want to hear anything this man had to say. It would only make the decision harder, and he’d all but decided he was staying in communications. But that’s not what he said.
“I’ll see you then.” He stared at the phone for what seemed a very long time after the other man had disconnected.
Okay, then. He’d decided, hadn’t he? Even if he hadn’t been ready to admit it to himself. He’d obviously been fighting against admitting there wasn’t really a decision to make. You didn’t turn down a chance to get out of the basement. It didn’t come around twice, ever, and no matter how used to it he’d become to it, working there had originally been no more than the only way to keep from losing his job along with everything else he’d lost.
He had just enough time to take a quick shower and make a quick sweep of the apartment, putting away the evidence of his private little pity party. The coffee was nearly finished when the expected knock came at the door, and he was defiantly casual while waving the other man like he was an old friend come to visit.
“Have a seat, Captain.”
The other nodded, closing the door behind himself, and Will went about pouring the coffee. The silence was tense, or it could have been just that Will was tense. The large black man making himself comfortable at the small table that served as a dining area seemed perfectly at ease.
“I’ll get to the point.” But instead of talking, he tossed a file down on the table and leaned back in his chair, waiting.
The top picture was enough to force out of his lungs, and he sat down a bit harder than he probably would have if he’d had the presence of mind to think about appearances.
He thumbed through the rest of the remarkably thin file, seeing what wasn’t there more than what had actually been put together.
“This innit’ anywhere near complete.”
“It’s what we have.” There was a slight grin. “You have anything to add, Hamilton?”
The knuckles of the hand holding his coffee cup had turned white, but he was concentrating too hard on staying seated to notice. Just be still. Don’t move. Deep breaths.
“Name’s Giles.”
“Now.”
“s’my name. Use it.” He threw the file across the table, clumsily, and the contents spread themselves between it’s surface and floor. He could hear pages fluttering to the carpet. Everything seemed exceptionally bright and clear, and time mutated and elongated. “And get the hell out of m’house.”
“Calm down. They told me you passed the psyche the other day.” He didn’t move. Just took another slow sip of the coffee. Using the damn cup like it was a prop. Detached.
“Haven’t hit you yet.” He answered, and to hell with getting fired.
“Yeah. Noticed that. Good job.” He grinned, and shoved the papers back in the general direction of the file. “Giles. You’ve got thirteen years with the department. And, due to circumstances there’s really no reason to get into, no one in town’s seen or heard from you in that capacity for ten. By all rights, you shouldn’t be doin’ anything but riding with a training officer in patrol, and you can do that if you want to. But before you do, have a look at this other file I’ve got.” He had to reach into his briefcase for the second one. Wasn’t part of his little manipulation and test, was it? Had to see if the crazy bastard would assault a superior officer before he got to the good stuff.
Will opened the file, frowned, flipped a couple of pages, then closed his eyes. Holy Shit. This couldn’t be happening. Not now. He’d had everything almost figured out.
“Why?”
“Anyone looking to find out anything about you has been getting that for about a year now. Just in case you passed your psyche. Hell, I‘ve had a few people telling me to ignore the damned regs and go with this whether you passed or not this time. Luckily, you saved me from having to make that decision.”
It could have been true. Easily. The past laid out in front of him was his damned past, with a little less luck and a lot less work. He’d put everything in him into being someone other the man in the file in front of him. He beat the odds. He was a good man.
But he could’ve gone this way. Easily. Hell, they’d only had a change a couple of little things.
“Didn’t say why.”
“That should be obvious.” Yeah, but the damned smug bastard invading his home to say it out loud.
“Spell it out for me.”
“Kevin McConnel is a bit more than the petty dealer and pimp we pegged him for. We know that. You told us when you were eighteen.”
“And.” His voice was very low, and the fact that any enough air to speak at all was escaping the black hole his chest had become amazed him in a slightly detached portion of his mind that was keeping him from crossing the table and wiping that look off the Captain’s face.
There it was. It was slight, but it was there. If he was imagined the slight chagrin, then that was fine. Better than it all really meaning nothing to the man who was asking him to - he didn’t put words to what he was being asked to do.
“And if we’d believed you then, maybe we would have gotten the bastard by now.”
He nodded. It wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. But at least he said something.
“Well, I’m in.” He blew out a breath, and smirked. “What’s your little plan, Captain Rogers.”