The Jigsaw
folder
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
28
Views:
6,761
Reviews:
122
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
28
Views:
6,761
Reviews:
122
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Every Day Ain�t Easy
My dear fellows!
Poking works (thanks a lot to SuanoTsuji :D)!
Thank you for reviews – I got quite a handful of them and it made me happyyyyy!
eatenbyweasels - you’re absolutely right; I was so impatient to skip to the main part of the story, that I somehow neglected the beginning; but I hope it’s good enough not to be discouraging... I’m glad you went through it and read the continuation ;)
Clover Reef - hello :) I hope you had some time to go a bit deeper into the story... I still didn’t review your works. Between one hospital and another it’s kinda hard to do that. But I remember about it and this week I’ll give you a feedback, I promise!
Aleks - well, it depends, you know... Some people talk during sex ;) I do, for example :D And this was all sweet, romantic small talk to build the climate. It works sometimes if you’re in a playful mode :)
Berlin - helloooo!!! Nice to see you. I love your reviews – so thought through, giving me a glimpse from outside :) So, I thought it wasn’t actually rape. Sam took it with no objections. He somehow needed to be hurt. He wanted to be smashed and lowered. So he gave in. And Casey just took what he was given, with no consideration, though, for their comfort. They are not romantic guys (well, Casey had obviously changed) so getting things right will take some time ;)
And yeah, nagging is perfect! It works for me :)
Lisa - well, even being in love you can have breakdowns. After Sam messing with Casey’s head, he just lost it for a while. Emotions couldn’t stay still, he had to make a drastic move. Although I don’t see it as rape exactly. It was raping rather soul, than body. For Sam it was nothing very devastating, only pride hurt, he agreed to that – and this means something,as he never does that. And for Casey it was about changing their roles, getting square :)
viz - ‘Sam doesn't do lovey dovey, so Casey goes Sam's way.’ You got me right :) That’s exactly what I meant. Sometimes you must get kicked in your butt to understand some things, and appreciate the words that stand behind this kick :)
Thank you all for giving me a bit of your time!
And now – enjoy :)
Every Day Ain’t Easy
Sarah, as beautiful a woman as she was, got ugly. In the way that beautiful women get ugly when something is eating at them from the inside, and, like falling stars, they lose their brightness. She understood Kaminsky's reasoning for what he’d done, but she felt that killing Simon was wrong. Not just bad, as a moral judgement would suggest, but wrong. It shouldn't have happened. And it hurt badly to know that she was the catalyst of the events. She’d lost control over what was going on and become just a tool for Kaminsky's plan. And she didn't like it at all.
"Ryan?" she asked on her cell phone.
"Sarah?" The voice sounded shocked. "Where are you? Everyone's looking for you. What happened?"
"Slow down a little. I can't tell you where I am, and I ask you to keep quiet about this conversation. You haven't heard from me, understand?"
"Oh. Well, um, yeah...sure. I know nothing. But why? Are you in trouble?"
"Not yet. But you'll be, if you give me up."
"I won't."
"Good. I need you to do something for me."
"Sure, you know I'd do anything."
"Yeah, I know. Stop it. This is a big case. I want you to find whatever you can on George Kaminsky, alias...LaVey. Okay?"
"Who is he?"
"That’s what you have to find out. Check what he had to do with my father and Ramson. Will you?"
"Yeah. When do you want it?"
"As soon as possible. I'll call you soon. Bye."
Sarah cut off the conversation. She wasn't sure if it had been the right move, but she had to know. She had to know for sure, from an objective source. She couldn't allow the next unnecessary death to happen with her participation.
She sat on the floor, her knees pulled up under her chin and embraced tightly by her arms. She rocked slightly back and forth, gritting her teeth. She was having awful pricks of conscience that were slowly killing her. Simon had been a good guy, she felt it in her bones, and he hadn't deserved to die. Not in that way. Not because of LaVey’s reasons, at least. She thought she didn't know anything important about Simon. A strong spirit, a shadow, always where he had been needed. Someone you could count on. A solid base. A man who had been the glue connecting all parts of the team together, whatever feelings they had for each other.
Sarah's mind wallowed in contemplation of the team she was no longer a member of. Somehow she regretted it. She thought about Casey, that strong-hearted, intense personality, who would not give in to something below his standards. He was a bit like Simon; maybe, with time, he would hold the same position in the group.
Ryan, her friend...her friend who wanted too much. She trusted him; she knew he would do anything for her. A good guy, full of optimism, with a nice face that smiled at the whole world. Sarah thought he'd be the perfect man to plan a life with, but...there was only one small yet significant "but": Ryan didn't attracted her in a sexual way. So it had all had to end before it began. Pity. But what she could do about it, after all? Life sucks sometimes. No, it sucks very often and you just can't get what is right....
She smiled when she imagined Sam, with the wild, fierce soul of a hunting wolf. Fire and ice. And the worst son of a bitch, without morals. A pure, primal creature. Extraordinarily sexy, to complete the picture. She couldn't deny that sometimes she had the hots for Sam. Oh, yeah. But his walls, decorated with barbed wire, and his deeply rooted cruelty were enough to stop any move from her side. Sometimes she imagined sex with that dark power. She sighed at the thought of the strong, shapely body covering her completely, possessing her, claiming all she had....
And then she fantasized about Casey, also strong but tender, caring, and subtle. Yessss. That felt nice. It was a better version of Ryan: handsome, sexy, and sharp. But it was only a beautiful dream that could not come true.
Sam's brother had died because of her. Casey's dad had died from her shot. The two men she desired were her haunting ghosts now. Two death sentences hung over her head.
What an irony of life.
Ryan rummaged through the well-organized papers of the old archives. He found a description and lots of documents on the Great Theatre action, about medals for brave heroes and the list of the dead, both uniformed and civil. Yes, Sarah's father was there. And...Kaminsky's name was there. What the hell? he thought. How was that possible? Of course, he must have gone unnoticed or something. But why? Nobody who was a hero ran from the scene of a crime. So he clearly wasn't one, right?
Ryan started to worry. He’d been in love in Sarah for a long time now, and he felt she had entangled herself in something messy and dangerous. He was eager to help her, to win her acknowledgment, but he had no idea how to do that without letting others find out that he knew something he wasn't supposed to. On the other hand, it was so tempting to get a step ahead of Casey....
He liked Casey, up to a point. The guy was fair and easy to communicate with. Ryan could be even his friend, if it wasn’t for Sarah. There was a field of rivalry between them, and the fact that Casey visibly didn't care about the woman, at least not in that way, didn't help at all. Ryan found it humiliating and he held a small, hidden grudge against Casey. Nothing that could harm the other man, but still, big enough to stand in the way of a real friendship.
Now, Ryan worked as hard as he could to help the queen of his heart get out of trouble and to earn her gratitude.
Ramson rested his forehead on his hands. He felt tired—tired of all these years he’d had to be a tough guy with no right to hesitate in front of his team. This group of young people was his child. In a very weird way, he loved his child with an almost sick possessiveness. It was all he lived for, his medal of honor, his only pride. And now he'd let it fall apart.
He’d lost Sarah, he’d lost Simon, he’d lost Sam—the most dangerous gun he had was now pointed at his own head. And there was no way to turn it away. He’d lost his control over Sam; his dog was about to bite him in the throat, he was sure of it.
As soon as Simon was gone, there was no leash to keep the Doberman at a safe distance, no muzzle that could restrain its sharp fangs. Before, Sam had had to surrender to blackmail: Simon's foster family would stay unharmed as long as Sam obeyed his supervisors. Now there was no way to tame the churned-up river of events. Sam cared only for Simon, strangely—maybe for Casey, lately, but for sure he had Simon's family alone for nothing. He didn't even know them; he wouldn't blink an eye at their deaths.
Ramson sighed heavily. Maybe Casey...maybe he could help him avoid Sam's revenge? The man wasn't sure if it was possible, but he had nothing to lose. He had to try.
George Kaminsky smiled unpleasantly, a bit too contemptuously, as he looked at the picture of a dark-skinned, dark-haired man with one eye and a tattoo that reached his cheek.
"Well, boy, time to cross our swords, don't you think? Say goodbye to your life." He chuckled. Sarah had told him Sam was dangerous, but hey, how dangerous could that wild animal be, for a man so experienced that almost none could be a match him in the world of dark, complicated games that too often ended with someone's death?
He wasn't aware of the small fact that Sarah, having her dilemmas and suspicions, hadn't given him real examples of what Sam was really capable of. She hadn't described his dark personality, the lack of compassion in his heart, of morals, and the fact that Sam had nothing to lose. Why did she care? Well, that was a complicated question, even to her. He just felt that something wasn't right and she wanted to buy some time to find the truth. And finally, Sam had been her companion, after all. She’d caused him to lose his eye, and he hadn't killed her for it. Yet. Well, maybe he would, if he found her; but on the other hand, if he really wanted to find her, she was sure it wouldn't be much of a problem for him.
She simply owed him.
For some time now Casey and Sam had been avoiding each other. A slight feeling of awkwardness sneaked in between them, making them turn away their eyes whenever they met, and withdrawing their hands whenever they accidentally touched. Casey knew this game quite well—he'd been through it a couple of times—and he was happy. Because it all meant there was something between them, and it was something he had been chasing for years. The bond had been made. And he knew he had broken into Sam's world. Sam had yet to notice that, to understand, to learn, as was already obvious to Casey, that he was a bit lost and confused. Sam hadn't recognized his own feelings well enough, yet.
Nevertheless, their coexistence had moved to the next level, to be sure. There was no longer the twisted master-slave lineup. Casey felt his power and Sam had come to acknowledge it. They had become equal. Partners.
And Casey couldn't have failed to like it. Hell, he was happy as a puppy sometimes; when Sam didn't see him, of course.
Sam didn't know yet. He would, soon.
The road they traveled on was only one-way, Casey thought. He just hadn't foreseen how many turns it would have.
One morning Sam dressed as if he was going to a ball.
"What's that for? " asked Casey, frowning.
"So I’m not naked?" Sam answered with a childish smirk. It was a very rare face in Sam's repertoire, new for Casey, and he absolutely loved it.
"You're usually 'not naked' in a different way. Why those clothes?"
"You don't need to know." Sam's face returned to his usual inscrutable look.
"Right. I don't." Casey nodded his head, resigned. He was a bit too impatient in conquering the new territory of Sam's fucked-up mind and life. He should take it slowly, wait after every step, otherwise Sam would take a step back and Casey would have to begin playing hare and hounds from the start.
He rose from the sofa and headed to the kitchen to make himself coffee.
"You want some before you leave?" he asked casually, with no real hope of a yes.
"Um..." came the murmured response. "I might have one." The hesitant voice made Casey raise his brows. But he said nothing, only added a portion of coffee grounds and turned on the machine. Its whirr was the only audible sound in the apartment as they waited. The situation became a little tense once again. At times like this Casey left everything up to Sam, following his pace.
He was surprised to see Sam appear next to him, in a black leather coat over an elegant suit and white shirt. Shit, Sam was even wearing a tie! This was maybe the second time Casey had seen Sam like this. God, that picture was so hot. But he held himself back, not wanting to chase Sam away.
Sam turned to the right and looked at Casey. His face gave away nothing, nor did his eyes. He just watched, only God almighty knew what.
Casey gave him an inquiring look, his head tilted down, his brows arched.
The shrugging of Sam's shoulders was his only answer.
Okay. Nothing. Casey's wouldn't ask. He moved his eyes to the coffee machine and stared at it, having nothing sensible to do. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Sam still watching him—steadily, intensely, without giving a hint of the meaning of all this.
The machine huffed and stopped. In a strange silence Casey poured the hot brown liquid, smelling good as hell, into two cups: no sugar, no cream, no milk. Dark, strong, bitter pleasure. He handed one to Sam and turned around to lean against the counter. They drank, the sounds of sipping being the only noise in the room. Casey had the quiet hope that Sam would tell him now where he was off to, but the handsome man, with his hair stunningly swept back, didn't say a word. He seemed a bit off, absent, and Casey had no choice but to leave his partner to his thoughts and let him do what he wanted.
"Thanks," said Sam finally. He put the cup into the sink and pushed off from the counter to take his leave.
Casey's heart got a bit warmer, as "thanks" was still not a common word in Sam's vocabulary. There must be something important Sam had to do. He didn't seem normal. But, well, everyone had their secrets, and Casey wasn't going to invade a place to which he wasn't invited. He just sighed, "Yeah," and finished his coffee as the door closed behind the departing man.
Five minutes later he was wandering around the apartment without any purpose. He still had Sam on his mind. Well, that was his usual state, and lately it was a very nice one. He was working on a plan that would help him take another step forward into the cave of the beast. In fact, the whole situation was quite exciting for him. He wasn't a man to avoid challenges, and difficulties tended to stir up his ambitions and motivation. There was a significant possibility that if Sam had been easy, Casey wouldn't have gone that far to have him. Well, another thing was that he wouldn't have had to.
By sheer coincidence his eyes fell onto the pile of papers scattered about in a shoe cupboard in the hall. He remembered very well that it had been untouched since he’d found out what had happened to Simon. Sam must have had rummaged through it. Casey scanned the documents and noticed that the address of Simon's parents was missing.
"Shit," he hissed through his teeth. Without a word, without a sign, Sam had taken up the challenge he had tried to prepare himself for. A heavy challenge. Maybe even crushing.
What did he feel? Was he angry? Was he nervous? Did he feel jealous, embittered, deceived? Was he able to give the parents his honest condolences, to share his loss with them?
"Shit, shit, shit," Casey repeated to himself, his hands resting on the drawer, supporting his weight. He really loved Sam—something even he himself couldn't understand, as it seemed to be a purely masochistic act—and he wanted to support him. Somewhere in the pathetic circumstances of Simon's death, in the mess of Sam's complicated life and emotions, in his partner's piled up sorrow, buried in him for ages, Casey found his own solace. Sharing his painful experiences, his suffering as he mourned for his father, he had got perverse comfort from supporting someone who life had kicked in the ass a hundred times harder than it had Casey.
What, in the end, is wrong in thanking God that we’re not experiencing shit deeper than ours, that someone else is up to their ears in? Thus, Casey was grateful, as he had a Band-Aid of sorts on his wounds. Furthermore, sharing the pain with someone who understood, who'd been through dire straits himself, made the pain a little more bearable.
Now Casey was focused on Sam's troubles. Sometimes it allowed him to cut out his own unhappy thoughts. He hesitated, wondering if he should go after Sam or wait for him. He felt in his bones that Sam would be hard to approach, closed up tight as a safe, and cold as a stone. He didn't want that. But what if he was to follow the other man? Would Sam want to kill him?
He couldn't decide. It was none of his business, especially as Sam had been straight with Casey about that. And however fucked-up Sam was, he always knew what he wanted, and he always could say it straight out.
Clenching and relaxing his fists, and warming up his brain, Casey finally decided he would go out and wait for Sam somewhere along the way. Not too close to Simon's parents' house, but not too far, either. It seemed like an idea that had a chance of not getting him killed right away.
***
Casey had been sitting on the low wall for an hour, herds of thoughts galloping through his head. He was scared. Maybe this was a bad idea after all. Maybe Sam would find his whole "concern thing" humiliating and girlish. Was he being too clingy?
He ruffled his long hair nervously, imagining the worst scenarios he could come up with. In the normal world, among normal people, it was a normal thing to do: caring about friends, not necessarily lovers, being with them in hardships and turns of fate. But Sam wasn't "normal people". And the world they lived in wasn't normal, either.
He would have continued breaking the situation down into its constituent parts, but then he noticed the high-class black shoes not more than half a meter in front of him. He raised his head, only to meet the gaze of a sharp black eye. The artificial one was covered by the eye-patch. Scary. And desirable.
"Waiting for me, lover-boy?" Sam's face twisted in an ugly grimace, and Casey knew he was in trouble.
"No. I’m waiting for doomsday," he answered, rolling his eyes.
"Well, you brought it upon yourself, then." Sam's eye narrowed warningly and his fist swished through the air, aiming for Casey's head. Just like that. All the rage and pain Sam had probably spared Simon's foster family had to find a vent. And Casey was the perfect whipping boy.
Strangely, there was something intimate in the attitude. It was a twisted way of saying, "You understand me. I know I can hit you and you'll get it without making a drama of it." Sam had never verbalized this, nor did he even let the thought crystallize, but it was already a natural part of his vague relation with Casey.
His fist never reached Casey's head, as the sitting man was expecting something...unexpected. At least it would have been unexpected in anybody else. He tilted his body back and the powerful strike barely fanned his face. He instantly scissored his legs on Sam's and took the man down, dirtying his elegant coat with mud. In the blink of an eye he was sitting on his partner, all of Sam's limbs held still. But Sam was too angry, too agitated, to be a challenge for Casey now. He lay calmly, defeated, breathing heavily, and avoiding Casey's eyes.
The bright-haired man finally sighed, carefully released Sam's hands, and stood up, holding his hand out to help his partner. "C'mon, let's go home," he said.
Sam didn't take the hand, just jumped to his feet and started to the hotel.
"Sam." Casey's voice was sharp and firm.
Nothing. Sam walked on ahead, his mind absent, his heart empty, his life not having any sense.
"Sam!" Casey jerked the other man's hand, making him turn around.
"What the fuck do you want?" Sam sounded cold and hostile.
Casey felt offended. His pride got the better of him and he shot back, "I—" he emphasized— "want fucking nothing. Do whatever you want." He released Sam's coat, passed him with quick steps, and simply gave up.
You don't care? All right. I don't care, either. It's not my fucking business that you’re breaking inside.
And although it was his fucking business, as Sam's condition was generally caused by Casey's tenacious banging at the cold walls of his heart, he refused to admit it. For now. Until Sam was able to talk like a normal human being—or at least a good imitation of one.
Well, it was a bit slower, to catch up with some forgotten business, like what’s going on with Sarah, Ramson, Ryan... :)
I hope you liked it anyway and are wiling to leave me a few words of a comment :)
Poking works (thanks a lot to SuanoTsuji :D)!
Thank you for reviews – I got quite a handful of them and it made me happyyyyy!
eatenbyweasels - you’re absolutely right; I was so impatient to skip to the main part of the story, that I somehow neglected the beginning; but I hope it’s good enough not to be discouraging... I’m glad you went through it and read the continuation ;)
Clover Reef - hello :) I hope you had some time to go a bit deeper into the story... I still didn’t review your works. Between one hospital and another it’s kinda hard to do that. But I remember about it and this week I’ll give you a feedback, I promise!
Aleks - well, it depends, you know... Some people talk during sex ;) I do, for example :D And this was all sweet, romantic small talk to build the climate. It works sometimes if you’re in a playful mode :)
Berlin - helloooo!!! Nice to see you. I love your reviews – so thought through, giving me a glimpse from outside :) So, I thought it wasn’t actually rape. Sam took it with no objections. He somehow needed to be hurt. He wanted to be smashed and lowered. So he gave in. And Casey just took what he was given, with no consideration, though, for their comfort. They are not romantic guys (well, Casey had obviously changed) so getting things right will take some time ;)
And yeah, nagging is perfect! It works for me :)
Lisa - well, even being in love you can have breakdowns. After Sam messing with Casey’s head, he just lost it for a while. Emotions couldn’t stay still, he had to make a drastic move. Although I don’t see it as rape exactly. It was raping rather soul, than body. For Sam it was nothing very devastating, only pride hurt, he agreed to that – and this means something,as he never does that. And for Casey it was about changing their roles, getting square :)
viz - ‘Sam doesn't do lovey dovey, so Casey goes Sam's way.’ You got me right :) That’s exactly what I meant. Sometimes you must get kicked in your butt to understand some things, and appreciate the words that stand behind this kick :)
Thank you all for giving me a bit of your time!
And now – enjoy :)
Every Day Ain’t Easy
Sarah, as beautiful a woman as she was, got ugly. In the way that beautiful women get ugly when something is eating at them from the inside, and, like falling stars, they lose their brightness. She understood Kaminsky's reasoning for what he’d done, but she felt that killing Simon was wrong. Not just bad, as a moral judgement would suggest, but wrong. It shouldn't have happened. And it hurt badly to know that she was the catalyst of the events. She’d lost control over what was going on and become just a tool for Kaminsky's plan. And she didn't like it at all.
"Ryan?" she asked on her cell phone.
"Sarah?" The voice sounded shocked. "Where are you? Everyone's looking for you. What happened?"
"Slow down a little. I can't tell you where I am, and I ask you to keep quiet about this conversation. You haven't heard from me, understand?"
"Oh. Well, um, yeah...sure. I know nothing. But why? Are you in trouble?"
"Not yet. But you'll be, if you give me up."
"I won't."
"Good. I need you to do something for me."
"Sure, you know I'd do anything."
"Yeah, I know. Stop it. This is a big case. I want you to find whatever you can on George Kaminsky, alias...LaVey. Okay?"
"Who is he?"
"That’s what you have to find out. Check what he had to do with my father and Ramson. Will you?"
"Yeah. When do you want it?"
"As soon as possible. I'll call you soon. Bye."
Sarah cut off the conversation. She wasn't sure if it had been the right move, but she had to know. She had to know for sure, from an objective source. She couldn't allow the next unnecessary death to happen with her participation.
She sat on the floor, her knees pulled up under her chin and embraced tightly by her arms. She rocked slightly back and forth, gritting her teeth. She was having awful pricks of conscience that were slowly killing her. Simon had been a good guy, she felt it in her bones, and he hadn't deserved to die. Not in that way. Not because of LaVey’s reasons, at least. She thought she didn't know anything important about Simon. A strong spirit, a shadow, always where he had been needed. Someone you could count on. A solid base. A man who had been the glue connecting all parts of the team together, whatever feelings they had for each other.
Sarah's mind wallowed in contemplation of the team she was no longer a member of. Somehow she regretted it. She thought about Casey, that strong-hearted, intense personality, who would not give in to something below his standards. He was a bit like Simon; maybe, with time, he would hold the same position in the group.
Ryan, her friend...her friend who wanted too much. She trusted him; she knew he would do anything for her. A good guy, full of optimism, with a nice face that smiled at the whole world. Sarah thought he'd be the perfect man to plan a life with, but...there was only one small yet significant "but": Ryan didn't attracted her in a sexual way. So it had all had to end before it began. Pity. But what she could do about it, after all? Life sucks sometimes. No, it sucks very often and you just can't get what is right....
She smiled when she imagined Sam, with the wild, fierce soul of a hunting wolf. Fire and ice. And the worst son of a bitch, without morals. A pure, primal creature. Extraordinarily sexy, to complete the picture. She couldn't deny that sometimes she had the hots for Sam. Oh, yeah. But his walls, decorated with barbed wire, and his deeply rooted cruelty were enough to stop any move from her side. Sometimes she imagined sex with that dark power. She sighed at the thought of the strong, shapely body covering her completely, possessing her, claiming all she had....
And then she fantasized about Casey, also strong but tender, caring, and subtle. Yessss. That felt nice. It was a better version of Ryan: handsome, sexy, and sharp. But it was only a beautiful dream that could not come true.
Sam's brother had died because of her. Casey's dad had died from her shot. The two men she desired were her haunting ghosts now. Two death sentences hung over her head.
What an irony of life.
Ryan rummaged through the well-organized papers of the old archives. He found a description and lots of documents on the Great Theatre action, about medals for brave heroes and the list of the dead, both uniformed and civil. Yes, Sarah's father was there. And...Kaminsky's name was there. What the hell? he thought. How was that possible? Of course, he must have gone unnoticed or something. But why? Nobody who was a hero ran from the scene of a crime. So he clearly wasn't one, right?
Ryan started to worry. He’d been in love in Sarah for a long time now, and he felt she had entangled herself in something messy and dangerous. He was eager to help her, to win her acknowledgment, but he had no idea how to do that without letting others find out that he knew something he wasn't supposed to. On the other hand, it was so tempting to get a step ahead of Casey....
He liked Casey, up to a point. The guy was fair and easy to communicate with. Ryan could be even his friend, if it wasn’t for Sarah. There was a field of rivalry between them, and the fact that Casey visibly didn't care about the woman, at least not in that way, didn't help at all. Ryan found it humiliating and he held a small, hidden grudge against Casey. Nothing that could harm the other man, but still, big enough to stand in the way of a real friendship.
Now, Ryan worked as hard as he could to help the queen of his heart get out of trouble and to earn her gratitude.
Ramson rested his forehead on his hands. He felt tired—tired of all these years he’d had to be a tough guy with no right to hesitate in front of his team. This group of young people was his child. In a very weird way, he loved his child with an almost sick possessiveness. It was all he lived for, his medal of honor, his only pride. And now he'd let it fall apart.
He’d lost Sarah, he’d lost Simon, he’d lost Sam—the most dangerous gun he had was now pointed at his own head. And there was no way to turn it away. He’d lost his control over Sam; his dog was about to bite him in the throat, he was sure of it.
As soon as Simon was gone, there was no leash to keep the Doberman at a safe distance, no muzzle that could restrain its sharp fangs. Before, Sam had had to surrender to blackmail: Simon's foster family would stay unharmed as long as Sam obeyed his supervisors. Now there was no way to tame the churned-up river of events. Sam cared only for Simon, strangely—maybe for Casey, lately, but for sure he had Simon's family alone for nothing. He didn't even know them; he wouldn't blink an eye at their deaths.
Ramson sighed heavily. Maybe Casey...maybe he could help him avoid Sam's revenge? The man wasn't sure if it was possible, but he had nothing to lose. He had to try.
George Kaminsky smiled unpleasantly, a bit too contemptuously, as he looked at the picture of a dark-skinned, dark-haired man with one eye and a tattoo that reached his cheek.
"Well, boy, time to cross our swords, don't you think? Say goodbye to your life." He chuckled. Sarah had told him Sam was dangerous, but hey, how dangerous could that wild animal be, for a man so experienced that almost none could be a match him in the world of dark, complicated games that too often ended with someone's death?
He wasn't aware of the small fact that Sarah, having her dilemmas and suspicions, hadn't given him real examples of what Sam was really capable of. She hadn't described his dark personality, the lack of compassion in his heart, of morals, and the fact that Sam had nothing to lose. Why did she care? Well, that was a complicated question, even to her. He just felt that something wasn't right and she wanted to buy some time to find the truth. And finally, Sam had been her companion, after all. She’d caused him to lose his eye, and he hadn't killed her for it. Yet. Well, maybe he would, if he found her; but on the other hand, if he really wanted to find her, she was sure it wouldn't be much of a problem for him.
She simply owed him.
For some time now Casey and Sam had been avoiding each other. A slight feeling of awkwardness sneaked in between them, making them turn away their eyes whenever they met, and withdrawing their hands whenever they accidentally touched. Casey knew this game quite well—he'd been through it a couple of times—and he was happy. Because it all meant there was something between them, and it was something he had been chasing for years. The bond had been made. And he knew he had broken into Sam's world. Sam had yet to notice that, to understand, to learn, as was already obvious to Casey, that he was a bit lost and confused. Sam hadn't recognized his own feelings well enough, yet.
Nevertheless, their coexistence had moved to the next level, to be sure. There was no longer the twisted master-slave lineup. Casey felt his power and Sam had come to acknowledge it. They had become equal. Partners.
And Casey couldn't have failed to like it. Hell, he was happy as a puppy sometimes; when Sam didn't see him, of course.
Sam didn't know yet. He would, soon.
The road they traveled on was only one-way, Casey thought. He just hadn't foreseen how many turns it would have.
One morning Sam dressed as if he was going to a ball.
"What's that for? " asked Casey, frowning.
"So I’m not naked?" Sam answered with a childish smirk. It was a very rare face in Sam's repertoire, new for Casey, and he absolutely loved it.
"You're usually 'not naked' in a different way. Why those clothes?"
"You don't need to know." Sam's face returned to his usual inscrutable look.
"Right. I don't." Casey nodded his head, resigned. He was a bit too impatient in conquering the new territory of Sam's fucked-up mind and life. He should take it slowly, wait after every step, otherwise Sam would take a step back and Casey would have to begin playing hare and hounds from the start.
He rose from the sofa and headed to the kitchen to make himself coffee.
"You want some before you leave?" he asked casually, with no real hope of a yes.
"Um..." came the murmured response. "I might have one." The hesitant voice made Casey raise his brows. But he said nothing, only added a portion of coffee grounds and turned on the machine. Its whirr was the only audible sound in the apartment as they waited. The situation became a little tense once again. At times like this Casey left everything up to Sam, following his pace.
He was surprised to see Sam appear next to him, in a black leather coat over an elegant suit and white shirt. Shit, Sam was even wearing a tie! This was maybe the second time Casey had seen Sam like this. God, that picture was so hot. But he held himself back, not wanting to chase Sam away.
Sam turned to the right and looked at Casey. His face gave away nothing, nor did his eyes. He just watched, only God almighty knew what.
Casey gave him an inquiring look, his head tilted down, his brows arched.
The shrugging of Sam's shoulders was his only answer.
Okay. Nothing. Casey's wouldn't ask. He moved his eyes to the coffee machine and stared at it, having nothing sensible to do. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Sam still watching him—steadily, intensely, without giving a hint of the meaning of all this.
The machine huffed and stopped. In a strange silence Casey poured the hot brown liquid, smelling good as hell, into two cups: no sugar, no cream, no milk. Dark, strong, bitter pleasure. He handed one to Sam and turned around to lean against the counter. They drank, the sounds of sipping being the only noise in the room. Casey had the quiet hope that Sam would tell him now where he was off to, but the handsome man, with his hair stunningly swept back, didn't say a word. He seemed a bit off, absent, and Casey had no choice but to leave his partner to his thoughts and let him do what he wanted.
"Thanks," said Sam finally. He put the cup into the sink and pushed off from the counter to take his leave.
Casey's heart got a bit warmer, as "thanks" was still not a common word in Sam's vocabulary. There must be something important Sam had to do. He didn't seem normal. But, well, everyone had their secrets, and Casey wasn't going to invade a place to which he wasn't invited. He just sighed, "Yeah," and finished his coffee as the door closed behind the departing man.
Five minutes later he was wandering around the apartment without any purpose. He still had Sam on his mind. Well, that was his usual state, and lately it was a very nice one. He was working on a plan that would help him take another step forward into the cave of the beast. In fact, the whole situation was quite exciting for him. He wasn't a man to avoid challenges, and difficulties tended to stir up his ambitions and motivation. There was a significant possibility that if Sam had been easy, Casey wouldn't have gone that far to have him. Well, another thing was that he wouldn't have had to.
By sheer coincidence his eyes fell onto the pile of papers scattered about in a shoe cupboard in the hall. He remembered very well that it had been untouched since he’d found out what had happened to Simon. Sam must have had rummaged through it. Casey scanned the documents and noticed that the address of Simon's parents was missing.
"Shit," he hissed through his teeth. Without a word, without a sign, Sam had taken up the challenge he had tried to prepare himself for. A heavy challenge. Maybe even crushing.
What did he feel? Was he angry? Was he nervous? Did he feel jealous, embittered, deceived? Was he able to give the parents his honest condolences, to share his loss with them?
"Shit, shit, shit," Casey repeated to himself, his hands resting on the drawer, supporting his weight. He really loved Sam—something even he himself couldn't understand, as it seemed to be a purely masochistic act—and he wanted to support him. Somewhere in the pathetic circumstances of Simon's death, in the mess of Sam's complicated life and emotions, in his partner's piled up sorrow, buried in him for ages, Casey found his own solace. Sharing his painful experiences, his suffering as he mourned for his father, he had got perverse comfort from supporting someone who life had kicked in the ass a hundred times harder than it had Casey.
What, in the end, is wrong in thanking God that we’re not experiencing shit deeper than ours, that someone else is up to their ears in? Thus, Casey was grateful, as he had a Band-Aid of sorts on his wounds. Furthermore, sharing the pain with someone who understood, who'd been through dire straits himself, made the pain a little more bearable.
Now Casey was focused on Sam's troubles. Sometimes it allowed him to cut out his own unhappy thoughts. He hesitated, wondering if he should go after Sam or wait for him. He felt in his bones that Sam would be hard to approach, closed up tight as a safe, and cold as a stone. He didn't want that. But what if he was to follow the other man? Would Sam want to kill him?
He couldn't decide. It was none of his business, especially as Sam had been straight with Casey about that. And however fucked-up Sam was, he always knew what he wanted, and he always could say it straight out.
Clenching and relaxing his fists, and warming up his brain, Casey finally decided he would go out and wait for Sam somewhere along the way. Not too close to Simon's parents' house, but not too far, either. It seemed like an idea that had a chance of not getting him killed right away.
***
Casey had been sitting on the low wall for an hour, herds of thoughts galloping through his head. He was scared. Maybe this was a bad idea after all. Maybe Sam would find his whole "concern thing" humiliating and girlish. Was he being too clingy?
He ruffled his long hair nervously, imagining the worst scenarios he could come up with. In the normal world, among normal people, it was a normal thing to do: caring about friends, not necessarily lovers, being with them in hardships and turns of fate. But Sam wasn't "normal people". And the world they lived in wasn't normal, either.
He would have continued breaking the situation down into its constituent parts, but then he noticed the high-class black shoes not more than half a meter in front of him. He raised his head, only to meet the gaze of a sharp black eye. The artificial one was covered by the eye-patch. Scary. And desirable.
"Waiting for me, lover-boy?" Sam's face twisted in an ugly grimace, and Casey knew he was in trouble.
"No. I’m waiting for doomsday," he answered, rolling his eyes.
"Well, you brought it upon yourself, then." Sam's eye narrowed warningly and his fist swished through the air, aiming for Casey's head. Just like that. All the rage and pain Sam had probably spared Simon's foster family had to find a vent. And Casey was the perfect whipping boy.
Strangely, there was something intimate in the attitude. It was a twisted way of saying, "You understand me. I know I can hit you and you'll get it without making a drama of it." Sam had never verbalized this, nor did he even let the thought crystallize, but it was already a natural part of his vague relation with Casey.
His fist never reached Casey's head, as the sitting man was expecting something...unexpected. At least it would have been unexpected in anybody else. He tilted his body back and the powerful strike barely fanned his face. He instantly scissored his legs on Sam's and took the man down, dirtying his elegant coat with mud. In the blink of an eye he was sitting on his partner, all of Sam's limbs held still. But Sam was too angry, too agitated, to be a challenge for Casey now. He lay calmly, defeated, breathing heavily, and avoiding Casey's eyes.
The bright-haired man finally sighed, carefully released Sam's hands, and stood up, holding his hand out to help his partner. "C'mon, let's go home," he said.
Sam didn't take the hand, just jumped to his feet and started to the hotel.
"Sam." Casey's voice was sharp and firm.
Nothing. Sam walked on ahead, his mind absent, his heart empty, his life not having any sense.
"Sam!" Casey jerked the other man's hand, making him turn around.
"What the fuck do you want?" Sam sounded cold and hostile.
Casey felt offended. His pride got the better of him and he shot back, "I—" he emphasized— "want fucking nothing. Do whatever you want." He released Sam's coat, passed him with quick steps, and simply gave up.
You don't care? All right. I don't care, either. It's not my fucking business that you’re breaking inside.
And although it was his fucking business, as Sam's condition was generally caused by Casey's tenacious banging at the cold walls of his heart, he refused to admit it. For now. Until Sam was able to talk like a normal human being—or at least a good imitation of one.
Well, it was a bit slower, to catch up with some forgotten business, like what’s going on with Sarah, Ramson, Ryan... :)
I hope you liked it anyway and are wiling to leave me a few words of a comment :)