Disclaimer: NBC, MCA/Universal and Wolf Films owns them.
Rating: NC17
Summary: Part 12. Jack and Ed ponder the meaning of "relationship."
Author's Note: Big thanks, again, to LindaK for all of the help.
Copyright June 2003 Cassatt
The first murky thought that stumbled through Ed's mind as he awoke was that this was much, much better than the morning before. On his stomach, he felt the weight of a warm body on half of his back, an arm around his waist, a leg on the back of his thigh. He heard Jack's breathing, accented by puffs of air tickling his skin. Much better. Then he heard something else, and opened one eye to look. It was raining; the sky, which should have been bright with morning sun, was grey and heavy. He didn't care. He didn't have to go anywhere, drive through any of it, jump up and get dressed, nothing, for hours yet. The most he'd have to do would be to go downstairs and pick up his Sunday paper. Eat some bagels and hang out on the couch with Jack. Talk. Read. Be together. He smiled against the pillow.
The arm draped on his waist moved, and Jack stirred. "Raining," the man mumbled, in a deep voice.
Ed turned his head in Jack's direction, away from the windows. "Yeah. It's nice."
Jack moved again, dropping a kiss on Ed's shoulder, and rolled away to stand up. Ed watched him walk to the bathroom, his fingers itching to touch, grab, and pull Jack back into bed. He gazed at the body moving away from him, and held a brief fantasy of running his hands down that fabulous ass each time he saw Jack. At work or not. Merely stroke him, let everyone know that he was the one who could do that, he was the one Jack wanted, he was the one Jack loved. As if they were free to show it.
The toilet flushed, and Ed turned onto his back, watching Jack return. This view was also pleasant, and he smiled as he moved the covers enough for him to crawl in. The man settled on his chest; Ed wrapped his arms around him and sighed in contentment.
"This is nice, too," Jack said, his voice still gravely, his hand roaming up and down.
Ed knew that if that hand strayed any further, his morning erection would keep them in bed for a while still, and though that vision was much more than pleasant, he was hungry above everything else. Very hungry, as the airplane food the night before had been barely edible. He was about to suggest they get in the shower as a move toward breakfast, when Jack spoke.
"Anita and I made an appointment with Skoda, to come to the precinct this afternoon. So we need to be there at three o'clock."
He was disappointed that they had another obligation, but definitely interested in what the psychologist had to offer. And he liked the "we" in Jack's view of the day. "Okay," he said, "maybe I can schedule Anthony after that."
"That would be good. Peter called you -- we're invited to dinner tonight." Jack hesitated and Ed could feel him smiling against the skin of his chest. "To meet Justin."
Ed smiled, too. "Wants reinforcements, I think. And approval." He squeezed Jack's shoulders. "Sounds like fun, and God knows we could use it. Any other messages?"
"Your mother."
Ed sensed the sudden stillness in the other man's body. "Checking in," he replied. "I'll call her later." They were quiet for a minute or two; the only sound was rain spattering the windows. Slowly Jack's hand came back to life.
"I can hear your stomach," Jack said without lifting his head. "Hungry?"
"Starving."
Jack moved up and off, and grabbed Ed's hand. "Come on."
He allowed himself to be pulled. "Take a quick shower with me?"
They were heading into the bathroom. Jack quirked his eyebrow at him. "Thought you said you were starving."
A wave of desire hit to see the look on Jack's face, and he willed it down. "The key word there is quick. We've got all day, more or less...."
"True," Jack said with a grin, "we can always go back to bed."
Ed grinned, too. Jack let go of his hand and prepared to brush his teeth. Ed emptied his bladder, still grinning. Two weeks ago, if he'd have considered Jack McCoy in his bathroom, on a Sunday morning, making overt sexual advances as something remotely close to reality -- he'd have sent his own ass to Skoda's couch. He flushed.
Jack ran soapy hands over Ed's back, across and down the now-familiar planes of muscle. This was much better, he thought, than the imaginings of the morning before. Ostensibly he was helping Ed get through his washing more quickly. He knew he was also taking an opportunity. To touch. They had a day together, finally. One complete day from start to finish. There was much to talk about, and obligations to fulfill. But not quite yet. Ed turned around to rinse, and those dark brown eyes locked with his. He couldn't stop himself, and he didn't want to. He cupped Ed's face and leaned in, covering Ed's mouth with his own. Kissing him with a slow, heated kiss, feeling Ed succumb to it, hearing the man's soft groan over the noise of the shower. Tasting every bit of him, knowing this was exactly, absolutely, everything that he'd wanted in a lover. This was more, and oh, so good. Their kisses escalated, they were both making sounds now, a rush of fire was passing back and forth between them, across their tongues, carried by their breath. Ed's arms went around him, but he untangled their lips.
"Want at least an hour with you in bed," Ed said, his chest moving rapidly. "At least."
"Then turn the cold water on," Jack replied, his own breathing not any calmer.
Ed crinkled up his nose, and Jack stifled the urge to bite it. Along with his earlobe, and possibly even his neck. He was hungry, too.
In the elevator, after hitting the four, Ed opened the only envelope to interest him in the stack of mail he'd yanked out of his box. The large roll of the Sunday newspaper was under his arm. He unfolded the orange sheet of paper and smiled. His niece was going to be in a school play, a ghost story, in celebration of Halloween. The thought of eight-year-olds performing a supernaturally themed play made him smile even more. He could see children trying to remember their lines amidst goblins, black lights, and spooky music. No doubt the teachers would go all out, as they usually did. "Uncle Ed, I'm going to be a pumpkin!" was written carefully along the top of the flyer. The elevator stopped on his floor and he got out. He'd put it on his calendar, and call her as soon as he could. He wouldn't miss it.
He opened his unlocked door to the smell of coffee and the sound of Jack moving around the kitchen. His stomach rumbled; his heart swelled. He took the paper to the living room, unrolled it, and dropped it on the coffee table. There were two containers of schmear, napkins, and silverware already set out. The mail, he put on his desk. A short detour to the bedroom to slip off his shoes, and he was finally in the kitchen, too. Wrapping his arms around the man who'd just taken juice from the refrigerator, pulling him into an embrace as the carton landed on the counter. Kissing the side of his neck, because he could, and he wanted to, and because it was a spot that made Jack shiver, and that was also good. Inhaling the scent of him. He closed his eyes, feeling very, very lucky.
Jack pulled back, and kissed him. "Which bagel do you want first?"
"You are a god, Jack McCoy," he replied with a grin. "A god. Poppy seed. Please." He let him go. "You've got everything ready."
"No gods here, trust me." Jack turned to the counter, took out two bagels and prepared to cut them for toasting.
Ed poured juice, and after taking the glasses to the living room, he noticed that the file from Middleton wasn't anywhere to be seen. He thought Jack had said that he wanted to start reading it while Ed went downstairs; that they would review it in earnest over breakfast. He opened his laptop case; the file was still there. "Hey, didn't you want to look at this?" he asked, taking out the folder.
Jack looked over his shoulder. "Didn't want to go into your bag."
"Why not?"
Jack shrugged. "Private." He went back to the bagels, putting them in the toaster oven.
Ed was surprised. "Well it would have been fine." He came around the counter and stood beside him. "Really."
Jack looked at him. Their eyes locked, and Ed watched him consider the reassurance. In a flash of sudden understanding, Ed got it. "There's no possibility of ... violation from you. None."
Jack smiled. "Okay," he said, touching Ed's chest.
"You still need to quiz me," Ed said.
"Oh, I will," Jack replied gently. "But there're other things that are more pressing."
Ed sighed. "Yeah, I know. We need to talk about her, and about how I won't kill her even though I'd like to. Among the other things."
Jack sighed as well, and cupped Ed's face, stroking his cheek with a thumb. Ed loved it when he did that -- it was a gesture so unlike anything he would ever have imagined from Jack that it almost gave him goose bumps. "I'm sorry, Ed," he said quietly. Jack's hand dropped, so he could bring Ed into a hug. Precisely what he needed. He needed to feel them together, needed to breathe, needed to be held. He closed his eyes again and let it all simply be. He breathed. The toaster oven bell sounded. Bagels were ready.
Jack set down his coffee mug on the end table and closed the file on his lap. The reading had been fascinating, and frustrating. Ultimately, vaguely depressing. Ed was lying on the couch, his feet under Jack's thigh, his legs bent, his head resting on the other end. Letting go of the papers gave Jack a free hand; he touched Ed's knee to get his attention. The man dropped the sports section onto the floor.
"So, what do you think?" Ed asked.
"I think he did it," Jack replied, shifting his hand to Ed's calf. "I think that Froendlich was right to trust his instincts -- but as to how Woodbridge managed it? It's too bad they didn't have our ME, or they might have had a bit more of a clue."
"Lennie's going to ask her to review the case." Ed's dimple appeared. "I've decided to let him talk to her alone. I think I might be cramping his style."
"He's interested in Rodgers?" Jack tried to picture it, and found that he couldn't quite focus.
"For a long time. We heard that she broke up with her husband. Lennie's excited again." Ed grinned full out. "They're always flirting. I'm hedging my bets, but I'd be all for it if it would make him happy. The guy deserves it. And he'd be great with her kid."
"He does deserve something good, I agree," Jack said.
Ed's smile disappeared. "How do you see Crymson in it?" His eyes bore into Jack's.
Jack stroked Ed's leg, both to soothe and connect. "Well, with what we know of the man, I'd make a guess that he did it solely to protect Ryerson." Ed nodded in response. "I really can't see it any other way. Quite likely, we'll never get the whole story."
"And you can't use this, can you, when you prosecute Woodbridge?"
"Only in regards to motive. We have to figure out why the hell he decided to murder his alibi witnesses fifteen years after the fact. If they were blackmailing, then why now?" Jack shrugged. "Unless you find some piece of evidence that would prove he, in fact, killed his parents. Then it's up to Wisconsin."
"Woodbridge's major in college was interesting, wasn't it? And the university didn't exactly make Froendlich's job easy...."
"Didn't want to be held liable, though who they thought they were protecting themselves from, considering Woodbridge was the sole heir." Jack tossed the file on the coffee table. "Academia. They believe they're in a world of their own."
The silence stretched between them -- a comfortable one. Jack was about to get up and offer more coffee, when Ed slowly caressed Jack's leg with his toes and reached for his hand. "Oh, I don't know," Ed said quietly, "there's a lot to be said for a life of isolation."
Jack wondered when he had developed the ability to thoroughly read this man. There must have been so many times when Ed had spoken with hidden, double meanings. So many conversations, and Jack had never noticed the look in his eye. The inflection. The body language. He did now. There was something beyond the obvious connotation to be heard in Ed's words. He lifted his eyebrows at him in question.
"Anthony said something like that," Ed explained, "the night Serena found us. We'd been talking about coming out, and at the time I thought I understood his point. You know, really understood. But I think I get it differently now."
"How so?"
Ed sighed. "I think it's about our need to try and keep things under our control. Anthony was talking about Crymson's public life, and how he really didn't care that his lover had been way out there for the community. All he wanted was Crymson. At least that's what I heard then. He couldn't keep him safe." He paused, and studied their joined hands for a long moment. "I've always known, somewhere in the back of my mind, that there'd come a time when I wouldn't be able to control all of the parameters. I'd be outed, I'd slip up somehow. Something would happen. I didn't realize just how totally fucked it would feel. Didn't realize...."
"How much you'd want a do-over?"
Ed's eyes locked with his. "Only in some respects, and definitely not in others, Jack."
Though Jack hadn't meant the question to be about him, he felt a soft sense of relief anyway. "I know," he said.
"I freaked out yesterday." Ed shrugged. "Almost totally freaked out. Lennie talked me down...."
Jack asked him what had happened, trying not to grit his teeth. As he listened to Ed talk, through the haze of his own anger, he had two opposing and overwhelming urges. To hold Ed tightly there on the couch and to jump up and fix it. This was his mess, his responsibility. If it hadn't been for him fucking Ryerson and that damned diary, he was certain that none of what had followed would have necessarily happened. None of it. They still would have been seen by Serena, and been outed, but Ed's life turned upside down by her? Jack was convinced that would have been avoided. And whereas he wished he'd been there, on the highway to Wisconsin, to help Ed through the crisis, he had to admit that he owed Lennie Briscoe. Not that the man would ever be able to hear that from him. But it was the truth nonetheless.
After Ed finished, Jack told him what he'd learned from Nora. Ed's eyes blazed as he listened, then dimmed, then dulled.
Ed rested his head on Jack's thigh, glad he'd changed positions, glad he'd let himself be encouraged to do it. He knew it hadn't really taken much. The caress of Jack's fingers, across his shoulders, held him still. His eyes were closing, though he wasn't tired. He was, he decided, only wanting it all to go away. Like the child whose shut eyes made him invisible.
"There's nothing we can do," Jack said, "even though Nora would have tried. Asking the company to delete your file would only draw attention to it. They'd likely ignore the request, and we'd have to get a court order. But -- I'd do it, Ed, in a heartbeat, if you wanted me to."
It was difficult to hear the raw truth of it spoken aloud. He and Lennie had batted around the idea, both of them voicing the opinion that it might not have merit, but leaving it as a nebulous idea. One reason he loved Jack was because of his honesty -- it was sometimes brutal, but Ed could count in it. Yet, for a split second, before Jack had answered, Ed had wanted the man to be different. Wanted Jack to wrap it all in a false aura of possibility. To fix it for him.
"I love you," Jack said, his voice thick with emotion.
Ed stopped tracing the plaid pattern that was on the flannel covering Jack's knee. "I love you, too," he replied quietly. The depth of it was continually surprising him.
Ed was looking through the new television preview, to see if there were any upcoming basketball games, when the phone rang. Curled on his side, his head once again on Jack's leg, he said to his pillow, "Can you reach it? It's probably Peter calling back."
Jack grabbed the phone, from somewhere on the end table, during the third ring. "Hello?" Then Jack's leg twitched. "He's right here, just a moment." Ed was already moving to sit up, and took the instrument. Jack whispered, "Your mother."
Ed's heartbeat reacted as he put the phone to his ear. "Hi, Mom. How are you?" He settled against the back of the couch, his feet landing on the coffee table next to Jack's.
"I'm fine, Edward. Who was that who answered?"
He shook his head. That was his mother -- cut to the chase when she wanted to know. Ignore things when she didn't. "That's my new boyfriend. Jack." He waited.
"And is that all I get to know about him? His name?"
"What would you like to know?" He glanced at Jack, who was studiously ignoring the conversation, intent on his reading.
"His occupation?"
"Attorney."
"Oh," his mother said, her voice lifting with the telltale sign that Ed recognized and rarely heard.
"He's in the public sector," he said, imagining how she would weigh that piece of information. There was a moment's silence.
"Well, I have to say I'm surprised, given your attitude toward defense attorneys."
He grinned. "Who says he's a defense attorney? You're right -- I hate 'em."
"Edward. Is this twenty questions? What is your boyfriend's occupation? Specifically?" Her tone was clearly recognizable this time, too, but Ed wasn't in the mood to fall back into old habits.
"Okay, Mom," he answered lightly, "but before I tell you -- he's not out at work." He waited again, for emphasis.
"And what, you think I don't understand what that means? After all these years?"
"No, I know you understand what it means." He glanced at Jack again, who glanced back with a lift of his eyebrows. He shrugged, and Jack went back to his book. "He works in the DA's office. He's a prosecutor."
"Oh?" The lilt was back, and Ed could almost hear her calculating the pros and cons. Attorney - good. Public service - bad. DA's office - some cache, so potentially good. Bright future with possible judgeship - good. In love with her son? Better than the previous men, overall.
He decided that he might as well burst the bubble now as later. "His name is McCoy." This time the silence was deafening, and Ed shifted to rest his head on the back of the couch. He anticipated the lecture that would start at any moment, about getting involved with an Irish man, a non-African-American man. He'd heard it before so it no longer disturbed him, but it was certainly tiresome.
"You know how I feel about this," she finally said.
"Yeah, I do."
"Very well." She sighed. "Did you get Shondra's invitation to the play?"
He almost said something, but he honestly couldn't think of what to say. He really didn't want to hear the lecture -- however, the apparent acquiescence on her part was a bit disconcerting. "I got the invitation. I thought it might be a good chance for you to meet Jack. If he's available," he said, throwing the ball at high speed, right back into her court.
"That would be nice," she replied in a tight voice. "Be sure to call the school and RSVP for two, so they put up enough chairs."
"I will." He wasn't going to report that his plans also included a call to his niece. She asked about his job; he told her a bit about the current case and about his trip to the Midwest. He finally got his lecture, but the topic was the fact that he hadn't let her know he was leaving New York City. He listened, wondering all the while if her words were coming from a different place entirely. Sure, she had a right, he supposed, to know where her son was on a given day, but he did have a cell phone that was never out of his reach. She was worried -- that he heard. He simply was not so certain that her worries were about his geographical location.
Jack closed his book and stretched back on the couch, too, draping one leg over Ed's. He reached for Ed's hand and they twined fingers. Ed looked at him. The man smiled, then closed his eyes. Ed talked to his mother, with the warmth of Jack's palm against his. He watched the rain run rivulets down the windows of his living room. Watched the shifting patterns. The intersecting lines.
Ed shut off the phone and dropped it on the couch beside him. He sighed and looked at Jack, whose eyes were still closed. They opened.
"So -- what's the verdict?" Jack asked.
Ed shrugged. "As I expected. Not too thrilled, but you've got some points in your favor."
"I heard. Good thing I went to law school, then." He moved his leg off, sat up and locked eyes intensely, but didn't say anything.
"I'm okay, Jack," Ed said in the silence. "Really. I told you -- I've long let go of what she thinks of me or my life. It's not worth it." He sat up as well. "Let's go get dressed and get out of here. I need some food in this place. Wanna come shopping with me?"
Jack was still studying him. Then he nodded. "How far is the market?"
"About four blocks. Good walk."
"It's raining," Jack said with a touch of sarcasm.
Ed stood and pulled the other man to his feet. "Like I said, a good walk." He grinned. "You gonna melt or something?"
Jack opened his mouth and closed it again with a sudden grin, then began to walk to the bedroom.
"What?" Ed asked, following.
Jack shook his head. "Just made me think of one of the worst songs in the history of white popular music, that's all. Way before your time."
"Which one? I might know it."
"I don't think so," Jack said. "It's about a cake. That ring any bells?"
"No," Ed admitted. "Sing a few lines for me."
They'd reached the dresser, and Jack was taking out underwear, tossing a pair to Ed which he caught with one hand. "I'm not going to sing it," Jack stated. Ed recognized that tone, too, but he had all afternoon to change the man's mind, and believed that he stood a better chance with Jack than he ever had with his mother.
They walked out of the building, and Ed raised an umbrella over their heads. Though purely out of necessity, since the rain was too steady to go without, Jack found himself glad to be able to walk shoulder to shoulder with Ed. Glad to have a reason to be near enough to catch remnants of the man's aftershave, applied hours before. If he were walking with a woman, he might take her elbow; he might put his palm on her back. If he were walking with a woman lover, he might hold her hand. He had the urge to slip his fingers under the back of Ed's leather jacket, and slide a thumb through his belt loop. Feel the heat of his body seeping through his thick knit shirt. It was so tempting, and so tempting to believe that nobody would notice, or care. They probably wouldn't. In that moment, he understood something viscerally that he'd only understood intellectually. The act of holding another man's hand, walking down the street, wasn't necessarily a political, in-your-face move. Everyone wanted to be close to those they loved, to experience the connection, the warmth that only a lover can bring. Everyone wanted it, but not everyone could have it. He'd have to be grateful that it was raining, and Ed was forced to push against his shoulder, in just that way. To glance at him, and flash that dimple. Ed was grateful, too.
Jack was also thinking about Ed's mother, and how the man had reacted to what he'd termed "the inevitable." Since they'd discussed it the week before, Jack hadn't been surprised by the woman's position on his race. He didn't like it, but he obviously could do nothing about it. How she'd act once she met him, and saw how close in age they were, Jack could only guess. He didn't think he cared. Whether or not she approved of him wasn't the issue uppermost in his mind. There was something more imperative for him to know.
"Ed," he said, breaking the rather comfortable silence, "tell me something. If your mother really gives this, gives... us a hard time, how will that affect you?"
"What do you mean, affect me?"
He didn't want to spell it out. "It could be very difficult."
Ed was quiet for a few more steps. "Just another complication, as far as I'm concerned."
"Well, how complicated would it be?"
Ed turned and met his eye. "What are you asking me?" He stopped their progress. "What do you need to know, Jack?"
He took a deep breath, and shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat. "Will it give you second thoughts?"
Ed smiled one of his warm ones. "No. Not in the least. I told you, I don't pay any attention to how she judges my life, not any more. And she's chilled out considerably -- she learned her lesson over the cop issue. She doesn't want to lose her son."
"Yes, but you won't want to lose your mother, either." His heart started to beat faster. It was overwhelmingly important that he understand Ed's feelings; his happiness depended upon it. His life had changed, and he didn't want it to change back. He looked deeply into Ed's eyes, searching for the truth.
Ed leaned incrementally closer. "I've been through it enough with her," he said gently, "to know that that won't happen. She gets the limits. My dad didn't, but she does. Besides, bottom line is that she wants me to be happy. She'll see that I am. For the first time in a really long time. And that's not something I'm willing to give up."
Jack saw what he was looking for, and nearly sighed aloud in pure relief. "Okay," he said. "Thank you." Another urge hit, stronger than the earlier one. He wanted to kiss him, to feel the truth of Ed's words surging through his mouth and into his body. He could see that Ed wanted the same thing. Instead, he smiled, and brushed his fingers across the leather covering Ed's stomach. Ed's answering smile was enough. They turned and started to walk again, with shoulders touching, in just that way.
"What's the most significant thing you remember about being twelve years old?" Jack asked. They were entering Ed's building, shifting bags and the umbrella between them so Ed could key the door. Jack used his back to hold it open.
"We're really getting into early years here," Ed said with a grin, "what are you going to ask me next -- what subject I liked in fifth grade?"
"Well, it's better than discussing the possible symbolism of 'MacArthur Park'," he retorted with a grin almost as wide. They headed toward the elevator.
"Just trying to make some sense out of the thing."
"There isn't any," Jack said, elbowing the elevator call button. "And it's embarrassing enough to have to admit that idiotic song was a hit, much less try to understand it."
Ed chuckled. "It was probably a drug induced lyric." The elevator arrived. After getting in, Ed succeeded in pressing a thumb against the four. The doors slid closed; the car lifted.
"It wouldn't have been the only one," Jack said, still grinning. "So, twelve years old. Ed Green, and....?"
Ed considered slipping past the first thing that had come to mind, but couldn't do it. "Me and Charlie Fisher. I finally got the okay to have him sleep over. He did. And we experimented." He grinned again.
Jack's eyebrows rose. "Sex?"
He shrugged. "Well, sex for a twelve year old. Which consists of jerking each other off as many times as humanly possible."
Jack laughed, and the door opened. "So how many times did you two manage in one night?" he asked as they walked onto the fourth floor.
Ed was about to answer when one of his neighbors approached. "Phil," he said to him.
"Ed," the man answered, and got onto the elevator after nodding in Jack's direction.
Ed started toward his apartment.
"Are you friendly with that man?" Jack asked. "Because he was concerned that I might have been stealing your paper yesterday. He kept his eye on me up until I got myself into your place."
He was surprised, and at the same time not. "Mildly friendly. He's sort of odd. But I think most people put up with him because he does watch out for things around here." He grinned at Jack. "So, a newspaper thief, huh?"
Jack grinned back at him. "Yeah. He warned me to be careful, since you were a cop."
Ed could think of a number of answers to that, none of which were appropriate for walking down the hallway. He could also think of a number of publicly inappropriate things he wanted to do with the man alongside him; all he could give him right then was a smile. Since they'd arrived at the store, throughout the conversations, and the quizzing, and the discussions of the merits of various food choices, their smiles had rarely wavered. Like lovers, reunited, with the world at their feet and there for the taking. He didn't judge it, he simply enjoyed it. He'd needed it.
"Charlie and I managed five times, I think," he said, as he keyed open his door.
Jack chuckled and preceded him inside.
There was a goal that Jack had in mind, that was driving him to put groceries away as fast as he could. He'd offered to take care of things destined for the refrigerator and freezer, since he wasn't that well acquainted with what went where in which cabinet. He finished first, so he emptied the rest of the bags and watched Ed work. These were some of the moments he relished -- the freedom to look, to stare, to remember how the skin under those clothes felt, and smelled, and tasted. How the man, stretched enticingly to reach a lower cupboard, gazed into his eyes when they were in bed. How he looked in the moment of his release. Jack's hands were beginning to tingle.
Ed had put the last can away and picked up a bag, intending to dispose of it, and therefore the others, when Jack grabbed his wrist.
"What?" Ed asked, turning to him.
Jack didn't answer, he moved, and did what he'd been dying to do for the prior hour. He kissed him, with a hungry kiss, acting on need, and want, and emotions that were waiting to burst right through his skin. Ed succumbed immediately, responded fervently, devouring Jack's mouth with equal force. Jack's stomach dipped and he nearly lost focus. Ed's hands were on his lower back, heading up under his sweater, which spurred him to action. Kissing deeply, he unbuttoned Ed's shirt, working his way down rapidly, exposing the skin of Ed's chest to his grateful fingers. He yanked the knit cloth free of the waistband, and the man moaned down his throat. The last two buttons undone, he almost smiled. Success. He touched. He stroked. He caressed. He made his lover shudder with want, pleasuring them both.
Ed was working on the fastenings of Jack's jeans, so he unlocked their lips. "Bed," he said. Ed's mouth was glistening; Jack's first thought was 'beautiful.' He'd never share it. Ed nodded, and smiled; grabbed his hand and moved.
Ed almost loved this moment above all others. Watching Jack's face as he entered him; seeing what nobody else did, the man's bliss in the moment of surrender. Ed had had his extended time in bed, lavishing love and attention on every bit of Jack's body he could. Receiving the same. He'd twice come close to losing control, had somehow managed to calm himself down, to hold off, to extend the pleasure. Jack was in no better a state, pulling Ed with his eyes to take him. Take them both.
Ed slid in to the hilt, and the moment of surrender on Jack's face became a moment of pure heat. His breath caught, as emotion overwhelmed him. How he loved this man. Open, wanting, needing him. Loving him. Giving to him, as Ed gave in return. Jack reached up and cupped his face. He saw the plea in those hazel eyes. The fire. He lowered himself down and kissed him, relishing the jolt he always felt, embedded and tasting at the same time. The first thrust was deliberately long and slow, but the second made it all start in earnest.
Soon they were moving together, fast and hard this time, sweat-slicked and groaning from rapidly approaching climaxes. Ed could feel his getting close, working its way up from his toes, and still he thrust into his lover, sucking in his tongue, then pulling back to look at him. He could see Jack was close, too, and he wanted to watch it, he needed to watch it. He thrust, and propped himself with one hand, reached in and took Jack in the other, eliciting a deep, throaty moan from the man. He stroked once, and thrust, then stroked again and saw it happen. Saw it move across Jack's face. Beautiful. Then he felt it happen, contracting all around him, and he finally lost control, falling over the edge with one last lunge as star-filled darkness invaded his mind, and waves of bliss overtook his body. He collapsed onto Jack's chest, pressing his mouth against the man's neck, barely aware of the pounding pulse under his lips. The hands stroking his back. Murmured words of love spoken into his ear.
Slowly the stars receded. He kissed Jack's neck. If he could only stay right there, with their skin pressed together, and the rain beating the windows, and the scent of them permeating his world. If he could only stay.
Their second shower of the day over, they were making a quick lunch, needing to be at the two-seven in less than an hour. Laughing together in the kitchen over their amazingly empty stomachs and how many calories are burned by which sexual act. Never far apart, and touching often.
Ed checked his answering machine, eating another half of a bagel and watching Jack pull on a sweater. Their eyes met across the room. A jolt of afterglow mixed with heady, pure desire hit, which he saw reflected back. Then the button he'd pushed did its job; the first message played and Ed broke the eye contact. It was Anthony, confirming their meeting for later that afternoon. The second one was from Peter, also a confirmation, but an upbeat and almost raucous one. Ed ate the last bite of bagel and mentally crossed his fingers that Peter's new love would last. This time. As would his own. How nice it would be, he thought, to not commiserate about their miserable love lives.
Ed drank some of his Snapple. The third and final message was unexpected. His mother's voice played in the mostly quiet room.
"Edward, dear, I was so intrigued by your boyfriend's profession, that I took it upon myself to see if I could find his name in the Daily News' on-line archives...."
Ed turned quickly to look for Jack; the man was coming in from the kitchen, and stopped eating the apple in his hand.
"Well," his mother continued, "imagine my surprise. I didn't realize that you meant the prosecutor you work with, which of course makes some sense. He has quite a fascinating record of cases, doesn't he? And some significant successes." She paused. "I was also able to see a photo of him." She paused again. "I do hope that you bring him to the play. Seriously, Edward, I want to meet him. We'll talk soon?" She hung up.
Ed hit the erase button. Jack came to his side and rested a hand on the back of his shoulder. Ed looked at him.
"So," Jack asked, his eyebrows lifting, "am I reading her right? Larger points for yes in the job category, but stronger concerns because of our age difference?"
"You know what?" Ed smiled at him. "This is going to be very interesting. She's thrilled that you're, how shall I say it, um, so damned good at what you do, and committed to it -- those are things that she values. Not to mention that you get in the papers, so there's the fame aspect."
Jack snorted and shook his head. "I'm not famous. Occasionally the case is newsworthy. The tabloids love our office."
"I know," he agreed. "But she doesn't. And yes, she's worried about the age difference." He smiled again. "Like I said -- this is going to be very interesting."
A smile finally blossomed on Jack's face. "Interesting," he said.
"Yeah." Ed cupped Jack's cheek, caressing the soft skin he loved. He knew they had to leave, but he needed one last taste of connection before entering his professional world. He kissed him, feeling a flash of heat when Jack deepened it and sweetened it, all at once. Ed sighed into the kisses. The hours until they'd be back in a bed suddenly seemed too many.
The cab let Ed out on the corner, half a block from the precinct. He'd squeezed Jack's hand once, under the cover of their coats, before getting out, opening the umbrella and heading for the door.
"Go around the block and then let me off at the police station," Jack ordered the driver. The cabbie's eyes met his in the rearview mirror. Jack glared and reiterated his request. After a shrug, the man complied, and within a few minutes they were directly in front of the two-seven. Jack paid and climbed out into the rain, then trotted up the building's steps. His hair was wet again for the third time that day. He smiled to himself, once inside, as he kept climbing stairs, wiping stray drops off of his face. At the same time, schooling his expression to show nothing except that which would be expected. Friendly and professional. He and Ed had a smooth, friendly, working relationship. That was it.
He entered the homicide bureau and like iron to a magnet, his eyes immediately landed on Ed at the copy machine. His lover turned at that exact moment. After a charged second, they both smiled briefly; Ed returned to copying the Middleton file, and Jack proceeded on to Lieutenant Van Buren's office. Lennie was there; Jack's entrance interrupted the man's conversation.
"Jack," Anita greeted him, "we were just discussing the notification of the victims' families. About what Lennie and Ed found in Wisconsin. You and Ed are going to talk to Mr. Cabot?"
"When we leave here. He's waiting for us," Jack answered, deliberately looking at Lennie, curious where he stood with Ed's partner given what had happened with Serena.
Lennie said, "I've been nominated to tell Ryerson's aunt, and his ex."
Jack nodded. He couldn't assess what Lennie was thinking, if anything.
"I just want to review the file," Anita continued, "before I call the Abbotts." As if on cue, Ed came in and handed her the copies she needed, and she began to skim through them. He left a second set on the desk for Skoda.
"Do you want some coffee?" Ed asked him in a low voice. "I'm getting some for me."
"Yes, thanks," he replied. Ed was standing so close in the small room, it was disorienting. Jack's hand almost lifted, simply to make the natural contact they'd had all day. He had to stop himself, drag his eyes away from Ed, and not watch him leave.
"Hey," Skoda's deep voice came immediately on the heels of Ed's departure.
Jack turned and held out his hand, which the man took. "Thanks for coming on a Sunday, Emil," Jack said with a smile.
"Double time," Skoda replied, smiling back. "So," he said to Van Buren, "I assume we're not going to squeeze in here?"
She stood and handed him the extra file copy. "We'll use one of the interrogation rooms off the bullpen," she said, retrieving folders from her desk, leading him toward the side door. "You want coffee?"
"Sure," he said.
"Anita," Jack called. She turned. "Give me a minute, I'd like to speak to Lennie. We'll be right there." She nodded, her eyes darting between the two of them, then continued out.
Lennie sighed loudly. "I do have a few choice words, but not necessarily for you."
"Serena," Jack said.
"Yeah. I want to know if Southerlyn gets to keep her job."
"All I can say is that at the moment, she does."
Ed came in and handed Jack a paper cup. He closed the office door behind him.
"Well," Lennie said harshly, "excuse me if I don't agree with that. She should be fired. Your office has no right to come after cops..."
Ed interrupted him, "It wasn't Jack's fault, Lennie!" Jack was about to reply, but Lennie beat him to it.
"Somebody should have been watching her -- supervising her!"
Bristling, Jack interjected with force, "It was determined that she could handle the responsibility of this case."
"That determination," Lennie retorted, "was faulty, now wasn't it?!"
Ed put his mug down so hard it nearly spilled. "I hate her too, but it's not fair to come down on him!"
"Wait a minute," Jack said quickly, "just wait a minute..."
The door opened and Van Buren came in, glaring. "What's going on?" Silence was the only response. "Do I need to have a talk with my detectives? Is this a personal problem, or a work problem?"
"A bit of both," Jack jumped in, "having to do with the relationship between our office and yours. My responsibility, for bringing it up with Detective Briscoe." He would be damned if this whole mess got Ed into trouble on top of everything else.
"Should we bring in Dr. Skoda to mediate?" she asked with a touch of sarcasm.
"No, ma'am," Ed answered. Lennie shook his head.
Jack said, "Let's get the meeting underway."
Van Buren went to her desk, picked up her glasses, and after shooting them all one more look, walked out. Ed met Jack's eyes in gratitude, grabbed his mug and followed. Lennie was still seething, and Jack took the opportunity to hold him back.
"Look, Lennie," he whispered, "I'm not going to be the reason you and Ed fight. I want Serena out of the picture, too, for the short term at least. She's not getting away with anything, and she won't do it again."
Lennie stared at him. Then relented. "I don't trust her."
Jack let go of his arm. "I know." They started to walk. "I'm glad you were there to help Ed through the crisis," he said, still in a low voice.
Lennie glanced at him. "Me, too," he finally said. After a long pause he added, "Glad you're prosecuting again."
"Me, too," Jack replied. He breathed a deep sigh of relief.
Skoda closed the last of the files and looked around the table. "Okay, remember, as usual, that this is considered preliminary at best. If Mr. Woodbridge did commit all five of these murders there are some assumptions I would make. He's a borderline sociopath, meaning he has no conscience when it comes to taking a life, but he does have some ability to form human connections. They may be superficial connections, but he's not sitting in a room by himself plotting out his next crime. I'd consider him an opportunistic serial killer. Obviously, not a random murderer, but someone who's killing for what he considers to be reasons of self-preservation. Necessary on an up close and personal level.
He believes himself to be of higher intelligence than the rest of humanity, and in particular, the police. He left the bodies where they'd be found, he played games with you by marking the victims, as if these were random. He's creative. Very creative." He shrugged and sipped his coffee.
Van Buren asked, "Creative, how, exactly?"
"Fifteen years ago, he used a method, implication that it was some sort of poison, that he probably learned about in the course of his studying biochemistry. A method that was undetectable, that he counted on being beyond the reach of the Wisconsin State Crime Lab. A creative use of his schooling. Now, he's used a totally different method, and I would hazard a guess that the first of these last three was not necessarily planned. He used what he had available at the time. Have you found any evidence that he owns a gun?"
"No, not legally anyhow," Lennie answered.
"And I don't think you will, because guns aren't really his style. He's used one, now, three times, but because of the way he left the body out in the open -- I don't think he'd planned out the first murder. He didn't have a disposal method, so he made it up as he went along, and decided to make it a game. Creatively, and meticulously. Smart."
Jack realized the implication, and was about to say something when Ed did.
"So," Ed said, and Jack heard at touch of excitement in his voice, "he used a gun that Ryerson had brought with him. We think Ryerson went there to confront him about something, blackmail, or an increase in blackmail." Ed turned to his left and met Jack's eyes. "We didn't check to see if Ryerson had a gun."
"Tomorrow," Van Buren said to her detectives, "after the search warrant is executed."
"Which is the question that I have," Jack said to Skoda. "Is this guy going to disappear at the first whiff that he's a suspect? We don't find any hard evidence tomorrow, and we've got nothing to hold him on. Will he leave?"
Skoda tilted his head and gave him a wry grin. "I don't have a crystal ball, but my guess would be that he wouldn't. Remember, he thinks he's smarter than all of you, and in his mind he's gotten away with five murders. Cleanly. Even if you brought him in for questioning, there's no way you'd get a confession out of him." He shrugged again. "It's against his nature. He has nothing to worry about, even if you do charge him, he'd still think he'd win. And he'd almost relish the contest."
"Then how will he handle losing a position in the Mayor's administration?" Jack continued. "I'd think that would make him want to run, and start over somewhere else."
"Like I said," Skoda answered, "no crystal ball. However, an ego as healthy as his doesn't take misfortune as failure. There's every possibility that he'd turn it all around in his favor."
"Spin control," Lennie muttered sarcastically, "my favorite."
"I'd like to spin him," Ed said under his breath.
"But what about hiring someone to do a break-in? Don Marsh?" Van Buren asked, ignoring both comments. "Isn't that a loose end? We don't think Marsh is dead -- just hiding."
"I admit that's a bit odd, but since you don't know how they're connected, Woodbridge may believe, again, that he's got Marsh under his control. Control is what this is all about. All of it."
"What about that," Jack asked Anita, "have your people found any connection yet between them?"
"Not yet. We've exhausted the possible witness lists from the five bars Marsh frequented, for now. Pay phone LUDs are being searched, but I could only put one detective on it yesterday and today. We've covered four blocks out from Crymson's Tide, three blocks out from each of Marsh's bars, and we've just started on the pay phones around his apartment." She didn't state the obvious -- the man could have called from anywhere in the city. Anywhere, period.
Skoda drank the rest of his coffee in one gulp. "So," he said, "is there anything else?"
"One more question," Ed said. "Do you think we can rely on what people have told us about him from a long time ago? Do you think that a person can change that much in fifteen years?"
Skoda paused. Jack thought Ed might be talking about someone other than the alleged perpetrator; not being able to rub his neck, he made what physical contact he could. He spread his legs enough to touch Ed's thigh with his knee. Ed glanced at him, then grasped the knee lightly. The heat of contact spread. Comfort and connection was turning alarmingly into something else. He breathed slowly and thought about the case to stay calm.
Skoda finally said, "No, I don't think people change their essential nature in fifteen years. Given that in college the psyche is not fully formed, even though we are technically adults. Someone who is a sociopath, even borderline, will stay a sociopath. The ability to empathize and to have a conscience about what's happening to our fellow human beings -- if that's not there by the time a person is twenty, or nineteen, or even fifteen, it isn't likely it will miraculously appear."
Ed sighed deeply. "And what about the reverse? A decent, caring person now -- would have been who in college?"
The man looked at him closely. "Very likely a decent, caring person."
Ed pursed his lips and nodded.
Anita met Jack's eyes across the table. He inclined his head once, indicating that he was finished; she thanked Emil for coming by. All of them stood, and while Anita, Lennie and Ed briefly talked amongst themselves, Jack pulled on his coat, checking his watch in the process. Anthony had been told between four and four-thirty; it was almost four.
"So, Jack," Emil said, coming around to his side of the table, "you interested in grabbing a beer? Maybe a bite to eat?"
By happenstance, quiet had descended upon the room as the man spoke. Momentarily surprised by the suggestion, Jack darted a glance at Ed, who was looking back at him. Jack quickly broke the eye contact, shifting it to Emil, whose glance was also returning from Ed's direction.
"No, I'm sorry," Jack answered, "I have an appointment. Take a rain check?"
"Sure."
"Where's Shirley?" He started walking to the door. Ed was five feet ahead of them, Jack assumed heading for his desk. He followed.
"At her folks' this weekend." Emil smiled.
"Playing bachelor, then?" Jack asked.
"Every once in a while it's a good thing. Drink, smoke, find some wild women," the man teased. "Isn't that the life of a bachelor?"
Ed was putting on his coat, at his desk. Their eyes met again. "Not any life I've had," Jack retorted, once more deliberately looking at the man with whom he was conversing. He passed Ed's desk, but stopped in the doorway, hoping Emil would keep going. "Thanks again for earning some double time pay," he said sincerely. "This is a tough case." He held out his hand, and the other man shook it.
"Any time, and I'll hold the rain check." He put on his hat and proceeded down the hall toward the stairs.
Jack turned, wadding up his cup, and walked toward Ed's desk. He tossed his garbage away and looked squarely at Ed, who had the umbrella in his hand. "Ready?" he asked him.
"Yeah," Ed said curtly.
They walked out. Jack could feel the tension radiating off of him, and wasn't entirely sure from where it was coming. He knew it had to have been difficult, for Ed, to have him there. This was the first time he'd been by the precinct since they'd become lovers and with everything that had happened regarding Ed's closet swinging open, it made sense that he'd be tense. But Jack didn't think that was entirely the issue at hand. They walked down the stairs, and pushed the doors open. It was still raining, so Ed popped up the umbrella.
As they walked down to the sidewalk, shoulder to shoulder, Jack asked him in a low voice what was wrong.
Ed was looking up and down the street for a cab. "It's nothing important."
Jack didn't buy that in the least. Ed flagged down a taxi which had just turned the corner, and as it pulled to the curb for them, Jack stepped forward to get the door, giving himself a moment to think. He followed Ed into the back seat, sitting close to him, needing to push the boundaries, just enough. Ed gave the cabbie the address and settled back while they pulled into traffic.
"Seems important," Jack whispered. "I'd like to know what it is."
"I," Ed started, then had to stop abruptly when the cab lurched. The driver honked and began to curse.
Jack looked out the window by reflex and saw Skoda, stopped on the sidewalk, looking back at him. He wasn't sure the man could recognize them, but just in case, he lifted a hand in greeting. Skoda returned the gesture as they continued past. It wasn't until they'd gone by that Jack wondered what he'd made of the two of them, sharing a cab. What would he have thought in the other man's shoes? Probably nothing.
"I didn't like him asking you to go out," Ed said in his ear, startling him, "and I didn't like it that I didn't like it." He sat back again. Jack turned. Ed's eyebrows were raised; his mouth was set.
"Because you need an explanation, or you don't?"
"I don't. And I know I don't. And still -- I didn't like it."
Jack smiled slowly. He leaned in closer. "Is there any reassurance you need?" All Ed had to do was move five inches and their lips could meet. Jack was so close to silently begging for it -- cab, public, driver and all.
"You can give me all you want once we get to Peter's," Ed answered with a heated grin.
Oh, yes, he thought. He could do that. Easily. It was the waiting that was hard.
They were standing at the door to Anthony's apartment. Ed hadn't knocked yet, and Jack was patient, by his side. Ed knew that Lennie had been right, in Chicago, when he'd said that talking to the survivors never got any easier. But to drag one man's reputation right down into the hole of hell, and have to tell the man's lover that it would be done? Ed almost thought this might be worse than having to deliver the ultimate bad news. What exactly did "rest in peace" mean, otherwise? Rest in the knowledge that all of the good you did in your life would be remembered, and the bad forgotten. Ed was greatly concerned that for Crymson, it would be exactly the opposite. And for Anthony, his own private hell would continue. How do you defend the actions of someone when you, yourself, don't understand?
"Ed," Jack said quietly, taking his hand. "He needs to know the truth."
The words were no different than those they'd spoken earlier in the day. Ed looked deeply into Jack's eyes. For what, at that moment, he wasn't certain. "Does he?"
"Yes."
Ed nodded incrementally. He rapped on the door, with his heart reverberating against the walls of his chest. Jack squeezed his hand.
Anthony let them in, and following him into the living room, Ed could see that the man had lost weight. In only the few days since he'd last seen him, he appeared to have dropped ten pounds at least. He didn't have the leeway to lose much more. They were introduced to a close friend of Crymson and Anthony, Russell, and while the four of them sat Jack made certain that Russell would keep what they discussed in the strictest of confidence. Anthony explained that he'd needed to talk to someone, about everything. Both Ed and Jack reassured him that they understood, that there was never a need to explain something like that. Anthony gave them news on the email front -- there had been, so far, no response from Richard Woodbridge to their attempt at drawing him out.
Ed could feel the internal split beginning again, where he was the detective on the case and also a member of their community, and therefore had to decide from which side to speak. The first time he'd met Anthony, he'd relied on Lennie to pick up the slack when he'd been unable to continue in the appropriate role. But he and Jack had discussed this, and Ed had said that he wanted to be the one to talk. At the time, he'd felt it was the right decision. Now, he was wavering, but one more look at the man he was so intensely in love with, and he found the strength he needed.
He told Anthony, step by step, what they'd learned in Madison, and then Middleton. He didn't temper it, he told it to him straight. Crymson and Ryerson together. Woodbridge suspected of murdering his parents. Crymson providing the alibi. Anthony had been right -- they firmly believed Woodbridge was the perp. Ed watched him become so still that he could have been taken for comatose, resting against the back of the couch, with Russell clutching his knee. The room fell silent, and Ed wasn't sure what to do, but Jack motioned for them both to wait. He went back to watching Anthony.
Slowly the man focused on him, and that was when Ed realized he hadn't let himself fully imagine how difficult this would be. The pain he saw, when their eyes locked, was unfathomable. His throat was clamping shut; he dug a thumbnail into his palm in an effort to distract. It worked, almost.
"Are you saying that you believe Crym played a role in this bastard's killing of his parents?" Anthony's voice was shaky, but strong.
Ed looked to Jack, finally, begging him to take over.
"Of course," Jack answered, "we don't know why, precisely, he alibied Woodbridge. But given everything that's happened, and the report from the Middleton detective -- yes, we believe he played some role."
Anthony's response was to stare blankly at them, back and forth. Russell bolted up from the couch, exclaiming, "No fucking way! No. Way!" The look he was shooting Ed was anything but blank -- he was glaring full out.
"I know how hard this is," Ed started to say, trying to diffuse the situation.
Russell shouted right over him, "No way are you going to make me believe this!"
"Russ!" Anthony said sharply. The other man turned, his chest heaving. "Sit." Russell sat back down, but his hands were working together, hanging between his knees. "Mr. McCoy," Anthony continued, "this will help, won't it, prosecuting that man?"
"It gives us motive, and I can use it for that at trial," Jack answered, "in a limited way. But yes, it helps. The biggest obstacle right now is a lack of evidence. Woodbridge's home will be searched first thing in the morning. We're obtaining bank records from the offshore banks that we know of. We won't stop until we find something concrete."
"You'll be prosecuting? Not Ms. Southerlyn?"
Jack nodded. "I've taken it back."
For the first time, Anthony's eyes changed. They softened. "Good, that's good." He paused, then, tried to say something else but had to stop and swallow hard. "Just for the record," he finally said, "It makes sense to me -- what Crym did back then. It seems so very much like him. He used to make comments about how stupid we are when we're in college." He swallowed again, then cleared his throat. "How we do things that we just don't realize the full ramifications of." He made eye contact with all three of them. "I can see him doing that, giving Ryerson an alibi. Maybe he didn't know exactly what the guy had done, maybe he did. But Crymson was never a man to hold back. If he could do something for someone, he did it. A hundred and fifty percent. I can see it...."
"Tony," Russell said, almost as a plea.
"No," the other man answered quietly. "No idolatry. He would hate that." He looked at Ed intensely. "Thank you for stopping by to tell me in person, Detective. Both of you. I trust that you'll do the right thing. Do what you have to, to nail the bastard."
Ed nodded, unable to reply, really. He stood; Jack followed. "Call me any time," Ed managed, "day or night, if you've got questions. And I'll keep you informed."
The two men on the couch got up, as well, and whereas Anthony looked better than when they'd first walked in, Russell appeared worse. Ed didn't entirely understand why Anthony was so calm, but for many reasons, he was glad of it. He and Jack were walked to the door. No pleasantries were exchanged; none were needed.
As they exited the building, Ed finally breathed deeply. The rain had barely let up, early evening was upon them, and a heavy weight was lifting off of his shoulders. Standing under the awning with Jack at his side, he closed his eyes and breathed again. Anthony's voice, from the week before, came to him, unbidden.
"Not every truth is the better for showing its face undisguised; and often silence is the wisest thing for a man to heed." Crymson's favorite quote.
"I have something to tell you," he said to Jack, as he once again popped the umbrella, and they began to head down the sidewalk. "I think you'll find it interesting...."
Ed was hanging up his leather jacket on the hooks in Peter's hallway when two hands grabbed his waist from behind. He recognized the grip and smiled as he turned. He barely made it around before Jack was kissing him, giving him a kiss that hovered between chaste and heated. With Peter and Justin again in the kitchen, Ed was about to wrap his arms around him and take a minute or two for themselves. But Jack pulled back and grinned.
"Reassurance," he stated with a wink.
The man's cheeks were flushed from the weather, reflecting the burgundy heather of his sweater, his hair was nicely tousled, his eyes were sparkling, and for the slightest of moments Ed wondered how in the world Jack McCoy had ended up standing right there. In front of him. "Thank you," he said.
"You're welcome."
He took Jack's hand and they went to find their host.
There was a nice buzz weaving its way throughout Ed's body, as he sat and sipped his wine. Dinner was over, and Jack, Justin and Peter were having a lively discussion about the prevalence of violence in the current culture. Ed was too wiped to contribute much, but more than happy to sit and listen. To watch his lover's mind working. To watch a thoroughly relaxed Jack, an apparently happy man, debate with relish but also with an edge of gentleness. As if it was important to him that Justin feel comfortable. As if Ed could be any more in love with him to see it.
Peter's new lover had been a bit of a surprise to Ed. He hadn't had a lot of time to talk to his friend over the past few days, and how Justin had been described during their brief conversations was almost as interesting as the combination of Justin and Peter together. He'd been told the man was a lot of fun, very cute, great in bed, and was back in school to get another degree. In truth, Justin was working on a doctorate in public policy. Justin was more flamboyant than Peter. Ed's best friend, art director for three cutting edge magazines, could wear colors that clashed with his red hair and no one would blink. Ed kept trying to picture Justin working in the halls of government with a purple tie.
Peter stood and began to clear the table, flashing an intense smile in Ed's direction. He got up to help, and eventually brought a full load into the kitchen. Peter was rinsing, but stopped when he put the dishes on the counter.
"Oh, Eddie, tell me honestly. What do you think?"
Ed smiled sincerely. "He is just too, too perfect for words," he said. "Honestly."
Peter slapped him gently on the chest. "I know, I know! Isn't he just?"
Ed pulled him into an embrace. "Yeah. He is." He let go. "Just one question -- does he pass while he's on his internship? I'm having trouble imagining it."
"Oh, God, you should see how he manages. It's a miracle, and I don't know that I necessarily agree with the whole concept, but I admit it got me fairly hot and bothered the morning I saw the transformation. Nothing like grabbing your lover's ass when it's all encased in a suit." Peter mock-shuddered. "I love it."
Ed laughed. "You know I agree."
Peter lowered his voice significantly. "You two look deliciously in love, hmm?"
"Things are good. Very good. Considering work and all."
"So can you tell me more now that we're in here? It's just me. Who's the suspect?"
Ed shook his head. "I can't. Any other case it wouldn't matter, but this one it does. I can't tell you anything more than what we said earlier."
Peter looked at him seriously. "Is this going to be bad for the community?"
With a deep sigh, Ed said, "I have no fucking idea, Petie. None. It could be."
Peter sighed, too. "When you're finished, I think you should take a vacation. A real vacation."
"Sounds like heaven," he replied sincerely. "Jack wants us to go to England. To meet his best friend. They've known each other since college."
"Do it, Ed." Peter cupped his face and stared into him. "There's something else going on, isn't there? There's more to the Serena story, isn't there? More than her asking questions at the Tide."
It had been years since he'd wondered at Peter's ability to read him. He'd deliberately brushed aside Peter's concerns during their last long-distance phone call, because he'd simply needed to take the easy way out. And Peter had been falling in love. But face to face, this man was one of the constants in Ed's life. He sighed again. "Oh, man, it is so messed up. It would take a while to tell you, and it has to be just between us. I mean, Jack knows, of course." He thought about what his Monday would be like. Insane. "Maybe we could have dinner tomorrow night?"
"I'm free," Peter answered without hesitation.
Ed smiled. They returned to the task of cleaning up, hearing the discussion in the other room continue. While they made coffee, Ed asked Peter if he knew any bars to "MacArthur Park." He did, and Ed finally got to hear it in all of its glory. He laughed so hard Jack and Justin came in to see what they were missing.
With his arm around Jack's shoulders, he convinced Peter to sing it again. It didn't take much convincing, and Peter's rendition was over the top, as usual, but it had Jack laughing, too. While they both watched the impromptu show Ed felt the man loop a thumb through the back of his jeans. Then, Jack shifted his hand, slipping a few fingers inside Ed's waistband. Ed looked at him, his face less than a foot away. Felt the warmth of a hand against the small of his back. The buzz he felt this time had nothing to do with wine.
They were in another cab, heading for Ed's apartment, then ultimately Jack's. It was dark; it was still raining; and through the partially opened cabbie window came the sound of windshield wipers and the muted voice of the dispatcher. They were sitting shoulder to shoulder, and thigh to thigh. With the dark of the interior giving a semblance of cover, they were holding hands. The holding hadn't lasted long, had instead become the caressing of fingers against fingers. Slow caressing. Intent, and erotic.
Jack watched the city, a collage of rain-streaked lights through the window, and let the curl of desire move through him. The solid bulk of the man on his right was an enticing juxtaposition to the soft touch of his hand. The sultry tones of his voice whenever he spoke directly into Jack's ear. The sweet taste of him.
Ed moved and Jack turned to face him. Again, they were so close, Jack's heart started to skip. But this time, without warning, Ed closed the gap and took his mouth in a heated, passionate kiss. Jack did what came naturally; he grabbed the back of Ed's head and pulled him in tighter. Deeper. The distant sound of the dispatcher was overlaid by their quiet moans and moving lips. The gentle squeak of Ed's leather jacket as he worked a hand under Jack's field coat. Under his sweater, along the side of his waist. It wasn't enough, and it was too much.
They slowed down by mutual need, and finally untangled their tongues, and unlocked their lips, and tried to catch their breath. Ed sighed against Jack's cheek. Jack softly stroked his neck. Their hands were still joined between them, though now pressed together by leather and canvas. If Jack had to guesstimate, he'd say they were getting close to the first stop. He slowly inhaled the heady scent of him. Ed eventually sat back, smiling serenely in the dark of the cab, and when the car pulled to a curb he ignored the driver and kissed Jack's hand before getting out.
Jack ignored the man, too. Ignored the eyes darting looks at him in the rearview mirror. He watched Ed stride to the front door, imagining the play of muscles under the layers of clothing as Ed pushed it open. He was content to wait the five or ten minutes it would take him to retrieve his things. He knew the reward would be so much more than worth it. He knew how lucky he was. How lucky they were.
On to Chapter 13, Burden of Proof