Fish & Chips

by Abigail Roux

  Zane couldn’t think of a single thing to say, so he started on his salad as he reviewed the conversation, committing details to memory, and watched Ty poke at his bowl of vinaigrette-covered greens. Zane could almost physically feel Ty restraining himself. He knew his partner’s temper well, having seen Ty lose it on various occasions. Ty’s mood was what one might call mercurial. Depending on the subject of his ire, it was oftentimes amusing to watch him go off. Other times, like on a mountaintop in West Virginia where he’d started lecturing men on the best way he could kill them, it could get a little iffy.

  Tonight could probably be considered iffy, too, if Zane couldn’t figure out how to get Ty to let off some of that steam he could see slowly building.

  Finally, Ty looked up from his salad and narrowed his eyes at Zane. “Do you speak Italian?” he asked calmly.

  “No,” Zane said in apology.

  Ty just nodded jerkily, as if he had already known that. “Crap,” he muttered under his breath as he went back to his salad.

  Zane understood Ty’s concern. Any little thing could break an undercover assignment, much less a big problem like not speaking a language. Maybe… maybe Corbin could be feeling a little possessive and decide he didn’t want Del going off on his own, even if it were with the lovely Norina, who, in theory, would be less of a threat to Corbin than her manly Italian husband. “She didn’t act like she expected a reply as she went on at you in Italian,” Zane reasoned. “She just seemed excited to meet you.”

  “God, I hope she speaks English,” Ty murmured as he put down his fork and pinched the bridge of his nose. “If she realizes I’m not Del, she goes to her husband, and we’re royally fucked.”

  Zane decided to throw his idea out there. “I could decide I don’t want to spend even an hour without you, and you could blame it all on your jealous husband.”

  Ty sighed and looked up at Zane seriously. “That won’t really move things along. And you don’t come across as the outrageously jealous type, anyway. No, you handle your end, I’ll deal with mine.”

  “Corbin struck me as a very possessive man. I’ve not pushed the idea,” Zane said as he pushed his empty salad bowl aside.

  Ty cocked his head, the Italian dilemma momentarily forgotten as he looked at Zane curiously.

  Zane shrugged slightly to play it off. “I don’t know how you’ll react. I didn’t want to risk it in a public meeting only to face your wrath after,” he said with a half smile. If he had his choice, he’d be a lot closer to his “husband” a lot of the time. But he was struggling to find that line they were supposed to be walking on this assignment, and he didn’t want to confuse what was coming from his interpretation of Corbin and what was truly coming from his own desires.

  Ty was silent for a moment, and then he gave a derogatory snort and said, “Face my wrath?”

  Zane leaned forward on his elbows and spoke seriously. “You haven’t seen me jealous.”

  Ty laughed and shook his head as if he thought Zane was joking. That was what Zane expected. He was getting better at predicting how Ty would react, at least in relation to the personal side of their partnership. He didn’t join in the laugh, instead picking up his water glass and leaning back in his seat to wait.

  Ty was still smiling when he stopped laughing, watching Zane in a mixture of amusement and wary confusion. After a moment when Zane still didn’t speak, Ty’s brow furrowed, and he cocked his head. “Seriously?” he asked, forgetting the accent he’d managed to keep up until that point.

  Zane glanced out the window at the now-dark sky, wishing he’d just let it drop. This wasn’t really public dinner conversation. “We’ll talk about it later. Let’s just say I’m sure I feel quite possessive of my very handsome husband.”

  Ty looked at him speculatively, the silence hanging heavy between them. It was an awkwardness they had rarely experienced. Zane waited for some sort of response. He couldn’t read Ty’s face, but he hoped Ty could recognize the honesty in his. Yes, under the right circumstances, Zane could see himself being very jealous. But he honestly wasn’t sure if he had that right, as much as he suddenly wanted it.

  Finally Ty shook his head decisively. “You get laid too often to be jealous,” he announced flippantly as he reached for his glass.

  Zane thought about arguing but instead gave Ty a smile and let it go. It was all semantics anyway, jealousy versus possessiveness. Dropping the topic now meant he could chew on the idea plenty himself later without Ty blowing him off with a joke.

  It only hurt a little bit.

  AFTER dinner and almost an hour of browsing and shopping, Zane was still preoccupied by Ty’s dismissive comment in the restaurant. You get laid too often to be jealous. Zane wasn’t too sure. Even before playing Corbin Porter, he’d been fighting thinking “He’s mine” about his partner, because the implications were just too big to get his head around.

  Not too many weeks ago, he’d stood next to Ty’s hospital bed and admitted to himself that he didn’t ever want to let Ty go. But he hadn’t yet found a way to reconcile that with the reality of their complicated lives. And now, because this crazy case completely warped their “reality,” he could be as possessive as he thought Corbin would be, and Ty—or Del—wouldn’t complain. Not in public, anyway.

  But what about when the case was over?

  Before dinner, he’d assumed Ty wouldn’t want him staking any sort of claim, physical or emotional, except as part of their cover, and then only grudgingly. Zane hadn’t heard anything to change that assumption, but he hadn’t exactly asked, either. He’d put it off, shying away from a topic that felt like a trip-wired land mine settling in the center of his chest.

  Zane turned in place where he stood outside a ritzy accessory store and watched Ty finger through a display of sunglasses. Ty turned to look at him, wearing a pair of aviator sunglasses just like the ones he’d left at home, the tag sticking out sideways at his temple. Zane smiled despite his mixed feelings. “Don’t you have a pair like that already?” A legitimate question, Ty or Del.

  Ty took them off and looked at them, smirking. “You can never have too much awesome,” he claimed. He set them back down and slid his hands down his sides, where his pockets should have been. He grumbled about the soft linen pants and searched for something else to do with his hands as they continued to stroll. He was getting twitchy, and his mood had steadily declined since dinner.

  Whether the cause was the prospect of dealing with Norina Bianchi or the conversation they’d had regarding jealousy was anyone’s guess. Zane had started casting around for something shiny, sweet, or sticky to throw in Ty’s path as an emotional diversion.

  “If we want dessert later, there’s no lack of places for snacks,” Zane said as they passed by a bakery kiosk and a soda shoppe. It was just one floor of three on the impressive, very brightly decorated promenade, sort of a high-class carpeted mini-mall and food court with anything from an Orange Julius to a Godiva Chocolatier and a cheap T-shirt shop to a Tiffany & Co. store. All complete with a twenty-foot-tall glittering Christmas tree in the center of it.

  “I would kill you for some gummi bears right now,” Ty muttered. He reached out and laced his fingers into Zane’s, apparently deciding that it was the best thing to do with his otherwise idle hands.

  “You should have looked when we were in the store,” Zane said, moving them along the walkway. They’d found condoms in a remarkably discreet corner of a mini-grocery, but instead of risking exposure by purchasing them, Ty had palmed a box. When they’d stepped outside the store again, Zane had discovered the box safety tucked away inside his suit jacket. One day Zane was going to find out how Ty did that and how he always managed to nab his cigarettes without him knowing. Tonight, though, he was just grateful for his partner’s loose morals. “You want to go back and get some?”

  Ty sighed unhappily and turned his head from side to side, cracking his neck. “Let’s go back to the computers and see if there’s news from home. That shot I took o
f Armen has to have produced something.”

  “No,” Zane decided, reaching out to take Ty’s elbow and pull him closer. “We told them we’d check in every morning. We have to stay predictable. And before you suggest it, we’re not sitting in that cabin for days while we wait for some predetermined time to arrive. We need to be out and about, and there’s got to be stuff here to keep us amused.” He started pulling Ty along, though his “husband” was reluctant.

  “I hate you a little bit right now,” Ty claimed, though he was conceding to the logic by not fighting with him.

  “And that’s different than usual how? Stop pouting, doll,” Zane drawled as he squeezed Ty’s hand. He glanced at his partner. “Surely we can find something to make you smile.”

  Ty stepped closer, squeezing Zane’s hand back as he lowered his voice, losing the fake accent. “If you keep patronizing me I’m going to kick your ass when we’re alone. And you won’t have sex for two weeks, just remember that.”

  Annoyed, Zane stopped in place, turned Ty toward him, and put one hand on Ty’s face, thumb under his chin to make him look up. “I’m teasing, and you know it. There’s no reason for you to be this cranky,” Zane said, injecting a tinge of warning into his voice, and it wasn’t Corbin’s influence.

  Ty narrowed his eyes, his head tilting slightly in the way it usually did in the ring before Zane ended up on the mat. But he seemed to remain aware of the other passengers on the promenade and the fact that they could always be observed. He said nothing, just exhaling heavily in response. Playing his role, whether he liked it or not. Zane frowned. It wasn’t like Ty to be this difficult, even if he wasn’t thrilled with his part in the case.

  Conscious of the people walking around them, he released Ty’s chin, and when Zane spoke, he kept his voice very low, deliberately dropping Corbin’s drawl. “Is there something really wrong I need to know about?”

  “Look at me!” Ty hissed. “Do I look like I’m having a good time here? Stop enjoying yourself so much, you prick.”

  It was difficult to decide between a huff and a laugh, but regardless, Zane rolled his eyes. “Suck it up,” he answered. “You’ve had a hell of a lot worse.” He slid his arm around Ty’s waist and got him walking again. “What you need is a drink,” he announced.

  “Damn straight,” Ty said almost angrily. “But I can’t drink because who’s an alcoholic?” he asked sarcastically. He was obviously frustrated, both by the role he had to play and by the lack of outlet for that frustration. He was tense despite all the “relaxing” he’d been doing, and Zane knew he’d be spoiling for a fight that was not of the good by the time they got to the cabin if he didn’t find something for him to get into first.

  But this Ty not drinking thing? Zane needed to put a stop to that thought right now. He caught Ty by both shoulders, met his eyes, and spoke clearly but quietly. “Listen to me. You don’t have to quit drinking just because I have. Seriously.”

  “I’m not that cruel,” Ty told him frankly. “I’ve seen the look in your eyes when alcohol is mentioned. It’s the same look you give me, so I know what you’re thinking.”

  “It’s not cruel. And what do you mean, the same look I give you?” Zane asked, frowning a little. “Whatever look you’re seeing in my eyes isn’t anything other than me wondering if you’re wondering if I’m gonna ditch the wagon and drink up.”

  Ty shook his head patiently. “It’s the look of an addict seeing something he wants,” he said without malice. He spoke with an almost-kind frankness that was rare for Ty, made even more surreal by the British accent he was again employing. He held up three fingers. “Alcohol, drugs, me. You think of all of those things in the same way. I’m the only one that won’t hurt you to indulge, and I’m not cruel enough to combine two of them in front of you.”

  The surprise kept Zane quiet for a few moments, and he had to gather his thoughts before he could reply. Why he was constantly surprised by how observant and insightful Ty could be, he didn’t know. “I do appreciate the thought. But really, I can honestly tell you that as long as you’re around, it’s no contest.”

  Ty snorted and looked away, his eyes darting back and forth over the crowd of passengers shopping along the promenade. He came to some sort of decision, though, and he nodded and glanced back at Zane uncomfortably. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Zane nodded slowly and decided that was the best he could do for now, at least on that topic. He still had a cranky and worked-up partner who needed some kind of outlet. “C’mon.”

  He pulled Ty along to a map of the promenade and looked at the entertainment choices while Ty fidgeted impatiently. It was past nine, and the dance clubs were rocking—Zane could hear the muffled music—but he wasn’t sure something more soothing might not be a better choice. Still, they’d walk past the clubs, check them out. He made note of a couple places and then steered Ty in the direction of the music.

  “What?” Ty finally asked as Zane led him.

  “Distraction for you and entertainment for me, coming right up,” Zane announced as they descended a wide double staircase.

  “What do you mean, entertainment?” Ty asked suspiciously as he looked back at the steps. “Are we headed down to the clubs?”

  “Yes,” Zane answered as he glanced to his side to look at Ty. He still caught himself double-taking most of the time. That obscene bleached-blond hair.

  “I don’t know, man,” Ty said apprehensively as he pulled Zane closer and lowered his voice. He was having trouble maintaining the nuances of the accent. Zane was surprised he’d managed to do it this long. “It’s usually all crowds and strobe lights and people touching you where your gun’s supposed to be in these places. I don’t go out dancing unless I know no one’s going to come out of the woodwork with a knife at my back.”

  “Considering everyone had to go through a metal detector and X-ray to get on board, chances of that happening are lower than usual, despite me skewing the curve,” Zane said. He squeezed Ty close and smiled at a couple walking by. “And I’ll be watching your back,” he added quietly.

  “You went through security, and you’re packing,” Ty reminded him distractedly. “You like dancing?” he added in a surprised voice.

  Zane smiled genuinely as they reached the bottom of the staircase. “No,” he corrected, leaning over to bump Ty’s shoulder with his own. “I love dancing.”

  He didn’t get to go nearly as often as he used to, and not at all since moving to Baltimore; he hadn’t had a chance to scope out the clubs since he was spending his evenings with Ty. When Zane had worked in Miami, he’d gone out almost every night, although he’d also had the excuse of working. Clubs in Miami were notorious for criminal wheeling and dealing.

  “I didn’t know that,” Ty murmured, sounding oddly disturbed by the fact.

  Zane shrugged. “I did tell you about the square-dancing,” he said under his breath. “Who in their right mind would square-dance if they didn’t love dancing?”

  “That’s entirely different!” Ty laughed as they got closer to the pounding beat of the music.

  Zane grinned, glad that he’d gotten a smile out of his partner. He felt the music reverberate through him as they neared the entrance of one of the clubs. The name Neptune was scribbled in purple neon over the double door, and velvet ropes blocked the entrance. The crowd beyond writhed in the dim room.

  “So your plan is to liquor me up, get me all sweaty and worked up, then take me back to the cabin?” Ty asked him, his tone placid.

  “Oh, it may not have been my plan before, but it sure as hell is now,” Zane agreed wholeheartedly. If he had a choice in his night’s companion, he’d much rather have the aroused and pliable Ty from this afternoon than the cranky, fractious man of this evening.

  “I like it,” Ty said approvingly. He led Zane into the club, the bouncers letting them pass by the waiting line without a moment’s pause. Ty might argue differently, but he knew how to use his looks when he needed to.

  He�
�d also been right about the strobe lights, but it wasn’t too bad. The club was on the small side but remarkably full. There were tiered dance floors on three different levels and tables surrounding them. For once, there was no sign of holiday decorations. The bar was with them on the ground floor, and Zane pointed Ty in that direction, hoping he’d get something, even if it wasn’t alcohol.

  Ty didn’t hesitate, apparently having made his decision after his brief discussion with Zane earlier. He let go of Zane and cut his way through the crowd. As Zane watched him go, he could see people in the club, both men and women, turning to take a second look at Ty as he moved past them. It was difficult to suppress the urge to preen as people noticed, but then he remembered he didn’t have to stop himself—Corbin would flaunt his husband for all he was worth. So he just slid a hand into his pocket to wait, knowing full well Ty was coming back to him and only him. Oh yes, smug was a good word for it, Zane figured. And as he saw Ty making his way back toward him, he really couldn’t have cared less about being called possessive, either.

  Despite his protests about the dangers of the crowd, Ty was already smirking, a drink in one hand as he moved through the mass of people. In order to do it, a person had to shift with the rhythm of the music or be knocked around for their efforts. Ty did this expertly. Zane suspected he’d spent his fair share of time in places like this. Only Zane imagined the type of place Ty would haunt would have fewer strobe lights and more peanuts on the floor.

  Ty moving fluidly through the throng, shifting his hips or rolling his shoulders, was a beautiful thing, Zane reflected, and his body agreed. Ty would look even better dancing. His streamlined body was practically made for it.

  When Ty reached him, he was grinning widely, holding his drink up out of the throng. Bodies moved around them in time with the beat of the music. It had no words that Zane could discern, drowned out by the bass. It was just as well. It made it easier to concentrate on the thump under his feet and deep in his chest, driving up his heart rate, and for now, that was what Zane was interested in. He jerked his head in the direction of the center of the dance floor and raised an eyebrow in question.