by Julie Bozza
Silence, until they were in the car and Fletcher was driving along the freeway heading out of town. Until he remembered that he hadn’t told Albert about even this much. “We’re going to drive up into the mountains,” Fletcher said. “I’ve made reservations at a hotel for two nights.”
The silence continued. Fletcher risked a glance at the man, who was looking over at him. Surprised, but apparently unwilling to ask. Fletch felt annoyance flood through him and then defeatedly ebb away. This was the trouble. Albert asking a question, even a relatively harmless one like this, would be too much like Albert expressing a need, a vulnerability. How had the man ever satisfied his intellectual curiosity? How had the man, or the boy he’d once been, ever learned about anything at all?
“I need a break,” Fletcher offered as a reason for this trip. It was true enough - he was so tired right now, though his mind was far too busy to let him relax even if he did have the opportunity. He belatedly asked, “Do you want anything from town?”
“No,” Albert replied, and turned to face the front again.
All right, Fletcher reflected, he knew Albert wouldn’t appreciate a bout of enforced sightseeing, like those few days in New England they’d spent together when they first became lovers. That was only last September but it felt like an age ago. And of course Albert knew Fletcher knew Albert wouldn’t appreciate it, but would acquiesce if Fletcher insisted.
Maybe that was part of why Albert was so unhappy these days - realizing how much power Fletcher held over him and realizing that Fletch knew it, too. Though Fletcher tried not to abuse the privilege, he really tried hard.
Except he was just about to hurt Albert, hurt him a lot.
Fletcher pushed the thought away. It simply had to be done, that was all there was to it. And, frankly, he didn’t want to feel that hurt, to empathize with what Albert was suffering, until he actually had to.
They traveled in silence, climbing into the mountains that began abruptly just beyond the town limits. There wasn’t much traffic and the moon was full, so Fletcher didn’t devote much effort to keeping his attention focused. He always maintained he’d be able to follow this road blindfolded, he knew it so well.
Continuing silence. Albert certainly made it easy for Fletch to keep a secret from him - and the younger man hated that. It was easy because Albert invited no confidences, extended no friendship, initiated no conversation. If he noticed Fletcher was unusually quiet and undemonstrative, he didn’t comment. He didn’t even mention the fact Fletcher hadn’t phoned him more than once in the previous week. Surely any other lover would demand an explanation of such gross dereliction.
It was amazing how few words Fletch and Albert could subsist on. Most of the time, that spoke eloquently, if silently, of a profound ease with each other’s company. Right now, it appeared sinister, especially compared with Xavier’s friendly, fascinating outpourings.
By habit, Fletcher turned the radio on for the news, then instantly regretted it. Too late to turn it off again, as Albert would consider that strange, though perhaps he wouldn’t comment on that either. Within moments, Fletcher’s fears were realized - Xavier’s voice, rich brocade even over the airwaves, laughing warmly and agreeing with the newsreader that, yes, he’d had an eventful week. A brief mention of the fire, and that it had been accidental, a thanks to all the law enforcement people involved - Fletcher almost blushed in the darkness, wondering whether that had been for him - then a run-down of his more successful schedule, all of which Fletcher knew by heart, finishing with a confident prediction of victory.
Fletcher’s hopes that Albert hadn’t paid attention were now dashed. “You’ve closed the investigation?” he asked once the news was over, distantly polite.
“Yes,” Fletch said quickly. “Seemed like a combination of accident and carelessness.”
“You’re not sure? If we return to Denver tomorrow, I’ll examine the evidence for you.”
“No.”
Albert was obviously surprised at such a blunt refusal - usually Fletcher used Albert’s expertise, involved him in every case whether the older man liked it or not, welcomed a second opinion Fletcher could trust.
“I mean,” Fletch continued, trying to recover lost ground, “the police had jurisdiction, and they closed the case. There’s no need to go back over it, they knew what they were doing. Anyway, it’s not your field, is it?” He couldn’t help spitefully adding, “No one died, Albert.”
Apparently offended at this lack of faith, or maybe stung, Albert turned away. “I assure you I’m capable,” he said dryly. “In fact, I often investigated arson and bombings during my first years with the Bureau.”
“No, Albert, it’s over. And I need the weekend off.”
A return of the silence. It seemed heavier now, though Fletcher tried to tell himself that was only his imagination.
Of course there was one advantage in their need for secrecy. Fletcher had booked them two single rooms, rather than a double - though, now he came to think of it, he supposed that a twin room would be the best compromise between discretion and enthusiasm. The advantage was that once they’d eaten their room service meals, with Albert stoically not complaining about the standard of the food, Fletcher could retire to his own room and not have to worry about the fact he wasn’t going to ask for sex.
Usually, on the Friday night of a weekend together, Fletcher was ready, willing and able. It would normally have been two weeks or more since the last time, after all. Well, tonight he’d plead exhaustion, which was true, but attribute it to the case. He stood, and wandered over to the door. “I’m going to turn in early, all right?” Fletch waited, uneasy, but Albert did nothing more than nod curtly. Eventually Fletcher murmured, “Not tonight, is that okay? I’m really tired.”
“Of course,” was the reply, the phrase bitten off hard. The man didn’t even look up from the print-out of test results he was neatly annotating.
Another mistake. Normally they either had sex, on Fletcher’s initiative, or they didn’t, and no comment was made, no excuses given. Fletcher wondered whether Albert would add all this up. There had surely been enough discomfort and thoughtlessness this evening. Unless it merely seemed to be business as usual. He sighed.
And was thoroughly surprised when Albert asked, “Any progress on your pet serial killer?” There was Albert asking for information for the second time that night, making what might be considered small talk, expressing an interest. Amazing.
“No progress,” Fletcher said.
“I’d assumed you’d have more time for that while working on the arson case. Didn’t you anticipate your involvement would be minimal?”
But I devoted all my spare time to fucking with Xavier, Fletcher thought, looking away. He schooled his features into something approaching neutrality. “The case generated a lot of work I didn’t expect,” Fletch said. “I basically had to recreate their financial records because I wanted to check whether Lachance had paid someone to set the fire.”
“But you didn’t find any evidence?”
“No. That’s not to say there’s not some doubt but I don’t think he was behind it.”
Albert nodded, accepting this. No doubt he thought Fletcher’s assessment was objective rather than subjective. Fletcher hoped it was, too.
He lingered a moment longer, dissatisfied and uneasy. It had been nine years since he first met Albert. There had always been, at least until the last few miserable months, a connection between them of some sort, a mutual respect and interest, though Fletcher had had to do all the work in creating a friendship, making them lovers. And now, just as Fletch was about to risk severing that connection entirely, Albert seemed to be making an effort, no matter how negligible, to maintain it. Strange.
Still, there was rarely any way of resolving this familiar feeling of dissatisfaction without holding the man in his arms and establishing at least a physical connection. And Fletcher’s conscience had deemed such approaches to be completely out of the question. “Goodnig
ht,” Fletcher murmured instead, pleased when he received a nod of acknowledgment.
Passing the room service trolley that they had left in the corridor with the debris of dinner, Fletch thought of Albert’s barely discernible expression of displeasure when he first tasted the food. Once, during those whirlwind days in New England, Fletcher had caught that very expression and asked about the food. Albert had immediately given a succinct and detailed description of all its faults and shortcomings. But the man never complained otherwise. That might surprise most people, that such a fastidious man would not voice a complaint. He seemed to accept that, especially as a vegetarian, he was unlikely to find a great deal of food in hotels and restaurants that was up to the standards he set with his own cooking. And given the amount of time Albert spent traveling around the country on cases, he must have encountered a high number of unacceptable meals.
Well, there was no point in worrying over Albert. Tomorrow’s trouble would come soon enough. Fletch undressed and slid between the cold sheets. Odd not to be in Xavier’s king size bed, in Xavier’s overwhelming embrace. Wondering vaguely whether Xavier missed him, too, Fletcher slipped into sleep.
The bedside clock read 11:07, which must be wrong because it was light outside and surely he’d only gone to bed half an hour ago. Fletcher rubbed at his eyes, then tried again. It was light, it was morning and when he reached for his watch, discarded on the floor by the bed with his shirt, it confirmed that it was indeed almost lunchtime. That meant he’d slept for over twelve hours. “Oh damn it to hell,” he whispered hoarsely.
He had enough presence of mind to order coffee from room service before taking a quick shower, so could gulp down two cups of it while dressing. Then he headed for Albert’s room.
The man was sitting there at the table, reading a medical journal.
“I’m sorry,” Fletcher said. “I didn’t mean to sleep in late.”
“You said you were tired,” Albert pointed out, “so it wasn’t unexpected.”
“But I meant us to -”
“What?” Albert prompted with a small show of interest when the silence stretched. He turned a page and scanned it.
“Talk. Spend time together. See the mountains.”
“You obviously needed to sleep instead, and that allowed me to catch up on some work.”
“Damn it,” Fletch started, then subsided again immediately. No point in getting angry at the mess this weekend would be. He just had to get through it, that’s all. “Are you hungry? Could we grab an early lunch, or a late breakfast or whatever the hell it is, then go out for a drive?”
“That would be fine,” Albert replied mildly. He stood, put the journal neatly away in his briefcase, then pulled on his suit jacket. “In fact, I took a walk this morning, for exercise. The surroundings are attractive, and the air is fresh.”
Fletch frowned in consternation. There was something very wrong with this scenario but he was in no condition to figure it out right now. “Let’s go,” he suggested, and led the way out of the room.
South Park stretched before them, an enormous flat valley high up in the mountains, the surrounding peaks creating a jagged horizon, a pale blue sky arching infinite above them. Fletch stared at the view, trying to appreciate it, attempting to put off the necessary conversation a few minutes more.
He’d parked the car to one side of the look-out, hoping the few tourists would stay out of hearing distance. Albert sat beside him in the passenger seat, silent, and apparently also contemplating the scenery, though Fletcher presumed the man’s thoughts were elsewhere. How to start this horrible thing?
“This is more dramatic than attractive,” Albert said. “The massive scale of the mountains impresses all the more because of the distance.”
“What?” Fletch had said that aloud, astounded at this commentary from a man who never voluntarily went sightseeing, whose pleasure in nature seemed to extend no further than his carefully tended garden boundaries. “I mean, I’m glad you like it.”
“Perhaps appreciate is more accurate than like. This view provides an interesting perspective on the size of the mountain range.”
“Yes.” What else to say? He wasn’t used to having this sort of conversation with the man. Odd and amusing, how formal Albert’s language was, as if he were writing an autopsy report.
Of course, Fletcher reminded himself, Albert wasn’t used to having this sort of conversation with anyone. That meant that Albert was making an effort at communication right now, maybe at not only maintaining but enhancing that connection between them. That meant that maybe Fletcher had had some sort of positive influence on the man, that Albert was now considering the things that Fletcher liked, and was trying them on for size. Perhaps he was even beginning to enjoy nature in general or the Rockies in particular. Incredible.
And incredibly bad timing.
“I have to tell you something,” Fletcher blurted out before any further progress could be made.
“Yes, I know,” Albert said. When Fletcher turned to stare at him in surprise, he continued dryly, “I did realize that something is troubling you.”
Fletcher suddenly felt like crying. Albert was about to be hurt as deeply as he’d ever been, at least in his adult life, and Fletcher hadn’t even properly considered the consequences before now. Sure, he’d thought about it on an intellectual level, but not on a gut-wrenchingly emotional one - Fletcher was swamped by how he imagined Albert was about to feel. Hurt, betrayed, jealous, in epic proportions. He’d doggedly remain friends, or so Fletcher hoped, but their relationship might never really recover from this. And if it didn’t, Fletch thought, that would be suitable punishment for his own selfish if necessary desertion.
“I didn’t mean to keep this secret,” Fletcher finally said, talking more in the direction of the dashboard than to Albert. “But I thought I should tell you in person, which is why I haven’t been phoning you as much. Well, that was one of the reasons, anyway.” He sighed, searching for words, not having planned this in any detail. “This is hard to say. And you probably won’t credit how damned hard, which makes it worse. I really don’t want to hurt you.”
A silence grew. No further encouragement was offered.
He would just have to say it straight out. Like that doctor when his mother was ill, walking up to the huddle of Ash males in the corridor and saying, “I’m sorry, she’s died.” No preliminaries, no preparation. But Fletcher, for one, had preferred it, rather than waiting through the social niceties all the while knowing the worst and screaming inside, Just damned well tell us!
“All right. I’m having an affair. With a man. He’s … part of the arson case. Which makes it stupid, as well as unfair on you. Damn it -” Fletcher broke off, considering. There was no possible point in hiding anything. “You know his name, at least. Xavier Lachance. You’ve even heard his voice, on the radio last night.”
“I see,” was the distant comment.
“He’s black.” Fletcher laughed humorlessly. “I’m a real equal opportunity fuck. Any race, any color, any religion, any gender -” Shut up, Fletcher, he already knows you’re a slut.
Silence.
“Say something, Albert. Anything. Lacerate me with that damned tongue of yours. It’s years since you last insulted me.”
And the man said very calmly, “There is no need for histrionics.” Then, with a slight tightening of the voice, “I didn’t exact or expect any vows of fidelity from you.”
“Didn’t you?” Fletcher risked a glance, surprise more urgent than the guilt. His lover was stony-faced and remote, but that was nothing out of the ordinary. “The vows are implicit, aren’t they, in a relationship like ours? Even if they’re not spoken?”
“No.”
“I don’t understand.”
Silence.
All right, obviously Fletcher had made a false assumption or two along the way, but that didn’t mean Albert wasn’t hurt by this. “Look,” Fletch continued, “I want to be your friend still, but I want to conti
nue with him. He’s - worthwhile. More than worthwhile. I know this is selfish of me but that’s as honest as I can be.”
Albert was indeed hurt. He had retreated behind his dark glasses. He remained silent.
“Would you please say something?”
“Why are you telling me this?” was the distant question.
“Damn it, why do you think I’m telling you this? I’m being unfaithful to you. Partners usually confess such things to each other, don’t they?”
“You’ve never confessed such things to me before now.”
“Well, it only began on Monday,” Fletch said, frustrated and annoyed. “I haven’t had the chance.” It was as if they were taking part in two disparate conversations. And then Albert’s meaning dawned on him. “Do you mean - Oh damn it all, Albert! You think I’ve done this before? Who the hell with?”
