Smoke and Mirrors

by Lillian T. MacGowan

  Naim crossed the short distance between them, grabbed Deck by the front of his jeans and dragged him to one of the cots, shoving him down. Sitting next to him and draping a leg over one of Deck’s, he scooted close and rested his head on Deck’s shoulder.

  “Idiot asshole,” he muttered, running a hand up Deck’s arm and holding on to his thick bicep. He didn’t want to have to say anything; he wanted more than anything for Deck to think through and realize his idiocy on his own. To think of himself that way, to think that Naim was somehow, in some backward, insane, sick world, better than him. It made Naim’s heart hurt and his gut clench.

  Deck couldn’t help it. He raised the arm that Naim wasn’t clinging to and ran his fingers through Naim’s hair, loosening the pins that held it up for surgery. “You’re just… I just love you so fucking much, and you’re all smart and elegant.” Deck turned and held him, absolutely helpless. “I felt like a giant dope out there.”

  Naim lifted his head and moved his hand from Deck’s arm to the back of Deck’s head and snorted softly. “You’re not though. You’re kind of acting like one right now, but you’re not.” Naim touched his handsome face. “Deck, you know. You know where I come from and who I really am.”

  Deck was having none of that. “No.”

  “Shut up.” Naim raised, his eyebrow already up. “Let me finish.”

  Deck frowned and squinted, and Naim started again. “I remember telling you that the person you knew while you were here wasn’t all of me. Just the good parts. You said now you knew all of me, and you loved me. You still loved me.” He shifted and straddled Deck’s lap, holding his head. “I’m not fucking elegant, Deck. I play a role. The role of a doctor because that’s what’s expected of me. The world, it’s stupid. And people think that you can’t diagnose and cut and heal unless you sound and look a certain way. It’s pompous. For some reason people think my ability to effectively treat the ill and wounded is connected to the way I dress and speak and present myself. So I play the part.”

  He leaned forward, mimicking the gesture that Deck used so often and he found he depended on so deeply, and pressed his forehead to Deck’s. “But I’m still a gutter rat orphan gamin who turned tricks and snorted blow and stole and did time and used a knife long before I went near a scalpel.”

  Deck closed his eyes, hating himself for not thinking, not foreseeing that Naim would go back to that place to counter Deck’s sense of who they each were.

  “Deck. Open your damn eyes.” He nuzzled his nose but spoke sharply. “I’m not comparing us. I’m not saying that to make you feel shitty or to say, see, I was worse so shut up. The point is that most people aren’t usually one-dimensional. Those things…my life… You had this idea and image of me from the beginning, and none of that shit from my past would ever have… You couldn’t have imagined it.”

  “No. ’Cause it’s not who you are.”

  “Yes, Deck. It is.” Naim nodded. “All of that is me, just as much as expensive cologne and an extensive vocabulary and talent in the operating theater. It’s all me. Just like all of you is a foul mouth, a sharp, intuitive mind and a heart bigger than your gigantic, ridiculous body, and an understanding of people that I’ll never get, and the ability to be right when you’re right and wrong when you’re wrong, and I don’t give a fuck about being with someone who knows what a ventriculostomy is just because you didn’t go to med school. I give a fuck about being with someone who could pull that stupid fucking Frankenstein’s vet line on me, and for the first time in my life make me want to laugh at it.”

  Deck pulled back, surprised.

  “Yeah, asshole. I wanted to laugh. You…you made it funny, and that scared the fuck out of me because I knew I was in serious trouble, and I’d known you for all of three minutes.” He realized that what he was thinking about and saying was tremendous. In a way, telling Deck this meant more than telling him he loved him.

  Deck blinked hugely and silently. “Deck. I didn’t dose you with the Dilaudid because you were being obnoxious.” He suddenly felt sad and scared and more naked than the night he told Deck about his past. “I dosed you because—and I couldn’t have articulated this at the time—but because you already had me. I looked at you, and you grinned and asked me my name and it crushed me. It tore me open to want so badly for a man like you to want someone like me, and that could and would never ever happen.” Deck’s arms were wrapped around his back, and Naim’s hands shook. “So I did something really fucking immoral and unethical, and I drugged you because I couldn’t take you looking at me like I might be worth your time, knowing you’d forget all about me as soon as I was out of sight. And I was angry at you because I could never be someone you’d ever really see and want.”

  Naim took a deep breath, shook, and looked away. “I never apologized for that,” he said quietly. “And I was really wrong, and you’re ridiculous and I can’t… You’re more…more than I… I think I might love you too much.”

  Deck was silent for a long time. He lifted his head and pressed Naim’s forehead to his again and held him tightly.

  “You apologize for stupid shit, and I want you to stop.” Naim went to respond, so Deck shut him up with a kiss, gentle, tasting and trembling. They kissed softly, again and again, sweet and damp, heavier than pecks but not deep. A reminder of what it felt like to touch and not touch, then touch again, because it was their right and they both needed to remind themselves that they could, because they belonged to one another. Deck finally sighed against Naim’s mouth and rubbed his days’ unshaven cheek against Naim’s black stubble, loving the way they gritted and scraped together. He thought of something and chuckled quietly. “Freya says she gave us new names. Dumbfuck and Dumberfuck.”

  Naim snorted against Deck’s ear. “Really?” He pulled away a little to look at Deck’s sweet face.

  “That surprises you?”

  Naim snorted again and pressed his forehead back to Deck’s. “Not in the least. But she gave me shit on New Year’s at Peyton’s. Got me thinking that we were Fucking Idiot and Bigger Fucking Idiot.”

  Deck laughed and squeezed Naim tight. “I can’t say I think I deserve you, or that I’m good enough for you.” Deck spoke against Naim’s lips, and he felt Naim stiffen and start to speak, exasperated. Deck stopped him. “But maybe because I can’t believe anyone is.” He smiled and ran his tongue along Naim’s mouth. “May as well be me then.”

  Naim smiled and held his face fiercely. “Big, dumbfucking idiot.”

  Deck snorted but realized that maybe they really were perfect together. Because Naim deserved someone to love him this much.

  A week later, after dropping Naim off at the hospital early, Deck decided to hang out at the firehouse until he could find something better to do.

  Naim had had a board meeting two days before, and despite strong arguments, both from him and Barrett, the board voted to sell the property. They simply had no other way of coming up with the money to pay the city for the cleanup, let alone rebuild. Even though Naim wasn’t surprised, he had been gutted about the decision. Because of the arson determination, the insurance company was dragging its feet so badly they almost went backward as they performed their own investigation. According to them, until a conviction came in, Naim and every other employee and board member were suspects, not just Doheany. They just couldn’t keep the city off their backs as long as it would take for a payout to come through.

  And everyone knew that the instant the property went up for sale, Wes Rizel would swoop in, purchase it for his hoard, and it would be one more nail in the coffin of any hope of rebuilding the clinic.

  Deck was angry on Naim’s behalf and didn’t handle feeling helpless very well. So he paced the kitchen and ranted about it while Keller watched him blandly and Liebgott cringed harder and harder. “Deck, put that away for now, man. There’s nothing anyone can do about it, and, uh, unfortunately, there are bigger fish to fry.”

  Deck threw him a suspicious look. “What do you mean bigger
fish? Now the fuck what?”

  “Laura had some news when she got home last night.” Lieb sighed. “And you’re not going to like it.”

  “What?”

  Keller leaned on the counter and glared too, just as suspicious.

  Liebgott blew out a heavy breath. “Doheany is out of the hospital and…home.”

  “Home?” Deck blinked and frowned. Then it hit him. “Home? The fuck do you mean home, Lieb? The fucker is supposed to be in fucking prison. He fucked his bail on the arson with a fucking B and E and a fucking weapons charge. How does that get him home?” He loomed and turned red, and even Keller cringed a little.

  “He’s making a deal.” Liebgott sighed again.

  Deck was still for a few seconds, and veins started to pop in his face and neck. He finally blew. “WHAT THE FUCK, LIEB? HOW IN THE FUCKING SHIT—” He started to rant but was interrupted by the dispatch radio blaring a location and the alarms going off: five bells.

  The three of them jumped and moved instinctively.

  Liebgott put a hand on Deck’s shoulder, gently stopping him, and Deck snarled and swore harder.

  Naim wanted nothing more than to fall over when Deck picked him up late that night. He’d worked almost fifteen hours and knew it had been a hard day for Deck as well.

  An electric space heater with bad wiring set off one of the high-rise projects like a tinder box, and Naim had been dealing with smoke inhalation, burn trauma, and the all too familiar victims of structural collapse since nine that morning.

  On top of that, Laura had called Naim earlier in the day to let him know that Play-Doh was out and home, recovering from his wound. Dr. Moreau couldn’t help but be alarmed that a patient with a GSW to the chest was out of the hospital after only three weeks, and Naim was concerned and confused about the deal. Laura told him quietly that Play-Doh had a two-man detail on him at all times for his protection. “Okay. But what about the rest of us?” Naim murmured, knowing exactly how Play-Doh thought and what he was capable of.

  He and Deck spoke about it briefly in the car, both of them hesitant and grim, neither wanting to delve too deeply into the topic. They both understood that it was too much for now, so they let it go.

  Naim felt like his own structural collapse by the time they got back to his flat, and he fell on the couch. Deck had stopped for sandwiches on his way to the hospital and set the food up on the coffee table, knowing Naim wouldn’t have eaten.

  “How did I not die of starvation before you got out of the hospital?” Naim asked.

  “I have no idea. Did Jen feed you?” Deck glanced at him, sitting but sprawled, arms and legs limp across half the sofa.

  “Yeah. Actually she did. Sometimes my phone would ring ten minutes after I got home, and it would be a pizza or Chinese delivery or something.” He shook his head. “She’d call when I was leaving the hospital.”

  Deck laughed.

  “God, she needs her own children.” Naim smiled. He sat up with tremendous effort and stopped Deck, grabbing his hand from across the coffee table where he fussed with wrappings and containers. “You okay?”

  Deck smiled and sighed. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m all right.”

  He’d texted Naim seconds after Liebgott stopped him in the kitchen, giving him a heads-up about the fire. Now Naim frowned and chewed his lip, worried about Deck feeling frustrated and left behind.

  “I’m annoyed, ya know? I was right there and couldn’t do my job, but…” He shrugged.

  “I know.” Naim kissed his palm. “It won’t be much longer though. You’re being…more careful.” He tried not to blush.

  Deck snorted. “Yeah.” He winked at Naim. “Plus I was thinking about it, ya know.” He finished setting up the food and pushed the coffee table toward Naim, making himself comfortable on the floor. “And it sucks. A lot, this fucking thing.” He rolled his shoulder. “But if I didn’t have it, if this didn’t happen…” He looked up at Naim and paused, never not struck. He smiled, then dug into his food, shrugging. “Small price to pay.” He shoveled pasta salad into his mouth.

  “That’s certainly an optimistic way of looking at it.” Naim took a bite of his hoagie.

  They ate in silence for a minute, and Deck looked around Naim’s flat. “Hey,” he started, swallowing a mouthful of food. “Maybe this is none of my business, but you’re a resident, right? Don’t you guys make good money?”

  Naim took a drink from the Orangina that Deck had got him, remembering an offhand comment from weeks ago about loving the stuff. “It is your business and kind of. I guess. St. Seb isn’t exactly a top-ranking hospital, but I do fine.” He shifted uncomfortably, but only because he knew he made more money than Deck—a lot more—and he didn’t want that to be a problem. “I make just under eighty right now. But I’m a fifth-year fellow, so that’s high for what I do.” He cut his eyes to Deck again and tried not to squirm.

  “Holy shit. Wow.” Deck grinned. “That’s my honey.”

  Naim took a deep breath and shook his head, smiling. “What brought that on?”

  Deck glanced around the room absently again. “Well, I’ve just been trying to think of ways to help out with the clinic and the property and everything.”

  Naim’s face softened, and his chest tightened. He still hadn’t figured out where this man had come from.

  “Then I wondered if you could buy it. Just the property, I mean. It can’t be that much considering it’s the fucking Bottom and all. Plus there’s not even a building there anymore.” He spoke with his mouth full, and Naim adored him.

  “Ah, right.” Naim smiled with soft eyes, and Deck looked at him funny. “I’m kind of kicking myself about that actually. I could have last year, but I cleaned out my savings buying this place last spring. I couldn’t qualify for another mortgage if I wanted to.”

  “Wait, this is a condo?” Deck made a face, confused.

  Naim shook his head and turned slightly pink. “No, not the flat. The building. I bought the building last year. The first and second floor, they rent from me.”

  Deck put his sandwich down and frowned thoughtfully. “So that pays the mortgage? The rentals?”

  “Yeah.” Naim squirmed again.

  “Hm.”

  “What.”

  “So…how much is the board asking for the clinic property?” He cocked his head.

  Naim slitted his eyes and pursed his lips. He wasn’t sure where Deck was going with this, but he knew they were about to have a conversation. “Thirty-one thousand,” he answered slowly.

  “Huh.” Deck grunted again and took a giant bite of his hoagie.

  “Deck.”

  “Hm?”

  “What?” Naim gave him a look.

  Deck chewed and swallowed slowly, preparing for an argument. After a minute he spoke carefully. “I could do thirty-one,” he said and then moved on quickly as Naim opened his mouth, shaking his head vehemently. “Not the whole thing, but I can get a mortgage. I don’t own or owe anything, and I still have the life insurance from…from Adam, which could be a good 40 percent down payment…or close enough. I can do that.”

  “Deck.” Naim was wiping his hands on a napkin with far more force than necessary. “No. No way.”

  “Why not? I could write the shit out of it off my taxes, and it could be like…like something for Adam. With his money. It’s not like I’m ever gonna spend that shit on anything else.”

  “No. Deck, absolutely not.” He sighed. “Look. I don’t… You don’t make a lot. I know you do fine, but you still rent, and things have to be a little tight right now with your disability. I know that they don’t give you as much as your regular pay, and you’re not able to do the construction with the others to even supplement that. You need your savings. You’re going to need that money.” He went back to his sandwich and considered the matter closed, but he kept one eye on Deck.

  They ate quietly for a few minutes, Naim knowing he’d won too easily, and Deck considering how he wanted to say what he wanted to say next. />
  “I don’t have a lease,” he mumbled to his sandwich. “I’m on month to month.” Deck threw it out, hoping it didn’t land too hard.

  Naim stopped chewing and looked at him, wondering why his heart tripped and pounded when really, he wasn’t at all surprised. Because it was Deck. And Deck was big.

  Deck took a deep breath. “Look. You can just say yes now, or I can go on a twenty-minute rant about how it’d be all economically smart and shit, because then I can use my savings for the clinic property, and the mortgage would be less than my rent, fucking Rizel won’t get to it then and some more bullshit about my taxes, and it’s not like you have to put my name on anything, but then we’ll split the bills, plus I love you, and when I go back to work we’re not gonna see each other half as much, and it’s already not enough now, and you know I’m fucking done and here and I love you like…fucking…I don’t even know what because I didn’t even know love came this way and I just wanna fucking live with you all the time.” He paused, and Naim just sat and stared at him. “And Sue.”

  After a minute during which Deck started to fiddle with a plastic fork, Naim spoke. “It…it’s barely been three months.”

  “So?”

  Of course.

  “And you’re kind of a pain in the ass.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And neither of us has ever actually been in a real relationship, let alone lived with someone.”

  “So?”

  Of. Course.

  Naim really needed him to think about this, even the shit neither of them wanted to think about. “I have nightmares.”

  “I know.”

  Fuck.

  “I don’t like people moving my things.”

  “I know. So I won’t.”

  Naim thought for a minute, staring at him. “I still smoke sometimes.”

  “On the balcony.” Deck shrugged, his heart thudding like crazy as Naim ran out of lame arguments.

  Naim had one more. “I cook sometimes. And I have no intention of stopping.”

  Deck twisted his mouth to the side. He pretended to think about that for a minute because he knew Naim wanted him to, and it took every muscle he had not to break into a howling, joyful laugh.