by A. F. Henley
"Too bad you don't have one," Chrissy whispered as the two of them peered over the crib at the angel from demon that lay on the worn sheet. "You're a natural."
Ian reached for the graying baby blanket and tucked it around Emma's shoulders. "I've always wanted a kid. It's not in the cards yet, I guess."
They backed out of the bedroom that, from appearances, served as mom's room, baby's room, storage room and laundry room. "Well, it's too bad Jordan isn't interested then. 'Cuz that guy could sure use the help, let me tell you."
"Oh?" Ian prompted, in the most unbelievably fake nonchalance he'd ever heard. Even to his own ears, it had been such a desperate sound he might as well have been shouting: "Tell me more!"
"Yeah. Kid's autistic, you know? Sometimes he'll get started and nothing short of heaven's pity will set him straight again."
So, Aubrey had been right, Ian thought. She'd offered him the potential title when they'd been chatting after the mall incident. And she'd be thrilled to confirm her already strong opinion that she knew everything about anything.
"Poor little guy," was all Ian could think to say.
Chrissy tapped her temple. "Sounds drive him nuts. Not all of them but, like, the sharp ones you know. Rain he loves, but thunder will make him ballistic. Someone knocking on the door, an elevator dinging, that kind of thing. Worse part about it is he doesn't know how to tell you, right? He's got no emotions."
"That's not quite how it works—"
Interjection was pointless Ian was realizing. Chrissy stopped talking when Chrissy wanted to. "And you can't hold him, see? Like I do with Emma, you know? You touch his hands and it's like his brain explodes. You try and hug him or cuddle him and he'll have a meltdown. If I didn't need Jordan's help watching Emma, I'd have told him to find someone else a long time ago."
She flumped on to her couch and sighed heavily. "It's always money, you know? Money this, money that. Rent and diapers, juice and bus fare. There's never enough to go around. Come the twentieth of the month we're all making due on macaroni and tomato soup. "
"I should go—"
"You got a good job, Ian?" Chrissy turned her head and gazed out the greasy window. He wondered if it was cigarette smoke that clung to the inside of the glass. He hoped to hell it was. Not that he liked the idea of little Emma sucking any kind of smoke into her wee lungs, but cigarettes sounded so much better than any alternative smoke his mind was conjuring up. "You like a business man or something?"
He fought back the "or something" that jumped to his tongue. "I'm a securities and equity analyst for an investment company."
"And that means?"
"I analyze risk and make justifiable forecasts on potential profit." He crossed his arms self-consciously in front of him. "It's extremely boring, but relatively pain-free and I'm very good at it."
She laughed. "You don't have to sell me on it, dude. The way I see it, you should have been a freaking kindergarten teacher. But what do I know, right?"
His lips relaxed into a smile. "Gay isn't usually the first character trait most people have on their must-have lists when it comes to teaching their kids. And I will not hide who I am for anyone."
"Good." She caught his eyes and stared at him for a long, awkward moment. "Seven-oh-nine," she said finally. "On the other side of the hall, two doors down, just before the stairwell." She smiled. It was the first real smile Ian had seen on her face so far. "Do me a favor though? Drop him two cans of that juice will you? I promised to pick him up some to make up for the milk I snagged yesterday."
"I don't think that's a good idea—"
She sighed and dropped her hands on the couch. Small puffs of dust followed each one's landing. "Jesus, Ian! Please? I can't leave Emma here alone. And he didn't have anything else in the fridge other than Kool-Aid."
He chewed on the inside of his lip.
Her expression fell back to blank.
"Fine. But if I get in shit—"
She waved him off. "No worries. I'll cover for you."
*~*~*
The apartment building would never be confused for high-end living, and when Ian wasn't struggling to climb stairs with three cases of apple juice it was even more apparent. The paper on the walls peeled at the seams, fingerprints left black cakes on doorjambs and corners that suggested the passage of years—decades even—without the introduction of cleaning product or rag, and there was a disturbing aroma of boiled potato, old frying pan, and urine. It was a structure that said, "Beggars can't be choosers," and, "Don't bug the management and the management just might not bug you back."
Ian found the door with the correct little numbers screwed into the veneer, silver screw heads in gold settings, and the mismatched tones made Ian grit his teeth. "Right," his subconscious mocked the reaction. "That's what should drive you to distraction. Not the potential health risks or the fact that the door looks like it could fall in with one good push."
He held the two cans of juice in his arms, right out front so they'd be the first things seen when Jordan peered through the little peep-hole, gritted his teeth and stared up at the water-spotted ceiling while he knocked. He almost fell over when he heard the answering shriek.
"Oh, shit," Ian gasped, stepping back from the door as it was yanked with a growl and a look of fury.
"Who the fu—" Jordan stopped dead in his tracks. "What the hell?"
"I have your juice," Ian said quickly, staring past Jordan as the screaming continued unchecked from somewhere in the apartment.
Jordan's frown deepened into something that Ian couldn't identify. Confusion? Anger? "What the fuck are you doing here?"
Ian's first thought was to set the juice down and run. Not that he was afraid by any means; more that he felt like a complete and utter idiot. "It's not my fault, I ran into Chrissy at the grocery store. She wanted to buy juice but she couldn't get it home. I didn't even recognize her, she noticed me. I said no but she begged."
He knew he was babbling like a fool, trying to get words in around the screeches in the background, but he couldn't stop himself. "And then Emma started crying and Chrissy couldn't make her stop so I got the baby to stop crying and she fell asleep and Chrissy said she had to bring you juice but she couldn't leave Emma alone. Apparently you had nothing in the fridge but Kool-Aid so she said that you had to have it and she asked me to bring it on my way out ..."
Ian closed his eyes and shook his head. "A-a-and you think I'm insane. And some kind of crazy stalker and I don't blame you one bit." Then as if it belonged in the conversation, Ian added, "And can you really do nothing to make him stop?"
"You're the one who knocked on the goddamn door," Jordan hissed. He snapped his head back and hollered over his shoulder, "Cole! Quit it! For God's sake, someone's going to call the cops. Is that what you want?"
The fallout from the shout back was worse than the initial response to the door. Ian winced and Jordan leaned against the door, forehead furrowed dramatically. "No. At this moment in time, it appears there is nothing I can do to make him stop."
"Don't your neighbors freak—?"
Ian didn't have time to get the rest of the question out before a door slammed open and a "Shut that kid up!" was screamed down the hallway.
Jordan's "Go fuck your—" was cut off by Ian's "We're doing our best, sir."
The neighbor wasn’t swayed by Ian's attempt at nicety. "Well your best ain't good enough!"
Ian stepped quickly in front of Jordan's advance, halting the young man inside his apartment. "We'll try harder," Ian continued. "The child has a condition—"
"Yeah, a condition all right," the neighbor scoffed. "My daddy used to call it being a spoiled punk."
Ian pounced before Jordan could carry out his sudden burst of rage, stepping forcefully into the apartment, shoving the cans of juice towards Jordan and kicking the door closed behind him.
"Get out of my way," Jordan growled.
"For what? To have a confrontation in the hallway? How's that going to help the situation?" Ian shook the j
uice. "Now take these or I'm dropping them." He sucked back a breath, mentally crossed his fingers and toes, and reacted as soon as Jordan's hands were full and his were free. He stepped through the tiny entrance, into the living room, and towards the red-faced child.
He ignored Jordan's, "Hey!"
Ian walked quickly towards Cole and scooped him up backwards; back to front, arms wrapped around Cole's waist and holding his own elbows. "Where's your washroom?"
Cole began to claw at his forearms. He heard Jordan rush him. And he set his jaw and turned to ask the question again. When he got no other response than a fist lifting and a look of outright rage, he began to back towards the only other feasible direction that would lead him towards the apartment's facilities.
When Jordan swung the first time, Ian yanked Cole out of the way. But when Jordan began to lift his fist for a second one, Ian caught his eye. "If you're trying to hit your son, or if you happen not to give a fuck that you do, then keep it up."
There were only three doors and two were open. Ian searched out the requisite porcelain furniture, pushed himself through the entrance and kicked the door, wedging his foot against it sideways before Jordan could follow him through. He lowered Cole, screaming and rigid, to the bathroom floor. "Do you pay for water?" Ian shouted.
"Let me in!" Jordan demanded, fists raining on plywood.
"Answer me! Do you pay for water?"
Jordan replied with a string of expletives and Ian rolled his eyes. He shot a quick glance at the sink, cursed under his breath at the design of it, and turned the taps on in the tub to full. The sound of rushing water filled the tiny room.
Cole hitched a breath, mid-shriek, and paused for a second before resuming his demonic call. Ian forced him over to the tub, a square grungy hulk of an appliance, and shoved Cole's ear against the side of the tub with more force than he'd have liked. But the moment Cole's ear was pressed to the side of the tub, Cole stilled and silenced. A palm snaked up the slick surface of the bathtub and rested alongside Cole's flushed cheek. His eyes drifted into unknown territory as he listened to the echo of water through metal.
With a long sigh, Ian shifted his foot to let Jordan in.
The anger was gone when Jordan stumbled through the suddenly loose door. Enragement had dissolved to barely-contained tears of panic. "What did you—?"
The question didn't get completed as Jordan dropped to his knees in quiet surprise. Jordan reached for Cole's hair, stopping just before he made contact. "Cole? Buddy? You okay? Why are you so quiet?"
Jordan's head snapped towards Ian. He frowned. "How?"
"I don't know," Ian shrugged. "I saw something similar in a movie once. It has something to do with the echo of the water. Womblike, probably. I'll put a stopper in it so you can save the water if you have to pay for it."
"No!" Jordan jumped as if to still movement before Ian even dared try it. "Just leave it. It's good. It's ... fuck …" Jordan huffed a sound of disbelief. "It's fucking beautiful."
Ian's brow pinched tighter. "Don't swear."
He leaned against the tub, shockingly exhausted. "I'm glad it worked. This time anyway. I doubt it will every time. Rocking helps too from what I understand."
Jordan lowered himself to the floor and subconsciously wrapped his chest with his own arms. "He doesn't like to be touched."
"Right," Ian nodded, watching Cole's eyelids flutter beside him. "I wonder if a rocking chair would work," he mused, more to himself than anyone else, barely registering it when Jordan looked over at him. It wasn't until the buzz of being watched finally penetrated that Ian dragged his eyes up to catch Jordan's.
"You got kids?" Jordan asked.
Ian snorted. "I don't even have a cat."
"You a teacher or something? Shrink?"
"Nope," Ian shook his head, a grin lighting on his face. "Apparently I'm a stalker."
Jordan offered up a half-smile. "Good to choose a profession you have such a strong inclination for."
"Smart ass." Ian nodded at Cole. "He's going to fall asleep."
"He usually does," Jordan traced Cole's back without touching him, fingertips floating a fraction of an inch over Cole's sweat-soaked shirt. "Afterwards, you know?"
Jordan didn't look like he was faring much better in the exhaustion aspect of things as he rose and ran a hand over first his face, then through his hair. "I'll get a pillow and a blanket. I'll meet you back in the living room."
"You'll turn the water off though?" Ian asked. "Hate to see something happen—"
Jordan tsk'd loudly. "I'm young. But I'm not an idiot." He pointed. "Go to the living room and wait."
"Okay, okay," Ian held up both hands in surrender. "And I didn't say you were an idiot ..." He let the words trail off as Jordan disappeared. With too much effort, Ian hefted himself back to vertical, caught his own image in the discolored mirror and grinned at himself. He may have lost round one and two, but round three was definitely his. "You did good, sir," Ian told his reflection. "Very good."
*~*~*
Short of a few personal items, Jordan's apartment was a replica of Chrissy's, right down to the furniture placement, and it only took a few minutes of pondering for Ian to realize the units probably came furnished. The thought set off all kinds of squick-receptors in Ian's brain. At least the interior of Jordan's windows hadn't suffered the same flagrant smoke-abuse that the previous set had; a fact that was surely more luck of previous tenants and wise choices by the current ones, then a diligence in cleanliness. Not if the rest of the apartment was an indication, anyway. While the space was generally tidy—no dirty dishes, no abandoned clothing—there was an undertone of odor and a visible layer of dust that suggested either no time, or no love for the process of housework.
He'd found the juice abandoned on the coffee table and used the find to scope out the kitchen, taking care to open cupboards and fridge in stealth. After all, should things be too severe, as much as Ian would hate to do it, he wouldn't be above a call to protective services. Jordan might be pretty, he might have a nice body and suck a good cock, but there wasn't a circumstance listed that would have Ian tolerating neglect. But while he wasn't impressed with what he found in the fridge—eggs, processed cheese slices, a few fading veggies and apples—the cupboards held a decent selection of beans and tuna, soups and pastas.
"Everything look about kosher there, Mom?" Jordan's dry voice made every nerve in Ian's body jump.
He turned with a sheepish grin. "Just putting your juice away."
"In the cupboard," Jordan nodded. "Right. What is with you people? Like just because I'm not rich or old that somehow means I can't take care of Cole?"
"I'm not sure who you mean by you people,'" Ian said, pressing the cupboard door closed, "but yes, I did want to make sure." He shrugged nonchalantly. "If that makes me a jerk, then fine, I'm a jerk. But I'm a jerk that gives a shit that your kid is being fed."
Jordan stepped forward with his head tilted and his eyebrow cocked. "And what would your plan have been, oh kind and misjudged stranger? Would you have driven me to the store and stocked my kitchen for me? Or just slipped some cash on the counter?"
Ian's jaw clenched and his lips tightened.
"Relax. I'm just fucking with you." Jordan pushed off the doorframe and walked away. "Come in and watch a movie if you want. I guess that's the least I can do."
"The least you can do?" Ian followed Jordan into the living room and waited for Jordan to flop into the couch. He sat at the opposite end.
Jordan reached for the remote and clicked on the television. "For helping. I don't get a lot of it. I'd offer you a drink or something but as you've seen, I'm running a little low on luxuries."
"I don't need a drink."
"So what do you need? What do you want?" Jordan looked up from a stack of DVD's. "How are you even here?"
Ian grinned. "Fate. Obviously."
"Yeah, well," Jordan gave up on the DVD's and sat back on the couch. "I hate fate. Fate's a dick."
"Well
, I don't know about that—"
Jordan shut him down with a look of distaste. "I don't want to talk about fate. That kind of thinking is for the weak-minded. It wasn't fate that brought you and me together. It was your hard dick and my need to get laid. That's it. That's all it was supposed to be, that's all it was, and that's all it will be. Get it?"
Ian didn't let on that Jordan's words cut him like Jordan had just taken a scythe to his mid-section. "I got it."
Jordan didn't make eye contact as he continued. "Don't get me wrong, I appreciate your help just now and yes, no doubt it will make my life easier going forward. And I also think this effort you're taking to try and be nice is really sweet and all, I'm just not looking for that kind of connection. My life is too busy. Too fucked up. It was fun, you were good, we got off. End of story."
Ian looked down at his hands. "Good to know you had a good time at least. Sorry I didn't just 'up and go away' like you were hoping I would."
"You will."
Ian chuckled and shook his head. "You know, I'm not really sure I will. I do love a challenge. It makes you so damn interesting."
Jordan didn't say anything until Ian looked up. "Dude, you will go away. You have to go away. Trust me, I am not what you want. You're a good-looking guy with his head on straight. You have a job and a life and what appears to be a decent personality. I have none of that."
"So?"
"So ..." Jordan seemed at a loss for words. "So don't be an idiot!"
Fine, Ian thought. You want an asshole, you want someone that's just going to use you and walk away? He could play that game, he was almost sure of it. "Let's do it again."
Jordan's left eyebrow lifted. "I assume you mean fuck?"
"Of course."
"Dude ..."
"Come on," Ian shifted into the corner of the couch and kicked off his shoes. "You want a random fuck? Then let's do it. I don't know about you but I haven't got off inside someone since we hooked up. And you're so busy," he grinned, "that I doubt you've been running the circuit either. You get what you want and I get one more chance to show you that you just can't live without me."
"It won't change anything—"
