by A. F. Henley
"Well, no—"
"Then why, if that wasn't your assumption, would you agree to take the conference call with less than four hours of analysis on the table?"
Vanessa lifted her chin. "If you need more time, just say so."
Ian flicked his computer on and settled in his chair. He lifted his coffee and took a deep breath of it before taking a sip. He reached over and flicked on his adding machine. Then he looked back up at Vanessa and smiled. "I don't need more time, Vanessa. I just need time due. Perhaps instead of leaning on me for every little thing, you should just do the work yourself?"
"Or here's an idea," he stopped her as she turned to stalk away. "Give me that partnership I was promised two years ago and I might reconsider working as hard as you expect me to."
She opened her mouth to speak and Ian flicked a glance at his watch. "I have an hour. I'll see what I can do to get you some preliminary information. I'll let you know."
*~*~*
"Have I mentioned you're a lifesaver?" Vanessa grinned at him over the table.
"Lunch is more than enough appreciation, Vanessa. Thanks." Ian picked at a chicken Caesar salad far too rich in garlic for his taste. "But I was serious about what I said."
Vanessa nodded, forking a chunk of quiche into her mouth and talking around it. "I know. I actually want to talk to you about that—"
It was Ian's phone that halted their conversation. Yet it was no quiet trill that requested Ian's attention. He blushed as the first several notes of a pop song shot out of his pocket, far louder than Ian recalled setting it at. Jordan had been playing with his phone again, a pastime he found far too amusing. Ian was quickly coming to learn that the more annoying the song choice, the more hilarious Jordan believed it to be.
Ian silenced the performer's admissions of same-gender oral-curiosity and, with a finger extended at his boss, growled into the phone, "If you keep playing with my ring tone, I will have no choice but to destroy you."
"Cole's sick."
Whether it was the words themselves or the note of panic in Jordan's voice, it hit Ian like a fist in the belly. He offered a quick frown to Vanessa and rose from his chair, walking towards the front entrance of the restaurant. "What's wrong?"
"I don't know. He has a fever and I think it's making him see things because he's freaking out and I tried to give him acetaminophen but it doesn't seem to be helping and his cheeks are flushed and he's half out of it and when I try to talk to him—"
"Hold on, Jordan. Deep breath, love." Ian took a deep breath and blew it out. "Your turn. Let me hear it."
Jordan took a shaky breath and Ian could hear sweaty fingers sliding on plastic as he gripped the handset of the phone. "Can you come?"
Leave work? In the middle of the day? Just like that? When people were waiting on him? It was unheard of. Even the fact he was out of the office for lunch would come as a surprise to anyone that might wander in looking for him. He was only there, in fact, because Vanessa had insisted.
Ian looked through the window, at the CEO picking through spinach and feta, before turning back to the street. "Yeah, baby. I can come. Put a cold cloth on his head if he'll let you and I'll be there as soon as I can."
*~*~*
He shot through traffic like he was a stunt man playing his part in a high-speed chase. Yet even with the worry, he was pleased with himself. The look on Vanessa's face had been priceless.
"I have to go," he'd said.
"Back to the office?" she'd asked.
"No. I have … well, a personal emergency. A family emergency."
She'd stared at him blankly. "I didn't even know you have family."
He'd grabbed his jacket and his keys. "It surprises most people to realize I didn't just crawl out from under a rock after hatching from my egg."
"When will you be back?" she'd called after him.
He'd only paused long enough to say, "As soon as I can."
If there was backlash, Ian would deal with it later. That was the thing about being a workaholic–people got used to you always being there. But if being there for Jordan meant the people at work would have to deal with their own issues for a change, well, too bad. Maybe there'd be a little more appreciation for what he did do when he was there. It would be a concept they'd just have to get used to. While he'd never dropped anything to run out of the office after Madison, that particular love interest, even if it had been a long-term and live-in one, had also been a grown man capable of looking after himself. Jordan was a package deal. And Cole needed a little more attention than some. It was a sacrifice Ian was willing to make.
At least he never had to fight for parking at the apartment complex. Less than half of the people in the subsidized housing owned their own vehicles, and Jordan was no exception. Ian whipped into Jordan's spot, dropped the vehicle into park and was out the door and jogging for the stairs before the beeps from the car alarm faded.
Jordan yanked open the apartment door before Ian even had to knock.
"How is he?"
Jordan shook his head, eyes worried, forehead crumpled into a frown. "I don't know. Not good."
They ran through Jordan's processes while Ian followed Jordan into the bedroom: quantity of medication given, when it was administered, what else had been tried, and Ian did his best not to let the worry show on his face when he saw Cole lying under the covers. He laid a hand on Cole's forehead, hissed and began to yank the layers off Cole's body.
"He was cold!" Jordan said, reaching to resettle the blankets.
"This boy is not cold," Ian insisted, grabbing the covers off again just as quickly. "You're making the fever worse. We need to get his body temperature down. Does he have any other symptoms? Cold? Flu? Is he coughing or throwing up? Have you gotten a temperature read from him?"
"I don't … no? I don't think so? And I don't have a thermometer—"
"You don't think?" Ian frowned. "I don't mean to come across like an ass but you need to know. You need these answers ready when we take him to the emergency room—"
"No."
The word was firm and definite. Jordan even planted both feet and tightened his shoulders as if he was expecting to be body-checked. "No hospitals."
"It's okay, baby. I'll pay—"
Jordan shook his head. "No."
"I don't mind—"
"It's not about the money," Jordan growled. "We're not taking him to a hospital. No way, no how, no."
"Look, Jordan," Ian tried to sound as serious as could manage. "I don't like hospitals any more than the next guy, but fevers are dangerous—"
"I said no fucking hospital!" The panic that had been creeping Jordan's voice tipped over the edge towards desperation. "So if you want to just stand here and argue about that, then you might as well just leave!"
Ian rose off the edge of the bed. "Jordan, baby—"
"Don't," Jordan said coldly. "Don't ‘baby’ me. Help me or get out. But unless he's dying, we're not taking him anywhere. Is he dying?" He watched Ian's face, pain lancing through his eyes. It was a pain Ian didn't understand – where it came from, why it was there. It confused Ian. It scared him. "Is he? Ian? Is he dying?"
Ian swallowed to pause tears that were welling up for reasons he couldn't put a finger on. "I hope not."
He looked back at Cole, took the few seconds awarded to him to blink several times. "Fill the tub. Cool water. But be prepared, Jordan. Cole is going to freak the fuck out when we put him in there. And get another acetaminophen in him; one more won't hurt. You have half an hour for that pill to start working. Then things are going to get ugly in here."
Jordan nodded and Ian gritted his teeth while he spoke. "Is Chrissy home? If so, I'll see if she has a thermometer we can use."
They split in the hallway, Jordan towards the bathroom and Ian towards the front door. Jordan stopped him before he made it to the handle though. "Ian?"
Ian didn't look back; he just paused, waiting for Jordan to speak again.
"Thank you."
&n
bsp; Ian closed his eyes and resisted the urge to bang his forehead against the door in frustration. Instead he cleared his throat and turned the knob. "Maybe put him in while you fill the tub. The sound of the water might help soothe him. Put in an inch or so of warm and once he's in, listening, switch it to lukewarm and let it trickle in. He'll shiver but he'll be fine."
"Okay."
Jordan didn't sound like much more than a scared kid himself.
"Ian?" he stopped Ian again. This time he waited for Ian to look back. "I love you."
Ian told himself to be grateful for that. He told himself not to feel like it was being said just so Jordan could get the upper hand.
He couldn't.
"I'll be right back. Don't lock the door."
*~*~*
"Okay," Ian laid the thermometer down and breathed a sigh of relief. "One hundred even, that's not bad."
Jordan touched fingertips to Cole's forehead and grinned when Cole snarled at him. "He's acting more like himself. Feels a lot cooler too." He turned and set his feet on the floor, lifting himself off the bed. "We should let him sleep."
Ian nodded his agreement, followed Jordan out of the bedroom and walked through to the kitchen to wash his hands while Jordan did the same in the bathroom. He was tucking the towel back on its rack when Jordan leaned into the kitchen doorframe. "Don't go back to work."
"I have to."
Jordan stepped forward, not stopping until he was standing directly in front of Ian, almost touching. "It's already three-thirty. By the time you get back it will be four. Why bother for a couple of hours?" He slipped his arms around Ian's waist. "Stay with me."
Ian reached for Jordan's forearms and pressed Jordan away. "I'm not in the mood."
"You're mad at me."
"I'm …" Ian struggled for the right phrase. "Concerned. You made me nervous. I try to give you the benefit of the doubt here, Jordan. I tell myself that you're a good father, even if you are broke as fuck, even if you are way too fucking young."
Jordan frowned, crossing both arms in front of him. "I am good. You're a jerk for saying that."
Ian shrugged. "Then I'm a jerk. But you're a jerk for risking his safety." He held Jordan's gaze. "You need to understand something, Jordan. And if it makes you mad at me then so be it. Cole is not mine; I get that. I barely know him. Hell, I barely know you. But I have a conscience and I think a fairly decent one at that. I will not let my attraction for you make me blind to neglect. I know you're not abusive. I know you care about him. But what you did today was borderline negligence. I don't know if it's pride over money, a phobia of some kind, or what, but whatever it is, it's not enough of an excuse."
"I told you if he was really sick then I would have—"
Ian didn't let Jordan walk away when he tried. He grabbed both of Jordan's shoulders and gripped them. "If he was dying, you said. Is that what it takes? To make you respond?"
"I responded!" He looked up at Ian with wounded, tear-filled eyes. "I gave him medication. I called you. I did everything you told me to. And look, he's fine now!"
"He's better. We don't know if he's fine."
"I told you we didn't need you," Jordan hissed, though Ian was sure the sound was more to cover the shake in his voice rather than for effect. "I didn't want you hanging around. I didn't want a relationship. And now what? Now that you have it, you act like you're our father? Maybe you should just leave."
Ian released Jordan's shoulders, his eyelids suddenly too heavy, his arms exhausted. "Maybe." He dug out his wallet and dropped a twenty on the counter.
Jordan shot him a look of disgust. "I don't want your fucking money!"
"Just take it. You're almost out of acetaminophen," he said quietly, turning to leave. "Or are you going to deny Cole again out of pride?"
The door was barely shut behind him when Ian heard something slam against it from the other side.
Segno
It wasn't late; at least, not if what he was distinguishing through blurry vision was the actual time. Ten? Or was it one? No, ten. Which meant he'd just about fallen asleep then.
Ian had been in bed since eight-thirty, too bummed out to stay up but, as his body advised while he'd tossed and turned, too edgy to keep his eyes closed. He'd seen nine come and go, nine-thirty as well, and sometime between those numbers and the ones that now graced his wrist, he'd managed to start drifting off. The phone however, was working in tandem with his nerves to keep him from actual sleep.
His first thought when he'd seen the unfamiliar number on the phone was that Madison had been stranded somewhere, yet again, by another random date. Yet when he connected the call and mumbled his "what" into the speaker, the voice on the other end of the line sent that idea flying.
"It wasn't the money," Jordan whispered.
Ian sat up in bed and frowned. "Jordan? Where are you? What's wrong? Is it Cole?"
"At Chrissy's. I asked if I could use her phone to update you."
"And?" Ian used his free hand to scrub life back into his sleeping face. "Is he okay?"
Jordan snorted a harsh laugh. "He's fine. Good."
"Ah," Ian dropped his hand to his lap. "Good then."
"I really just wanted you to know that it wasn't the money," Jordan repeated. "It may be pride but that pride doesn't have shit to do with whether you're spending your money on us."
"Then why don't you tell me what it does have to do with?"
Jordan's inflection dropped into a pout. "I don't want to talk about it."
"You never do," Ian said, debating on dropping the phone back into its cradle, knowing full well he'd never do anything so callous. Certainly not to Jordan anyway.
The line went quiet for so long that Ian thought Jordan had saved him the trouble and disconnected the call himself. When Jordan finally spoke again his words were so soft Ian barely heard them. "I wish you'd stayed."
Images of sudden fractures splitting hard ground, bursting balloons and collapsing structures filled Ian's mind as he dealt with the way his heart reacted to hearing Jordan say that. He took a deep breath and sighed. "You asked me to leave."
"I still wish you would have stayed."
He didn't know how to respond to that. One minute he was getting yelled at for trying to act like Jordan's father, the next minute Jordan was telling him he should have thrown aside Jordan's directive and insisted on being the boss.
"Are you coming back?"
Ian didn't mean to let the sharp inhale register over the phone line. He knew it did though. "So, what?" he asked himself. "Be the big man and prove your point? Or be the guy you know you are and stop the hurting?" He didn't have to debate himself for long. Speech took its instruction from Ian's heart.
"Of course I am."
He heard Jordan catch a sob, try to mask it as breath, and his own hand tightened on the phone. If he was there, he'd be using that grip to hold the back of Jordan's head against his aching, bleeding heart.
"Jordan?" Ian swallowed, trying to ease words up a dry passage. "Remember what you said in your apartment? Before I left to get the thermometer?"
Jordan didn't answer right away. Ian had a mental image of him pressed against the wall with a hand over his mouth, trying to keep sound from spilling out. Finally, a shaky "yes."
"I love you, too."
Jordan lost the fight with hiding his tears. "I do my best, Ian. You have to believe me. Everything I do, everything I've ever done, is because it was the best thing for Cole. He's a good kid. He has his issues but deep down I see it, you know? I can see the good there. People say he has no feelings, that he never will. But that's not true. I've seen him happy. I just want him to be happy."
"I know."
"You don't know," Jordan replied, his tone hollow. "But that's okay."
Ian rested his head back against the headboard and closed his eyes. "Get some sleep, Jordan. You're exhausted. I can hear it in your voice. I'll see you tomorrow."
Jordan sniffed. "I have to work tomorrow."
"L
eftovers then?"
"No," Jordan's sniffles became chuckles. "No buffet on Tuesdays."
"I'll bring pizza then."
"Okay." There was a smile in Jordan's next comment. "I love you."
The line was already dead when Ian returned the sentiment. He set the phone back in its cradle and shuffled his hips down the mattress until he could drop all the way. He had no problem finding sleep this time.
*~*~*
There was a note on the door when Ian got there.
Ian, I'll be about twenty minutes late. Forgot we have the delivery truck tonight. Go in and make yourself comfy.
He tried the door. Locked. Frowning, he read the last of the note.
What do you call a man with no arms and no legs that sits in front of your door?
Ian growled at the sick humor even as his mind answered the pun. Matt. He looked down at his feet, lifted the mat that hadn't been there last time, and saw the key underneath it.
"Well that's about as subtle as a cymbal at midnight, you dumbass," Ian whispered under his breath. Though there was very little to steal within the tiny apartment, what was there was that much more precious for the fact. "You could have left it with Chrissy, for God's sake."
He shoved through the door, noted the intact television and DVD player and nodded. Good. He dropped a dishtowel on the coffee table, grinned at the pointlessness of the process, and placed a stack of napkins beside it. A six-pack of beer went in the fridge, less one for himself, and Ian flopped on to the couch with a pleased grunt. The cap of the beer was spun off, he grabbed the remote to flick on the television, and he grinned at his reflection in the still-black screen. "Honey," he said, lifting the beer in a self-cheer. "I'm home!"
He'd just started digging through Jordan's movie collection when he heard the door open. Jordan stepped through the entrance, kicked off his shoes and flicked the lock closed before turning back with a smirk.
Ian returned the smile. "Hi! Where's Cole?"
Jordan slipped his jacket off his shoulders and tossed it into the corner. "I didn't get him yet."
"How come?"
