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rainbowfic2012-04-30 02:35 pm
sarcasticsra) wrote in rainbowfic2012-04-30 02:35 pm
Fog Grey Saturation + Grey, 4 + supplies and styles.
Author: Sara
Colors: Fog Grey + Grey, 4. grey mood.
Supplies: Eraser (Gay Brothers AU), Oils ("breathtaking"), Stain (“Misery acquaints a man with strange bed-fellows.”), Feathers ("Your character makes a personal discovery."), Modeling Clay ("love"), Yarn, Glitter ("What is the most important thing to you?"), Glue ("If you run into someone else's resistance now, take a hint from reality and try adding some flexibility to your approach.")
Styles: Saturation, Graffiti (April Showers)
Word Count: 3,270
Rating: PG-13
Story: Polyfaceted; title of this is Contents Under Pressure.
Summary: Torey asks Sam for a favor. Things spiral downhill from there.
Notes: Takes place in an alternate July 2005.
4. clear blue sky
They’re relaxing in their bed—and Sam’s still getting used to that, even though it’s been three months—after a particularly passionate round that he’s interested in repeating as many times as humanly possible, when Torey says, “I wanted to ask you something.”
“If it’s ‘can we do that again?’, the answer is definitely yes,” Sam replies, grinning, and Torey laughs, pulling him close and kissing him hard.
“It’s not, but I’ll keep that in mind,” he says. His arm drifts so it’s around his waist, and Sam finds himself perfectly content to stay like that.
God, he’s turned into such a sap. “So what’s on your mind?” he asks, then smirks. “Remember I said no take-backs when I moved in. Even if I snore.”
“You don’t,” Torey tells him, smirking back. “And I don’t plan on taking anything back. No, remember how I told you how two of my siblings were taken by their mother and we have no idea where they are?”
“I remember.”
“Think there’s any chance you could find them?”
“There’s always a chance,” he says, nodding. “I’ll look into it.”
Torey smiles at him brilliantly. “Thanks,” he says. “I’ll get you the information tomorrow.”
He’ll find them, he decides, and he’ll move heaven and Earth if he has to.
12. fast as a tornado
The information Torey gets him is interesting, if nonspecific. With feelers out in every possible direction, it doesn’t narrow down the search at all, though he notices the information for Connecticut is surprisingly light. It appears that Mr. Corlioni senior ruled it out, with sound enough reasoning: Julia was from there, and if she fled there, she’d head back to her hometown, the familiar—right?
But Sam hasn’t gotten so good at his job by ruling things out. He also knows how returning to the familiar isn’t always someone’s best option.
Connecticut stays at the top of his list.
5. furious rain
“Whatever you’re working on must be big,” Brooks notes, glancing at the folders taking over a corner of the bar. “You forgot that the crucial part of taking a lunch break is to actually eat lunch.” He looks pointedly at the sandwich sitting next to Sam—he’s taken exactly one bite.
“Huh?” Sam asks absently, glancing up. “Oh, yeah. Forgot about that.”
“What has you working so hard?”
“It’s something for Torey,” he says.
That explains it. Nothing like being stupidly in love to make a person act, well, stupid. “I don’t care if it’s something for the president,” he says. “If you’re taking up a stool, you’re going to eat, so eat.”
“I’m eating, I’m eating,” Sam grumbles. He picks up his sandwich and takes another bite. “And I would never work for the president, thank you very much.”
He snorts. “Good kid.”
Brooks doesn’t stop watching him out of the corner of his eye until the sandwich is gone.
3. flash of lightning
“How’s it going?” Torey asks him that evening, over dinner.
“Pretty good,” he says. “I’m waiting for a call back on something—I think it’s going to turn into a good lead.”
No sooner do the words leave his mouth than does his cell phone ring. Torey raises an eyebrow as he answers with a brisk, “Myles.” He listens carefully, standing suddenly and grabbing a pen that’s sitting on the counter. Using the pad that’s stuck to the fridge, he jots down the information he needs. “Thanks,” he says, grinning widely as he hangs up. “Score,” he adds, ripping the top sheet of paper off the pad and stuffing it in his pocket before sitting back down at the table.
“Got your lead?” Torey looks interested.
“Damn straight. I can check it out tomorrow. I’ve got a good feeling about this one.”
Torey smiles at him. “Thanks for doing this, Sam.”
He ducks his head, smiling back. “It’s no problem.”
1. blanket of fog
As he drives back into the city from Bridgeport, he curses his contact—no, ex-contact—in his mind for the fiftieth time. What a waste of time.
A quick glance at the gas gauge tells him he’ll need to stop soon at a gas station. Brooks will probably kill him if he drops off his truck with the tank empty.
He sighs. This lead had seemed promising, dammit, and he’d been looking forward to telling Torey he had good news. Now all he can do is tell him it was a dead end. It sucks.
Shaking his head, he decides he’ll just have to step up his game.
He can do this.
8. wave of heat
Sam rubs his eyes, glancing at the clock and realizing with mild surprise that it’s almost eight. He can’t believe he’s been stuck in his office all day, poring over paper after paper, trying to get some clue about where to go next.
Sighing, he stands and stretches, thinking maybe he should call it a night. Frowning back at the papers in front of him, he hesitates. He still has a whole stack to go through, but the answer might be in there....
Slowly, he sinks back down into his chair. Maybe just another half an hour. Then he’ll go home.
15. wall of humidity
“You okay, Sam?”
“Hmm?” Sam murmurs, glancing up. “Oh, yeah. I’m fine.” He yawns. “Just a little tired.”
“You got in pretty late last night,” Torey says slowly.
“Yeah, I had a lot of papers to sort through.”
Torey watches him closely. “How’s that going?”
“Good. I’ve got a new lead.”
It’s a minor lead, sure, but it is a lead, and that’s what’s important.
“Sam, it’s okay if you don’t get anywhere,” Torey says then. “A lot of people have tried and found nothing.”
Sam smirks. “I’m not a lot of people.”
“Sam.”
“I’m getting close,” he says, and it may not be strictly true, but he has to get Torey to stop looking at him like he is now, all that worry and concern etched on his features. He manages an easy smile. “I can do this, don’t worry.”
He can. He will.
9. nip of frost
Roger rolls his eyes when he walks into his pawn shop. “Myles, get the fuck out of here,” he says without preamble. “I already told you everything I know.”
“Sure about that?” he asks, leaning against one of the glass display cases, idly glancing at its contents. Lifting his head and sending Roger a friendly grin, he adds, “Your information usually leads to better results.”
“Yeah, well, usually you’re sticking to the city, or Jersey,” Roger says, shrugging with one shoulder. “I don’t know as many people in Connecticut. You obviously don’t either, or you sure as fuck wouldn’t be coming to me.”
The door chimes, and Sam’s grin takes on a distinctly sharklike edge when he glances over at the guy who just walked in. “He’s closed. Come back tomorrow.”
“I—” starts the guy.
“Come back tomorrow.” His tone leaves no room for argument. The guy slinks back out the door.
“Come on, Myles, what the fuck?” Roger glares at him. “Don’t scare my fucking customers away.”
“Oh, Roger, that’s the least I’ll do if you don’t stop holding out on me,” he says. “Because if you think I don’t know where you got these,” he gestures to the jewelry contained in the display case he’s been leaning on, “well, then you’re an idiot. And you may be a lot of things, Roger, but I actually don’t think idiot is one of them.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.” His grin turns far more unfriendly. “The only hard part would be deciding who to tip off. The police, the rival gang you’re ripping off, or even the gang backing you, given you’re shorting them how much a piece? Fifty to a hundred per, right?”
Roger scowls. “This isn’t you, Myles. You’re a pain in the ass, sure, but you’re not this much of a son of a bitch.”
“You really don’t know me that well, do you?” He meets his eyes. “Information. You’ve got forty-eight hours.”
“Fuck you,” Roger snarls. “You’ll have your information, but this is the last fucking favor you can expect from me.”
“I think I’ll recover from such a traumatizing loss,” Sam says dryly as he heads for the door. “I’ll be back. Don’t let me down.”
2. rolling thunder
Sam crosses another name off his list, pressing down on the pen with enough force that the paper rips. Rolling his eyes, he flips his notepad closed and shoves it back in his pocket.
There is another angle he can try. Julia was addicted to heroin, and addictions can be deadly. It’s a long-shot, sure, because the odds are that, if it’s true, she probably wasn’t properly identified, but maybe he’ll get lucky.
Pulling out his cell, he dials a number from memory. “Hey, Val,” he says when she answers. “I need a favor.”
She snorts. “Yeah, that’s new. What is it this time?”
“Think you could run a search for me? Death record in the tri-state area, Connecticut in particular, probably a heroin overdose, maybe for a Julia Anfuso. Could also be a Jane Doe.”
“Gee, could you make that haystack any bigger?”
“She had two kids, if that helps, one boy, one girl. Adamo and Eva. Eva’s four now, Adamo’s two.”
“I’ll see what I can do, but don’t expect any miracles.”
“I won’t,” he lies.
13. earthquake weather
“Kid.”
No response.
“Kid,” he says again, louder this time.
Still no response.
“Samuel.”
That makes him snap his head up, frowning. “Did you just call me by my full name?”
“You’re taking over my office and ignoring me, I get to call you whatever I want.” Brooks takes a long look at him, frowning at what he sees. There’s a tension in his neck and shoulders, some darkness under his eyes, and he seems on edge. It’s all small stuff, but taken together, Brooks doesn’t like it. “Still working on that case for Torey?”
“Yeah,” he says absently, attention drifting back to the papers in front of him.
“Still setting aside time to sleep and eat? You know, indulging in the luxuries of life.”
Sam rolls his eyes. “I’m fine, Brooks. I just want to solve this one.”
“For Torey.”
“Well, yeah.”
He presses his lips into a fine, even line. “I’m bringing you a sandwich. You’d better eat it.”
Sam rolls his eyes. “Fine, whatever.” He turns back to the papers, rubbing his eyes.
Brooks frowns.
10. winter chill
Brooks lifts Sam’s cell phone without him even noticing, yet another sign that he’s not himself. He finds the contact for Torey and hits send.
“What’s up, Sam?”
“It’s Brooks,” he says. “Listen. We need to have a talk.”
He can almost hear Torey raising an eyebrow. “Okay,” he says slowly. “What’s up?”
“Whatever this little project is that Sam’s working on for you, it’s running him into the ground,” he says flatly. “He’s overworking, he’s not taking care of himself, and the further he gets in without results, the worse it’s going to get.”
“He’s seemed a little stressed lately,” Torey agrees, “but not too much out of the ordinary. He said he’s close.”
“Of course he did. That’s what he’s telling himself. But I know him well enough to know when he’s chasing his tail, how it wears on him. I’ve seen it before, when he has to disappoint a client, and this is going to be a fuck of a lot worse.”
“Worse how?”
“For starters, he wasn’t in love with any of those clients.” He sighs. “This kid will work himself to death to avoid disappointing you.”
There’s a pause on the line as that sinks in. “I’ll talk to him,” he says finally. “Thanks for the heads up.”
“Just be sure you do.”
He hangs up.
6. raging winds
“Another late night?” Torey calls when Sam walks in the door. It’s almost nine.
“Yeah. Just had to follow up on a few things.”
Torey takes a good look at him. He has to admit, Sam’s looked better. Brooks was right; this isn’t good for him. “You know, if you can’t find them, it’s okay,” he says again.
“I can,” Sam says quickly, expression shuttered. “And I will.”
“I’m just saying, maybe we should talk about a stopping point.”
“No need. I’m closing in, I can feel it.”
“Sam—”
“I am.”
At the determined look in his eyes, Torey relents a little. “You’re sure?”
“I’m not lying.”
“I didn’t say you were,” he replies. “Just take care of yourself, all right? You might be working too hard.”
Sam rolls his eyes. “Now you sound like Brooks.” He moves for the kitchen, opening the refrigerator and pulling out some leftovers. “I’m eating, see?”
“I see that.”
“I’m just a little extra focused right now,” he continues. “But I am close. I know it.”
Torey nods. “I believe you.”
“Good.”
The subject drops, but Torey makes a mental note to keep an eye on him.
7. withering drought
He has nothing. He has absolutely nothing.
He picks up the stress ball sitting on his desk, left there god knows how long ago by Brooks as a joke, and it’s always come in handy when he needs to switch tracks and think.
There’s got to be something he missed, something he can go over again, something that will point him in the right direction. He promised Torey—he promised himself—that he’d get this done, and he has to be able to do it.
Rubbing his face with his free hand, a traitorous thought sneaks up on him, saying maybe he can’t. Maybe he’s been fooling himself, fooling Torey, fooling everyone, getting them to believe he’s considerably better than he really is.
Maybe he’s just a fraud.
His phone rings suddenly, startling him out of his reverie. A quick glance at the caller ID tells him it’s Torey, and then he glances at the clock, which tells him why—it’s almost ten.
Licking his lips, he silences the call.
When he glances at the stress ball in his left hand, he’s only slightly surprised to see it’s partly deflated. Narrowing his eyes, he throws it angrily into the trash.
The can slides a few inches away from his desk.
11. pounding hurricane
Sam is careful when he steps inside the apartment, shutting the door quietly behind him. He slips off his shoes, frowning when he notices the side table lamp in the living room is on, and that’s when he sees that Torey’s still up, sitting in the armchair.
“You’re up late,” he says lightly. His stomach takes that opportunity to inform him of how damn hungry he is, growling loudly. He heads for the kitchen.
“I could say the same thing about you,” Torey says, and Sam hears him standing, heading in his direction. Torey appears in the kitchen just as he’s pulling some leftovers out of the refrigerator, shutting the door behind him. “Sam,” he says.
“That’s my name,” Sam says, managing a smile. He pops the lid off the Tupperware container and pulls open the microwave door, setting it inside. After pressing two, zero, zero on the number pad, he hits start.
“Look at me.”
Sam chances a look over, raising an eyebrow. “What?”
“I called you today,” Torey says. “A couple times.”
“My phone was on silent,” Sam lies. “I didn’t see them until I was on my way home, and I figured you were asleep by now.”
“You didn’t call.”
“I was working late. It’s not the first time it’s happened.”
“Yeah, but when you’re this late, you always call.”
“So I forgot,” Sam says, turning away, watching the red numbers count down. “It happens.” He has no idea why his tone has suddenly gotten so snappish.
“Brooks couldn’t get ahold of you either,” Torey says, voice firmly even.
“I told you. My phone was on silent.”
“I can count on one hand the number of times you’ve put your phone on silent,” Torey says. “You’d risk missing too many calls.”
“It was on silent today. I was chasing down some leads.” He glares at Torey. “Why the hell are you conspiring with Brooks, anyway?”
“Not conspiring, Sam. Talking.” He rolls his eyes. “You didn’t stop by the bar today. He was concerned about why.”
“I was busy!”
“Too busy to eat?”
“Maybe, yeah! So what? I’m eating now, aren’t I?”
Torey shakes his head. “Sam, we’re worried about you. You’re not talking care of yourself, you’re obviously stressed out, you’re sleeping barely at all, working eighteen-hour days. It’s not healthy.”
“I’m doing fine,” he mutters.
“Yeah, that’s really obvious, with the way you’ve started avoiding our calls.”
“I wasn’t avoiding them!”
“Yes, you were,” Torey says flatly.
“Fine, since you apparently know everything.”
“Drop the case, Sam,” Torey says. “Please.”
“No. I’m almost there.”
“You’ve been almost there for weeks.”
“I can do it, Torey!”
“It’s okay if you can’t!”
“No, it isn’t!” he shouts. “It is not fucking okay, because I told you I would do it, and I will! I am not a fucking fraud!”
The microwave’s shrill, finishing beep cuts through the air.
14. cool mist
Sam busies himself with his food, yanking the microwave door open and pulling out the container. “Shit,” he mutters, almost dropping it on the counter because it’s too hot.
“I’ll get you a plate,” Torey says, and Sam can’t help but notice that he suddenly sounds much less frustrated.
“I don’t need a plate.”
“A fork, then.” He opens the drawer and hands one over, which Sam takes without looking at him.
“Thanks.”
He grabs the container by the edges and moves to the kitchen table, entirely unsurprised when Torey joins him. “I don’t think you’re a fraud, Sam,” he says quietly. “I think we have no idea what happened to Julia, I think she could have gone anywhere, and I think you’re not the first person to come up empty.”
“I told you I could do it.”
“You thought you could. That doesn’t mean you’re a fraud. You tried, it didn’t work out. It happens sometimes.”
“It sucks.” He twirls a forkful of pasta, blowing on it before he sticks it in his mouth. He already almost burned his hands. He has no desire to add his tongue to that list as well.
“Yeah.”
Sam chances a look up. “I wanted to do this for you.”
“I know you did,” he says, meeting his eyes. “And that alone means a hell of a lot.”
He rubs his face, sighing heavily. “I’m sorry. For avoiding the calls, for lying. I just…wish I weren’t such a failure.”
“You’re not,” Torey says firmly. “This is one case out of how many you’ve resolved?”
“Yeah. I guess.” He looks down, licking his lips.
“I love you, Sam,” Torey adds, after a moment. Sam glances back up, almost startled.
“I know,” he says, but he can’t keep the tiniest tremor out of his voice. He forces a smirk. “What’s not to love?”
Very seriously, Torey says, “Absolutely nothing.”
He averts his gaze again. “I love you too,” he says. More quietly, so quietly that he’s not sure Torey will hear, he adds, “Thank you.”
When Torey doesn’t respond to that, just stands up, Sam thinks maybe he actually didn’t hear it, but then he steps forward and squeezes his shoulder, leaning down to kiss him. It’s gentle and firm at the same time, both passionate and reassuring.
Sam relaxes, tension slowly starting to drain from his body.
Colors: Fog Grey + Grey, 4. grey mood.
Supplies: Eraser (Gay Brothers AU), Oils ("breathtaking"), Stain (“Misery acquaints a man with strange bed-fellows.”), Feathers ("Your character makes a personal discovery."), Modeling Clay ("love"), Yarn, Glitter ("What is the most important thing to you?"), Glue ("If you run into someone else's resistance now, take a hint from reality and try adding some flexibility to your approach.")
Styles: Saturation, Graffiti (April Showers)
Word Count: 3,270
Rating: PG-13
Story: Polyfaceted; title of this is Contents Under Pressure.
Summary: Torey asks Sam for a favor. Things spiral downhill from there.
Notes: Takes place in an alternate July 2005.
4. clear blue sky
They’re relaxing in their bed—and Sam’s still getting used to that, even though it’s been three months—after a particularly passionate round that he’s interested in repeating as many times as humanly possible, when Torey says, “I wanted to ask you something.”
“If it’s ‘can we do that again?’, the answer is definitely yes,” Sam replies, grinning, and Torey laughs, pulling him close and kissing him hard.
“It’s not, but I’ll keep that in mind,” he says. His arm drifts so it’s around his waist, and Sam finds himself perfectly content to stay like that.
God, he’s turned into such a sap. “So what’s on your mind?” he asks, then smirks. “Remember I said no take-backs when I moved in. Even if I snore.”
“You don’t,” Torey tells him, smirking back. “And I don’t plan on taking anything back. No, remember how I told you how two of my siblings were taken by their mother and we have no idea where they are?”
“I remember.”
“Think there’s any chance you could find them?”
“There’s always a chance,” he says, nodding. “I’ll look into it.”
Torey smiles at him brilliantly. “Thanks,” he says. “I’ll get you the information tomorrow.”
He’ll find them, he decides, and he’ll move heaven and Earth if he has to.
12. fast as a tornado
The information Torey gets him is interesting, if nonspecific. With feelers out in every possible direction, it doesn’t narrow down the search at all, though he notices the information for Connecticut is surprisingly light. It appears that Mr. Corlioni senior ruled it out, with sound enough reasoning: Julia was from there, and if she fled there, she’d head back to her hometown, the familiar—right?
But Sam hasn’t gotten so good at his job by ruling things out. He also knows how returning to the familiar isn’t always someone’s best option.
Connecticut stays at the top of his list.
5. furious rain
“Whatever you’re working on must be big,” Brooks notes, glancing at the folders taking over a corner of the bar. “You forgot that the crucial part of taking a lunch break is to actually eat lunch.” He looks pointedly at the sandwich sitting next to Sam—he’s taken exactly one bite.
“Huh?” Sam asks absently, glancing up. “Oh, yeah. Forgot about that.”
“What has you working so hard?”
“It’s something for Torey,” he says.
That explains it. Nothing like being stupidly in love to make a person act, well, stupid. “I don’t care if it’s something for the president,” he says. “If you’re taking up a stool, you’re going to eat, so eat.”
“I’m eating, I’m eating,” Sam grumbles. He picks up his sandwich and takes another bite. “And I would never work for the president, thank you very much.”
He snorts. “Good kid.”
Brooks doesn’t stop watching him out of the corner of his eye until the sandwich is gone.
3. flash of lightning
“How’s it going?” Torey asks him that evening, over dinner.
“Pretty good,” he says. “I’m waiting for a call back on something—I think it’s going to turn into a good lead.”
No sooner do the words leave his mouth than does his cell phone ring. Torey raises an eyebrow as he answers with a brisk, “Myles.” He listens carefully, standing suddenly and grabbing a pen that’s sitting on the counter. Using the pad that’s stuck to the fridge, he jots down the information he needs. “Thanks,” he says, grinning widely as he hangs up. “Score,” he adds, ripping the top sheet of paper off the pad and stuffing it in his pocket before sitting back down at the table.
“Got your lead?” Torey looks interested.
“Damn straight. I can check it out tomorrow. I’ve got a good feeling about this one.”
Torey smiles at him. “Thanks for doing this, Sam.”
He ducks his head, smiling back. “It’s no problem.”
1. blanket of fog
As he drives back into the city from Bridgeport, he curses his contact—no, ex-contact—in his mind for the fiftieth time. What a waste of time.
A quick glance at the gas gauge tells him he’ll need to stop soon at a gas station. Brooks will probably kill him if he drops off his truck with the tank empty.
He sighs. This lead had seemed promising, dammit, and he’d been looking forward to telling Torey he had good news. Now all he can do is tell him it was a dead end. It sucks.
Shaking his head, he decides he’ll just have to step up his game.
He can do this.
8. wave of heat
Sam rubs his eyes, glancing at the clock and realizing with mild surprise that it’s almost eight. He can’t believe he’s been stuck in his office all day, poring over paper after paper, trying to get some clue about where to go next.
Sighing, he stands and stretches, thinking maybe he should call it a night. Frowning back at the papers in front of him, he hesitates. He still has a whole stack to go through, but the answer might be in there....
Slowly, he sinks back down into his chair. Maybe just another half an hour. Then he’ll go home.
15. wall of humidity
“You okay, Sam?”
“Hmm?” Sam murmurs, glancing up. “Oh, yeah. I’m fine.” He yawns. “Just a little tired.”
“You got in pretty late last night,” Torey says slowly.
“Yeah, I had a lot of papers to sort through.”
Torey watches him closely. “How’s that going?”
“Good. I’ve got a new lead.”
It’s a minor lead, sure, but it is a lead, and that’s what’s important.
“Sam, it’s okay if you don’t get anywhere,” Torey says then. “A lot of people have tried and found nothing.”
Sam smirks. “I’m not a lot of people.”
“Sam.”
“I’m getting close,” he says, and it may not be strictly true, but he has to get Torey to stop looking at him like he is now, all that worry and concern etched on his features. He manages an easy smile. “I can do this, don’t worry.”
He can. He will.
9. nip of frost
Roger rolls his eyes when he walks into his pawn shop. “Myles, get the fuck out of here,” he says without preamble. “I already told you everything I know.”
“Sure about that?” he asks, leaning against one of the glass display cases, idly glancing at its contents. Lifting his head and sending Roger a friendly grin, he adds, “Your information usually leads to better results.”
“Yeah, well, usually you’re sticking to the city, or Jersey,” Roger says, shrugging with one shoulder. “I don’t know as many people in Connecticut. You obviously don’t either, or you sure as fuck wouldn’t be coming to me.”
The door chimes, and Sam’s grin takes on a distinctly sharklike edge when he glances over at the guy who just walked in. “He’s closed. Come back tomorrow.”
“I—” starts the guy.
“Come back tomorrow.” His tone leaves no room for argument. The guy slinks back out the door.
“Come on, Myles, what the fuck?” Roger glares at him. “Don’t scare my fucking customers away.”
“Oh, Roger, that’s the least I’ll do if you don’t stop holding out on me,” he says. “Because if you think I don’t know where you got these,” he gestures to the jewelry contained in the display case he’s been leaning on, “well, then you’re an idiot. And you may be a lot of things, Roger, but I actually don’t think idiot is one of them.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.” His grin turns far more unfriendly. “The only hard part would be deciding who to tip off. The police, the rival gang you’re ripping off, or even the gang backing you, given you’re shorting them how much a piece? Fifty to a hundred per, right?”
Roger scowls. “This isn’t you, Myles. You’re a pain in the ass, sure, but you’re not this much of a son of a bitch.”
“You really don’t know me that well, do you?” He meets his eyes. “Information. You’ve got forty-eight hours.”
“Fuck you,” Roger snarls. “You’ll have your information, but this is the last fucking favor you can expect from me.”
“I think I’ll recover from such a traumatizing loss,” Sam says dryly as he heads for the door. “I’ll be back. Don’t let me down.”
2. rolling thunder
Sam crosses another name off his list, pressing down on the pen with enough force that the paper rips. Rolling his eyes, he flips his notepad closed and shoves it back in his pocket.
There is another angle he can try. Julia was addicted to heroin, and addictions can be deadly. It’s a long-shot, sure, because the odds are that, if it’s true, she probably wasn’t properly identified, but maybe he’ll get lucky.
Pulling out his cell, he dials a number from memory. “Hey, Val,” he says when she answers. “I need a favor.”
She snorts. “Yeah, that’s new. What is it this time?”
“Think you could run a search for me? Death record in the tri-state area, Connecticut in particular, probably a heroin overdose, maybe for a Julia Anfuso. Could also be a Jane Doe.”
“Gee, could you make that haystack any bigger?”
“She had two kids, if that helps, one boy, one girl. Adamo and Eva. Eva’s four now, Adamo’s two.”
“I’ll see what I can do, but don’t expect any miracles.”
“I won’t,” he lies.
13. earthquake weather
“Kid.”
No response.
“Kid,” he says again, louder this time.
Still no response.
“Samuel.”
That makes him snap his head up, frowning. “Did you just call me by my full name?”
“You’re taking over my office and ignoring me, I get to call you whatever I want.” Brooks takes a long look at him, frowning at what he sees. There’s a tension in his neck and shoulders, some darkness under his eyes, and he seems on edge. It’s all small stuff, but taken together, Brooks doesn’t like it. “Still working on that case for Torey?”
“Yeah,” he says absently, attention drifting back to the papers in front of him.
“Still setting aside time to sleep and eat? You know, indulging in the luxuries of life.”
Sam rolls his eyes. “I’m fine, Brooks. I just want to solve this one.”
“For Torey.”
“Well, yeah.”
He presses his lips into a fine, even line. “I’m bringing you a sandwich. You’d better eat it.”
Sam rolls his eyes. “Fine, whatever.” He turns back to the papers, rubbing his eyes.
Brooks frowns.
10. winter chill
Brooks lifts Sam’s cell phone without him even noticing, yet another sign that he’s not himself. He finds the contact for Torey and hits send.
“What’s up, Sam?”
“It’s Brooks,” he says. “Listen. We need to have a talk.”
He can almost hear Torey raising an eyebrow. “Okay,” he says slowly. “What’s up?”
“Whatever this little project is that Sam’s working on for you, it’s running him into the ground,” he says flatly. “He’s overworking, he’s not taking care of himself, and the further he gets in without results, the worse it’s going to get.”
“He’s seemed a little stressed lately,” Torey agrees, “but not too much out of the ordinary. He said he’s close.”
“Of course he did. That’s what he’s telling himself. But I know him well enough to know when he’s chasing his tail, how it wears on him. I’ve seen it before, when he has to disappoint a client, and this is going to be a fuck of a lot worse.”
“Worse how?”
“For starters, he wasn’t in love with any of those clients.” He sighs. “This kid will work himself to death to avoid disappointing you.”
There’s a pause on the line as that sinks in. “I’ll talk to him,” he says finally. “Thanks for the heads up.”
“Just be sure you do.”
He hangs up.
6. raging winds
“Another late night?” Torey calls when Sam walks in the door. It’s almost nine.
“Yeah. Just had to follow up on a few things.”
Torey takes a good look at him. He has to admit, Sam’s looked better. Brooks was right; this isn’t good for him. “You know, if you can’t find them, it’s okay,” he says again.
“I can,” Sam says quickly, expression shuttered. “And I will.”
“I’m just saying, maybe we should talk about a stopping point.”
“No need. I’m closing in, I can feel it.”
“Sam—”
“I am.”
At the determined look in his eyes, Torey relents a little. “You’re sure?”
“I’m not lying.”
“I didn’t say you were,” he replies. “Just take care of yourself, all right? You might be working too hard.”
Sam rolls his eyes. “Now you sound like Brooks.” He moves for the kitchen, opening the refrigerator and pulling out some leftovers. “I’m eating, see?”
“I see that.”
“I’m just a little extra focused right now,” he continues. “But I am close. I know it.”
Torey nods. “I believe you.”
“Good.”
The subject drops, but Torey makes a mental note to keep an eye on him.
7. withering drought
He has nothing. He has absolutely nothing.
He picks up the stress ball sitting on his desk, left there god knows how long ago by Brooks as a joke, and it’s always come in handy when he needs to switch tracks and think.
There’s got to be something he missed, something he can go over again, something that will point him in the right direction. He promised Torey—he promised himself—that he’d get this done, and he has to be able to do it.
Rubbing his face with his free hand, a traitorous thought sneaks up on him, saying maybe he can’t. Maybe he’s been fooling himself, fooling Torey, fooling everyone, getting them to believe he’s considerably better than he really is.
Maybe he’s just a fraud.
His phone rings suddenly, startling him out of his reverie. A quick glance at the caller ID tells him it’s Torey, and then he glances at the clock, which tells him why—it’s almost ten.
Licking his lips, he silences the call.
When he glances at the stress ball in his left hand, he’s only slightly surprised to see it’s partly deflated. Narrowing his eyes, he throws it angrily into the trash.
The can slides a few inches away from his desk.
11. pounding hurricane
Sam is careful when he steps inside the apartment, shutting the door quietly behind him. He slips off his shoes, frowning when he notices the side table lamp in the living room is on, and that’s when he sees that Torey’s still up, sitting in the armchair.
“You’re up late,” he says lightly. His stomach takes that opportunity to inform him of how damn hungry he is, growling loudly. He heads for the kitchen.
“I could say the same thing about you,” Torey says, and Sam hears him standing, heading in his direction. Torey appears in the kitchen just as he’s pulling some leftovers out of the refrigerator, shutting the door behind him. “Sam,” he says.
“That’s my name,” Sam says, managing a smile. He pops the lid off the Tupperware container and pulls open the microwave door, setting it inside. After pressing two, zero, zero on the number pad, he hits start.
“Look at me.”
Sam chances a look over, raising an eyebrow. “What?”
“I called you today,” Torey says. “A couple times.”
“My phone was on silent,” Sam lies. “I didn’t see them until I was on my way home, and I figured you were asleep by now.”
“You didn’t call.”
“I was working late. It’s not the first time it’s happened.”
“Yeah, but when you’re this late, you always call.”
“So I forgot,” Sam says, turning away, watching the red numbers count down. “It happens.” He has no idea why his tone has suddenly gotten so snappish.
“Brooks couldn’t get ahold of you either,” Torey says, voice firmly even.
“I told you. My phone was on silent.”
“I can count on one hand the number of times you’ve put your phone on silent,” Torey says. “You’d risk missing too many calls.”
“It was on silent today. I was chasing down some leads.” He glares at Torey. “Why the hell are you conspiring with Brooks, anyway?”
“Not conspiring, Sam. Talking.” He rolls his eyes. “You didn’t stop by the bar today. He was concerned about why.”
“I was busy!”
“Too busy to eat?”
“Maybe, yeah! So what? I’m eating now, aren’t I?”
Torey shakes his head. “Sam, we’re worried about you. You’re not talking care of yourself, you’re obviously stressed out, you’re sleeping barely at all, working eighteen-hour days. It’s not healthy.”
“I’m doing fine,” he mutters.
“Yeah, that’s really obvious, with the way you’ve started avoiding our calls.”
“I wasn’t avoiding them!”
“Yes, you were,” Torey says flatly.
“Fine, since you apparently know everything.”
“Drop the case, Sam,” Torey says. “Please.”
“No. I’m almost there.”
“You’ve been almost there for weeks.”
“I can do it, Torey!”
“It’s okay if you can’t!”
“No, it isn’t!” he shouts. “It is not fucking okay, because I told you I would do it, and I will! I am not a fucking fraud!”
The microwave’s shrill, finishing beep cuts through the air.
14. cool mist
Sam busies himself with his food, yanking the microwave door open and pulling out the container. “Shit,” he mutters, almost dropping it on the counter because it’s too hot.
“I’ll get you a plate,” Torey says, and Sam can’t help but notice that he suddenly sounds much less frustrated.
“I don’t need a plate.”
“A fork, then.” He opens the drawer and hands one over, which Sam takes without looking at him.
“Thanks.”
He grabs the container by the edges and moves to the kitchen table, entirely unsurprised when Torey joins him. “I don’t think you’re a fraud, Sam,” he says quietly. “I think we have no idea what happened to Julia, I think she could have gone anywhere, and I think you’re not the first person to come up empty.”
“I told you I could do it.”
“You thought you could. That doesn’t mean you’re a fraud. You tried, it didn’t work out. It happens sometimes.”
“It sucks.” He twirls a forkful of pasta, blowing on it before he sticks it in his mouth. He already almost burned his hands. He has no desire to add his tongue to that list as well.
“Yeah.”
Sam chances a look up. “I wanted to do this for you.”
“I know you did,” he says, meeting his eyes. “And that alone means a hell of a lot.”
He rubs his face, sighing heavily. “I’m sorry. For avoiding the calls, for lying. I just…wish I weren’t such a failure.”
“You’re not,” Torey says firmly. “This is one case out of how many you’ve resolved?”
“Yeah. I guess.” He looks down, licking his lips.
“I love you, Sam,” Torey adds, after a moment. Sam glances back up, almost startled.
“I know,” he says, but he can’t keep the tiniest tremor out of his voice. He forces a smirk. “What’s not to love?”
Very seriously, Torey says, “Absolutely nothing.”
He averts his gaze again. “I love you too,” he says. More quietly, so quietly that he’s not sure Torey will hear, he adds, “Thank you.”
When Torey doesn’t respond to that, just stands up, Sam thinks maybe he actually didn’t hear it, but then he steps forward and squeezes his shoulder, leaning down to kiss him. It’s gentle and firm at the same time, both passionate and reassuring.
Sam relaxes, tension slowly starting to drain from his body.
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Nice job.
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Thank you!
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I feel for him, seriously. He said he'd do it. Saying you'll do something and not following through for any reason...that's hard. It's harder with someone who matters so much to you.
Grat job.
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Thanks!
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Thank you!