Carter's Fortress - 12. Chapter 12

Peter was the first one to see him. The young kid who stuck to Will like glue through high school, almost to the point of growing up idolizing Will as a hero, was growing into quite a young man. He was waif-thin, with his bowl-cut blond hair spilling out over a visor cap, and blue eyes almost cartoonishly round. He was innocently tapping away on a game controller and didn't hear him enter the house, but the moment his head turned, he was up on his feet pointing and working his mouth with shock.

"Andrew!" he squeaked, finding words as a moment later he was wrapped in an embrace as the boy squeezed him for all he was worth.

"Hi," Andrew chuckled, shaking his head as he looked down at the squirt, Will's surrogate little brother. "How ya been?"

Peter coughed and flushed red with embarrassment at his show of affection as he released Andrew, shifting from foot to foot uncertainly, "I've been good."

Andrew nodded. "Boyfriend yet?" he asked, taking off his suit jacket and loosening his tie as he flopped into the chair glancing about him at the old house, so many memories in those walls.

Peter blushed again and shook his head, "N-no...how did you...?"

Andrew blinked, "I thought you were..." He realized quickly that although Peter's sexuality was generally assumed by everyone who knew him, perhaps Peter hadn't come to acknowledge it yet, "I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay," Peter said shyly as he curled into a sitting position on the floor. "I just...I've only told Will."

"Late bloomer," Andrew said with a dry chuckle as he patted his hands on the chair and glanced about him again. "When'd you come out?"

Peter shrugged, "I've... it's... Will asked me a while ago, I just... well, you know."

"You mean you're not the terror of the night clubs?" Andrew asked wryly. "I can just see you liking Icon."

"It's not my thing," Peter admitted, glancing away embarrassed again.

"You sound like Will," Andrew said still smiling. "Speaking of which, is he about?"

Peter nodded, "They got home last night from Nunavut; Will was complaining he was never gonna get warm."

Andrew nodded and checked his watch; it was closing on eleven am, and as usual the Brody household was still in bed. He smiled, envisioning Will sleeping, his hair messed up as he lay there snoring lightly. It was a flash of a memory, that sense of presence; and for the briefest moment he had stepped back in time to a night in the car, a snowstorm raging outside, Will asleep in his arms.

He had to shake his head when he glanced down at Peter watching him, the twenty-year-old looking at him quizzically. Andrew inclined his head at him, "Will suggested if I was in town to stop by." He glanced at the stairs, suddenly wondering if this was a good idea.

"Cool, want to play?" Peter offered, kicking over the other controller.

"Got Hockey?" Andrew asked with a hopeful smile.

"Naaah, got a shooter though..." Peter grinned. "Lots of violence."

"I think I'll pass," Andrew said holding up his hands.

"Come on," Peter pressed with a grin. "Bet I can take you."

* * *

Will was still cold; it was supposed to be plus eleven outside, but he felt the bite of the arctic wind and shivered anyway. He awoke with that ever-present reminder that his senses got when they knew he had overslept; that painful total lack of sleepiness. Instead, there was a craving for coffee, the dark nectar of the gods, that holy fuel upon whose altar Will would gladly sacrifice his first born. Seeing as he was gay and unlikely to ever have a first born, he was okay with that idea.

He got up and out of bed, quickly pulling on a pair of slacks and a heavy cotton shirt wishing he owned sweaters. He saw one of Marc's jackets, a corduroy one Will had bought him last Christmas. He shrugged and grabbed it, wrapping himself up in it as he stumbled his way downstairs.

The coffee craving was growing in intensity; he could almost taste the rich brown liquid that offered his brain the tantalizing clarity it needed in order for Will to function. Lightly sugared and heavy with cream, he felt his mouth watering at the prospect as he entered the living room.

"Morning Peter, Andy," he greeted, wrapping his arms around him tightly as he tried to rub the sleep from his eyes. The coffee maker was only a few feet away and he could make it if he just kept walking forward.

Something was wrong; it niggled at the back of his brain. He wasn't at a point where he could work out what exactly, but he was aware that something was amiss. He paused and stared in puzzlement at the wall trying to think.

"Everything okay?" Andrew asked him.

"Yeah, fine," Will said absently as he shrugged and walked into the kitchen, pulling the can of Folgers out of the freezer where he kept it, performing his morning ritual of measuring and filtering in order to get the perfect pot of coffee. It was an art form; everything had to be precise and he was salivating by the time he pressed the button to allow the coffee maker to do its divine duty.

He fished in the fridge, grabbing a brownie from the pan of them tucked in towards the back. He bit into it as he fished out some bread for toast and grabbed the margarine; returning to the breakfast bar in the middle of the kitchen he began to set it up for some toast.

He swallowed the bite of brownie as he called out, "You guys hungry?"

"I could eat," Andrew replied, as Peter called out a definite 'yes' at the same time.

Will shrugged. Again a twinge of something amiss bothered him, but he ignored it as he set about loading the toaster, glancing back towards the pot which bubbled happily towards the first cup completion.

It would be strong, but the fuzz around his mind could use a strong kick to shake loose. He waited a few more seconds and poured himself a mug full. The trusty stainless steel travel mug that had been through so much with him looked cheerfully full and he took a deep draught.

He was standing in the doorway two seconds later blinking at Andrew. "You're here!" he said, knowing full well how stupid that sounded considering he'd seen Andrew, acknowledged him and even offered to make him breakfast.

"You said drop by, and well, it's Saturday morning and I was up early and figured why not." Andrew seemed a little uncomfortable, as if he was wondering if he'd made the right choice, or if he was, instead, just reopening old wounds.

Will's eyes flicked towards the stairs as he considered, thinking about the young man who was still asleep up there, and what his reaction would be. "Uh, hi..." he managed, stuck for something adequate to say at that moment.

"Hi," Andrew said, his blue eyes flickering with amusement at Will's disorientation.

"Coffee," Will decided aloud, turning and walking back into the kitchen, fishing about in the fridge in the vain hope he had Baileys tucked away somewhere. Much to his dismay they were out.

"Are you ok with me being here?" Andrew said from the doorway to the kitchen, standing with his arms crossed and looking at Will as he rooted through the fridge.

Will came up holding a carton of cream, "Yeah, it's okay, don't worry about it..." He tried to sound convincing but knew it sounded forced.

Andrew nodded, "I should go, then..."

"Dude!" Brody commented, waltzing into the kitchen in just a pair of Joe Boxers and stealing Will's coffee cup from his hands. "Good to see ya." He extended his hand and Andrew shook it.

"Brody," Andrew nodded in return. "Still up to the usual?"

"Sketch-tastic good fun," Brody grinned, as he waited until Will had buttered a slice of toast before stealing that as well and heading back towards the living room intent on booting a certain blond kid off of his TV so he could watch it.

Will noticed, as he had the night they had sat down to dinner in Toronto, there was a tension in the air. The memory of the pain that existed between the two men, a ghost of the past that seemed so forceful in making its presence known. He looked up at Andrew's smiling face and saw that ghost in his eyes; regret was a powerful thing and yet Andrew seemed to hold it well in check.

"Well, this is awkward," Andrew confessed. "I should get going.." he turned and almost walked into the sleepy young man with a cigarette sticking out of his mouth wandering into the kitchen.

Will's heart stopped.

Marc blinked at the strange obstacle blocking his way, and he shrugged out a grunt as he sidestepped around Andrew and wandered into the kitchen, affectionately wrapping his arms around Will and resting his head against Will's back. "Morning," he murmured still half asleep.

Will sighed, "Andrew, this is Marc, Marc this is Andrew."

Marc leaned around Will and nodded, his battered yellow ball cap moving up and down in a single gesture that was a greeting, acknowledgement and a handshake all in one.

Andrew nodded in return; he suddenly felt even more uncomfortable. What he had with Will was in the past and it belonged there; to dredge up that past only opened himself up to getting hurt again.

He didn't allow any of his thoughts to show on his face. He smiled as he made to leave again. "Your toast is ready," Will said, stopping Andrew as he slid a plate of toast across the breakfast island to him.

Andrew paused and looked at Will; Will's own eyes were firm. He was not about to let Andrew walk away, and he conveyed with that look a simple understanding that he knew how painful this had to be for Andrew.

"Do you want jam?" Will continued, reaching for the fridge.

"Always," Andrew said taking a seat at the bar. "It's the stuff that makes peanut butter good."

Will screwed up his nose, "Yeah, you know that's disgusting, right?"

"You have no appreciation for fine North American cuisine," Andrew shot back with a smile.

Marc disengaged himself from the embrace to take a step back, "Finally someone on my side--I've been trying to convince this guy to try it for ages." He grinned, "Though I did catch him making a potato chip sandwich once."

Andrew cocked his head, "Sounds... nasty."

"My granddad used to make them," Will protested as he set the peanut butter on the counter and fished for a knife. "They're great, but you have to be in the right mood for them..."

"You sure you're not pregnant?" Brody commented, walking into the kitchen to refill his mug of coffee.

Marc turned beet red, and Andrew went very quiet, looking away. Will for his part gestured threateningly with a butter knife, "Watch it, you; I know where you sleep."

"Alls I was sayin'," Brody said, holding up his mug defensively, "was that I thought you had to be pregnant to eat weird shit. When I've seen your cooking, it's all weird shit."

Marc laughed, and even Andrew chuckled as lil'Peter wandered into the kitchen to see what all the laughing was. Seeing Will and Brody squaring off, he climbed onto a stool and sat back to watch the fun.

"At least I don't smother everything in spices to hide the fact that I burnt it," Will retorted.

"That's because you Brits boil everything." He motioned to Will and turned to his audience, "I once came home to find this guy boiling chicken."

"I like it boiled," Will said firmly.

"That's just nasty," Brody shivered. "It comes out gray and you just know the water he dumps down the sink tastes better than the meat left behind."

"Hey!" Will protested. "That's unfair; nobody complained about it before!"

"Yeah, we were too afraid of you and your undead chicken," Brody said.

"Zombie chicken!" Peter began to laugh as he fell off his chair.

"All right, all of you," Will said firmly. "Enough picking on the Brit and get out of my kitchen before I feed you to the zombie chicken."