Carter's Recourse - 21. Chapter 21

The Mustang rolled to a stop behind the newly returned BMW sitting patiently in Will's driveway. And Will leaned forward on the steering wheel, looking down the row of houses towards Lisa's house where his Jeep was sitting tucked alongside Jeff's truck. Seeing the BMW made Will think of Marc, probably waiting inside, and Will sat back heavily into the bucket seat, staring up at the dark house.

Andrew was quiet as well, lost to his own thoughts, occasionally wincing in pain in the passenger seat. Will had found it strange that Andrew had asked him to drive, but something had happened to Andrew as well that night. He could see it in Andrew's eyes, and knew better than to push to find out what. He had simply agreed to drive and done so without complaint.

They both sat silently staring at the house.

"I..." Will began, finally breaking the stillness.

He rubbed his jaw and settled back again exhaling deeply, "It's been a long couple of days."

Andrew turned his head to look at Will, and then at the empty house. "He's inside?" he asked, both of them knowing he meant Marc.

"Let's not go there again," Will said, swallowing and shaking his head. "I don't think I can deal with it tonight."

Andrew looked down at the balled-up leather jacket in his lap. "We made a mistake," he said softly.

"No," Will shook his head, "no... not again, not this time. I'm happy with Marc..."

"Bullshit," Andrew said, turning in the seat and looking over at Will.

"He loves me," Will insisted angrily.

"So do I," Andrew said, finally getting it out. He locked his eyes with Will's, "And you love me."

"I'm not having this conversation again," Will said, getting out of the car and slamming the door shut, stalking up the steps of the house towards the door.

"Because you're afraid I'm right," Andrew called out, leaning on the roof of his car and staring at Will firmly. "And that scares the hell out of you, and so you hide, in there..." he nodded to the house in front of Will.

Will swallowed as he turned, "No, no more, that's it, it's over. Go home."

"I can't," Andrew replied.

"No?" Will demanded stepping down from the porch.

"No I can't," Andrew said simply, "you have my keys." He pointed.

Will looked down at Andrew's keys gripped in his hand and shook his head as he stepped down to hand them to him. He watched in concern as Andrew tried to reach for them, wincing in pain and switching hands. "Are you all right?" he asked in concern.

"I'm fine," Andrew said, opening up the car door and slipping behind the wheel. He stopped when he realized that with his right arm all but immobile, starting the car and shifting gears was going to be a major problem.

Will watched him a moment before shaking his head. "I'll drive you home," he said. "Just let me go inside and get my keys, we're taking my car."

He let himself into the old house, and looked up into Marc's face, the young man standing beside the window to the house, his arms wrapped tightly about him, and a look in his eyes that said he'd heard every word.

Will swallowed as he opened his mouth to say something, but Marc shook his head. "Don't..." he said, his voice thick.

"Marc..." Will took a step forward, as Marc backed up, shaking his head, "Marc?"

Marc straightened up and shook his head. "Do you love him?" he demanded quietly.

"Oh, for Christ's sake!" Will cursed rolling his head. "Not a-bloody-gain! What is it with you two?" he demanded, stepping forward and gesturing outside towards Andrew. "Both of you, what the hell?"

Marc bit his lip as he fought hard to keep himself from crying, angrily meeting Will's gaze as he balled his fists and crossed his arms.

Will calmed down, rubbing his temples, "Look I'm going to drive him home, can we talk about this when I get back?"

Marc shook his head. "I won't be here," he said firmly.

Will sighed, "I'm going to go, I'll be right back..."

"It doesn't matter," Marc said firmly, "go, but I'm going to stay at a friends'... I need to do some thinking." He looked away, blinking back his tears.

Will closed his eyes, reaching out to take his keys; as he turned to leave he stopped to look over his shoulder at Marc, wondering if he could say anything that would help, but he knew there was nothing to say, and he walked back outside.

Andrew climbed into the passenger seat of the BMW, watching Will as he sat a moment adjusting the seats and mirrors. "Are you all right?" Andrew asked hesitantly.

Will dropped his eyes and sighed again, yet conversation he wanted to avoid. He wondered how he was going to explain what had just happened with Marc to Andrew. Things were a mess, everything had become tangled up together and now he would have to try to straighten them all out, figure out where his life was and what he would do next.

"You don't have to drive me if you don't want to," Andrew said, reading his friend's face.

Will nodded in defeat, "I know..." He leaned forward to rest his head against the steering wheel, completely emotionally drained, everything mounting up and pulling him down without any sign of respite in sight.

Andrew watched him, and chewed on his lip. "We could go back to mine," he offered.

Will blinked, he'd never been to Andrew's home, and he didn't actually know where it was. It was one of those things that he had never bothered to ask about. Since they had stopped living together it had always been Will's home that they congregated in. It was just a natural thing, he'd never even thought about where Andrew was living.

Andrew studied Will's reaction again, and thought it through, "If you're not comfortable with that, there's always my mom's."

Will shifted again, looking down at the dash. He could use some of Micheline Highmore's wisdom. Old Mrs. Highmore was like a force of nature, a second mother to him. Someone who only offered sound advice when she was certain of it and never judged. It sounded appealing...

Andrew smiled catching Will's faint smile, "Come on. Let's go."

They drove to the small house tucked in the middle of farming country, again lapsing into their silence, both falling victims to their own thoughts and the memories that haunted them. And as the shadows lengthened into late night they pulled up in the driveway.

Will climbed out of the car and shivered in the dark as he looked about him. He hadn't been back to this house in a long time. It had been such a warm place, but at the same time it was a house filled with sadness. He watched as Andrew recovered the key from where it was hidden under a flowerpot; unoriginal, but then they were in the middle of nowhere, if someone wanted to rob the place they wouldn't need to use a key.

The house was still when they entered and Andrew slipped off his shoes at the door tucking them off to one side as he turned the kitchen light on and walked through. Will watched him, aware that it was probably rare for Andrew to come home as well.

Will hesitated in the doorway to the house, looking about him at the familiar worn furniture, the flowers sitting in water on the table. A couple of pans were sitting in the rack to dry; it was all exactly as he remembered it. It was like home.

Andrew winced again, bringing his hand up to cradle his shoulder, and Will wondered again what had happened to him. He removed his own shoes and walked into the house glancing at the pristine parlor that had never, in all the time he had spent in that house, been used.

He looked at the kitchen table where Micheline would sit every morning staring out to watch the sunrise, greeting her own memories.

"Are you sure your mother won't mind?" Will asked in a low voice so as not to wake her.

"My house is always open." The woman's voice shocked both of them and caused Will to jump and spin to face her.

She gave him an amused look as she pulled the pink flannel robe tight about her diminutive frame and walked into her kitchen to put the kettle on. She turned and gave her son the once-over and then turned to give the same to Will.

"And what brings you two strays to my kitchen?" she asked, as she set the kettle aside and opened the fridge to pull out an assortment of vegetables that she set on the counter top. "Hunger, I bet."

Will smiled and blushed, realizing that he hadn't eaten much that day at all. Andrew set the ball of his leather jacket he had been carrying since the police station down on a chair and walked in to kiss his mother lightly on the cheek. "It's been a rough day, is it okay if..."

Micheline looked up at her son and nodded, "Yes, you know it's always okay to stay here." She gave him a worried look as she glanced back at Will.

Andrew shook his head slightly, and Will knew something had passed between the mother and son. Something about him, and he suddenly felt very uncomfortable.

"Well," Micheline said, finishing chopping the vegetables and pulling some meat out of the freezer that she put into the microwave to defrost, "it's good to see you again, William."

Will nodded his head. "You as well, Mrs. Highmore," he said, realizing again how uncomfortable the woman could make a person just by using their name.

"Still a politician?" she asked lightly.

"Yes, ma'am," Will responded. "At least for the time being."

Micheline flashed him a charming smile. "You mean they haven't caught you with your fingers in the tax payers cookie jar yet," she said teasingly.

"No, ma'am," Will replied, relaxing a bit.

"Good, so you can tell those idiots over at public works that I don't want that new bypass to run through my backyard," she said firmly as the microwave dinged, and she gestured for Andrew to get out of her way as she pulled the meat down to cook it up.

She stopped when she caught Andrew's wince when he moved. "What's wrong with you?" she asked suspiciously.

"Muscle sprain..." Andrew said thinking fast as he moved to join Will over by the kitchen table.

"Well," Micheline said dismissively, "I still have some of that dry heat cream you used to use playing hockey in the bathroom; that'll help it." She looked at Will, "William, could you come and give me a hand, please?"

Will and Andrew exchanged looks that said they both realized Micheline was trying to get Will alone for a few minutes. No doubt to give him the third degree in that no-nonsense manner of hers. Andrew gave Will a reassuring smile as he walked through towards the bathroom.

Will joined Micheline and glanced down at what she was preparing; there was no indication of how he would be able to help her, or even that she would actually let him, it was clear what she wanted.

"So, William," she said, giving him an appraising look from the corner of her eye, "how are you?"

Will tried to smile at her, but he knew it looked forced as he felt other emotions leap forward. He gave up the feeble attempt and set about making the tea. "It's been tough," he said honestly. "The kidnapping, all the politics at work..."

"That's why they call it politics," Micheline replied, adding some olive oil to the pan and watching it sizzle. "I heard on the news that they found those kids."

"They did," Will stated setting the kettle back onto its mount. "They were a bit shaken up, but all right..."

"But you're not," Micheline observed looking over her glasses at Will. "It wasn't your fault."

Will turned to the small French woman and rubbed his tired cheek, lifting his glasses to do it. "Peter wouldn't have been taken if I hadn't... If I wasn't..."

Micheline sighed as she began to add ingredients to the pan, "You are a man with a lot of responsibility. You choose to be a part of something that is bigger than you are. If you weren't up to the job your voters would never have voted for you."

"Voters can be fickle," Will replied.

"Yes, just take all those people that voted for that Bush fellow in the United States," Micheline sniffed disapprovingly. "Look where that got us now. William, you had a tough upbringing; I remember you toughing through putting yourself through school and then university. You then ran and won a Federal election; if you weren't up to the job, would you really be standing in parliament now?" She nodded matter-of-factly, "Pass me the salt."

Will obliged her and stood back to watch the tea steep.

"What about that young man you were seeing?" Micheline asked. She was fishing, trying to figure out what was going on between him and Andrew. It was transparent, but then Micheline wasn't a woman of subtlety.

Will sagged his shoulders and removed his glasses. "It... he... we're having difficulties," he admitted truthfully.

Micheline stopped and gave him an expectant look, waiting for an explanation.

He took a deep breath; Will had started to see Marc long after he and Andrew had broken up but it still felt awkward discussing another boyfriend with the mother of his ex. And he struggled to find a way to explain it.

"Stop thinking like a politician," Micheline admonished. "Looking for the easiest way to tell someone something, it's unbecoming."

Will nodded, scooping up a cup of the tea, "He's very... young."

"So are you," Micheline replied checking the meat she was browning.

"No... it's..." He sighed, "I'm getting older, things are going on and I just can't stop to deal with his problems anymore. I needed him to grow up. He just won't."

"But you love him?" Micheline said looking back at him.

"We had a fight... no that's not quite right, we had the same fight we always have," Will explained. "When we met he was... Well, he was doing a lot of drugs, he was in a bad way..."

"Ah," Micheline replied with a nod of understanding. "And you're trying to look after him?"

"I got him off the drugs, but it was like he replaced one addiction for another," Will replied, blowing out a long sigh as he stared up at the ceiling. "I'm a politician now, I can't..."

"You can't be someone's crutch forever," Micheline responded. "Have you talked to him directly? Or do you dance around the issue with him?"

Will shook his head, "He's still in school, late night parties and things. I'm working long days... It's like we were in two different worlds."

Micheline turned and placed a weathered hand on Will's, "William, you are the only one who knows what's right and wrong for you. Did you do the right thing?"

Will took a deep breath and shrugged, "I don't know. With everything else going on I just... I snapped... I couldn't take it any more. I'm not his father, I can't be that for him... But I do love him."

She nodded again in understanding, "One thing you learn being a parent is sooner or later you have to give your kids a chance to grow up on their own. Whether they, or you, like it or not."

She looked up past him to where Andrew was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, "I'm making you boys some pasta then I'm going back to bed. I have church in the morning and Father Fitzpatrick needs me there early."

"Thanks, Mom," Andrew said with a tired smile.

She nodded as she stirred the pan, fishing out some of her pre-made pasta sauce and applying it liberally before setting the pasta to boil. "You two look like you haven't seen a decent meal in awhile," she stated taking in both of their ragged appearances. She handed her ladle to Will, "In ten minutes, I want you to pull that pasta off the heat and strain it."

"Yes, ma'am," Will nodded as he poked the pasta leaning over the pot.

Micheline shook her head. "Just try not to overcook it," she said, knowing full well Will was a disaster in the kitchen. She smiled at Andrew and reached for the jacket he had left on the chair. He turned just as she picked it up, his eyes widening in shock as his service automatic thumped to the floor.

Will turned at the sound, but shrugged and went back to stirring the pot not paying attention as Micheline threw a startled expression over at her son as she bent to pick the weapon up and wrapping it back into the blood-stained and torn jacket.

Andrew flashed her a nervous look as he glanced over at Will who remained oblivious. His mother gave him a grave look of worry as she set the coat back onto the chair where she had found it.

He swallowed and walked a little way down the hall, aware that she was following him.

"Andrew?" she asked, concern colouring her voice.

He drew out his ID and handed it over to her, watching her expression of confusion deepen as she opened it and read it. She looked up at him again, and then back towards the kitchen.

"He doesn't know," Andrew said quietly.

"Is he in some kind of trouble?" his mother asked putting pieces together.

"We're not sure, but I have to keep him safe..." Andrew said, keeping his tone low and glancing up. "They've already kidnapped people, and we think they might have killed someone else..."

His mother's worried eyes searched her son's face. "That isn't a strain is it?" she said looking down to his shoulder.

He shook his head and she sighed, letting her head fall a little, "Oh Andrew, what have you gotten yourself into now?" She touched the face of her little boy. The young man that reminded her so much of her late husband, the kind of soul that would do anything to make sure his loved ones were safe.

She looked back up the hall to where Will was rattling pots, and back at Andrew. He would march right up to the gates of hell if it meant keeping Will safe. The firmly set jaw and tightness to his eyes telling her his mind was already made up, and she knew better than to try to tell him not to get too involved.

"You really love him, don't you?" she said, knowing the answer.

Andrew nodded sadly, "I should get back..."

Micheline Highmore touched her son's arm lightly; not saying a word she turned and went back into her bedroom closing the door.