Carter's Recourse - 32. Chapter 32

Andrew drove the Mustang, weaving through traffic, accelerating around the other cars and pulling ahead to run down Olgilvie Road, back towards the CSIS building. He rested back in the bucket seat, one hand resting on the stick shift as he put the car through a workout that was as much to clear his head as it was to test the limits of the car.

Will knew--at least that was one lie up and out in the open. He'd reacted exactly as Andrew had thought that he would. Will wasn't a person who enjoyed being manipulated, or used. Even by someone as close to him as Andrew was. It wasn't something he would forgive easily, either, but it had come down to a choice between lying to him or losing him, a choice that really wasn't one to Andrew.

His eyes narrowed as he watched a transport truck turning onto the street ahead of him, and he geared down, touching the brakes as the Mustang squealed around the truck, startling the driver who tugged on the air horn in warning as the small black car was gone again galloping the road like the beast for which it was named.

Johnson still wasn't done; that thought was eating away at Andrew, making him itch with anticipation. He didn't like it, feeling that helpless. But by finally telling Will the truth he was now no longer in a position to protect him. Will was fiercely independent, the older he got the more set and stubborn he became, and Andrew knew he should have been more careful.

He'd again underestimated Will, coldly logical and analytical at times. Andrew knew him, probably better than anyone else did, and he had still misjudged Will. Which meant that Johnson was underestimating Will as well, and while it wasn't much, sometimes it was all the edge the Honourable Mister Carter of Toronto-Centre needed; he had an uncanny knack for survival. That didn't stop Andrew from worrying.

The Mustang slid into its parking spot, Andrew walking back across the lot towards the building as he touched the key ring, the car beeping as it locked and set its alarm. He made his way up to his cubicle, knowing that it was late, and despite that the offices were alive with people working. While Canada slept, its watchdogs stood guard and ready.

Jane was, predictably as ever, sitting on the edge of his desk, a pair of clubbing hip-hugging jeans on and a top that exposed her navel. "So you told him, huh?" she asked, resting an arm on the top of the cubicle partition.

Andrew nodded, slipping off his worn jacket and pulling his pistol from its holster, unloading the magazine and putting it away in a desk drawer. It was an odd habit, but they were in one of the most secure buildings in the country and Andrew had just gotten used to not carrying it inside.

"How'd he take it?" Jane asked looking down at her partner, trying to read his expression.

Andrew flashed her a look as he pulled on his glasses and loaded up his computer, a shadow in his sapphire eyes told her everything she needed to know.

"Look, he'll be okay," Jane tried to reassure him. "We'll go to the DG and get him to assign a couple of RCMP officers to him. He is a Minister now, it won't look suspicious if he has a couple of bodyguards."

Andrew shook his head, "He won't put up with that..."

"How'd you ever date him, anyway?" Jane slipped off the desk and fell heavily into the small chair in the corner of the cube. "I didn't picture you going for stubborn men."

Andrew shrugged, "It was a long time ago." He rested his forehead against his hand as he stared at the wall partition, lost in his own thoughts. "He's moved on... and I just can't seem to let go."

"It's tough." Jane reached out to touch Andrew's shoulder lightly, aware of his wince in pain from the injury. "Maybe you should take some time off when this is all over. Get away and..."

"It's not going to do any good," Andrew said closing his eyes. "I try to go on like I never knew him; I don't mean to drag it on, but I can't seem to..." He swallowed down the emotion. "Fuck..." he swore angrily, "I can't stay focused on trying to keep him safe like this, I'm going to do him more harm than good."

Jane nodded. "Talk to the DG, pull yourself off of this assignment, take some time off and clear your head." She covered his hand with her own, "I promise you, I'll look after him for you."

Andrew nodded. "Thanks..." he murmured closing his eyes, "I might do that."

* * *

Marc was sitting on the couch, one foot up on the coffee table, ashtray balanced on the arm of the sofa as he stared at the phone sitting on the next cushion over from him. He gazed off into the distance as he tried to think of what he wanted to say, how he wanted to say it.

It had to be just right, and Marc knew it. He had to get it out and make it clear to Will where he was coming from. But each time he picked up the phone, he hung up again without dialling.

It caused him a light smile at his own cowardice; how many times had he picked up and hung up before he had worked up the guts to ask Will out on their first date? It seemed so long ago, and yet so little had changed.

That thought stopped Marc mid-thought, as he flicked the ash from his cigarette and took another long drag, his head falling back to rest on the couch. Was that it? Was it because nothing had changed when he should have been growing up?

Will deserved more than a half-baked university student with a battered camera taking pictures of everything. Yet the way Will would touch his cheek first thing in the morning when Will thought he was asleep. Or when they curled up together on a couch to stare at bad sitcoms and just be... together.

Marc swallowed, closing his eyes. What was he supposed to do? How could he be the kind of person that Will needed him to be?

He got up and wandered through to his small room, Blake's old junk room, and fished through his closet, pulling out the suit he used when he interviewed for jobs. It was a bit old, a little dated, and there was a slight fraying on one of the sleeves, but he always looked good in it. Will always seemed to like him in it when they went out to his functions.

He started to get dressed, digging through the closet and pulled out a silk tie, one that Will had bought him, and he tried his best to tie it, frowning and pushing his rebellious hair back from his face as he fumbled with the tie. He puffed heavily as he struggled and knotted the thing at right angles, cursing as he stubbed out his cigarette and tried again, failing miserably yet again.

How was he supposed to grow up when he couldn't even tie a tie right?

He wandered back into the living room in his boxers and dress shirt, fiddling with the tie as he leaned over Blake's computer and tapped 'tie tying' into a search engine, hoping he'd get lucky.

The door downstairs rattled, and Blake entered the apartment, all but dragging a rather terrified young man along with him.

Blake spotted Marc by the computer and looked over his get-up, as Marc did the same, staring at Blake's friend.

"Hot date?" they both asked at the same time.

"Yani, my roommate, Marc," Blake introduced them, stepping across to flip Marc's collar up and nodding down. "Need help?"

"No," Marc shook his head, "I just need to figure this out on my own. I want to talk to Will."

Blake looked concerned a moment, before remembering they weren't alone, and he flashed Marc a questioning look, "You gonna be okay?"

Marc nodded, as he tied the tie finally, following the instructions carefully, "Just...we have to talk."

Blake cupped Marc's arm, offering a small form of reassurance, before he looked over at Yani, "Need coffee, or would you prefer cream?"

Marc coughed loudly at Blake's brazenness, and went to pull on his pants, as Blake boldly led Yani towards the bedroom.

* * *

"What was that about?" Yani asked as Blake shut the door to his bedroom and turned to face the timid American boy.

"Just my roommate, he's having some problems with his boyfriend." Blake stepped up and began to fiddle with Yani's shirt, tugging it free of his jeans, and working it upwards.

"I...err..." Yani pushed his tee shirt back down. "Can we just talk or something?"

"Sure," Blake replied leaning in to kiss and nibble Yani's neck, causing him to stiffen, and relax a little as he fell back onto the bed, unsure as to how Blake had managed to knock him off his feet so effectively.

"So you were saying, he's got problems with... his..." Yani gasped in surprise as Blake expertly slipped an exploratory hand inside his shirt again, "boyfriend..."

"Yeah, why, you like him?" Blake asked, looking towards the door, where Marc could be heard getting ready. "He's probably going to be single after they get done their chat, I could set you up if you like?"

Yani shook his head, "No... no... I..." He swallowed as he sat up a bit letting Blake slip his shirt off of him, staring up at the dark-haired young man straddling his stomach, slipping his own shirt off, revealing milky white skin with the slightest hint of freckles. And he swallowed, realizing this was already going far beyond where it was supposed to.

"Yeah," Blake continued, "his boyfriend's in love someone else."

"Oh?" Yani asked, trying to sound like he wasn't really interested, his hands involuntarily slipping up Blake's stomach to glide across his ribs, tracing them, feeling the light tug as his fingertips touched skin.

It was taboo, forbidden and he knew it. His father would be chasing him off of their property with a twelve-gauge if he ever found out, and the voices in Yani's head screamed for him to stop.

"Yeah, Andrew is an ex-boyfriend...." Blake sighed contently as Yani's fingers went down to the button of his trousers and unfastened them. "Childhood... sweet... hearts..."

"Andrew is Marc's ex?" Yani inquired. Blake was wearing plaid boxers. Strange, Yani had half expected a thong or something--wasn't that what gay men were supposed to wear? Actually the revelation on the underwear was more attractive to Yani, it was more masculine, more intoxicating.

"No." Blake's tummy flinched in as Yani kissed his belly button, and relaxed into the kiss again, fighting the urge to giggle like a school girl; his tummy was far too ticklish. "Andrew is Will's ex, and Will is Marc's ex... it's complicated."

Yani could see the outline of Blake under the boxers in a state of arousal, tenting them out, the barest hint of skin showing through the button fly, and he leaned down, darting his tongue through to touch it, tentatively. Why was his heart beating so hard? He was terrified of a guy half his size leaning into him. And Yani stopped thinking.

* * *

Marc blew a long sigh, as he glanced at the two cars in Will's driveway, and noted Brody was home--his classic was parked half in and half out of the garage alongside Will's Jeep. Secretly Marc often wondered if Will would ever get used to driving the new car, he liked his old Jeep too much...

Marc stopped, looking down at the unfamiliar red plates on the BMW; with Will's new job came the requirement to change plates. And Marc hesitated, looking at them as he glanced up to the old house lit from the inside with a friendly warm light.

He sighed and tugged down on the sleeves of his suit jacket, biting his bottom lip as he took a couple of steps up to the front door, realizing he was shaking, as he pressed the doorbell.

Brody answered the door, the indomitable man staring down at Marc a moment before he leaned back and called into the house, "We have another stray on the doorstep."

Will climbed the stairs from his basement office, his tie askew, glasses on and flipping through papers. He looked surprised to see Marc standing there.

"Hi," Marc said looking down at the floor, trying to think of something more memorable to say, but he wasn't as eloquent as Will was.

"Hi," Will replied, eloquent as ever.

Brody took a deep breath, "Right, I think Peter needs some help with his video game..."

"No I don't!" Peter called through from the living room, the young man coming up to see what the commotion was in the hallway.

Brody shook his head. "Trust me, you need a lot of help," he commented walking back to the living room, a curious Peter reluctantly following along behind.

Will stood still a moment, before he nodded past Marc to the porch, "Should we talk?"

"Yeah," Marc nodded, backing up a step, and sitting down on the stoop to the old house, waiting while Will grabbed a windbreaker and came out to sit beside him.

They sat quietly, Marc nervously fumbling in his pocket for his cigarettes, and stopping himself; he just had to say what he wanted to say and... He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," he said after a bit.

"Yeah, me too," Will replied, stretching out his legs and leaning back on his palms.

Marc blew a sigh as he tucked a foot up under him and turned to face Will, looking over the dark brown hair which was usually swept back, but after a long day of work fell ever so slightly forward. The Irish eyes, with the faintest hints of lines around them, looked over the rims of his glasses in that annoying fashion that made him seem so much older than he actually was.

"You know," Will said after the silence between them began to stretch out, "we've never been the most communicative of couples."

"I know," Marc said picking at his sleeve. "It's because you get so grumpy."

"And you get petulant," Will countered with a slight smile. "You know, I think part of me likes it when you pout."

"Pout?" Marc asked in surprise. "Well... you get this eyebrow thing happening when you get annoyed, it's like two caterpillars forming a big V on your head."

"What?" Will blinked, his hand shooting up to his eyebrows.

"You have Sean Connery eyebrows," Marc shrugged. "They're cute."

"Right, remind me to cut your crack dosage," Will murmured and stopped, wincing. "I'm sorry, that was... insensitive."

Marc shrugged dismissively. "Long time ago," he replied. "Before I met you."

"You know what? Will said with a shrug. "Before I met you I used to come home every night after work, watch a bit of television and make a simple supper which I would eat before going to bed."

"Yeah," Marc nodded, "you needed someone to remind you that you weren't forty."

"Yes, but come on," Will replied, turning. "Did you really have to come into my nice peaceful world and turn it all upside down?"

"I make you smile," Marc said, finally giving in to his craving and pulling out a cigarette that he fumbled to light.

Will rolled his eyes and leaned in, cupping his hands to shield the cigarette from the wind, and Marc hauled a couple of breaths in, and blew out in satisfaction.

"Those'll kill you," Will observed with a smile.

"Least I'll die happy," Marc responded, looking over at Will again. "I might get a scholarship for school next year."

Will nodded, "I always said you were good."

"Yeah," Marc ran a hand through his hair. "I've been staying at Blake's as well."

"Right," Will said, folding his arms. "You okay there, do you need anything?"

Marc smiled as he looked at Will. "No, I'm doing okay. I just need to figure some stuff out," he tapped his head, "you know, up here."

Will nodded, "Okay." He looked over to the Jeep and dug in his pockets pulling out a set of keys, "You should take the Jeep..."

Marc shook his head, "I..."

Will smiled and pushed them into his hands, "It's a pile of junk, and I'm supposed to be driving the Beamer, the plates. And by rights we've been living together for over a year and a half so that makes us common law, so it's half your Jeep anyway."

"So don't I get half the BMW, too, then?" Marc chuckled, his hand closing over the Jeep keys, realizing what Will was trying to say, and appreciating the gesture.

"I don't think they'd appreciate you bombing around town with government plates, you'd use them to jump lights." Will stopped as if considering that for the first time.

"I dare you to jump a red light." Marc smiled, waggling his eyebrows.

"What is it with you and trying to get me into trouble?" Will chuckled, taking his glasses off and tucking them into his shirt pocket. "Look, I'm flying to England tomorrow, but I'll be coming back Sunday night..." He hesitated. "If you want to meet me Sunday night at the airport we can talk some more?"

Marc nodded, flicking away his cigarette, "Okay." He stood up and brushed off his pants.

Will watched him climb into the Jeep waiting till the taillights vanished around the bend at the far end of the cul-de-sac before he stood up heading back inside the house, lost in his own thoughts.

* * *

Johnson was waiting for Yani as he came out of the apartment, the dark car purring at the curb as Yani climbed inside, strapping himself in, a shell-shocked look on his face as the realization of what he had just done began to sink in.

Johnson watched him a moment, hard eyes scanning his face, before he turned the car out onto the street and accelerated away. "So," he rumbled, making it clear he wasn't asking.

Yani struggled to shake his head free of the fog that was settling in, trying to restart his mind after running for so long on autopilot. "They... they broke up."

"Why?" Johnson demanded coldly, turning the car through another set of traffic lights, sweeping it up and away from Bank Street.

"Carter's apparently seeing an Andrew--they were childhood sweethearts or something," Yani stumbled, resting his head on his hand and swallowing back the flood of guilt crashing in upon him. What had he done?

"Andrew, Andrew who?" Johnson pressed, slowing the car and turning off of the street. He pulled up to a drive-through, ordered two coffees and swung the car around.

"I don't know," Yani said, scrubbing his eyes and looking at his boss, "I..."

Johnson handed him over a cup of coffee, his face softening just a fraction. "You did what you had to do." He paid the window server, and took the car back towards the building they had commandeered. As they drove Johnson pulled out his cell phone and made a call.

"Operator," came the reply.

"Cross-reference William Carter with the name Andrew," Johnson said, clicking the phone shut without waiting for a reply, hands on the wheel as he drove the car down into the building's underground parking lot. Finding his spot, he climbed out as the phone rang.

"Highmore, Andrew Pierre, attended the same high school as William Carter..." the operator began.

"Andrew Highmore, the Intelligence Officer?" Johnson asked.

"Affirmative," came the operator's reply.

Johnson smiled as he looked at the shell-shocked Yani resting his head against the side of the elevator as they whisked their way upwards. The CSIS puppy...there were few times when Johnson really got to enjoy what he did for a living.