Carter's Shadow - 30. Chapter 30

Experience had taught Will that in order to not be questioned, you had to look like you belonged. Walk with a determined stride, like you are on your way to get somewhere. Don't stop, don't look lost. Whenever a security guard or a nurse looked at him, he would offer them a tight nod and not miss a step. He wasn't challenged once.

When they made it into West's ward, Peter looked at Will in surprise. "How did you do that?" he asked.

Will shrugged. "I'm English," he smiled, "and the traditional Christmas day James Bond movie marathon." He glanced about him, getting his bearings and trying to remember which room West was in.

"You like James Bond?' Peter smirked.

"Hell, I am James Bond," Will murmured absently, spotting the familiar waiting room and counting the doors. "That one," he pointed.

Peter crossed to the door and hesitated, glancing back at Will. "You're not coming with me?" he asked nervously.

"Someone has to distract the nurses," Will said with a smile as he shot his cuffs. "Besides, you don't need me in there."

Peter took a deep, steadying breath as he reached out to touch the door handle. He realized that he was nervous, and he looked back at Will for support.

"Go on then," Will hissed, leaning back against a wall and crossing his arms, keeping his eyes peeled.

Peter swallowed, and slipped into the room.

"Someone's got a visitor," Mel nudged West awake.

Peter gaped at her laying fully clothed on the bed next to West, Jeopardy playing on the television. He felt his shyness immediately returning and he turned to go again.

"Hey," West croaked, opening an eye weakly.

"I'll leave you two talk," Mel decided, "I could use a coffee." She adjusted her skirts and left the room, stopping to wink at Peter as she went.

Peter looked quietly at West lying there, bruised and battered. He looked pale as death--his eye was swollen and the stitches on his forehead stood out starkly. Peter felt a lump climbing up his throat. Here was a guy who he had yelled at, fought with, kissed, lying in a hospital bed, hurt. And all Peter could do was stand there and stare.

"Hey," West lifted a hand painfully, gesturing Peter to come closer, "come here..."

Peter swallowed again, trying to keep a check on his emotions; he didn't want to bawl like a baby, he wasn't going to let himself get emotional. He couldn't... he stepped up to the side of the bed, his lip quivering as he stared at West with moist eyes, large round saucers that were filled with emotion.

West's hand snaked to grab Peter's causing Peter to leap backwards in surprise clutching his chest, as West grinned at him from the bed. "Gotcha!" he said with his usual smile.

"You asshole!" Peter accused, trying to stand up; but his feet were caught in the legs of a chair and he stumbled, coming back up and knocking an IV to one side, which caused Peter to spin and catch it. Holding onto it for good measure he composed himself.

West was chuckling at him, "You came to see me."

"I'm starting to wish I hadn't," Peter grumbled crossly. "Do you have to be a total prick all the time?"

West grinned as he settled back into his pillows, "Hey, Freckles, it's good to see you."

"Freckles?" Peter blinked. "Do they have you on some kind of medication or something, 'cause I can go..."

West rolled his eyes. "Would you just relax for five minutes?" he asked with a smirk. "You're too high strung. It's what I like about you."

"High strung?" Peter crossed his arms. "I'm not the one scaring the crap out of people just to get a.... you like me?" His eyes went wide and his voice took on an almost childlike tone.

West chuckled. "I've only been talking about you nonstop to Mel for the last god knows how long," West winced a bit from his sore ribs, as he adjusted himself to sit upright, "and... well, you came." He grinned again, "Freckles..."

Peter stared at West suspiciously. "Why do you keep calling me that?" he asked, shaking his head again and focusing. "You like me?" he screwed up his nose. "Me... short scrawny... annoying... me?"

West shrugged. "I guess I'm a glutton for punishment," he admitted. "Yeah, I like short, scrawny, and annoying, you." He smiled and held up a finger, "You forgot stubborn." He held up another finger, "Opinionated," and another, "argumentative..."

"Okay, stop," Peter said, shaking his head, his perfectly combed silky blond hair moving a fraction of a second after his head did as he shook it from side to side. "I only came 'cause... 'cause..."

"You like me too," West grinned, folding his hands on the white sheet. "And hey, least I know it's not my looks you're after," he said, glancing at his reflection in a monitor beside his bed.

"It's certainly not your personality," Peter bit back grumpily.

"So why did you come?" West asked curiously.

"I..." Peter shrugged lamely.

"And you're in solid colours," West said, nodding to the dark shirt Peter was wearing.

"I...had to change," Peter tried to lie.

"Uh-huh," West laughed. "I think you were worried about me."

"I was not!" Peter denied. "I hate you, remember?"

"Mmm," West shifted in his bed, "that's right, I forgot." His grey eyes sparkled in amusement.

"What happened?" Peter asked, coming to the edge of the bed and hesitantly sitting down.

West shook his head. "A small disagreement with an old friend," he murmured. "I'm pressing charges."

"Good!" Peter nodded, "they should get locked up."

West shrugged, "I don't know if they're going to get locked up, but hey, the police will sort it out, it's their job." He gave Peter a long look up and down taking in the crisp clean shirt, the ironed pleats in the trousers. Peter would be a knockout in a suit and tie, devastating in the way only a blond-haired blue-eyed young man could be. Pale milky white skin, neatly combed hair hanging like curtains around his eyes, allowing Peter to hide behind them if he wanted to. Not to mention the freckles, which were accented every time Peter blushed.

"What?" Peter asked self-consciously.

"Just thinking," West said absently.

"'bout what?" Peter glanced over at West.

"Nothing," West replied, shifting a little to ease the pressure on his ribs as the door cracked open and Mel poked her head around the door.

"You two done kissing?" she asked. "Or do I get to sit through a show?"

"We're not kissing," Peter stood up quickly, shaking his head in denial.

"Repression leads to constipation," Mel remarked, walking back into the room and setting her cup of coffee down on the tray table. "When are you going to give up the 'I hate him' act and get on with it?"

West held up a hand. "Leave him alone," he said with a shake of his head.

"I don't know what he's been telling you," Peter jerked a thumb at West, "but we're not... I'm not... it's not..."

"Uh-huh," Mel said nodding sagely, "you keep telling yourself that, Peter."

Peter shook his head and stalked from the room, seething.

Mel glanced at West, "Yep, he has it bad."

West looked up at her, "So do I."

"Oh, that's obvious," she said, stretching out on the bed again, "but he's a total closet case."

"Much experience there?" West grinned.

"Yeah," Mel replied. "My cousin's this big one--bible studies, has a girlfriend he's never touched. He says homosexuality is evil and the like, even though he gave head to like half the guys at his congregation..."

"That's just gross," West observed.

"What, the fact he gave head to hicks, or the fact that he did that many?" Mel smirked. "I've done half the hockey team... does that make me gross?"

"A bit," West continued to grin.

"Just remember," she said, slipping her hand down under the top of the hospital sheet, raking her nails up West's treasure trail, staying just above the waist line, "you're at my mercy."

West looked down and up at her. "That's not going to work," he chuckled.

"That's a challenge," Mel grinned, her nails going down further.

"Nope, more like fact," West shrugged. "Not even a twitch, sorry."

"Yeah, I bet if I was short and looked like a choir boy, you'd be all over me," Mel grinned, pulling her hand back out of the sheet. "The question is, getting said 'choir boy' out of the closet."

West arched an eyebrow. "Don't do anything to hurt him," he warned.

"Little over protective, I see," Mel smirked again. "All right, Wesley Theodore Harding, I bet you..." she thought a moment, "I bet you one Dairy Queen sundae that I can get Peter to ask you out for the Prom."

West laughed, "I see, and what makes you so sure you can get Peter to do that?"

Mel made a face, "Don't you want to go to the Ball with your little prince?"

West licked his lips, "Right, you see, now I am just worried about what you're going to do."

""Well, you just lay there and worry while I go and put my master plan in motion," Mel said patting his bare chest, "and then you'll have to make me the Dairy Queen."

* * *

Peter had been unusually quiet in the car ride back home, and Will had just left him be. He dropped Peter off at his home before driving the rest of the way round to his own house. He yawned when he glanced at the time and realized it was still fairly early; he had enough time to get the damned attrition report done before he went to bed.

He walked into the house and frowned, it was dark save for a flickering light coming from the living room. Will craned his neck around glancing into the living room where a single candle burned on the coffee table.

There was no movement, and Will shook his head--Brody probably setting the mood for yet another of his inevitable conquests. Will dropped his coat on a chair and walked through to blow out the candle, pausing when he caught a glimpse of the sock on the stairs.

He heaved another sigh and walked over to pick it up; if it wasn't bad enough he'd been running around like a mad hatter all day, he now had to play maid at home for Brody's dirty laundry. He walked up the stairs and picked up a second sock.

The pants hanging over the banister made Will roll his eyes as he grabbed those as well, climbing the stairs to the top landing where he picked up a shirt just outside his door. A distinctive hockey jersey... Andrew's...

Will pushed open the door to his room where Andrew lay asleep on the bed, a couple of candles burning down, a book tucked into the crook of his arm and his glasses askew. Will cocked his head to the side and smiled.

"Hey," Andrew said, stirring and opening an eye, "what time is it?"

"Nine thirty," Will replied. popping Andrew's clothes on the chair. "You made quite the mess."

"I was trying to set a trail for you to follow," Andrew chuckled.

"Well, you're lucky I found it and not Brody--now that could have been awkward to explain.

"Brody's out of town," Andrew said sleepily. "Something about work and he has to jet back to California; we have the house to ourselves."

"What's this--you and me, home at the same time... and no one walking in on us?" Will chuckled as he set his briefcase down and stretched out on the bed next to his boyfriend.

"Mmm," Andrew murmured, shifting to rest his head on Will's chest, pulling him close.

"And all you can think of to do is sleep," Will chuckled.

Andrew tiredly moved his hand up Will's shirt to pull his tie open, and fumble with the buttons. He pulled them open, as he leaned up to check he was doing it right before his head flopped back down.

Will shook his head fondly, as he shifted and leaned down to kiss Andrew lightly, "Don't worry about it, just sleep."

"I love you..." Andrew murmured.

"I know," Will said, his fingers stroking Andrew's cheek as they lay there, both utterly exhausted by life.

* * *

Andrew woke first--he always did, a condition of growing up in rural Ontario. And he climbed slowly out of bed, looking down at Will sleeping, as he always did on the right side of the bed facing inwards. His hand rested on Andrew's side, even in his sleep reaching out for the intimacy they shared.

He looked so peaceful laying there, never snoring just breathing shallowly as he slept wrapped up in the plain beige blanket. His clothes from the night before were neatly folded on the chair beside the bed. His brown hair caught the first rays of sunlight from the window, highlighting the faint auburn in it.

Andrew just stood there over the bed and watched Will sleep, totally at peace and so much like the young man he had been when they had been Peter's age. There were a few more lines. And it was true, men grew more distinguished with time. Will was closing on his mid-twenties now. He wasn't the most athletic of men, that was true, but he was still thin.

Thin and soft... Andrew smiled...supple...

Keenly intelligent, Will could outthink most situations he ran across, and he had a knack for making other people see his ideas. In another life, maybe he would make a great politician, or a teacher... Whatever he wanted.

Why was he so adamant on working in the call centre? Andrew sometimes couldn't even pretend to fathom the workings of Will's mind. It seemed Will got an idea into his head, and doggedly pursued it to whatever end it took him to.

A stubborn, arrogant man at times, at others blindly naive and innocent.

Will flinched a little in his sleep, curling a little tighter in upon himself. Andrew knew 'that' dream, Will's own personal history still haunting him. And Andrew wished there was something he could do to ease it. Old instincts never seemed to go away, and as far as their lives seemed to drift, they were still bound by what they had shared together. And Andrew knelt down beside the bed, touching Will's hand lightly.

The presence caused Will to relax, a light smile playing across his lips as his dreams eased. Andrew stood up gathering his clothes; Will would wake up in a few minutes, as the usual house invasions would begin, and Andrew wanted to get the coffee pot started.

He walked to the door and turned, looking back at where Will still slept soundly. Still a beautiful man to him. Growing into his own, dealing with life as it came at him. Will was a survivor; Andrew's mother had pointed that out when she had first met him. As fiery and independent as they came, and Andrew knew that was part of what he loved about him. That Will chose his own course, never bending or breaking.

He was downstairs when Peter entered for his usual morning ride to school. Andrew smiled at Will's sprog as they passed each other--Peter heading for the gaming console, Andrew for the kitchen.

Life wound inevitably onwards; he had an exam to write that day, before he went back to the high school to figure out what Thorburn's strategy was now he'd lost an entire line of the team as well as the team captain.

"Morning," Lisa intoned musically as she walked in, holding up a box of doughnuts and some Tim Horton's coffee, "Will up yet?"

"Not yet," Andrew said, gratefully taking one of the cups, checking to make sure it was tea and sitting down at the breakfast island.

"He's up, he's up..." Will grumbled, shuffling into the kitchen doing up a clean shirt, his hair still sticking straight up from sleep.