Chapter Twenty-Five

Fox

 

“Why don’t you come out with us to watch the game tonight? It’s going to be like fifty of us there, man. Imagine how much fun it’ll be ragging on the detectives from the PD.”

“Ya’ll go on ahead. Maybe I’ll swing by after I get out of this suit,” Fox lied.

Monroe put his hand on Fox’s car door before he could open it. Fox groaned, dropping his chin to his chest. After another menial day at the FBI doing paperwork, he was in no mood for his partner's ‘snap out of it, and jump back in the saddle’ attitude. He couldn’t even consume his mind with details of working a case because he was still on desk duty because of his injury.

Fox would go home and do what he’d done every day since they released him from the hospital after a twenty-four hour hold in the psych ward, and an agreement to do counseling three times a week. It was the only way he would’ve been allowed back to work.

He’d drop his briefcase at the door. Eat a bowl of cereal, maybe soup if he felt like bothering with opening a can and using his microwave. Then he’d go down in the basement and workout until he was so fatigued that he could barely get back up the stairs. Drinking protein shakes was the only reason his body hadn’t shut down yet. He’d stopped looking for Shot four days ago. He was close to losing his job and his pension if he didn’t stop using favors to gather classified information he wasn’t supposed to be viewing – which had been pointless, because it uncovered nothing that helped him get any closer to finding the Beastmasters. After paying one of the IT guys in their computer crimes division five thousand dollars to hack into JAMRS, the Pentagon’s super database, he was issued a five-day suspension, a notice of discipline on his once stellar record and a very harsh verbal warning. 

“Fox. I’m really sorry about Shot. I am, buddy. But staying holed up in your house is not healthy. You look like you roll out of bed and come to work. You walk around the office like a zombie. People are talking, man.”

Fox grabbed Monroe by his collar and jerked him into his face. “You think I give a fuck about what people are saying? Fuck them! Fuck them, David!”

His partner looked at him like he’d lost his mind. Hell, maybe he had. Love had been a complete bitch to him. He was so fuckin’ over it. He couldn’t take anymore. Fox released Monroe’s shirt and rubbed at his tired eyes. “Jesus. I’m sorry. I don’t know… I’m sorry, okay. I need to get out of here.”

Monroe stepped back and let Fox get into his car. His partner stood there helplessly watching him, watching him self-destruct. Fox needed to get away for a while. Maybe that was what he needed. A change of scenery for a few weeks. Get his bearings. He rolled down the window, just now realizing that it was pretty cold outside. Monroe’s shivering hadn’t even registered with him. Fox was so numb, he couldn’t feel anything. 

“Dave, man. I think I’m going to take some of my vacation time. I –”

Monroe didn’t even wait for him to finish before he cut in. “Come on, Fox. Don’t do this. I need my partner back, man.”

Fox rubbed at his eyes again. He could only imagine what he looked like. His eyes burned, so they must be red. He hadn’t shaved in three days. Even his suit was wrinkled. Hopefully it was clean. Hadn’t been to the cleaners in weeks. It was all he could do to shower daily.

“I’m not quitting, David. I just need a little space, man.”

“When? Where are you going to go?”

“Immediately. And I don’t know. I promise to call you, okay. I promise. Tell Jazz I love her. I know she’s worried. I’ll be fine. I’ll be back at your house, begging for your wife’s home cooked meals before she can even miss me.” Fox put on his best fake smile, but knew he wasn’t fooling his friend. Fox shifted his car into reverse and backed out of the parking space before Monroe could fire any more questions at him.

Instead of going home, first he stopped by the liquor store. Since he wasn’t going to be coming into work any time soon. He’d need something stronger than overworked muscles to help him sleep.

He picked up two bottle of Jack Daniel’s, just to be sure he didn’t have to come back out tomorrow. Friday he’d book a flight to California or Florida, maybe Mexico. Somewhere where people wouldn’t tell him a million times a day to ‘hang in there’, ‘buck-up, buddy’ or his personal favorite, ‘the Fox is strong, you’ll get through this’.

Fox pulled up to his driveway and cut the engine. He didn’t know how long he sat there, remembering the times when Shot would be waiting for him when he pulled up. God, he would’ve never gotten tired of that. Fox coughed hard, trying to will the tears not to start falling, again. He thought of cracking open one of his bottles of whiskey and sitting in his driveway getting shitfaced drunk, but the last thing he wanted was neighborhood watch shining their silly fuckin’ flashlights at him. Fox got out the car and dropped his keys three times before he got the key in the knob, and shouldered the door open, sending it flying into the wall. He slammed it shut, dropped all his shit on the table in the foyer and went straight to his kitchen. He yanked down a glass and poured a triple shot, downing it quickly, before pouring another. Being that he hadn’t eaten all day, he knew the buzz was going to come fast and hard. He jerked back that glass, slammed it back down. He grimaced at the burn finally registering in his stomach. Embraced the feeling. At least he was feeling. He picked the bottle up again.

“Stop.”

Fox dropped the bottle from his hands, letting it hit the counter, roll, and fall, shattering on the hardwood floor.

“That’s enough,” the deep voice commanded.

Fox’s body shook with hesitation. Was he imaging this? Was he going crazy? He was too scared to turn around. Tears fell from his eyes. God. Please, don’t be this cruel.

He felt strong arms come around his middle and he knew he wasn’t imagining this. Fox’s knees tried to give out but his lover was there to catch him. Fox turned around and there he was. Even through the haze of tears, he knew he was looking at him. Fox brought his trembling hands up to Shot’s face, gently grazed them over his tanned skin.

“Isadore,” he whispered. “I thought you were… were.”

“I’m here, Jason. I’m here to stay,” Shot said back, pulling Fox to him.

Fox was hoping he wasn’t hurting him, because he squeezed Shot so tight to him it was impossible someone would be able to take him away again. He felt up and down his strong back, rubbed everywhere his hands could reach. He buried his nose in his neck and breathed in his scent. That goddamn scent. A scent he’d desperately tried to pick up in his home for the past three weeks. Shot’s hair was out and he buried his hands in it, groaning at the beautiful softness. “Isa.”

“It’s okay. I’m so sorry I couldn’t call you. I swear on everything, I wanted to call you. We were placed in custody as soon as we got to the hospital. Separated us. Then those bastards put us in jail cells.”

Fox finally pulled back. His brow furrowed with confusion. “Prison. What? Why?”

Shot looked as tired and downtrodden as Fox felt. “Later. Don’t want to talk about that right now. Can’t talk about the isolation. Can’t talk about the way I called on your name in the middle of the night. I can’t talk about that right now, Jason.”

Shot put his hands on his cheeks and brought his mouth to his. He kissed him so softly it hurt. Fox moaned at the clenching pain in his chest. “I love you. I love you so much.”

“I know. I love you too. I was dying slowly. I was dying without you, Isa.” Fox kissed his way to Shot’s neck, nestled his face behind his ear and let his hair caress his face.

“I’m tired, Jason.” Shot sighed, clinging on to him. “Take me to bed.”

Fox rubbed Shot’s face again, marveling that he was really here with him. Took his hand, led him through the foyer and past the living room. Saw three suitcases stacked in the corner. Isadore DeLucca really was here to stay.

He led his SEAL upstairs to his bedroom. Their bedroom. Slowly took his clothes off. There was a large bandage on his right hip. He looked up into Shot’s chocolate brown eyes, wanting to know if he was hurt.

“Second degree burn. It’s healing, but it hurts like hell rubbing against jeans, so I cover it.”

Fox carefully removed the bandage. He was glad there were no blisters, but the skin was still red and painful looking. He laid a gentle kiss above the wound and continued undressing him until he was completely naked.

“Shower,” Fox whispered.

Shot let him wash him like he was royalty. He was to him. He was everything to him.

Fox was careful of Shot’s wounds. There was more than just the burn. God. What happened to you on that fuckin’ dock? Fox wanted to ask him. But he’d let Shot tell him when he was ready. He held him after he washed him. Kissed him passionately. Only kissing. Content with that simple but powerful gesture of their love.

When the water finally started to chill he dried them both off and led his man to bed.

He didn’t try to make love to him, regardless of how rock solid their cocks were. That was just nature. Shot needed to rest comfortably, and he was going to make sure he did.

Fox cradled Shot in his arms. Kissed his forehead and turned out the lights so they could sleep. They had a lifetime to make love.