Page 61 of Manner of Death

“Huh.”

Oh boy. Was Bashir going to ask about Sawyer being with a woman now? Was he going to be upset over the fact that Sawyer was bisexual? Was this going to become a thing? That was the wedge that had driven him and his former boyfriend apart, Marc’s certainty that Sawyer was going to get tired of being with a man and seek something more heteronormative and if Bashir did the same, he might just—

“You dated a cop and you still decided to become one, despite the awful hours?”

Sawyer laughed with more than a little relief. “Well, I was kind of suckered there because she worked in schools, so she had more normal hours than most cops. Once I was on the force, our schedules never lined up, and it just became clear that things weren’t going to work out unless one of us gave up our career. Which didn’t happen, so I moved.”

Bashir shifted a little, and Sawyer raised his head so his lover could free his arm before Bashir pulled him back down. “Is that when you came here?”

“I worked in a few other places first, but eventually, yes. I moved here, got promoted, and was partnered with the surliest, most standoffish detective on the force.” Sawyer bit back a sigh. “I honestly don’t know that I’d have stuck it out with Kurt if not for Molly. She was great to me—invited me over for dinner, made sure I had a place to go for every holiday that popped up… Eventually Kurt had no choice but to start being friendly or make Molly sad. That was the one thing he never wanted to do.”

A lump rose in his throat, and Sawyer had to swallow hard against it to get his next words out. “I don’t understand why he’s dead. Whether he was murdered or whether he killed himself, there’s just no—it doesn’t make sense. He was already losing everything, and Molly never hurt anyone. Why…”

Bashir didn’t murmur any platitudes about fate or acceptance, which Sawyer appreciated more than he could say. He just bent down far enough to press a kiss to Sawyer’s forehead and said, “We’ll know more soon.” That was the only honest thing he could possibly say, and surprisingly enough, it was calming.

There was one path forward, and that was the path of following the evidence. Bashir would get the evidence, and Sawyer would go wherever it led him. “Yeah.” Sawyer kissed Bashir’s shoulder. “Thanks.”

“You want to try and sleep?” Sawyer could tell Bashir was stifling a yawn.

“Yes.” Even if he didn’t fall asleep, he wasn’t going to keep Bashir up any longer. His…boyfriend? Did they qualify now? Or was this more of a one-night-stand kind of thing? A pity fuck after Sawyer had come to him on the verge of falling apart? Time would tell…but Sawyer chose to hope it was more. He had to. “Let me roll over, though.” His bruised side was loudly informing him that it wasn’t going to take this pressure for much longer.

Bashir let go, and Sawyer rolled over on the bed to face the other direction. Better…but not really, because now he was cold. He scooted back until he was touching Bashir again, and Bashir didn’t push him away, just stroked a hand down his arm before settling into bed. Sawyer listened to him breathe, slow and steady like a metronome, and soon he stopped hearing anything at all and fell asleep.

He didn’t dream.

The only problem with sleeping at Bashir’s was that Sawyer didn’t have a change of clothes with him. His outfit wasn’t hopelessly filthy, but it wasn’t clean either. Besides, he’d spent part of his time in these kneeling next to the body of his dead partner, which…yeah, it wasn’t the sort of memory he wanted to slide back into, especially after a shower. That left borrowing clothes from Bashir, which—

“Why are you so tall?” Sawyer muttered as he tried on a second pair of pants. The cuffs scuffed the floor behind his heels when he tried to walk.

“I’m not,” Bashir said, pulling on a dress shirt. “I just have kind of long legs.”

“You have gorgeously long legs,” Sawyer agreed. “I, on the other hand, don’t.” He pulled the dress pants off and looked at the rest of the offerings Bashir had laid out. Sweatpants weren’t exactly work attire, but it was early enough that he had time to stop at home before heading into the precinct.

Shit, he wasn’t even supposed to be in today, given everything that had happened, but Sawyer knew he needed to be there. They were still short on staff, and if he stayed at home he would just end up being morose and alone, which didn’t sound good right now. No, he’d go back to work and keep at it as long as he thought he wasn’t hurting their caseload. Nan would tell him if she thought he needed a break.

So. Sweatpants—still too long but at least they had elastic at the bottom—plus a plain black T-shirt, and Sawyer felt better about getting home without crawling out of his skin. Plus, he had the pleasure of seeing Bashir’s eyes darken a little as he stared at him.

“I don’t know whether I prefer seeing you in my clothes or taking them off of you.”

“We should try both,” Sawyer said. “To be thorough.”

Bashir sighed. “I don’t have time to be thorough right now, unfortunately. I have a lot to do at work today.”

Translation: He had Kurt to autopsy this morning. The spark of mischievousness which had lit up in Sawyer’s chest snuffed out. “Right. Yeah.”

“What are you doing tonight, though?”

Sawyer shook his head. “Probably disobeying my captain and listening to more godawful podcast episodes and scouring camera footage for any additional clues. I know,” he added when he saw Bashir make a disgusted face, “I don’t want to listen to that asshole either, but it’s possible there’s a link between some of his old episodes and the killer’s methodology. So far we’ve come up empty, but Nan wants to follow it through to the end just in case.”

“Well.” Bashir came over, framed Sawyer’s face in his hands, and, very gently, kissed him on the mouth. “In case you get a break around seven…” He kissed his cheek. “And I also avoid getting a late call out to a scene…” He kissed his other cheek. “We should have dinner again.”

“I’d love to,” Sawyer said. “You can come to my place, if you want.”

Bashir grinned. “You wouldn’t mind?”

“If you don’t mind the fact that I have no clean coffee cups and my sheets haven’t been changed for a week, yes.” Actually, no, he’d change them when he got home. Otherwise that was just rude.

“I can work with that. Want me to bring food?”

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