Page 106 of Walking Wounded

“If that was the whole payoff. Coulda been just part they found.”

“Oh.” Luke does shiver this time. “Shit.”

Hal’s arm tightens around him, careful of his ribs. “You ought to go back inside. You okay to get there on your own?”

Luke rolls his eyes, but the warmth in Hal’s voice, in his eyes, in every fiber of his earnest being, gives him the strength to actually walk away. “Yeah, yeah.”

“Call me when you get in, okay?”

“God, you’re terrible.”

~*~

“Lemme ask you something.”

They’re on the bed, heads propped up with fluffy pillows, legs warm beneath the covers, watchingHow I Met Your Mother. Hal’s heart beats a steady tattoo against the darkness that crowds the window. Luke leans into the rhythm of it and lets himself relax, his bruised sinews unwinding one slow turn at a time.

“If it’s about this mattress,” Hal says, content and lazy, “then the answer is yes, I want to get one.”

The innocent statement hits Luke right in the solar plexus. An emotional sucker punch that sends him spinning off into Questionland. Hal wants to buy a mattress. For himself? For the two of them to share? They haven’t talked about cohabitation yet, nor about the future in any sense. What are they now? Boyfriends? Life partners? Does Hal want a wedding and a nice townhouse in DC? Or is he going to come work security in New York? Does Hal want forever? Or does “try” really mean try, and there’s a large chance they won’t work as a couple?

He realizes too late that his breathing’s picked up, when Hal puts a gentle hand to his ribs and says, “Hey.”

Panting hurts his lungs, the air scrapes at his raw throat, and so he tries to settle, sink back into the safe cradle of Hal’s arm and chest.

“What’s wrong?”

Luke flails for his original question, which seems so much more loaded now than it did a moment before. An unintentional tiger trap. But he says it anyway, trying to put some lightness in his voice. “Are you this touchy-feely with your girlfriends? You know.” He makes a pitiful attempt at a laugh. “Forehead kisses and your arm around me all the time. Is that just a thing you do?”

He hates himself for voicing this. Because if Hal says yes, that he’s grabby and sweet and supportive with all his lovers – something theyaren’tyet – then it makes this, snuggling and leaning on each other, less special. He thinks. Maybe. God, why did heaskthat?

“Luke.”

He closes his eyes.

“Luke,” Hal repeats, and hooks a knuckle under his chin, lifts his head up so their eyes can meet. Hal’s expression is so sad, and Luke hates himself a little more. “I’ve never felt this way about anybody. Not ever. I guess I just…I feel like I need to make up for lost time. I like…I like being touchy-feely. With you. But I’ll back off if…”

Luke tightens his arm around Hal’s waist and buries his face in his strong chest. “No. Don’t back off.” Words muffled in his t-shirt.

Hal’s fingers sift through Luke’s hair, gentle scratches against his scalp.

“What are we gonna do?” Luke asks, because he’s an idiot. But he’s an idiot who’s waited a long time for this, and he wants to know where Hal’s head is. “After this.” After the bomber’s caught, and the threat lessens. “After I’m done with the interview.”

“Well.” Hal takes a deep breath. “I’ve talked to Matt about this. Breckinridge has a branch in Manhattan, and Matt would write me a letter of recommendation. I could get a transfer. I don’t know when your lease is up, but I’ve been scoping out apartments on Zillow. I figure with both our incomes, we should be able to afford something decent. There’s a studio I called about, but I’m not crazy about studios – call me traditional, I guess, I like a real bedroom and walls around the bathroom.”

Luke is stunned. Just…utterly floored. “You’ve…been looking at apartments?” he asks, weakly.

Hal shifts a little, like he’s nervous. “Well yeah. I mean, if you love your place, that’s fine, we can–”

“My place is a shithole.”

“I’m sure it’s not, but we can–”

Luke sits up. It takes an effort, but he gets upright, and gives Hal his fiercest look, which is probably ruined by the mottling of bruises all down the side of his face. “You’re saying you’d move to New York and guard freaking reality starlets and mob wives?”

Hal doesn’t even take a beat. “Yes.”

“And you’d live in a cramped apartment, and give up this awesome job with this family.”

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