The Legacy Left Behind
By fantasymonk
Notes: Sequel to my fic, Beginning of a Legacy, it takes place after the end of the Tron: Legacy movie. Definitely AU, there is no Quorra in the real world here. To be honest, I couldn't see how her presence would incorporate into my plot, so even though she is a great character, I took the easy way out. Also, I have no idea what to do with the Grid, so in my mind Sam is going to get to it later. Much later.
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Alan Bradley sat at the island in his kitchen, staring at the steam drifting up from the cup of coffee in front of him. The evening had ended in a far stranger manner than he could have dreamed. He and Sam had parted ways much earlier in the year and hadn't spoken since. But when he got that page… Well, it just seemed right that he give Sam the chance to check it out. In spite of their argument, the boy definitely needed closure for his dad's disappearance, and if Alan were truthful, Sam was probably better equipped to do any investigating than he himself was. So he'd put aside the events shortly after New Year's and gone to see his godson. Just as he'd thought, Sam was prickly, obviously not happy to see him. Pretty much tried to hurry him out, actually. But Alan had stuck with it, made him at least listen to what he had to say. And then he gave him the keys to the arcade.
He was already in bed when the second page came, from the same number. He had stared at it for a few seconds, almost daring to hope before throwing on some clothes and rushing out. But then when he got there, it was Sam's voice who called to him from the darkness. Alan allowed a brief moment of loss for another voice he had wanted to hear, but it couldn't last long over seeing Sam safe. And his godson seemed changed somehow, less confrontational and more calm. He treated Alan like an equal, had even put a friendly hand on his shoulder after dropping a verbal bomb.
I'm taking the company back…
The Encom consultant prayed to God such a thing could happen. Sam definitely had the control in the company, bar none, though he'd never exercised it before. But would he be mentally up to the challenge of the tedious days and long hours that would be needed? Alan gave up on further ponderings, pouring the coffee into the sink, rinsing the cup, and leaving it for the morning. He'd choose optimism, and be at the company early. After all, if nothing else, he was an old hand at supporting lost causes.
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Alan got to the office the next morning feeling less rested than he could have been, but possessing a kind of eagerness about the day's events. Sam's turnaround the night before had put a cheerfulness into him that he hadn't felt in months; even if taking back the company wasn't going to happen, Alan was pleased that his godson seemed to have softened his attitude. Perhaps they could even recapture the old familiarity he had once enjoyed with his surrogate son.
He nodded a greeting to his secretary, a very nice woman by the name of Carrie Tanner. Her husband worked with the janitorial staff, and Alan thought it was nice how they spent time together at the company when they could. She smiled at him brightly.
"Mr. Bradley, you look chipper this morning! It looks like a quiet day today, just some reports to look through and such." Alan nodded and thanked her before he went into his office and closed the door, wondering just how quiet the day would end up being. Within a few minutes there was a knock on the door and he looked up from his desk.
"Come in!" Mrs. Tanner poked her head in.
"Mr. Bradley, you have a young man to see you." She stepped back and Sam walked in, looking almost respectable in a dark red dress shirt with the top button undone and the cuffs rolled back a couple of times, a pair of black dress slacks encasing long legs. Alan rose from his chair to greet his godson as Mrs. Tanner left and shut the door.
"Sam, I was only half-sure you were going to come," he joked, grinning as they shared a friendly handshake. He lightly gripped Sam's forearm with his free hand for a few seconds, radiating a sincere happiness to see the younger man that made Sam doubly glad he'd chosen this path.
"You know me, Alan. Once I make up my mind to do something…" His godfather chuckled.
"I do know. Well," he continued briskly, feeling the need to get down to business, "I pretty much have the day free. I'm available for whatever you need." Sam's grin split his face, managing to look sly and gleeful all at once.
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Alan unlocked his door that night and walked inside, feeling a vast sense of relief. He couldn't stop the smile that had been on his face since he started the drive home, just remembering the look on Mackey's face when Sam had declared his godfather to be Chairman. The trouble was only just beginning with so many things left to do, like restructuring the rest of the chain of command, but Alan felt that the company finally had a chance at being what Kevin had envisioned so long ago. For the first time in years, he didn't pull out his tablet from his briefcase and go through emails or check various reports or updates. Instead, the newly-instated Chairman of Encom loosened his tie, chucked off his shoes, and poured himself a scant inch of bourbon over ice, raising the glass in a toast.
"This is for you, Kevin."
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"Believe me, I'll cover expenses. I don't care what it takes!" Richard Mackey was having a heated conversation over the phone in his penthouse apartment, a residence that his longtime standing as Chairman of Encom had paid for. "Yes, I know it would be more convenient to get rid of the Flynn kid first, but that wouldn't help in the long run. Bradley would still be chairman." He listened to the other person for a minute. "I'm sure we can come up with something afterward. That kid probably couldn't hack it once we take away his support. Start prepping to push Bradley." He ended the call, tossing the phone onto the couch beside him and taking a biting gulp of the full highball of whiskey in his hand.
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Encom's chairman hummed under his breath cheerfully as he waited in the elevator, on his way to Mackey's former office that had come with his position. Two weeks after his 'promotion', Alan was enjoying his work for the first time in what seemed like forever, feeling like a vital part of the company again. He greeted Mrs. Tanner, having insisted that she remain his secretary, just outside the more spacious office.
"Morning! What are we into today?" His bright smile was met in kind as she handed him a packet of papers and a manila envelope.
"The rundown on that security software are there, like you thought, looks like some bugs still need working out. And that envelope came for you this morning." He glanced down at it casually.
"Thank you Mrs. Tanner, you know where I'll be." She laughed as he went inside the office. It still contained his solid wooden desk and the assorted furniture from before, but now there was also a graphics board to showcase spreadsheets and ledgers and for pulling up comparison data. Another desk sat to the side, the more modern version of the kind Dillinger had used back when he'd been running things. A connecting room contained a luxurious little bathroom with a marble washstand and high-end fixtures. Alan had raised an eyebrow when he first saw it, wondering how much it had cost the company. Still, it would have been silly to spend money just to get rid of it, so he decided against renovating. Frivolous features aside, it was an office that Alan was happy to have, and he relaxed at his desk while opening the manila envelope. There was no return address; it was simply addressed to him in care of Encom. How odd, must be a report or something from someone within the company. Inside were two flat objects that turned out to be photographs. Slender fingers held them up, looked at them for a minute, and then hazel eyes widened.
"The hell…?" One of the photographs showed his car in the parking garage. The other was a view of the interior of his new office from just inside the door. When…? Why were these taken? And why had they been sent to him? He didn't have time for strange mysteries though, he needed to set up a meeting with Sam and then get a report on the company's investments. The strange pictures were pushed out of his mind as he put them in his briefcase.
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By Friday Alan had received two more pictures in the same kind of envelope, both of them showing him going about his business in the company. He couldn't remember seeing anyone with a camera, or even anyone he didn't recognize, and it was beginning to make him nervous. Besides not knowing the 'who', the lack of a 'why' was beginning to get to him as well. Were they threats? There were never any notes with the pictures explaining them, which made them that much more sinister. He hoped there was some normal, everyday explanation for the situation, but so far no one had come forward. Alan was glad to leave work at seven o' clock, grateful for two days to get away and put things into perspective again.
Home seemed like a sanctuary as he sank onto his couch, having changed into a pair of comfortable khakis and a polo shirt. He'd eaten a light supper and cleaned up, and was settling down with a book to relax. Soon he was engrossed in the happenings of the Civil War, so much so that he jumped when his house phone rang. Alan reached over and picked up the handset.
"Hello?" he said absently, eyes still on the page of text.
"Sorry, wrong number." A sudden click, and the man on the other end hung up. Alan quirked a brow in surprise and then replaced the phone on the cradle. He noticed the time then and stood up, marking his place and putting the book away. Once in his bedroom the chairman took care of his bedtime routine, soon comfortably waiting for sleep. He was just drifting off when the house phone on his nightstand rang, causing him to grumble as he reached for it. But before it rang a second time, it stopped abruptly. Alan heaved a sigh and settled back again, sinking into soft pillows, the cares of the day vanishing from his mind.
By Sunday evening, he was convinced his house phone was possessed. Four calls on Saturday and six throughout Sunday only rang the one time and then whoever it was hung up. Two of those calls were early Sunday morning, jarring him out of sleep to grab blearily at the phone, only for it to go silent. Those two were the worst, because the early hour made him worry that there was some emergency with Sam, and he experienced brief panic before the caller hung up. Consequently, Alan was finding it hard to get to sleep that night, half expecting the phone to ring at any minute.
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Monday morning brought Alan Bradley into Encom, yawning widely behind his hand. He rubbed at his eyes from under the frames of his glasses, trying to get rid of the bleariness caused by less sleep than he would have liked. The silver-haired chairman still managed a bright smile and friendly greeting to Mrs. Tanner.
"I've got a meeting with Sam this morning, Mrs. Tanner, so please just send him in when he gets here." Thinking of his godson reminded Alan that he wanted to remember to commend Sam for opting to come in at a semi-advisory capacity at first, just until he learned the way the company operated. While the boy wasn't at Encom most days, he was very busy looking over paperwork and checking out the operations on a day to day basis. Alan briskly went into his office as his secretary returned her attention to her desk and computer, adding schedule changes to the large day planner she kept track of for his activities. Alan hung his coat on the stand and moved to his desk, stopping short when he saw a manila envelope laying there. He swallowed hard, feeling his palms dampen as he slowly moved to sit down behind the sturdy wooden surface, picking up the thin mailing material. There were two more pictures inside, held up for perusal by shaky, long-fingered hands. Both were obviously taken at Encom somehow. The first one showed him chatting with Stephanie at her desk; he was leaning down slightly and they both wore smiling faces. The second showcased Alan alongside Sam, one hand on the younger man's back as they walked down a hall, deep in a discussion. Alan shivered, feeling ill at ease with the thought that someone was following him, chronicling his movements for some reason. It almost reminded him of his secret admirer from the previous January, but the notes left by that unknown person were sweet and tender and kind. These unexplained pictures were starting to erode his composure, and left him feeling vaguely threatened.
"Good morning Alan!" The sudden greeting made the chairman jump slightly as Sam came in, photographs falling to the desk before he hastily grabbed them up and stuffed them back in the envelope. He felt inexplicably guilty, as if he'd been caught looking at pornography instead of these innocuous but strange snapshots of his life.
"Sam! Good morning, please come on in." He pulled his thoughts together, reigning in his emotions and forcing a smile to lips that wanted to tremble.
"What were you looking at Alan?" Sam's curious expression was open and honest, noticing a slight tightness in his godfather's eyes, the little rubbing motion of left thumb and forefinger that usually indicated he was worried or frustrated by something. Alan waved a hand vaguely.
"Oh, nothing Sam. Just checking out some publicity shots for the website. Now, tell me what you think of Encom's current standing in the consumer polls." Alan couldn't honestly say why he'd lied. He only knew that he suddenly felt dirty and ashamed, and wanted Sam nowhere near the photos he'd been getting.
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A week and a half brought Alan closer to half-hysterics than before. He'd gotten three more manila envelopes, and the locations he found them in were starting to frighten him. The first was shoved into the locker he held at a gym where he would occasionally jog when the weather was bad. It held three photographs, all of them showing him going around the gym's indoor track. The second was hand delivered by Richard Mackey. The new head of marketing handed it to him at a meeting, saying it had been brought to his office by mistake. Alan barely managed a stuttered thank you before he stowed the thing into his briefcase, too flustered to notice the smirk that appeared briefly on the other man's lips. He only opened it later in the privacy of his office. Two pictures fell out, one showing him dining alone at a restaurant, while the other was of him looking through dress shirts at a men's clothing store. Alan had gulped back a wave of nausea when he saw them. It wasn't confined to Encom anymore, where he was available to the public. Now it was invading his downtime, his personal life, and he was feeling more and more disturbed by it. For all intents and purposes, this person was a serious stalker, but he didn't have anything to go to the cops with. There were no threats, no covert gestures of hostility. They wouldn't be able to do anything until some actual danger to his life could be proven. Alan was already becoming a little jumpy, eyeing everyone around him in the company and when he was out running errands.
The third and final envelope didn't make him feel any better at all. He had found it the night before in the backseat of his car, although everything was locked and it didn't look like it had been tampered with. Alan was surprised he didn't have a traffic accident that night, with how badly his hands were shaking on the wheel. When he got inside his house he quickly locked the door behind him and held the envelope in both hands, staring at it as if there might be a poisonous snake inside. There was only one picture in that one, and it scared the hell out of him: a wide shot view of the front of his house. Between half-vague nightmares of being chased and knowing that this anonymous photographer knew where he lived, Alan didn't get any sleep at all. When morning came he finally gave up, turning off the alarm early and suiting up for a jog to clear his head. His nice weather route was normally well-peopled with dog walkers and other joggers alongside, so at least he wasn't worried for his immediate safety. After a good sweat and two miles, he returned home feeling marginally better, ready for his shower and a quick breakfast. Morning at Encom went well, with two quick meetings under his belt before lunch. Mrs. Tanner was kind enough to bring him a hot sandwich from a nearby deli to eat while he checked over his emails in a working lunch. Later that afternoon he was pleased to catch up with Stephanie right before his last meeting of the day, a presentation by her fellow programmer Marc Everett on his group's progress with a possible update to an existing home office software. Alan and Stephanie shared laughs over the table in the brightly lit room before Marc started, giving Encom's chairman a chance to forget his worries and feel normal again for once. When the lights dimmed, he settled back and watched the slow-moving digital slideshow of progressive glitch removal and progress updates with everyone else, until an unexpected picture captured the group's attention.
Stephanie barely kept herself from gaping at the sudden full color picture of Alan on the large digital screen, wearing the kind of clothes she'd never known that he even knew existed: black running shorts, a silver-gray tank top, and well used sneakers, looking like he was outside somewhere. He was standing sideways to the audience, having pulled the hem of his shirt up to wipe sweat from his face, with his glasses pushed slightly up. Stephanie had a quick little kneejerk thought of 'Oh my god, Alan Bradley looks like that under his suits?…' His legs and arms were lean, if not well muscled, and his stomach, while slightly softened by time, was remarkably flat. The running shorts showed off a nicely-rounded rear, and she glanced over at the real life man on the screen, startled to see his face go from flushed to a pasty white in two seconds.
Alan could only stare when he saw his picture come up on the screen. Everyone was too startled to say anything, and Marc was looking mostly at his notes so he hadn't noticed the unusual addition to his presentation, or the equally unusual reactions of total shock. The first thought in the only silver head at the table was that the stalker had actually followed him that morning, because the outfit was precisely what he'd worn for his jog that same day. The second thought followed quickly, a realization that this uninvited look into his private life was now on display for people to see who he didn't even know, and especially in such a state of, well, undress… His face heated quickly in embarrassment, but that didn't last long against the sheer wave of humiliation and the feeling of being exposed that engulfed him. Marc finally looked up at his audience and caught the looks on their faces at that moment, glancing at the digital board, only to stare in obvious wide-eyed surprise. Alan stood up quickly, almost knocking his chair over in the process. All eyes turned to him, and he felt his stomach churn.
"I just…" His voice sounded strained, and he swallowed hard. "If you'll excuse me, I don't feel well…" He made a hasty retreat, barely catching Marc's voice as the door closed behind him. Thankfully the nearest bathroom was not far, and he made it in time to completely lose his lunch.
"Oh my God, Alan! I'm sorry…" The young programmer stopped as the door shut, turning to gape at the picture before clicking the remote and bringing up the next graphic. "I didn't put that there, I don't know…" He looked helplessly around, feeling badly about how the well-liked chairman had been obviously embarrassed. Stephanie stood up.
"We'll check it out later Marc, don't worry. I'm gonna go after Alan." She headed out of the disrupted meeting, walking down the hall until the sound of retching caught her ear. The brunette winced and stopped outside the men's room that was only two corridors from the meeting room. She had a feeling she knew who it was, and knocked on the door. "Woman on the floor!" she called out, injecting as much cheer into her voice as she could. There was the sound of a flush and then running water before a roughened voice responded.
"It's just me in here Stephanie, come in…" She slowly opened the door and stuck her head in first, seeing Alan spitting water into the sink, obviously having just rinsed his mouth out. He had his glasses off, playing with them in his hands, keeping his gaze on them as if he was ashamed to meet her eyes. He still looked very pale, hands trembling the slightest bit, and she was immediately concerned for his health. Perhaps he'd gotten the flu, and the sudden shock and embarrassment certainly hadn't helped.
"Are you okay Alan?" She put a friendly hand on his shoulder. "You don't look good. Maybe you should knock off work a little early, it's close enough to quitting time." He shook his head a little, expression somewhat wooden.
"No, no I'm fine. Really, I'll just sit at my desk and… and look over…" Her friend wiped a hand over his face, barely regaining a little of his color. She could see a slight smudging under his normally cheery hazel eyes, enhancing her impression of his being ill.
"Alan, I refuse to believe you are capable of doing any work right now, and you really don't look in any shape to drive yourself home. Why don't I take you in my car and you can get some rest. Seriously, you don't look good at all." Alan finally put his glasses back on and glanced over at her, relieved to see only concern on her face. He'd half expected some amusement at seeing the 'old man' in his workout clothes, even though she was a dear friend. Certainly he could only foresee some teasing and general ribbing coming from most of the people in that meeting, and the news would definitely spread to the rest of the company soon enough, compounding his humiliation. Doubtless someone grabbed a pic with their cell phone… Oh God… maybe he should leave early, he did still feel almost lightheaded, having had a bit of a shock.
"Maybe you're right, Stephanie, thank you," Alan murmured, making her smile. They walked to his office, and while he gathered some papers and grabbed his briefcase, she gave a brief explanation to Mrs. Tanner about how he wasn't feeling well and she would take him home. His secretary wished him well as he went by, surprised when he blanched slightly. He didn't see Richard Mackey hurrying down the hallway, heading for his own office. Soon they were buckled into Stephanie's comfortable used car.
"Okay, just let me get out of the garage and then start the directions to your house." Alan started, staring at her and waving his hands.
"No! No, no, uh… not to my house." She stopped the car at the exit and looked at her older friend strangely. "I mean… I really don't feel well, maybe I shouldn't be alone. I can give you directions to Sam's place, and I'll have him pick some things up for me later…" he finished weakly. He didn't dare explain that his house didn't feel safe anymore. She brightened a little as if what he'd said made complete sense and nodded.
"Sure Alan, just point the way!"
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Mackey shut his office door quickly and hurried to dial on his phone.
"That was perfect, he completely freaked out from what I hear. But he's lasting longer than I thought he would. You might not be as talented as you told me." The other voice could barely be heard, tone angry. Encom's marketing manager sneered. "Well maybe you need to step it up. Really tear apart his comfort zone." He listened for several minutes, expression changing from slight distaste to a growing smile. "Well, if you're sure… and you don't mind?" Another minute of silence before Mackey laughed cruelly. "It's nice to employ a man who enjoys his work. I'll add a bonus if this gets the job done." He ended the call, eyes glinting. "Deal with that, Mr. Bradley…"
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The ride to Sam's was quiet, with Alan only speaking to tell Stephanie when to change lanes or make a turn. His mind was busy, now occupied with the problem of future gossip and jokes at his expense. He'd gotten enough of that shortly after Kevin had taken over Encom. No one had the guts to go after Kevin directly, but apparently Alan Bradley was deemed a safe victim, so he caught occasional whispers of favoritism, never mind that he'd single-handedly written the code for a great security program, or that he put in long hours without complaint. What bothered him more were the rumors of personal involvement between himself and Kevin. He'd catch smirking looks and laughing whispers as he went past the break room, voices that stopped until he'd passed by, but the snippets his keen hearing picked up made his stomach roil and his fists clench. There was nothing like that between the two of them though, but no one who disliked him even a little wanted to believe it. True, he was attracted to both men and women, but he'd been with Lora at the time. Alan's detractors in the company just maliciously spread it around that he was merely putting on a front. The almost funny part was that Alan had never seen Kevin as more than a good friend, especially once they'd gone through that whole secret mission thing to get proof that Dillinger had stolen Flynn's games. Alan looked out the window of Stephanie's car, surprised to see them almost to Sam's. He'd been on autopilot the whole time, apparently.
"There it is," he said quietly, pointing to the large converted storage unit that made for a roomy apartment with an open floor plan. Stephanie eased her car to a stop, unbuckling and getting out.
"I'll walk you to the door, okay?" He didn't have the will to turn her down, feeling more than ever like a frail old man at the moment. Together they moved around the building to the entrance at the back, which was open to the slightly milder temperature of the day. Stephanie escorted him inside and looked around, catching sight of Sam at the other end of the room while Alan stared down at the floor. "Sam, hey!" He turned around, looking genuinely startled to see them, but then smiling.
"Stephanie, Alan, what a surprise!" He came over, smiling at Alan and his young programmer friend. Then his godfather's pale face caught his attention, and he looked over at Stephanie, a questioning look in his eyes. She guided Alan over to the couch and sat him down, concerned when the older man just followed her unspoken cues without a word, setting his briefcase down on the cushion next to him and merely sitting there without looking at anything. Sam's little black and white dog jumped up onto the couch, sniffing him to see if he might have something edible, but had to settle instead for a gentle scratch behind the ears that apparently ended too soon. Marvin gave a doggy snort and jumped back down.
"Alan took sick at work. There was… an incident." She looked over at Alan, unhappy at the evident flinching of those still broad shoulders, and steered Sam away so she could explain further. Alan looked over at them, watching Sam's face go from concerned to surprised, and then almost shocked. The silver-haired chairman might have laughed at that, if he hadn't felt so miserable. It wasn't often he could actually shock his godson. Unfortunately it came at his expense if she had disclosed exactly what had been shown at the meeting. Hopefully Sam would focus more on his not feeling well and forget to wonder how a candid shot of Alan had been taken and inserted into a presentation at the company. Alan could hear Stephanie saying goodbye, and then her engine starting up before she drove away. He sat with his elbows on his knees, staring down at his clasped hands until he felt Sam's presence next to him. The couch dipped as his godson sat on his left, bending down slightly to peer at the older man's face.
"You okay there Alan?" The sincere concern warmed Alan's heart, pushing away some of the shock of the day and letting him give a small but genuine smile. At least he could feel safe here, and for the first time in years he wasn't relegated to being all alone in his empty house.
"Yeah, I think Stephanie's making a bigger deal of it than it is. I just had an upset stomach at work. I'm sure it'll go away soon." Sam peered at him, and Alan had to concentrate to keep his eyes from sliding away guiltily. Finally the younger man nodded and patted his forearm.
"Well, you're welcome to crash here for a while, it's the least I can do after all you've done for me." That drew a soft chuckle from his godfather's lips, which seemed to please Sam. "Hey, are you hungry? I can probably fix some soup, if you don't mind canned." Alan almost said yes, but his stomach felt a little tender yet to be putting something into it. He shook his head.
"No, I think I'll pass for now. Um… I would appreciate the use of your shower though, if that's okay." Sam's response was immediate.
"Sure! Up the stairs in the loft, can't miss it. I'll go ahead and heat up some soup for myself, and that way you can have some later if you want. You're welcome to use my shower stuff all you need." Alan smiled gratefully and pushed himself off the couch, heading to the upstairs loft that contained the bathroom. He could hear Sam making noise in the kitchen up until he started the water running. He hadn't really needed a shower, but he craved a chance for some privacy and quiet, away from the younger man's concerned gaze and the thought that he might know about the meeting incident. Soon, heated water pounded at his chest and shoulders, and Alan could have groaned in delight; Sam obviously enjoyed a good shower himself, with plenty of water pressure. He washed and shampooed quickly, taking just enough time to savor the humid interior, the sound of water falling like rain, and the pleasant flush of heated skin. Before long he was stepping out, shivering as the cooler air hit his body. He grabbed a nearby fluffy towel and began drying his hair, but paused as he realized he didn't have anything else to wear but the work clothes he came in. Alan really didn't want to put them back on now that he was ready to settle in for the night. Then he noticed a thick, soft robe hanging from the bathroom door. He gave a few drying strokes with the towel before grabbing the robe and sliding it on, belting it around himself with a blissful sigh and putting his glasses back on. The damp towel he placed in Sam's laundry hamper, walking down the stairs hesitantly in his bare feet. It actually felt strange wearing so little actual clothing around Sam; he'd never been in less than a full work ensemble or casual pants and shirts around the boy, and certainly never barefoot. But he dismissed the weirdness, glad above all to be away from his house, and hopefully his stalker.
Alan spotted Sam as soon as he got to the first floor, his godson sitting in the living area with a bowl of soup in hand, spooning some up. He clutched the soft material around himself, aware of his exposed calves and feeling distinctly underdressed. To Sam's credit, the younger man didn't laugh at the sight of his godfather in the borrowed robe.
"Feel better? I'll have to lend you some clothes I guess, I'll check if there's anything you can wear later," he promised, keeping most of his amusement from showing. Alan gave a rueful chuckle, aware of how silly he felt, much less how silly he must look.
"Thank you, Sam. I really am feeling better already." He presented a far different appearance than Sam was used to, hair damp enough so that the silver was muted to a shimmering gray, skin still lightly flushed from the shower and toes digging into the rug under his living room furniture. Alan noticed the younger man watching him between spoonfuls of soup, hoping he hadn't blushed, or if he did, that it was unnoticeable underneath his shower-pinked skin. For lack of something to do, he took his briefcase in hand and pulled out his work cell and tablet, setting them on the coffee table and just looking at them. He'd intended to do some work, but the thought didn't seem so appealing anymore. Meanwhile Sam had finished eating and stood up to take his bowl into the kitchen. Alan sat there, huddled into the warm robe while his hair air dried and he listened to the domestic sounds of Sam rinsing his dish and putting it into the dishwasher. The light aroma of chicken soup still lingered, and Alan thought that might sound good now, but the musing was interrupted when his work phone rang. Automatically he grabbed it up and glanced at the number, not recognizing it, but his work number was unlisted, so it had to be someone he knew.
"Bradley," he answered. There was silence for several seconds. "Hello?"
"You know I've been watching you Alan." The voice rumbled over the connection, sounding low and sinister. Alan's knuckles went white as he gripped the phone tightly. There was a slight sense of recognition, but he couldn't place where he had heard it before.
"I beg your pardon? I think you have the wrong number." The silver haired chairman tried to keep his voice even, aware of Sam close by. Then he was hit with the memory of a supposed wrong number at his house, and the deep voice that had spoken just before hanging up. This was the same…! This couldn't be happening, not here, not with Sam right there…
"I know you're not at your house, Alan, I'm very disappointed. I like thinking of you in there, while I stay nearby, watching. I like what I've been seeing of you, especially this morning. You were so hot and sweaty… You probably needed a nice, long shower, getting dressed again in your room afterward. Do you have a nice big bed in your room?" Alan swallowed hard, feeling his body shake with sudden chills, but he couldn't let go of the phone. He felt frozen in place as the voice continued on suggestively. "I can imagine the both of us in your bedroom Alan, with you on that big bed. I bet I could make you like it." A hissing laugh through teeth. "Are you the kind to beg? I'd…" Alan whimpered in his throat, the sound very soft and pained as he released his grip on the phone, sending it tumbling to the couch. This was even worse than those softly whispered suggestions so long ago that couldn't even reach the depth of lewd cruelty the unknown man was reaching. He could vaguely hear his stalker still talking, the words a mere murmur of sound that he couldn't understand, thankfully. But he was so frightened by the memory of what he did hear that he didn't notice Sam had walked over.
"Alan…?" The softly spoken word shook him from his stupor. Oh God! God, no, don't… Too late, Alan grabbed for the phone as Sam's nimble fingers snatched it up and put it to his ear. The older man couldn't bear to watch, burying his face in his hands with his elbows resting on his knees, sure that he was a deep red by now. Small tremors moved through his body, a combination of disgust, both with his own cowardice and the filthy call, and fear, a deep fear that Sam wouldn't be able to look at him with respect after this. He was beginning to wish he had disappeared instead of Kevin. Several minutes of silence passed before he felt Sam sit down on his left. Alan suddenly realized he couldn't hear the taunting voice anymore, so apparently the call had been ended, although whether by Sam or his stalker, he couldn't tell. He really, really didn't want to look over at his godson, but he couldn't stay huddled on the couch all night, hiding his face like a frightened child, no matter how much he wanted to. Alan took in a shaky breath and raised his head, although he didn't look at Sam right away. He tilted his head just enough to catch a glimpse of the younger man from the corner of his eye, seeing Sam looking straight ahead. There was no hint of what he was feeling on his face, and Alan braced himself before looking at him head on.
"You uh… you're probably wondering what that was all about…" he said hesitantly. Sam's blue eyes swung toward him, burning steadily. There was no hint of disgust or shock in their bright depths.
"Oh, I'm pretty sure I know what he wants to do with you." The harsh tone took his godfather by surprise; Alan's mouth dropped open and he flushed again, flinching back a little. Sam must have realized how that sounded, because his expression softened, a hand resting lightly on the other man's back. "Sorry Alan, that wasn't directed at you. I'm mad at that jerk. How long has he been doing that?" Alan shrugged helplessly, cheeks still feeling warm with embarrassment.
"That's the first… time he's ever called like that. I mean… it's just been the pictures befo-" He realized what he had said and stopped, worrying his lower lip with his teeth.
"What do you mean? What pictures?" Silence and that nervous rubbing of forefinger and thumb. Then a thought occurred to Sam. "Does this have anything to do with the graphic of you at the meeting today?" Alan nodded slowly, clasping his fingers in front of him tightly enough for the knuckles to go pale. His nerves were so frayed that he jumped when Sam's right hand lowered onto his, thumb just barely rubbing over the back of his left hand. "Alan, please tell me what's been going on." The older man cleared his throat to ease the burning of restrained tears, taking a calming breath.
"First, can I borrow something to wear? I think I'd rather be dressed before I explain." Sam might have laughed if Alan hadn't had the most miserable expression on his face. The younger man had enough empathy to realize that maybe his godfather was feeling very vulnerable already without sitting around and talking about some wacko jerk while wearing nothing but a bathrobe. Sam nodded silently and stood up, heading upstairs and grabbing out a t-shirt and a pair of comfortable athletic shorts, bringing along a pair of socks as well. During his clothing hunt Sam seethed inwardly; he'd caught the tail end of the call, but it had been plenty descriptive. No wonder Alan was so freaked; he was as straight-laced as they came and the explicit nature of the call almost had Sam blushing, much less his very professional and semi-uptight godfather. When he came back down, Alan hadn't moved, huddling into the warm robe and staring out at nothing, but he turned to take the offered clothes as soon as Sam held them out.
"You, ah, get dressed. I'll turn my back, okay?" Sam said, immediately turning around. "Uh, I can get you some soup now if you want, it's still hot." There was a soft sound of the robe hitting the floor and the rustle of fabric accompanying Alan's response.
"Yeah, I think that sounds good now, thanks Sam." By the sound of his voice, Sam could tell the older man was pulling the shirt over his head. He walked to the kitchen and began ladling soup into another bowl, keeping one hand on it and just standing there, watching the steam rise while he fished a spoon out of a drawer and waited for his godfather to get finished. "I'm done, Sam." Alan's voice was a little rough and deeper than normal, and Sam wondered if he was getting embarrassed all over again. When he turned back around with bowl in hand, he saw why his godfather sounded slightly uncomfortable as large hands plucked at the shirt. The knee-length shorts fit the lean legs well, but the t-shirt, while just slightly loose on Sam slender waist and leanly muscled chest, was more form fitting on the older man, skimming over the other's frame with the barest amount of give. Admittedly, Alan didn't look bad at all in the outfit, but Sam knew that body-hugging clothes were definitely not in his godfather's comfort zone. He bit back a smile, instead holding out the bowl of steaming soup and the spoon before sitting back down.
"Here you go, Alan." The older man nodded and sat back down as well, fiddling with the spoon a little before taking a couple of spoonfuls. Sam didn't try to rush Alan into an explanation, but just sat beside him as a supportive presence. The soup was halfway eaten before Alan finally got up the courage to begin talking. He didn't know how much of an appetite he would have when he was done, but there was no sense putting it off any longer. His silver head bowed slightly, staring into the creamy broth left in his bowl as he began to speak in a low voice. The older man tried to convince himself that it wouldn't matter because Sam had already heard the worst of it over the phone that evening, but he still couldn't bring himself to look at his godson. When he had finished with the entire timeline of events up to that afternoon, he set his rapidly cooling soup onto the coffee table and chanced a look to his left. Sam's hands were loosely clasped with his elbows on his knees, and the boy was tight-lipped and agitated, his right knee bouncing slightly. Alan immediately felt bad that he'd upset the younger man.
"I… I'm sorry, Sam." Startled eyes turned to him.
"You have nothing to be sorry for Alan! The only one who should be sorry is that bastard," he fumed, ignoring the disapproving look he received for his language. It was kind of endearing how, even when Alan was at the emotional mercy of some wacko guy, he was still bothered by Sam's occasional bouts of cursing. "You should go to the police Alan, maybe get some protection." His godfather looked back at him with a helpless shrug.
"I thought of that before, but there's not really anything they can do. All I've got is some unusual pictures and a single phone call that only you and I can attest to. Nothing has been outright threatening. The police can't intervene with just this." Alan suddenly took off his glasses, long fingers fiddling with the earpieces anxiously, his expression looking entirely too vulnerable. Without thinking about it, Sam put an arm around the other man in a comforting hug, a gesture that his godfather had experienced far too little in recent years. Any attempt of Alan's to maintain his composure was ruined by the simple act, and he turned his cheek into the juncture of Sam's shoulder and chest, biting back a sob. The choked sound caught in his throat as a hint of pain, and his godson soothingly rubbed the silently shaking shoulder his hand rested on, chin making contact with the barely damp silver head.
"It'll be okay Alan, I'm right here. We'll figure this out, I promise." It felt so weird to be on the giving end of this equation for a change. For so long Sam had only taken where Alan was concerned, too interested in his own needs to think about how the older man was dealing with the loss of his business partner and friend. He realized he kind of liked it, liked that Alan would trust him enough to break down, even though the older man was obviously mortified by this whole turn of events. Damn, Alan had hidden it well; Sam had never known anything was wrong until his unintended eavesdropping of that phone call. He felt his godfather go still against him, starting to calm down hopefully, but Sam didn't move his arm or raise his head. The younger man was determined to finally show the support and attention his surrogate dad had deserved all these years.
"Sorry Sam…" Alan straightened up slowly, feeling guilty about losing it like that, even if the 'breakdown' had been pretty mild. He always strove to be Sam's rock, the one person the boy could always turn to and rely on, and what had he done? Huddled against him like a kid afraid of the dark. Sam felt a sense of loss as the older man sat back against the couch and took a slow breath, distancing himself physically as well as emotionally. His godson understood though, patting the older man's knee briefly.
"Alan, I think you're actually handling this pretty well. Don't know if I would be holding up so good if it were me." He appreciated the half-smile that showed up with those words, trying to keep his next comment light and casual. "Now that you're clean and fed, are you up for getting some sleep?" Sam had noticed how tired the other man looked. Even though it was still light outside, he figured some shuteye could only do Alan some good. "You can take my bed upstairs while I crash here on the couch." It was a sign of how worn and rattled his godfather was when he didn't protest that arrangement at all, but merely nodded with a murmur of thanks.
"Maybe just a nap…" Sam hoped it would be way more than a nap but didn't say anything, waving slightly as Alan stood and headed upstairs, taking the robe with him. Blue eyes looked at the work phone laid so innocently on the coffee table before he reached over and turned it off. No sense in ruining Alan's brief respite; he could always return legitimate business calls later, but it would be harder to get back any semblance of peace or safety Sam had managed to give the man if another obscene call came. He grabbed up the still half-full bowl and took it to the kitchen.
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Sam jerked awake, blinking blearily in the darkness as something roused him from sleep. He grabbed his watch from the coffee table and pressed a button, illuminating the face to show it was almost four am. Holy hell, why wasn't he still sleeping… He'd turned in quite some time after Alan had gone to bed, first calling and leaving a message for Alan's secretary about his still being sick, informing her that the Chairman wouldn't be at the office for a day or two and adding that Alan would keeping up with his emails and messages. Sam was sure Alan would feel guilty about playing hooky, but he'd get over it. Eventually. That memory ran through his mind before he looked around, wondering what had woken him up. A distant sound reached his ears, low and strained and coming from… his bedroom maybe. Sam stood up and headed to the stairs. He knew the layout of his place but still managed to bang his shin on an end table in the dark, biting back a curse. Was Alan okay? Maybe he was being sick again. Bare feet moved noiselessly up a stair at a time until he reached the top, eyes peering in the direction of the king size bed. He was just beginning to adjust to the dark, catching a glimpse of Alan's comforter-covered form lying tense and trembling. The older man's neck and temples had a slight sheen of sweat, faintly visible in the moonlight that filtered through the blinds and practically made his godfather's hair glow. Alan was whimpering softly, a frightened sound that felt like a punch in the stomach to the younger man who crept toward the bed.
"Alan… Alan, wake up," he whispered loudly, not wanting to startle the man after all he'd been through. Sam reached out a hand and put it on Alan's shoulder, gently squeezing, but he let go and jumped back slightly when the older man gasped, his eyes suddenly wide and fearful, lunging up to one elbow and looking around at what must be a dim blur without his glasses. "It's okay, Alan, you're at my place, remember?" Alan groped on the nightstand and picked up the familiar thin metal frames, placing them on his face like he was putting on armor… or a mask.
"I'm sorry Sam, did I wake you?" The voice was shaky but truly contrite, and Sam couldn't help a smile.
"Yeah, but it's okay. I'm more concerned about you, I thought maybe you were sick again but it looked like you were having a bad dream." He let the statement hang in the air, not wanting to push Alan too much but let his godfather decide to open up when he could. Fingers pushed through silver hair as Alan fully sat upright, reaching over to turn on the bedside lamp and making both of them flinch. Marvin's head jerked upright from his little pet bed in the corner of the room, but the older man preferred the sudden painful brightness at the moment, hoping it would dispel some of the darkness in his brain. Tendrils of his dream still clung to him, half-foggy visions of terror, a deep voice, and the sensation of not being able to move. Damn it he felt so cowardly…
"Y-yeah… just a bad dream Sam," he tried to assure the other man, but Sam didn't look like he was buying it. It was almost scary how good it felt to have his godson looking at him so carefully, so concerned and worried and… like he cared. Not that he didn't know Sam cared, most of the time at least, but it had never been so obvious before.
"Did it have something to do with that phone call?" Alan started, staring at Sam with wide eyes, pupils so constricted still by the light that they were mere pinpricks, almost engulfed by hazel that picked up some of the blue in the shirt Alan was wearing. His godfather plucked at the comforter with one hand, eyes sliding away from the earnest blue ones that were watching him, not looking over when Sam sat down on the bed beside him. "I'm not gonna judge you, Alan." Sam didn't like seeing the older man so withdrawn, but it didn't seem like there was anything he could do, short of finding the son of a bitch stalker. "Really, nothing that happens would make me think less of you." His godfather's eyes briefly flickered toward him at that.
"That wasn't what you thought in January," he said softly, cautiously watching Sam as he got the words off his chest. The younger man sputtered in surprise.
"What? Why would you say that?" Was that how Alan had felt after their fight? They'd been getting along so well after his return from the Grid that Sam had completely forgotten about the situation that had put them at odds in the first place. "My opinion of you has always been high, Alan, I promise. It's just that it wasn't my place to tell someone else's secret." The silver head tilted slightly as he watched his godson. Time and working together had softened the anger both had felt earlier in the year.
"Why didn't you just say that?" Sam grinned ruefully.
"At the time, my train of thought was derailed by the lecture I was getting. And I got mad, and then blew up and… well, we both weren't thinking too straight. I'm really sorry, Alan." That brought the first full-blown smile on the older man's face Sam could remember seeing since he'd arrived there that afternoon.
"I'm sorry too, Sam. It had really started to hit me how little I did for the company, and I took my frustrations out on you." Alan patted his godson's arm affectionately, already feeling better. He suddenly yawned widely, covering his mouth with both hands. "Ah, still so tired, sorry. You should probably go back to sleep too, I imagine we both could use it." Sam laughed softly.
"Yeah, you're right. Hope I don't run into anything this time," he joked, face crinkling with humor. Alan smothered a smile before it could appear, putting on an expression of overdone concern.
"Well, if you'd like to remain unharmed, you're welcome to bunk up here with me. I'm willing to share your bed with you," he teased, expecting Sam to enjoy the joke and then wish him goodnight. To his surprise the younger man looked thoughtful and then nodded.
"That sounds perfect Alan. The couch is comfortable, but it's nowhere near as supportive as this, and there's plenty of room for the both of us." He beamed widely, unable to stop a little laugh at Alan's dumbfounded expression, giving one covered leg a few brief pats before standing up and moving to the other side of the bed. "I'll see you in the morning! Turn off the light after I get settled." Alan looked bemused, laugh lines creasing his face as he removed his glasses again and placed them on the nightstand. Sam jumped into the bed and made much of getting situated, comically drawing out his little sighs of comfort and making a show of getting the pillow in just the right position. Alan watched it all with a grin until finally the boy drew the comforter up to his chin and went still. "Sweet dreams Alan." The older man chuckled, reaching to switch off the lamp and lying down too, the darkness not feeling so vague and suspicious anymore. He watched the now-moonlit ceiling, eyes slowly adjusting to the dimness as Sam's breathing evened out, body relaxing in sleep on the other side of the bed. It had been a long time since Alan had shared a bed with anyone, platonic or otherwise, and he hoped he didn't do something stupid like kick Sam. He used to be a restless sleeper, although as tired as he was he could very well just drift off and not move until he woke up. Alan tried to consciously relax, breathing slowly, loosening muscle groups, but he couldn't quite manage it. He huffed softly, wanting very much to sink into sleep but his mind was still concentrating on the nightmare and his conversation with Sam. In exasperation, Alan focused on the younger man's breathing, thinking only of that sound until his own breaths began to match. Somewhere between one breath and the next, he finally slipped into a dreamless sleep.
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Richard Mackey breezed up to Alan's secretary, looking down at her imperiously. He didn't even wait for her to look up from the day planner she was working on.
"I need Alan's approval on the recent internet ad. Is he in his office?" he asked without even trying to be polite. Carrie looked up at him coolly, striving to maintain a pleasant, business-like exterior even if she couldn't really stand the man.
"Mr. Bradley won't be in the office for a few days. The poor man has caught some kind of bug," she told him, sounding sympathetic to her employer's bout of poor health. "But if you want to email him a link or attachment, Sam mentioned he'll be keeping up with his correspondence. I'm sure he'll get back to you in a timely manner." She put a detached smile on her face, not caring one whit if that was fine with him or not, but allowing no trace of her inner feelings to show. Mackey looked annoyed for a few seconds, and then a brief expression crossed his face, something almost like a little smirk. Carrie wasn't sure if she'd actually seen it, it was gone so fast.
"Thank you, I'll be sure to do that." With those quickly spoken words, he hurried off back to his office, leaving Mrs. Tanner staring after him. He was a very odd man… but she didn't have time to ponder over his eccentricities. She needed to get back to rescheduling the meetings Alan would be missing.
Mackey shut his door and pulled out his phone, punching in a number and then waiting for the call to be picked up.
"You know who this is. Looks like it's working, he's taken some time off." His gleeful look turned confused. "What do you mean he's not at his house? Where else would he be? No, that was rhetorical. Damn it. Wait, his secretary said that Sam left her a message. Maybe he's with him. But I don't have access to the kid's address. And I don't want you to leave voicemails on his phone, no use leaving a physical trail." Eyes narrowed. "I know you're smarter than that, I was just saying." He dropped down into his chair, scowling. "Well there's progress but now we have a setback. Keep on Bradley's house, maybe he'll send Sam to get something and you can follow him, I'll message you a picture." A few more seconds and then Richard ended the call with a grin. He was so close to breaking the old man…
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Sam turned over toward the middle of the bed as he began to come awake, snuggling down into the comforter before grumbling to himself as his body let him know he had to use the bathroom. He stretched a little, hand brushing against something in the bed and making him gasp. Blue eyes flew open, catching sight of his godfather still fast asleep on his back. The older man's right foot was sticking out from under the bedcovers, his right hand was flung up next to the pillow, and his mouth was just slightly open. Alan looked far more relaxed in sleep than Sam had ever seen him awake, although it seemed he had mangled the sheets on his side during the night, with the comforter pushed halfway down and the bed sheet partially stuck under his body on the left side. Sam chuckled a little at the sight. How had he managed to sleep through bedstorm Alan last night? He pushed the covers down and got up to head to the bathroom, taking care of toilet duties and washing his hands. By the time he came out Alan had turned on his left side, right arm flung out onto the place Sam had recently occupied, long fingers curled slightly into the disappearing warmth in the fitted sheet. The cotton flat sheet was stuck even tighter around the older man's body, head cradled by the firm pillow as he gave a soft nonsensical mumble. The position gave a good view of Alan's even features, silver hair and fair skin striking against the dark gray sheets and pillowcase. Sam's expression went from amusement to something softer, feeling decidedly protective of his godfather. After all, he'd gotten to see a vulnerability that the older man never revealed before, had held Alan while he shivered with fear and shame. Just the memory of that reaction made Sam want to get hold of the stalker with his bare hands. He pushed the anger aside, glancing over at the clock on the nightstand and finally noticing the time. Wow, it was almost noon; Alan must have really been tired to still be dead to the world. Sam shoved his bare feet into a pair of loafers he pulled from under the bed and quietly headed downstairs with Marvin close on his heels. It would be nice to surprise Alan with brunch, especially since it looked like his stomach wasn't upset anymore and he hadn't gotten to keep much down the day before.
The kitchen was lit by sunlight streaming in the windows of his garage-style doors, looking inviting as Sam opened the fridge and grabbed out eggs and an already peeled onion. There really wasn't too much since he hadn't gone to the grocery lately, but further poking around uncovered a few strips of partially wrinkled bell pepper. Well, at least he had the makings of an omelet, and there was bread for toast, and plenty of coffee and juice. Oh wait, what about the freezer? He poked his head in and found a small package of bacon. Score! Sam popped it in the microwave to defrost while he started a pot of coffee. Soon the kitchen was filled with the homey smells of bacon and brewing coffee, the domestic aroma floating through the apartment; it was accompanied by the welcome sounds of sizzling and gurgling.
Alan groaned softly as he buried his face in the pillow, stretching his legs and toes under the covers. Hazel eyes blinked open as his mind remembered where he was. That definitely wasn't his pillow, it was a little too firm and the smell was completely different. It was kind of nice though, maybe it was Sam's shampoo, but it was a little bit spicy. He gave an experimental sniff. Yeah, definitely some kind of masculine-scented something or other. His silver head popped up. The last weeks had obviously rattled his brain, because there was no way he was, um, appreciating the smell on Sam Flynn's pillow. He'd practically raised the boy, and was twice his age. Alan was determined to take his thoughts elsewhere and sat up, rifling fingers through his hair and yawning. That brought in a delicious, breakfast kind of aroma that had his eyes opening fully. His stomach rumbled at him, complaining about how little attention it received yesterday, and what was he going to do about it? Alan pushed the covers back, grabbed his glasses and stood up, tidying up the sheets before heading to the stairs. He still felt a little uncomfortable in the tight t-shirt he was borrowing, but at least it was soft; he'd just deal with it until Sam went to get some of his own things. Speaking of his godson, halfway down the steps Alan spied the younger man doing something at the stovetop. The sleep clothes Sam wore fit him much better, another plain, soft t-shirt that hung slightly loose around the torso and a pair of black boxer shorts with some kind of pattern on them that he hadn't taken notice of last night. As he moved to the first floor and came closer he could see the yellow stars and moons, making him smile.
"I see this is a full service establishment," Alan joked, moving through the living area toward the kitchen. Sam turned partially and laughed, grinning at him.
"Only for you, Alan, my man." He turned back to the stove, sliding what looked like half of a fluffy, folded omelet onto a plate, another matching culinary achievement ending up on a second plate. Both plates already had several strips of bacon on them, and Alan's mouth watered. He'd been trying to watch his food intake lately, and bacon had become an extremely rare treat.
"I really shouldn't, but that looks too good to turn down," he blurted out, wincing slightly at how… old that sounded. Sam was grabbing out forks and a knife for butter, retrieving several slices of golden-brown toast before he looked over at Alan with a smile that wasn't amused or condescending in the least. It was sincere, the emotion radiating in his eyes as he looked at his godfather with an intensity that almost had the older man blushing.
"Believe me, Alan, I think you more than anyone deserve a splurge. Besides, you're in great shape," he said, waving a hand to indicate the other's entire form. Alan gaped a little bit and did well and truly blush at the compliment, the unexpected source having thrown him off. Sam noticed the tinge of rosiness in formerly fair cheeks and neck; who would have thought Alan Bradley could blush? It was actually kind of cute how he turned all pink like that at such a small bit of flattering truth. Then again, he wondered how many times anyone had actually noticed and mentioned how attractive he was, with his ready, dimpled smile and tall, lean physique, that silver hair catching light like a halo... Sam almost dropped his plate, glad that Alan had composed himself enough to take his own breakfast over to the small table already; he was sure the look on his face would have brought questions he didn't have ready answers to. Since when did he think anything like that about his godfather? The younger man belatedly headed to the table as well, where glasses of orange juice sat beside small plates of toast, a tub of butter in the middle. He put their forks down and set the knife near the butter for eventual use. Sam threw a forced smile at Alan as the other man crunched into a piece of bacon, happily starting on his breakfast and leaving Sam to his thoughts. Come on, he wasn't exactly attracted to Alan's 'button-down' type, much less guys in general. He preferred dating outgoing, adventurous girls. He spread some butter on his toast and took a bite, chewing thoughtfully. There was definitely something about the combination of Alan actually needing him for a change and the closeness of sharing a space that was changing his feelings. Or… maybe it was just bringing out thoughts he'd been ignoring or pushing aside instead of dealing with them. Sam absently ate a piece of bacon while he watched Alan take a sip of the hot coffee, long fingers delicately holding the mug's handle, keeping it in midair while he forked up a bite of omelet. There was a kind of emotional tug in the younger man's heart at the sight. Oh yeah, this was definitely up there on the weird scale. Sam almost jumped when he realized Alan was talking to him, asking a question.
"…hen you could get some of my things?" Hazel eyes watched him expectantly, and Sam thought fast, taking advantage of the bacon he'd just been munching.
"Sorry, was crunching, repeat that?" Alan grinned, his own bacon long gone.
"I was just wondering if you could drop by my house today and get me some more comfortable clothes. Not that I don't appreciate you lending me some, but I'd rather get into something that wasn't for wearing in bed." Oh, Sam had an interesting mental image at that innocent statement; it started with the view of Alan he'd seen that morning, but this time his godfather was awake and smiling, reaching out one hand to tug him onto the bed again. He jerked himself back to reality.
"Ha, yeah, I see what you mean," he forced out with a chuckle. "Sure, it'd be no problem to swing by there. You could do a little long-distance work while I'm out, if you wanted. I'm guessing you want the stuff sooner rather than later?" He managed to get back into the gentle teasing manner they'd fallen into after Sam had returned from the Grid. Alan looked relieved.
"Yes, please," he said with enough emphasis to make Sam genuinely laugh with good humor, prompting a matching sound out of his godfather. Sam returned to his meal then, pushing aside distracting thoughts for the moment while he slipped morsels of toast and bacon to the little dog that sat beside his chair.
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Sam parked his motorcycle in the driveway of Alan's middle-upscale house, hanging his helmet on the handlebar before digging the house key out of his jacket pocket. Following the instructions he'd been given, he went inside and quickly found the small suitcase in the top of the bedroom closet and began packing the requested items. Surprisingly there were actually jeans in Alan's chest of drawers, even though only a few, all of them soft and well-washed. Sam almost laughed out loud, imagining Alan with a secret blue jean life. He pushed the humor aside though, amusing though it was, to get back to business, adding two long-sleeved shirts. One was a thin pullover sweater in blue and the other a tan-colored pullover with a collar and two buttons. After snagging Alan's shaving kit from the bathroom he rifled through the sleep clothes drawer, grabbing a set of sleep pants that were folded with a t-shirt. Once everything was packed semi-neatly into the suitcase, Sam headed back outside and locked up. He never noticed the man across the street sitting in a dark SUV. Nor did he see that same vehicle pull out and begin to follow him.
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Richard Mackey's phone gave an alert sound while he sat at his desk, indicating a text. He ignored it for a few seconds while he finished a sentence in the report he was typing. Once it was complete he opened the screen and glanced at the message.
Kid here, got a suitcase, following
He tapped letters quickly and sent a response.
Find location and report, no contact
He hoped the man he hired actually followed the order. He'd been a little too pleased at the latest strategy to incapacitate Encom's chairman, and Mackey was half afraid he would forget professionalism and want to make it more personal. The former chairman wasn't worried for Alan's safety though; all he was anxious about was the possibility of a connection being made between himself and the hired stalker if he didn't keep a safe distance from their prey. Richard put his phone back on the desk, unable to concentrate on his report. All he could think to do was drum his fingers on the hi-tech work surface and stare at his phone.
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Alan sat on Sam's couch, papers from his briefcase on the coffee table along with his tablet. He was skimming over an email from Richard Mackey with an attached file outlining the newest internet ad. It looked good, he'd definitely give an approval. The roar of a motorcycle engine cut the silence outside, and Alan smiled to himself. Soon he would be able to put on actual clothes; Alan was never one to lounge in his sleep clothes, and it was making him feel a little… undressed. Lying on a large pet bed on the floor, Marvin's whole body wagged, head up and ears perked as he watched for his master to come into the apartment. The sight made Alan chuckle lightly. He continued with his work, keeping an ear out for the sound of the door coming open. There was silence for a little bit, several minutes dragging by without a sign of entry from his godson. Alan paused, listening, then finally heard the door open. He grinned, calling out without looking up.
"Did the suitcase give you trouble?" Silence again. Alan felt a prickle run down his spine, something not feeling right, and he casually reached for the phone on the couch beside him, quickly fiddling with it briefly as if checking his messages. Then he came to his feet and looked up. A stranger stood there, wearing dark everything, jeans, shirt, and jacket all black, including well-fitting leather gloves. Alan would have staggered back if the couch weren't right behind him. Marvin started barking and then ran for the stairs. Alan couldn't blame him; he wished he could follow the little dog up there, but he would only be trapped. Thankfully at least, Marvin would be safer up there. Unlike himself, he couldn't help thinking. Hazel eyes met dark brown. The man wasn't wearing a mask or anything to conceal his identity, but he exuded a menacing feel, and the silver-haired man he was currently staring at had a good idea of who the mystery visitor was. The realization didn't make him feel any better.
"Where's Sam?" The quickly spoken question was strained and full of worry. Had he hurt Sam? Was the young man out there bleeding? The door was still open, letting in the cool air and making the older man shiver as it hit his bared legs and arms. Alan began edging out from between the couch and table. If he could get a clear path he could run for the door and find Sam. The silent stranger laughed then, that same hissing kind of sound he'd heard over the phone, and it made him freeze for a second with the memory of fear. The dark, empty eyes held a mocking glint, eyeing his less than traditional clothing. The cold gaze lingered on the body-skimming shirt especially.
"Nice of you to dress for this occasion." The sneering words made Alan flush, wishing for the first time in his life that he were a more physical man. It would do him so much good to land a punch right in that cruel face. But he didn't have any training, just some basic physical fitness. He was probably very outmatched anyway, judging by the size of the other's frame, even though the stalker was maybe a good four inches shorter than his height. Damn it… Alan allowed the luxury of a mental curse, eyes darting around for an escape route. The other man noticed, still grinning. "Oh, don't worry about escaping. It's just you and me. I left your boy toy out there where he can't bother us." Alan bristled, fists clenching.
"If you've hurt my godson, I'll make sure you regret it, no matter what happens to me." His features were taut with worry, body tense with anticipation, but he still didn't move fast enough as the stranger made his opening gambit. A gloved hand grabbed a decorative statue and threw it at Alan who flinched, one hand coming up instinctively to ward off the projectile. It wasn't very sturdy and shattered into ceramic shards, sending pain shooting through the nerves in Alan's right hand. The older man had just enough time to cry out before he was slammed into by a solid mass, sending him to the floor under a heavier frame. During the following struggle he twisted as hard as he could, trying to knee a vulnerable groin, but his attacker grabbed him by the shoulder and jerked, turning him over halfway. Alan flailed, left elbow managing to catch the guy's face and draw a satisfying trail of blood from his nose, but it didn't slow him at all. Alan was pressed down onto his stomach, a hand firmly grasping his right wrist and bending his arm back until he couldn't stand the pain anymore.
"Let go of me!" Alan gasped the words out, truly afraid his shoulder would be dislocated if it went further, moisture stinging his eyes. He could feel warm moisture cooling on his right hand, but didn't know how bad the injury was.
"Don't worry, pretty." The words were whispered into his ear, breath tickling the sensitive skin and making him shiver. "We've got time." Alan felt panic flutter in his stomach, but he gritted his teeth against the whimper that wanted to escape; he wouldn't give the other man anymore satisfaction than he could help. His toes dug at the hard floor but he couldn't move under the weight pressing him down, his half-bare legs tangling with rough denim.
"You asshole, just let me up and I'll give you worry," the older man growled, anger beginning to fight the panic as he realized he was trapped in here while Sam was probably hurt outside, who knew how badly. His answer was a throaty chuckle and the sensation of fingers running through his hair before they grabbed the longish pale strands and jerked back. Alan grunted and snarled softly as his neck was forced to arch backward.
"I liked it when you were cowed, but you're so much more interesting when you're a spitfire." The stalker's voice was rough and deep, heightening Alan's sense that this could go very badly, very quickly.
"I don't care what you like, I'm not gonna just lie here-" A sound from outside cut Alan off, the crashing of metal against metal. The weight on top of him eased fractionally as his stalker jerked up a little, taking a second to look up at the still-open door. The hand left his hair, and from the corner of his eye he could just see the dark-eyed man reach for something behind his back, the movement followed by the sound of a switchblade being opened. Alan didn't think, he just used his long fingers to grab at the hand holding his arm captive, right wrist joint bending painfully while he squeezed tendons and flesh as hard as he could. The stalker cursed and jumped, obviously having had his attention more focused on the outside. That shift in weight let Alan breathe again and heave himself up and back. The other man half-released his grip and slid down the older man's body a bit, Alan's left heel connecting with a jean-clad thigh as he kicked out and got his knees under him before wrenching his wrist away and lunging forward. There was a slight brush of fingers against his calf from a failed grab attempt that had Alan's heart in his throat. He'd just started toward the kitchen, thinking to grab a knife or anything sharp, when a groan came from behind him, followed by the sound of something hitting the floor. Alan lurched around to see Sam standing over the intruder, holding a piece of lumber from the partial dock outside. His godson was breathing heavily, glaring down at the prone figure. The fierce anger in his eyes stunned Alan, used to Sam's more laid-back approach to life. He swallowed hard, trying to calm the tremors in muscles that still held a strong fight-or-flight response, and it was hard for the older man to realize he was finally safe. Blue eyes finally looked up at Alan, their gaze still slightly angry as Sam took in the shocked expression and smeared blood on one of his godfather's hands. He was prepared to go over and comfort Alan, but the other moved first, surprising him.
"God, Sam, you're okay!" Alan finally got his feet to move, rushing over to the younger man and grabbing him in a tight hug, arms over shoulders and around neck. "I didn't know what he had done to you and you never came in and then he was there and-" Sam patted his godfather's back awkwardly, unable to stop the smile that curved across his lips. Having gone through hell and back the last weeks, Alan Bradley was more worried about Sam's welfare than his own. But when Sam woke up after feeling a blinding pain in his head, he'd staggered to the open door of his apartment to see Alan on the floor, pinned under some strange guy, obviously struggling but failing to get the upper hand. Sam just about lost it at where that scenario could go, rushing to grab a piece of debris, although he tripped over a discarded trash can lid on the way. Without any further planning he'd rushed up behind the stalker after Alan had broken away and put the piece of wood to good use. Then before he knew it, he had his arms full of a very concerned silver-haired man. God, he loved Alan… A very startling thought, but true, he admitted to himself. Finally.
"I'm all right Alan, I promise. You know I've got a hard head. I came to faster than he thought I guess. And I called the police, so they should be here really soon." Alan released his hold on Sam, looking steadier.
"Oh, that reminds me…" Sam was puzzled as the older man walked to the couch and grabbed his phone, swiping across the screen and then tapping something. "Almost forgot I had the record function going. Hopefully it caught everything." Blue eyes stared incredulously. Wow, even confronting his stalker, Alan had presence of mind enough to try and get evidence on the guy too? It was then that the bloody hand caught his attention again, and he moved forward.
"Oh, ow, are you okay?" The older man nodded, flexing his fingers and looking up as flashing lights entered the yard.
"Couldn't be better." Alan flashed a dimpled grin, looking so much like his old self that Sam immediately responded with a wide smile, glad the other man would finally be able to enjoy his life again.
TronTronTronTron
Alan returned to his house soon after his stalker had been apprehended. He felt one hundred percent safer, but with safety came the loneliness again. Even though he'd spent not even two days with Sam, he'd enjoyed himself immensely and had to get used to being by himself again. It made him look forward to work that much more, where he could interact with friends and feel a sense of worth and belonging. Sam had startled Alan by dropping by a few evenings each week to watch a movie or share dinner, which went a long way to making the older man keep the loneliness at bay.
It took a couple of weeks for the police to put together a thorough investigation, but the results jolted Alan's world off its axis. His so-called stalker was one Alexander Egram, an ex-convict who had already served a prison sentence for assaulting a former boyfriend and who had actually been hired to intimidate Alan. The goal was to try to break him down so he would perform poorly at Encom and either retire or be seen as a liability to its welfare. Backtracking from Egram, they were able to trace a money transfer to his bank account from Encom's own Richard Mackey; a closer look at Alexander's phone uncovered various text messages between their phones and a record of calls between the two men over the weeks Alan had been stalked. With Sam and Alan's testimony and the recording from the attack, Alexander wasn't going to have any leverage in his upcoming trial, so had agreed to give information on Mackey to help the court look more favorably on him. Mackey's money trail led the police to a third semi-conspirator, Randall Summers, one of the young programmers at Encom who had been bought by promises of a fast track to success and an increased bank account. He was the one to plant the photographs inside Alan's office, using a master key that Mackey had somehow copied, and had added the surprise picture to the meeting. Cue yet another reorganization of the company as they looked for a replacement for the former marketing manager. Still, Alan was happy again. For the most part. His routine was back in place and the company was back on track, but he couldn't forget the unexpected feelings that had come to the surface while staying at Sam's apartment. With the ease of practice, he buried them deep in his heart, just like he'd learned to keep his emotions to himself during twenty-one years of going up against company suits who had succeeded in taking Flynn's vision away and shoving aside the one man who cared. After all, Sam was young, extreme, and definitely not interested in him beyond as a surrogate father. How else would the boy see him?
End of Line
Author's end note: I'd like to make this a trilogy and do another story where Alan finally admits his feelings to Sam, but the ideas aren't coming yet.