Conversation The First
Scotty looked up from adjusting his tie as Kelly finally joined him, sauntering out of the medical review room. "How does you did, or does I need to ask?"
"Perfect is as perfect does." Kelly flashed Scotty a broad, cocky grin, reaching for his clothes. "Does you wish for any information other than the fact that yours truly is a perfect specimen of manhood, the dream of women the world over, and…"
"I asked for facts," Scotty cut him off, "not fiction."
"Oh ye of little faith." Kelly slid into his suit pants, folded his review and stuffed it haphazardly into his inside jacket pocket, tossing the expensive garment – 100% wool, if Scotty remembered correctly, and he always did – back onto the changing-room bench.
"Now really," Scotty reprimanded, "Show a little respect for these papers. They are, y'see, the guarantee of your continued employment and well-being." He made a great show of smoothing his own folder and stowing it in the briefcase he'd brought along for the occasion.
Kelly snorted. "The one, I trow, is hardly a guarantee of the other."
"Probably not, I grant, in fact in our line of work the relation between employment and well-being may more properly be said to be inverse…"
"I thought it was in prose."
"Ah, you are reacting to the fact that I said in-verse."
"I am not re-acting. This is the first time I have acted…"
And bantering back and forth, they made their way towards the exit.
Conversation The Second
"Keeping your own counsel is one thing, Scott, but frankly, I don't know how you could hide something like this from me."
Scotty frowned at Russell Gabriel across the coffee table in the private conference room. "Something like what?"
His boss tapped the file folders. "These evaluations…"
A little jolt of fear flared in Scotty's gut. "What about these evaluations?" he asked carefully.
The piercing blue eyes rose to meet his, and Scotty met them, steadily, submitted to the shrewd, appraising gaze. He appeared to pass the test, because Gabe breathed out heavily and nodded. He blinked, looked down at the closed manila folders, then looked up again. "Did you know that Kelly Robinson is blind in his left eye?"
The room seemed to recede, the chair beneath him freefalling. "What?"
It was Russ' sympathetic hand patting his arm that brought him back to reality, that told him that this wasn't a dream. His strait-laced boss wouldn't… "…really had no idea, did you?"
Scotty swallowed, sat up straight, tried to pull himself together. "When… how?" He passed a hand over his eyes. "When?" he asked, and then repeated, "How?"
Gabe looked down at the folders. "I thought that you knew and were withholding the information so as to delay his retirement, but since you…"
"Hold—just wait a minute, here. Retirement?"
Gabe's expression was sympathetic. "You know the Department's policy on—on agents with a disability."
The word stuck in Scotty's ears, turned his stomach. "He's not—Kelly isn't—"
"I know it's hard to accept, Scott, but he's blind in—"
"No he ain't!" Scotty roared, bolting to his feet. "He woulda told me!"
"Sit down, Scotty."
If Scotty had had it in him to be embarrassed at his outburst, he would have been, but now all he had was choking bile, a mockery of everything he'd thought he knew. He righted the chair he'd knocked over, mumbling an apology. When he sat there again, he looked at Gabe, unable to beg him to explain, to unsay it, to… anything. He was lost, and he was going nuts.
"So you had no idea?"
Scotty shook his head, belatedly muttering, "None. But he…" Scotty remembered now, the funny little scar Kelly had… "He had a new scar when I got back from that assignment in Australia. Couple of 'em, but there was this one right next to his eye. He said it was left over from a fight with some old girlfriend with real long nails like a vampire."
"That can't have been the cause. You know that, Scott."
"Of course I know it!" Scotty snapped. "But what I don't know is how he could be able to hide something like this from me!"
His boss nodded briskly, appearing to be racking his brain. "If you didn't know about it, that means it would have had to be a time when the two of you were apart for a while. Between now and the last medical evaluation, so within the past… twelve months? Were you apart in that period for any extended length of time?"
"I just told you." Scotty didn't need to think about the answer. "Australia." It was months ago now, but he remembered it like it was yesterday. "I was making that drop."
"The Melbourne codes," Gabe nodded immediately.
"That's right. We were on different continents for six weeks." Even though Gabe dealt with scores of assignments on a daily basis, Scotty wondered how his boss had managed to drive that assignment out of mind for even a minute. It had been a high-profile, high-priority mission, but Scotty hadn't felt honored, as everyone said he should. All he'd been was disgruntled that although it was so all-fired important, they hadn't seen fit to let the guinea pig who was memorizing all the secret codes and being shuttled around by a top-secret route so much as have his partner along to entertain him. 'To watch his back', Kelly had called it, and Scotty'd called it 'entertain him', just to get his goat. Although it had been worth not having Kelly around to know that he was safe, not have to worry about his partner being used against him—
His mouth was suddenly dry. "Where was he when I was in Australia?"
"There's dozens of agents in the Department. My memory's good, but it's not that good." Russell Gabriel rose, headed for the door, his tread heavy. "I'll pull the file. Wait here."
When his boss was out of the room, Scotty slumped back in the conference couch, the lack of Kelly's presence beside him making him feel like a little red tricycle missing a wheel. When he'd been called into the private conference, alone, it had jarred: Kelly was always there, by his side. (His right side? Did Kel choose that position deliberately, so he could scope out the room with his right eye, knowing Scotty was covering the blind side) —Ice flowed through his lungs. The thought of Kelly sitting by him, hiding his… It had to be a mistake, he thought. The alternative was… He wasn't sure which was worse, the thought of Kelly being retired from the service on disability, and that would wreck Kel, the thought of him needing disability (God, that word applied to Kelly was way out) or the thought of Kelly, concealing this from him, letting him skip blithely through fields of stupid daisies, never once guessing… Was he, Scotty, blind or something, not to figure it out? How—Why, Kelly? How could he? Why would he?
He didn't know exactly how long he sat there, hand wrapped around his coffee, sipping it even after it went stone cold, but he knew that the better part of an hour had passed before Russell Gabriel pushed the door inwards. Scotty's eyes snapped up to his set, serious face. He opened his mouth to ask a question, but had to swallow instead.
Gabe walked round the back of his chair, dropped into it, closed his eyes and opened them again. It was the first time Scotty had thought of the man as old. "You deserve to know why," he said, with the air of a man talking to himself.
"Why what?" Scotty managed to make his voice sound almost normal.
Most uncharacteristically, the man didn't meet his eyes. "You…"
Scotty took another swallow of his cold coffee, and looked, really looked, at Russell Gabriel's face. He'd always been pale, but now his skin had a positively greenish cast, as though he'd just taken poison. As Scotty watched, he saw the white Adam's apple bob, repeatedly, unhappily. It was so unlike their staid boss that all Scotty could do was stare. "Yeah?" Scotty finally prodded, his voice low.
"You have…" Gabe's craggy face twisted as though he'd smelled something bad. "You know you have a – a number of enemies in the Department. Most good agents have," he added consolingly.
Scotty almost didn't recognize the hard voice that came from him. "You as in me or you as in us?"
"You, as in Alexander Scott. But you know that any enemy of yours is an enemy of Kelly's. You know that, Scott."
There was something dark and sick building in Scotty's gut, turning this way and that so he could see dimly the shape of it, but… "Just lay it on me," he said, low and serious.
The blue eyes rose to meet his, apologetic, and his boss was never apologetic. "Scotty, I want you to know that I just learned of this myself. I had no idea until I pulled the file just now. If I'd known…"
"Russ, please."
Russell Gabriel closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, mouth closed, nostrils flaring. "According to the file, Robinson was scheduled for two weeks' R&R after you left. He was due to leave the building at 7:30…"
Scotty nodded. He remembered it well: taking leave of Kelly, a casual grin, Kelly's eyes worried, but holding it in, his partner talking a mile a minute like he always did. He hadn't been happy that he wasn't there to watch Scotty's back. "And?"
Gabe's eyes didn't open. "He never made it out."
Scotty's own eyes closed as his boss kept talking. "Greg Phelps, an agent in…"
"I know who he is," Scotty snapped. Phelps and his partner Smith were vocal opponents of having Negroes in their organization. They'd been unofficially reprimanded for their attitude, but the top brass had let it slide because of their impressive record and, scuttlebutt had it, relatives in high places. Kelly had smacked them both in the mouth on separate occasions, if memory served. The chill in his body became full-out ice.
"He and Hugh Smith apparently had this planned. They used one of the old men's rooms in the basement."
Scotty thought he might shatter, like the remains of an Incan stone idol he and Kelly had seen once. "Used it for what?"
"Scotty…"
He wasn't aware of upending the coffee table until he opened his eyes and found it lying on its side, the coffee soaking into the carpet. Russell Gabriel made no move to reprimand him, or call for a janitor. "Used. It. For. What?"
"They…" A pause. "They wanted to discredit you." Scotty nodded tightly. "They wanted to find out which route you were taking, and – apparently they had a whole plan in place."
"Plan." Scotty wondered what he'd do when Russ laid it all on him, whether the air around him would shatter.
"Yes. They planned to torture the codes out of you, then deliver the information to the other side, and make it look like you did it."
"That don't sound like anything we haven't faced before. Always someone tryin' to make us look like traitors."
His boss shook his head grimly. "This was much more serious. Scott… You would have faced execution."
Scotty's heartbeat pulsed soft and muffled in his ears.
"There would have been no way… no way to keep the sentence from the press, from your family. A spy gone bad. It happens." Gabe took in a deep breath. "They were organized and thorough. All they needed to do was find out which route you had taken."
"What did they..." He couldn't get his voice to form a question. The room was tight, and it was hard to take a breath.
"They apparently… worked on him for quite some time."
In Headquarters. In lovin' HQ. Scotty's heart was banging against his throat, and he thought he said something, but he wasn't sure. "What did they do to him?"
"Kelly got lucky. Conchita was heading down there to get some supplies. She hardly ever goes down there. She heard something and alerted Security."
The bland evasion tactic was just making Scotty madder. "So he lost an eye how, he was just walking down the street and it rolled out of its socket on down into the sewer?"
Gabe looked apologetic. "The security camera tape wasn't—"
"Tape?"
"What's wrong with you, Scotty? You know the building's monitored," his boss snapped.
"So it was monitored, and nobody stopped it until Conchita just happened by?" Scotty said, low and menacing. "Where on earth was the tech monitoring the feed?"
"It's a disused john, Scott!" Gabe's voice rose. "You're lucky they collected evidence at all!"
Big of them, Scotty didn't say. He just sat there. Eventually, he said, "Evidence. Uh-huh."
"You want the details, go requisition the tape. All I know is what was in the report." Russ cleared his throat. "There wasn't much in there, but it said they used extreme methods. Based on the resulting injury, that would have had to be the eye technique."
Scotty nodded blankly. They were trained to do it. It didn't have to actually harm the eye, just scare the living daylights out of the mark. You could do it with surprisingly little damage, unless you lost control. He and Kelly had never engaged in that particular fun practice. The room was wavering, as though in a heat-haze.
Gabe was sympathetic. "They probably asked him where you were, thinking the threat would be enough. Apparently, he didn't… tell them anything. According to the doctors, the optic nerve was completely severed, so Phelps must have..."
Scotty just barely made it to the wastebasket in time.
"I'm sorry, Scotty." The voice, high above him as he knelt on the carpet, seemed to be coming from worlds away. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and made some kind of noise. His boss seemed to take it as reassurance and returned to his seat, sitting heavily.
Scotty placed his palms flat on the floor, rose, heaved himself into the chair. "And I wasn't told about this because…?"
Gabe shook his head. "The same reason I wasn't – it was hushed up."
"Hushed up."
His murderous rage must have shown in his voice, because Gabe hurried to explain. "I just found out myself, Scotty, and I had to do some fancy tap-dancing to do it." He cleared his throat. "You know Hugh is General Smith's son. They told me Kelly was on a top-secret mission for Smith."
Scotty just looked up at Gabe, smoldering.
"Phelps and Smith were transferred immediately, and… they died in the bombing in San Fernando de Rio Blanco."
"Good."
Russ ignored the outburst. "There was no point it pursuing it. My guess is the top brass must have thought there was too much risk of bad publicity if it got out, so they restricted access and kept it quiet. The file's sealed now, Clearance 2 or higher only."
"Sweep it under the rug. Peachy." Scotty breathed deep. "And Kel? Nobody noticed he was walking around with an eye missing?"
"Don't give me that!" Blue eyes flashed. "You're his partner. Did you?"
Scotty flinched.
Gabe immediately subsided, clearing his throat. "Sorry, Scott. That was uncalled for. But you've got to quit acting like I'm the villain of the piece. There's a specific request that your access to the file be restricted, and it was put in by Kelly Robinson. He's the one who fooled the optometrist back then into thinking he had two good eyes. Fooled you, too. You have a beef, you take it up with him."
Scotty rose, turned on his heel and left without a word.
Russell Gabriel leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. Robinson was a damn fine agent, and this was just a crying shame. He'd be very sorry to see him go.
If his partner didn't kill him first.
Conversation The Third
"You wanna tell me how you did it?"
Scotty'd been partners with Kelly too long to kid himself that he didn't know the precise instant his partner tuned in to what he was talking about. The play of the muscles under his bare skin – he'd been lounging shirtless on the bed – tightened and shifted, and the hedonistic, feline sprawl coiled into the crouch of a cornered animal about to strike.
The suave, urbane tone didn't change, though. "Did what?"
"Convince a truckload of doctors that you can see outa an eye that you can't see out of anymore."
Kelly was a pro. He didn't waste breath and effort on questions like 'How did you find out?' and other inane babbling. But he squared his jaw, and every line in his face deepened, making him look like something off of Mount Rushmore. "By the simple expedient," he said as though they were still friends, as though he hadn't been lying to Scotty for the better part of eight months, "of seeing around the little plate they put in front of the good eye, without them noticing."
He didn't even deny it. Scotty's world tilted as he realized that even now, he'd been holding on, nursing a wild hope that it was all some dumb misunderstanding. The good eye. Oh, man.
"You cannot," Scotty chose his words carefully, "see out of it at all?"
"Blind as a bat," Kelly said cheerfully, the perky tone brittle as blown glass.
Scotty stared down at his own hand, embedded in the drywall up to the wrist. He had no real recollection of the mechanics of the punch, just the blinding rage and the wild swing. Slowly, he pulled it out, turning as his partner spoke again.
"That's gonna swell up if you don't put some ice on it," came Kelly's smooth, urbane tone, and Scotty whirled and punched through the wall again, because otherwise it was gonna be Kelly's smiling face that his fist plowed into, his smiling face with the white teeth blind in his left eye, dear God—
It was only then that he realized that Kelly had put on his shirt, tucked it in. He'd already packed his bag before Scotty came in, suitcase sitting neatly on the bed, and now he had his shoes and socks on and the white hand was extended in his face, like he was saying hello or…
…goodbye.
"What is it Mother Teresa says? We do what we can."
Scotty could feel the faint frown line between his brows. He had an IQ of 166 and he could speak sixteen languages including Sanskrit, but this was a puzzle he couldn't solve. He stared down at Kelly's hand like it was going to jump up and bite him.
"It's been a blast," Kelly said. "No regrets."
Yeah, no regrets, Kelly could say that when he'd lost a freaking eye, the same guy who made a three-act tragedy if Scotty got so much as a paper-cut, but of course his own self was always less important than—He'd slapped his partner's hand away, found he had Kelly by the arms already, shaking the man so hard his teeth rattled. "…didn't… tell… me," he was grating out.
"Hey, the magic of confession only works in fairytales."
Such bitter resignation in Kelly's tone. Scotty shook him again, fingers digging into Kelly's arms. "You did not tell me. You let me just… just…"
Kelly was beginning to blow his cool. Good, let him drop that stupid calm façade. "What could I have said! 'Hey, man, our fellow-agents are bigots and they put…'" the little tremor in Kelly's tone sliced right through to Scotty's heart, "…a little enhancement of my mineral supplements directly where it was most needed?"
"You ever plan on telling me what happened? Or just lying to me for always?"
This time, when the hazel eyes looked up, filled with that resigned, bitter Que Sera Sera look, Scotty took a step back, knocked for a loop by the realization.
Kelly had always known Scotty'd find out. That he must, come the next medical review. He – he'd known he was living on borrowed time with Scotty, that they would only last as a team up to the moment the thoroughness of the Department experts exposed his ruse. But why hide it in the first place? Why lie and betray and…
Kelly started to turn away, as though his point was made, but Scotty wasn't through with him yet. "I wanna know why," he growled, grabbing him by the upper arms again. "Why did you not tell me—"
"You were away on assignment—"
"When I got back—"
"By then it was all ov—"
"I was away, not dead—"
"And I kept it that way!" Kelly snapped, ripping out of his hold, up in his face.
"I don't need your protection!"
"The hell you don't!" Kelly's cold rage was searing, burning Scotty's own anger away in its scorched path. "You have not one single clue what they were planning for you, do you? Oh, they were real happy to clue me in. Talked about it for ever. Those plans were in your head, and they were gonna take their sweet time getting them out. They…" Kelly's jaw clenched, followed by the fine muscles around his eyes and mouth, twitching as he ground out the words into Scotty's face. "They were gonna break you and have fun doing it! They were planning to – to smash you to pieces, to fucking destroy you, and have a goddam party afterwards to celebrate! That was all they wanted. Fix it so you could never hold your head up again, never see again, out of either eye, Clyde, never talk to your family again, never vote again. And then kill you, when they were good and done with you. When you had nothing left." Kelly's anger had already simmered down to a white-hot ember. "It was all they were after, man. All they wanted was for you to take a fall."
"So you sacrificed yourself to protect me?"
"Sacrifice, whadda you mean, sa—" Kelly huffed in exasperation. "I didn't talk. That is all. End of story. We don't talk under pressure, you know that. What the hell are you blaming me for?"
"Oh, the 'training' excuse. Nice try, Jack, but I don't need anyone's protection!"
"All right." Kelly Robinson's jaw settled into a stubborn line, and he tried to turn away.
Only tried, because Scotty had him by the arms again. "Why," he whispered, "did you not tell me?"
If Kelly's face had been stone before, now it was granite. "Because."
"Because what?"
The set face weakened for a moment, then Kelly tossed off his reply, light, contemptuous. "Because I didn't want your pity."
"Didn't want my pity?" Scotty released him, half-pushing him away, barely keeping himself from strangling the idiot. "I would not—I wouldn't waste my pity on a fruitcake with rocks in his head who'll get himself crippled in some stupid tomfool adventure to take care of someone who can take perfectly good care of himself in the first place!"
He knew he'd gone too far even as the light went out of Kelly's eyes, cursed himself inwardly as the man turned and reached for the handle of his suitcase, his aim slightly off. Depth perception was a casualty of losing an eye, he knew, and the way Kelly's fingers fumbled for an instant before closing over the handle made Scotty's vision wash to red. "You are irresponsible, you know that."
Kelly shrugged as he hefted the case, turned towards the door.
"You coulda driven us into a telephone pole, you know. With that eye."
No reaction. It was like Kelly had already written him off, like he wasn't even there.
He was mad and getting madder, wanting to get a rise out of his cool partner. "You didn't mind getting us killed in a car accident to save your pride?"
Kelly's retreating back faltered, kept going.
"What other assignments did you risk our lives on, huh?" Scotty hurled the words at the slamming door. "What else did you do just to prove you were okay?" To enjoy your last few months of borrowed time, to enjoy things being normal between us, to not have to deal with me being mad about it, to act like old times without this hanging over our heads, to enjoy one last hurrah before your sacrifice caught up with you, his mind supplied, even as he realized, Kelly didn't take the wheel once after I came back from Australia, not once, and only now was he remembering that Kelly'd always been careful to bow out of assignments that required sharpshooting. He wouldn't save Scotty's well-being and reputation only to throw away his partner's life. If there was one duty that Kelly held more sacred than defending his country, it was protecting Scotty.
Darn it.
Scotty lunged for the door and wrenched it open, but Kelly was long gone.
Conversation The Fourth
"Hi, handsome!"
"Hi yourself, Daff. How goes the wonderful world of Records?"
The blonde giggled. "You're putting me on, right? There's nothing wonderful about here except quitting time."
"Now how can you say that, custodian of our images, holder of negatives, wielder of supreme power over microfilms? Plus, you have custody of our video archives as well – worlds of moving, talking, living, breathing people, captured forever on…"
Daphne folded her arms, smiling. "What do you want this time, Alex?" she cut him off. "And why isn't your partner here? He never misses a chance to flirt."
She saw the agent's smile flicker like a voltage fluctuation, but then the bright grin was back at its full wattage. "Well, this is kinda about him." He passed her a slip of paper with a date on it. "I need the security camera footage from this date."
Scotty followed her shapely form down the rows of metal cabinets, stopping beside a heavy filing cabinet. Unlocking it, she reached in and retrieved the box with the date on it, but her pretty face fell as she read the label. "I'm sorry, Alex. The security code on this specifically says it's restricted access. I can't let you have it."
Scotty raised his eyebrows and shrugged. "That's cool. Must be some kinda error. Wasn't looking forward to sitting through hours of this anyway. General Gordon can wait."
"General Gordon?" Mascara'ed blue eyes blinked up at him. "You're here on his order?"
"Well, yeah, but that doesn't…"
"No, wait, Alex. You know what a bear he is!"
Scotty did; he also knew that that particular guy had hauled Daphne over the coals more than once. "I do, but that tape's restricted. Nothing you or I can do."
The pretty blonde bit her lip. "Uh…"
"I got an idea. How's about I just wait while you call his office, get verbal confirmation?"
"That's a great idea. Thanks, Alex!" She replaced the box and relocked the drawer. "Hold on just a minute."
"Sure thing." The General's office would probably keep her on hold for twenty minutes or so; Scotty would only need thirty to forty seconds.
He walked purposefully after her as though leaving the room until he was out of range of the security camera trained on the aisle with the drawer in it. Then he moved unobtrusively towards the wire connected to the camera. A file, he thought as he produced the wooden-handled tool from his pocket, had the advantage of looking like rodent damage when people inspected the cut wires. In the space where the first camera cut out and the second took up its mission, he crouched to the skirting board and began to rub the file briskly against the wire.
There, he thought as the last of the copper strands parted, perfect frayed edge. Looking good. Camera disabled, it was time to head back down the aisle. The file was replaced in a pocket, and immediately his lock-pick was out and working on the drawer. There was a satisfying click as the lock yielded. Sliding the drawer open silently, he smoothly slipped the box out from among its fellows. That, too, required unlocking. Then the tape was safely in his jacket, the blank spool he'd brought along lying heavy and reassuring in the metal container. Relocking it was the work of a few more seconds; he eased it back in between Surveillance Tape #8765 and Surveillance Tape #8767, then closed the drawer and locked it.
As he strolled out, he smiled at Daphne, still on hold. "Hey," he whispered, motioning to her to hang up the receiver. She did, wide blue eyes blinking at him. "Hey, Daff, thanks, but I gotta go upstairs. I'll be swinging by Gordon's office anyway. I'll just pick up the authorization from there. No sense you hanging around here all day."
He was rewarded with a quick peck on the cheek, scarlet lipstick surrounded by a cloud of expensive perfume and a negligible whiff of guilt feelings at how profusely she thanked him. After listening to her confidence about how Teresa, Gordon's secretary, was a real old battle-axe and furthermore had no taste in shoes, he managed to back out the door, scrubbing furiously at his cheek. No point in starting a rumor among the storage clerks about how Agent Scott rouged his cheeks in his spare time.
Conversation the Fifth
"Robinson."
"The very one. Good afternoon."
The black-and-white picture showed a familiar figure tied to a chair. A tall blond man, Smith, stood against the wall, wearing a dark suit, a large gun trained on the captive – Scotty couldn't see enough to identify the make. Phelps – stocky build, light crewcut that Scotty knew was bright red, casual shirt and jeans – was standing, circling him. The grainy image had just enough detail to show him rubbing his hands. "I've waited a long time for this."
"Get that outa a Bond movie? Originality was never your strong suit. Too bad—"
Scotty flinched as Phelps' fist drove into Kelly's mouth, the security camera bouncing slightly with the force of the impact. Scotty hadn't seen the mark from that – it must have faded by the time he'd returned. Phelps, though, was grinning. "I was hoping you'd want to do this the hard way."
Kelly sat impassively. It was hard to see, but Scotty could make out – was it his imagination? – the sardonic twist in his bleeding mouth.
"You're a smart guy, Robinson. Tell us what we want."
"You mean you brought me all the way down here and you don't know?"
There was a shout from Kelly as the man's boot drove into his shin. The abrasion there, Scotty's mind supplied, the one Kel said he'd gotten playing tennis. It still wasn't completely gone. "Think you're so smart, man. Think you're the bee's knees, you and your partner. Fucking uppity—"
"Hey, c'mon, lighten up, Greg," Phelps' partner said. "Robinson's a good agent, man. He might see the light."
"I hope he doesn't."
"Never cared much for moonlit skies…" If Scotty hadn't recognized what Kelly was saying, he wouldn't have been able to make out his bitter mumble on the speaker.
Hugh Smith tucked the gun in his waistband. "I'm willing to give you a Get Out of Jail Free card, Robinson. All we want is something real simple, and we'll let you go."
Kelly looked up at the man, the spark of defiance clear in his eyes even in the grainy image. "I can hardly restrain myself. Although I do seem to be already restrained."
"Where's Scott?"
That got a humorless chuckle. "Probably in the head. Or at his Mom's, how should I know? Do I look like International Mail Forwarding to you?"
Greg Phelps smiled. Scotty chilled to see it. "You're gonna tell us, you know."
"Optimism. I like that in a man." His partner's cool mask was firmly in place, face casual as though he were discussing lunch options at the cafeteria. "Any particular reason you wish to know his whereabouts? Gonna send him flowers? Apologize for your shabby treatment of yore?"
"C'mon, Hughie, quit wasting time."
"Patience is a virtue, my esteemed colleague." Kelly looked up at his captors, the camera in the ceiling catching his face full-on; his lip was split and bleeding, but he was otherwise unharmed. "Here I am practicing my social graces, providing you with a captive audience, one might even say…"
"Greg has a point," Smith said heavily. "You're not the target, Robinson. We just want you to tell us something."
"I'm not in the habit of revealing classified information to the enemy."
"How'd you know we wanted anything classified?" said Smith, overlapping with Phelps, who was growling, "Enemies?"
Kelly – Scotty couldn't quite make it out, but it was there nonetheless – rolled his eyes. "As to the classified part, the fact that you fellows have me trussed up to a chair in a secret location might be a clue, you know; and, since you have me tied up and have a gun on me, I'm forced to file you under 'Enemy', y'see. It might even be said to be automatic."
"Yeah, guess it might at that." Smith wiped a hand across his mouth. "Okay, no beating about the bush, Kelly. We know you're the only cat besides the top brass who knows which route Scott took to Australia."
Scotty knew that was what they'd been after, but he felt a grainy chill ripple through his body even as Kelly's jaw settled into a firm line. "Lucky me."
Phelps laughed, low and ugly. "Maybe not." The heavyset man bent over his briefcase, his back hiding whatever he was doing from the camera, and hence from Scotty's sight.
"This can be over before it starts." Smith's tone was reasonable. "Why scream when you don't have to?"
"Sorry, man, I – hope you don't mind a friendly criticism of your technique, here. One agent to another. You're going to Eminently Reasonable too soon." Kelly's tone was smooth. "Reasonable only works when you've made your mark suffer for a while. Right now, you're just wasting your breath."
Hugh Smith looked over at him. "You may be right, but I'm giving you the chance. You can tell us. Which route did Scott take?"
"And here I thought you were the spy. Go ahead and find out, only take you a week or so—"
Phelps let out a roar of rage that made Scotty flinch, even through the tinny speakers. He surged up, grabbing Kelly by the lapels. "Think you're so smart, got an answer for everything, crack team." He shook Kelly furiously, lifting him half to his feet, the chair coming with him. "What, you don't want a regular guy for your partner, you like having him around to shine your shoes—"
Kelly, no! Scotty saw the move coming before it happened; Kelly launched himself forward and head-butted Phelps in the chin. Scotty grimaced as he saw the man fall back, clutching his jaw, letting out a bellow of pain and outrage.
Smith rushed up, but turned on Kelly instead of helping his partner. "Goddamnit, you son of a bitch—" The chair had fallen on its side on the floor, Kelly with it, and his partner was trying to squirm out of the ropes – an exercise in futility, since not only were the bonds too tight, but he was covered by two armed men. Still, Scotty knew the instinct. To go down fighting.
Didn't mean it would help, though. Scotty squirmed as Smith drew back his foot and kicked Kelly in the gut. Those bruises must have faded – Scotty'd seen no marks when he got back. Didn't mean it was fun watching the bound figure jerking on the floor every time the man's boot drove into his stomach, Phelps sitting up on the floor now and egging his partner on. Aw, Kel.
Scotty was breathing hard by the time Smith stopped kicking Kelly. And this was just the warm-up. His eyes flickered longingly to the fast-forward button. No reason he had to watch all of this…
Shame burned behind his eyelids and high up in his chest. Whatever had happened in this room was the reason Kelly was… Kelly had… The very least Scotty could do was not spare his own self.
He blinked; in the seconds his eyes had been closed, Phelps had opened the briefcase and turned it towards Kelly. Scotty's heart sank as he saw a black box with a dial, electrical leads hanging off it, finished in alligator clips. Oh, please, no…
The men wrenched Kelly's shoes off, pulled the socks off the white feet, attached the clips to his little toes. Scotty cringed. Sensitive. Nerve endings, not that it mattered where the electrodes where when they pulled the switch. He watched as Smith righted Kelly's chair and spoke into his face. "I'd love an excuse to use this, but you're a good agent, Robinson. You'll take a while to break, and I'd as soon not waste my time. Just tell us. Where's Scott?"
Kelly just stared at him, still hunched over from the pain in his stomach, a little spark of fear in his eyes, and smiled, baring his teeth. "You think I'm tellin' you, you need to wake up and smell the smoke signals."
Phelps threw the switch. Scotty stiffened as Kelly screamed. It went on forever, only stopping when Scotty was slumped half-over in the chair and sweating. Dear God, and he was only watching.
He dragged his eyes up to the screen, where Kelly's chest was heaving, his limbs jerking with residual tremors. Just tell 'em, Kel, he pleaded in his mind. Just tell them. I can take care of myself, you idiot, you…
"…want with him, anyway?" Something in Scotty's gut twisted to hear the tremor in Kel's voice, but he recognized the technique. Keep 'em talking, a minute spent talking to you is a minute not torturing you. Buy yourself time, time for your partner to come and get you…
Hugh was smiling. "That's classified."
"Aw, tell him. Why not? He's not gonna be telling anyone, anyway."
Smith glared at his partner, but Kelly had picked up on the slip before he did. "You know," he said conversationally, "tellin' your mark that you're not gonna keep him alive is…" He took a shaky breath. "It's not the best way to en—ensure cooperation. Got no reason to tell you, you see."
"Not so sure about that," Smith said, recovering. "I think a quick death is probably better than this." He nodded to his partner, who flipped the switch.
Kelly shrieked and bucked against the restraints. Scotty knew he couldn't help it, but Jesus—He clenched his fists and screwed his eyes shut tight, stop it, stop it—Forcing his eyes open, he made himself look as his partner's limbs convulsed in their bonds, this is what he went through when you were gallivanting all over the globe, go on and look—
Kelly's scream cut off, and he slumped, his harsh breath grating through the tinny speakers. "C'mon, Kelly," Smith said smoothly. "Is he worth all this?"
Kelly tried to speak, but his teeth chattered as a violent shudder took him. He choked, swallowed, and spoke, head lolling on his chest, his eyes bitter and hard, looking up at the man, the camera showing his face starkly pale in the artificial light. "More than you could hope to know, you son of a bitch."
"Just gonna have to change your mind, then, don't we?" Phelps twisted the dial, and pulled the switch, and Kelly screamed. There was a dark patch on his pants, growing larger – of course, electricity, made you lose bladder control. Oh, jeez.
This time the torture left Kelly half-conscious, unable to speak or move. Karolyi did that to him in Acapulco, and you weren't there, the thought churned through Scotty's gut. Weren't there for him this time either.
"I'm going to enjoy doing this to him when you break," Hugh Smith said thoughtfully.
"P-pride c-c-comes…." Kelly shuddered. Scotty wanted to reach into the screen and lift him out, help him, wrap him in a blanket, take him in his arms. "…b-b-before a f-fall."
"Yes, it does," Smith said, tone speculative. "How long do you think it'll take him to tell us the codes?"
Kelly's eyes widened, his head rising unsteadily. Scotty saw it, the flicker as the quick mind flashed through what that signified, saw the utter shock as his partner understood. Kelly drew in a breath, sharply. "You're ki…" He swallowed. His head lolled back. He caught it, righted himself. "You—you're not kidding. Jesus Christ, you are even more of a bastard than…" he swallowed, "than I thought you were."
"Robinson always was smart," Phelps said to his partner.
Kelly's head lolled again, but he jerked it upright. His tone was incredulous. "I knew you were a lot of things, but I didn't think you would turn traitor."
"You're the traitor, Robinson."
"Forget this. I'm laying it on you straight. We can shine all this on, make like it never happened."
"Nice try."
"You're—really going to… betray your country for a personal vendetta?"
"I'm not. Scott is."
"Ha. He'd die before he—" Kelly closed his eyes for a long moment. When he opened them again, they were wide, filled with that bruised innocence that Scotty recognized only too well, mingled with outrage. "You're…" His voice was soft and dangerous. "You're planning to pin it all on him, aren't you? All of it…"
"Now we know who's the brains of the partnership." Phelps grinned widely. "We're giving you the fast track. He'll get the scenic route."
"Is that so." Kelly's tone was neutral, his eyes narrowed and wary.
Phelps grinned. "I figure we'll start with the left hand. Make him think he'll get to keep the right one. One finger at a time." He smiled as Kelly's eyes widened. "Don't worry about him bleeding out – a hot iron should dry the stumps right up."
Kelly stared in open horror, too shocked to keep up his urbane façade.
"Do you believe he actually had the balls to write technical papers? And stand up at conferences and present them?" Phelps went on easily. "I wanted to cut off every finger he used to type those papers. Looks like I'm finally going to get what I wanted." Kelly's face had taken on that particular grimace that it did when he was trying not to throw up. Apparently pleased with the reaction, Phelps smiled thinly at Kelly. "You think he'll hold out long enough for us to do the right hand, Kelly?"
"Probably be singing like a canary after the first one," Smith grinned.
"You mean a blackbird, partner."
Scotty swallowed, sickened. Phelps smiled broader to see Kelly's nauseated expression. "Don't make no difference. He'll be the Fingerless Wonder when we're through with him, even when he does talk." He smiled at an imaginary Scotty. "Surprise!" He turned the smile on Kelly. "Wouldn't you like to see his face when he finds he talked and he gets to lose his fingers anyway?"
The pair shared a chuckle while Kelly breathed, shallow and fast, through his nose. "Then – Hughie, do you think I should do the eyes next, or just cut to the chase and castrate him?"
Kelly shook his head in disbelief. Seeing the pain in his partner's eyes was almost worse for Scotty than hearing the catalogue of torture and mutilation they'd had planned for him. "Man, they retired the lynch mobs years ago," Kelly said. "You are such a three-cornered square, so behind the times…"
Scotty jerked as Kelly screamed again. Shaking, he forced himself to watch as the electrocution continued, Kelly running out of breath and choking on his own saliva as his lungs instinctively dragged in air, only to scream again. Scotty's eyes were closed and his teeth clenched by the time it was over, his hands trembling from being bunched into fists. He knew Kelly had survived, he knew it, but damned if he didn't want to do something, to scream at them to stop lest they kill him. Where was he when this was happening? On a transport to somewhere, sipping a Coke and reading a comic book. Jeez.
The scream cut off. "Where's Scott?"
Scotty opened his eyes, dying to bust through the screen and pull Kelly out of there. His partner hung limply in the ropes, aftershocks tremoring through his body. He'd wanted to know what had happened; now he knew, and he wished he didn't. Scotty should have been there, and he hadn't even known—
"Just tell us." Smith's tone was encouraging. "We all know there isn't a man who can't be broken. You're going to talk, and so's he. What's one traitor more or less?"
Kelly's eyes opened, unfocused. He blinked, listening to Phelps rattle on. "Man, I can't wait to see his mug all over the papers as the guy who set American defense back thirty years. That should make them think twice about hiring…"
"C'mon, Kelly." Smith, the voice of reason. He was a dead man. "Just tell us where he is. He's not worth all this. You've suffered so much, and it's just going to get worse. This can be over. Tell us where he is."
"Still think your boy's worth it, Robinson?" Phelps grinned. "Come on. He worth all this pain?"
Kelly couldn't raise his head, but he looked from one to the other. "Worth…" he slurred. "Worth a hundred of you." Ignoring their outraged stares, he smiled slowly. "Everything you bastards can throw at me," he finished, "and then some."
At Kelly's half-smile, Scotty buried his face in his hands. He'd long accepted Kelly's ability to speak volumes in a look, and the little smile said, as clear as if Kelly had said it out loud: As long as I'm between you and him, he's safe.
"Gonna make you curse his name before we're done," said Greg Phelps, nodding to his partner.
Hugh Smith threw the switch, turning up the dial, but not before Scotty had seen the blessing in his partner's eyes. Go on and cut me into little pieces. He's safe, and that's all that matters. A benediction, and Scotty wasn't even there. Kelly must have known he'd die there, he must have known, and he was looking serenely up at the freaking camera, dying alone with people who hated him—And then all the shining love was gone from his face, contorted into animalistic agony, as he howled.
It seemed to go on forever, Smith releasing the switch only to ask Kelly "Where's Scott?" and when he refused to answer, turn the dial higher – you'll kill him, Scotty wanted to yell, stop it, stop it – he couldn't stand listening… It was Scotty that the men's hatred was directed at, but it was Kelly's body that was taking the punishment. Because of him. Because Kelly had chosen to be Scotty's friend, and wouldn't let him down, no matter what—Greater love hath no man, the phrase ran uselessly through his head as he gripped the chair-arms through Kelly's screams, oh, God, oh God—
He was only half-aware when the screaming stopped. Smith had a hand on Kelly's carotid pulse, looked at Phelps, shook his head. Phelps rose, and they stood with their backs to the camera, blocking his view of Kel. There was muttering he couldn't hear, but he didn't have to, not with Kelly lying limp and barely breathing. He was dangerously close to death, Scotty knew, and that knowledge crawled under his skin, burned in his gut. Kelly had been a little less than his usual self when Scotty had come back, but Scotty'd assumed it was poor eating and poor training, not… this. Kidded around with him about how he needed to train harder. God.
Scotty was panting as though he'd run a marathon when the two men moved away from Kelly. His bleary eyes were open now, sluggishly tracking first one, then the other. "Never woulda thought the boy meant that much to him," Phelps said contemplatively.
Kelly opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Scotty's hands twitched; he knew he couldn't reach for Kel and pull him out of there, couldn't hold him and warm him up and treat him for shock, but it didn't quell the instinct that screamed through his body – the muscles and nerves that were screaming at him, kill, kill, kill…
Raising his head, Kelly cleared his throat, slowly, painfully. "Y'mean…" he gulped, "y'd sell out… ol' Smith here?"
Divide and rule. Scotty knew what Kel was capable of, but he could scarcely credit that his partner was able to use that tactic, with his nerves shot like that. He waited, scarcely breathing, for the answer.
Phelps' lazy backhand wouldn't have made a dent in Kelly normally, but this time it pulled on the tortured man's jangled nerve endings and made him jerk, hard, jolting and shuddering in the ropes. "You son of a bitch," he said casually. "I got a partner, not a slave."
He could see the adrenaline jolt in Kelly. How he wished his partner would cool it, sometimes—"Neither one of you 's fit to sh—shine his shoes…" the adrenaline surge wore out and Kelly gasped for breath. Before he could finish, Phelps had him by the hair, wrenching his head backwards. His throat was so raw that all that came out was a faint grating breath. "Son-of-a…"
"Robinson, Robinson," Greg Phelps said. "That any way to talk to the cat with your sight in his hands?" The man's hand snaked into his pocket, pulling out a long, thin stiletto with a peculiar curve at the end. The blade glinted in the light.
Scotty's stomach turned. He knew what had happened, but illogically, he wished the outcome could change, he wished… Oh, man, he wished he'd been there…
"Practice time…" Kelly sighed, "huh, Greg?"
Practice. Oh, jeez. You slipped the blade into the orbit, into the cavity there, threatening the optic nerve. He'd never done it out of training, Kelly'd never done it…
"Careful now," Smith said. He came over, gripping Kelly's head tightly in both hands, immobilizing him completely. "Color-blind…" He grinned. "Time for eye surgery."
Kelly gritted his teeth, clenched his fists, and shuddered.
"'Less you wanna tell us where Scott is," said Phelps.
"Go to hell."
"You first." Phelps drove the knife into Kelly's eye-socket, sudden and precise. Surprisingly little blood dribbled out of the cut, a thin line, black on the monitor, snaking down Kelly's pale face. Kelly couldn't quite hold back a yell. Scotty threw up a little in his mouth, and forced himself to watch.
"Last chance, Kelly-boy. What's it gonna be?" Greg Phelps said. The knife stuck out of Kelly's face, grotesque. Kelly took a loud, gasping breath.
"You can still see out of this eye. I can go out the way I came in." Phelps' voice was ponderous. "If you want."
Kelly was silent, except for his ragged breathing. Scotty burned.
"Ah, be sensible, man," whined Smith. "Ain't nobody worth losing an eye, 'specially not him!"
He's worth it to me. The look in Kelly's eyes and the words he spoke silently were clear, and Scotty lowered his head, humbled. But outwardly, all Kelly said was, "Damn you to hell."
Scotty's head jerked up at Kelly's wild, inhuman wail. Phelps was drawing out the blade, dripping with black, and Kelly was silently dry-sobbing. Phelps had twisted the knife. Scotty's skin felt too tight, his gut crawling as he watched Kelly shaking, blood trickling from the little hole beside his eye-socket. Oh, God, oh, God...
"You only have one eye left, now, Kelly-boy," the man said thoughtfully. "What's it gonna be?"
Kelly's eyes closed and he slumped. But Smith and Phelps were right beside him, jerking his head back up by the hair. Kelly choked, gagging. Scotty's body was burning, humming kill, kill, kill, but all he could do was watch helplessly as Phelps positioned the knife by his eye-socket, not driving it in yet. "Go on, Kelly. Make my day."
He'll never tell, Scotty groaned inwardly, he'll never tell. Why do you have to do this, Kelly, why do you have to be a big hero, why…
But he knew why. The same reason he'd stood there and let Kelly try and empty a full clip into him at point-blank range rather than let Kel be terminated. Just 'cause you didn't say the words didn't mean it wasn't true.
"Hold it right there!" The camera didn't pick up the door, but Smith dropped the knife. He and Phelps stepped back from Kelly, hands upraised, and a second later, security men swarmed the room, grabbing the torturers and securing them, shoving them out of the camera's sight. Someone bent to untie Kelly, being far too rough, jostling him far too much. Easy with him, easy, he begged, easy…
They finally untied Kelly and supported him out of the frame. Scotty remained staring at the screen long after the tape had run out, loose end flapping round and round against the empty spool.
Conversation The Sixth
"International Mail Forwarding."
"Hi, Wanda."
"Hi yourself, Scotty. Where's your better half?"
"Well, I was hoping you could tell me. He didn't leave a forwarding address?"
Papers rustled on the other end of the line. "Uh… Not that I know of, hon. But why don't you just go see him? He's in Washington for another couple hours."
"He's—Where's he going?"
"You'll owe me for this, Scotty. I'll have to call Jenna in Travel Arrangements, and she won't tell me without I do something for her."
"Whatever your pretty heart desires, just hurry, wouldya?" He heard the desperation in his tone, and modified it with an effort to Only Marginally Desperate. "I really need to catch him before he disappears." Oh, man, did he just say that out loud?
An indulgent sigh. "Hold the line."
There were the clicks of plugs being inserted into a switchboard, a chattering greeting to the operator, and then more feminine voices. Finally, Wanda got back to him. "A loan till payday. Oh, you so owe me, Scotty."
"Name it. Just—where is he?"
"If I didn't like the pair of you so much… She said, and I quote, that he asked her to find him "a ticket to anyplace, long as it's cheap enough and far enough." Did he break up with his latest flame or what?"
"No, it's a… long story," Scotty said. "Tell me what time and what terminal, and I'll head him off at the pass."
Conversation The Seventh
Airports were full of people. People scurrying to and fro, catching planes, seeing folks off, and generally getting in Scotty's way when all he wanted was to catch a glimpse of brown hair, a suit jacket, a familiar stride – without hundreds of passengers and well-wishers blocking his view.
When he finally spotted the familiar, sleek head, he almost smiled.
Almost. But then he saw how lonely the man seemed, walking through the terminal: turning his back on him, on everything they'd— "KELLY!"
Kelly turned. His guard was up, his eyes wary, and the first thing Scotty thought was that he'd have to be careful not to spook him, to put him at his ease. Only, what could he say? Something neutral—something natural—
"Didn't expect to see you here," Kelly said flatly.
"Lemme see your toes." And before Scotty could even process what his mouth was saying, he'd manhandled Kelly down onto a seat and was kneeling before him, pulling at his shoes and socks.
"What—" Kelly's voice was low, his glare thunderous. He shoved at Scotty's hands. "How dare you, how…" Scotty shoved him back, and they ended up slapping and shoving at each other's hands like kids playing patty-cake. "That's a goddamn classified report! Don't the words Top Secret mean anything to you?"
Scotty rose, looming over Kelly. "They would, if you hadn't betrayed—"
Kelly surged up so that they were nose-to-nose. "Betrayed, betrayed, whaddaya mean, betrayed—"
Scotty grabbed Kelly's arms, and suddenly felt himself lifted roughly by his arms, manhandled backwards away from Kelly. But Kelly lunged for him, yelling, and shoved away the man holding Scotty. "Get the hell out of this!"
"Is this man bothering you, sir?" Airport security. Oh, jeez, for a moment Scotty had forgotten he was black. He blinked as he realized that Kelly was one of the few people on the planet with the power to make him do that.
Kelly was still ranting at the hapless guards, Tweedledee and Tweedledum, six-foot-eight walls of muscle, now waving his government ID. "…and the next time you want to jump to conclusions, I'll get you a goddam trampoline, you get it?"
One of the mastodons ventured an "Excuse me, sir, but there appeared to be an attack…"
"And why couldn't it be me attacking him? Huh? What is it with you people…"
Scotty took Kelly by the shoulders and gently steered him away from the guard. "'S all right," he said, looking back at the stunned men briefly. "Had a bad day."
The guards had the decency to look apologetic as they retreated.
Scotty let his hands fall from Kelly's shoulders. "It's just the way they think. You know that."
"Yeah, well maybe I've had enough of it." Kelly seemed to really look at Scotty for the first time. "Huh, not even wearing a suit. How many times have I told you not to venture into a den of vipers without your armor?"
"Right, right."
Kelly had brought his hands up to steady Scotty, and was looking at him with such concern and sympathy in his eyes (one of them sightless) that Scotty flinched. Kelly saw it, and his eyes sparked with worry. "Hey, didja—they lay a hand on you that I couldn't see? You feelin'—"
"I'm fine," Scotty said, looking away, unable to wrench free of Kelly's gentle hold, though he felt like he was being torn to pieces. "I'm fine. I—You…." He passed a hand over his eyes. Blinking, he found Kelly had guided him to a seat in the smoking section of the airport bar. "Wh…"
"Sit." Scotty sat. "Wait just a minute, okay?" Kelly darted away, brought two cups of coffee, settled into the seat next to him. He stirred in cream and sugar and handed Scotty the cup. "You look like you need it."
Scotty nearly protested that he didn't, but as he took a deep gulp, he felt the hot, sweet drink blow the cobwebs away. "Guess I did at that," he muttered, looking down into the mug.
Kelly laid a hand on his elbow. "Sorry, man," he said, low. "I wasn't thinking…"
"Don't you dare apologize."
"I mean about the bigoted sons-of-bitches in here, 'less you think I meant something else. I haven't forgiven you for that other little stunt you pulled." Kelly's voice was cold and hard. "You did not have the right."
"I had every right—"" Scotty began, and then stopped. Thought about it. "Yeah, maybe I didn't, so you know what? That makes us even."
Kelly glared at him, or tried to. "What?" He was trying for aggression, but now Scotty knew to look for it, the man was held together with chewing-gum and Band-Aids. A ticket to anyplace, long as it's cheap enough and far enough…
"E—ven." Scotty spoke slowly, as though to a five-year-old. "You hide stuff from me, I see stuff you wanted to hide from me. I figure it works out." He swallowed, tried to bite it back. "I do not want to lose you, Jack."
"Well, neither do I."
They stared blankly at one another for a moment, and damned if that wasn't a smile tugging at the corner of Kelly's mouth, and damned if Scotty wasn't breaking into giggles. "We're dumb, ain't we," he giggled.
"As a pair of mule-posts, Hoss." Kelly was laughing too. Man, it was so good to see him smile. Kelly could only see him with one eye. He sobered a little.
"Does it hurt, Kel?"
"Not one bit." Kelly looked away awkwardly. "I didn't want you to—"
"We shouldn't—shouldn't be keeping secrets from each other."
"Sorry," Kelly said.
"No. Nope, no—don't. Don't. You're not—don't think I don't appreciate—How – how does a man thank you for that?"
Kelly's face darkened. "'S why I didn't want you to know. Not looking for thanks, man. I didn't thank you when you stood there and let me empty a .38…"
"And miss," Scotty reminded him.
"Miss America?" Kelly tried to joke.
"Miss me. Kel…" Scotty stopped. However much he felt he owed his partner, Kelly hadn't wanted his sacrifice to destroy their partnership, hadn't wanted things to change between them, and Scotty could respect that.
He'd been silent so long that Kel laid a hand on his arm. "You all right, man?"
Scotty looked him in the eye and smiled. "So, Mexican?"
Kelly half-smiled. "To what are you referring?"
"Our restaurant. You said Mexican that time, am I right?"
The smile disappeared. Kelly turned away in his chair. "That is precisely what I do not want, Stanley. I don't want you to give up…"
"Give up, you get to talk about giving up…"
"I didn't want some kinda quid pro quo!"
"And you're not getting any!" Scotty's voice had risen into a yell, and he looked embarrassedly round him at the staring patrons, lowering his voice. "Excuse us." In a lower tone, he continued, "What, you're the only one who gets to make the decisions in this partnership?"
"What?"
"If I'd come back and found you—if they'd killed you, that woulda been your decision. I wouldn't have had any say in it, would I now?"
Kelly's face blanked out, and Scotty knew he'd hit home. "So now you wanna take another decision. Just disappear, not tell me, and I can just go jump in the lake, or what?"
"I don't want you staying out of—I'm not some kinda cripple."
"I ain't staying. You're going, and so am I."
"I don't need a bodyguard."
"Maybe I need one."
"Nice try, Jack."
Scotty rolled his eyes. "How do I say this in a way that will get through your thick skull?" He looked at Kelly, scowling, face lined with determination, so very vulnerable under the strong façade. "I…" Just spit it out. "I do not want to be without you, Hoby."
Kelly blinked, and stared down into his own coffee. After a long pause, during which the announcer could be heard announcing a flight to Atlanta, he cleared his throat. "Don't wanna… hold you back."
"You could never do that, man," said Scotty gently. "Always pushed me up. From Day One."
"Pushed you up." Kelly took a swig of his coffee. "Do I look like a brassiere to you?"
"Well, you're…" Scotty shook his head. "Always crampin' my style."
"When did I ever cramp your style, Edgar?"
Scotty looked up at him. "When you did this to yourself."
"What? I did not do a thing to myself! I'm the injured party here!"
"You coulda told them where I was."
"That woulda been a spectacularly bonehead move, Clyde, seeing as they were going to kill me once they had the information."
"True, true. But…" Scotty just looked at Kelly, again seeing him writhe and scream. I wish they hadn't done that to you. I wish this had never happened. I wish your loyalty hadn't cost you this.
"Yeah." Kelly looked down at the table.
"So, what kinda restaurant you wanna open?"
"Scotty…"
"I already handed in my resignation, so don't give me any backtalk."
"You—" Kelly blinked. "Resignation, whaddaya mean, resignation? You got a great career going."
"I does," Scotty said smoothly. "Bein' partners with you."
Kelly breathed a laugh, shaking his head, looking down again. "Nice try, Chester. Not gonna let you—"
"Let me?" Scotty's ire flared. "You're not the boss of me. I didn't see you asking permission when you did all that for me! Why d'you think if I wanna do anything I should wait for your say-so?"
"I'm not saying that!"
"Then what are you saying? Because I gotta tell you, man, you're making about as much sense as a—as a—as a thing that does not make any sense at all.""
"I—" The pain in Kelly's face was almost too much for Scotty to bear. He didn't ever want Kelly to be hurt again, ever. "I want you to have a life, man. Don't wanna—don't want you to be tied down. Not tied to me."
Scotty stared at the firm jaw, the downcast eyes, the serious face, and figured he had maybe one chance at getting this right. "Kel…"
Some of his own hurt feelings must have shown in his voice, because Kelly's eyes came up, concerned. "What?"
Scotty looked away, but his voice was very, very gentle, and he forced himself to open his heart as he spoke. "Kel," he said, "you think there's anybody else in the whole world who'd do for me what you did for me?"
Kelly blinked. Clearly, he hadn't thought of that. "They…" It was clear he wanted to lie, but couldn't. "They oughta."
His partner, he noted, was weakening, but Scotty couldn't gloat; this was too important. He felt he was fighting for his life as he opened his mouth to speak. "Nobody digs me like you do, Jack," he forced himself to continue, pushing through his embarrassment, "nobody cares for me like you do, nobody looks out for me like you do. I know that, man. You really gonna make me live my whole life with strangers? Make me live without the one cat who'd – who'd protect me with his life?"
He loved the way one corner of Kelly's mouth quirked up in a shy, grudging smile, like he'd really, really like to stay mad, but was effectively cut off from all avenues of retreat. "Well…" His face was pinkening. "When you put it that way…"
"Are you or are you not," Scotty said firmly, "going to open a restaurant with me?"
Kelly half-smiled, shyly, his face filling with warmth. "You sure you want a restaurant? I got my… disability pay." Scotty carefully kept his face blank. "We could start a business enterprise. Anything you want, since you're the brains of this partnership."
No better way than straight through. "Which makes you the brawn, Mr. Disability?"
"Hey, watch who you're calling a disability. I could take you with one hand tied behind my back."
"Take me out for ice-cream?"
"If you so desire."
Scotty smiled, and he saw it reflected in Kelly's eyes—and then he felt it, the click, the thing that made them them. Kelly blinked, once, and smiled, too, ducking his head. "Take me out to the ball game," Scotty muttered inanely, reaching out to ruffle the hair at the back of Kelly's neck.
"Take me out with the… Hoo, boy."
All the tension drained out of Kelly's frame suddenly, and Scotty realized just how much he'd been holding back. He was careful not to grab Kelly in a bear hug or anything else that'd make his partner question his sanity. "Want some peanuts and a crackerjack?"
"Cracker, Jack?"
"If you say so."
"Polly want a cracker." The tired smile that Kelly gave him was the most wonderful gift he'd ever gotten, and he'd gotten plenty.
"How about this." Scotty let his arm trail down Kelly's shoulder, resting lightly on his forearm. "How's about we go grab some chow, then get your luggage which has long been shunted off the flight you are currently missing, after which," he took a deep breath, "after which we can make plans?"
Kelly's grudging joy was a delight to see. "Plans, huh."
"Plans."
"Or schemes."
"Or indeed strategies."
"Plots." Kelly drained his coffee, rising.
"Machinations."
"Intrigues."
"Strategems."
"Five says I run out of synonyms before you do."
Scotty grinned. "You're on."
"I'm fresh out. I win."
"What—? Whaddaya mean, you win?"
Kelly looked superior. "Listen better next time. I bet you that I'd run out first."
"Snively Craven! You cheated!"
"Not my fault you don't pay attention to the terms of the agreement, Chauncey."
"I was not aware that I was wagering with a hustler, a con artist, a scheming, double-dealing—"
"Ah, ah, ah. Make with the synonyms again, and you're back where you started."
And as they sauntered out of the restaurant, Scotty felt Kelly sling an arm round his shoulder, and thought that whatever line of business they wound up in, this arrangement was something he was just fine to live with for the rest of his life.