Day Forty-Two: Police
I've never been an afficionado of pubs. The scratched up hardwood floor, fake fireplace, dart boards and pool tables in the back, and vintage beer advertisements framed and hung on the walls are quite far removed from the chic restaurants of which I'm a regular patron. But as we sit in slightly rickety chairs with mugs of beer (poured from a pitcher that's still sitting in the middle of the table!), Seth looks quite at his ease. He's hung up his jacket on the back of his chair along with his tie, and his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. Never in a million years would he do that at the office.
"At least we finally got a raise," says a burly blond Lieutenant named Scott. I smile and nod even though I'm not quite certain what he's been talking about; I was too distracted by the stuffed moose head looming over the fake hearth to listen properly.
The waiter arrives with a pen and notepad and I bite my lip because I haven't decided yet. Everything looks so... greasy. "What'll it be tonight?" They go around the table ordering buffalo wings, burgers, and steaks. "And for you, miss?"
"Oh. I'll have the... umm... chicken wrap." That seems safe enough. I hear a snicker from across the table and Seth shoots a dirty look at the man in question, a rookie, younger than me, named Darren.
"Be nice," says the woman next to him, elbowing him as she does. "We can't all eat like you do and keep our girlish figures." This earns a laugh from around the table and everyone is relaxed again.
A few of the officers have brought their wives or girlfriends along: one is a paramedic, the other a homemaker, and the third, a secretary. Just from the scattered fragments of small talk I've heard from them I know that my life is nothing like theirs. They talk about their bills, their bosses, the public schools their children attend. All of these things are foreign to me. And it's as if Seth knows what I'm thinking for, beneath the table, his hands slides over mine.
As we wait for the food, they begin telling stories about Mark. When it's Seth's turn, he talks about Mark when he was younger– when they were both younger, a decade ago. He must seem calm to them all, but I know him so well: there's a tautness to his voice and I can tell it's difficult for him. Those years he spent in the force, Mark was like an elder brother and the smile on Seth's lips, slight as it is, is wistful.
When the food finally arrives, it obscures the table– the plates are huge! And the food... I can feel my arteries hardening just being at the same table with it. I feel a little ill watching the men devour it all along with hearty helpings of frothy beer.
They're trading close call stories and Seth is about to begin one of his own when Darren interrupts. "Just why the hell is he here anyway? He turned in his badge to go live a cushy life and marry a rich b–"
"Shut up, Darren," says Scott as Seth leaps to his feet. I feel dazed rather than insulted.
"Don't you read the news?" one of the others hisses. I stand and lay a hand on Seth's arm. He glances at me and I shake head.
"What the hell are you talking about?" Darren says.
"Last year," I say calmly, "my father was murdered." In my mind, I'm wearing a navy-blue blazer and facing down a boardroom. "A group of men were hired to kill him, my brother, and me. I would be dead now if it weren't for Seth. He was shot getting me to safety." He still has a scar on his right shoulder from the bullet wound. I was so afraid I'd lose him that night. "He left the police force after his own father was shot to death doing the same cushy job."
The table's fallen silent and I'm tempted to call for the cheque. It's the sort of thing they'd do in a movie for effect, but there's no need to make a scene– or more of one anyway– just because of one rather unpleasant boy when everyone else has been quite courteous.
I squeeze Seth's arm again and we both take our seats. He's still glowering at Darren, who's not meeting his eyes. I have a sudden image of Seth asking him if he wants to take it outside. Is it strange that the idea of Seth getting into a fistfight over me is somehow... sexy?
The rest of the evening is uneventful. Darren sulks and doesn't say much else during dinner. As we're pulling on our jackets and saying our goodbyes, Scott shakes both our hands and says in a low tone "I'm sorry Darren was such a jackass. He's got more balls than brains."
Seth is silent on the way home. My attempts to draw him out are met with a grunt. It's only when we get back to my apartment that he throws down his jacket and calls Darren a very rude name.
"It's all right," I say, squeezing his arm.
"No, it's not. How can you not be angry after what he said to you?"
"I am angry. I'd like to have seen you knock some sense into him. But..."
"But what?"
"What he thinks of me and of you... It doesn't matter. There are always people like him and I'm used to ignoring them. You should be too."
"Eirika..." He shakes his head.
"Or you could start wearing your fencing foil around and challenge people to duels to protect my honour." He cracks a smile and I can feel my own frustration melt away with the sight of it.
"Gladly." He smiles with all the warmth that no one else ever sees, the warmth he hides beneath a mask of professionalism and reserve whenever he wears a suit and tie. He brushes his fingers over my face and I desperately want him to lean forward and kiss me.
"You're my knight in shining armour, you know. You always have been," I whisper.
When he does kiss me, I want to laugh because he tastes like barbeque sauce– which I've never much liked until this moment. When he kisses me again, long and deep and slow, his hands wandering, and his body, warm against mine, all I want is to bring him to my room, strip off that suit, and press my lips against the scar on his shoulder.
