Talking was only a little easier once they were back in the safety of denim. There was a hard edge to Tristan's voice now when he spoke. They struggled through a few fruitless conversations and let silence take over in defeat.

When Duke went back to the bedroom to take care of yesterday's clothes, Tristan escaped to the garage.

He heard the shutting of the garage door and heaved a sigh. So this is how it's going to be? I should just go back home. Gods, Seto may have been bad… But at least he wasn't stone silent at me!

Then again, it isn't really all his fault.

Seto had been so willing to blame everything on Tristan. After all, who could ever really live with the 'strong silent type'? Those guys were only good for a quick fuck. Well. Seto Kaiba was not crass enough to use a term as vulgar as that. But he implied it quite nicely.

"How long do you think it will be before Taylor grows tired of you?"

"What the hell are you getting at?"

"Don't tell me you are that naïve, Duke. He's just... one of those people. It is simply for sex, and likely always was. Why is it that you haven't gotten any further than sex in…" Kaiba steepled his fingers and gazed with frank innocence up at Duke, standing clench-fisted before his massive oaken desk, "…how long has it been, you said?"

"…Nine years. But we live together…"

It was the one thing he couldn't ever quite believe. Not when sometimes, Tristan had a tendency to just stop and watch him, no matter what he was doing. People didn't just... have sex with one another for nine years. There was a bond there, whatever that was worth.

"And in all that time, has he ever suggested moving your relationship past sharing an apartment?"

"There's something else?" Duke asked, blankly. He would regret asking that question, later.

Kaiba shook his head, smiling with a sadness that might have been real or patently false on his smoothly tanned features, and reached across the desktop to catch his hands and squeeze them, just like an understanding friend would do.

"Much more," he promised.
-

Duke felt the tiny bites of pain in his palms and realized that his fists were balled again in anger. Goddammit, why did everyone on earth have the impression he could be bought with lines as cheap as that?

But he had been.

It was more than that, Duke argued. Heard the little voice laughing and gritted his teeth. Fine. I'll show you…

He marched resolutely to the garage door, threading around the kitchen chairs to press an ear to the thin wood. It vibrated with muffled clinks and tinks and clangs and occasional curses. Ye-es…he was definitely in there. Duke pulled the door open cautiously and peered inside.

The slinky carbon steel-tube body of Tristan's latest project had been secured to a hefty workbench. Duke could see the top of Tristan's head through the mostly empty engine compartment. Tristan turned to the side, and Duke could see that he'd pulled back his curls into a taut ponytail. Then, as he reached for a set of ratchets in the other direction, and his profile came into view, Duke blinked. No, no, of course Tristan wasn't crying. He just didn't do things like that. But he'd never seen such a wounded expression on Tristan's face since-

Since he'd turned away from the window a year ago.

"Tris?"

Tristan jumped, and the ratchet dropped like a rock from nerveless fingertips. The nut he'd been moving to tighten into place flipped in the other direction to tink onto the bench. It settled with a heavy metallic rattle.

"Jesus, don't do that!"

Despite Tristan's indignation, Duke found himself smiling. Entwined in his own thoughts well over three-quarters of the time, Tristan had a low startle point. Just another one of those things. Duke swallowed his grin and apologized before Tristan caught sight of him.

"I just wanted to say…Tristan…"

"It's okay." Tristan replied immediately without lifting his head from his search for the fallen ratchet.

"No, I want to say this. What I said earlier—"

"I said it's okay, Dev. Don't worry about it."

"Dammit, Tristan! Will you let me finish?"

Tristan straightened with a stretch and dropped the tool again onto the table, and leaned forward, peering at Duke from underneath the muffler tubes of the motorcycle. "Fine," he said at last.

Duke found his hands reaching up for his hair out of nervous habit at that agreement to listen. The tangled tendrils of it were still wet, and he pulled it over one shoulder and twisted the tails of it in his fists as he bit his lip.

Tristan gazed up at him, trying to swallow a smile of his own. A good thing Duke didn't know how much he looked like a woman just now.

"I was just angry earlier," Duke started off, awkward despite the brief rehearsal of his speech, "I didn't mean it, and I'm sorry for-"

"No," Tristan interrupted, "Look, you were right."

"What?"

"I did some thinking." Tristan peered out the window of the garage at the wintry late morning sun. "Okay. Not a lot of thinking," He smiled at the chrome gills on the V-Twin sitting near his hip, "but I always make a big deal out of everything. After all, this morning, it was just—"

"Exactly." Duke nodded adamantly. "Just."

"Dev, you know you're my best friend-"

He didn't have time to explain any further. A jangling computerized dit didit didit from Tristan's bedroom resonated through the wall and broke his concentration.

"Shit! Cellphone!" Duke turned to bolt.

"Just let it ring, Dev! I know I don't—"

Dit didit didit…

"I can't—"

"It's Seto?" Tristan asked. His tone was a little harsher than he'd intended.

Pause. They glared at one another, accusing.

Dit didit didit…

"I'll be back."

"…Sure."

The door swished shut behind Duke's retreating back and he sprinted to the cell phone before the fourth ring and the voicemail picked up the call. He dug to the bottom of the messenger bag he'd brought onto the plane, and unearthed the slick chrome-plated handheld. He slid it open. "Hey, it's Dev! Sorry!" Duke apologized to whoever was waiting for him to pick up.

The walls were thin, between the kitchen and the workshop. Nothing but joists, drywall and paint. Back in the garage, Tristan paused when he found he could hear Duke's every word through the division. Part of him knew it was wrong to eavesdrop. He really shouldn't stand around and listen in. After a moment or two, he reached for a soft rag and the new, chromed tip of an exhaust pipe. Stuff couldn't just go on the bike dirty, after all.

Ignorant of his audience, Duke continued his conversation on the other side of the wall.

"Yeah, nice to hear from you too." A pause. "I know I haven't called for a while..." Another pause, this one lengthier than the first. "...yeah, no, sorry about that. I cleaned that out last week. I've been staying with Serenity and her-" Duke's words bit off as if he'd been interrupted. Silence stretched, and Tristan could imagine Duke rolling his eyes in exasperation.

"no, I couldn't have-" Pause. "-all right, fine. You are correct. I wouldn't have stayed with you."

Huh. This was already getting good.

"No," Duke continued, pauses growing shorter now as he seemed to lose patience with the caller, "I never said I was going to! Will you just shut the-" Pause. "No! I didn't tell you because I didn't have to! I'm not trying to hide anything from you!"

Silence stretched again, longer than any of the other pauses. Tristan finished wiping the first chrome tip; picked up the second. He leaned against the edge of the workbench, hands busy. In the hiatus, some of the hysteria seemed to have gone out of the voice on the other side of the wall.

"I told you I was leaving. You just weren't listening-no, you weren't." Pause. "No, I don't have to. But if you want to know that bad, I'm with Tristan. Yeah, you remember Tristan? The guy I was with before." Pause. "Yeah. That guy. The guy who moved to Amarrirr…Amarri…"

Despite himself, Tristan had to swallow a snicker. Duke sounded pissed enough right now to have a problem pronouncing anything.

"Oh, don't start that again. No, I'm not apologizing for saying that." Pause. "Yeah, you and everybody else. Apparently I can't think for myself."

Tristan grimaced at Duke's suddenly acidic tone. Who was he talking to? Nobody in their circle of friends ever warranted that tone of voice. Not even Joey, as dimwitted and overprotective as he could occasionally be.

…Kaiba?

No. Surely not. Old lovers didn't talk to one another like that.

"Well, whatever you think, he's not trying to manipulate me. He's not using me, and-" Pause. "-That's none of your business, dammit!"

Acidic went to angry in a breath. Tristan could almost hear Duke's fist clenching on the other side of the wall. 'Not trying to manipulate me'…they're not talking about me, are they?

"I don't believe any of that shit, Seto!"

Well, that answered one question.

"And if you don't like that word," Duke raged into the receiver, loud enough for the neighbors to hear, and Tristan flinched, "Fuck you!"

Silence after that.

Tristan started for the door.

Duke beat him to it, still scowling. His cell phone was neatly closed again and squeezed in his left hand. The skin was tight and white across his knuckles.

They stared at each other across the threshold.

"It was Seto."

Tristan had that much figured out. "What'd he have to say?"

Sudden vulnerability that telegraphed across already burning green eyes. Duke's eyebrows drew down just a little more. His lips parted, and he paused.

"It doesn't matter," He settled for at last, dropping his gaze as his jaw set in stubborn will, "I don't really care if he knows."

He stepped into Tristan's shoulder, regardless of whether the brunette was ready for him to do that or not. "I'm really sorry for picking on you," he whispered into the folds of Tristan's shirt as the other's arms closed around him, and when he looked up, the spot where his cheek had been pressed came away damp.

There was really nothing Tristan could say to that. And then there was something. "I heard you."

"I bet," Duke's voice was wry

"Are you going home?"

"Depends," Duke leaned his forehead into Tristan's shoulder. His fingertips curled in the rolled sleeves of Tristan's workshirt, and his sigh bled warm through the fabric. "I don't really want to."

"Then don't."

"That's too easy."

"That's a load of shit and you know it." Then his darkly tanned face broke into a grin. "And damn, I'm glad I've never gotten on your really bad side. Do you generally bitch at Kaiba like that, or was this a special occasion?"

A tiny chuckle. "Special occasion. I usually just saved all my bitching for you."