Fearless Leader (Juxtapose City) (10 page)

Bee frowned disapprovingly, but nodded. "You got it, Black."

Dinner was strained, to say the least. Haney kept up a constant stream of chatter, for some reason thinking it would loosen everyone up. Black congratulated himself on not telling him to shut up and eat.

"I'm curious about the other JC team," Starr said, interrupting Haney in the middle of his discourse on the best places in the neighborhood to get pizza. "Are they housed near here?"

"They're in the south side," Bee told him as he wound lo mein around his fork. "Captain thought it would be more practical to have a team available on both sides of the city."

"Word at the station is that you're building a better record than Lieutenant Sundhill," Sola commented, watching Black intently.

Sola had been staring at him all throughout dinner and it was giving Black a headache. "Both teams are racking up the best success rates in the department. This isn't a competition."

"Tell that to Sundhill, the prick," Jake muttered into his food.

"He’s pretty popular in the department."

Black met the cool ice of Sola's gaze, hearing the unsaid comparison. "I'm not out to make friends."

Sola dropped his eyes to his food and speared a water chestnut with his fork. "Must be the rivalry. People wouldn't have any other reason to dislike you, right?"

Black chose not to respond. His head was aching from both the uncomfortable tension in the room and the effort it took to block himself from Starr. He could feel the empath's eyes on the side of his face. He pushed away his food and stood up.

"I want you all to get to know each other better while I'm gone. We're going to be placing our lives in each other's hands so we'd better learn to start trusting each other. Tomorrow we'll be attending the service for Max and Lucas, so get your rest."

"Where are you going?" Jake demanded.

"Out."

Jake stared after the other man's back, his hand clenched around his fork. "He's going out with Dickerson, isn't he?" he demanded of Haney.

The younger man shrugged helplessly.

"I wish I knew what the hell they did..."

"It's the captain's business," Bee told him firmly. "If Black needed you to know he'd tell you."

Starr leaned back in his chair. "Captain Dick-a-lick requires our leader's services often, I take it?"

Jake glared at him. "It's nothing like what
you
provide the captain."

Starr just smirked, his expression skeptical.

"Black's pretty secretive, huh?" Sola said around a mouthful of barbecue pork. "Does anyone even know his first name?"

"Who cares?" Jake muttered, grabbing his and Black's abandoned plates. "He can keep his damned secrets."

On his way past the table to the kitchen he 'accidentally' bumped Starr's shoulder, making the empath spill the juice he had been drinking down the front of his shirt.
God, I am such a child
, Jake thought to himself as he listened to the blond man curse. But he smiled just the same.

Black left his electro-bike at the station and signed out an unmarked cruiser. He took off his leather jacket and laid it across the passenger seat as he began the drive to Dickerson's house. He was wearing black silk pants and a red satin shirt opened at the throat. He'd rolled the sleeves up to his elbows. A gold stud glinted in his ear but he wore no other jewelry. The familiar comfort of his gun was absent.

As usual, it wasn't Dickerson's wife who answered the door it was the captain himself. Dressed simply in a black suit and shirt, Dickerson nodded approvingly when he saw Black. "Let's go."

The Hop was a discreet club on the outer fringes of the Blue Square, the heart of Juxtapose City's night scene. The club itself was in a dark building on an unlit street. A single bulb burning over a metal door served as its entrance. Black parked the craft up the corner from the building and shut off the engine, waiting for instructions.

"Turn around," Dickerson said from the back seat.

Black shifted in his seat until he faced the older man. He remained still as a large hand lightly touched his hair.

"I’m glad you went with this," Dickerson said. Black knew he wasn't referring to his hair. "You look like your mother."

"That's the point."

Dickerson smirked. "It must be strange to see yourself like this..." He trailed off, seeming to forget that his fingers still rested in Black's hair. The police captain's eyes cleared and he dropped his hand to finger the collar of Black's shirt. "I like this. It looks good."

"What do you want this time?" Black asked, trying to keep his voice even.

Dickerson smiled but it wasn't a pleasant smile. "I think I miss your little empath. Let's make it interesting."

Black's fingernails dug into the palms of his hands. "Whatever you want."

Dickerson nodded. Black got out of the car. The air was cool against his sweating skin as he walked toward the bulb-lit doorway.

Calyx sat up in bed. This wasn't working. Sola must be dreaming about driving a tank over little old ladies because Starr was picking up some disturbing
rage/pleasure/remorse
sensations in rising and fading waves from the man. What was wrong with that guy? If this was how it was going to be Calyx was going to demand a little Bliss nightcap before going to sleep from now on.

Scratching at his ribs, Calyx dug around the floor beside the bed and found his cigarettes. The nicotine rush soothed his nerves and he sat back against the pillows and tried to relax. He missed Black. He went ahead and laughed aloud at himself but it was true. Darkness was the only interesting person around here. The rest were boring stiffs.

He thought back to the conversation at dinner. He doubted Black was doing anything like what
he'd
been forced to do with Captain Dickhead but he was curious all the same. Secret assignments?
What a man of mystery you are, Darkness.

As if on cue, he heard the electric whine of Black’s bike pulling into the garage. Calyx glanced at the clock. Almost 3:00 AM. What could last until such a late hour? The garage swallowed the whirr of the bike and the next sound Calyx heard was the downstairs door opening and closing. He listened to the unsteady tread of heavy footsteps up the stairs and recognized it instantly. Black was drunk.

"What happened to your vaunted control?" Calyx murmured into the darkness of his room. A frown dragged his lips down. Not only was Black drunk he wasn't blocking himself.

And Calyx could feel him.

The cigarette fell from between Calyx's fingers. It was only the smell of burning fabric that jolted him into awareness to pat it out.

Calyx shoved his fist between his teeth as emotions suddenly swamped him.
Disgust/anger/helplessness/betrayal/pain/pain/pain...

Choking on a cry, Calyx hurtled out of bed and dragged on the clothes Jake had stained at dinner. The moment he heard Black's bedroom door shut he bolted out into the hallway and threw himself down the stairs. He let himself out the front door and broke into a run, heading away from the lights and running instead towards the darkest part of the neighborhood. He knew he could get himself killed by wandering the streets by himself. If anyone recognized him as the snitch he'd become his life wouldn't be worth the price of his blood.

But desperation overrode caution and Calyx needed a hit. In the blackest alley he could find his instincts steered him to a bony man in a tattered trench coat. He didn't bother bargaining; he paid too much and he didn't regret it.

Amazingly, he wandered his way back to the Clubhouse. He dropped down onto the stoop and fell back against the front door. Everything was just fine now. Everything, in fact, was beautiful...

Bee knew the rule: don't get involved with your teammates because one day you may have to watch them die. Losing a teammate's life was allowed to hurt, but it couldn't compromise your decisions. Bee knew this, he understood the reasoning. But it didn't change his feelings for Haney.

That was fine; Bee was good at separating his emotions from the job. He was a professional. He'd been in the department for years. He knew the drill. It was only now, in the realm of dreams when he had no control, that he regretted his relationship with his teammate. It was the one place where he was vulnerable. And this nightmare was a perfect example why.

In the dream, he and Haney were in the Dugout, sitting on the couch watching TV. The door to the training room opened down the hall. Bee wouldn't have given it a second thought but with the opening and closing of the door came a squishy sound, like socks pressing down in wet sneakers. It was summer; no reason for rain. So Bee turned.

Starr didn't look the way he had when they'd all met him yesterday. He looked too thin, his bones jutting from his hips through the stained leather pants he wore. His cheekbones were razor sharp, stretched taut over prominent bone. His feline green eyes were too bright -- fever bright -- but the skin around them was sunken and shadowed. Bee recognized the look. Drugged to the gills. It only somewhat explained the bloody knife in his hand.

It was a big butcher knife, straight out of a horror flick. And just as in those teen movies the empath was slashing madly with it, not aiming, just filling the air with flashes of silver. Bee leaped from the couch, grabbing at Haney's arm to yank him away from the descending knife. But the blade sank deep into Haney's shoulder. Bee watched horrified as his lover's face twisted into an expression first of surprise then pain as Starr retracted the blade and slammed it home again.

Bee howled in anguish, his feet pinned to the carpet by invisible hands. He tried to reach for Haney, tried to grab the empath's knife with his bare hand -- but Bee could do nothing. All he could do was watch helplessly as his friend's -- his lover's -- blood saturated the fabric of the couch.

"Why did you trust him?" Haney asked Bee in a pain-wracked voice. His light green eyes filled with tears. "You should have kept me safe from him."

"I didn't know," Bee sobbed, tearing at his own hair.

"Don't trust him," Haney whispered. "You can't trust him."

Bee screamed as the other man's eyes rolled up into his head. He heard low, mocking laughter.

Starr smiled at him and brought the blade to his lips. "Three down, two to go…"

Bee shot upright in the sheets of his bed. His T-shirt clung wetly to his chest. He raised a hand to his heart and felt it thundering beneath his skin.
Dream
, he told himself firmly.
Wasn't real.

When his heart had calmed somewhat he slipped out of bed and into the hall. He let himself into Haney's bedroom and closed the door quietly behind him. Once beside the other man's bed Bee sank to his knees on the carpet. He had to touch Haney, had to be sure that
this
wasn't the dream.

Haney's eyes fluttered open at the touch to his cheek.

"Hey, big guy," he murmured sleepily. When Bee's expression registered through his drowsiness he caught the larger man's fingers. "Bee, what's wrong?"

Bee sucked in a shaky breath and managed a smile. "Nothing. It's nothing."

Haney frowned, climbing higher into wakefulness. "Why do you have that look on your face? You look... scared."

"Just let me watch you sleep, okay?"

Smiling bemusedly, Haney scooted back on the mattress and lifted the sheet. Bee slid into the warmth and pulled the smaller man tight against him.

"You're heart's going crazy," Haney said, studying the other man's face. "This isn't nothing."

"Yes, it is," Bee murmured, pushing Haney's face against his shoulder. He smoothed his hand over the short blonde hair. "It was just a dream, Haney. Just a dream."

The words were more to convince himself than anything.

Black's PRU buzzed six seconds before his alarm went off. He rolled over and blindly slapped his hand down on the alarm before fumbling for the Personal Retrieval Unit. He was too tired to find the No Video button.

"Well, good morning, beautiful. Rough night with the captain? You look like hell."

"What do you want?" Black grumbled, dragging a pillow over his eyes.

"Just thought you might like to know that our resident empath is currently passed out on the front steps of the Clubhouse." Jake laughed. "I always figured we'd end up with some bum on our porch. I just never thought it'd be one of our own."

Black filtered the other man's words through the tribal beat that pounded against the interior of his skull. "You're joking."

"Would you like me to take a photo?" Jake offered happily. "It might come in handy later."

Black's first reaction was to demand if Jake had done something to the empath while Black was off with Dickerson. He shelved that idea, knowing it would be wiser to get all the facts first. He shoved away the pillow and sat up, his eyes closed as he rubbed his hand across them.