First We Take Manhattan (6 page)

So Alan walks right up to Dave while he's staring at the vacant docking station next to Stonewall, holds out his hand, and says, "I'm your new partner."

Dave stares at the proffered hand.
New partner.
The anger bubbles to the surface—toward the Diamondbacks, toward Burns, toward Alan—but Dave's voice is cool and aloof when he says, "No, you're not."

He walks away, away from the gaping hole Archangel should be filling. He catches the stunned look on Alan's face, but he doesn't apologize.

Burns gives him hell for it afterward. He doesn't know how she caught wind of the exchange, because Alan doesn't look like the snitching type. She knows, though, and tells him to act like a grown man with a job to do—otherwise he won't have a job to do much longer.

It's a succinct warning—and a serious one. Dave still doesn't apologize to Alan, but he shakes his hand before they head out together.

*~*~*

By the fifth month, they've established a routine. Gabe's surgeries are a rousing success, and Dr. Richmond pronounces him fit for physical therapy. He regains enough mobility to get himself around on crutches, less painfully than he had in the beginning. Gradually, his parents stop staying with him around the clock. He still has a long way to go, but everyone is optimistic that he will regain full use of his knee and go back to the MED.

Dave swings by most nights after work. He makes sure Gabe has eaten well, helps him with anything that needs to be done around the apartment, and keeps him company. More often than not, they end up sitting around watching mindless television programs.

"You're here all the time," Gabe says one night. "You don't have to, you know. I'm okay." He doesn't look away from the television when he says it.

Dave watches the faint blue light dance across his face. "I want to," he says, and he means it. "It's fine."

Gabe isn't convinced, though. "Tim isn't upset?"

Dave manages not to wince when Gabe hammers that nail in. For weeks, for months, Dave-and-Tim has been the thing that's not important right now—the thing they will talk about
later
. He hasn't wanted to discuss it with Gabe at all, because in many ways, Dave-and-Tim is Gabe's fault. Sort of.

Gabe has been nothing but supportive and amazing. Even Tim loves Gabe, despite everything. When Gabe came into Dave's life five years ago, Tim had welcomed him into their home with open arms. But since then, Gabe has wandered through that home, finding water damage and cheap Gyprock hidden behind perfectly good walls. He doesn't mean to do it, but he exposes the imperfection of Dave and Tim's relationship.

Tim only started calling him "David" after Gabe showed up.

"Tim's fine," Dave manages to say. "He's busy at the office."

Of course, this turns out to be the night Tim wants to talk. When Dave gets home a little after midnight, he's surprised to find the kitchen light on. He's grown accustomed to climbing in next to Tim and waking long after he's gone. His stomach flip-flops as he walks into the light. He's nervous; he's nervous to talk to his partner of nearly seven years. It hits him now, how messed up that is.

Tim is sitting at the table, chin resting on his fists. He's dressed for bed, wearing the navy silk pajama bottoms Dave had gotten him for his birthday. His blond hair is loose and fluffy, hooked back behind his ears. He looks tired. When did he start looking so exhausted? It makes Dave's heart sink, because it's possible those bags under Tim's eyes have been there for five months, and Dave just didn't care to notice.

"David." One word, and already Dave can tell it's over. It's all over; seven years together, coming undone. Gabe has been plucking at loose threads for ages, and now they're unraveling.

Dave pulls out a chair and sits opposite him. He wants to reach for Tim, to salvage whatever's left, but he doesn't. "Timothy," he says, quietly.

"I've tried to be patient." Tim closes his eyes briefly, and Dave's heart sinks further. He's rehearsed this. "I've tried to be understanding. I've tried to be accommodating. I think I've been all of these things."

"You have," Dave whispers, because Tim deserves that much. He deserves that much and more.

"But it's not enough." A dam breaks, and the words flow freely now. "It's not enough for you.
I'm
not enough for you. I've barely seen you in half a year, David. That's not conflicting work schedules; that's us not being a couple. I, I thought we were going through a rough patch, but no rough patch lasts the better part of two years. We're not working, David, and we haven't been working in a long time. We're just … we want different things."

"Do we?" Dave asks. He keeps his gaze aimed at the centerpiece, a gaudy bauble made of Popsicle sticks courtesy of Tim's niece that's been here longer than Dave. "I love you, Tim."

"You did." Tim's voice softens. "Maybe you still do, in a different way. Just like the way I still care for you. You don't need me, though. I think we both know what you do need. Whom you need."

Dave looks up, startled. "No, you don't mean—Tim, no. Gabe and I, we aren't … we're partners. We're the best partners, but we're still just partners and best friends. Gabe and I are not, we haven't—"

"I know you haven't," Tim says, smiling. "That's what makes it beautiful and—and painful to watch. It comes so naturally, you both really have no idea." He rubs at his face. "David, I'm not just doing this for you. I'm doing it for me; I can't handle this anymore. Any of it—Gabe, your work, your strange schedule … I just can't. Maybe I'm not strong enough. Maybe I'm not good enough. I just know I can't. I'm sorry."

They lapse into heavy silence. There are no words for how Dave feels:  torn up and exposed, light and free, relieved and devastated all at the same time. He drops his head into his folded arms and wars with laughing or crying. "I'm sorry, too." It's all either of them can say, but it's not enough. Nothing will ever be enough. All they can do is pick up the pieces and move on.

"You can stay here until you find a place," Tim says, standing up. "But if you don't mind, I'll insist you sleep on the couch."

"Yeah." Dave swallows, closing his eyes. "Yeah, okay."

He keeps his eyes closed, doesn't want to watch a chapter of his life walk out of the kitchen. He sits that way for a long time, his thoughts spiraling in all directions. He wonders where it started to go wrong. When did Dave start thinking of Gabe first and Tim second? How did their love cool to comfortable affection without him noticing?

Unbidden, he pictures Gabe, all soft eyes and friendly smiles. Dave covers his face with his hands and groans. This is too much on top of everything else. Dave pushes up from the table and goes to bury his grief in frozen yogurt.

He doesn't tell Gabe.

*~*~*

Dave's thirty-second birthday rolls around without pomp or circumstance. He doesn't have much to celebrate these days; he's currently living in a box on top of a bar, because that was the only vacancy in his price range he could get on such short notice. Work just isn't the same with Alan, and Jed is on a different shift. Besides which, throwing any kind of party—in or out, small or large—would involve explaining Tim's absence.

Tim remembers, of course. Dave gets a message from him that essentially reads,
"Sorry for the rough year, keep your chin up."
It's simultaneously sweet and awkward; it's Tim staring at his phone, thinking
"We broke up, but seven years is too long to pretend I don't know, so should I say anything?"
and deciding that yes, he should.

Gabe remembers, too. When Dave swings by his apartment for their regular exercises, he finds a box of cupcakes and a pot of fresh java waiting for him on the coffee table. Gabe smiles from his seat on the couch.

"I cheated," he confesses. "I ordered from the bakery down the street."

"Aww," Dave coos, plopping down onto the cushions. "Thank you, Gabriel. What did I do to deserve this precious gift?"

Gabe shrugs. "You're you." Then he ducks his head, embarrassed. "You've been amazing these past few months, Dave. I couldn't—I couldn't have done this without you." He says it with such sincerity, such raw honesty, that Dave has to reach for a joke just to alleviate the mood.

"Yeah, you could have. Not as well, though." He rubs the back of his neck. "Ready to start?"

Gabe leans back, wincing a little. "Let's take today off? It's your birthday; why did you even want to come?"

Dave plays it off. "No rest for the wicked. We want you back on the force, the sooner the better."

But Gabe persists. "Tim didn't have plans for tonight?"

He knows, Dave realizes. Maybe he even knew the day after it had happened. Maybe he'd noticed the bulge Dave hid behind a painting but had been too polite to say anything. He's bringing it up now, though, lifting the frame off the wall, and the water damage is too great; it's about to burst. It's going to cost more to fix now than it would have, had he not ignored it in the first place.

"Shit, Gabe," is all he says.

"Damn it, Dave, why didn't you tell me?" Gabe makes to get up, but his knee protests so he has to yell from his seat. "I knew it; I knew something was going on with you two. How long had it been going on?" From the corner of his eye, Dave sees Gabe grip a handful of sofa cushion and squeeze it tight. "It's because of me, isn't it? He was mad about you spending so much time with me? I knew he never liked me. I knew—"

"Gabe," Dave tries to stop him, because he isn't entirely wrong, "Gabe, let's not." He reaches out, blindly, and rests his hand over Gabe's fist. Gabe's fingers are cold, the tension making him shake. "Please, Gabe, can we not?"

Gabe pulls away angrily, with as much force as he can muster. It's a pathetic attempt, but Dave lets him go without comment. He stares at the cupcakes while Gabe shimmies his way across the couch. "You should have told me," he accuses, sounding winded from his efforts—too winded, considering what he had just done.

"You had enough to worry about," Dave says. "You didn't need to worry about me on top of everything." Concerned, he shifts on the couch so he's facing Gabe. "What's wrong with you? You sound exhausted."

Gabe at least has the grace to look contrite. "I did my exercises already." He nods toward the cupcakes. "I wanted to make sure you had a free evening. Look, Dave, I …" He rubs at his face. "Shit, I can't just …"

"I don't want to talk about it," Dave stresses.

At first, it looks like Gabe is going to start up again. Instead, the fight drains out of him and he stares at his hands. "I have to go sign some papers at the station on Monday. Insurance stuff. I have to go in person, and, and I
want
to. Chief says," his voice wavers, "Chief says Archangel is repaired."

Dave's head shoots up. "Really?" Gabe's mech had been a low priority, given the fact that Gabe has been given over a year off.

"I want to see it," Gabe whispers. "I want you to come with me."

"Of course," Dave says. "I wouldn't miss it."

Gabe doesn't look at him, but he's smiling. Dave reaches for the cupcakes.

*~*~*

Archangel looks brand new, smooth and unscathed. They even repainted the wings on its back. In fact, the mech looks fresh off the assembly line for a greenhorn. Dave says as much, and Gabe cracks a grin.

The visit to the 12 Precinct station has been a memorable one. Congratulations and well-wishes hit Gabe left and right. He smiles and accepts them all graciously. He's holding up like a champ; today has been his longest trip on the cane to which he'd recently graduated. Dave can tell he's worn out, though; there will be plenty of rest later.

"I want to climb in," Gabe says, staring up at the cockpit.

Dave bites his tongue. Just getting into an Enforcer requires decent mobility. Climbing into one quickly and efficiently is another matter entirely.

He looks around. Whether by accident or design, they are alone in the garage. "Gabe, I don't think—"

"I need to climb in," Gabe amends in a whisper.

Dave watches him hobble closer, evidently trying his hardest not to stumble. Dave knows it's going to end in disaster. He knows the instant Gabe lifts his bad leg, the moment Gabe reaches up. He's moving too slowly; he'll never get the momentum to hop up at this rate. Just bending his knee like that has got to be excruciating for him.

Dave's moving before he realizes it. This time, when Gabe falls, Dave is there to catch him—like he's supposed to be—and stop the pieces from shattering. Gabe yelps, slips, and tumbles into Dave's arms. Gabe's not so heavy anymore; Dave absorbs his weight with ease, doing his best to favor Gabe's bad leg when he brings them both gently to the floor.

It's suddenly conspicuously silent in the garage. Even the constant hum of the power cells seems to quiet. Gabe hasn't moved. He'd thrown his arms tight around Dave's neck when he'd fallen—a reflex—and his face is still buried against Dave's skin.

It's a bit awkward now, with Gabe nearly sitting down and Dave kneeling, but Gabe still hasn't moved. Dave thinks he's hurt himself and asks, "Are you all right?" When Gabe doesn't reply, Dave's concern quadruples. He's in the middle of trying to wrestle out of Gabe's hold when he feels the wetness on his neck.

"Oh," he says. "
Oh.
" He brings his arms around Gabe again, this time to comfort. He cards his fingers through Gabe's soft hair and hugs him tight. "Hey. Hey, it's okay." Across the garage, the side door opens, and Ginette, one of the engineers, returns from lunch. She stops short at Dave's pointed look, and mercifully disappears back into the station.

However inconspicuous Gabe was trying to be, the illusion is shattered:  his next shaky breath is colored with a sob. "How is it okay? I'm a pilot, I'm a MED. I can't even—Dave, I can't even get into my mech."

"Give yourself time," Dave says. "God, Gabe, it hasn't even been a year. You know that. Don't push yourself too hard. You'll get there."

"What if I don't?" Gabe asks, sounding wretched. "What if the doctors are wrong and my knee is busted for good? You know how my exercises have been going. If I can't even get into Archangel after all I've been trying, then … Dave, I, I don't know how to
do
anything else."