The American Affair: Chapter 6
Apr. 18th, 2012 03:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
scarletjediThe American Affair: Chapter 6
“David,” Irene called, and David turned. She had her desk phone in her hand, one fingertip resting on the “hold” button. “You might want to take this.”
David frowned, glancing back at Sherlock and John where they waited by the elevator, and took the phone from Irene. “Hello?” He said, expecting Kacy, or--God forbid--Jake’s preschool, calling to tell him something was wrong. What he didn’t expect was:
“There had better be a good reason why your ass isn’t in this booth with me right now.”
David froze, glanced at his watch. 5:43. Shit.
“Kurt, I--”
“I will forgive you,” Kurt Hummel, rising star and Broadway's current sweetheart, talked right over David. It was only years of knowing the man that let David know he wasn’t, actually, as peeved as he sounded. Though, he also knew how quickly that could change. “If you say you’re on your way now.”
David closed his eyes. Ever since he was outed at school, Kurt had been a real good friend to him, helping him deal with his parents and the friends who wouldn’t stay, listening when David needed to rail against the world, and knocked sense into him when he was done. They had kept in touch, making sure to make time to check in with each other. This meet-up had already been put off three times, between their various commitments, and, to be honest, a drink sounded really good right now.
“I--” he said, and felt a hand at his elbow. He pulled the phone from his ear, not bothering to cover the receiver. It was John.
“Look, we’re going over to Tim’s place, have a look around. You’ve been a big help, but I’ve seen that look before. Goodness knows, I’ve worn it enough myself since this tosser entered my life,” John gestured over his shoulder at Sherlock, who was talking with Irene by the elevators. “Go. Relax. We’ll find Tim. And when we do, we’ll let you know.”
“That’s it, then?” David said. He could hear Kurt calling his name, sounding less faux-annoyed and more concerned.
“We do this, because it’s our lives as much as our jobs.” John said. “We don’t expect anyone else to give up their life for it. Besides,” John grinned. “Knowing Sherlock’s methods like I do, we might need somebody on the outside to post bail.”
David laughed, and nodded. “And you’ll keep me informed?”
“We will,” John said. “Go on. Have a pint for me, yeah?”
David nodded, and watched as John and Sherlock said goodbye to Irene, and disappeared into the elevator. The phone was silent, but still connected, when he raised it to his ear. “You’re at the bar across the street, right?”
“Yes,” Kurt said. “David, what--?”
“I’ll explain when I get there.”
David hung up the phone, ducked into his office to gather his briefcase and his jacket, said goodbye to Irene with a promise to “talk about this later, you” ( to which Irene had smiled that same smile she had given Sherlock. David didn’t shiver, but it was a near thing), and left his office.
The “bar across the street,” wasn’t, actually, across the street from David’s building. It was across the street from Kurt’s first apartment in Chelsea, and had been their meeting place since Kurt had lived there. Unlike some of the gay bars in the area, this bar had a quiet pub-type feeling to it; it was a place to meet with friends rather than look for a hook-up. In the beginning, when David was so newly out he was standing with his back to the closet door, this place was a comfort. It was less flashy than Scandals, and allowed for some much needed anonymity.
He knew Kurt preferred the place, originally, because he was able to keep his title of most fashionable in the room, and because as much as Kurt liked to dance, he liked to talk to his friends even more.
When David entered the bar, it took a moment for his eyes to adjust, but he soon saw Kurt waving to him from a booth. The years had been very kind to Kurt. David would be jealous of Kurt’s Hollywood good looks, but he could be honest with himself and admit that he wouldn’t know what to do with them if he had them. Not for the first time, David though Puck was a lucky guy.
And wasn’t that a surprise. Nobody had batted an eye when Kurt got into NYADA and moved to New York. There were a few raised eyebrows when Blaine hadn’t followed (though David and Finn hadn’t been surprised; they had been there for the screaming fights). There more eyebrows when Puck left Lima with a duffel bag and his guitar, and showed up on Kurt’s doorstep at the end of Kurt’s freshman year. There were dropped jaws when Kurt brought Puck home as his boyfriend the very next Thanksgiving.
Puck, who went by Noah these days, had started out performing on street corners and in subways for tips. He had met a few other musicians, and started playing open mic nights. Then, the band started getting gigs. Finally, they had played an after-party for the closing night of one of Kurt’s shows, and had been “discovered.” Their first album had come out late the year before, and Puck had been on the road since. It was one of the reasons why Kurt and Dave kept rescheduling; Kurt had an unexpected break and had traveled out to visit Puck. He had gotten back the day before, and they had agreed to meet for drinks.
David sat down and drank deeply from the beer Kurt pushed towards him.
“Well?” Kurt asked. “Tell me everything.”
And David did.
***
“You’re pouting.” John said as they rode the taxi into Brooklyn. It was a bit disconcerting, the yellow cab. Not the right color, not the right shape inside, not on the right side of the road--smelled the same, though.
“I’m not pouting,” Sherlock snapped, glaring at John.
“Yes you are,” John said mildly.
“No, I’m--”
“You are, because David isn’t here to be impressed by you.” John’s voice was almost sing-song and he couldn’t quite keep the smile from his lips. “You’re missing your audience.”
Sherlock sniffed. “You’re impressed by me.”
“It’s not the same,” John said, quickly. “And you know it.”
Sherlock grunted and folded his arms over his coat. John laughed. He couldn’t help it; it was his normal reaction to Sherlock acting like an overgrown child. “So. Irene Adler is still alive.”
“Yes.”
“You enjoyed seeing her, again.” John said. Sherlock shrugged.
“She provided a worthy puzzle. It’s good to see that mind still in action.” Sherlock brightened. “Ah. We’re here!” The taxi stopped and Sherlock jumped from the car, leaving John, like always, to figure out the American money and pay the driver. By the time John had joined Sherlock, he was already at the door with the lockpicks.
“What are you doing?” John hissed. “It’s broad daylight!”
“Nobody’s home, and I have to see his room.” Sherlock said. The door lock popped and the door opened. “You don’t have to follow me, if you don’t wish.” And then Sherlock was inside. John hesitated on the stoop for a moment, and with a muffled curse, he joined Sherlock in the house.
Sherlock was, of course, already up stairs working on the lock to Tim’s room. John moved to follow, but was stopped by the pathetic meowing of a small ginger cat. John paused, and bent over to scratch the cat behind the ears. The meowing turn to rather loud purring, and John smiled. “Hello, there,” he said. “Do you know where Tim’s gone off to, then?”
“I do hope you’re not expecting an answer,” Sherlock said. He was standing at the top of the staring, looking down at them.
John made a face. “That was fast,” he said. “You done, then?”
“Yes,” Sherlock said distractedly, walking down the stairs. His eyes were on the cat. John waited for Sherlock to continue, but didn’t have much expectation of it. That was Sherlock’s thinking face. Suddenly it brightened. “That’s it!” He cried. “Oh, how simple.” He strode forward, past John and the cat and to the door. “Come on, John, he called back. “I’ve got it!” John stood, and then heard. “And bring the cat!”
“Bring the--?” John said. He realized he was talking to himself. With a heavy sigh he picked up the cat, cradling her against his chest, and zipping her up inside his jacket. “Of course, bring the cat. Why wouldn’t I bring the cat. What the the cat have to do with anything?”
“John!”
“Hold on!” John called back. He made sure the cat the secure, and left the house.
Chapter 5
Chapter 7
“David,” Irene called, and David turned. She had her desk phone in her hand, one fingertip resting on the “hold” button. “You might want to take this.”
David frowned, glancing back at Sherlock and John where they waited by the elevator, and took the phone from Irene. “Hello?” He said, expecting Kacy, or--God forbid--Jake’s preschool, calling to tell him something was wrong. What he didn’t expect was:
“There had better be a good reason why your ass isn’t in this booth with me right now.”
David froze, glanced at his watch. 5:43. Shit.
“Kurt, I--”
“I will forgive you,” Kurt Hummel, rising star and Broadway's current sweetheart, talked right over David. It was only years of knowing the man that let David know he wasn’t, actually, as peeved as he sounded. Though, he also knew how quickly that could change. “If you say you’re on your way now.”
David closed his eyes. Ever since he was outed at school, Kurt had been a real good friend to him, helping him deal with his parents and the friends who wouldn’t stay, listening when David needed to rail against the world, and knocked sense into him when he was done. They had kept in touch, making sure to make time to check in with each other. This meet-up had already been put off three times, between their various commitments, and, to be honest, a drink sounded really good right now.
“I--” he said, and felt a hand at his elbow. He pulled the phone from his ear, not bothering to cover the receiver. It was John.
“Look, we’re going over to Tim’s place, have a look around. You’ve been a big help, but I’ve seen that look before. Goodness knows, I’ve worn it enough myself since this tosser entered my life,” John gestured over his shoulder at Sherlock, who was talking with Irene by the elevators. “Go. Relax. We’ll find Tim. And when we do, we’ll let you know.”
“That’s it, then?” David said. He could hear Kurt calling his name, sounding less faux-annoyed and more concerned.
“We do this, because it’s our lives as much as our jobs.” John said. “We don’t expect anyone else to give up their life for it. Besides,” John grinned. “Knowing Sherlock’s methods like I do, we might need somebody on the outside to post bail.”
David laughed, and nodded. “And you’ll keep me informed?”
“We will,” John said. “Go on. Have a pint for me, yeah?”
David nodded, and watched as John and Sherlock said goodbye to Irene, and disappeared into the elevator. The phone was silent, but still connected, when he raised it to his ear. “You’re at the bar across the street, right?”
“Yes,” Kurt said. “David, what--?”
“I’ll explain when I get there.”
David hung up the phone, ducked into his office to gather his briefcase and his jacket, said goodbye to Irene with a promise to “talk about this later, you” ( to which Irene had smiled that same smile she had given Sherlock. David didn’t shiver, but it was a near thing), and left his office.
The “bar across the street,” wasn’t, actually, across the street from David’s building. It was across the street from Kurt’s first apartment in Chelsea, and had been their meeting place since Kurt had lived there. Unlike some of the gay bars in the area, this bar had a quiet pub-type feeling to it; it was a place to meet with friends rather than look for a hook-up. In the beginning, when David was so newly out he was standing with his back to the closet door, this place was a comfort. It was less flashy than Scandals, and allowed for some much needed anonymity.
He knew Kurt preferred the place, originally, because he was able to keep his title of most fashionable in the room, and because as much as Kurt liked to dance, he liked to talk to his friends even more.
When David entered the bar, it took a moment for his eyes to adjust, but he soon saw Kurt waving to him from a booth. The years had been very kind to Kurt. David would be jealous of Kurt’s Hollywood good looks, but he could be honest with himself and admit that he wouldn’t know what to do with them if he had them. Not for the first time, David though Puck was a lucky guy.
And wasn’t that a surprise. Nobody had batted an eye when Kurt got into NYADA and moved to New York. There were a few raised eyebrows when Blaine hadn’t followed (though David and Finn hadn’t been surprised; they had been there for the screaming fights). There more eyebrows when Puck left Lima with a duffel bag and his guitar, and showed up on Kurt’s doorstep at the end of Kurt’s freshman year. There were dropped jaws when Kurt brought Puck home as his boyfriend the very next Thanksgiving.
Puck, who went by Noah these days, had started out performing on street corners and in subways for tips. He had met a few other musicians, and started playing open mic nights. Then, the band started getting gigs. Finally, they had played an after-party for the closing night of one of Kurt’s shows, and had been “discovered.” Their first album had come out late the year before, and Puck had been on the road since. It was one of the reasons why Kurt and Dave kept rescheduling; Kurt had an unexpected break and had traveled out to visit Puck. He had gotten back the day before, and they had agreed to meet for drinks.
David sat down and drank deeply from the beer Kurt pushed towards him.
“Well?” Kurt asked. “Tell me everything.”
And David did.
***
“You’re pouting.” John said as they rode the taxi into Brooklyn. It was a bit disconcerting, the yellow cab. Not the right color, not the right shape inside, not on the right side of the road--smelled the same, though.
“I’m not pouting,” Sherlock snapped, glaring at John.
“Yes you are,” John said mildly.
“No, I’m--”
“You are, because David isn’t here to be impressed by you.” John’s voice was almost sing-song and he couldn’t quite keep the smile from his lips. “You’re missing your audience.”
Sherlock sniffed. “You’re impressed by me.”
“It’s not the same,” John said, quickly. “And you know it.”
Sherlock grunted and folded his arms over his coat. John laughed. He couldn’t help it; it was his normal reaction to Sherlock acting like an overgrown child. “So. Irene Adler is still alive.”
“Yes.”
“You enjoyed seeing her, again.” John said. Sherlock shrugged.
“She provided a worthy puzzle. It’s good to see that mind still in action.” Sherlock brightened. “Ah. We’re here!” The taxi stopped and Sherlock jumped from the car, leaving John, like always, to figure out the American money and pay the driver. By the time John had joined Sherlock, he was already at the door with the lockpicks.
“What are you doing?” John hissed. “It’s broad daylight!”
“Nobody’s home, and I have to see his room.” Sherlock said. The door lock popped and the door opened. “You don’t have to follow me, if you don’t wish.” And then Sherlock was inside. John hesitated on the stoop for a moment, and with a muffled curse, he joined Sherlock in the house.
Sherlock was, of course, already up stairs working on the lock to Tim’s room. John moved to follow, but was stopped by the pathetic meowing of a small ginger cat. John paused, and bent over to scratch the cat behind the ears. The meowing turn to rather loud purring, and John smiled. “Hello, there,” he said. “Do you know where Tim’s gone off to, then?”
“I do hope you’re not expecting an answer,” Sherlock said. He was standing at the top of the staring, looking down at them.
John made a face. “That was fast,” he said. “You done, then?”
“Yes,” Sherlock said distractedly, walking down the stairs. His eyes were on the cat. John waited for Sherlock to continue, but didn’t have much expectation of it. That was Sherlock’s thinking face. Suddenly it brightened. “That’s it!” He cried. “Oh, how simple.” He strode forward, past John and the cat and to the door. “Come on, John, he called back. “I’ve got it!” John stood, and then heard. “And bring the cat!”
“Bring the--?” John said. He realized he was talking to himself. With a heavy sigh he picked up the cat, cradling her against his chest, and zipping her up inside his jacket. “Of course, bring the cat. Why wouldn’t I bring the cat. What the the cat have to do with anything?”
“John!”
“Hold on!” John called back. He made sure the cat the secure, and left the house.
Chapter 5
Chapter 7
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