Date: Thu, 5 Aug 2010 15:09:57 -0400
From: Tinnean <tinneantoo@embarqmail.com>
Subject: Into the Lion's Den

Notes: This is Matheson's POV. Since the tallest building in Boston is the
John Hancock Tower at 60 stories, needless to say I've disguised the
location of Huntingdon Corp. *whistles innocently*

Thanks to Tim Mead and Tracy for looking this over, and as always, to Gail.

Into the Lion's Den
Part 1/1

I never thought of myself as gay, not that I had anything against it. The
Mathesons were a very large family, and it made sense that if ten percent
of the population were gay, then ten percent of us might be as well.

Take my Uncle Pete, for instance. He was my Dad's older brother, and a
Marine, and gay, and everyone in the family accepted him, so it wasn't as
if the worry of being ostracized by those I loved was what kept me from
wondering if I might also be gay. It just never crossed my mind. I'd been
dating girls since I was fourteen, and aside from the kissing thing - god,
I loved kissing, but Cindy had complained I'd hurt her lip, and ever after
I made sure I was careful, which kind of took the pleasure out of it, but
there you go - it was the best thing since ginger ale, as the nun who
taught my confraternity class was fond of saying.

Although I didn't think she had dating in mind when she made that
comparison. Nuns weren't supposed to know about dating. Were they?

I had been surprised and a little startled by my reaction to a male nurse
in Southside Hospital when my cousin Harry had driven me there after
accidently shooting me in the ass with a nail gun, but afterwards, I
decided it was probably because the cute guy was so androgynous-looking.
He'd have made just as cute a girl.

Of course, there was that thing with Michael, but that was only a couple of
months that spring of our junior year in college, and it wasn't dating, and
I was twenty, and it didn't last...

~~~

Michael Shaw and I first met in the sixth grade. We were new kids in a new
school in a new city, both being from New York. "That's a pretty skanky hat
you're wearing," he said, referring to my NY Yankees cap.

"Yeah, well the Mets suck canal water!" I sneered at him, knocking off the
baseball cap he wore.

But then the Cambridge kids came in, with BoSox logos all over everything.
It was us against them, and the start of our friendship.

From middle school we went on to the same high school, and then the same
college. We were rushed by the same fraternity, and now shared a suite of
rooms in our fraternity house. The suite consisted of a living area and two
bedrooms with a connecting bathroom.

Jill, my stepmom, worried that I wouldn't be able to comfortably share
living space with Michael, since he was an only child and his parents had
given him the entire third floor of their house on George Street. Both Jill
and Dad's chief concern was that Michael would be a beast to live with, but
I'd known him for too long to let his moods get to me.

But space wasn't the biggest bone of contention between us - that turned
out to be the laundry. If I didn't do it, it just didn't get done. I'd
gotten tired of the place looking like a pigsty, even if I'd just
straightened it up earlier that day, finding Michael's socks and underwear
all over our living room.

That was the reason I'd stopped bringing girls over. His clothes were the
best Abercrombie and Fitch had to offer, but he certainly didn't buy his
underwear there. They were... different; wild colors, cut low in front, and
sometimes without much material over the butt.

I'd also grown tired of arguing about it with Michael; it was just easier
doing it myself.

But I drew the line at putting away his clothes or hanging them up - I was
his friend, not his mother.

****

I climbed the stairs from the laundry in the basement, grousing under my
breath. I had a project that needing finishing, research on a topic for
math, a paper on biology, and this was the fourth load of towels I'd done
this week. Michael went through towels the way Dog Three, our black Lab,
went through cans of Mighty Dog, and of course, if I wanted a clean towel,
I was the one who needed to wash them.

I went into the bathroom and began hanging them up.

The door to Michael's room was open, and I noticed the computer on his
desk.

I'd known the Hewlett Packard was in the box his father had sent him, but I
hadn't had the opportunity to examine it yet. Computers were a passion of
mine, and one of the subjects I was majoring in.

Of course Dad had made sure I had a computer too, but it was the Dell
workhorse I'd had for years.

I couldn't resist going closer to take a look, and I wasn't surprised to
see the HP had all the latest bells and whistles. I'd added a few bells and
whistles of my own to my computer, but it was nothing compared to
Michael's, sleek and shining and fresh from the factory.

He had left it on, and it had gone to screensaver mode. Michael, being
Michael, had a screensaver of a tanned, busty blonde, the fingers of one
hand toying with a tit, while she sucked on the middle finger of her other
hand. She sat back on her heels, thighs spread wide, and since she'd shaved
her pubic hair, nothing was left to the imagination.

Where did he find screensavers like that? The most I could find was a deck
plan of the Titanic, which was boring, not to mention a little creepy, and
so I'd disabled it.

I thought I heard him coming up behind me, and I whirled around to say
something innocuous, but I was alone. My action caused me to knock into the
desk, jolting the computer out of screensaver mode, and the site it opened
up to had my mouth going dry and my cock growing hard and heavy in the
khakis I was wearing.

A guy in a leather mask with a zipper across the mouth was restrained on
his hands and knees on a padded bench, his thighs spread wide, his slicked
hole exposed. Once the viewer got an eyeful of his hole, the bench was
moved around so he was sideways to the camera, and some kind of machine
with a vibrator at the end of a piston was wheeled into place behind him.

I keep swallowing, trying to work up a mouthful of spit, and then I moaned
as the machine was switched on and the dildo plunged repeatedly into his
ass.  His cries of pleasure were muffled by his mask, and he thrust back
eagerly, meeting the dildo. His cock, huge and uncut, and his weighty balls
were bound up in more black leather, a puddle of pre come on the floor
between his knees.

I had enough presence of mind to toggle out of that site, make it into the
bathroom, and lock the door behind me before I unzipped my khakis and
shoved them and my boxer briefs down off my hips. Pre come was already
beading at the tip of my cock and starting to dribble down my shaft.

It was a good thing the lid to the john was up. Not even a couple of
strokes, and I shot my wad into it.

Bracing my weight against the toilet tank, it took me a good five minutes
to stop shuddering and catch my breath.

Jesus, what had happened? I'd never climaxed that quickly or violently
before.

The image of the man getting his ass fucked by that machine wouldn't leave
my mind. In spite of the fact that I'd just come, my cock quivered in an
attempt to get hard again.

"Hey, Willie Boy!" Pounding on the bathroom door brought me out of my
daze. "You fall in or something?"

"I'll be right out." I cleaned myself off with some toilet tissue and
pulled my jeans up, then flushed and washed my hands. "Yeah, Michael? You
wanted something?" I asked as I opened the door.

He was quiet for a moment, and I was afraid I had come stains on the front
of my khakis. A quick, discreet glance assured me that I didn't, although
my cock was pushing against my fly, and I forced myself to meet his eyes,
keeping my expression neutral.

"The Tri Gams are having a keg party. Feel like going?"

"Sure. Why not?"

"Cool."

"Uh... hold on a sec. I just want to change." I went into my room and
pulled out a clean pair of shorts and my 501 jeans. I usually got lucky
when I wore those jeans, even if that only meant a handjob.

I turned around, surprised to see Michael leaning against the doorframe.
For a second, the look on his face was hungry, but then the look was gone.

That had to be my imagination. Or maybe it was what I'd seen on his
computer that had me thinking he wanted to strip off my 501s and lick me,
or suck me, or fuck me. Michael had always chased after girls, and I'd
never seen him make a move on a guy, not ever. And while that wasn't to say
he hadn't when I wasn't around, why should he care one way or the other
what I was wearing?

I shrugged it off. "Come on. Let's go."

I didn't tend to drink a lot. Sure I liked a beer now and then - what
underage guy didn't? And from time to time my Grandpa Greg had let me have
a sip of the wine he made, usually mixed with lemonade.

But my Dad had taught me by example, moderation in everything.

The thing was, I couldn't get what I'd seen on that website out of my
mind. Each time that image popped up in my mind, I had another beer, and
that night I drank way more than I'd intended, than I'd realized.

I wound up being blitzed. I mean, there I was, dancing with the big red
monkey that was the Tri Gam's mascot and singing 'The Sweetheart of Sigma
Chi' to it.

Geez, talk about idiocy.

Michael was there for me, though. "C'mon, Willie Boy. I think y've had a
bit too mush. Le's get you home."

I didn't remember how we got back to our rooms, and I didn't remember how I
wound up in bed with Michael, but I did remember waking up to find him
sucking my cock. I cried out and arched and come, pouring myself into his
hand. And when I caught my breath, I returned the favor.

He fell back to sleep almost immediately. It would have been nice to
cuddle, but Michael had never been the kind of guy who encouraged physical
closeness, calling it faggy, and so when he'd rolled away from me, it
hadn't mattered. We were friends.

I pulled the blanket over my shoulders, rolled over myself, and was asleep
in seconds.

"Hey, Wills," he groaned the next morning. "I was pretty fucking drunk last
night."

"So was I." I couldn't get my eyes opened.

"And if my girlfriend had been here instead of you, I would have boinked
her brains out."

"'Boinked', Michael?" I finally did manage to peel back an eyelid, having
to use a thumb and forefinger. His face was about two inches from
mine. "We're college men. We don't 'boink.' We fuck!"

He tried to blink confusion out of his eyes. At least I took it for
confusion. I still couldn't see straight, and my head felt as if it was
going to fall off my shoulders and roll around on the floor.

Frankly, I would have been grateful if it had. I'd never had such a bad
hangover. Well, I'd never been so shitfaced before. And what was that taste
in my mouth? I staggered up, sleepwalked to the bathroom, and fumbled for
the mouthwash. After swigging it directly from the bottle - jesus, that was
better - I made my way back to my bed.

"Oh, okay," Michael was mumbling. "I would have fucked her brains out,
then."

"Sounds good to me. Next time we'll both fuck her brains out. Right now,
I'm going back to sleep." I waited to see what he would do, if he would
clout me for daring to hint at sharing his girl, or if he'd climb back into
bed with me, blanket my body with his own, and maybe kiss me.

I'd seen how he kissed the girls he was dating - Michael was anything but
shy - and I was curious to know if kissing him would be different than
kissing any of my girlfriends.

But he shrugged and muttered something about needing to take a leak, and
stumbled out of my room. After a while, I heard him come out of the
bathroom, but he didn't return to my bed.

I sighed, pulled the covers back over my head, and went back to sleep.

And although from time to time, Michael would bring it up, laughing about
how fucking drunk we'd been that night, I thought that was it.

But occasionally, when we'd had too much to drink - was Michael
deliberately trying to get me drunk? - or when he'd taken one toke too many
of marijuana, he'd suck or jerk me off, and I was more than happy to do the
same for him in return. He was my friend, after all, and that's what
friends did. It was never anything more than that, although I was curious
and would have been willing.


I tried to kiss Michael once, at the end of our junior year. He didn't do
anything so cold as to back away, but it was cold enough - he'd turned his
head; I was the one who stepped back.

He gave me a lopsided grin and walked out of the room, calling over his
shoulder, "See you in September, Willie Boy."

When I looked out the window, I could see him in the little grassy park
across from the frat house, kissing Crystal McNamara, his on again/off
again girlfriend. Well, it looked like they were on again, and I had no
intention of being the fifth wheel.

I spent the summer on Long Island, working for my uncle's construction
business. Michael spent the summer doing only god knew what. He didn't
answer my phone calls, and he didn't turn up for my birthday at the end of
August. I refused to beat myself up over what had happened during those few
months this past spring.

I didn't see him until the start of the fall semester, and I made sure he
understood I didn't expect anything more from him than friendship. If we
couldn't be lovers, then dammit, we'd be friends.

~~~

The spring before graduation, headhunters from Huntingdon Corporation set
up a meeting with me, and I was offered a position in their Boston
office. It surprised me that somehow Michael managed to charm his way in as
well. Not that he could charm them - he was very good at that - but that
he'd be interested in working for the same company as I did.

We had been growing further and further apart, and that saddened me, but he
would always be my friend

We had no idea that Huntingdon was the training ground for the Washington
Bureau of Intelligence and Security. Maybe we never would have found out,
but I was passed over for a promotion that I damned well should have gotten
- I was the best computer tech Huntingdon had - so on the Saturday of
Presidents' Day weekend, I sauntered into the building dressed in my 501
jeans and work boots, with my tool belt slung low on my hips. I intended to
use my skills to reprogram a certain computer in Human Resources.

The security guard seemed more interested in checking my ass than my ID,
which identified me as Matt Williams, an electrician who specialized in low
voltage. Surprised at the rush I felt, I flirted with him.

Flustered, he ducked his head, and I sauntered toward the elevator. A
glance over my shoulder showed his attention was once more focused on my
ass. I entered the elevator, waited until he raised his eyes, and winked at
him.

The doors slid shut, and I grinned to myself, almost as pleased as if I'd
scored with a girl.

If I'd realized what I was letting myself in for, would I still have been
so cocksure on that elevator ride up to the sixty-seventh floor?

I used the ride up to strip off the work clothes and put on the uniform of
a security guard; its present owner was on vacation, and I'd return it to
his locker on Tuesday.

Once the doors slid open, I stepped out into the corridor with confidence,
knowing that the tapes would reveal nothing more than a guard going about
his regular rounds.

After I reprogrammed the targeted computer, I returned to the elevator and
quickly changed.

Another security guard was in the lobby when I came down to sign out. He
was older, with a potbelly and sagging jowls, and he didn't give me more
than a cursory glance.

"Have a good weekend," I said politely.

He scowled, "Yeah, yeah," and turned back to the little TV that was airing
a rerun of American Gladiators.

I went back to my little apartment in Medford, changed out of the work
clothes, showered, surfed the Net for a bit, then put on something more
appropriate for dinner out and clubbing.

****

Huntingdon was closed for Presidents' Day, and I expected to find out if my
plan was successful when I arrived at work on Tuesday.

Michael poked his head into the cubicle I used when I was in town.

"Hey, Willie Boy. Where you been?"

"Hi, Michael." Sometimes I thought he called me 'Willie Boy' simply because
he knew it aggravated me. I didn't bother telling him not to call me that
at work. "I've been around." I'd replaced the uniform, then had gone to the
cafeteria and picked up a cup of coffee and a hardboiled egg.

"How was your weekend?" Michael's question surprised me. Did he really want
to know? And why, now of all times?

"Oh, you know," I replied cautiously. "Same old same old."

"With the family, right?"

"Actually, no. They went skiing- "

"And didn't invite you? I'm shocked!"

"Go fuck yourself, Michael. I had some work I had to catch up on- "

"You always were a suck up."

Lately it seemed that every time we ran into each other he had nothing but
snide comments to make either to or about me. Once again I decided to
ignore it. "How was your weekend?"

"Fan-fucking-tastic! My girl went down on me." He watched me from under his
lashes.

He'd long since broken up with Crystal, and was seeing a junior associate
from Huntingdon's law department. She was a tall brunette who wore her hair
in a French plait and favored plain gray business suits that did nothing
for her. Yeah, I'd seen them together a time or two.

"She's one hot bitch, y'know?" He waited a beat, then asked, "Jealous?"

"Why would I be? I had a blow job over the weekend too." I wasn't going to
mention it was from a woman I'd picked up in a bar and who I'd never see
again. We'd enjoyed each other, but I didn't regret that we'd only
exchanged first names and not phone numbers.

"You did?" Michael suddenly looked deflated. "I had to keep telling her to
watch her teeth. I never had to tell you that, Wills. Not even that first
time. Wanna know something? She wasn't bad, but you were better. Maybe- "

My phone rang, but I ignored it, my heart beating slow and heavy. "Maybe
what, Michael?"

He grinned and shook his head. "It's not important. Answer the phone."

"Just wait here." I knew every one of his grins, and that grin wasn't
pleased or cocky or smug or insincere. "This conversation isn't finished."

"It's beyond finished, Willie Boy."  He sauntered out.

When he was in a mood like that, what was the point in going after him? I'd
give him some time to remove the bug that had crawled up his ass and died,
then track him down and hash this out. If he wanted to start something up
with me again...

The phone continued to ring incessantly. I swore and scooped it
up. "Matheson."

"It took you long enough! Where were you? The can?"

"Is Huntingdon keeping track of how often its employees use the bathroom,
Saddler?" He worked in Human Resources, and had been the one who'd told me
that I'd been up for that promotion, and then that I'd been passed over for
some idiot who didn't have a quarter of my qualifications. "Isn't that
violating my civil rights or something?"

"More your right to privacy, wiseass. Speaking of which, get your ass up to
Sixty-Seven. Weiss wants you in his office."

I drew in a slow, deep breath. Weiss was associate director of Human
Resources. Could this be it? "Any idea why?"

"You know us peons never know what's going on until after the fact." And
that was a load of bullshit if ever I'd heard it.

I just said, "I guess you're right. I'll be right up."

Michael was nowhere to be seen. Well, I'd track him down after I'd met with
Human Resources. I straightened my suit jacket, smoothed my hair back, and
made sure the knot in my tie was straight.

Weiss' secretary smiled at me. "Hi, William."

"Hi, Trina. How are you?"

"Tired. The baby had me up all weekend."

"That's rough. Teething or colic?"

"Colic."

"I remember when my little sister had that." It was a good thing Jill had
me and Dad, as well as Alice, our housekeeper, to spell her.

"Then you know what it's like! Oh, you'd better go right on in. Mr. Weiss
is waiting for you. Good luck!"

"Thanks." I winked at her and entered the inner office. "You sent for me,
sir?"

"Yes." He wasn't alone. With him was Daniel McCormack, the head of my
department, as well as another man who was sitting in the chair beside his
desk.

"Mr. McCormack." I hadn't expected to see him here.

He nodded.

Weiss nodded toward the other man. "This is James Adams. He's from DC."

I judged him to be in his late forties. His hair was iron-gray and his eyes
were so black they looked like empty pits.

"Mr. Adams." I offered my hand. "How do you do, sir?"

He let those eyes run over me, then took my extended hand.

"Sit down, please," Weiss told me, and I sat. "You'll recall you were up
for a promotion."

"Yes, sir. I didn't get it. Something about not having the qualifications."

Mr. McCormack grinned at Weiss.

"Yes, well, that was an error. The promotion is yours."

"Really, sir?" I made sure to keep what I was feeling hidden. "I'm pleased
to hear that."

Weiss' lips stretched in a thin line. He nodded toward the man who sat
beside him. "Adams will take over your training in DC."

"DC, sir?" What was this about?

"Your promotion is taking you to our affiliate in DC."

"But- "

"Congratulation, Matheson." For the first time Mr. McCormack spoke. "You've
got a week to wrap up any open files you have here in Boston."

"Yes, sir." I felt dazed. I'd been to DC on a field trip in high school and
had fallen in love with the town, but I'd never thought of moving
there. "But I've got a lease- "

"We'll take care of what remains on it. Mr. Adams will see you're supplied
with an apartment and a vehicle for transportation. As for your salary... "
Mr. Weiss named a figure that was almost twice what I was making
now. "Consider it a cost of living raise."

I swallowed hard. What was the rent on the apartment in DC going to cost
me?

"How much time do I have to think about this?"

"Come now, Matheson. You've surely given it plenty of thought."

"You've only just now told me that I got the position."

"Yes, that's true, but you were quite the busy little bee over the
weekend."

"I don't know what you're talking about, sir."

"Don't you? We're aware that you were in this building over the weekend and
hacked into HR's computers. Not only did you get your name back on the
list, but you bumped it to the top of the list as well."

I felt the color leave my cheeks and rose from my seat so quickly it
toppled over. "I don't understand." Was this some kind of sick joke, and
now he was going to tell me I'd lost my job? I turned to my department
head. "Mr. McCormack... "

"Sit down, Matheson." He glanced at me casually. "We've had our eye on you
for some time, and frankly, we were interested in seeing how you reacted to
a scenario in which you were passed over for a position for which you were
eminently qualified."

"You... you expected me to change the program?" I righted my chair and sank
back down in it, dazed. I thought I'd covered all my bases. I must have
screwed up, although I couldn't figure out how.

"Mmm, rather let's say that if you hadn't exhibited some initiative, hadn't
demonstrated your expertise, you wouldn't be getting this promotion. Well
done, especially getting into these offices this past Saturday."

"Th-thank you, sir."

"Fill these forms out." Mr. Weiss handed me a manila envelope.

"Yes, sir." Even more dazed, I took it and peeked in quickly. It was
stuffed with page after page of... pages. With so many blank spaces my eyes
almost crossed.

"That's all."

"Yes, sir. Thank you for giving me this opportunity. I promise I won't
disappoint you." I stood once more, shook the hands of all three men, and
turned to walk out.

"Matheson."

"Yes, Mr. McCormack?"

"Good job."

I blew out a silent breath. "Thank you, sir."

Before I got to the door, I heard Adams say, "What do you mean that was a
good job, Dan? He went way overboard on the cloak and dagger bullshit."

"Cloak and dagger? And this from James Bond Adams?"

I bit back a laugh. It wouldn't be smart to let my prospective boss know I
found a joke at his expense amusing. He didn't seem have much of a sense of
humor, at least not where I was concerned.

Mr. Adams huffed." Nevertheless, it was a damned sloppy job!"

"No, it wasn't, Jim. You're just ticked because the candidate you were
certain would be a lead pipe cinch just sat back and accepted that he
wasn't getting the job."

"I still say it was sloppy. But no matter. I'll train that out of him, once
he's in my department!"

I swallowed, all trace of laughter gone, and hurried to the elevator.

****

I dropped off the envelope in my cubicle and went looking for Michael. I
found him in the cafeteria, sitting across from the intern, her hand folded
in his.

He looked at me indifferently. "You wanted something, Willie Boy?"

The junior associate giggled.

"Don't call me that, Michael."

"Fine. You wanted something, *Wills*?"

"I want to talk to you."

He grinned. "I'm busy, as you can see."

"Yeah, I can see."

He yawned. "So, what's up?"

"I've got that promotion. I'll be transferring to DC within the week." Was
that panic in his eyes? No, I must have read that wrong. "If you want to
join me for a drink after work, I'll be at Silvertone."

I turned on my heel and walked out.

****

I sat at the bar, a glass of Budweiser and the remains of a burger in front
of me. It was almost 7, and I'd been waiting for Michael for the last two
hours. I'd hoped we could have a beer, maybe go to dinner...

Well, it was obvious he *didn't* want to join me. I guessed that was that.

I tossed back the rest of the Bud, left a tip on the bar, and walked out. I
had a lot to do.

****

None of the family looked happy when I announced I'd be leaving for DC
within the next week, although Dad tried to hide it. He was proud of me, I
never doubted it, but he was going to miss me as much as I would miss him.


I made the transfer to DC, and to my surprise, Michael made it with me.

"I'm like a bad penny, Wills. I *always* turn up."

And maybe our friendship would warm up.

"How does your girlfriend feel about the move?"

"Why should she care? She isn't coming."

"Won't she miss you?"

He shrugged. "She was getting too fucking possessive. I'm not ready to
settle down." He slanted a look at me. "What about you?"

"I haven't found anybody."

"That was always your problem. You're too fucking picky."

"Why? Because I want a love that will last?"

"Because there's no such thing."

"I think there is, but I'm not going to argue it with you."

"Fine. Want to go out for a drink?"

"I'd like to, but I can't. I need to get my place in some kind of shape."

"How'd you find a place so fast? I'm still living out of a motel room."

"Huntingdon found it for me. Didn't they- "

"Obviously not. Listen, forget about the drink. I've got stuff to do."

"Wait a minute! I can change my plans... "

"I said forget it. I'll see you around."

And like that, he was gone.

****

Once I was settled in, I learned that I'd be required to do more than
troubleshoot computers.

"You... you want me to be an assassin?"

"Of course not," Mr. Adams insisted, a little too heartily. "We would never
ask one of our people to kill for us."

My feeling of relief was short-lived.

"No, it would be for the good of the country."

"And if I refuse?"

He shrugged. "Then you refuse. Your promotion will be rescinded and you'll
be sent back to Boston. But keep in mind this isn't a pretty world we live
in. There are countries and organizations that would dance with joy at
seeing the United States being taken down. You have an uncle who's served
this country with honor and diligence for almost forty years. A Matheson
has been in every major conflict going back to the Civil War."

"How did you know- " Gramps had fought in North Africa in World War II
under General Patton. Great-gramps had been in the Fighting 69th in World
War I, *his* father had charged up San Juan Hill with Teddy Roosevelt, and
his father before him had managed to survive Antietam.

"It's the WBIS' business to know. There are other ways to serve.  Give it
some thought, why don't you?" He pushed a slip of paper across his desk
toward me.

"What is this?"

"We're not an unreasonable organization. This is a list of young ladies who
will help you overcome any aftereffects of... tidying up."

'Tidying?' Was that what the WBIS called taking out the opposition? I took
it blindly and stuffed it into my wallet, too shaken to even wonder if I'd
ever use it, and quickly left Mr. Adams' office.

 I called Uncle Pete. He'd taught me a lot of stuff, and he'd have some
idea if I should stay or tell them to shove this job.

"Sorry, Wills. Pete's gone out of the country," Dave, his partner, told
me. "I'm not sure when he'll be back. Do you want to leave a message for
him?"

"No, that's okay, Dave. Just tell him I said hi. Talk to you soon. Bye."

Michael was here, though. He'd found an apartment in 1210 Mass. I could
talk to him about it, maybe go over to visit him.

But I couldn't talk, not here at work. There were too many people who'd be
only too interested in seeing how I reacted to learning I was going to be
a... I swallowed. ... a wet boy.

As soon as I got home, I called his apartment.

"Hey, Willie Boy! How's it hanging?"

"Fine, Michael," I responded automatically.

"Sure. How could it be anything else?" he sneered. God, I hated when he did
that.

"Look, Michael. I have to see you."

"Why? So you can rub your promotion in my face?" He'd made the transfer,
but he'd be starting all over again, at the bottom of the ladder, and that
didn't make him happy at all.

"What? No! I've... Something's come up, and I really need to talk to you."

"Well, that's too bad. I'm busy!"

"Michael! I... " The dial tone hummed in my ear, and I finished, "... need
you."

I took the list out of my wallet, fingered it for a minute or so, then sat
down and did some heavy thinking.

****

The first time I looked into a man's eyes and shot him, I barely managed to
turn away in time to puke out my guts. That night I woke from a nightmare
that had me sweating and shaking, and sick to my stomach again.

But it had to be done. For the good of the country, to keep her safe.

To keep my family safe.

I wasn't called on to do it very frequently, maybe once or twice a
year. Three or four times, in a really bad year. I learned to live with it.

Michael, meanwhile... Of course he wasn't asked to do anything like that,
but that was okay, I told myself. Not everyone had the temperament for it.

But if I was honest with myself, I resented like hell that he wasn't there
when I needed him.

****

It was just supposed to be an exercise. That was all it was supposed to
fucking be. Then there had been that explosion, and I'd been hurled forward
from the shock wave.

"Matheson."

The voice that was calling my name seemed to be calling down a well.

"*Matheson*!"

"Wha?"

"Stay with us!"

"Not... Regret to say, not able to do anything else. How... how bad am I
hurt?"

"What makes you think you're hurt."

Aside from the fact that the voice was trying to be cheerful?
"Back... feels like it's on fire" My ears rang so much I could barely hear
my own words. "Think I'm... in puddle of blood." Or else I'd pissed myself,
and of the two, and in spite of how embarrassing it would be, I'd rather be
lying in piss.

"You're gonna be fine."

"Tell... tell it to... Marines."

"Huh?"

But I slipped back into unconsciousness before I could answer him.

****

The next time I surfaced, I could feel a slight buffeting.

"Glad to see you're with us again, Matheson. No, don't try to speak. You've
already been stitched up, and we're in a medical helicopter, taking you to
Joseph P. Kennedy Memorial."

"Huh?" Was I repeating myself, I wondered muzzily? Oh, no, someone else had
said that. I was pretty sure. "Why?"

"It's a teaching hospital in Weymouth. Mr. Adams has notified your family."

"Thanks." I didn't want to come across as a wuss; I was an adult after all,
and I had a number of 'tidyings' under my belt, but I wanted my
Dad. "How's... " Fuck it! How was he going to feel about his first born
being torn up in an explosion? "Explanation?"

"Not to worry. We'll tell him you were involved in a freak car accident."

"No! You- "

"Now, you're going to feel a slight prick."

The bastard sounded pleased about it.

"No! Don't tell him- " But once again I was out cold.

****

This time when I regained consciousness, it was to hear my Dad's voice. I
breathed a sigh of relief, then winced at the pain that had managed to slip
past the drug. That didn't matter though. I was finally home.

"How is he? What happened?" Dad sounded upset. Dammit, that was the last
thing I wanted.

"... son was in a freak accident."

The drug I had been given was clouding my brain, and I was losing chunks of
the conversation.

"Yes, we were told that. But what happened?"

"... motor vehicle accident." Dammit, I didn't want- "Not your son's
fault... would have been a lot worse... seatbelt." Goddammit, the man was
lying himself blue in the face! "... but he's got the other one, so that's
okay."

The other one what? Oh, shit, how badly had I been injured? Was I going to
be able to work again?

"What... "

"He's getting something for pain through his IV." IV? They'd set up an IV
at home? "Well, I'm sure you'll want to stay with your son. I'll just talk
to one of the nurses and see that you get a couple of cots in here. It was
very nice meeting you. Goodnight."

I could hear the squeak of the soles of his shoes as he left. The wooden
floors at home didn't squeak like that.

"But... Son of a bitch!"

"Dad?"

"We're here, son."

"Wasn't sure. Been... been thinking since it happened that I've heard your
voice. I'm home?"

"You're in the hospital."

That was right. I vaguely remembered someone telling me I was being taken
there. "What happened?"

"We were told you were in a freak car accident."

"S-sorry, Dad. Wish they... they hadn't put it like that." I struggled to
keep my eyes open.

"Are you in pain? Do you want us to get a nurse?"

"No. Tired. Jill here too?"

"Of course, sweetie." Her hands were gentle on my hair. I remembered a time
when I'd been about eleven, and I'd got the flu. Her hands had been just as
gentle then. "Where else would I be?"

And then her hand was gone, and I wanted to protest, but before I could, I
felt something slick running over my lips. What- Oh, Chapstick.

"Jill?"

"Yes."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome. Though I could smack you for scaring us like this! If
you'd wanted to see us so badly... "

"Sorry. Dunno what... what went wrong... "

"Go back to sleep, sport." Dad fussed with the covers. "We'll be here when
you wake up."

"Th-thanks, Dad. Been... been a long time... since you... called
me... 'sport.'"

"Wills... " He sounded even more upset. Did he think I resented his giving
my pet name to Jar? I couldn't let him think that.

"'sokay. Missed... missed hearing it. Didn't... realize... how... much... "

"Oh, son... " His voice wobbled, and I heard Jill sobbing.

Dammit, I'd hurt them. I needed to let them know- "'sokay."

But then I was out again.

****

Dr. Sorenson, the family practitioner who'd looked after the family since
we'd moved to Cambridge, couldn't get the X-rays to make sense, especially
after he'd examined my back.

I wasn't going to explain it to him, not when it could put his life in
jeopardy. I knew the WBIS well enough by this point to know that if they
wanted everyone to think I'd lost the function of one kidney, they had a
reason for it, and it wasn't worth questioning it.

Friends and neighbors dropped by to see how I was doing, but there was one
glaring absence.

"Did you let Michael know I was here, Dad?"

"I left a message on his machine." He frowned. He'd never liked Michael and
I'd had the feeling he'd worried Michael would lead me astray.

I thought briefly of those two months our junior year in college.

What he didn't know was that I was the one who steadied Michael, who kept
him from going further off the deep end than he had.

 "And don't try to tell me he couldn't at least send you a get well card!
He must have told his parents. *They* sent you a fruit basket!"

"Mr. and Mrs. Shaw were always nice to me." And I knew they often held me
up to Michael. Maybe that was why he'd put some distance between us.

****

I returned to DC, not a word from Michael, and no one in the family any the
wiser about what my job really entailed.

****

It was one of the few times we were together that we happened to see Mark
Vincent coming in to make a report. He was dripping wet, and his shirt hung
open, revealing a Kevlar vest that was pocked with bullet holes. He looked
tired, but under it all was a sense of triumph. Later, we learned that he
had managed to outsmart some CIA spooks and delivered a self-renewing,
nonpolluting source of energy to R&D.

Michael's eyes grew avid. He still denied any interest in men, but I could
see there was something about Vincent that challenged him.

"I'm gonna get him, Wills!" he muttered as we watched the senior special
agent disappear into his corner office. "And I'm gonna get that office,
too! All I have to do is- "

"What, Michael? What do you have to do?"

His lips tightened into a thin line, and then he grinned. "Never you mind,
Willie Boy!"

Of course, Mr. Vincent never noticed my friend - he was a loner, and his
reputation was legend.

Michael grew bitter. Perhaps I should have worried about him, but he was a
grown man, and our assignments took us in different directions. From time
to time we'd run into each other in the men's room, and if we were alone,
he'd tease me about crawling under his desk and sucking him off. I'd long
since stopped teasing him back. We were in our mid-twenties now, too old
for that bullshit.

****

"Hey, Wills, want to join us tonight?" Michael's eyes had a strange glitter
to them. Although technically he was supposed to be in PR, he was working
for Mr. Sperling in Interior Affairs.  I'd tried to talk to him about what
was happening, but he'd been so enthralled with his new position, with the
DC nightlife, with his new, fucking friends. He'd had no time for me then,
and maybe it was mean and petty, but I'd be damned if I found time for him
now.

"Sorry, Michael." If it had just been him, if it would have been just the
two of us, I would have gone with him, but I didn't like the crowd my
friend was hanging out with. More than that, I didn't trust them. "My folks
are in town, and I promised to show them the sights."

"Your loss, pal," he shrugged, and walked off, and I silently blessed that
fact. If he'd hung around much longer, he'd have known I was lying. Michael
could always tell. Maybe because I so seldom did and I wasn't good at it.

Maybe because he was such a good liar himself.

****

His behavior became more and more erratic, and I wondered what shit he was
using. He was becoming hollow-eyed, almost gaunt.

I realized I'd have to intervene. But before I could, he was dead.

****

I ran a hand over my face as I waited for the elevator to take me down to
the parking garage. Michael's funeral was today. I would have wondered why
I hadn't cried for him, but I hadn't cried for anyone since my Mom had
passed away.

And I was too fucking pissed to cry for him.

How could he have been so stupid to mix cocaine with autoeroticism?

And if he had to do that, why hadn't he asked me to be there with him?

****

I wasn't surprised to see so many people at the funeral home. Mr. and
Mrs. Shaw were both well-liked, and there was a good turnout of the people
Michael worked with, even that doped-up crowd he'd been hanging out with.

I was surprised to see Mr. Sperling there, and I watched coolly as he
mouthed social nothings to Michael's parents. There was no doubt in my mind
that he had something to do with my friend's slide into drugs and kink. He
must have felt my eyes on him. He rubbed the back of his neck, and turned,
his gaze surreptitiously searching for whoever was watching him.

I straightened, ready to face him when he realized it was a junior agent
who regarded him with such contempt, but his eyes were caught by Mark
Vincent's. Sperling turned sheet white, and his mouth gaped like a hooked
fish.

He hastily excused himself, and then he was gone.

"William! You came!"

"Of course I'd be here, Mrs. Shaw." I hugged her and kissed her cheek. She
felt so fragile. "I'm so sorry for your loss."

"Your loss as well, William." Mr. Shaw gripped my shoulder. He looked
tired, and although he was my Dad's age, he looked about twenty years
older. "You were Michael's best friend. I just... I wish... " He
sighed. "Well, wishes are futile at this point."

"Yes." That was the way it went sometimes.

"If only he hadn't been home when that burglar broke in." They'd been told
their son had been killed in a home break-in gone tragically wrong.

"William, will you be coming to the cemetery?"

"Of course."

"And back to the house?"

"Yes." Mr. Wallace had told us that whoever chose to go wouldn't be docked
for the time.

"Thank you. Oh!" she gazed over my shoulder to the person behind me. "Thank
you so much for coming."

I didn't recognize the woman as being WBIS, but that didn't mean
anything. She could have been one of the Shaws' friends.

I took Mr. Shaw's hand carefully. He looked as fragile as his wife felt.

"We'll see you at the cemetery," he murmured, and I stepped away, looking
back at my friend who lay in his casket.

He had been my best friend for a long time, and even though he'd been on
the periphery of my life for the last few years, shouldn't I have wept?

****

A soft ping signaled the arrival of the elevator, and I stepped into it,
focusing on the coming meeting at Human Resources. Was the scuttlebutt
right? Was I about to be trained by the very man Michael had dreamed of
fucking over?

****

Mr. Vincent's secretary smiled when I approached her desk, but it didn't
reach her eyes. She was a pretty woman, but just then she looked almost as
hard as her boss!

Would he take her with him? I hoped so. If I had to face her every day, I
was certain I'd wind up with a stress ulcer.

"You can wait for Mr. Vincent in his office, Matheson. He should be
returning shortly." She peered down her nose at me, a nice trick, since she
was sitting and I was standing. "Don't touch anything!"

"Do you think I'm nuts?" I muttered under my breath. I went into the
office, leaving the door open behind me, and looked around

No one I knew had ever been in this office, and there was some speculation
as to what it contained. I wasn't sure if I was surprised or not to find
there wasn't an iron maiden or a rack set up in the corner.

The office was furnished sparsely, with just a decent-sized desk and chair,
and a file cabinet in the far corner. The computer on the desk looked
ancient, and I wondered if Mr. Vincent was going to leave it. I was leaving
mine for whoever took over my cubicle. I'd already backed up all my files
and folders to a portable drive R&D had come up with, and once that was
done, I'd wiped it.

The room was bare of any other furniture. There wasn't even a plant at the
window, that corner window that Michael had coveted.

Oh, Michael...

"Nice view, isn't it?" The voice, seeming to come out of nowhere, startled
me out of my reverie, and I jumped.

Shit. Mr. Vincent had entered his office, and I reacted like a kid who'd
been caught where he shouldn't be. Could I have made a worse first
impression?

I took a deep breath, willed my heart rate to return to normal, and turned
to face him.

"Mr. Vincent." //Don't blow this, Matheson,// I warned myself. He'd always
worked alone. How did he feel about now having to train me? Was he going to
look for ways that would see me fired or leave me no course but to resign?
I'd overcome everything Mr. Adams had thrown at me, although it had been
difficult, but he wasn't in Mr. Vincent's league.

Mr. Vincent regarded me for a moment, and I swallowed, trying to work up a
mouthful of spit.

He picked up his telephone. "This is Vincent on 7. I need my hard drive
moved to my new office."

That answered that question. I'd need to contact the IT department and get
a new computer for myself.

"Yes, that's on 7 also. Yes, immediately. Thanks." He hung up and grinned
at me. It wasn't precisely an unfriendly grin, but why did I want to pull a
blanket over my head and call for my mommy? "Looks like we're going to be
working together fairly closely, Matheson."

Yes, it looked like we were.


~End~


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