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Washington hates parties like these. The fancy dress, the fancy food, the fancy drink… It's not the kind of environment that he was meant for. He's used to flannel blankets and dandelions, not silk garlands and lilies.
The only saving grace is that he's technically getting paid to be here. Having arrived and seen the setup, he's starting to think that it was more of a show of power for the Director's guests than any real safety concern; the rest of his squad is positioned around the perimeter of the room, in varying degrees of visible discomfort. Washington is probably the only one whose stomach is twisting around itself the way it feels like it is, though. He thanks his lucky stars that the helpstaff are dressed roughly the same as he is, and clings to the walls in an effort to blend in with them.
It works for a while, at least. It takes officer Carolina to break his cover, spotting him hovering around the wings of the bar and dragging another guest over by the elbow. The man's around the same height as her, and dressed up a little more than Washington is; he doesn't really know the difference, but his suit looks darker, and shinier, and is most definitely not rented just for tonight.
"Hey, keep an eye on this jerk, would you?" She says as she practically throws the man at him, letting out a longsuffering sigh. The grip around his arm gives her some good leverage to swing him into Washington's chest, which he bounces off of slightly. The stumble makes him splash a few drops of whatever he's drinking out of his glass, but thankfully, it lands to their side and on neither of their clothes.
Instinctively grabbing for the stranger to hold him up -- he's a guest, what is she thinking! -- Washington squeaks. "What exactly does that mean?"
But she's already halfway across the dining hall, barely deigning to peer over her shoulder at the two of them. "Just make sure he doesn't hit the bar too much." There's something that sounds almost like a smile dancing at the edge of her voice.
Still clinging to him, the man makes an intensely displeased expression, which he shares with Washington before aiming it at Carolina's back. "Pffft. Whatever. Like I'm suffering through another one of these fucking godawful shindigs sober." All Washington can do is look on in despair as he knocks back what's left at the bottom of his glass and makes an immediate beeline for the bartender.
Despite the strained expression and most of the conversation being hissed at his fellows, people keep coming up to the mark and trying to shake his hand; which might be why he has the glass in his right and a small plate of appetizers in the other. It makes a convenient excuse, and Washington observes him shrug off a number of attempted introductions before he realizes that he hasn't done the same. "Hey, look. What's your name?"
Seemingly surprised by the question, shorter man opens his mouth silently for a second, before he takes another swig and squints up at him. "You can call me Leo." He drawls, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the sides of his mouth.
"Officer Washington." He nods in return, offering his hand, willing to start fresh and ignore the particular circumstances of their meeting.
"Whatever." Is all he gets in response, given the same treatment as the rest of the attendees, and he's left staring at Leo's back as he turns and loops around to the bar again.
Roughly an hour after they're introduced, his charge starts tripping over his ankles, and nearly goes down hard on one of the buffet tables. Thankfully, Washington is there to catch him around the ribs, lifting him away at the last moment.
Leo is limp in his grasp, and smiling like a fool even as he's being chided. Washington decides that it's his time to make an executive decision and get this guy out of here, quietly ushering him through the lobby and onto the sidewalk where a few idle lifters are waiting for those in too much of a hurry to order their own.
When the driver asks for the destination, he realizes that he has no idea who he's been watching all evening, apart from a first name. "What's your address?" Washington tries, after loading him into the back seat, leaning through the window.
He just giggles and holds a single finger to his mouth. "S'a secret." He slurs, before breaking down into laughter again, wobbling dangerously. "Not supposed to tell nobody. Cee hates it. No treating special."
Washington groans and pinches the bridge of his nose, trying not to grind his teeth; his jaw doesn't need any more of that. He apologizes profusely to the driver, piling into the back beside his impromptu charge.
If he pukes and chokes on it, Washington doesn't want to be the one to take responsibility. So, begrudgingly, he gives the driver his own address. Irritably, he picks up the smaller man and hauls him to the elevator. Awkwardly, he tries to hold him upright while also unlocking his front door.
But as he eases him down onto the couch, a different emotion sparks inside him. Leo is almost cute like this. He's been leaning against him since glass number six, and currently keeps reaching for his shoulders, making tiny grabby motions with his fingers.
God. And his eyes are so green.
And they're awfully close, with Leo having wrapped an arm around the back of his neck and pulled him down. "You're like… Kinda really cute." He mumbles, running his fingertips over the shaved sides of Washington's head with idle fascination. There's a flat note in his voice, the hint of a richer tone slipping out in elongated vowels, even as he slurs like his tongue is thick in his mouth. "And soft. You don't look like you'd be soft."
"It's not exactly an impression I try to give off." He says drily, screwing his mouth up with the effort not to smile. He doesn't have to, once Leo darts up to press their lips together.
Washington's brain stops for a moment, as it tries to process this turn of events. That just gives Leo the opportunity to pull him down on top of him, throwing his other arm around his back, getting closer even as he breaks the kiss.
"You're drunk." He's surprised to find that his tone doesn't sound particularly protesting. He is pretty cute, in a scruffy sort of way; and it's been forever since his last proper relationship. York does keep telling him that he needs to play the field more, that it'd be good for his stress levels...
And maybe it's getting difficult to think straight with Leo nuzzling against the crook of his neck and mumbling about how dashing he looks in formalwear.
"God, please don't take this personally." Grinding his teeth, Washington plants his hands on either side of the couch, pushing himself off of him. "I swear, you're kind of really cute too. But I don't want us to do anything that you'll regret tomorrow."
Leo puts on a tremendous pout. "Not gonna regret it…" He whines, trailing off even as his hand makes a fist to grab the front of Washington's shirt.
"You say that now…" Wrapping his own hands around his, Washington manages to prise his fingers from where they're locked onto the fabric, and feels his brain crawl to a stop for the second time in nearly as many minutes.
There's a simple black band one one of those fingers. It's not gold, but there are thousands of other options these days -- it could be carbon or titanium -- and it's on the correct digit of the correct hand. There's no mistaking it.
He just kissed a guy with a wedding ring.
Washington sighs mightily and looks down at him to see that Leo has closed his eyes, his mouth hanging open a fraction. The almost inaudible rasping from his throat isn't quite snoring, but might be related.
Well, he is pretty sloshed. He'll probably have forgotten about it completely by the morning.
He gets up at the usual time, trying to keep his footsteps as quiet as possible as he putters around the kitchen to get a pot of coffee going. When he fills a glass with water and brings it over to the living room, the clink as he sets it down on the table finally rouses his guest.
"Fuuuuuck me." He grumbles, and Washington bites his tongue to keep from quipping that he nearly did -- he's still banking on pretending the whole thing never happened. "My head is killing me." Leo squints around, his face breaking into a weary grin at the sight of his host. "Hey, dude. Thanks for the ride. I would've been in real trouble going home like that."
Washington tries to ignore the tightening in his chest; well, that's a confirmation if he ever heard one. "Just doing my job."
Spotting his glasses next to the drink, Leo grabs for them and lurches to his feet with a grunt. "Yeah, alright. All of last night was just part of your job, huh?" But his voice is still soft as he leans into Washington's arms, propping his head up against his shoulder.
It's… Nice. It's been so damn long since he had any kind of physical contact, Washington lets himself close his eyes for a moment, feeling his body heat, before he clamps his hands on his shoulders and holds him away at arm's length. "Look… You're cute, but I'm not really into being the… Whatever the opposite of a beard is. I don't really know what you call it when a married guy tries to have a gay fling. Can't be a mistress, can it?" He frowns as a new thought occurs to him. "Better not be an experiment."
For a long moment, Church opens and closes his mouth silently, like a stunned fish. "You-- you. You think." And then his teeth are bared, his fists clenched, and Washington tenses as he's watching his body language for any indication of incoming violence.
Instead, it's just verbal: "You absolute fucktard."
And then Church has turned on his heel and stormed out the front door, coat forgotten, before he can get another word out.
Washington takes care to fold it under his arm after shrugging out of his own jacket, trying his best not to look conspicuous carrying two; once of which is meant for a tuxedo, or something. There could be plenty of reasons for that, right? Besides, all he has to do is find Carolina. She obviously knew who he was, she can deliver it for him.
When he gets to the lounge on the security level, she makes sure that he doesn't have to try very hard at all to find her.
"Washington." She hisses, spine bent low as she storms over towards him. He barely has the time to think idly that her posture looks awfully familiar, before she grabs the coat in one hand and his elbow in the other. Without much consideration for his stride or balance, Carolina drags him down towards the bathrooms, shoving him through the door to the men's room before hollering that anyone doing their business should probably hurry the fuck up.
Wyoming manages to finish washing his hands in what must be record time.
The room now solely theirs, she slams a palm against the tile beside his head, and he can't help but wince when he thinks he hears a small crack.
Her eyes narrowed and breath forcibly even, she looks up at him and hisses: "What the fuck did you do to my brother?"
"E… Excuse me?" Washington manages to eke out despite his shock, blinking wildly down at her. "I've never even met your b--"
The events of the previous night start to line up, one by one, in his head. Carolina delivering what was clearly a plus one attendee to him for what was probably his own safety; him taking that attendee back to his own home after he's falldown drunk; that same attendee leaving his place upset in the morning. And he must have had a ticket because of Carolina.
And did he really never notice just how green her eyes are?
"Ooooooh fuck." He goes limp in her grasp, collapsing against the wall, his head hanging down as much as it can with her fist just below his throat. "Okay, boss, I know how this looks. But I swear, I didn't do anything to him! I think that might be the problem!"
When she looks unconvinced, he tries again, lifting his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Listen! Please. Come on. You know me, right? I don't go for taken dudes. That's just not me."
Her knuckles relax on the fabric of his shirt, but only fractionally. "What? Is that what this is about?"
Washington breathes a sigh of relief and raises his arms, hands open helplessly towards the ceiling. "I'm sorry! I really am. I didn't mean to, offend him, or whatever. But it's not a rejection, I'm just not into the whole married man thing and the inevitable drama. I won't like, tell his wife or anything..." He trails off, trying not to fidget under her gaze.
She blinks at him just once, painfully slowly, staring at him with disbelief from behind firey bangs and ashy eyelids. "He's not married." Carolina says quietly, letting go of his shirt.
"Oh… Uh, shit." He sighs with relief as she lets go, relaxing just enough to scratch at the back of his neck. "Then what's with the ring?" And why didn't he just say so?
"It's in her memory." Carolina says coldly, her hand already on the doorknob as she turns back towards him. "He's not married, anymore."
"Oh. Uh… shit." Washington says, but it's to himself. She's already out the bathroom door and long gone.
Uh, hey, he sends the next morning, after a considerable amount of time agonizing over the wording. Sorry about how that ended. All he can do is hope that that's enough.
Apparently, it isn't. The text he gets in return is made up of more swear words than words that aren't, and he finds himself pinching the bridge of his nose to try and find some calm.
Let me make it up to you, he sends next. No strings, just fixing my mistake. You like the Errera?
After a few minutes, his phone chimes again.
uuuugh fuck no, my sis hangs out there. not really what i need on a date.
He's only mildly startled when his heart flutters as he reads the response. Not what he needs on a date. Like, a real one, instead of meeting drunk at a party and then… Not actually doing anything. Maybe he can use this as a fresh start.
Name the location, then. I'll be there. And it'll be my treat.
Leo ends up suggesting the waterfront. Washington has only the slightest familiarity with the neighborhood, and ends up spending most of the night online, trying to figure out where they should go.
He finally decides on a frozen yoghurt place just off the boardwalk, along one of the canals. He gets a cup of plain froyo with sliced strawberry and kiwi scattered on top. His date ( his date, his real life date, because he's getting back on the horse, or whatever that saying is ) gets chocolate and then heaps peanut butter cup crumble and gummi worms on top of it.
"How do you not have diabetes?" Washington says after they pay, shaking his head. "You're gonna keel over and die young, you know."
"Fucking good." His date responds, shoveling a pile of dairy and sugar into his mouth with a defiant glare.
It gets a laugh; but even if this is their first and last outing before going their separate ways, Washington can't help but think that it would be a shame.
It takes a few weeks before he's brave enough to ask for the whole story.
He doesn't mean for it to be when Leo is sliding well past tipsy, again. But he has a drink of his own, and even manages to almost keep up, too busy smiling at the blush his companion is sporting to really notice his own. And as the night wears on, he finds himself relaxing and, oddly enough, picturing having the other man around in a more permanent way.
But one of the concerns there, still, is his nagging curiosity about the ring. So, with a final sip to let him pretend he's brave, he tries to broach the subject.
When Leo stiffens up, he's suddenly terrified that he's ruined the evening. But then he's taking his own swig, the can still resting in his hands, his eyes apparently fixed on the table in front of him.
Washington learns that he fell hard, fast, and early. He learns that his highschool sweetheart had been the center of his universe, and at his insistence they'd gotten hitched as soon as they could. He learns that the family never really approved of her, or of marrying so young, but he'd gotten his first degree in practically record time and his father couldn't complain. He learns that she started basic when he started his first semester of postgrad, and that her first tour was supposed to be over by the time he was finished.
He learns that they never got to celebrate.
"Technically, she's still missing in action. The like… News… Delivery guy… Was real clear about that." Leo finally drawls, talking to the bottom of the can instead of Washington. "She's not officially dead until they find a body. But he was also real clear about the likelihood of that."
Having solved the mystery, Washington doesn't really know what to say. He settles for not saying anything, wrapping his arm around the smaller man's shoulders as he curls up against him. He especially doesn't say anything about the shaking or the muffled sobs.
When Leo stills and goes silent again, he runs his fingers through his hair and mumbles almost inaudibly. "I'm not going anywhere."
As his breaths start to slow down, little by little, Leo untenses and seems to force himself to peer up at him. "You promise? I mean, it's different-- if you get to say goodbye, it's--"
"I promise." Washington traces his hand along the scruff of his jaw when he leans down to kiss him. Maybe they'll break up -- it's never outside the realm of possibility -- but he can at least manage farewells, if it comes to that. Barring a car accident, which he can't exactly be blamed for, he knows he can keep this. "I promise, Leo."
"Okay." Comes the muffled response, finally, from against his chest. "Just… Just say goodbye."
It's only fair to reciprocate; he feels like, knowing this, he should share something similar about himself. He also feels like it's easier to get any awkward questions out of the way early. So he waits until they're out again, somewhere neutral, with plenty of distractions.
It doesn't get quite the reaction he was expecting.
"Holy shit, dude! You were in prison?"
"Juvie." Washington corrects firmly, crossing his arms. "They deemed me cured enough to be potentially useful to society." Which might not be one hundred percent true, but he'd worked hard to give them that impression. Not much good in breaking the illusion now.
And yet, Leo still just seems impressed, for some reason. "Fuck, man. Still, that's pretty hardcore! Is that why you don't talk to your folks?"
… Oh. Washington wasn't exactly planning on having both of these talks on the same day. "Uuh, well. That's a big part of it, yeah." It had actually been his early twenties when he cut off contact with his family, but there's not much point in getting into the details right now. One revelation at a time.
Leo grins and slaps the back of his shoulder. "Hey, don't worry about it. Relatives are total garbage, anyway. Cee's the only one I've got who isn't a total shitstain."
"What about your family?" Washington counters. Neither he nor Carolina are particularly forthcoming with personal details, and even after a few weeks, he feels like he's barely gotten to know his new partner. His sister is even worse, considering that he's been working with her for years and never knew she had a sibling. "Am I allowed to meet them, or are you estranged from everybody except the boss?"
He isn't expecting a laugh, or for Leo to nudge him so hard. "Uuuuuh, dude. My mom kicked it like, twenty years ago, don't rush off to see her. Chill out, alright? You already met everybody that you're gonna."
"Wait, what? When was that?" Washington's eyebrows nearly meet in the middle as he casts his mind back. There's the sister he knows, and the mother he won't… Who else would that leave? When would there have been a chance? "Who else is there? Your dad, right?"
Leo seems equally confused, cocking his head to stare quizzically at him. "Uuuuh, well, I just assumed. Cee told me he interviews everybody in Freelancer before they're taken on." Even as Washington is trying to puzzle it out, his companion laughs to himself and turns his eyes back towards the road beside them. "God, she said she wasn't pissed about having to do the same, since she was going to anyway, to like. Prove her point or whatever. But I know she was peeved that he didn't even offer to speed up the process for her."
"Why hasn't she ever mentioned this?" Even as the words escape his mouth, Washington realizes that he knows exactly why. Having spent a minimum of five minutes with the individuals involved, all of it makes perfect sense, really. But he's is still reeling, trying to slot all of this new information into the right places in his brain. "Oh, god. Wait, your dad is the Counselor?"
"Pffft, what? No, god, I don't actually know whether that'd be worse." There's the hint of a smile around the corners of his mouth, and Washington can't help but feel he's laughing at him, not with him. "You seriously didn't realize?"
"Realize what!" He demands, only a little higher in pitch than he'd intended. "I don't know what you're talking about!"
"What the hell did you think Leo was short for?" He's full on grinning now, a genuine chuckle escaping him as he stops to takes a bow. "Leonard L. Church, Jr. At your service."
It takes a moment for Washington to connect the dots, suddenly remembering that the few times he's seen his rather reclusive boss, he's been startled at just how green his eyes were.
"Oh, shit."
The bow doesn't have the effect he seemed to be going for: Washington lurches headlong into a panic and practically bolts back home without him. Leo -- or Church, rather, as he learns everyone else calls him -- spends the next few nights away, but only physically. The entire time, Washington's phone pings with new links to the Necessity corporation's rules about dating within the workplace, several times with certain passages highlighted for effect.
wash, come ON. why is this a problem now??
Slowly, he starts to think that maybe it isn't. Church has to assure him that the Director doesn't care about his personal life, as long as his professional life is moving along. And in the weeks since he started spending evenings with Washington, it certainly had been moving; he was drinking less, coding more, even actually on time for meetings. It helped that his boyfriend woke him up at a decent hour for human beings trying to participate in society. And there's been a huge breakthrough in the project he's in charge of. Maybe you could call it inspiration.
Look, I want to… You have to promise you won't get me fired over this.
dude, are you kidding? you'll probably get some perks or someshit.
I don't want that either!
well i don't really want to have the conversation with him anyway, so we can just keep it on the dl.
… Does that ever actually work?
would you shut up and come pick me up you fucking loser
"The fuck is this?" Church drawls, his eyes still sleepy, stepping out of the bathroom as he waves the instrument in question about in his hand.
Washington glances up and takes in the scene in an instant, his eyes flicking back down to his datapad as he responds smoothly: "That's called a toothbrush. I know they're rare these days, but I can give you a crash course in how to use it if you want."
"Fuck off, dude! I know what a toothbrush is!" As he crosses his arms, Church's face turns serious. "What I want to know is why you suddenly have another one!"
With a laugh ( is he serious right now? ) Washington shakes his head. "Well. That would be because I'm seeing somebody."
There's no humor in the response, however. "I fucking knew it." Church laughs drily and throws the brush down, letting it bounce off the coffee table with a hollow clatter. "Fuck. I knew you were too good to be true."
Washington watches the bizarre, spinning arc of the plastic and rubber grips -- it wasn't even a cheap toothbrush, and now it's clanged off the wall and dropped onto the carpet, basically unusable -- and tosses the tablet to his side, letting it fall on the couch cushions. "Church! What the hell!" He chases him down the hall, pushing his way into the bedroom through a door that's closed but not locked.
Church has started shoving his books into his bag, muttering darkly to himself. "Should've fucking known. Why would it work out? It was never gonna work out. It's me. Course he found somebody else, somebody better--"
Finally, the pieces click into place, and Washington lets out a disbelieving laugh. "Oh, my god. Church. The toothbrush is for you."
That, finally, gets his full attention. "Uh." Church turns back towards him, the whites of his eyes visible all around his irises. "Say what?"
"You keep staying for two or three nights at a time, and you almost always forget your own. And no offense, I swear, but I'm just a little less enthusiastic about kissing you when your teeth are all fuzzy. I thought it'd save some trouble just to get you a separate one." Washington sighs, scratching at the back of his neck. "I thought it'd be a nice surpri--"
He's nicely surprised himself, when Church launches himself into his arms, still cursing under his breath. "You fucker. You absolute shithead. You couldn't just tell me instead of being all clever and cagey?" He mutters, his arms locked around the back of his neck.
"I thought it'd be a nice surprise…" Washington manages to repeat, stammering it between kisses, most of his focus on keeping the both of them balanced and upright. "Also, I, uh. Didn't want you to get pissed off."
Church blinks and pulls back, tilting his head as he stares up at him. "What? Why would I be pissed?"
Apparently the comment about his dental hygeine was lost amidst the rest, so Washington allows himself a relieved sigh and a proper kiss, holding Church by the spine as he dips him. "Just use mine for tonight, alright?"
It feels like no time at all has passed before Church barges into the spare room, takes a look around, and declares that the "exercise shit" is gonna have to go, because he needs a proper workspace if he's going to live here.
"Wait, what? You're moving in?" Washington manages to choke back the next word: already.
Church tilts his head to look at him curiously. "Well, yeah. I'm already pretty much always here anyway, right? Just makes sense."
And it does, is the issue. As part of the Freelancer team, his apartment is in a complex only a few minutes from the main labs, like everyone else who works for Necessity with their hands instead of their brains. And despite a considerable chunk of his work being done from home, Church still has the more erratic schedule, running into the complex to meet test subjects or potential investors from dawn to dusk.
"Well, alright. Sure, I guess." Turning it over in his head, Washington is mildly surprised to find that he doesn't have any actual issues with the proposition. The workout equipment should fit in the bedroom, and he wasn't using the space for anything other than situps and storage, anyway.
And… Yeah, alright. For some reason, he's grown accustomed to Church's presence in his home. At this point, it would probably just feel like a house without him.
The desk, bookshelves, and several boxes worth of books have him questioning that thought as he tries to sidle past them in the hallway. But climbing under the covers and finding Church already there -- clicking away on his datapad and making the bed far, far too warm -- just feels right somehow.
Besides, the detritus is unpacked and arranged in what's now "the office" within a matter of days. He finds that he doesn't miss using it, and that he smiles whenever he walks past the open door on his way to the kitchen. Through the gap, he almost always sees Church pounding away at his desktop keyboard, while the cat is curled up on the top of his hard drive.
It's a shitty, assigned apartment, but it feels less like that when Church is there. He could maybe even get accustomed to this.
"Oh my god." Washington's eyes are wide, and he's trying not to think about how feasible it would be to smuggle both of them out of the country. "You stole a baby."
"What? No!" Church glares at him as he puts down the toddler, who clings to his jeans and tucks himself behind his knee, peeking out. "This is Junior. Junior, this is a bag of dicks."
"Church!" He says, his voice going squeaky; but the kid in question just giggles and ducks his head against Church's leg. Rolling his eyes at the indignance, Church shuffles forward as best he can with what looks to be a four or five year old hanging off of him, and drops his customary messenger bag against the wall. "Normally I'd watch him at his own place, but there was a day off, so Tuck actually brought him into work today. Apparently the accounting department is in fucking shambles. Anyway, he should be by to pick him up around eight or nineish."
It turns out that where his boyfriend has been on monday afternoons ( and the rare friday ) isn't crunch time, as he'd assumed: whenever Lavernius Tucker Senior clocks out more than a few hours after kindergarten lets out, or takes an overtime shift, Church is the one to pick Lavernius Tucker Junior up from school. The pedagogical day had thrown a wrench in the usual schedule, which was how the three of them ended up drawing with crayons on the coffee table.
By the time Tucker rings up from the lobby, Junior is nestled somewhere under the bed, having finally cornered Kylie, and deeply determined to cuddle her. Washington has to help extract the both of them, but finally, he manages to separate them with only minor scratches; on Junior, that is. He ignores the itching and busies himself with tidying up the living room while Church delivers Junior downstairs, shuffling away papers and the scattered crayons that they forgot to throw back in his bag beforehand. He tries, intensely, to ward off the thought that maybe he wouldn't mind doing this more often.
"Hey, what do you wanna do next wednesday?"
Washington pulls himself out of his reading daze, and looks up to spot a Church sporting crossed arms yet a fond expression. "Wednesday? I dunno. I mean, York and North will probably want to go out on friday, but that's about it."
That affectionate look fades, Church's eyes narrowing critically instead. "Nothing? There's nothing about wednesday that we should celebrate?"
With a sigh, Washington puts down his tablet. He's learnt by now that with Church, it's best to pick his battles. "Alright. What's the right answer here?"
Pouting aggressively, Church throws himself into the chair opposite, arms still folded over his chest. "Fuck! You dickbag. It's our anniversary."
… Wait. "What?" Is it? That can't be right.
"Well, alright. Only six months. But tons of people don't even last that long!" He leans forward in his seat, impassioned. "Come on, you need the excuse to cut loose!"
Rolling his eyes, Washington picks up the screen again, scrolling to find where he'd left off. "You mean the excuse to drink." He says drily, which prompts Church to turn red and stomp out to the living room in a huff.
But when he gets home on wednesday evening, there's a piece of oreo cheesecake with a single candle sticking out of it on a plate in the fridge. He doesn't remember when he told Church what his favorite flavor was.
In the soft light of early morning, when the both of them have a rare synchronised day off, Washington stares at his boyfriend ( he still can't believe that he has one of those, that he's somehow tricked somebody into thinking that he's good ) and traces his fingertips over his skin. He's usually the first to wake up, which means that he gets to rouse Church as slowly and gently as he wants to.
After they become reacquainted with each other's bodies, Washington loves to indulge in just touching him, being close, relishing in the skin contact. His favorite places to kiss are Church's neck or ears -- for some reason, that always gets him going, panting and writhing in Washington's grasp -- or his forearms. One morning, as he presses a line of soft pecks down his wrists, Church grunts and frowns.
"How come you always go there? You're not exactly gonna kiss it better." He grumbles, starting to pull his hand away. Church isn't usually selfconscious about his scars, foregoing long sleeves in favor of typing mobility; but Washington would have to be willfully ignoring him not to notice that he doesn't like questions about them.
Hovering over him, Washington blinks, before a soft smile breaks across his face. "I know. But I like all of you." It's all he has, and it's the truth.
"Hmph." Church grunts again and breaks eye contact, but the frown lines around his mouth soften somewhat. "Even the parts I fucked up?"
"Even those." He kisses the inside of his wrist again, and bites back the other explanation as to why he likes those spots. It feels like, with his veins near the surface, his blood will carry the affection back to his heart for him. "They're a part of you, you know. Your memories make you who you are, and these are just… Reminders of the bad ones. The bad ones that you survived. You're here now, right?"
Church closes his eyes and turns his face away fully, focusing on a vague spot on the wall when he opens them again. When he speaks again, his voice is flat, but it's that careful neutrality that Washington has heard from him before. "Yeah, well. Maybe it's not all in the past."
His face scrunching with concern, Washington stops and sits up, looking at him. "Church… Listen. Remember what I promised you?" When no recognition dawns on his face, Washington forges onwards. "Early on. I told you I wouldn't go anywhere without saying goodbye."
Church grunts and looks away from his face. "I remember." He finally admits, starting to roll over and curl away from him.
Wrapping an arm around his waist, Washington allows him to turn, but curls around his back to follow him, mumbling into his ear. "Well, you can't make me promise that, and then not do the same." With a kiss to the side of his neck, he lets a smile pull at his mouth when Church shivers and wriggles backwards against him. "It's alright if we say goodbye, but… Just say it, alright?"
That's all he'll need if this all goes to hell; just some closure.
"Hey, Wash. We're going out next saturday." Church announces when he gets in, throwing his coat over the hook by the door and nearly tripping over the cat. His proclamation is met with very little resistance, until the reasoning comes to light.
"I am not stalking your sister!" Washington splutters, practically slackjawed. "Who is also -- once again -- also my boss!"
Church has to pounce on the stammer before continuing. "Too many alsos. Also, come on! It's not stalking! You're invited!"
He's danced to similar tunes before. "Uh huh. Because you invited me?"
At the very least, he has the grace to look ashamed of himself. Unfortunately, it doesn't stop him from speaking. "Well, yeah. But come on! You have to come with me. If it's a double date, it doesn't look as suspicious. If I go alone, I'm just the creepy older brother."
"You're already just the creepy older brother." Washington says instantly.
Sticking his tongue out at him, Church thinks it over for a moment before throwing a middle finger in his direction, too. "Not as old as you." He finally manages as a comeback.
The argument gets repeated all week, and finally Washington caves and agrees to tag along, for the sake of his own sanity if nothing else. And, well, maybe he is a little curious about who the boss would go for. He's worked with Carolina for long enough to know exactly how exacting her standards can be.
When it turns out to be another member of the security team, somebody that he's worked with almost as much as her, he has to stare between the two of them for a long moment, his brows furrowed. "Okay, spill. Does dating in the workplace just run in the family, or what?"
Both of the Churches ( and that's a strange thought, he's gotten used to that name simply meaning his church ) laugh simultaneously, but there's no humor in either of their voices. He glances at York, who just shrugs helplessly towards him before offering his arm to Carolina.
Since it was originally her date, the choice of activity is left up to Carolina. Thankfully, presumably knowing her brother, she chose somewhere at least somewhat informal; their destination turns out to be a fairly relaxed restaurant that lets you do things like eat your french fries with your hands. Which is good, because Washington is pretty sure that his date is wearing the same shirt he wore yesterday. It's highly possible that he didn't sleep.
But, despite Church's general sloppiness and rather focused prickliness ( york deflects it expertly, and washington wonders how long they've really been together when he must have nearly as much practice as he does at navigating church emotions ), the evening is pleasant. The food is plain but tasty, the atmosphere is comfortable, and even Church's chilly attitude thaws as the night wears on. When they part ways, York amicably suggests that they do this again, maybe even regularly. With the one beer he's allowed at dinner sloshing around in his system, Church actually readily agrees, and insists on setting a date the following month. The same one, sort of: the last saturday on the calendar. Maybe he doesn't hate the man quite as vehemently as he insists he does.
It turns out to be the start of a tradition.
Their schedules aren't usually too mismatched, but when another department starts to approach the end of a project, Washington's name is among those drafted for overtime. Church sulks about being left alone in the evenings, but they both agree that the boosted wages are worth it.
So it's to some surprise that Washington steps out of the train and is greeted by flashing lights and a crowd of neighbors he doesn't really know or care to know the names of, milling around on the sidewalk in front of his building.
"Sorry miss? But uh, what's going on?" He asks the nearest one, a short woman with her dark hair pulled back in a short ponytail, and a severe frown on her face. Despite her size, she rounds on him, snarling: "Some fucking dumbass set his apartment on fire, and now I've got to stand out here in the cold! I hate communal housing! One fuckup can ruin it for everybody, any time!"
Washington feels his heart sink as the first twinge of panic flickers through him. He barely remembers to thank her as he moves closer to the fire truck, shuffling his way through the group until he can see the crew, and that one thing he was so afraid to see: Church standing in front of one of someone in uniform, gesticulating furiously. He throws an arm out past another onlooker and shouts. "Church? The hell happened!"
Startling near out of his skin, Church spins and spots Washington making his way towards him, his scowl fading slightly to be replaced by a sheepish smile. "Aw, fuck. Uh. Hey, Wash."
"Don't hey Wash me!" His voice slides higher as he falls out of the crowd and stumbles closer to him. "Did you set our apartment on fire?"
"Only a little!" Is Church's immediate defense, and the crew member standing before him rolls his eyes, apparently having dealt with this for some time by now. "Look, dude! You've been bitching and moaning about how much takeout we've gotten lately, I was gonna make you some socalled real food, for when you got home." All of a sudden, his gaze drops down to his toes, and his voice drops down in volume. "I thought it'd be a nice surprise."
Breathing as slow as he can possibly make himself, Washington looks between the two of them. "Okay, well. Thank you." This, on the other hand, is a distinctly not nice surprise, and he's still trying to wrap his head around it. "Just a kitchen fire? Aren't we supposed to have some kind of sensor system in place?" Like the smoke alarm that blinks at him from the end of the hall whenever he walks towards the kitchen in low light. The one that had gone off practically every time Church so much as looked at the stovetop.
"What, are you kidding? I fixed the settings on that, like, the first week I moved in."
Ah. So that's why it hasn't gone off as much, lately.
The officer before them looks vaguely horrified, and Washington can't tell whether it's at the statement or the ease with which it's admitted. "Sir, you must know that that's illegal. That's basic knowledge."
Washington rubs at an aching temple as he forces his jaw to unclench, grabbing at his boyfriend's elbow with the other to drag him back inside. There's absolutely nowhere good this argument could possibly go, and now they have to decide what to order in, if their stove is burnt out.
At first, Washington had insisted that work at Necessity was their only conversational taboo; but as time went on, he relaxed somewhat, and slowly realized that it just wasn't -- ha -- a necessity. It turns out that Church is under just as many silence contracts as he is.
"God, I wish I could tell you about what we're working on." He groans, sinking down on the couch, tablet turned over in his lap to keep the screen hidden. "It's just! It's so fucking interesting!"
"Is it." Washington says wryly from the kitchen, smiling at the back of his boyfriend's head through the interior window. He's heard how Church talks about his projects, and it's… Well, he's sure it would be interesting to somebody able to follow along. Half of it is jargon, and the other half is exuberant cursing. He's started to pick up on the vocabulary, but with how Church rambles and tangents, it's only helped him somewhat.
"Yeah, actually! It fucking is!" The engineer in question twists on the couch to glare over the counter, eyes narrowed at Washington. "Here I am, on the cutting edge of technology, and we're doing shit that nobody's ever done before! And all my stupid fucking shitbag friends are in on it, but I can't even tell my boyfriend because of some stupid subclause about partners and official addresses!"
Washington tries not to sound too smug, but when he says i told you it'd be more complicated than it looked, it still comes out singsong.
The throw pillow that comes sailing through the window bounces off the fridge with a dull thwump, and Washington can't help but turn and look at where it landed on the floor. It's several feet away from him. "Was that… Was that supposed to hit me?"
The next one flies past him at about the same distance, but in the other direction.
He got used to thinking of himself as nothing more complicated than Washington a long time ago, but you can't share a lease with somebody without knowing their full name. He's mildly ( but pleasantly ) surprised when he finds that when he tells Church that he stopped being David Everett years ago, he just nods and continues using his moniker from work, even around the house.
Well. Except for one room -- metaphorically speaking. The bedroom isn't always where they do… Bedroom things.
The first time that Church gasps oh, dave like a prayer, he nearly stops dead. David realizes that, in more than three decades on this planet, no one has ever said his name like that; like something important, maybe even precious. Something to hold close and treasure.
He decides that maybe he could get used to hearing it, in that context. It's not like he planned for it to become pavlovian.
"Come ooooon, Dave," comes the whisper in his ear, quietly wheedling as Church's arms wrap around his waist. "The new vreens aren't that expensive, and it'll be great for parties!" For somebody whose family runs a technological empire, he sure can be cheap.
It's difficult for Washington to respond when the blood is leaving his head to rush downwards, but he manages to shrug him off and at least try to make the roll of his eyes convincing. "Sure, I know they are. But we never have any parties, Leo." Since he started using his last name, the same as everyone else, that nickname seems to have become a kind of kryptonite.
He can't help but smirk to himself when it has the intended effect: Church turning dark red and slapping his bicep, before turning and stalking off. The VR tech he had wanted shows up in the office anyway, of course, but he doesn't try to pretend that it would be for the benefit of all.
Another time, Washington mentions the possibility of another cat. It might be hard work, getting them accustomed to each other, but it would make sure that Kylie wasn't lonely when they're both at work all day. Church scowls and snarls whenever it comes up, insisting that he already hates the current pet and would never subject himself to more than one, and why don't they just get a fish tank like he suggested last month? All, somehow, despite the fact that he's taken to cleaning her litter and feeding her without prompting, and petting her on his lap as he works. Washington has even seen him lift her onto the counter or the top of his desk when she mrrps, crooning quietly as he does. But Washington knows that if he mentions those times, Church will just deny it, and probably go from peeved to furious.
So, instead, he lets Church get himself worked up into a lather, well away from his usual ( supposedly ) highly logical thought process. Washington waits until he's shouting about how he's going to die from shed fur and dander, before he grabs for his hand and pulls him in; and whispers please, leo? against the side of his skull.
It might not be fair, but it has Church instantly quieted, pressed against his chest. "... Alright. Alright, fine. But I swear to god, I get to name this one."
"You pick out names like a white suburban mom." Church sneers, turning back to the cages. "You can pick it out, since I'm not going to interact with it or anything, but I refuse to live in a household made up of Leonard, David, Kylie, and like… Paris, or something."
"What's wrong with Paris!" Washington splutters, and has to hope that it's not too obvious that he was considering that if they got another girl.
Church just rolls his eyes. "See? That's exactly what I'm talking about. You can't just give them the same name as you would a toddler. It's creepy, Wash."
"Says the previously mentioned Leonard." He tries to reason; but it's in vain.
"Fuckin' right. That's it, exactly. I know what it's like, I'm just trying to protect them." A smile spreads across his face when he turns and sees a mostly black cat, with a white patch around its mouth. It looks to be fairly young still, with a small frame and skinny legs, but past the age of true kittenhood: when huge eyes and fluffy cheeks ensure a waiting list. It's currently pacing in front of the bars, posture tense and eyes wide.
"Uh, Church?" He has at least some more experience with feline body language than his boyfriend. "I think that one's really new. Doesn't seem too acclimated to this environment…"
"Oh, shut up." Church just groans and sticks his fingers through the gap between the metal rods, still smiling faintly. "He's just excited to meet somebody new, ain'tcha, buddy?"
He yelps and hops away from the cage when the cat in question bites his fingertips, but he still insists on taking that one home with them. The entire time Washington is poring over the paperwork, he plays with it through the holes in the carrying case, crooning as quietly as possible. When they load into the lifter, Church catches what must have been read as a condescending look, and holds the box tighter on his lap, despite the displeased howls emanating from it. "Hey! He's got spunk! I like a pet with some attitude, alright?"
Washington doesn't bother to tell him that the volunteer at the counter informed him that the newly christened 'Buddy' is a girl, and will need spaying within the next few weeks.
"Hey, what are we doing next tuesday?"
This time, at least, Washington is ready. "Oh, nothing big." He says regardless, swiping to the next page in a gesture he hopes manages to evoke the image of flipping through a spread newspaper.
As Church's shoulders start to rise, he spares a glance up and allows himself a tiny smile. "Just spending the night with the man I love. I thought maybe we'd go get frozen yoghurt, or someth--"
He's cut off with an oof when Church lands in his lap, throwing his arms around his neck and practically giggling. "Good answer. You know, I think I'd really, like really, really like that." Church says, the grin warping his words only a fraction. "That sounds absolutely perfect."
It doesn't escape his notice that -- despite having tried variations on the few times they returned, or went to a different shop -- Church gets chocolate with a heaping pile of peanut butter cup crumble on top.
But it's not like he can say anything about it. He got slices of strawberry and kiwi; somehow, it tastes better than it did a year ago.
"Hey." Church is fidgeting, even more than usual. "Can you pick me up after my shift?"
"Mmmmmm? Uh, well, not technically. But I can meet you and walk back, or something."
"Oh my god! I'm not stupid, I didn't mean with a car. Just…" And then he's hunched over in the classic Church Pout, his shoulders hiked and eyes narrowed. "Just come meet me, alright?"
Washington squints uncertainly at him for a moment, before he the puzzle pieces snap into place, and his face breaks into a smile. "Oh, shit! Is the presentation today?" He laughs as he leaps to his feet and sweeps his boyfriend up into a nearly suffocating embrace, tugging the soles of his shoes up and off of the floor. "Great! I mean. Good! Good." But still, he can't hide his enthusiasm even as he puts him down, still grinning like a fool. "It's gonna be so good, Church. You worked so hard. It's gonna be great! It has to."
"Yeah?" Even if his tone is uncertain, Chuch allows himself a tentative smirk. "Alright, well. Tell you what, then. If we get approved, then you owe me dinner."
Washington elbows him ( maybe a little too roughly ) and lets out a laugh, his mood suddenly lifted. "Alright, sure. Plug it into your schedule now, why don't you? I mean, it's not like you're gonna get turned down."
For his part, Church furrows his eyebrows and peeks up at him from beneath them, the corners of his mouth turned down. "You sure about that? It is the Director, after all."
"Yeah. I think I'm pretty sure." Washington is used to this dance, used to Church being scared that he'll somehow jinx himself if he acts too secure. Reassuring him at home is about all he's capable of, for this. "Hey, how come you never call him dad, anyway?"
Church peers up at him, and his expression seems genuinely baffled by the query. "Why would I? He told me not to." Washington snorts quietly at that, and steps back to watch his partner pack the plain bag with his datapad and paper notebooks, still mumbling almost to himself: "Anyway, I'm telling you, this is gonna be big. I'm like, singlehandedly bringing about the singularity, here. He's gonna have to give me a raise. Black sheep or not."
Letting out a laugh, Washington reaches for his hand, twining their fingers together to keep both sets of them from fidgeting. "Well, even if he doesn't, I think I can probably find some way to reward my genius boyfriend."
Church's face lights up, his knuckles stilling on the surface of the bag. "Yeah? You wanna get pizza tonight?"
That gets another low laugh, and Washington can't help but lean against him, smiling. "Really? That's all you want? You're not gonna try and negotiate a steak dinner, or something?"
"Nah. 'Course it'll be fine, but you know how much dealing with him takes it outta me. I'll still be tired and probably pissed off." It's difficult to shrug when he's pressed against him the way he is, but somehow, Church manages it. "I just wanna order in, and eat on the couch, and curl up with you."
"That sounds perfect." Washington squeezes his hand and leans over to kiss his forehead, a warm feeling of contentment washing over him. The thought lingers in his mind long after they both leave the apartment, well through the majority of his shift.
So much so that he may, embarrassingly, show up a little bit early. But Washington knows that his boyfriend will stay well past the end of his own shift to make sure that something gets done. The chances are extremely high that he's just wrapping something up in the lab, some tweaks for the project that were demanded at the meeting, that he won't want to leave until tomorrow. It's probably fine. It's definitely fine. So he leans against the wall, and then sits in the lobby's leather chairs, and then paces in front of the poor secretary's desk. He waits.
It's been ten minutes. He wants to text.
It's been twenty minutes. He wants to call.
It's been half an hour. He wants to go up.
It's been an hour. He has to go up.
The halls are empty as he signs in and hits the elevator button. Only a single other worker steps into it with him, and he nearly sighs with relief when he realizes that it's somebody he has some familiarity with. "Hey, Simmons. I'm looking for Church, have you--"
"Nope! Sorry!" Simmon squeaks and jams the button for the next floor, shifting on his heels as he waits for the doors to open. "He left the meeting and I haven't seen him since. Sure wish I could help!" Washington watches the thin, lanky man fumble with his datapad as he practically presses himself against the elevator doors to get away from him. "Hope you… Hope you find him." Simmons says quietly, over his shoulder, as he slips through them when they finally slide apart.
The labs are always eerie in the evenings; but most of the time, Washington likes the silence of a place that's usually bustling. Now, a shiver runs up his spine as he makes his way between workstations, and it takes a few moments before he can pin down why. There's absolutely no sound; not even the faint tapping of Church's keyboard.
His personal station is in the corner, where he can watch the rest of the team if he so chooses -- which he rarely ever does. Every time Washington has checked in during daylight hours recently, he's been completely engrossed to the point of hissing at his coworkers on approach, like a feral cat.
But he's not at his screen, poring over lines of characters like Washington is expecting. His screen is glowing, and a scattered cloud of various windows indicates that he's logged in; and the favorite fidget toy is in its usual place beneath where his left hand rests, which usually means that he's just gotten up. Turning in place to cast his gaze around the room, Washington can't find any indication that he's still there--
Ah. One of the smaller labs, branching from the main room, still has a door open and a light on. Washington lets out a swift breath through his nose, allowing himself a small smile as he practically jogs over. He's going to have some something to say about being left downstairs for nearly two hours, but the relief flooding through him is palpable in his throat.
"Church?" He calls out, pushing the door so that it swings fully open, turning the sliver of light spilling out into a big, bright wedge. With the cold glare of the bulbs, it's easy to make out the figure slumped over in the scan seat. It's also easy to spot the splatters of red, already turning dull and dark with lack of oxygen.
"... Leo?"
Oh. Fuck.
( the last thought that flits across his mind before it goes dark is aw, shit. he fucking forgot about the pizza.
wash is gonna be so pissed off at him )