Archive of Our Own (BETA rev. 2101)

Bacon sizzled on the griddle. The small kitchen was still cluttered, but it was clean now at least, and both the boys had their homework done (and checked), and were now out in the driveway fiddling with the broken down car Frank was constantly trying to 'rebuild'.

"What are you doing here?" a voice said from the doorway, as politely possible. Frank set his things down and looked over the man cooking in his (albeit much improved) kitchen.

He would have preferred Chris call first, but his annoyance was balanced out by the fact that he hadn't seen those countertops in weeks, let alone gleaming. And he was starving and the smell of bacon frying after a 12-hour day was intoxicating. To say nothing of the way Chris's faded jeans hung from his hips as he turned to meet Frank’s gaze.

"I had leave," Chris said lightly, leaving it at that. "Get you a beer?" Chris went to the fridge without waiting for a reply. Frank let it be handed to him, cap already twisted off.

"And you apparently spent it . . . cleaning my house?" Frank said, peaking into the living room, where the carpet was vacuumed, the furniture was dusted, and the books and papers and reams of engineering manuals were neatly stacked.

"Just a couple things. Not a big deal. Figured out what was wrong with the fan in the upstairs bathroom. You had a problem with your wiring." Chris took the bacon off the griddle and placed it on a paper towel.

"You really shouldn't have. Just tell me you didn't do laundry this time?"

"I didn't do laundry this time."

Frank shook his head. "You're lying."

"Call in the boys and we can eat," Chris said, ignoring him. The table was already set.

*

After the dinner dishes were done (by the boys, closely supervised), the four of them played two rounds of Algorithm, after Jim and Sam took turns in the bathroom, Chris read them a chapter of Cho Sisters: Fighters of Space Crime!, and the boys were in bed (at least, in their room and quiet) by 9:30 PM.

Chris assured Frank the boys already packed their bags for school when they finished their homework, and Chris had checked them for meal cards and the appropriate PADDs and made sure there was no contraband. In the past month, Jim had been caught with cigarettes, a exam answer key, and bottle of heart pills, which he admitted to trading for from another boy, with the intention of perhaps ‘selling on the open market’. Not that he really knew what that meant. Sam had been caught with a download of a pornographic sim, a razor blade, and several drawings that were not exactly illegal, but certainly aggravated several instructors by painting them in a bad light.

"I really appreciate it, Chris. I owe you one." Frank was whispering; the walls were thin and they were still in the hallway outside the boys' room.

"I don't mind. I know those two are a handful. You need a break sometimes, or you gonna lose it."

The silence hung between them for a minute or two.

"You wanna come into my room for awhile?" Frank asked.

"Sure."

They didn't have The Conversation that night (You’re married. You were her husband’s best friend. What if the boys found out?). They'd had it too many times before, always with the same results--guilt-ridden, but nonetheless, naked, in one another's arms.

Tonight, they'd wrapped themselves in covers against the cool October air and lay side by side, kissing and stroking one another to orgasm. Frank had finished quickly, easily, the feel of Chris’s calloused hand wrapped around him too much after being so long denied. For Chris is took longer, he came with his head buried in Frank’s shoulder, moaning quietly, breathing in the scent of him. It was like everything else they'd done that night—simple and domestic and long over due.

They'd fallen asleep when they heard the downstairs door open with a creak.

"It isn't--?"

"It couldn't be."

There was no reasonable explanation for Chris to be there at 1 AM, and besides, Chris respected Winona too much to lie. But still, he managed to be fully clothed by time she'd climbed the stairs. It was more dignified for everyone that way.

The scene that followed was regrettable but unavoidable.

*

"Mom says you're not going to come over anymore."

Chris sighed. He was standing at one of the shipyard computer consoles, wondering how Jim got past security.

"That's right, son."

"I’m not your son.”

"You're right, you’re not."

"I’m not Frank’s son, either."

"He does a lot for you," Chris began, biting back the urge to lecture. He thought about Frank a lot these days. And the boys. He and Frank didn't have reason to cross paths on the job any more, but Chris suspected there was more to it than that, that the silence meant it was was really over this time.

"Mom shipped out this morning. She won't be back until January." Jim was trying to do an 11-year-old's best rendition of 'subtle'. It made the corners of Chris' mouth curl up a bit, despite himself.

"You need to listen to your mother, kid. Understand? Now get on home." He went back to what he was doing.

Jim looked at him a long time, wrinkling his forehead before he turned to go.

"January," Jim turned to yell when he'd gotten a little ways away. Chris didn’t look up, but the hopefulness in that voice made his heart break.