Ex Meridian (Nothing Special 7)

“Fuck me,” Ruxs groaned at the first glance he got of God’s face. He could just imagine what he looked like, and his men weren’t idiots. They didn’t ask questions they already knew the answers to. “Not again.”

“Yeah. Again.” Day moved around him, his chest lightly brushing his arm as he did. He went to his desk and began to gather their things, readying to leave.

God hadn’t felt this defeated in a long time. What the hell was he going to tell that mother when she came back on Monday to check on the status of her son’s case? Like she did every week. And every Monday he’d had to tell her there’d been no new developments. But this time he thought his report would be different.

“I know that look, God. Go home. Don’t come back into this office for at least forty-eight hours,” Syn told him. His dark eyes and the firm set of his mouth let God know that his sarge wasn’t giving him an option. It wasn’t the first time the man had had to handle them and it wouldn’t be the last, and he didn’t have the strength to argue.

They turned all lights out and locked up. Their mood was as heavy as their steps. Thank goodness the bullpen was asleep at four in the morning, because otherwise their walk of shame would’ve been that much more painful. His team mumbled at each other to have good weekends and went their separate ways. They thought they’d be doing some celebrating this weekend, but they’d been terribly wrong.

Fifteen minutes later, God pulled into their driveway, not knowing how he’d gotten from point A to point B, but grateful he hadn’t run over anything on his way. He trudged up the few steps to their home and waited behind Day for him to unlock their front door. He hadn’t stood there more than a few seconds when an uneasy feeling slithered down his spine, sparking his husband into the same reaction.

“What is it?” Day whispered.

“I don’t know. Feels like we’re being watched,” God said. He listened as Day didn’t waste another minute getting them indoors. God checked their street before he closed the door, not seeing anyone. They’d put a lot of people away over the years, broken up a lot of organizations. He knew they had enemies, lots of them.

“You’re on edge. We both are. Come on, that shower is calling us.”

He heard Day kick his boots off and drop his duffle bag onto the bench behind the front door. Neither of them bothered turning on any lights, and as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he felt Day’s arms slide up his chest to his throat, then up over his shoulders. It felt good.

Day was his partner in the truest sense. His being was his existence. His need for him hurt. It was difficult containing the love he had for Leonidis in his chest—as if there wasn’t room. His lover’s fierce combination of skill, intelligence and wit, topped with his intense loyalty to only him shifted him continuously. The way he moved beside him in the field made him irresistible. Day was so quick and precise, disciplined to the core, just like him. An absolute badass. His match and equal, his one piece of good in this fucked-up world.

“Go on and get the water hot. I’ll meet you up there.” God lowered his head and kissed Day on his temple before releasing him and urging him towards the stairs. He waited until he’d rounded the landing before God exhaled a tired breath.

He couldn’t shake the weight of possibly losing his department from his shoulders. He didn’t want to bring his work to their bedroom so he went to the kitchen for a beer and about five bottles of water. He stood at the island in his quiet home and thought over the last twenty-four hours. Where had they fucked up with arresting James and Marcus Stewart? It’d been by the damn book. He finished the third bottle of water then opened his beer.

He went to his office at the back of the house, not intending to work, just wanting to... he didn’t know... think better. God turned on the dim desk light and pushed around a few files and various images from surveillance around his desk. He landed on a forensic photo of Evan Martin’s body lying facedown in the street. He stared for an unknown amount of time, trying to force his tired mind to think in another pattern. He took a large swallow of his beer then grimaced at the blandness. He wished he could fully taste the bold, dark brew, but instead his mouth felt numb. As if he didn’t deserve to enjoy such luxuries when he’d failed so miserably.

God set the bottle down on the windowsill and stared out into the pitch darkness of his backyard. Their property sat nudged against some dense woods that had nothing on the other side but more woods, then a wide, man-made lake, but their six-foot privacy fence prevented access. He inched closer to the glass, his eyes adjusting the more he stared. Why did it feel like someone was—?