Fish & Chips (Cut & Run 3)

“Are you okay? I couldn"t do anything but stand and watch before, but I could do something to help now.”

“Yeah, you can,” Ty murmured somberly, his eyes darting back and forth as he looked over Zane"s sincere face. “You can get me some Tylenol. And ice. And a drink. And possibly a nice gentle massage,

"cause I"m not going to be able to move my arms in an hour.”

Zane leaned to kiss him, just a soft press of the lips, probably to halt Ty"s litany of demands. “You can have anything you want, baby.”

Ty almost gave in to the gentle sentiment, but he closed his eyes and shook his head obstinately. “Quit it!” he demanded, barely keeping himself from stomping his foot in a petulant fit. He wanted Zane back to being his normal indignant self, not this weird quixotic version of his lover and partner. “Snap out of it and… I don"t know… yell at me for almost dying or something!”

“All right, all right,” Zane said, smiling a little and straightening his shoulders, giving himself a slight shake. “Next time you do something like that, I"m going to smack the hell out of you, okay?” He stole one more kiss and sighed, then padded over to the phone. In the next moment, he was talking to the butler service. “What do you want to drink?” he directed at Ty, his hand over the mouthpiece of the phone.

“A lot,” Ty answered grimly.

Zane ordered a six-pack of Guinness and large pitcher of iced tea, a shot of their best whiskey, a bucket of ice, some cold sandwiches and chips, and a cookie platter in quick succession before hanging up.

“Cookies?” Ty asked with a smile he didn"t try to restrain.

“Comfort food. You get beer; I get cookies,” Zane explained as he kicked off his cross trainers and walked back over to the bed.

Ty watched him move, seriously considering tackling him and relieving some stress in a more favorable manner than a shower or cookies. But he decided against such a tack, considering how distressed Zane seemed and how important the morning"s events might be to the grand scheme of things. “So,” he said quietly. “Do we think someone is trying to kill Del, or do we think someone"s figured out we"re not the Porters and they"re trying to kill me? Or us, I guess, since there was no way of knowing which of us would go first.”

He watched as Zane studied him silently for a moment and then advanced on him. “There"s not been enough exposure for our cover to be blown unless there"s a wild card in play who actually knows the Porters. We have no reason to think that,” Zane said. He stopped right in front of Ty, looking down at him. “Take off those shoes.”

The firm tone of voice alone made Ty shiver slightly, and it took him a moment to realize he was still wearing the climbing shoes supplied by the staff at the rock wall. Ty looked down at them in surprise. He felt himself flush at the absentmindedness, and he yanked them off one at a time, tossing them toward the sofa. “So why try to hurt one of the Porters?” he posed as he did so. “A fall like that wouldn"t necessarily kill. Especially since cutting halfway through a rope isn"t exactly a precise method. Whoever did it had no idea when it would rip. And since I doubt Del or Corbin are better climbers than me, it"s likely they"d have been lower when it did go.”

Zane grunted in comment as he walked around the edge of the bed. He sat and pulled up his legs, leaning against the headboard and crossing his legs at the ankle. “It"s awfully imprecise. We could have skipped our appointment or been late and it could have been someone else up there.” His voice was steadier now, almost back to normal.

“Which proves two things,” Ty said with a frown. “Whoever did it isn"t in a hurry to kill us—them—whoever they"re trying to kill. And they"re not afraid to hurt innocent bystanders doing it. My bet"s on Armen. Anyone who likes to drink as much as the Italian can"t be sober often enough to plan ahead.”

“Not necessarily. If you"ve got tolerance, alcohol might sharpen your attention, not blunt it.”

The comment brought Ty up short. He"d been joking about Lorenzo Bianchi and his love of wine, an off-handed comment he probably shouldn"t have made. But Zane"s sincere belief in the words he"d just uttered disturbed Ty enough that he wasn"t able to keep the surprise and concern out of his expression. Zane just offered a shrug and a rueful smile.

“Is that really what you think?” Ty asked, unable to help himself.

Zane"s brow creased a little. “Yes. Everyone reacts to alcohol differently, just like drugs, just like injuries. Depends on how you handle it, what you let it do to you. Why?”

Ty realized he was staring at Zane slightly agape, and he quickly pressed his lips together. He shook his head sadly. The reasoning seemed very… self-serving for an alcoholic. He didn"t want to argue with Zane just then, so he nodded and looked away, determined to let the thread of conversation die a natural death. He moved toward the bed, pulling his damp shirt over his head and casting it aside as he sat in the general location of the end of the bed. He examined the scar on his hand. His ring finger was beginning to swell even more. He was never going to get the damn ring off. He might actually need to have it cut off soon.

“I"m sitting here trying to think of a creative way to yell at you for scaring the shit out of me, and nothing"s really coming to mind other than f**king you against the shower wall until we both feel better,” Zane said from behind him, his tone calm and conversational.

Ty nodded distractedly. “I do need a shower,” he commented in a voice to match.

Zane shifted his weight to climb off the bed and moved toward him, reaching out one hand. When he glanced up, Ty was surprised to see the intense look in Zane"s eyes. His fingers brushed over Ty"s skin, but they flinched after a firm rap on the stateroom door.

Ty looked up at Zane and smiled gamely. Zane glanced to the door and back to Ty, clearly considering ignoring it until there was a second knock, louder than the first. Zane huffed and stalked across the room to unbolt the door and open it just enough to look out.

Ty watched tensely, hands loose near the gun he"d stashed under the mattress earlier, and hunched over so he could grab it quickly. He couldn"t see or hear their guest, but he wouldn"t put it past Zane to growl at them to go away so they could proceed to the shower as planned.

“Unless you"re hiding a cart with cold beer and cookies, go away,” Zane growled at whoever was out there.