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He's tired. I can see it in the slump of his shoulders, the lines around his eyes. The slow way in which he undresses.
It's not just physical weariness. It's emotional as well. That I can tell by his presence in my house at this hour. He knows I'm usually sleeping now, since I work night shift, like he does. Not to mention the fight we had a few days ago. It wasn't anything major, just a difference of opinion. But we're two stubborn men, set in our ways. That, plus the 16 years we spent apart before reconnecting, tend to blow our arguments out of proportion. Hell, we've argued in public, which is how at least one of our colleagues found out about the two of us.
But he's here. He has a key to my place, like I have a key to his. I figured he wouldn't stop by for a few more days. It must have been a bad case to bring him here. Or he really missed me. The way I missed him. Even though we'd worked on the same case once since the fight, we weren't really there. We were both used to hiding our relationship while on the job, not letting others know that the two of us were sharing the same bed at night. Still, it's worse when the distance is caused by a fight, not by a desire to remain in the closet.
I'm lying on my side, facing the doorway, watching him. My eyes are barely open, so I don't think he even realizes I'm awake. I don't want him to know - so he doesn't feel like he needs to make conversation or explain his presence. I'm just glad he's here. I'm glad he feels like he can turn to me if he needs anything - even if we're fighting. If that makes me selfish, so be it.
He undresses quietly, trying not to wake me. I suppress a smile as I watch him neatly fold his clothes. Shirt, slacks, even socks get folded. He leaves his boxers on as he approaches the bed. My eyes are now closed, so I have to rely on sound and the sense of him. He's standing by the bedside - I can feel his eyes on me and almost hear his mind working. He's probably debating on the wisdom of this. Silently, I speak to him in my mind. **I forgive you, my love. Forgive me? Please, don't think that I would ever turn you away when you're hurting.**
I don't know if he heard me or if he merely decided on his own that he needed to be with me more than he needed to keep our fight going. Whatever it was, he pulled back the covers and slid under them. Sighing, I moved closer to him, never opening my eyes. **Let him think I'm still asleep and simply feel him in our bed**, I thought.
Whatever he thought, I knew I had done the right thing when he turned, put his arm around me and buried his face in my shoulder. I lay there quietly, realizing there was something going on in his head, and I would simply have to wait until…
He's crying. I can feel the hot drops of water on my skin, hear the sniffles that come with tears, feel him shaking with repressed sobs. Abandoning the pretense of sleeping, I put my arms around him and pull him to me. "Shh…it's okay."
He froze when he heard my voice. "I didn't mean to wake you," he said, sniffling to get himself under control.
"I don't care," I said, refusing to let him pull away. He seemed to deflate, burying his face again and letting the tears resume. He wasn't as quiet this time, knowing I was awake. I held him, rubbing his back and kissing his hair, letting him know I was there for him.
He cried for a long time, and I began to worry. When his tears dried up, he moved closer to me.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't mean to impose, but I…"
"Don't," I whispered back. "Don't ever feel like you're imposing, Corazón." It hurt to hear him think that way. We'd been lovers since we were barely out of college - how could he think he was imposing?
"I just needed you, araña."
"I'm sorry I was such an idiot."
"I'm sorry I was too."
He was silent for a moment after that, and then started speaking. "I worked a case tonight, a double murder. One of the victims had been sexually assaulted, which is why we ended up getting it. The other had been a good Samaritan, trying to stop the attack and getting shot for his trouble." Pausing, he took in a shuddering breath. "I had to notify his roommate -- his partner. They'd been together as long as we have, araña. It devastated him, to hear that. But he didn't want to show it in front of me -- too afraid of what I would think."
"He couldn't have known."
He shook his head. "No, but I couldn't help seeing the pain in his eyes as he tried to hide it. He was afraid I'd judge him." Another sniffle. "Luckily, Warrick was the CSI on the case."
I smiled at the thought of my laid back colleague accompanying my lover. Warrick was the most accepting out of those who knew about Robert and I, other than Greg. Sara has been distant since she found out, and the jury is still out on Catherine. I almost don't want to know how Nick will react…or Jim.
"Warrick convinced him it was okay to cry…and managed to get the information we needed on where his partner was heading. You really ought to do something nice for him, Gil."
I smiled into Robert's hair. "The paperwork for a raise is already in the pipeline after the MacGruder murders." My lover chuckled at that. "What's really bothering you, corazón?"
He was silent for a long time, so long that I wondered if he'd fallen asleep, exhausted from his tears. I had just closed my eyes, ready to fall back asleep myself, when I heard him whisper in Spanish. "I finally realized what you've been dealing with all these years."
Frowning, I cupped Robert's chin in my hand and gently pushed his head up to look at his glistening green eyes. "What do you mean?"
He smiled, a little sadly, and switched back to English. "All those things you never said about my job when we were in L.A., as much as I know you wanted to. I know you worried about me being out on the streets, though you kept silent."
"You love your job," I said quietly, truthfully. He did, as much as I loved mine, and as much as I'd hated the dangers of his. Worried on nights when he hadn't come home on time, hated when he'd been injured and I could only visit him in the hospital as a friend, not as a family member. Even now I hated that he was still investigating cases as a Captain. Which had prompted our rather public argument when he'd first moved out here.
"I know. I just never…really thought about what would happen if…" he trailed off and took in a shuddering breath. "I saw tonight what it would have been like for you. Not being able to show that you were grieving…"
Tears slipped down my cheeks and I held him tighter. "It would kill me to lose you like that," I admitted, having already considered that unthinkable fate many times.
"Same here," he whispered. "I love you too much."
"Same here, corazón."