The phone was ringing when Val got the door to unlock. “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming!” He growled at it and tossed the keys into the basket by the door. He kicked the door shut and manage to snatch up the phone before the caller hung up. “Hello?”

“Mr. York?” A man on the other end questioned.

Val frowned. Only a handful of people had his home number and he knew all their voices. It wasn’t Bently calling, he’d just gotten off the phone with them. Gavan was doing better then expected and he’d made it clear he could be reached at Trist’s number.

“Yes?”

“If you want to know what really happened with your sister, meet me at the fountain in Weaver Park, tomorrow, six am.”

“Who is this?” He snapped but the line clicked dead. He stood, startled, for a moment, staring at the phone but the phone was unwilling to provide any answers.

 

“No!” Trist shouted. “Better, fuck no! It’s cloak and dagger bullshit!”

“Trist.”

“Besides, what sane person is awake at fucking six in the morning.” He was pacing, nervous, and chewing what little of his fingernails he had left off. “I don’t want you to go.”

Val leaned against the counter. “Well, I’m going.”

“Don’t!”

“Trist, she was my sister, somebody hurt her. Would you walk away?” There was little of logic in what he felt, just the burning desire to understand, to learn why.

“Someone shot Gavan, I’m letting the police do their good damn job!”

“The police don’t care about Violet. I’ve tried that. Who ever called, they could be a crack pot but maybe they really do know something. I need to know.”

Trist felt the anxious fear clawing at him but he pushed it down. It wasn’t a vision, nothing had changed with his sight but it was from the rooted fear of being left alone. “Damn it!”

There was no hours of sex that night. Trist was nervous and pacing, twitchy, and even the news that Gavan had been taken off the respiratory early and was breathing fine on his own did little to lighten his mood. Val ignored him, he was good at ignoring things, and let Trist fuss.

As much as he liked making Trist happy, as much as making Trist happy made him happy, Val needed to follow any lead that might explain what had happened to Violet. Nothing in the entire of the world mattered like family and Val would cross fire and flood to find the truth. He doubted he’d be able to make that need seem logical and necessary to Trist, a man that ran on fluid emotion and profanity.

There was a small debate about where Val would sleep. At first Trist balked at letting Val join him in his bed and Val had merely shrugged.

“I sleep like the dead anywhere.” Which was to say that Trist couldn’t do the same.

“Damn it.” Trist had muttered. “Fucking six am, can’t believe I’m setting my alarm clock to five fucking am.”

“You don’t need to get up.”

“Like I’m going to be able to sleep!” He snapped back and slammed the bathroom door behind him. He knew he wasn’t being fair but he couldn’t stop himself. Val’s safety had rapidly become as important to him as Gavan’s and with Gavan hurt, he didn’t think he could stand to see Val hurt.

They’d slept, with Val wrapped around Trist but when Val work up several hours later, Trist wasn’t in his arms. He cracked his eyes open, groggy and found Trist sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Hey?”

“Go back to sleep.” Trist tossed over his shoulder.

“Lay back down with me?” The bed, his arms, felt empty.

“I can’t sleep.”

“Try again, for me?” He lifted the covers.

Trist sighed and slid back into bed, pressing his chilled body into the warm pocket of bed and blankets that Val occupied. He was certain sleep was impossible but it did feel nice to lay, snuggled, against Val’s body.

“Val?”

“Hmm?” One of Val’s hands snaked out and petted Trist’s hair, the man hadn’t braided it back.

“Don’t go tomorrow.”

“This isn’t a movie, Trist. Nothing dramatic is going to happen. I’ll show up, who ever the whistleblower is will tell me what he saw, maybe give me some files and I’ll be home before eight.” He kissed the nearby temple of the worried head. “Now, shhhh, try to relax.”

Trist didn’t think he’d be able to relax, let alone sleep, but the hand that soothed across his head lulled him. It was simply too nice, curled up together, Val’s warmth chasing away his own chill, to fight the exhaustion that pulled him down. He drifted into lightly resting and then into sleep without ever noticing.

Val woke before the alarm and turned it off with three minutes to spare. Trist was tucked against his back, a warm length that was softly snoring. The sound made him smile almost as much as seeing the face, threaded with loose hair. He took a moment to tug blankets tighter around the limp body before moving smoothly across the bedroom to shower and shave.

The sounds of him in the bathroom didn’t wake Trist, which Val figured was a good thing since he doubted he could deal with any drama so early in the morning. As he slipped across the bedroom, carrying his shoes for no real reason other than it felt quieter to do so, he saw the slender man was still curled up, mouth parted in a soft snore, as he’d been left. He paused in the living room to pull his shoes on and call the hospital just to check on Gavan but they reported no change, which was actually a good thing at this point.

There was time so he opted to ride the bus. Val had always liked the bus, it made him feel connected and part of something. It wasn’t a habit he’d ever been able to really explain to Violet, she’d always tried to push him to get a small car but Val liked public transportation. He could sit near the back and watch people, watch their lives and interactions and somehow his own life didn’t seem so bland.

The colorful display of human relationships and life was lost on him this morning. Things were happening too quickly and none seemed to hold any hope of resolution. Gavan would recover, the hospital was certain of that now, and once he was home, would there be a place for him with Trist? He was good in the role of caregiver, worrying about other people was something Val knew how to do but what would happen when that duty was removed? Would he have a place for Trist in his life without the weight of responsibility? Kelly would be home soon and she’d most likely be by to see him, she didn’t believe in phoning, and he had no idea what to do with her.

All of the circles his mind raced in were just easy excuses to avoid thinking about Violet. They’d spoken nearly every day, and if not daily, no more then two or three would pass without a call. Even if it had only been for a few moments, he’d always known that her laughing warmth was open to him. Their uncle had once mocked their closeness, said they acted like twins, not separate siblings and that hadn’t been far from the truth. Violet spoke up for him, he settled her down when anger at their lives and the world around them over took things. They’d balanced each other, finished each other’s sentences and even called each other with the same ideas.

And now all of that was gone. It really had felt like half of his own soul was dead, maybe they’d been meant to be twins. There was a massive rift in his life that he was only now being able to map out safely. A rift too big to fill or avoid or ignore and touching the edges too deeply made him ache. That was one thing Trist had been able to do for him, the other man’s strength and courage had allowed Val to try to grasp a hold of his own grief.

None of his thoughts were comfortable and they clouded over the simple pleasure of watching the people around him. It made the bus ride to Weaver Park pass both more quickly and far too slowly. The weight of his thoughts nearly dragged him down so deeply that when the bus reached the stop Val needed to get off at, he almost didn’t notice.

The doors of the bus nearly shut on him, he’d delayed so long in getting off, but Val found himself outside of Weaver Park at six am, on the nose. He’d never been to Weaver before, not even on some of his longer summer bike rides. There were few trails for joggers or bikers and the older park had little quality equipment for kids to play on. It wasn’t overly populated on the best of summer days and would be down right empty in the grey early morning February chill.

Val had heard rumors that the park was a different place at night. Filled with people looking for things. Some came looking to buy or sell whatever drug they needed to stop their hunger, some came to sell sex. Rumors had it that a lot wandered around Weaver Park after dark looking to give sex away. The idea held no appeal to Val, gay or straight, he was always too reserved, too caught in his own skin, to give in to the urge to let some nameless person fuck him. Lately, he’d heard rumors around the hospital that Weaver had attracted the sort that came to parks after dark looking to hurt people but everyone in Weaver was looking for something.

Even in the morning cold, Val was looking too. There could only be one fountain worth mentioning in Weaver park, a grand bronze ugly thing lined in bricks that only ran on the best of summer days. The park had been so poorly laid out that only one trail actually lead to what should have been the centerpiece of the park. Val had heard enough debate from local politicians and town hall meetings about what to do with the eyesore that was Weaver Park that he found the single trail with only a little searching.

He sniffed, the cold air making his nose run a little and pulled his coat tighter around him. It was a good thing Trist was tucked snuggly into bed, the could would have the slender man shivering like a leaf. The thought of the man, curled around a pillow, put a stab of what Val only could guess was homesickness into his chest. He wanted to get this errand done and get his backside home and maybe curl back up into bed and snuggle with Trist.

He only passed two people. One was a man jogging, wrapped in spandex and with ear muffs on. The second man looked like he’d been out all night, selling drugs or himself, the fellow looked strung out and stressed out. There was a lost look to the man’s eyes that pulled at Val, made him want to hand out the memorized numbers to the local shelters. Maybe it was something of the real concern that Val felt that scared the fellow away, because before he could open his mouth to ask Val for money or a date, he dropped his eyes and hurried past.

The fountain had a man sleeping on a park bench. Wrapped in layers of folded newspaper against the morning chill, the man had most likely barely settled into sleep. If he was smart, and most that survived the cold winters learned to be smart, he’d spent the night awake and moving and would sleep in the mornings. He didn’t even stir as Val moved by, showing that there was little police presence in Weaver Park, even with the sun waking up.

Val glanced at his watch, it was seven after six and there was only one other person sitting at a bench around the fountain. With uncertain steps, Val moved closer to that bench. The man sitting there had a paper raised, seemingly lost to the news in air so cold that their breath frosted. Val made out dress slacks and shoes expensive enough to get a body mugged in a place like this.

The man wasn’t wearing a t-shirt that read ‘whistleblower waiting for Valentine York’, so Val moved toward him carefully. The man continued to read his paper, unaware of Val’s slow stalking progress toward him. That was a good sign, no one wearing shows like those could risk being so distracted in a place like this unless it was an act. It made Val feel a little better about sitting down on the other side of the bench.

The man didn’t even flinch. “Mr. York.” The reader said, softly but not whispering and he didn’t glance over.

Val now could see behind the paper. The man was white, average looking, ordinary. His hair was cut short and there was something to how he sat or the cut or style of his coat that made Val peg the men as someone in some branch of law enforcement.

Even though the spoken address wasn’t a question, Val nodded slightly and answered. “Yes.”

“Thank you for meeting me.” The man continued to give a good impression of someone reading a paper.

It made Val glance around to see who might be watching to see the truth of the situation. “What’s this about?”

“Like I said on the phone, your sister.”

“What about her?” He pushed, uncomfortable with games.

“Mr. York, how much did you know about your brother in law?”

“What?”

“Were the two of you close?”

It wasn’t the line of conversation Val had been expecting. “Close enough.”

“Mr. York, I work for certain governmental agencies. What I need to ask you is of the highest of importance. Do you understand?” The man turned the page on his newspaper.

Val frowned. “I’m not sure I do. What’s going on here?”

“Say your brother in law had ties to some,” the man paused slightly to weight the word. “selective, closed, groups?”

“Navef was not a terrorist, that is what you’re hinting at isn’t it?” He felt anger rearing up at the idea alone.

“Those would be your words, Mr. York, not mine, but if he did have ties to these selective, closed, groups, it might be advantageous to national security to not fully investigate the circumstances surrounding their deaths. If, just in sheer speculation, another member of one of these selective, closed, groups were responsible for their deaths, it might be easier for an investigation to be conducted if a lack of interest were expressed.” The man turned another page. “This is all in theory, of, course.”

Val sat stunned, shocked and suddenly too cold and it wasn’t from the air. “In theory.” He heard himself repeat in a whisper, too used to answering any conversation even one he felt drowned in.

“In this theoretical situation, having a loved, say, a brother, prying open doors that for now must remain closed, could threaten the entire investigation. It would be in national security for that relative to step back and wait for proper channels to take effect.” The man turned and locked cold, steady eyes onto Val’s own stunned expression. “Do you understand, Mr. York?”

Val felt himself nodding dumbly. “Yes.” There was something in the man’s eyes that made him want to run home and lock his doors.

“I’m afraid this hasn’t been very helpful in answering your questions, since this is all just theory, but thank you for coming down here to meet with me. You seem like a patriotic sort, I’m sure you’ll weigh all that I’ve said very carefully.”

“I will, thank you. I think I understand.” Val nodded. “Is there anything else I should know?”

“Just trust that we are aware of the truth in your sister’s case.” The man made the word ‘we’ sound serious.

Val felt himself shaking. “Thank you.” He forced out and stood up. “I should go if I want to catch my bus.”

“Thank you again, Mr. York.”

Val was nodded like an idiot but he made his way around the fountain at a steady walk, not the dead out run he wanted to use. As he passed the homeless man sleeping on the bench, he thought he heard the man muttering softly under the newspapers. It made Val feel paranoid, suddenly worried the man was another official agent of some shadowy un-named government group. He circled past the man, pretending he didn’t hear anything, and used the same care he would with a poisonous snake. His only thoughts as he hurried back down the path to the bus stop was to get home and make sure Trist was safe.