The homeless guy and Soledad stayed where they were.
It was getting to the point when Ian and Soledad had sex, it was like they were having sex with each other and not just lying in bed masturbating with a stranger. It was getting to the point they were as concerned with the other's gratification as their own. Queer as it was for a measuring stick, it was getting to the point Ian and Soledad were starting to get intimate with each other.
Starting to.
But they were still in a place where, when they were done getting hot and sweaty, that's all they were: hot, sweaty among tossed sheets and with messed-up hair. Intimate, yeah, but they were intimate strangers. Strangers who shared sex. Strangers who shared empty talk.
Usually that was the way of things.
She figured it would've been Ian first, but Soledad was tired of empty talk.
Soledad asked: "Your friends who died, is that why you don't get close to people; because you're afraid of losing someone else?"
"I guess." Ian's answer was that simple.
They lay in bed some.
Soledad, asking again: "Are you curious why I don't let myself get close to people?"
"I suppose."
"Then why don't you ask me?"
"Because we don't talk about that; about personal things. We don't talk, so I don't ask."
"Then what are we doing? Besides screwing, what are we—"
"You're the one who wanted it this way."
Sweat evaporated from their bodies. Cooled them. They grew postsex tired. Soledad grew more relaxed. It freed her to say things she felt.
She said: "I did. But I don't want this anymore. I want… I need—"
"Need?"
"I feel like I'm going crazy inside myself." Soledad clutched at her own chest."I feel like I'm rolling around a padded cell in here. I'm facing some hard issues, and I need to talk to somebody."
"Need or want? Do you want to talk to me, or do you just need to yap to the first person who'll listen?"
She had to think about that. She had to be sure."Want. I want to talk to you."
"Okay."
She said nothing.
A little laugh, laughing at herself: "I can't. I've been keeping things in for so long…"
"Just say what you want to say."
"I like you, Ian. More than just being around you and having sex with you. I like you, and I'm afraid if I tell you… I'm afraid…"
Under the covers Ian's hand found its way over to Soledad's, gripped it tight.
Soledad's mouth opened and closed. A couple of times."I've been having trouble at work. Trouble's the nice way of saying it. It's been going on for a while, since just before I met you." A breath, deep."I'm a cop… you know what MTac is…"
Ian's grip went slack.
Soledad nearly bust with regret."Fuck. I shouldn't have told you."
"Jesus…"
"I knew—"
"Jesus Christ… Why didn't you… You waited this long to—"
"We never talked before."
"You didn't talk! A thousand times you could've told me, and you didn't!"
Soledad rolled away, turned to her side."Vin was right."
"Who the hell—"
"Another cop. He says cops and civvies never mix, can't be in relationships; you'd always be afraid I'm gonna get killed."
"That's not it."
"Then what is? Because I've been hit on by enough guys, seen how they react when I tell them what I do to know that's usually how things are. That, or maybe you're soft for freaks. Some people are like that. Or maybe you really are just afraid of a girl with a gun. Which is it, Ian? I mean, just so I know."
"What's it matter?" Ian stared at the ceiling. Stared past it."What's it matter?"
In her hands the bed linens got gripped and twisted."I told you I need someone to talk to. I want to talk with you, Ian. And I…"
"You and me should've started off differently. I'm not blaming you, but as it is one of us should've ended things before they got so far. It was stupid to think we could make a relationship out of—"
"I love you."
That brought on a lot of stunned silence. Ian was stunned to hear it. Soledad was stunned to have heard herself say it.
"I do. I love you, and… that you've put up with me this long, I don't just want us to be two people who sometimes talk and sometimes have sex. I want us to be two people who… who've got each other."
"… Christ…"
"I want to be with you. Ian, do you want to be with me?"
Did he want to be with her?
Did he?
Did he want…
Yes or no?
In or out?
No choice, really. Really, no other decision."Yeah, Soledad. I want to be with you."
And then Soledad let herself go. More than just talk, she communicated. She told Ian in massive detail about her childhood and her upbringing. Mostly that was just self-preparation for everything else she had to say. She explained what had happened—for her personally—on May Day; the guilt she carried and how it informed every decision she made every day following. She went on about the gun she'd put together, the trouble she faced, and when she got to that, she cried from exhaustion. She'd held so much in, so long, the rush of release made her weak. The fighting made her weak, battles on so many fronts—hot wars and cold wars and wars of subterfuge—that the competing desires of fighting back to win or sitting down to quit made her just want to lie down and die. Soledad truly wanted things to be over, one way or the other, no longer caring which, that badly. A sense of duty and obligation had degraded into helplessness, self-doubt and a death wish.
Ian pulled Soledad close. They wrapped themselves in each other, they held each other. Almost a warm moment. Would've been except for the trepidation of their new relationship that held them as well.
There was a reason, Soledad found out, why executions—in civilized nations that put people to death—were held top of the morning instead of end of the day. You're going to die, you're going to die. No sense sitting around hoping the day's going to get better when clearly it's not. Soledad came to the realization on the Thursday she and Gayle were to have their sit-down with Rysher. She had to put in a full day, worked a full shift, prior to the meeting. It felt like she had to do chores, clean the rifle or knit the noose, before her own termination. The end was coming. It was going to be a bad end.
Maybe.
Or maybe her pessimism was being fueled by Gayle's paranoia: conspiracy talk and secret plans against her. She had used a gun she wasn't supposed to. Didn't the brass have to at least make a show of putting IA on the case? Hadn't Rysher backed her all the way to MTac? Hadn't he stuck his neck out for her plenty? And the looks she was getting—she thought she was getting—from the other cops: guy bullshit, or uniforms jealous they'd never make MTac? And didn't…
Did it…
Did it matter? It was over. Today, one way or the other, it was going to be over.
Soledad checked the time. Gayle was typically late, and Soledad cursed at her. Gayle wanted to be late most times, fine. That was her style, okay. But when it counted, when it mattered? Soledad thought about heading on to Rysher's office. But she didn't want to sit alone, wait alone and unrepresented. Still it was better than letting Rysher wait, letting any compassion he had sour to resentment.
And then she knew.
The confusion she had, the anxiety, the twist Soledad had in her gut told her she didn't want things to be over. Over to the negative. More than anything she wanted to walk out of Rysher's office an MTac again. Crazy as the life was, she'd wanted it. She'd earned it. She'd leave it, when the time came, on her own terms. Not, God willing, stretched out by a freak and not pushed out by politics.
And then Gayle was there. Only six minutes late. Felt like so much more. She apologized to Soledad without breaking stride for Rysher's office.
All day, and Soledad hadn't hardly gotten herself ready for what was coming. She asked Gayle if everything was going to be okay, but Gayle was already making her way into Rysher's office and either didn't hear or just didn't want to answer the question in front of the lieutenant.