2020-06-21 - Hobble Brokenly Forward

It started with a text, like most of Cris' interactions. It's just a habit. The less he spends on an open line the better. 'Come over. I need you.' Of course he knows such a thing is apt to interrupt Dante at the restaurant, but does he care? Not one lick. Not today.

The windows and door to his apartment are open, taken advantage of the pleasant evening air. It'd be an awfully trusting thing, if not for the sidearm that's resting on his chest as he lays out in bed, idly the TV across the room, some new show on Netflix that he's not truly paying attention to. It's just background noise. He has jeans and a scowl on, but that's it. One would be hard pressed to see the fain bruising on his chest that crawls diagonally from left shoulder to right hip amid his tattoos, but it's there, faint and nearly healed, a telltale seatbelt contusion.

There's a delay, not because Dante doesn't want to come, but because Chef has a strict no-phones rule in the kitchen - and yes, that applies to the general manager too. Then there's the time it takes for him to drive to the casino, so it's a little over an hour after the initial text was sent that he does arrive - though he did send confirmation he was en route a short while ago.

He comes moving quickly through the door but stops when he sees the gun. "What's happened?" He looks around, then crosses the room towards Cris.

Even though Cris is expecting someone, that doesn't stop him from tensing and curling his hand from remote to gun at the sound of footsteps outside on the decking. When he sees it's Dante, however, the safety is switched on and he sets it aside with a clatter to the beside table. "Someone tried to kill me." And by the looks of things, Cris isn't being dramatic for dramatic's sake. With a little face of discomfort he scoots higher up in the bed against the pillows.

"Jesus Christ," Dante exhales. He moves towards Cris, then reaches up to cup the side of his cheek. "Are you all right? What happened?" He starts looking around for bullet wounds - not that he really knows what bullet wounds look like.

Cris moves his head slightly aside as Dante cups his cheek, not because he wants to shy away from the affection but more that he doesn't want to worry Dante unduly. "I'm fine. Sparrow made sure of that." He says, reaching up to capture that hand and draw it to his chest, encouraging the Brit to sit on the edge of the mattress. "Some asshole tried to run me off the road. But corazon, it wasn't random. I'm sorry I didn't tell you over the phone but this was a conversation to be done in person."

It's too late. There are car crashes and guns and attempted murder. Dante is definitely Worried. He sits on the edge of the bed, frowning quite intensely. "I'm glad you didn't tell me on the phone. I probably wouldn't have driven here safely." He misses the irony of that. "Have you filed a police report?"

Cris lifts the hand he's clutching to his lips, kissing the fingertips. "This isn't the sort of thing you file a police report on, babe. But I notified who I needed to notify to see it sorted. It'll be taken care of." Cris tilts his head slightly, "But I'm going to need you to do something for me."

Dante clenches his jaw and looks Cris in the eye. "I'm not going to like this, am I?" There's a stubborn hitch in his voice, like he's preparing for an argument if he doesn't.

"Of course you're not." No use lying or pussyfooting around it. "I need you to be careful. If they can get to me, they can get to you. You need to be on the lookout, anyone following you, anyone acting suspicious, any sudden regulars you have at the Sitka. You let me know. All of it. Even if you think it's nothing, I need you to tell me so I can shut it down, you understand?" Cris' eyebrows creep up, looking for this to sink in.

"We just opened, darling. All regulars are sudden regulars. And I don't exactly know how to look for assassins," Dante squeezes Cris' hand, almost to the point of pain. He swallows. "The bloody casino is a fortress. And I get the sense I'm a respectable golden goose. I can only hope that any nefarious types behind the casino will see it's in their best interest to make sure nothing happens to me. Besides, I'm not exactly a prime target, am I? Anything happens to me, it's going to draw a bloody lot of attention. I'm more worried about you."

Cris' lips thin as Dante squeezes his hand. The man makes good, valid points but they only provide a modicum of comfort considering, yet he continues on as if he'd never made them. "Especially if you see someone wounded in their shoulder or neck, I was able to shoot the bastard and drive him off before he drove me off into the sea. Promise me, Dante. I mean it, I'm not fucking around here."

"Neither am I, Cris. I don't want you worrying about me when you should be watching your own back. I need you to do that, for both of our sake's." Dante kisses the back of his hand firmly. "For a moment I thought you were going to tell me to stay away from you. And I was prepared to tell you to go to hell." There's a fierceness in his eyes, but vulnerability as well.

"We're not there yet, not by a long shot. But something tells me that by the time this is through, you're not going to want to be near me, or the results." Cris scoots over slightly, if only so he can make sure he's looking Dante square in the eyes when he says the next part. "I have a feeling this is going to turn ugly, which means I'm going to have to be uglier."

"And as you pointed out, with or without you, I'm already involved in this. By virtue of the restaurant, I have a side, and you backing away from me isn't going to change that." Dante holds his gaze. "Promise me you won't assume how I'll react. That you won't pull away from me because you think I'll judge you. I'm under no illusions about who you are and what you do, Cristobal. And I'm not about to be a bloody hypocrite by running scared the moment I've actually got to see it."

"Pour us a drink. I'm going to tell you a story." And by distracting Dante for a moment by giving him that directive, Cris'll have a chance to arrange this thoughts. Now's the time to pull this particular trigger and it's going to sting, Cruz a bit of a coward to face it completely sober.

Dante pauses for a moment and looks at Cris. Then he stands and crosses where he knows the other man keeps his booze. He takes his time about it, pouring a generous amount for both before crossing back. He hands it out towards him. "Take your time," he says softly.

Contrary to his request, Cris first just takes the glass, holding it to his chest and resting it on his sternum. Dante said to take his time, and Cristobal certainly is. His eyes go distant for a while, perhaps replaying something over in his mind a time or two before the glass finally lifts and he downs a healthy dose of Mezcal that's meant to be sipped.

"You know bits and pieces already, I got into the life to pay for my daughter's medical bills." He's slow to start, like he's pulling threads out of the air and figuring how to stitch them together to make a concise picture. "But after she...passed, I was in it too deep to just walk away. Amy was already gone, the money was good. The work was easy. Just turn my head, let things slip across the bridge. Once in a while make some things disappear."

Dante sits down on the edge of the bed, holding the glass but not sipping from it. He's a good listener, a skill honed from interviewing people for his books and just being observant as writers often are. He doesn't interrupt, just listens in attentive silence.

"Remember I told you there was an incident? Internal Affairs investigated it, I couldn't conclusively be tied to it - I had a ball buster of a Union rep - so I was put on forced retirement." Cris doesn't really need confirmation that he told Dante at least part of this, merely reminding him of that part of the story, knocking the dust off it. "I, uh." And here he takes another drink, draining his glass with a gulp and a wince. "I pulled an eighteen wheeler across, made a show of the standard search and then they drove it into El Paso. My job, was to move it, store it, until someone could do the drive to its final destination - where ever that was to be. I knew a sweet spot. It was a little tight to squeeze her underneath the bridge. I heard a little scrape. Bend of metal. But what's a little cosmetic damage to the rig, right?" Cris sets aside his glass and pulls his hands down his face, scrubbing at a five o'clock shadow with his palms.

Dante sets his own glass aside, then reaches for one of Cristobal's hands. This time he holds it more gently, enveloped between both of his. He listens, so far unsurprised of everything he's said so far. He does wince a little, writer's imagination churning through possibilities of what might be next, but he remains quiet.

Perhaps it's only by the grace of Dante's touch that Cris continues with the story that turns out to be more of a confession. "It was a vent. I crushed down a vent on the top of the trailer, and it was the only source of air for twenty six illegals they had stashed inside. They suffocated. Every one of 'em."

"Jesus," Dante whispers reflexively. He squeezes Cris' hand. "You didn't know. How could you know?" He pulls the other man's hand up to his lips to press a kiss. "No wonder you torture yourself. Darling, I can't even imagine."

Cristobal closes his eyes against the image of Dante's face before it can melt from sympathy to pity. "Some part of me. Some part of me had to have known." Cris murmurs before his eyes pop back open. "So now I work for a man named Felix Monaghan and by default, Joey Kelly. Joey, he's the one you go to if anything happens to me, okay? I trust him to tell you what you need to know, and keep you safe from what you don't."

"I don't believe that. You may tell yourself that in retrospect to punish yourself, or to try and make sense of it. But I know you better than that." Dante sounds absolutely sure. "There is a gulf between getting into a gunfight with criminals or shaking someone down for money and deliberately harming innocents." He moves in closer and presses a lingering kiss to his cheek, staying close. "None of this changes how I feel about you. I hope you know that," he murmurs.

"I am a monster of my own creation." Cristobal mutters after that kiss, that assurance. "Can you really love a monster?" Pale eyes seek out Dante's darker ones.

"You are not a monster. And even if you are..." Dante grins a bit wryly. "...my career shows that I'm quite fond of monsters. There might be some erotic horror in my repertoire under a different pen name." Hard to tell if he's being serious or not.

Cris exhales a long breath, having held that back from Dante for so long he's not entirely sure how to let go of it, not truly, but his burden does some considerably lighter now that his past from Texas has been laid bare and the jury of Dante's heart hasn't sought the death penalty of their relationship. Yet. His hand lifts to caress the side of Dante's face, thumb tracing the way his cheekbone seems to to become more pronounced with that wry expression. "Then I'm one lucky son of a bitch."

"I know you more now. And I'm grateful for that. I always knew something haunted you terribly, that you had done something that you deeply regretted and feared telling me. But I didn't want to push. I hoped you would trust me when you felt ready." Dante shifts more closely and slides a hand around his neck. "I can't begin to understand the pain you've been through. But I want to show you the other side of that. If you'll let me."

There is a little huff of breath from Cristobal, one of those mirthless sounds that just sort of ekes into existence rather than felt and expelled. "But you already have." Cruz says incredulously, amazed that Dante hasn't already seen that, the words themselves manifested into permanent ink on his arm. Cris has never been hesitant with his affections, but now he seems a bit trepidatious as he leans up and pauses just briefly before attempting to kiss the other man.

For all his peacocking and his gifts, Dante doesn't hide his insecurities overly well from the people he's close to. "You deserve to heal, Cris, not to hurt more." He nuzzles his cheek gently, before leaning in to the kiss. It's a kiss for its own sake, not a horny prelude as their kisses often are. This one is meant to comfort and reassure.

The kiss is slow and sweet, but eventually must be broken, Cris petting back against Dante's hair when their lips are finally untangled, "I recall you have some healing of your own to do, with Elias gone. So we'll work on it together, yeah?" Cris says quietly, but the words turn into a growl as he gathers Dante up and twist him down onto the mattress, much to the chagrin of his sore body. "And we can start. By watching crappy TV together."

"Hobble brokenly forward, yes. Though me being dumped doesn't really, ah, isn't quite the same sort of thing, is it?" Dante startles a little as he's tugged down. "Careful, careful. Don't hurt yourself more. And don't split the seams of m'jacket." In Dante-land, his current suit is downright plain. It's just an immaculately cut black suit with a white dress shirt and a red pocket square. It's become his go-to combo when he's working and not playing host at the restaurant.

"Oh, we're both made of stronger stuff." Cris says as he arranges himself next to Dante, or more importantly, arranges Dante to suit him. Knocking aside his leg, picking up his wrist to wrap an arm around him, so they can stretch out side by side. And JUST as he gets comfortable, his phone chimes and he's patting around in the blankets to find it. There is a frown at the screen, a response thumbed out. "I gotta go, corazon. Duty calls."

"You can't be serious. You were in a bloody car wreck. You should have the night off." Dante frowns hard at the phone and stubbornly refuses to leap up. He knows that won't do any good. He's got his own work that will call him in and he needs to answer now, after all. "Maybe I should stay here and wait for you so you hurry back and take care of yourself." He fingers open the top button of his shirt.

Cristobal gives a 'whaddya gonna do' little gesture, but as Dante undoes that top button, there comes another deep throaty growl. "I'll be back." He promises and leans down to kiss that bit of neck and chest exposed with wet lips and warm breaht. "With that to come back to, how can I not." With a sound that edges on regret, he straightens away and reaches for his gun. "Lock the door behind me. I'll meet my ride at the curb."

Dante rolls over and props his head on his hand. "I'll wait an hour, and then I'm going to head back to the restaurant. And you know that will pull me under for hours." It's both a promise and a threat.

Yes, neither of them have any trouble getting their motors running, but that's not the real reason he wants Cris to stay. Revelations like that require after-care, not running out to do more crime.

There is a turn to Cristobal's lips, perhaps just putting on his game face. "Then I'll see you tomorrow." He's rolling off the edge of the bed, padding over to his clothing unit to grab a tank top from the top drawer and a flannel off a hangar. "Because you can't rush perfection. And you give me one helluva reason to be perfect tonight."

"Cris...seriously. If you can possibly..." Dante rolls off the bed and crosses to the other man, reaching out to do up that fleece, "...back off, give yourself time to process, do it, all right? You had an attempt on your life. You just released a huge burden. You've got to be emotionally exhausted. And that means you aren't going to be as sharp as you should." Button. Button. "And yes, get used to me fussing." A beat, "...fussing more."

"If there is even a chance there's a lead on the bastard that tried to kill me, I gotta follow it while it's still warm. I'd tell you not to worry, but we both know you will. Just know someone will be watching my six, and I'll check in as often as I can, okay? And you can fuss all you want." Cris' hands go up to stop Dante from buttoning up his shirt, holding them briefly. "When I get back." His head tilts, stealing a final kiss. "And your collar better be undone just like that when I see you again."

"Before you rush in, keep in mind how devastated I'd be if anything happened to you. Absolutely beside myself. Tearing my clothes and beating my chest like a Greek myth. All right?" Dante inhales slowly, then leans in to press a soft kiss. "I love you." A beat, then, "...and I'm going back to my bloody restaurant because at least that will distract me."

"You know that doesn't really sound like a deterrent, right? I mean, would you still do that with like a flesh wound? Because..." Well. He might like to witness that. But the joke falls flat and things turn serious again, and Cris is murmuring back, "I love you too. Take the spare key in the bowl by the door. It's yours now. Lock up." Because Cris is now moving to the door, unable to stomach a look back. Just in case it will be his last.