splinter

Ping. Ping ping. Pingpingpingping.

Will cursed, jabbing a finger at the keyboard to try and shut the sound off. The longer it took him to find the key that would do it, the closer together the pings got, mocking him like a torpedo shooting straight at the submarine tracking it despite all of its countermeasures. He got the lock screen up on the third try, hammering in his password like he was trying to mash the keys straight through to the desk below. A drag of the mouse, another thump and it was going blessedly silent.

He didn’t know which of the likely suspects had set it up – Lex, either of his partners – but it had been there when he’d returned to the office. Like he wasn’t capable of reading his email in his own time. He’d survived years on the job before either of them had thrust themselves into his life, just helping him to manage it. Dalton might have needed a bevy of women in tight pencil skirts who weren’t likely to go suing him for sexual harassment but his son didn’t. He needed a hand stripping whatever had been done out of his computer perhaps – muting it hadn’t helped, neither had painstakingly unticking each box in turn in the email account’s settings – before he caved and just took a sledgehammer to both it and his phone.

That was eyed warily as he scrolled to the fresh email, the senders address and part of the subject line visible in bold black against the softer grey of everything else he’d dealt with (see, not incompetent!). Bachelor auction – application accepted. Jesus. Will began to mutter under his breath as he opened the email and began to scroll. The nightmare didn’t end, it just grew and grew, a foul dark cloud that threatened to squeeze the life out of him before he could find some way to tear it away.

The same list of suspects had rolled through his head, each of them fully capable of it. A subtle dig in the ribs to reveal that they knew the ring that still circled his finger was bullshit. He wasn’t a husband anymore, just a man regretting every step he’d taken towards the end of his marriage. A masochist. One who’d now be auctioned off like cattle to the highest bidder … thanks to his own father.

By the time he stepped through the front door and into the hell of this thing, Will’s anger towards his father had simmered back. If it hadn’t been for the days he’d spent playing nurse, chef and occasionally hard headed bouncer to Zoey he might have seen this coming. It was just like Dalton to still try and keep a finger in his son’s life, stirring his existence around until he slid closer to what his father had always wanted in a son. Tough luck, it was never going to happen, not while he willingly left his heart tethered to the woman whose heart he’d broken. He still cradled those shards of what had been love (still was on his part) in his hands, even if Zoey would rather they all tear themselves free.

There were some who’d have gladly pored over the picture those bloody shards made – those same suspects again, probably already gliding around in the Hall, waiting to see his misery be completed, Jill perhaps, Zoey’s extra safety net, one whose scrutiny he seemed to be under more than ever since he’d assured her he had Zoey’s care handled. The waiter who swept across his path with a tray of drinks for the poor souls being auctioned was a blessing. ”Thank you,” Will managed hoarsely. It wasn’t easy for a man his size but he hunkered down behind the line of people as far as possible. Slow slips of his liquid courage did nothing to settle the anxiety.

Dread pooled sticky sweet as the soda in the pit of his stomach as a woman with a clipboard stepped forward, as chirpy as a small bird. ”Mr Carnegie, you’re up next. Please head up to the stage when they announce you.” Head to his execution more like.

Used to masking up by now, Will stepped onto the stage as asked, a smile bright on his face, all that tension buried down inside as he swept the crowd. His ‘highlights’ were read out, some motion rippling through the crowd at it. Blue eyes ticked from person to person, looking for some sign of anticipation. Each possibility he’d come up with would’ve been literal hell … especially her. He shouldn’t have been surprised when Kelly leapt in on the bidding, the number racing up with each wave of her hand, the dread growing until Will wasn’t sure if he’d keep down what he’d drunk. If Lex or his partners were going to swoop in and have themselves a full day of him grovelling on his knees now would be the time.

Please God.

Shoulders squared, Will forced himself not to squirm. Keep the smile up like a Miss America contestant, laugh warmly when the compere joked about how fierce the fight was. Throw out every silent plea on earth that Kelly hadn’t been scrimping and saving waiting for this exact moment to outbid …

The room was bubbling with conversation, but he’d have known Zoey’s voice anywhere. Relief rooted him to the spot, his eyes locked on her the way had the moment he’d had her in his arms six weeks ago. This time he wasn’t searching for signs that they’re hurt her – he knew where he’d still find those faintly puffy lines of healing t-shirt, the creases etched into damp skin by the end of the day. Just her.

Will wasn’t sure how many more times the hands flew up. There was a bite to Kelly’s voice after a few more rounds, like she was sharpening her claws in preparation to tear out the eyes of whoever had dared to try and snatch her prize out from under her nose. In the end the compere was holding up her clipboard. ”Any more bids? Going once … going twice … third time …” There was a squeal from the direction of the bar, then the auctioneer was aiming the clipboard across the floor to Zoey. He’d been grateful to her for so much since she’d finally caved and agreed to that first date, but this top five. As the woman directed Zoey to head to the table at the back to complete her ‘purchase’ Will stumbled down off of the stage, stiff legged, ready to drop to his knees in gratitude.

Cat calls from the crowd followed him as he worked his way through, heat rising high on his cheekbones. It seemed as though half the staff from the station had made it to see his comeuppance on stage. Will drew up a chair from a surrounding table to set with Zoey’s … and Jill’s. He nodded to both of them, his gaze stuttering from Jill to Zoey rapidly. ”I’m not quite sure how to thank you for that. I think you’ve saved me from a fate worse than death.” He stiffened faintly as he heard Kelly’s wail behind him, then attempted to shrink down in his seat again.

Tagged: ZOEY WASHINGTON * Word Count: 1214

Misery had been getting up on the stage in the first place, selling himself like a prize side of beef. Charity might’ve been Dalton’s excuse for pushing him into it, but his father knew the frustration and misery it would bring. He’d have revelled in it if he were here. Clapping one hand against his son’s shoulder. ’A chance for you to get back out there. It’s not as though she’s ever going to take you back, hmm? Just like my second wife … or was it my third …” As though the loss he felt a thousand times more keenly than his father ever had for any of his marriages could be washed away the moment he was thrown back into the dating pool.

This was a thousand times worse. No frustratingly spurious bullshit spouted from Dalton’s lips. Zoey hadn’t been anything like any of the man’s wives. She had been his, his only, and after months of end of wounds being torn afresh, of fear and those bright spark moments of all consuming love that hadn’t faded, he was somehow hers again. Others - Jill, if she chose to try and probe all of this - would maybe have questioned if he really was. They’d look at the lightning struck tree of the supposedly dead relationship, see the tangled roots and twisted branches, and wonder if there was any hope it would grow again. Will knew, he’d seen the signs of life, struggling up through all the black, and he clung to the hope, in that sea of misery and tragedy, that somehow all of this pain would be worth it.

Zoey didn’t seem struck by the same hope as he approached. Her emotions, that inner - and more often now, outer - wave of feelings, seemed to ebb and flow of late. One moment allowing him close, the next retreating - happy, heartbroken, brave in a way that had always amazed him, so fearful he wanted to hold her close and shield her from all that might heal with a back that could take that pain for her. Excited. Jealous, smug, happy, caring. He would take them all, especially the latter, even if it came with the echo of Jill’s giggles (the crowd wasn’t that loud) and the blush that told him that sense of dread he’d felt as he’d stepped from the stage probably wasn’t entirely unfounded. This would, most likely, hurt both of them in a way, the same way Zoey’s ankle had.

He held back the murmur of ‘this is going to hurt me as much as it does you’ - those words had slipped from his lips in her apartment, the first time he’d rewrapped her ankle, spoken with a grin that had fallen with the first sound she made - the quiet gratitude rolling out instead. A day with Kelly pawing at the numb husk of the man that remained after his divorce, would have satisfied Dalton, and left him in Hell. This, no matter how awkward or painful it might end up being, was a blessing instead. ”Oh, I’m not sure,” Will drawled lightly. ”At least with you, I’m likely to keep my dignity intact.” Perhaps. He would have said he’d be unmolested, but that would open a can of worms right from the start. He didn’t want this to be awkward, didn’t want it to be another day that left the pair of them feeling wrung out and distraught.

Will’s wince was uncontrollable, his shoulders rose, curling in like an armadillo’s in an act of self-protection. He swallowed hard, knowing he’d only be able to relax once they were out of there. ”Please,” he murmured, a hint of a plea in his voice. Standing, he hovered, unsure whether or not to extend his hand to Zoey. His lips curled faintly, then pursed with the little moan he let out. ”I’m house broken at least. No lead necessary.” The collar had been around his neck since he’d fallen in love with Zoey and had never been taken off.

Offering Jill his arm, as Zoey swept off towards the table to pay for him. They trailed outside, small talk, mostly of the self-deprecating sort he’d grown accustomed to sharing with her over the last few weeks, made until Zoey had emerged. Let the torture begin.

Almost like a cartoon character, Will tried to dig his heels in as they stopped outside the gift shop. Whatever wheels were turning in Zoey’s - and just as likely, Jill’s - he didn’t want to get caught in them. ”I think I’d rather the collar,” Will grumbled. The t-shirt stretched tight over his chest, revealing enough that Kelly probably would’ve swallowed her tongue - perhaps rendering her speechless in the ER for the rest of the day - hopefully obscuring the message written across it. Not exactly a stylist’s dream paired with the dress pants he wore. His shirt and tie were bundled into a bag, carted along as he went from puppy to pack mule - patiently he extended a hand each time Jill swept away from another cash register, taking Zoey’s bags when Jill (quite rightly) had talked her into buying two new dresses. Jill might have been the one putting on a fashion show for the two of them, but his eyes were on Zoey every time the drapes were swept aside (as Jill most likely had planned).

It seemed they were going to run out of daylight before shops. At the rate Jill was going they’d have visited every single one, pawed every item of clothing and spent what must have been half the woman’s yearly salary. Will could see the day wearing on Zoey, the space between them slowly eroding. Conversation drifted, slowing as Zoey leaned into his side. She curled a hand around his arm. Will’s hand found her thigh and patted lightly, a reassurance. Once upon a time he’d have immediately called it a day, hailing a cab to head home and tumble onto the couch together. Hands finding aching feet to work away the long day. Now all he could do was wait for her to call an end to it - to everything perhaps. At Christmas he had promised to be there for her, but he knew that was up to Zoey, he was in her hands now.

Will cleared his throat as Jill emerged. His lips curled good naturedly, his hand sliding from Zoey’s thigh as Jill’s eruption brought her around. ”It’s not a patch on the emerald one from earlier. Not worth it.” The fashion plate offering up his judgement. Pushing to his feet as Jill seemed to realise it was time to circle towards the exit, Will offered his hand to Zoey to help her up. Outside the pack mule handed off most of his load. ”Good night,” he called after her as the cab carried Jill away, leaving them in a bubble suddenly empty of noise and energy.

Without Jill there to hold that up, it seemed as though they’d tumble back into that sleepy state that had built in the store. Will looked down at the bag in his hand, juggling it for a moment before he smiled and shook his head. ”It’s fine, it’s not heavy.” Not in comparison to the Imelda Marcos levels Jill seemed to have reached. His other hand came up, rubbing her arm lightly. ”Dinner sounds great. As long as I get to burn this t-shirt first, I’d be happy to play butler right up til you keel over on me.” And then he’d likely finish up the list anyway, those domestic, affectionate little chores he’d always done without complaint. ”How about we order in? Save trying to stay awake through dinner somewhere.” Somewhere she wouldn’t be shot looks for yawning, somewhere there wouldn’t be two dozen sets of eyes on them, just waiting to see how the auction played out. This town seemed to have become too invested in just how many bachelors remained that way - or perhaps that was just Jill.

Tagged: ZOEY WASHINGTON * Word Count: 1347

It wasn’t a seduction – painfully slow as it would have been considering how long it had taken Zoey to even crack her defences open so he could see something more than the terrible sheen of heartache that covered them all – it wasn’t an apology either, even though he’d tried to deliver dozens of them in small ways, if not so many words, since he’d arrived at that crime scene to find his ex-wife had arrived in the same small town he was trying to exist in. Will would have said it was any one thing, but in the last few weeks he’d realised it was.

It was love.

Divorce hadn’t done anything to dim what he felt radiating through his chest like the light from the lamp overhead. Still permeating every cell of him, each one throbbing in those moments that Zoey pushed back. Hurt and guilt and self-loathing springing up in pin pricks that reminded him that he’d brought the both of them here.

Had it been love – lingering, but still coated with the pain he’d caused – that had sent Zoey’s hand up today? Was he allowed to hope for that even when his side line still lingered? The plans for the next job lay locked in the bottom drawer of his bureau in the apartment, set aside when the attack on his computer system had resulted in Zoey being taken, in her almost dying. He hadn’t burned them, although Will suspected he should have done. Not one last job, no looking at those mile long lists of pieces that were still missing, just done, even if the choice wouldn’t take them back to where they had been. They certainly weren’t in the upper east side anymore.

The squirming that had happened almost every second when he’d first donned the ridiculous t-shirt had eased. His shoulders not twitching at the unfamiliar tug of the too tight sleeves around his biceps, or just stomach twisting at the feel of it riding up as they’d sat down, a thin no man’s land of skin revealed between the waistband of his pants and that horrific thing. It might even remain at the back of his closet after this, the scent of Zoey on it, the imagined warmth of her cheek against its shoulder that even now didn’t feel cold as he refused to relinquish his hold on her bag.

Not a part of him felt cold as her hand curled round his forearm. It spread warmth through the bare skin, up into his chest, as slow and slumberous as it had back in the store when Zoey had settled in against him, left drowsy by the trip. ”Drat,” he murmured, laughter a short rumble tagged onto the exclamation. ”I guess while I’m on the clock it stays on.” And after those invisible hands ticked down … it wouldn’t end up in the fireplace, especially not if this was one of those scant moments he would be allowed to collect of the rubble of their marriage.

There were other pieces still there, slowly forming themselves into larger remains, walls, furniture, not crushed entirely beneath the weight of his suspected and completely misrepresented infidelity. Memories of Zoey were imprinted in his new apartment – at the kitchen table from Christmas (although those were tinged with a melancholy that cut deep), on the sofa afterwards with glasses of brandy, the night they had tumbled back there after his birthday, the sheets he’d been reluctant to wash because he knew it would entirely erase her from them. The last few weeks at Zoey’s apartment, his slow encroachment on her place, just as there had been when they’d first started dating.

Will tried to pout over her maligning of his cooking, but the expression only lasted a moment under the weight of her grin. He clucked his tongue, sighing as he narrowed his eyes. ”Heathen,” he muttered lightly. Zoey had never been shy at heaping praise at what he’d made, even without the words, he’d seen the enjoyment in the sparkle of velveteen eyes. He could see them now, in his peripheral as they shifted to standing side by side, still anchored together by Zoey’s hand on his arm as they strolled towards her apartment. Will smiled slowly, tilting his head as he hummed. ”Bibimbap. I wouldn’t say no to some bulgogi, a little spice might burn through this thing…” He winced as he glanced down at his t-shirt, breaking off into a groaning chuckle. It wasn’t often he caved and just brought take out on his way home, but occasionally he’d slide and he didn’t want to consider the looks he’d get the next time he went into the Korean restaurant.

Broad shoulders had relaxed again by the time they got back to Zoey’s apartment. The call was made to the restaurant when they were just a couple of minutes out from her apartment. A slow elevator ride up, thankfully alone. Will kicked off his shoes at the door, setting the bag down on the coffee table as he trailed in after Zoey. He hitched his brows as she seemed to dance around her original orders for him. ”After dinner sounds like a plan. Fill up on a ridiculous amount of food and then soak.” Then sleep. Without him in her bed. This wasn’t a repeat of his birthday, that night had deepened the lines that demarcated their current relationship, although had Christmas softened them again? Maybe.

He swallowed hard as Zoey levered herself up again, his argument that she should sit dying on his tongue as she eased back over to him, her step unsteady for a moment, just like the pit of his stomach. His hand found her elbow as she came close, a prop that left his throat dry as he adjusted after a moment, his hand finding her hip. ”If it is then we still have some time,” he said huskily. ”Have you got any glass slippers around here? If it fits …” The countdown would be over and some fairy tale ending would spring out of all of this. ”Has the lady got any more orders for her servant?” That single question opened up a world of opportunity, but it felt small, like they were a million miles away from their normal lives here. Even the afternoon spent with Jill seemed to fade as he looked down at her, feeling that lamp light in his chest brighten again.

Tagged: ZOEY WASHINGTON * Word Count: 1076

The holes had started to open up between them long before the D word had been brought into it. Dug by his own stubborn – and eminently foolish – refusal to stop doing what he believed was the only good that could make up for men like his father. Turning what had been left between them into a minefield, those holes waiting for one of them to step into, ankle breaking, marriage destroying. What was left of his life without Zoey in it packed up into boxes, most staying there until he’d made the drive down. Unpacked slowly into an apartment that felt lifeless and chokingly empty without her there. Will had stamped his ownership on it gradually, the kitchen becoming the heart of it once more, but the feel of a bachelor apartment hadn’t appealed anymore, not when he’d known something more. No brush of silk as he rifled through the closet for a particular tie – no scent of her clinging to everything until Zoey had been there in his apartment and then it had been a torture.

Here he could see every part of who she was mapped out, even if it was only surface deep in an apartment that was only supposed to be for the short term. This wasn’t home for her, not for him either, really. Home had been Zoey. That feeling hearth like in his chest as he stood there, holding her up in a way that felt different to the hundred times he’d tried to do it while he’d been waiting on her hand and foot. ”I can imagine they’re hell on the arches too,” he murmured. The sort of thing he would’ve rubbed away with his thumbs after a long day on the job. One of those quiet moments on the sofa with the rest of the world shut out.

Like now.

Will laughed low, the warmth a rumble emanating from that hearth. He smiled, eyes narrowing as he considered it for the moment. There wouldn’t have been any question over him definitely being the dog two years ago. Two years before that he’d been Prince Charming, looking the part too. Now he was certainly more court jester – were they any of those in Cinderella? – in the t-shirt he hadn’t the heart to take off. ”How about Fairy Godmother?” Will murmured. ”I think I’ve got the legs for the dress.” He turned a leg slightly, glancing down between them as though he were inspecting it for daintiness. There was no magic wand to fix what was between them, but perhaps in its Mystic Falls was trying, the pain that Zoey had suffered, that had torn him in two when he’d stopped suspecting Lex was just trying to drive him insane, bringing on some sort of healing between the two of them.

That sense of intimacy was certainly back, even if he was the only one feeling. Sensation building beneath his skin until Will was sure it would burst from his throat. The heat was there, rising out of the holler of the hideous thing stretched tight enough around him that it should’ve cut off that blood supply. Each shift, each flicker of a heartbeat through Zoey echoed in his own nerves. Eyes with only a thin rim of electric blue left around the blown pupils studied her face, crinkling at the corners as Zoey issued those next orders. ”Take a seat mademoiselle,” Will crooned, inclining his head.

Vacuumed. Or was she feeling this too, throwing road humps in place to avoid that head long rush they’d taken before – a car crash that had wrecked him for days afterwards as Zoey had fled his apartment. He tried not to dwell on the thought as he set the table – real plates, even if it was only take out, he couldn’t stoop that low – setting containers out in front of them. The kimchi would likely sear the inside of his nostrils, but it would be some excuse for the burn that was still there beneath the surface. He settled across from her, falling back into the rhythm they’d established in the weeks he’d refused to budge. The awkwardness he’d expected didn’t manifest, even if there were long moments of silence – usually punctuated with the sounds of devouring, little squeaks of pleasure. Perhaps he could’ve done better, but it would’ve shifted the parameters of this and Zoey was the one in charge of letting that happen tonight.

The talk of Jill and Addy wasn’t stilted, but still brought on the ache, as it did every time Zoey spoke of her sister. Aching for the loss of his sister-in-law, for the pain he could see it still brought Zoey, even if it seemed as though she could speak of her sister more easily now. Will eased back himself as Zoey did, comfortably full, content even. He let out a low hum though, eyes narrowing so he was looking through the screen of his lashes. ”Now, that sounds like a challenge. I’m sure I could recreate it, tweak it a little…” Get the opportunity to cook for her again, using Zoey as the guinea pig as he always had done, feeling that joy at seeing her light up with enjoyment.

Now he lit up, the brush of her foot a memory of a slow dance they’d once shared. Now Will felt the moves coming back to him, even when he was sure he still wasn’t the partner Zoey deserved. ”I guess midnight is creeping up on us,” he murmured. He rose, tucking the chair back in, holding himself back from dipping to press his lips to the top of her head as he once would’ve done. The bathroom was just as he’d remembered it from the times she’d chased him from it, insisting she could handle the trip to it alone. Smelling like Zoey, those familiar bottles that had taunted him in the stores afterwards.

He retrieved the bottle, dropped to a knee beside the bath to turn on the faucet. If he was lucky the shirt would end up wet and ruined and he’d have an excuse to finally slip back into his own shirt. A wrist held under the flow of the water, small adjustments made until it held just the right amount of heat to ease aching ankles and sink deep into Zoey’s muscles. Once upon a time he would’ve joined her there, long legs bracketing hers, the damp nape of her neck there for him to brush with his lips before he worked his hands slowly over her in the water. He was still bent there when Zoey shuffled into the room, his eyes slipping shut as her fingers carded through his hair. ”That sounds like a coda to the night,” he murmured softly, looking up at her as her hand found his shoulder. His fingers, still a little damp from the water, curled around her leg, already gently tracing the lean line of muscle in her thigh.

Politely, as though he didn’t know what Zoey looked like with her clothes dropping one by one into the hamper, Will glanced around as she stepped aside and he stood. He brushed his hand down his t-shirt, his head twitching as her request almost had him turning it. ”It’s okay,” he promised hoarsely. He turned then, eyes certainly above neck level, the world seeming to shrink down as he eased closer. One hand offered when she was ready, his legs braced as he helped her over the edge and into the water. Carefully, Will lowered himself down on the edge of the bath at the far end. He brushed her hair back from her neck, gather up the dark strands that escaped into the water. The back of his fingers trailed over her neck, down to her shoulder. ”I know I’m off duty, but the least I can do is take care of that ankle before I go. I’m sure Prince Charming did the same when he eased those glass slippers off.” Amusement curled around his words as warm as that water.

Tagged: ZOEY WASHINGTON * Word Count: 1344