Chapter Text
Alex Manes steps off a bus into the town square of Roswell, New Mexico on a balmy autumn day in late September. Even the air of the town is the same as it ever was, dry and warm, the sun-baked brick and faux adobe of the town so familiar he could walk it blindfolded, crutch or no crutch.
His father has been dead for three weeks.
Alex hadn’t come back for the funeral. He’d had a ready made excuse, still in recovery from the injury that took his right foot and several of his friends. The grimmest silver lining in history: sure he got blown up, but at least he didn’t have to attend his abusive asshole father’s funeral. Sometimes he still feels like a coward for taking the out it offered him, but those words in the back of his mind speak in his father’s voice, and hell if Alex is going to let himself be bullied by a ghost.
His first thought had been now I never have to go back to Roswell. That had lasted a couple of days, a euphoric feeling of freedom, like some invisible tether inside of him had finally shaken loose. It had taken a few days for the second realization to dawn: that now he can go back to Roswell whenever he wants. There’s no threat lurking there, no disapproving shadow disappearing around every corner. He can go visit Maria without having to see his father, he can check in on Arturo, see Michelle Valenti, make use of that cabin Jim left him. And that’s freedom of a whole different kind, unexpected but no less sweet.
If his mind had immediately drifted to Michael Guerin, half a second after he had the thought, well— that's an old habit, at this point. Muscle memory, pretty much. Even if all the missed calls and ignored messages painted a pretty firm picture that Michael wants nothing to do with him anymore, Alex still thought of him when he thought of Roswell.
But thoughts of Roswell had been distant, half-formed things, musings about trips back home he might take some day. It’d been a shock, a few weeks after his father’s funeral, when Alex was finally cleared for light desk duty and given his next posting. He’d stared down at the words which bafflingly read ‘Cannon AFB Satellite, Roswell New Mexico’. What were the fucking odds? But it hadn’t been totally random, as it happened. Answers came when he talked to his CO, an explanation in the form of pointing out how close Alex is to the end of his enlistment, and how nice it would be to ride out the rest of it close to home.
He could read between the lines— no medical discharge, but they were keeping him out of the field and at an easy posting for the rest of his contract. Part of him still wants to prickle at it, instinctually disliking the idea of being coddled, but... When he thinks of Maria, of Arturo, of his brother Greg, newly out of the Navy and living on the Reservation nearby, he has to admit he doesn’t hate the idea of being back here. It’s a surprising thing, to realize he might actually want to be near family. Now that his father’s gone.
It’s not Greg who makes contact first, though. It’s Flint.
It feels like it takes Alex forever to finally, finally get out to the old Valenti hunting cabin, pulling the rented SUV up the long drive toward the old building. The wood of the porch creaks under his weight as he climbs up the steps; not the most accessible building ever, but at least it’s only one storey. There will be time enough to deal with necessary renovations. For now, he sinks into the couch, rubbing absently at the tight muscle in his thigh as he fishes out his phone. The voicemail brings him up short.
The number is unlisted, but the voice behind the call is unmistakable.
[I heard you’re coming back to Roswell, that you’ve been stationed here. That’s good, I could use your help with something. We Manes men have a legacy in this town, and I think Dad was killed for it. I’ll tell you more when I see you. Find me.]
Flint’s voice is recognizable over the phone even if they haven’t spoken in years. They were never exactly friends— close enough in age that Flint felt the need to prove himself Alex’s better at every turn for most of their lives, a behavior their father had encouraged. Last Alex had heard, he was stationed in Germany. Apparently not anymore.
He replays the cryptic message, frowning at the ‘Manes men’ line— if Alex never has to hear that phrase again, it will be too soon. ‘I think Dad was killed for it’... that’s confusing. As far as Alex had been told, his father’s death had been chalked up to natural causes. It’s possible the Air Force might redact his cause of death if he died in the line of duty, but he died in Roswell. Hardly a hot-bed of terrorist activity.
Alex has a sinking suspicion that whatever Flint’s involved with, he wants nothing to do with it. Coming back to Roswell was supposed to be free of Manes family bullshit this time, where the most stressful thing Alex has to worry about is if he’s going to run into his ex-something at Beam Me Up. He’s got a whole mental list of places he’s likely to find Michael at, to either avoid him or seek him out, he hasn’t decided. And now this—
Alex sighs, scrubbing a hand through his hair. He’s got to report for duty in the morning, meet his new CO and get his work assignments, and hopefully not run into Flint in the process. Then maybe he can go into town, see if he can find anything out about his father’s death. He owes Michelle Valenti a visit anyway.
~~~
Of all the places Alex imagined the possibility of running into Michael in Roswell, coming out of the Sheriff’s station was pretty low on the list. He has a moment of— honestly kind of shitty resignation, because of course Michael Guerin, walking-bar-fight, is here on a Saturday morning, before several things register in quick succession.
The first is that Michael’s not alone, currently in conversation with a tall blond woman Alex recognizes as Michael’s high school friend and Maria’s mortal enemy, Isobel Evans. The second is that Michael, while still gorgeous enough to steal Alex’s breath, doesn’t look well. His skin, which had the golden glow of many hours spent working in the sun last time Alex saw him, now seems pale and sallow. He seems thinner too, though still broad shouldered, just— sunken, a little, like he’s missed too many meals.
The third thing, the thing that grinds Alex to a stop on the pavement, staring with his mouth open, is that he’s holding a baby.
That doesn’t have to mean— Alex shouldn’t jump to conclusions, there’s lots of reasons he could be— But then Michael catches sight of Alex and he freezes too, the surprise on his face a perfect reflection of what Alex is feeling.
“Alex,” Michael says, voice flat, and Alex is— honestly just trying not to stare at the baby currently clinging to Michael’s shirt collar, because what? What?
“Guerin,” he replies, surprised at how steady his own voice is.
“Alex Manes, back in town now that Daddy’s six feet under?” Isobel quips, saccharine sweet, a surprising amount of disdain in her voice for someone Alex would have assumed didn’t know his father at all. He’s unsure if it’s directed at him or at his father’s memory, but either way he can’t help but feel like he’s being baited.
“Actually, yes,” Alex says, straightening up. Stupid of him, to let himself be caught off guard, but then again, reminds a voice at the back of his head that sounds an awful lot like his father: Michael has always been his biggest weakness. Unwilling to be forced onto the defensive, he crosses his arms over his chest looking between them and the baby. “You had a kid together?”
“Oh my god,” Isobel scoffs, closing her eyes and turning her head away as if from a terrible smell. “Ew, never. This is not my spawn.”
“Gross,” Michael says at the same time, and Alex almost— almost— laughs.
“C’mon little demon baby,” Isobel coos to the baby, who despite her words, at least seems comfortable enough with her to be taken from Michael’s arms with only mild protest. “Let’s let Daddy have awkward conversations all by himself.”
“Thanks,” Michael says to her, and she wiggles her fingers at him in a pointed goodbye as she turns to saunter away. To Alex, he says, “She’s basically my sister, man. We were in foster care together.”
Alex blinks. “I didn’t know that. You never said.”
“Yeah, well, we never did all that much talking,” Michael says, rocking a little on his toes. He looks oddly vulnerable without the baby in his arms, the way his clothes are hanging too loose off his frame even more obvious. “Look, I’m— I didn’t mean to just fall off the map like I did, I swear. Things just got... complicated.”
“That seems like an understatement.” He knows he sounds cold even as he says it, cold and removed, arms still crossed over his chest, still in his uniform staring Michael down in the middle of the street. He makes himself fall into parade rest, hands clasped loosely behind his back. “It’s fine, Guerin, you never owed me anything.”
“Right,” Michael scoffs, nodding. “Of course not.”
Which is a little rich from him, considering he’s the one who stopped taking Alex’s calls, and then went off and made a whole new human with someone. And really, how can Alex hold that against him? Hasn’t he always wanted more for Michael than Michael seemed willing to reach for himself? And sure, that usually meant, you know, a bachelor’s degree, not a baby, but— if a baby was something he wanted, who’s Alex to begrudge him that?
“I hope you're happy,” Alex says, staring at a point somewhere over Michael’s left shoulder. “Do I know the mom?”
It’s so not his business, but he justifies asking by imagining what it would be like to run into Michael with goddamn Tess Harding or Lindsey Lewis at the grocery store.
“There’s no mom,” Michael says, and now Alex makes himself look back just in time to see a flash of pain disappearing off Michael’s face. “I mean— he’s just mine.”
Which is fair enough, Alex supposes. Ask a bullshit question, get a bullshit answer. He nods mutely, suddenly itching to escape this conversation. His eyes flick up to the sheriff’s station behind Michael, and that seems to be cue enough for Michael to clear his throat, nodding once. “Good seeing you, Alex.”
The sarcasm in his voice follows Alex all the way into the Sheriff Valenti’s office— Michelle Valenti, now. She greets him with a warm smile and a handshake, still parental after all this time. Maybe you never really lose that, with the kids who grow up in your life.
“How are you settling in at the cabin?” Michelle asks, gesturing for Alex to sit across from her desk, and he takes a seat.
“Well, thank you. I’m sorry to say, but this isn’t entirely a social call.”
“Oh, well. How can I help you Lieutenant Manes?” Her voice is still friendly, but her eyes flick down to his fatigues and there’s something colder in them when she looks back up.
It doesn’t surprise him. Michelle never liked the military much. “I was hoping I could take a look at my father’s autopsy report. I’ve been informed that certain— concerned parties suspect foul play, and I wanted to see for myself.”
Her cold expression fades, replaced instead by a far too knowing sympathy. “Typically military deaths are processed on the base, as I’m sure you know. I’m not sure how I can help you.”
“I tried there first, but since he didn’t die in the line of duty, they said it was processed as a civilian death.”
Michelle frowns, studying him for a beat. “Alright,” she relents eventually. “I’ll take a look. Do you want to wait now?”
“If you don’t mind.”
She leaves him in her office, and Alex watches her walk out idly, eyes catching on one of the deputies sitting in the bullpen. With a start, Alex realizes he recognizes the man— Max Evans, Liz’s maybe-something and Michael’s high school best friend. Isobel’s brother, which means, maybe Michael’s brother too, or something like it. God, well, that does give some context to Michael’s reaction upon being asked if he was in love with Max, all those years ago. Also explains what they were doing here, Michael and Isobel and— the baby.
Max is standing, holding a cup of coffee and talking to another deputy, a tall blonde woman with her hair in a braid. Alex’s neck prickles, the uncomfortable feeling like someone has been watching him, and he makes himself look away, pulling out his phone to wait for Sheriff Valenti’s return.
“I don’t remember this coming in,” Michelle says when she returns, holding a brown file folder in her hand, and then sighs. “But it has been a busy couple weeks. Here.”
He takes the file from her. The front reads ‘Jesse E. Manes, MSgt’ in blocky handwriting. With some kind of detachment, Alex flips it open, prepared for what he’s going to see— a photograph in black and white, his father’s eyes closed, taken from above. Alex ignores the picture, flipping over to the autopsy, scanning over it.
Cause of death: heart failure.
So he did have a heart after all.
“Nothing seems to be amiss,” Michelle says, clearly scanning it over next to him.
“He had no pre-existing risk factors for heart failure.” Unless you counted the rage and the drinking, but then half this stupid town would be at death’s door every other day. The autopsy report is signed by Jane Holden, MD at Roswell General. Alex taps his fingers on the signature. “Do you know this doctor?”
Michelle’s silent for a moment, and when Alex looks up at her, she’s blinking rapidly. “I know the name,” she says, after a moment, with a sense of forced composure. “She signed off on Jim’s death certificate as well.”
“I’m sorry,” Alex says, sincerely. They’ve spoken a few times since Jim’s passing, but it’s different talking about it over the phone. Michelle shakes her head, dragging up a smile, and reaches out to squeeze Alex’s forearm.
“I can make you a copy of the death certificate,” she offers, and Alex nods. He doesn’t really want it, but— hell, it might be nice to have, when he wakes up sweating in the middle of the night. Tangible fucking proof, that the nightmares are just that.
Flint’s cryptic message makes even less sense, holding this report in his hand. It’s a fairly standard autopsy report for a death via natural causes, done by the same doctor who did one for a cancer patient. Whatever Flint was seeing to make him suspicious, there was no evidence of it here. Was it just grief? The idea that any of his brothers could be grieving their father to the point of delusion was baffling to Alex, but Flint had followed eagerly in their father’s footsteps.
Alex is going to have to cave and go talk to him in person if he wants any more answers. He’s not entirely convinced that he does, really. But for now, he takes the copy of the death certificate with a smile and a thanks, and leaves Michelle with a promise to come by for an actual social visit later.
He can feel Max Evans’s eyes on him the whole way out of the Sheriff’s station.
~~~
“Alex Manes, in my bar? Are you lost?”
“Hey Maria,” Alex says, bending down enough to catch his arm under hers, hugging her tight. “Thought you might have a beer for an old friend.”
“For you? Always.”
The Wild Pony is bustling with weekend night business, busy but not crowded as people filter in for a drink or two before heading home. Alex posts up at the bar with a beer, watching dusty cowboys and tired looking shop owners file around him. He’s not entirely sure why he’s here, this isn’t exactly his crowd. Except that his mind is racing, full of his brother’s cryptic messages and the confusion of seeing Michael again, and he owed Maria a visit anyway. She’s so clearly in her element, handling friendly faces and assholes with the same level of confidence, the same way her mother had. It’s a stark reminder of how much has changed in the last eight years, how much he missed. Like he needed any more of those, right now.
“You’re brooding about something,” Maria says, when there’s a lull in the crowd, parking herself in front of him with a tray of wet glasses and a rag.
“Me? Never,” Alex says dryly, taking a swig from his bottle.
“Don’t try to bullshit a psychic, baby,” Maria retorts, squinting at him.
“No, don’t do that, don’t give me psychic face,” Alex sighs, glaring at her, and she relents, smiling.
“Well, you could try talking about it instead. You used to do that, you know.”
He did. He still does, really, talks to her more than anyone else. She’s the only one he ever called, when he was stationed somewhere where contact from the outside world was hard to come by. She was the one he called from the hospital, to make sure she knew he was okay, no matter what other rumors floated out to her from the air base. He’d wanted to ask her about Michael, then, six months out from the last time Michael failed to answer his call.
Maybe he should have. Maybe it’s good he didn’t.
“This is a boy thing,” she says, like she’s observed that on him somehow.
“How do you do that?” Alex grumbles, and she shrugs, smiling in a way that might read as mysterious if you didn’t know her, but mostly seems a little smug to him. With the air of changing the subject, even though he really isn’t, Alex says, “I ran into Michael Guerin yesterday. Did you know he had a kid?”
“Oh yeah, it was huge gossip around here,” Maria says, settling in with a smirk on her face. She looks so much like Mimi, conspiring to share secrets of the whole town behind their back, that it kind of breaks Alex’s heart. “Having a kid wouldn’t be weird, but he just disappeared one day. It was all over town, he didn't quit his job at the ranch or anything. The Evans twins kept the Sheriff's office from getting involved so everyone figured he just bailed. Then he came back a little over a year and a half later with a baby. That was about a month ago, now."
“Do you know who the mother is?” Alex asks, shooting for causal and totally missing, if the look on Maria’s face is anything to go by.
“No, no one does. Someone from wherever he fucked off to, I imagine.” She picks up another glass, wiping it mechanically while staring off into the bar behind him. “It’s funny, he used to be in here all the time, but he's different now. Still comes in to fix things if I need, but mostly keeps to himself. Honestly, it seems like wherever he was, didn't treat him right. I think it's probably good he took that baby and ran.”
Guilt squirms in Alex’s stomach, and he looks away from her, down at the sticky countertop. The jealousy that’s been roiling in his belly for the last couple days feels leaden, now, her words combined with his own assessment that Michael hadn’t looked well. Alex has no right to be possessive of Michael but he feels it anyway, angry at the idea of someone else getting to have Michael’s sweetness and his vulnerability and his trust, and then misusing that. Abusing that. He swallows and it feels like he’s trying to swallow ash— feels like a hand closing around his throat, pushing him up against a support beam until his toes barely touch the ground and he can’t breathe—
He looks up to find Maria watching him, her mouth ticked to the side in a half-grimace, and he shakes his head. “Good for him, then.”
“Why are you so curious?” Maria asks, head tilting to the side, the bangle in her earring jingling loud enough that Alex can hear it even over the chatter and the music. “I didn’t know you knew him.”
Alex freezes, and he really should have known better, than to have this conversation with Maria, of all people. Maria, who knows him best. He looks up at her, and she gasps, putting the glass and the rag down to gape at him.
“Oh my god— Guerin? He’s your museum guy?”
The quick, furtive look around the bar is instinctive— and unnecessary, no one is paying them any attention anyway. Still, it’s old habit, and three years of changed laws haven’t shifted attitudes in the military as much as Alex would have hoped. But he’s not on a base, he’s not in uniform, and no one in this bar gives a shit if Alex Manes has a guy, museum or otherwise.
“It was a long time ago,” he says, and it feels like a lie in his mouth, because it wasn’t, it wasn’t, it was barely two years ago when it ended. And yeah, maybe it hadn’t been fair to Michael, to keep stringing him along with promises of a future when things might change, to keep moving the goal posts— once DADT is repealed, once the Code of Conduct changes, once I become an officer. Lord knows Alex has spun himself in circles about that enough since Michael stopped taking his calls. Two years, and Alex hasn’t moved on even a little, and Michael made a whole human being with someone else.
“When was the last time you talked to him?” Maria asks, softly, and Alex looks away from her.
“Sometime in 2014,” he says, and lets her do the math herself, tries not to think about that weekend—
— Michael’s skin soaked in the sunlight streaming in through the window of his Airstream, turning him all golden and pink as he tugged Alex between his thighs, spread his legs and begged so sweetly for Alex to fuck him one more time, please, just one more time, please, just give it to me. And god, Alex had, sweat trickling down his spine from how close the air in the trailer was, humid and sticky, drenched with a weekend of sex and the cool scent that always lingered on Michael’s skin, out of place when he was alway so hot—
Maria reaches out to hold his wrist, and he lets her, her hand small and cool where her thumb rests against his pulse point. He meets her gaze, and tries not to prickle at the sympathy he sees there. The math is pretty damning: a few months after Alex last saw Michael, he skips town without a word, disappearing off to somewhere that didn’t treat him right.
Guilt overrides the jealousy, and Alex feels a little nauseous.
“He is kinda hot,” Maria says, letting go with a squeeze. “In a sex-in-a-truck, smells-like-a-river kinda way.”
“Michael’s not so bad after a shower,” Alex says, and it’s a fucking lie, pretending he didn’t love the smell of Michael’s skin, the mud and grease streaks on his arms, heavy and earthen. A fucking lie to pretend Alex didn’t love him filthy, all sweat-darkened body hair and the way it shined on the rippling muscles of his back.
He clears his throat, dragging his mind away from the memory of Michael years ago, back to the man he saw yesterday. A worry Alex has no right to feel and can’t shake digs its heels in. “Do you think he’s doing okay?”
Maria looks at him, appraising. He hates it, but lets her, because her insights are usually helpful. “I don’t know. Like I said, he’s different now. But having a kid will do that to you, I guess.”
“Yeah.” It’s so hard to wrap his mind around the idea of Michael having a kid— Michael, who used to have more alcohol than food in his trailer and a joint tucked behind his ear. Michael, who has always loved completely, with everything inside of him. Michael would change for his kid, Alex does believe that— if there was anything that could pull Michael out of the hole he dug himself into, it would be that.
“Being a single parent isn’t easy for anyone, though,” Maria says thoughtfully, beginning to stack the dry cups back into her tray. “He could probably use a friend.”
“Meddlesome,” Alex accuses, but Maria is unabashed, reaching across the bar to pinch the tip of his chin, chucking it upwards.
“You could also use a friend,” she says pointedly, “Especially if you’re back for good. And I hope you are.”
Weirdly, Alex finds himself hoping that too. Flint’s cryptic messages aside, there’s so much more room to breathe here, without his father’s shadow darkening every corner. Despite how much he tried, he’s never been able to crack his heart open for anyone else outside of this town, the only people who still have any parts of him are here— Maria and Mimi, Michelle Valenti and Arturo Ortecho, all the surrogate families who gave him space to grow into himself. Michael.
“Is he still working on the ranch?” Alex asks, halting Maria as she makes to turn away.
“No, I don’t think so. Try the Sanders’ Auto.”
Alex opens his mouth to protest, to claim he’s not trying anything, but— there’s no point. Maria will always be able to see through his bullshit, psychic or not. She winks and he shakes his head, watching absently as she gets back to work. She’s not wrong, though, Michael probably could use a friend.
Alex can be that, maybe. He certainly hasn’t been great at being anything else for Michael. He can give friendship a try.
~~~
He gives himself a few days to think it over.
Adjusting to a new base is always strange, and even more so for the base Jesse Manes served on for most of his career. Alex spends more time than he would like navigating being treated warmly by people who held Jesse in high esteem and coolly by people who didn’t. His own commanding officer is clipped with him, telling him in no uncertain terms to expect no favoritism just because of who his father was. He stands at attention and says just as sharply that he expects none, resigning himself to the long and arduous process of differentiating himself from his father’s legacy within the bounds of acceptable conduct. He’ll just have to show up to work and be the best damn Air Force Lieutenant he knows how to be, and then he’ll leave at the end of the day.
And that’s something to adjust to, as well, having somewhere off-base to live. The hunting cabin in the woods that Jim left him isn’t exactly built for accessibility, but Alex finds the privacy a fair trade for a little inconvenience. He likes the long drive away from the base at the end of the day, the way it gives him time to clear his mind, shake off the clinging shadows of his father’s ghosts.
The thing that consumes most of his thoughts is, predictably, Michael.
The drives to and from work give him plenty of time to think about it, to chew over and over the memory of Michael outside the Sheriff’s station. Alex had been so stunned he’d hardly been able to look at the kid, but he wishes he had, now. Had Michael said their name? He had, Alex is pretty sure, but it had flown right out of his brain. Alex doesn’t know a single thing about babies, but he knows a lot about Michael, and the more he thinks about it, the more he’s pretty sure Maria’s right. Michael does need a friend. And it’s not this kid’s fault that Alex has history with Michael, so— If he’s going to push himself back into Michael’s life, he’s going to have to be prepared to take what comes with it.
He hates how much easier all of this seems, with Jesse Manes six feet deep and rotting. Maybe he’s a fucking coward and maybe Michael will want nothing at all to do with him, but Alex can try. He finds that he really wants to try.
Which is how he finds himself pulling into Sanders Auto and Junkyard on his first day off, late enough into the morning that he’s pretty sure Michael will be there, if he’s to be found here at all. Walt Sanders greets him with a grunt and a suspicious glare, and Alex can’t help but wonder how another auto shop hasn’t popped up in town to compete with him, if this is how he treats his customers.
“Is Michael in?” Alex asks, aiming for pleasant, hands in his pockets.
“Maybe. What'da you want him for?”
“Uh— I was just hoping to talk to him.”
Sanders squints at him with his one visible eye, before calling out, “Guerin!”
Alex winces; he could have managed that much himself. Still, he mutters an obligatory thanks, unsure what to do with the sense of judgment rolling off of Sanders in waves. Does the old man know about his history with Michael? They’d met up at the junkyard often enough in the summer after high school, but by the time Alex finished BMT, Michael had moved on to working on the ranch. Most of his visits on leave had been spent there, weekends or the odd holiday spent in Michael’s trailer, never bothering to venture out for much. Jesse had still haunted every doorway in town, an ever-present threat, and so if Alex was seeing Michael, he wasn’t seeing anyone else.
“He doesn’t need any more trouble, you know,” Sanders says, suddenly, jolting Alex from his thoughts. “Got enough on his plate with the little one now.”
Alex blinks, taken aback. “I’m not looking to make trouble.”
“Uh huh,” Sanders says, skeptical. “Sometimes he doesn’t know what’s good for him, is all I’m saying.”
“Will everyone please stop trying to tell me how to manage my own life?” Michael gripes, emerging from somewhere inside the shop, wiping his hands with an already greasy rag that might be doing more harm than good when it comes to cleanliness.
Sanders just grunts and disappears with a mutter under his breath that Alex doesn’t catch, too distracted by Michael’s— everything. Hair tumbling in the light breeze crawling across the junkyard, the way it tugs at the collar of his shirt, pulling on the flap where the worn material is undone several buttons deep, giving a glimpse of skin and chest hair. Pale skin, and a too-visible collarbone, and Alex drags his eyes up to Michael’s face, makes himself focus on the bruises of dark circles under his eyes.
“You got your old job back,” Alex says, observes, for lack of anything intelligent to say, and Michael nods.
“Yep. Coming back like a bad penny, that’s me. Having car trouble?” He gestures towards Alex’s Humvee, so clearly a military issue that he almost regrets driving it, but it’s not like he really has any other choice. “Sure the boys on the base aren’t going to get pissy if I touch their stuff?”
It’s a thinly veiled jab, but one Alex absolutely deserves. “No, that’s not why I’m here.” He shifts, trying not to appear so obviously controlled in his posture, to let his good leg take more of his weight and not let it make him feel so vulnerable to show weakness. “I wanted to apologize, actually, for the way I reacted when I saw you, last time. It caught me off guard, and I was kind of a dick.”
Michael blinks, clearly not expecting that. “I think it’s fair, all told. Guess you hadn’t been back long enough to pick it up in the rumor mill.”
“No, I did just get in. It is good to see you, though,” Alex says, tentatively, hoping Michael can hear how much he means it. “I know we didn’t part on the best terms, and it’s not— You were totally within your rights to stop taking my calls—”
“No, Alex,” Michael cuts off, taking an involuntary step forwards. “It wasn’t— like that, things just got out of control so fast and I didn’t— I swear I didn’t mean to cut you out. I just couldn’t— I couldn’t answer, please believe me.”
“Okay,” Alex says, easily, because he doesn’t need to drag Michael back through this, whatever this is. Alex knows abuse and control, and he can just— choose to believe Michael on this. It’s that easy, he can just make that choice. “What’s your kid’s name? I missed that last time.”
Michael laughs, a sound that’s more relief than anything else. “Luke. His name is Luke, Luke Guerin.”
“Like Luke Skywalker?” Alex jokes, and the look Michael gives him nearly steals his breath, surprised and pleased like Alex just down to the hidden truth of something, wide eyed and vulnerable. It makes no sense at all and Alex wants Michael to keep looking at him like that more than anything.
“Kinda? But mostly I just don’t know anyone with that name, so— no negative associations.”
“That would be important, when naming your kid. Can’t go around calling him ‘Wyatt’ I guess.”
“Or ‘Kyle’,” Michael agrees. Alex snorts out a laugh, and Michael grins at him, leaning into the post keeping the car bay up. “Why set a kid up for failure like that, you know?”
“I’d like to get to know him,” Alex says, softly, making himself look Michael square in the face despite the urge to look away. “And you. It’s been a long time. A lifetime, for him.”
Michael swallows. “Why?”
It’s a fair question. “Because I want to help,” Alex says, spreading his hands wide in a half shrug. “Because I really don’t have that many friends and I’d rather not have to avoid you. I’m going to be stationed here at least until the end of my enlistment period, and it’s a pretty small town. Because any kid you made has got to be pretty cool, even if he’s still, you know— mostly a potato.”
That gets a real laugh from Michael, the last of the distrust melting away. “Fuck you, Manes, my kid is not mostly a potato. He’s at least three quarters not a potato at this point.” Alex grins, and Michael shakes his head. “He is pretty cool, though.”
“Of course,” Alex says, and leaves it at that.
“Yeah, okay,” Michael says after a beat or two, nodding like he’s made a decision. “I have to get back to work right now, if you’re not here to get your car looked at, but I can give you my address if you want to come by later. I can introduce you to Luke.”
“Right, I guess you can’t really have a baby in an Airstream,” Alex says, eyes flicking over towards where the familiar silver body of the trailer sits at the edge of the junkyard.
“That’s what Isobel tells me,” Michael agrees, turning away to fish out a piece of scrap paper from a workbench, continuing even as he writes. “She owns the place, I’m just renting. Her husband’s a lawyer and really into the stock market or something, I don’t really know. She tried to give it to me, but...” Michael trails off, and Alex can fill in the rest. Even for Luke, his pride hadn’t been able to stretch that far.
Alex gets that. It had been hard to let himself accept Jim’s bequest of the cabin, he’d tried to immediately sign it back over to Michelle. Only her instance that— really, she didn’t want it, he was doing her a favor taking it off her hands— made him relent in the end. For all that he’s grateful to have it now, there’s still a part of him that feels like he didn’t earn it.
The piece of paper Michael hands over is smudged with grease, and for the brief moment then they’re both holding on to it, Alex swears he can feel the heat radiating off Michael’s skin. In a different world, he could step into the curve of Michael’s body and bury his nose in against the skin of Michael’s throat, let those familiar grease-stained hands find his hips and tug him close. In a different world—
Alex shifts back, holding the piece of paper tight so his hand doesn’t tremble. “I’ll be there,” he says, and it sounds like a promise.