Allie's War Season Four (47 page)

Exhaling shortly, Wreg ran a hand through his black hair, which he no longer wore in a clip. He looked Jon up and down, the scrutiny in his eyes on the surface.

“You don’t want to talk to me.” It wasn’t a question.

“It’s not that.”

“Then what?”

“I told you what...” Jon began, flustered.

“All right.” Wreg held up a calming hand, but his eyes held a faint impatience, despite the evenness of his voice. “I understand. But they can spare you, Jon. I waited until you did the rounds with Dante and the others. And it really can’t wait.”

“What
can’t wait?” Jon said, wary.

At the silence his question produced, Jon lifted his gaze a second time. His eyes met those dark, obsidian-like irises, and that time, Jon found he couldn’t look away. Seeing the harder expression forming there, Jon swallowed, breaking the stare.

“Sorry,” he muttered. Clicking softly, he exhaled, running a hand through his own hair. For the first time, it occurred to him how long it had gotten. Not long-long, but it had grown out significantly in the months since he’d cut it down to about an inch in length on top, the last time he was in New York. It had certainly grown more than he’d noticed, curling down past his ears and the back of his neck.

It hadn’t occurred to him to be self-conscious about that, either. Not until now, anyway.

“Okay,” he said, forcing his eyes back to Wreg’s. “Where?”

Wreg only turned, motioning for Jon to follow.

Jon felt his muscles stiffening as he did as the seer asked. Pain already fought and tightened over his skin in some part of his aleimi, especially in the area of his chest. Reluctance lived there, strong enough that he knew Wreg could probably feel that in his light, too. Like Balidor... hell, more than Balidor, even... Wreg always felt more than he let on.

Especially now, when he had his light sealed up tighter than a vault.

Jon felt the fear in his own light, too, maybe even stronger than the reluctance.

Whatever Wreg was about to tell him, Jon already knew he probably wouldn’t want to hear it. Worse, he knew he might not be able to handle it... not today of all days, when he already felt like his heart had been ripped open and exposed to the entire construct, even if they’d been gentle about it, probably more so than he deserved.

Wreg hadn’t said much of anything to him yet, but this was starting to feel like every other prelude to a conversation Jon had had with one of his lovers that began with the phrase,
We have to talk.

He only marginally noticed where Wreg actually took him.

The tattooed seer seemed to know where he was going.

He didn’t hesitate as he walked Jon down a carpeted corridor and then out into the lobby of the business offices on the forty-third floor, where the impromptu gathering had been hosted, probably because they had the largest conference rooms and a kitchen. The remaining employees of the businesses that leased this space prior to the whole mess of the quarantine and the tsunami had been incorporated into the rest of their ‘refugee camp’ by then, anyway. Then again, the lines between all the different groups, including between human and seer in many cases, had been blurring more and more over the preceding months.

Jon himself hadn’t spent much time on these floors, however.

He gazed around at the tasteful art on the walls, focusing briefly on the etched names of departments on organic glass, oddly incongruous with the long planter boxes growing tomatoes, spinach and red-leaf lettuce under full-spectrum lights that had been moved up here following the floods. He recognized the company logo on each of the doors, however.

Arc Enterprises.

Jon only found out after they’d been working with them over a year that the name of the company was one of those hidden tributes to the Bridge. Fitting, Jon supposed, given that it was an illegally-owned seer business.

Well, illegal before. All of that stuff was pretty irrelevant now.

Wreg cleared his throat.

Jon turned his head, his hands still shoved in his pockets, only to find Wreg holding open a door. It looked like a smaller conference room, or maybe a large office.

Feeling his nerves ratchet up a few more gears, Jon swallowed, averting his eyes as he passed by the seer to enter the room.

Once he had, he found himself in a plush, large-windowed executive office, one that practically oozed wealth. The long windows had a view of the park... a surprisingly clear view, given the storms Jon remembered from the last time he’d been in New York. Jon could see smoke from the airfield coming up in black clouds still, and wondered if Shadow’s people had gone back to salvage anything from the wreckage Revik left behind. He was still looking out over that view, squinting at what looked like a gang of people in street clothes running down an alley off Fifth Avenue, when Wreg cleared his throat again.

When Jon turned that time, the muscular seer folded his arms across his chest.

He’d closed the door behind them. To his left, an expensive-looking leather couch the color of cinnamon stood beneath an in-built bookcase filled with what looked like scientific manuals mostly: physics, engineering, some project management and business books. Jon knew they were probably decorative only, but couldn’t help staring at the amount of money represented there.

He could feel his own avoidance like a tangible force now.

“Jon,” Wreg began. Shifting his weight on his feet, the muscular seer paused, exhaling, as if collecting his thoughts.

Jon noticed Wreg wasn’t looking at him now, either.

“...Jon, I can’t do this anymore.”

Jon felt that pain in his chest worsen. He didn’t speak. The concept of speech felt far away suddenly, and anyway, he could tell the seer hadn’t finished.

“...It’s not just mixed signals, Jon,” Wreg said, exhaling again, his voice heavier that time. “It’s no signals. Nothing for months. It’s cutting me out... only to ask me not to fuck other people. In public, I might add. Where others heard it...”

Jon felt his face reddening, remembering what he’d done in the lobby, when he’d seen Wreg with that female seer, Preela. He felt some part of him that wanted to protest, to explain himself, but Wreg seemed to feel it, and raised a hand, maybe to preempt any words.

“I’ve talked to the others,” Wreg added, raising his eyes for the first time.

His dark eyes looked almost dangerous, but Jon saw the wall there, too. He felt glimmers behind it, but not enough to make sense of what he felt. He recognized the wall, though. He knew what it meant.

“...They all agree with me,” Wreg added. “This isn’t a tenable situation, Jon. Not for what’s going on right now. They’ve asked me to resolve it in some way.”

Jon swallowed.

When the silence stretched, he found himself speaking, almost without understanding his own words. “Resolve it?” he said.

His voice came out low. So low, he wondered if the seer even heard it.

He did hear it, though.

“Yes,” Wreg said. His voice sounded heavy once more. Widening his stance slightly, he refolded his arms. “Jon, I think our options are pretty limited at this point.” He took another breath, looking away. “You’ve made it clear you don’t want to be with me right now,” he added. “I’ve told you from the beginning... I said I’d respect any decision you made on that front, that I wouldn’t push. But under the circumstances, if that’s where this is going, I think we need to sever it... the connection, I mean. You and me.”

He hesitated, maybe seeing something in Jon’s face.

When Jon didn’t speak, Wreg averted his gaze, making a vague gesture with one hand, without unfolding his arms.

“Nenz... Balidor. The old woman. They said they’d help with this.” Wreg shrugged, still looking away, towards the wall. “They’re just waiting for the signal from me.”

Again, he seemed to be waiting, but Jon didn’t speak.

Shrugging, Wreg went on, his voice gruff.

“I didn’t want to just do it,” he said. “...Not without talking to you. I don’t want there to be hard feelings, Jon... at least not any more than I can help. I don’t want you to think I won’t be there for you, or that we can’t be friends at some point. When I’m... I don’t know...”

He made another vague gesture with his hand.

“...Over all of this, I guess.”

His voice sounded deadened as he finished, stripped of anything.

“Jon, I need you to give me permission to do this,” he said, when Jon still hadn’t spoken. “Maybe it’s me being old-fashioned, but I feel like, even if we didn’t have anything formal in place, we’ve had agreements in the past. I’m asking you to release me from them. I’m asking you to...”

His words trailed.

Jon felt the seer staring at him again, felt some kind of reaction flicker off the other man’s light, pretty much the instant that dark head turned to look at him. Jon almost couldn’t feel it at that point though, couldn’t make sense of it. He couldn’t see him anymore. He couldn’t see anything in the room, but he couldn’t seem to go unconscious, either.

“Jon... gods.”

Jon just shook his head. He fought to speak, but couldn’t make his chest work.

“Jon, what is it? What’s wrong?”

Jon had no idea what the seer meant.

Something happened in that space. Maybe just a hiccup on the timeline, a blank place in his mind, where nothing happened at all.

Then Jon found himself on the floor.

“Jon! Gods... Jon, breathe.
Breathe,
goddamn it...”

Somehow he was on the floor.

He didn’t remember getting there. He didn’t remember seeing the seer cross the room, or hearing his words, although he could tell he’d been speaking before now, too. He could only kneel there, on the floor. He tried to do as the seer said and breathe, but he couldn’t do that, either. Each breath came out sideways, hurting his body. Wreg knelt beside him. After the barest hesitation, Wreg caught hold of him in his arms, too, holding him half against his body. Light left the man’s hands and fingers, from other parts of his body.

Jon felt Maygar there briefly, Allie, Revik...

“Jon!” Wreg gripped him tighter, holding him against his chest. “Breathe, goddamn it!”

Jon closed his eyes. He tried to breathe. He tried.

He didn’t want to be here anymore.

He just wanted to fucking die.

“Jon!” Wreg shook him, anger coiling off his light. Tears filled the other man’s voice. “This can’t be from my words. It can’t be. Gods above... you’ve all but told me to my face to leave you. I was pretty sure you were fucking Jorag by now, honestly... as well as whatever the hell is going on with you and Nenz...”

Jon let out a choked laugh.

It turned into a sob.

He leaned against the other man’s chest, his eyes shut, his jaw so clenched it hurt. Like earlier that day, he felt like he’d been crushed, like someone had reached into the middle of his chest and crushed whatever light had once lived there. He cried like a child, too lost to even care that he did it... or why, or that he was doing it in front of someone else. His arms wrapped around himself, gripping his chest, his ribs. He shielded his body and face, maybe to compensate for the rawness of his broken light... maybe even to protect himself from the man who held him... but he leaned his face against that same man’s chest and cried.

“Jon...” Wreg’s voice softened. He stroked his hair and back, pulling him into his lap.

Jon let him do that, too.

“Tell me what you want, brother,” Wreg said. “Tell me what you need from me.”

The pain in Jon’s chest worsened at his words.

He fought to speak, but could only shake his head. Pain blinded him, caused him to clutch at the other man’s clothes. Violence slid briefly through his light, but that felt childlike, too, a wanting to pound his fists against Wreg’s chest, maybe to crack through something that still felt too far away, to invulnerable to anything inside Jon himself. He wanted to hurt Wreg in those few seconds, but he couldn’t bring himself to do that, either. He didn’t want to hurt him. He loved him.

Wreg sucked in a breath. His arms tightened around Jon’s back and shoulders.