The Administration Series (228 page)

"What the hell are you doing here?" Toreth asked, ignoring the question. What did 'at least for the moment' mean?

"Looking for you. And you've made it hard enough, I must say. You blocked my calls, I&I won't let me in the building, and Sara won't tell me anything. Then I waited outside the Int-Sec grounds for you with no result, so I presume you've been using another exit. The same with the gym. As you can see, I've been reduced to bar-crawling in an attempt to find you."

"So take a fucking hint." He'd been looking for him. He'd been looking for him all this time.

Warrick looked around, dark eyes assessing the room, lips quirking thoughtfully. Toreth wanted to kiss him, right then, as if it would somehow wipe away everything that had happened.

"It's not one of your usual places," Warrick said, "which I assume is deliberate. Or is this one of the usual places that
we
never go to?"

Toreth closed his eyes, shutting away the temptation. It didn't help much, because Warrick was sitting so close that he imagined he could smell him. When he opened them again, he found Warrick looking at him, obviously expecting an answer.

He groped back for the question. "I came here with a fuck once, and I was hoping for another one. Thanks for scaring her away. Now will you fuck off?"

"That seems unlikely, don't you think, after all the trouble I've taken to find you? Where are you staying?"

"None of your fucking business."

Warrick carried on as if he hadn't spoken. "I've tried a credit and purchase check, but the systems are still patchy."

"You won't find me. It's going straight onto expenses."

"Ah, of course. I ought to have thought of that. I did get some bars to try, which is why I'm here. Well, the I&I systems will be riskier, but —"

"Warrick . . . " First time he'd said his name, and Toreth found himself unable to get past it.

Warrick waited for a moment, then said, "I won't stay long, if you really want me to go. I simply wanted to speak to you. And I would like an explanation of why all this rigmarole has been necessary, if that's not too much trouble."

"You won't get one. You don't need one. Now, fuck off." Please. Fuck off, fuck off. Skipping disk, stuck on the same message.

"No, I don't think so. In an attempt to get this conversation moving, I will assume that the problem is Carnac. Or, more specifically, what Carnac said at my flat."

He willed himself to get up and leave, producing no response. There seemed to be a mutiny in progress from his waist downwards, because Warrick's proximity after such a long absence was having its usual effect. His body didn't care whether Warrick was going to walk out in a month's time, or a year's time, or even in the morning — it simply wanted him, right now.

At least his voice still obeyed orders. "There's nothing to talk about, because he said it all, didn't he?"

"They were only words. Carnac lies as much as — and probably more than — anyone else."

"He wasn't lying, though."

"Lying, talking utter shit, what's the difference?"

Toreth blinked at the uncharacteristic phrasing. "Don't try to — "

"There is absolutely no need for this. For any of this." A hint of pleading broke through, before he sat up straighter and carried on. "What did he actually say?"

"You know. You heard it."

"Some of it. For the rest, I was far too busy stopping you tearing his head off — something I've regretted frequently since. And of the parts I did hear, I'd still like to know what
you
heard, because I don't think it can have been the same thing."

"He said — no. I won't." Simple denial, no reason, because he couldn't think of one.

Warrick sat and waited, letting the silence do the job of persuasion for him.

Toreth looked down, into his drink, and wished he'd had a few more before Warrick had turned up. "He said that you're going to leave. Because at the end of the day, we fuck, and that's all. And he's right. Why the hell should it last? I might be the world's greatest fuck but I can't — " He kicked the bar, hard enough to jar his ankle painfully. "But there isn't anything else. None of the shit the rest of you want."

"'Just you. It's enough'."

He looked up and caught the last of a smile fading from Warrick's lips.

"A quotation," Warrick said in answer to his expression.

"Yeah? Who? Some clueless fucking idiot."

The smile flickered again. "Very possibly. But nevertheless — "

"No. You can quote whoever the hell you like, it doesn't change what Carnac said, does it? Every fucking word of it was true. About me, about you and Sara. About how much I — " And even though it didn't matter any more, he still couldn't say it. Because, just maybe, Warrick hadn't heard that part. "What I mean is there's no point dragging it out, so please fuck off and leave me alone."

Warrick shook his head. "Carnac said some things, some of which may have been true to some degree, and then he produced a conclusion as if it followed logically. It's mental sleight-of-hand, that's all."

"He made a prediction. It's what he does for a living. You're the one who said he was the best you've ever seen." He laughed bitterly. "Not that it's much of a prediction. You can't build a relationship on fucking and nothing else. Or so Elena says."

"Who's she?"

"Don Chevril's wife. You met her at Sara's ten year thing — you must remember. She's a real stunner: hair down to her waist, legs up to her armpits, absolutely perfect skin. Fuck knows what she's doing with him." Fuck knows what you're — he took a deep breath and went on quickly, talking so that he wouldn't have to say anything.

"I fucked her once, at a party, in the dark. She felt like silk, inside and out. She was high as a kite — we both were. She'd never have done it otherwise. We nearly died trying not to laugh, because Chev was there, talking, a few feet away. He'd kill me if he found out, so don't say anything. Even Sara doesn't know about it. I never told her because she'd only tell someone else and it'd get back to him. He'd go fucking ballistic, even after all this time. He really — "

"I won't leave you."

So calm, so matter of fact, that the words gave him one piercing moment of hope, before reason reasserted itself.

"Warrick, you don't have to say it to . . . to make me feel
better
or some stupid — "

"No, I don't. And I'm not saying it for any such reason — I'm saying it because it's true."

Toreth shook his head, resisting the temptation to believe despite himself. "Right. And you just happened to decide to tell me now. Coincidence."

"I've never mentioned it before because I didn't think that you'd want to hear it. Besides, I didn't think it was necessary. I thought it was true enough to be obvious."

"What, you've been taking lessons from fucking Carnac, now? You can't
know
it's true."

"Very well. Here's the version with caveats. While I can't see into the future, neither can I imagine a likely scenario in which I would wish to leave you, taking into account the previous five years. At this moment, I can say that for as long as you wish me to stay and the situation between us remains substantially the same, or changes in ways that are acceptable to both of us, I will stay with you."

It was so perfectly Warrick that he listened, entranced, not hearing the words, just the flow and rhythm of it. Eventually, he said, "I liked the first one better."

"I'm not going to leave you. Or was it 'I won't leave you'? In either case, the intention is the same. I could put it in writing if you'd like me to."

Despite everything, he had to smile at the dead-pan seriousness of the offer. "Carnac would love that. He'd want it down and saved so that when everything went to hell he could pull the fucking file out and say that he'd told you so."

"I know. Toreth, if you want me to go, now, I will. And — " He paused, but his eyes didn't waver. "And if you want me to say that I won't look for you again, I'll do that too. But I would find it extremely annoying to give Carnac the satisfaction of having his prediction come true. Come home — no, I mean, come back to the flat with me. Please. We can talk, or fuck, or sleep, or whatever you prefer." He half smiled. "God knows, you look like you could do with some sleep."

He couldn't argue with the last part of that, at least. And he caught himself thinking, one night. One night and I could leave again tomorrow.

Trying not to think it twice, he thought of something else, an inconsistency in the story that his brain had automatically flagged for attention. "How did you know where to find me?"

The sudden change of subject — or something else — made Warrick hesitate before he answered. "I told you, I did a c&p and found the name of the bar."

"No, you didn't. I've never spent any money here."

"But you said — "

"I said I'd been here with a fuck, and I have. But he bought the drinks, not me. We only had the one round. So you're lying."

Warrick clearly didn't know what to say. There was only one reason why it would be a dilemma whether to tell him the truth. It was the obvious reason anyway.

"It was Sara, wasn't it?"

Warrick hesitated a moment longer, then nodded. "She called me at home first thing this morning and gave me the name of your hotel."

"So why didn't you go there?"

"She sounded so concerned as to the possible consequences that I thought it would be less obvious if I met you somewhere else. I was regrettably unpleasant to her when I came looking for you at I&I, so I owed her a little extra consideration. She . . . well, to be truthful, she followed you here after work and then let me know where you were."

He thought about the theatre, years ago now. "Quite a fucking conspiracy. Again."

"Yes, I'm afraid so. Please don't be angry with her."

"I'm not." He wasn't, which felt strange. He was giving in — had already given in — and what he felt was something like gratitude.

"I'm glad to hear it. Now, will you come back to the flat?"

Toreth knew he shouldn't go with him. He'd promised himself that if Warrick found him, he'd tell him to fuck off again, and keep telling him until he went. He had, at least, tried. Listening to Warrick had been the first big mistake, because he could make the most impossible things sound completely and inarguably logical. Like Carnac.

'And there is nothing you will be able to do to make him stay'.

So he'd resolved to go first. But he was too exhausted, and too lonely, to remember why it had seemed like a necessary thing to do.

'These things can always be mended. Always'. Elena had said that, and he didn't know whether to believe her any more or less than Carnac. He liked the sound of it better right now. And Sara had told him —

Fuck her. Fuck the lot of them. He knew what
he
wanted.

He finished the drink Anne had bought for him and wished him luck with.

"Okay. Let's go."

Warrick's shoulders sagged slightly, and he bowed his head. When he looked up again, he said, "Thank you," and leaned forwards and kissed him. It was still a rare enough thing for him to do in public that the knowledge that other people might be watching added another few degrees to the delicious heat that flooded through Toreth.

He's like a drug, Toreth thought, as Warrick broke the kiss and stood up. Except that no drugs were that good. If he could bottle it and sell it, he'd be a billionaire.

On the way out, he noticed the woman whose name wasn't Anne, talking to a dark-haired man who simply had to be Justice, or maybe Service. She obviously had an eye for uniforms, even out of uniform.

As they passed, she spotted them and smiled, raising a hand in farewell. He returned the wave, suddenly and impossibly happy. He was going home with Warrick. They'd fuck, and fall asleep, and in the morning he'd wake up and Warrick would be there. Right now, that was as far ahead as he cared to look.

Outside it was freezing cold — much colder than he'd noticed earlier, when he hadn't been noticing anything much. The world had come back into focus around him, and the effect disoriented him slightly.

He was waiting for Warrick to find a taxi when a female voice said, "I hoped I'd catch you."

When he turned, he found not-Anne, bundled up in a thick coat, scarf and gloves, which made him feel even chillier. He glanced round, but her recent companion was nowhere in evidence.

"Calling it a night?" he asked.

"More than that. I thought I'd copy-and-paste out of your file."

"About what?"

"Forgive and forget. Give things another go." She cocked her head. "Or don't you think I should?"

He hesitated, blowing on his hands, trying and failing to remember anything at all that she'd told him at the start of the evening that might be a suitable subject for a reconciliation.

"Sure, why not?" he said, hoping that he sounded as if he knew what she meant. "Good idea. And good luck with it."

"Thanks." She smiled at him, and then unwound her scarf and wrapped it round his neck. "To keep you warm until you get home."

He nodded, mute with surprise, and watched her walk briskly away, her breath leaving a plume in the frosty air. Then he straightened the scarf — soft dark wool that must've cost a packet — and tucked his hands under it.

There was a cough from behind him and he turned back to find Warrick standing by a taxi, door open.

"Ready?" Warrick asked.

"As I'll ever be."

Warrick closed the flat door and dutifully reset the security. He appreciated the necessity, but the delay annoyed him. He'd politely but firmly evicted the guard from the flat before he'd set off to the bar. Optimistic, but he hadn't wanted to have to do it now.

No doubt SimTech Personnel Security would call tomorrow to protest — he didn't care in the least.

Now he had Toreth in the flat, Warrick knew he would stay. Or he was almost sure. He hoped he would. When he turned round, he found Toreth leaning against the wall, staring down the hallway towards the kitchen.

"Toreth?"

He looked round and smiled, not entirely convincingly. "Still here."