Chapter Three

Daniel sleeps restlessly. It keeps raining all night, and by three in the morning, howling winds and the sound of tree branches slapping into windows have woken him twice. Worf is no help, stalking through the apartment and jumping loudly from furniture before hitting the floor with a massive thump. Daniel can’t blame him; the first big storm of the season is always loud and upsetting.

Waking up in the morning is a challenge. It takes two cups of chai before he’s even slightly functional, and it’s Thursday, which means he has to be mentally composed enough to teach the anthro class by ten. Especially given that Colette will probably be hungover.

Daniel checks his email while sipping his tea. There’s not much, just the daily email announcement blast from Lobell about what activities and events are happening that day and an email from Stacy about this year’s info session for freshmen looking to pick a major who have no idea what “digital humanities” even is.

With a sigh, Daniel clicks on the email.

 

Hi Digital Humanities fam!

I hope everyone is heading into the last month of the semester well! It’s been a wild one so far, but I know you’re all hanging in there :)

Don’t forget this Friday afternoon is our yearly Cake & Questions event for students interested in our wonderful field. Daniel, Patricia, and Juanita, you’re on cake—I’m on questions!

See you all on Friday!

Stacy Allan

Dean of English Language and Literature / Faculty Title IX coordinator

Lobell College

30 Lobell Road

NY 12504

stacy.allan@lobell.edu

845-596-7923

 

Someone needs to tell her she should stop using words like “fam.” It makes her sound even more like someone’s mom. Which, Daniel supposes, she is. Someone also needs to tell her to stop sending emails at 11:00 p.m. Logically, Daniel knows this is why she’s the dean and not him (well, that and seniority), but the thought of caring so much about everything that you’re writing group emails that late makes him shudder.

Sighing, he puts “cake” on his to-do list for the day. He’ll make a batch of brownies. Not a lot that can go wrong there.

At nine, he puts his mug in the sink, slips on his shoes, pets Worf on the head and gives his tailbone a little scritch, and heads out the door. The sky is still dark, and it looks like it will be raining on and off all day. Frankly, it’s a little rude that classes haven’t been canceled due to inclement weather, but administration already pulled that one during hurricane season in September, so it looks like they’ll have to pull through today.

Daniel knocks on Colette’s door and then pulls out his phone to check the traffic report while he waits. There’s a fallen tree on the 9G, so it looks like they’re taking the 103 instead.

Three minutes later, Colette opens up.

“Wow,” he tells her. “You almost look not perfect.”

She narrows her eyes at him for a second, parsing his words. Finally, her face clears, and she says, “Thank you,” with great dignity.

It’s truly unfair that she looks like this after a night of drinking. Today’s blouse is a deep fuchsia with some sort of loose, tie-like construction around the neck in the same shade. Her slacks are dark blue, and there isn’t a single crease on her.

“I don’t know how you do it,” he complains as they head down the stairs and toward the parking lot. “I look like shit, and I didn’t even go out last night.”

“You do not look like shit,” she tells him solemnly, which is nice, if untrue. “Anyway, you’re a white man; the standards are so low for you.”

“And yet, I continually fail to meet them,” he says cheerfully, pulling the hood of his raincoat over his head as they leave the building.

It’s really awful outside.

“Fuck, I hope I can drive in this.” He peers up at the sky as if looking at it will make the storm front magically disappear. “I’m guessing you’re not interested in playing chauffeur today?”

Colette sniffs disdainfully. Their carpool arrangement is more of a gas money arrangement; Colette thinks all American drivers but a choice few (one of whom, Daniel is proud to admit, is him) are not fit to be behind the wheel, and she avoids sharing the roads with them whenever possible. Daniel can’t claim she’s wrong, and on a day like this, it will be especially bad.

“By the way,” he warns, tilting his head to see her a little better with the hood on, “Stacy sent an email about the faculty event tomorrow.”

Colette groans. “How many exclamation points did she use?”

“I don’t know. As many as there are sentences in the email.” Daniel shrugs. “Anyway, you’ll probably have to attend that event if we want to keep this project going—oh, fuck!”

He pauses, dismayed, in front of his car. There, lying across his windshield like the proverbial French girl, is a massive branch from a nearby tree.

Okay, maybe it isn’t massive.

It’s a lot larger than Daniel wants things lying on his windshield to be, though, especially given the velocity of the wind last night. Carefully, he pulls the branch aside, wincing at the sound of it scraping across his car.

“Okay…” He tries not to panic. “Okay, this is fine. It’s just a crack.”

Just a big, long crack running vertically up his windshield, with other, smaller cracks spiderwebbing off of it. This is not good.

“Okay,” he tries again. “Okay, I don’t have afternoon classes. I can take it to a shop then. We’ll take your car, and…Colette?” He turns to where she was standing a moment ago, searching. She’s nowhere to be seen. Maybe she already went to get her car keys while he was freaking out?

“Colette?” he calls again.

The only answer he gets is a scream.

Everything is a blur after that: Sprinting over to find Colette in the narrow alleyway between their building and the bakery next door, hunched over and throwing up in the gutter. Following her line of sight down to the prone body lying on the asphalt by the trash containers. Kneeling beside the body with a sick feeling of recognition in his gut, he paws at the familiar leather jacket, the slick dark fabric wet with—oh, it’s not rainwater, it’s blood sluicing off of Mario’s chest toward the gutter.

Feeling as if he’s acting through a thick veil of fog, Daniel uses his index and middle fingers to search for a pulse. Mario’s skin is ice cold. Rainwater cold. There’s no pulse, but Daniel could be wrong; Daniel can never find his own pulse; maybe he’s doing it wrong. He stumbles away, grappling for his phone, and dials 911.

After, he can’t remember what he tells them, only that it takes minutes—twenty, fifteen at least—before he hears the sirens coming.

“We need to call the college,” he gets out through numb lips.

“I’ll do it.” Colette has her arms crossed over her stomach, shivering in her thin, stylish jacket. Her feet must be wet through by now. Daniel’s are, and his legs and his face and any part not covered by his raincoat.

Colette steps out of the alley to call the registrar’s office. It doesn’t help; Daniel hears every word. He hears how her voice breaks when she finally speaks. “Mario Lombardi has been hurt,” and he hears how wooden it sounds when she adds, “Professor Rosenbaum and I will not be in today.”

Daniel should email the anthro class, let them know class is canceled. He looks down at his phone, still clenched in his hand, waiting on some sort of emergency service to arrive. He’s never called 911 before, so he doesn’t know what to expect. Will it be police? An ambulance? Both?

The students will probably figure out class is canceled when neither of them shows up. Most of them live on campus anyway, and it’s at most a five-minute walk back to their dorms if they show up to an empty classroom. Daniel’s hands are shaking too badly to type out an email right now. Raindrops cover his phone display. The hand not holding his phone has Mario’s blood on it.

What would he even write? Sorry Anthro 206. Class is canceled due to unforeseen death.

The sirens get closer, and Colette starts waving her arm and jumping up and down, splashing dirty water up her pant legs. A police car pulls into the lot sharply, lights flashing, followed almost immediately by an ambulance.

Several men in a variety of uniforms swarm out of the vehicles and Daniel is so relieved he starts crying. It’s the stupidest thing he’s ever felt, relief at the sight of uniforms, but he doesn’t know how else to process everything that’s happening.

“Holy shit.” A police officer shines a flashlight into the alley. “Oh, fuck.”

Dimly, Daniel realizes the Rhinebeck PD doesn’t see a lot of violent crime.

“I made the call,” he says dumbly. “I think he’s—I think he’s dead.”

The last word makes his stomach turn, and he only just manages to avoid following Colette’s example of throwing up in the gutter.

“Are you gonna let us through sometime today?” A bad-tempered EMT stands at the entrance of the alley, holding a stretcher. The police officer steps aside.

The EMTs roll Mario’s limp, unresponsive body onto the stretcher. Daniel stares down at the dark patch where Mario’s body was as the blood slowly washes away.

“Hey, wait, don’t you need to examine the scene or something?” he blurts out.

For a moment, everyone freezes, and Daniel wants to kick himself. All his information comes from crime procedurals, and he probably shouldn’t go around advertising that fact.

Then, the police officer says, “Fuck.”

With Mario—the body—fully loaded up onto the stretcher, the EMTs carry him to the ambulance. Daniel follows, unsure of what else to do, Colette close behind him. Under the harsh, fluorescent lights of the car, they confirm what Daniel already knew: Mario is dead.

Colette makes a noise that sounds like it’s ripped from her throat.

Before he knows what he’s doing, Daniel wraps an arm around her shoulders. It’s the kind of comforting, emotional gesture he rarely makes because touch does not come naturally to him. It’s the kind of gesture he doesn’t expect Colette to need or want. But to his surprise, she turns to him, buries her head in his shoulder, and takes long, shuddering breaths as he tries to soothe her, stroking gently down her back.

The police officer, who appears to be younger than some of Daniel’s students now that Daniel’s looking properly, walks over to them. “The sheriff’s department is sending someone over. We’re going to need both of you to stick around, and if either of you has an umbrella, that would be great.”

It takes another twenty minutes for a team from the Dutchess County Sheriff Department to get there. Daniel spends the time holding an umbrella carefully over part of the crime scene while Colette waits in the ambulance with Mario’s corpse.

Finn, the officer who answered his 911 call, asks Daniel a few basic questions, standing on the other side of the scene holding a second umbrella. How did he find the body, did he know the deceased, what did he do when he found the body, that sort of thing. Daniel answers on autopilot and tries not to stare at the water slowly, inexorably, washing Mario’s blood off the pavement.

They get driven to the sheriff’s department, after, in a black-and-white cop car. Daniel gets rainwater all over the seats. He wonders if he should have asked for a minute to run up to his apartment for a change of clothes; he’s cold and wet, and he has no idea how long this will take. He feels shaky, like he’s had too much caffeine and not enough to eat.

When they reach the sheriff’s office, a friendly detective wearing an outfit not too different from Colette’s (before she stood out in the rain for half an hour) leads them into an office away from the bustle of the main room. The bullpen, Daniel thinks, if real cops call it that.

“I’m Detective Taylor,” she tells them, smiling kindly but not too much, as if she took a class in appropriate facial expressions for a murder investigation. “Can I get you a cup of coffee? Something to eat?”

“Coffee,” Colette replies before Daniel can react at all.

He nods silently. He hates coffee, but he wants this over more than he wants anything else.

“All right.” Detective Taylor sets down two Styrofoam coffee cups in front of them as well as sugar and cream. Daniel dumps enough into his coffee to make it drinkable. “Why don’t you tell me what happened this morning?”

Colette takes a deep sip of her coffee, so Daniel starts.

“I knocked on Colette, uh, Professor Ravel’s door at nine. I do every day; we carpool to Lobell. She came out around three minutes later, and we went down to the parking lot.”

Setting down the cup, Colette continues. “There was a branch on Daniel’s windshield from the storm.” She wraps her arms around herself. Daniel forgot about his car entirely. He’s going to have to take care of that. “He was inspecting the damage. I thought I would need to get my keys if we couldn’t take his car, so I turned back to the building.”

“I didn’t even notice,” Daniel said. “I was…I was looking at the car.”

Detective Taylor nods for them to continue.

“I saw a strange shape in the alley.” Colette toys with one of her braids. She’s not prone to nervous habits, and it strikes Daniel as if she needs the haptic input to keep from panicking. “I thought someone had left their garbage next to the container. I went to check, and then I saw—I saw—”

“I heard her scream,” Daniel picks up the thread quickly. “I went to see what was wrong, and then I saw the, the body. I…I touched his shoulder to wake him up, and then I checked for a pulse. I couldn’t find one, and then I called 911.” He doesn’t need to stress so often that he touched Mario, he thinks distantly. It’s not like fingerprints will stick in this weather. He takes a deep breath to try to calm himself down.

Detective Taylor nods. “All right, thank you very much. I gather you were both acquainted with the deceased?”

“Yes,” Colette agrees. “Mario was a colleague. A friend.”

Wordlessly, Daniel nods.

The detective notes something on her pad. “And when did you see him last?”

“Yesterday.” Daniel thinks back to the afternoon, trying to line up the facts. “I drove him and Colette and Professor Allan home around four p.m., and then I went up to my apartment and Colette and Mario went to hers.”

Detective Taylor smiles. “Crime buff, huh?”

He blinks. “How…”

“You keep giving me the times things happened,” she tells him. “It’s very helpful.”

“Oh. It wasn’t on purpose.” Daniel does keep track of the time pretty well though.

“So, Professor Ravel, Professor Lombardi came over to your apartment?”

Colette nods slowly. “Yes. We had a drink, and later that evening, we went to dinner at Terrapin. He came back to borrow a DVD afterward, and he left sometime after midnight. I was in bed by one.”

The detective takes more notes. “Were you and Professor Lombardi in a relationship?”

“We were friends.” Colette’s finger is still idly toying with her braids.

More notes.

“We’re not certain what kind of case we’re looking at right now.” The detective steeples her fingers, looking serious. “So please understand I’m only asking this to be thorough. But did Dr. Lombardi have any enemies?”

“No.” Colette’s response is instant. “He was very well regarded in his faculty and his field. His students love him. Loved him.”

Detective Taylor looks to Daniel.

“I can’t think of anyone either,” Daniel agrees. “Was he murdered?”

The metal legs of Colette’s chair squeak against the linoleum floor as she flinches.

“I’m sorry,” Daniel says. “That was probably a stupid question.” Mario was shot. In the chest.

“Not at all.” The detective smiles tightly. “But we can’t make a call about that until the autopsy report is in. I’d still like to ask you both where you were last night, just for the record.”

Daniel shrugs. “Like I said. I went to my apartment, and I stayed there. I did some reading, watched TV. I went to bed about midnight.”

“Any witnesses?”

“Just my cat.”

“And you, Professor Ravel?”

Colette sighs. “As I said, Terrapin, then my apartment with Mario, then he left. I didn’t leave the apartment until Daniel came by at nine this morning.”

“No witnesses?”

“I suppose the Terrapin waitstaff might remember.”

“I heard them leave her apartment to go out for dinner if that helps.” Daniel remembers the sound of their laughter, the door falling shut. Maybe it’s a good thing he didn’t go to Kingston after all, last night.

Detective Taylor sighs and puts her pen down. “Thank you both very much for your statements. Could I take your contact information in case anything else comes up?”

They fill in the forms she provides, and then suddenly, unceremoniously, they’re done. The police, she tells them, will inform the college and give the two of them a ride home.

Colette doesn’t speak at all in the car. Daniel’s never seen her quite so shaken. He follows to her apartment as a matter of course; he doesn’t think either of them should be alone right now.

Eventually, when he’s made them both a cup of tea and they’ve both changed into sweatpants and dry socks, she asks, “Do you really think someone murdered Mario?”

Daniel swallows hard. It’s a frightening, awful thought. “The detective said she wasn’t sure.”

“But?”

“But Mario was shot in the heart.”

Colette bites at her upper lip, another uncharacteristic nervous habit. “It could have been an accident.”

Daniel wants to ask her whether a lot of people fall heart-first onto bullets, but that seems unnecessarily callous. “It could be. I guess we’ll find out.”

“I hope so,” she says.

The shrill ring of her phone makes them both jump.

She scrambles for it and grimaces when she sees the caller ID. After accepting the call and turning on speakerphone, she sets her phone on the table.

“Colette!” Stacy Allan’s bright voice is on the line. “How are you? You poor thing!”

“I’m all right.” It’s not true, of course, but Colette clearly doesn’t want condolence from Stacy.

“Florence—you know, from the registrar’s office—she said you found him.” Stacy’s voice lowers dramatically as she says the last words as if they don’t all know what she means.

“Yes.” Colette’s fingers reach for her hair again, as if guided by an unconscious reaction every time she has to relive this morning’s events. “We did. Daniel and I, that is.”

“Oh, and how is he? I couldn’t reach him.”

Daniel winces and pulls out his phone. Sure enough, two missed calls from Stacy. Good thing his phone is on silent.

“I’m fine, Stacy,” he tells her. “I had my ringer off.”

“Well, let me know if you two need anything! Anything at all, I’m your neighbor after all. Don’t worry about tomorrow either; the President canceled all classes and events for the rest of the week.”

“Oh.” Daniel hadn’t even thought about the mixer. It makes sense. It’s what happens when tragedy strikes in such a small community. “That’s good. I don’t think I would have managed to bake a cake.”

Stacy’s bright, tinkly laugh floats down the line and fills Colette’s somber living room. It grates on Daniel’s every nerve. “Daniel.” Her voice is so full of sympathy Daniel kind of wants to hang up the phone immediately. “You’re such a sweetheart. I’ll be in touch. Rest up, you two, and if you need it, counseling is doing walk-in hours all day tomorrow.”

Mercifully, she hangs up the phone, and Daniel sighs in relief.

“She’s not wrong,” Colette says eventually. It’s a first for her.

“About counseling?” That would probably be a good idea for both of them.

“And rest.”

“Oh. Yeah. I guess. Shit, you must be so tired.”

Colette nods. There are tears glistening in her eyes, and Daniel realizes that as close as they are, this is too close for her.

“I’ll let you get some sleep.” He gets up to leave. “And if you need anything, you know where to find me.”

It draws a weak smile to her face. “You too. I’m sorry to be throwing you out. I just…”

“No, I understand. Take the time you need. I’ll even put my phone on loud so you can reach me whenever you’re ready.”

Before he leaves, she gives him a fierce, tight hug.

He makes it all of two hours alone in his apartment.

Criminal Minds is out of the question right now. So is work. He can’t concentrate on anything for more than five minutes put together. He makes himself a PB&J—it’s long past lunchtime, and he should probably eat something. It doesn’t taste of anything.

After an hour, he realizes he doesn’t want to be alone.

He could call his parents.

The thought floods his body with anxiety and relief all at once. If he could only hear his mom’s voice, tell her about what happened…

But if he does that right now, he’ll end up agreeing to a visit over Christmas, which would mean more berating about when he’s going to move back to the Bay Area. It would mean more questions about why he isn’t using his “computer skills” to get a job in Silicon Valley and more unsubtle hints that he’s getting old enough to settle down and provide a few grandchildren already.

It would be a very short-lived comfort.

He could call Meredith, but she would tell their parents, thinking she was doing him a favor. That would get him the same end result.

He could call Jeff in Ohio.

Jeff never really liked Mario, and he wasn’t exactly clear on why. Daniel was left with the uncomfortable feeling that Jeff knew how attractive Daniel found Mario and resented it. Either way, he hasn’t talked to Jeff since their breakup a year or so ago, and he’s surprised by how little he misses it. That doesn’t seem like an auspicious start to a phone call with your ex, especially when the reason for it is that someone died.

There’s always Stacy.

Daniel could probably go over to her house, with its overstuffed, plush furniture and the kids leaving their sports equipment and toys all over the place and Stacy’s husband a permanent feature on the couch, watching some sport or another. He’s about ten years older than Stacy, almost as old as Daniel’s parents, and at that age men get to where they nap all the time. As sad as it is, it reminds Daniel of home. Stacy would feed him something delicious and smother him with commiseration.

It would be really cathartic, and Daniel probably should call Stacy.

She’s a little much, but she’s the perfect person to talk to right now.

He doesn’t.

Maybe it’s because he’s in shock, maybe it’s because he’s feeling a little too raw to let himself go for the kind of healing Stacy can offer.

Either way, what he ends up doing is taking a quick but thorough shower and pulling on a nice button-up and his least objectionable pair of chinos. He rinses out his mouth with mouthwash, feeds the cat, and then he gets his second raincoat—the one that’s not still dripping from this morning—out of the closet, puts his shoes back on, and gets into his car.

Usually, the drive to Kingston takes about twenty minutes, maybe twenty-five if traffic is bad.

Daniel takes forty.

He’s acutely aware the whole way that he can only partially see out of the windshield. The wind is so strong he feels it pushing at the car on the bridge. For a second, white-hot terror floods him at the image of his car careening off the sides of the bridge and hitting the Hudson, hundreds of feet below.

By the time he pulls into the lot at Tony’s auto shop, he’s shaking.

He has to take a few deep breaths before he can get his legs to work enough to walk into the reception area. There’s no one there; Tony’s sister must be on a break.

Daniel rings the bell.

He’s utterly unprepared for Tony to step in from the divider to the garage only seconds later.

A broad smile stretches across Tony’s face. “Hi,” he says.

Daniel licks his lips. “Hi.”

“What can I do you for?”

Daniel’s whole throat goes bone dry. “How are you at windshields?”

Tony’s lower lip sticks out in an exaggerated pout. “And here I thought you were coming to visit me.”

Leaning an elbow on the counter in what he hopes is a flirty way, Daniel jokes, “Well, I was thinking about breaking a side mirror to have a reason to come here, but the storm took care of that for me.”

Tony clutches at his heart. “Property damage, for me? You could have just called.”

“If I had your number, I would have.”

Raising a finger, Tony nods slowly. “You make a good point.” The creases around his eyes are all crinkled up with his smile. He has really nice eyes; Daniel wasn’t remembering that wrong.

His hair is a little messier today, strands escaping from his ponytail. Daniel wants to tuck them in. Or pull at them. He could go for either.

“So.” Tony gets to his feet. “Let’s take a look at this windshield.”

They walk out onto the windswept parking lot together, and Daniel realizes his is the only car there. “Shit, did I catch you at closing time?”

Tony checks his watch. “Maybe a quarter of an hour out?”

“Oh god,” Daniel groans. “I’m so sorry. I can come back tomorrow. I didn’t even— It’s been kind of a terrible day; I didn’t even think.”

“Hey, chill out.” Tony smiles as if he isn’t at all put out by an idiot customer not valuing his time. “I wouldn’t have had time for you earlier anyway. This is good. I’ll take a look.”

“But it’s the whole windshield. It will take—”

Tony shakes his head. “I’m not even doing anything, just looking.”

“Seriously though, if you’re not on the clock anymore—”

Tony rests a hand on his shoulder. He has big hands. Firm. Warm.

Daniel’s not sure he ever really warmed up after this morning.

“Let me take a look, sweetheart.” Tony lets go to walk around the front of the car. He looks at the crack from different angles. “Jeez, I’m surprised you made it here in one piece.”

“Believe me, so was I. Not my favorite way to drive.”

“So, we’ll definitely need to replace this. It’s not actually a huge deal, maybe forty-five minutes, tops, for the work itself.”

Daniel breathes a sigh of relief. “That doesn’t sound too bad.”

“The problem,” Tony continues slowly, “is that I’m gonna need to order you a new windshield. That’ll take a few days.”

“Oh.”

Distantly, Daniel’s aware there are a myriad of problems he should be concerned about. Driving with a broken windshield for a few days. Getting home in the dark with a broken windshield. Going home to his empty, quiet apartment, knowing his friend got murdered just outside last night.

Being disappointed that he won’t get to watch Tony work today shouldn’t even make the list.

“Tell you what.” Tony leans in close over the windshield. “Come in for a second while I order the part, and then we’ll figure out when we can get you your car back.”

“Okay, sure,” Daniel agrees, too fast and too eager to spend more time with Tony. He tacks on, “But only if that won’t make you late closing up shop.”

Even in the rising dark, with rain and wind whipping past them, he can see Tony wink at him.

“You can make it worth my while.”

Daniel experiences something like déjà vu, leaning against the counter across from Tony as he taps away at the keyboard like his sister did last time. The only differences are the running commentary on how annoying placing orders is without Gianna there and the fact that Tony clearly needs glasses for computer screens because he keeps squinting at the monitor. It’s kind of cute.

“She left midway through her shift,” he grouses, tapping at the mouse as if that will make the site load faster. “I know she’s going through a lot right now, but she didn’t even say anything.”

“What’s she going through?” Daniel asks, watching as Tony scrolls through a list of identical-looking windshields. “I mean, if you don’t mind me asking.”

Tony shrugs. “She had to drop out of college in the summer. It was really rough on her; she has bigger dreams than this.” He gestures to the shop around them.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” It feels awkward to add anything more, sitting pretty on his tenure-track assistant professorship.

“Eh.” Tony smiles over at him. “I think she’ll find something she wants to do more than this sooner or later. But it’s our dad’s garage, and between you and me, he’s a pretty lenient boss.”

Daniel smiles, a little charmed despite himself. “Proper family business, then?”

Tony nods, entering an employee key to place the order. Daniel looks away a second too late and tries to forget that the key was clearly someone’s birthday. People really need to work on their password safety.

“Do you ever have…bigger dreams?” Daniel asks the wall.

“Nah, not really. Maybe someday, if the Jiffy Lube over on Ulster Ave starts encroaching on our territory or something. I’m good here for now though.”

He must have finished the order because he logs out of the computer and powers it down. He doesn’t get up though. Instead, he looks at Daniel for a long moment.

Daniel swallows, wishing he could think of something to say.

“So.” Tony stuffs his hands in his pockets. “You’re not driving home in a storm with a busted windshield.”

For a wild, crazy moment, Daniel thinks this is it; this is when Tony will invite him over to his place; this is when all his problems are solved or at least become ignorable.

“Let’s find you a car for the weekend.” One of the rolls on the desk chair squeaks when Tony gets up and heads for the garage.

Right. Of course. That’s a thing people do in auto shops. They lend out cars while yours is being repaired. Daniel is an idiot. He follows Tony through the door.

“Sure you want to get rid of me so fast?” Daniel asks, which is up there on the list of the boldest things he’s ever said. Probably also on the list of the stupidest things he’s ever said.

Tony flashes him a smile over his shoulder. “Not at all. Just wanna make sure you’re taken care of.” He crouches to take a look at the car he’s in front of, probably to see whether or not Daniel could borrow it.

“I seem to remember something about making overtime worth your while,” Daniel points out.

It feels as though Tony’s being slow about inspecting the car on purpose. He turns when he’s done and leans against the driver’s side door with his arms crossed. The swell of his biceps under the shirt fabric is really something. “I was kidding.” Tony doesn’t quite look at Daniel, more at the air over his left shoulder. “I wouldn’t hold you to that.”

“And if I wanted you to?”

There’s something self-deprecating about Tony’s shrug. “Then I’d probably say something really dumb about how I was hoping you’d come back.”

“If you want,” Daniel carefully picks his way across the garage toward Tony, avoiding tools and cables as he does, “we can skip all the parts where we talk about it.”

Tony lets his arms fall open, making space for Daniel to step into place right in front of him. The heat of Tony’s body is intoxicating and thrilling and exactly what Daniel was hoping for to help him forget—everything.

“You wanted me to come back, huh?”

“Let’s definitely skip the talking.” Tony’s smiling, and his big hands settle on Daniel’s hips.

Kissing him is as good as Daniel remembers. The scratch of his mustache is still exciting, and beneath it, his lips are soft and plush. He seems shy about it, and it makes Daniel chase after the touch of his lips.

“I thought about you too,” Daniel whispers between kisses. It feels like a confession, the acknowledgement that their interrupted encounter left such an impression on him. No wonder Tony doesn’t want to talk about it.

Apparently, though, Tony wants to hear about it because he groans, a soft little noise, and bends to kiss Daniel’s neck.

It makes a full-body shudder run down Daniel’s back.

Determined to give as good as he gets, Daniel runs his hands down Tony’s sides and then up under the thin fabric of his shirt. He must be freezing. Except he’s not, skin warm to the touch, and Tony immediately pushes himself closer to Daniel’s touch.

Daniel takes advantage, letting his hand slip down to Tony’s ass in his ridiculously tight jeans. He winces as his hand gets caught at the car door handle.

Tony makes a frustrated noise and pushes Daniel away before relocating a foot and a half to the left, practically on the hood of the car. “Come on.” His voice is already rough and low. “Make it worth my while.”

He drags Daniel in closer as he leans against the hood with his legs spread to make room for Daniel between them. Daniel inhales deeply for a moment, savoring, taking in the scent of motor oil and Tony’s cologne—subtle but present. On the list of porn-adjacent fantasies in the back of Daniel’s head, this is not one he ever saw coming true. Might as well make the most of it.

“Challenge accepted.” Daniel sinks to his knees.

It’s easy, with Tony’s legs already spread, for him to make space between them. It’s even easier to unbutton Tony’s jeans and lower the zip carefully over the bulge of his cock where it’s already pushing against the fabric of his boxer briefs.

Looking up at Tony from under his eyelashes, Daniel sucks at the line of his cock through the fabric.

“Fuck, sweetheart.” The pet name should not be making Daniel’s stomach flip. He’s over thirty, and it’s kind of condescending. Unfortunately, it’s also really doing it for Daniel, and he should nip that in the bud, or he might be in danger of getting attached.

“Told you last time I’m not that sweet. You got condoms?” he asks, toying with the elastic waistband of Tony’s underwear.

“Uh, yeah. Fuck, my wallet’s somewhere…” Holding his pants up as if they were in any danger of slipping, even open, Tony pushes himself off the hood of the car and gets his wallet off the workbench at the far left of the garage. He pulls a condom from inside it, then hands it to Daniel as he settles back on the hood.

“You know the friction in your wallet can rub holes in the latex, right?” Daniel asks before his brain to mouth filter can engage.

Tony blinks. “No, I didn’t. I haven’t got any others. We don’t have to—”

Daniel waves him off. “Sorry. It’s not that likely, and it’s not like you’re gonna get my mouth pregnant. It’s just one of those things you learned once—”

“And then you can never not think about it,” Tony finishes.

Daniel blinks up at him, surprised. “Yeah, exactly.”

A hand settles at the nape of Daniel’s neck, warm and careful. Tony’s been working with motor oil and probably all sorts of other stuff today, and Daniel should have a lot more issues with Tony touching his hair than he does right now.

“We could do this somewhere more comfortable,” Tony suggests.

Daniel grins. “Like where? The back seat?”

It gets a laugh out of Tony, which is nice because it means Daniel and his stupid condom factoids didn’t entirely ruin the mood.

Shuffling forward, Daniel presses a kiss to the outline of Tony’s cock. “I think it’s kinda hot like this.”

The hand at Daniel’s neck flexes. “You’re kinda hot like this.”

“Only kinda?” Daniel pouts. “I guess I’ll have to try harder.” He pulls down Tony’s boxer briefs with his teeth and wraps a hand around his cock. It’s a decent size, not so huge Daniel’s going to break his jaw or anything, but big enough he’ll feel it. He strokes a few times, getting Tony fully hard, and then rips the condom open and rolls it down his cock.

It’s been a while since he’s given a blowjob with a condom. He and Jeff got tested so they could go without one a couple months into the relationship, and Daniel hasn’t been with anyone since. Not for lack of wanting, more a lack of opportunity. The Hudson Valley isn’t exactly a hotbed of queer activity, especially if you’re looking to avoid Lobell students.

Tony has been a welcome surprise.

Enough so that Daniel can deal with the starchy taste of latex as he wraps his mouth around the head of Tony’s cock. He can even enjoy it, along with the stretch of his jaw, the bite of Tony’s fingernails on his neck, the hiss Tony lets out.

He pushes himself down, takes as much of Tony as he can manage. His cheek bulges out, and he’s already starting to drool. Judging by the noise Tony makes, he’s into it. With one hand wrapped around the base, Daniel sets a smooth rhythm, pulling back and tonguing the head, leaning in to go as deep as he can. He rests a free hand lightly over the zip of his own fly, just to have something to rock against.

“Sweetheart,” Tony breathes above him. There it is again. “You mind if I pull your hair?”

It’s a wrench, but Daniel pulls away. “Just don’t choke me.” He’s already a little hoarse. Fuck, it’s been way too long.

Tony’s hand slides up immediately and tugs at the short strands of Daniel’s hair. “Baby, you’re doing so good.”

Daniel isn’t proud of how that makes him moan around Tony’s cock.

“Yeah, you like that, huh.” Tony keeps going, totally unaware what his voice is doing to Daniel. “When I tell you how good you’re doing, how nice you feel.”

When it comes to blowjobs, Daniel would ordinarily argue that nice is kind of damning him with faint praise. He’s willing to make exceptions for really hot guys, though, and Tony is really hot, as is the uninterrupted stream of praise slipping from his lips. It trickles down Daniel’s spine like liquid-warm honey and settles in his balls, making him whine and rock up into his own hand.

“Fuck, Daniel,” Tony moans out. “So good—you’re so good—” He trails off into a breathless gasp, and that’s Daniel’s cue to pull off entirely.

When Tony manages to get his eyes to focus, blinking in barely denied pleasure, Daniel’s smirking up at him.

“Told you I wasn’t sweet,” he says.

He’s not expecting Tony to actually growl and haul him up by the arms.

“You’re kind of a little shit, aren’t you.” He’s so close to Daniel’s mouth Daniel can feel his lips move.

“What are you gonna do about it?” Daniel asks.

Burying his hand in Daniel’s hair again, Tony kisses him fiercely.

Daniel goes with it gladly, surrendering to the heat of Tony’s mouth and hitching his hips closer to Tony’s. His goal might have been to tease Tony a little, but fuck if it didn’t get him going like crazy.

He yelps in surprise when Tony starts pushing him backward slowly.

“I gotcha,” Tony mutters and then goes right on kissing Daniel senseless.

Daniel’s back hits…something, maybe a wall, maybe a workbench, fuck if he cares. Tony takes instant advantage, pushing him further and running his hot mouth down Daniel’s neck.

A really awful sound leaves Daniel’s throat, somewhere between a hiccup and a whine.

With one hand, Tony works Daniel’s pants open, and it’s a relief and torture at the same time because his fingers brush against Daniel’s cock so softly Daniel wants to cry. He knew those calluses would feel good.

“Please,” he gasps.

“Sweet.” Tony flashes him a grin, which is not fair at all.

“Asshole.” Daniel wraps a hand around both of them. He pulls the condom off and tosses it, a problem for future Daniel, and then he pushes his hips up against Tony’s.

His eyes nearly roll back in his skull.

“You’re so wet,” Tony groans. “You’re dripping, baby, all for me?”

Something in Daniel gives. He has no idea where this guy came from or how he managed, within two meetings and a cumulative three-quarters of an hour at most, to precisely pinpoint the brand of condescending, praise-heavy dirty talk that gets Daniel off the most, but he can’t resist. “Yeah,” he pants. “Yeah, just for you, please, give it to me.”

“Fuck, yeah, I’ll take care of you, sweetheart, lemme make it good.” Tony’s hand joins his around their cocks, and fuck, that’s even better, the friction only bearable thanks to how much Daniel’s leaking, turned on and desperate for it.

“Tony,” Daniel manages, and that’s about it. Tony’s calluses are barely on the right side of too rough against the sensitive skin of his cock. He’s hot and hard and pressed tightly to Daniel.

“Yeah,” Tony whispers back, breath hot against Daniel’s neck.

Heat rises in Daniel’s gut, and he grabs blindly for Tony’s jaw to kiss him messily. It’s the only thing that keeps him from making noise when he comes suddenly, sharply, all over Tony’s hand and his cock. The thought of it—that he’s making a mess of Tony, that Tony’s jerking them off with Daniel’s come—sends an aftershock spiking through Daniel’s balls, pleasure so sharp he nearly doubles over with it.

“Baby,” Tony pants, and then he grunts, and his grip goes tight and hot and liquid as he comes as well, panting into the crook of Daniel’s neck.

“Fuck.” Daniel gasps for breath.

“Yeah,” Tony agrees, still slumped against him.

It takes them a minute to catch their breath and catch their bearings.

This is when Daniel realizes they’re leaning on a van. “Oh, shit.” He steps away. It’s a gray, eight-seater van. Daniel wouldn’t know the brand if the CEO called him in person.

He knows this car though. He’s seen the faded anti-NRA bumper sticker at least twenty times. And worst of all, he recognizes the figurine stuck to the dashboard.

It’s a little golden Oscar statuette on a suction cup.

Daniel gave it to Mario in the faculty white elephant gift exchange in the first holiday season he spent at Lobell three years ago. Mario thought it was funny and also as close as he would ever get to an Oscar. He put it in his car, and that was when they became friends.

Now he’s dead, and Daniel had sex up against his car.

They left a long, perfect streak of come right by the driver’s side door.

Mario did mention he had a fender bender.

A snort breaks out of Daniel’s nose first, and then a full laugh.

He’s only saved from sounding hysterical by Tony following his line of sight and starting to laugh as well. Tony crosses the floor to a sink in the corner, where he washes his hands thoroughly before wetting a rag and using it to wipe down the car door.

“There.” He finishes cleaning. “No one will know.”

Laughter threatens to crawl out of Daniel’s throat again. He can’t quite tear his eyes away from that golden figurine on the dashboard. “No one,” he repeats. It’s true, although Tony doesn’t know it yet. Mario will never find out what happened up against his car because Mario will never pick up his car.

“You don’t need to worry.” That sentence alone is proof Tony doesn’t know Daniel at all. “We’re well past closing time now; no one’s gonna come back here.”

From somewhere deep in his untapped reserves of interpersonal capabilities, Daniel summons a weak smile. “So long as I didn’t get you in trouble.”

Tony steps in close. “Not in any way I wasn’t asking for.” He presses a kiss to Daniel’s cheek.

Frantically, Daniel wonders if anyone has done studies on how the human heart reacts to emotional whiplash. It might be life-threatening.

“How are you at driving stick?”

“What?”

“Stick? Like, a manual transmission?”

“I’ve never tried.”

Tony grimaces. “Right. Well, then, I guess you’re taking my car.”

“What?”

“Relax.” Tony’s dimples transform his whole face, make him seem boyish. He’s probably a couple years younger than Daniel. When he smiles broadly, he looks it. “There’s no way you can make my car worse than it already is.”

Daniel blinks. “You’re a mechanic.”

Tony just shrugs. “The windshield should be ready by Monday at the latest. What’s the worst that could happen?”

The worst that could happen is that whoever shot Mario is lying in wait outside Daniel’s apartment, and when he gets home, it will be him next.

“Here.” Tony lays a gentle hand on Daniel’s shoulder. He hands over his phone. “Put your number in. I’ll text you when you can pick up your car. And in the meantime…well, you need some way of getting around, right?”

“That’s really generous of you.”

Again, Tony shrugs.

“You have to let me pay for the windshield repairs before I leave.”

Tony’s expression sours. “I feel really weird about asking you to pay a bill after—”

“I feel really weird about not paying after. Especially if I’m borrowing your car.”

“Well, I don’t know how much it will be yet,” Tony points out. “I can charge you for the part, but I haven’t actually done the work yet.”

Daniel sighs. “All right, fine. But—”

Tony presses a brief whisper of a kiss to his lips. “It will be fine. I trust you.”

Though it seems like an error in judgment on both their parts, Daniel can’t help but reply, “It’s mutual.”

With nothing else left to talk about, Tony hands over his car keys, and then they’re out in the parking lot again. The wind has settled, but it’s already dark.

More than anything, Daniel wants to ask if they can forget about him driving home, if he can stay the night, here, with Tony, where he feels something approaching safe. For a wild moment, he considers telling Tony about it all—finding Mario’s body, the police station, the van in Tony’s garage that will never be picked up.

“Drive safe,” Tony says.

Daniel swallows down all the words he nearly said. It would only scare Tony off.

“No worries. I’ll take care of your car.”

A line tightens on Tony’s forehead. “Not just the car, mister. I’m looking forward to seeing you again.”

“Me too. I had a great time today.”

At that, Tony’s expression loosens a little. “Me too.”

Because he might as well, Daniel leans in close and presses another close-mouthed kiss to Tony’s lips.

When he steps away, Tony’s smiling at him, eyes sharp and shrewd. “I knew you were sweet.”

Daniel’s not sure it’s a compliment.