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asphaltcowgrrlTitle: Anti-Hero (Reyes’ Version)
Pairing: Zayne Reyes, Andrej Zeklos, James Rosewood, in several forms
Fandom: Romani Detective Original Fiction
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 4,378
Summary: Zayne progresses through several stages of his life in varying levels of self-awareness.
Author’s Note: Written for the songfic challenge at 1_million_words. I ran with the very first song prompt – Taylor Swift’s “Anti-Hero” because a) I love the song and b) it fits Zayne so well. I even made a playlist that you can find here.
I have this thing where I get older but just never wiser
Five years ago
Collapsing into his raggedy old recliner, Zayne ran his fingers through his hair. He wasn’t sure how it had happened, but he knew for the first time in his life that it was his fault. One hundred percent, no refunds, he had fucked up.
Which is the thing that pissed him off the most. Because he’d been trying, honest to god putting in an effort to keep it together this time. To make her happy, to make her want to stay with him. Because everyone knew, there weren’t many reasons to give his dumb ass a second chance. Hell, there weren’t many reasons to give him a first chance.
And Hilary had given him more than that. She’d given him so damn many chances that she deserved a fucking medal. No, what was it Trish said? Maxwell deserved a purple heart for being wounded so many times in battle. Yeah, that was it. And he had to give it to the redheaded she-devil, she wasn’t exactly wrong in this case.
Didn’t make it hurt any less though, did it?
With a groan, Zayne dragged his gaze off the floor and faced the room. He should have known that this was coming, the signs had all been there. As per usual, he’d been too oblivious, too up his own backside to see the red flags.
And here he was, alone. Dumped. Kicked to the curb was much more accurate. Hilary had finally had enough of his shit – the drinking, the forgetting, the everything. And while he couldn’t blame her, he was still sad that she’d seen the light. True to form, he’d realized how important she was, how important she still is, too damn late.
He had the fleeting thought that there was a song about that, saying I love you too late, but pushed the thought away. Why the hell did his brain redirect like that? No wonder Hil had had enough of his shit if this is how his thought processes worked. He couldn’t even focus on the fact his world was falling apart while it was falling the fuck apart. What good was he anyway?
“God, I need a drink,” he muttered. Pushing to his feet, he trudged off to the kitchen and yanked open the refrigerator door.
With a frown, he realized that he was out of beer. He was out of everything, really – milk, eggs, bread, anything even remotely resembling food. At that thought, his stomach rumbled.
“Fuck,” he grunted. “Now I’m hungry, too. Might as well go hit the store.”
Ten minutes later, he stood in the frozen food aisle, a six pack in one hand. Why he always did this to himself, he didn’t know. Scratch that, he did know. Hilary liked to cook and was actually damn good at it, too. And if she wasn’t in the mood? They’d either hit the taco truck they both loved, or he’d treat her to a nice meal somewhere. Just one more reason why he was a fucking idiot, he supposed. Now he was going to have to start shopping again and making sure he had food. He briefly wondered how painful it was to starve but reconsidered. It was no way to go.
Wait. There was another option.
No. He couldn’t do that. Not tonight. Especially since he’d likely get the door slammed in his face after his epic screwup with Hil earlier. But he was hungry, and he wasn’t going to find anything standing here, freezing in the ice cream aisle of the grocery store.
Zayne looked at the beer he was holding and sighed. It was worth a try, but he was going to have to do better than a six pack and his mere presence. Trailing his way back to the alcohol department, he put the beer back on the shelf and exchanged it for a bottle of mid-range tequila. It was a better offering, but still not enough. Grinning, Zayne headed towards the bakery. Choosing a four pack of brownies with white frosting, he declared himself a better guest and headed for the checkout. He only prayed he’d get a nicer reception at his destination that he received earlier at his now-ex-girlfriend’s.
--
I should not be left to my own devices/They come with prices and vices
The door opened and a pair of deep blue eyes peered out at him. “Zayne,” Zeklos said, the sigh heavy. “Why are you here? I thought you had a date tonight.”
Zayne wasn’t sure if it was good or bad that his partner didn’t already know. He was going to bank on it being good, since he was here and ready to confess all his sins. Well, sort of.
“Yeah, well, I crashed and burned, baby,” he said. Holding up the tequila, he forced a smile. “I brought gifts, can I come in?”
Zeklos’ lips pressed together for a second, before relaxing. “Of course you can come in,” he said, opening the door so that Zayne could enter. “You are in luck because I also – how did you say it? Crashed and burned.”
“Ouch,” Zayne said sympathetically. “I didn’t think that little bartender had it in him to turn you down.”
His partner’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. “It was not Elias,” he said. “I have not seen Eli in that way for quite some time now.”
“Oh,” Zayne said, setting the tequila and the brownies down on the breakfast bar. “That’s a shame, I really liked him.”
“As did I,” Zeklos confirmed.
There was something else there, something that Zayne couldn’t quite parse. He left it for the moment, he could figure out his partner’s dating woes once he had a handle on his own. On second thought, maybe he should concentrate on Zek. A thought tickled his brain, and he made a face. “Please tell me it wasn’t that redheaded asshole from narcotics, Zek. Anyone but him.”
“If you are referring to Detective Rosewood,” he said, taking the brownies and moving them onto the kitchen counter, “then no, it was not him.” He opened the cupboard to grab two dessert plates, pausing. “I am not sure what you have against James, Zayne, but he is not your enemy.”
They’d had this argument several times since the ginger had first come sniffing around. Currently, Zayne was not in the mood to go through it again. He tried for sincerity. “I worry about you is all. You don’t date much so it’s weird to me when you do.” He shrugged. It was close enough to the truth. “I don’t want you to get hurt.” That was a little more on the nose at least.
“I see,” Zeklos said, not sounding completely convinced. “I know you want a brownie,” he said, changing the subject, “but do you want this?” He held up the bottle of tequila.
“God yes, I’ve had the shittiest night ever.” He winced at the realization that his shitty night had been his own damn fault.
Zeklos’ face fell a bit. He glanced at the refrigerator, thinking. “Do you want it straight?”
“Yes,” Zayne replied almost immediately. “But that’s probably not our best bet either. Can you cobble together a cocktail of some sort?”
Opening the refrigerator, Zeklos rooted around a bit before nodding. He looked over his shoulder and said, “I have the makings for a paloma, is that okay?”
“I’ve never had one, so I can’t say,” Zayne replied. “But you know me, up for anything.”
Zeklos snorted. “Somehow, I believe that is why you landed on my doorstep this evening.”
He couldn’t deny it. “Maybe. What’s in a paloma?”
“Lime juice, agave, sparkling water,” Zeklos recited, pulling each out of the fridge as he named them. “And grapefruit juice.”
Zayne grimaced. “What are you, eighty? Who the hell has grapefruit juice just sitting in their fridge?”
“I do,” Zeklos said, setting a bottle of Simply Grapefruit on the counter. “And I have it because I enjoy it.”
“Ah that’s right,” Zayne said with an affectionate grin. “I forgot how you Romanians like your sour shit.”
Zeklos sighed. “I make you eat ciorbă one time…” His voice trailed off as he stuck his head into another cupboard, looking for glasses. “These should work.” He paused again. “Have you had dinner?”
He looked at the floor. “No.”
“Maybe I ought to feed you before I give you dessert and cocktails,” Zeklos suggested.
“No,” Zayne repeated. “You don’t have to do this for me, you already do too damn much.”
Zeklos set something down on the counter, judging by the soft clank he heard. Then, a light touch on his arm drew his gaze upwards. His partner stood next to him, closer than usual, concern etched on his face.
“Zayne,” he said, his fingers gripping Zayne’s arm a bit more tightly. “You must eat, or you will get so drunk you will not be able to function in the morning.”
“Are you saying that you won’t take care of drunk me,” he teased, knowing that nothing would ever keep Zek from taking care of him.
“I am saying that I want a functional partner in the morning,” he said lightly. “Besides, I have leftovers from dinner.”
“Aren’t your leftovers usually your lunch? I don’t want to eat your lunch, baby.” It was bad enough he’d invaded Zeklos’ quiet time, he didn’t need to be stealing his future lunches, too.
“I have plenty of leftovers,” he assured Zayne. “Which do you prefer – dan dan noodles or stuffed pepper casserole?”
Zayne chuckled. “Do you even have to ask?”
“Right,” Zeklos said with a shake of his head. “Noodles, no vegetables.”
“Here,” Zayne said, coming into the kitchen and taking the container out of his hand. “I can heat up my own noodles, you plate the brownies and make the drinks.”
Zeklos gave him a long look. “And then you’ll tell me why you’re here?”
Zayne made a face. “I fucked up, Zek. Like, majorly. I don’t know how I’m going to fix this.”
“Eat, and then we’ll talk.”
--
Three Years Ago
It's me, hi, I'm the problem, it's me
He laid across his bed, shirt unbuttoned and falling open, replaying that long ago conversation in his head. Zek had told him that sometimes you couldn’t fix your mistakes, all you could do was own them and move on. Well, he’d tried. And now Hilary was dating that asshole narco’s partner.
If cornered, he’d admit that Jake wasn’t a bad guy. He was a hell of a lot more palatable than Rosewood, that was for damn sure. But still, something bothered him seeing Hilary so happy with someone who wasn’t him. Not that he could blame her, she’d done her time and left with nothing but her dignity.
It had taken him a long ass time to face the truth, but it really wasn’t her fault. Nor the fault of any of the other women he’d dated – and been dumped by – over the years. He’d lied, cheated, and was an overall terrible partner on every level. And yet, he’d held out hope that one of them would change him. Or make him realize he had something worth keeping.
Unfortunately, that realization came a little too late.
He glanced across the cafeteria and watched Hilary smile at Hansen, his gut twisting as he did. She was so damn perfect, it hurt. Not perfect in the way that she never screwed up, but in the way that made her a good friend, a great detective, and the best damn girlfriend he’d ever had. And the only one it had ever hurt to lose.
His. Damn. Fault.
“Stop torturing yourself,” Trish Rollins said, sliding into a chair across from him. “She could do much worse than the baby narco.”
“Yeah, she’s been there, done that, actually, Rollins,” Zayne muttered. “With me, remember?”
She reached across the table and gave his hand a squeeze. “You’re an ass, but you loved her, in your own, screwed up way.” Trish looked around the cafeteria quickly, frowning. “Wait, Reyes, where’s Andy?”
Zayne’s eyes dropped to the tabletop, Trish’s hand still resting on his. “He’s at lunch with the baby narco’s asshole partner.”
“Hmm,” she said. “Are you sure you’re not in love with him, Zayne?” She sounded like she was only halfway joking.
He shot her a frustrated look. “I am not,” he said, for what felt like the fiftieth time. Ever since Zeklos’ drugged admission of love, the women had not let him hear the end of it. “I just don’t trust that ginger.”
“You’re going to need to get past that,” she said, not unkindly. “Because I think he’s here to stay.”
“Well fuck me then,” he grunted, pushing his chair back and standing. “Because I’m not sure I can handle the narco invasion into our little group.”
“Yeah,” Trish called to his retreating back. “You’ve got it bad, Reyes.”
--
I'll stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror
A year. A whole damn year it’d been since Zek started dating the narco. Honestly, Zayne was happy for his partner, he deserved all the good things in life since he’d had so much shit already. But he had a hard time being happy that he was with… him.
Rosewood wasn’t a bad guy, not really, there was just something about him that rubbed Zayne the wrong way. A lot of it was his attitude, like he was entitled to Zek’s time. More entitled than Zayne was even. Not that he felt like Zek owed him a damn thing, because he didn’t. But Zek was his partner, his friend, and they had history. Lots of it even. But none of that mattered to Rosewood, he thought that his romance took precedent over years and years of partnership.
Whatever. Fuck him.
Zek had loved me first, you asshole.
Okay, he needed to stop that. He wasn’t going to get himself anywhere with that kind of thinking. Even if it was true. Even if it did make his stomach feel funny when he thought about it.
Still, it hurt like hell to be pushed to the side like he was anytime James stepped into the picture. What was it about him that made people treat him like this? He thought he was a decent person, but maybe he wasn’t. Maybe he really was the asshole everyone thought he was.
“I am leaving,” Zeklos said, approaching the pair of desks they called their own. “I know it is a little early, but I want to –”
“You don’t have to explain,” Zayne said, forcing a smile onto his face. “Go, enjoy your date. I’d say tell the narco hi for me but…” He shrugged.
Zeklos sighed. “I wish you and he could get along, if only for my peace of mind.” He shook his head. “I will not force you, however.” His lips tightened. “Neither of you. Good night, Zayne.”
“Noapte bună,” he said, earning a genuine smile from his partner. God, he loved it when he could make Zek smile like that.
He was free to go, Zeklos had said as much, and despite that, he continued to sit in his chair, at his desk, staring into space. What the hell was wrong with the world? Zeklos had a date, and he was here. Alone.
--
One Year Ago
One day I'll watch as you're leaving/And life will lose all its meaning
He’d never seen Zeklos so angry. If he were honest, he was a little frightened by his boyfriend’s rage. Zek never lost his temper and, even on those rare occasions when he did, it was never like this.
Zayne snuck a look at the redhead beside him, but James was intentionally not looking at him. Fuck, he’d done it again, it seemed. How had he managed to wreck a relationship he hadn’t ever expected to even be in? Why had he thought accepting James’ offer was a good idea? All three of them knew he was shit at relationships, but they’d opened their arms to him anyway. In the end, he’d fouled it all up beyond repair. Again.
His brother Roberto was right. He ruined everything he touched.
The worst part was that he’d not only hurt – and possibly lost – Zeklos, but he’d also hurt and definitely lost the narco. His gingerbread. James.
Never had he imagined that he’d hate seeing the backside of Rosewood’s head, but there it was. Whatever happened next, he was the one being yeeted from the relationship. There wasn’t any other rational choice. He was willing to admit that if he was faced with choosing between someone like James and someone like himself, he’d go for the gingerbread every time. How could he not? Stable and reliable beat whatever the fuck he was these days.
“Zek.” The word was out of his mouth before he could stop it. “It’s fine, you can stop yelling. I’ll leave.”
His partner turned on him, face crumpled in angry confusion. “What? Why are you leaving?”
“Where are you going to go, cowboy,” James added. “You live here.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said, hating how hard the words were. He’d walked away from so many things, so many times, why wasn’t this easier? “It also doesn’t matter why I’m leaving or honestly whose fault all of this is.” He looked up and caught Zeklos’ gaze, blue eyes bloodshot and wet. “In the end, the common denominator is always me, right? I was there when Hilary had had enough. I was there when my mother had had enough. Now, I’m here, and you – both of you – have had more than enough.”
“Reyes,” James said, voice soft as velvet.
“No, it’s fine,” he said again, not believing it any more than he had the first time he’d said it. “It’s easier to leave than to watch you, either of you, leave me.” It was also the greater kindness, that way, neither of them had to choose. He could just remove himself and be done with it all.
“Zayne,” Zeklos said, his voice cracking. “You do not have to leave.”
“Ah, but I do,” he said, knowing in his heart that it was the truth. He tried to smile at them, to reassure them, but it felt like his face would break if he did.
“No,” James said, his words firm in spite of his wavering voice. “You don’t.” He glanced at Zeklos who nodded once. “You don’t have to leave because we don’t want you to leave.”
Zayne shook his head.
“Jay is right,” Zeklos said, stepping forward and pulling Zayne towards him, leaning in close. “I might be angry, but I am angry with both of you. If one of you was going to go,” he looked up from where his head had been resting against Zayne’s shoulder, “both of you were going to go.”
Zayne laughed, against his better judgement. He couldn’t help himself. It was stupid and inappropriate, but then, so was he. The idea that Zeklos would kick them both to the curb at the same time was insane. However, if anyone could, it would be Zek. And he’d have been justified, too.
“Imagine that, gingerbread, we’d both be out there, sitting on my tailgate, wondering where we went wrong.”
James came up behind him and wrapped his arms around Zayne’s middle, tickling Zeklos with his fingers. “That’s what you think, cowboy,” he said. “But we both know it’d be your fault.”
--
Present Day
It's me, hi, I'm the problem, it's me
“Zayne,” Zeklos called down the hallway, “we are going to be late.”
He looked up from where he sat on the edge of the bed and smiled. “I’ve got one shoe left; I’ll be there in forty-five seconds.”
“I will be counting,” Zeklos called back. Zayne was positive that Zeklos was not joking.
James had arrived twenty minutes ago, dressed and ready to go. Asshole. He wasn’t going to hold it against the redhead though, since Zayne had been the one to oversleep. Meeting his boyfriends in the living room, he was once more taken aback by how handsome they both were. Zek in the classical Greek god sort of way and James in the nerdy pasty white boy kind of way, both of which turned him on in ways he’d never dreamed possible. While he knew he was relatively attractive, he often wondered how he fit in with these two, but he also knew better than to question it.
“I’m here,” he said, “let’s go.”
Zeklos brushed an errant piece of lint off Zayne’s shoulder before deeming him acceptable. “Come on, let’s go before we are late.”
“Where are we even going,” Zayne asked, trying not to be annoyed that he was stuck in the back seat of Zeklos’ car. “No one’s told me anything yet.”
“It’s a surprise,” James said.
“A good surprise,” Zeklos added, shooting James a coded look.
“Sure,” Zayne said. “Because the surprises in my life are always good ones.”
Zeklos looked at Zayne and gave him a reassuring smile. “I promise, it is a good thing.”
Zayne smiled back at Zeklos. “I trust you,” he said, “so you’d better not be lying to me.”
“I would not,” Zeklos said, facing forward again. “I promise.”
He found himself speechless when they pulled into the parking lot of a local bar. Confusion didn’t even begin to describe what he was feeling. On one hand, he knew this place, it was where Zek’s bartender friend, Elias, worked. But on the other… why did he have to get dressed up to come here?
“Zek,” he said, praying he didn’t sound ungrateful, “I’m confused. Why are we here?”
Rosewood stuck his head into the car and grinned. “Give it five minutes and you’ll see.”
With a sigh, Zayne unbuckled and hauled himself out of the backseat. As he followed his boys into the bar, he spotted Trish and felt a flutter of something – excitement? Nerves? He wasn’t sure. Hell, he hoped this wasn’t an engagement party for Hilary and the baby narco. Because no matter how much he thought that was exactly where their relationship was headed, he also didn’t want to be part of the announcement either. He wanted her to be happy, but he also still loved her in a way he’d never reconcile.
“Come on, cowboy,” James called over his shoulder. “Get your ass in here.”
Rolling his eyes, Zayne picked up the pace and nearly ran into James’ backside. “Thought you told me to hurry up, gingerbread.”
“Sorry,” James said, trying to contain laughter. “I just wanted to take in the décor for a second.”
Frowning, Zayne pushed past him into the bar, stopping dead in his tracks. The first thing he saw was a large sign congratulating himself and Zeklos on ten years of partnership. Pictures from the department’s files were blown up and framed on either side of it.
“Shit, I’ve aged,” he muttered. Sneaking a glance at Zeklos, he grinned. Boy hadn’t aged a day it seemed. Maybe there was something to that good living shit he preached.
“Yeah, haven’t we all,” Jake Hansen said, clapping Zayne on the back. “Some of us better than others though,” he added, pointing towards Zeklos.
He shook his head, not understanding what he was seeing. “What is all of this,” he asked Hilary, who had snuck up behind him and slid her arm around his waist.
“It’s a party for you and Andy,” she said.
“Why did he seem to know about it?” He looked at Hil, then Trish, who had come to stand on his other side.
“Because you know we can’t keep anything from him,” Tris said. “He’s too damn good at his job.”
Hilary laughed. “So much so that he figured it out before we had even made any concrete plans,” she added.
“Why do I feel like he helped party plan,” Zayne asked.
“Because he did,” the chorused.
“I’m not surprised,” he said. “But I am surprised by the party. Why? No one threw you and Trish a bash when you hit a milestone.”
“That’s because Trish and I have gotten along from the beginning,” Hilary said. “I don’t think I ever told you, but there was a pool betting on how long Andy would last before you drove him out of homicide.”
“And a another taking odds on whether he’d leave the damn country,” Trish pointed out.
“I would have never left the country,” Zeklos said, stopping before them. “Changing departments has crossed my mind a few times over the years but,” he paused, gave Zayne a look that melted even his cold, dead heart, “but I was not ever able to leave you.”
“I don’t understand,” he said, “but thank you. I owe damn near everything I am to you.” He felt the long-repressed emotions welling up. For once, he let them. “God only knows how many problems I’ve caused you, and yet, you stayed.”
“Of course I stayed,” Zeklos said, taking Zayne’s hand and twining their fingers together. “I love you. I have loved you for a very long time and I will continue to love you for as long as I’m alive.”
“Even though I caused you so much heartache?”
“Even so,” he confirmed.
“But why?” It was the one thing he’d never understand.
“Because you are you,” he said. “Broken, confused, trouble in cowboy boots, you are always unrepentantly you.”
“I’m the problem,” he said flatly.
“Sometimes, you are,” James said, joining the conversation. “But more often than not, you are the solution, or at least part of it.”
“You three are like that stupid equation that no one can solve,” Trish said, teasing. “But they keep trying. I think that’s why you work, even though on paper you shouldn’t.”
Zayne looked around him, at their friends, co-workers, and even at Elias, grinning at him from behind the bar. He’d gotten lucky, found his tribe, people who’d love and support him even when he didn’t deserve it. It was obvious that he’d never be the hero of this story, but maybe he could be the anti-hero.
It was worth a try.
Pairing: Zayne Reyes, Andrej Zeklos, James Rosewood, in several forms
Fandom: Romani Detective Original Fiction
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 4,378
Summary: Zayne progresses through several stages of his life in varying levels of self-awareness.
Author’s Note: Written for the songfic challenge at 1_million_words. I ran with the very first song prompt – Taylor Swift’s “Anti-Hero” because a) I love the song and b) it fits Zayne so well. I even made a playlist that you can find here.
I have this thing where I get older but just never wiser
Five years ago
Collapsing into his raggedy old recliner, Zayne ran his fingers through his hair. He wasn’t sure how it had happened, but he knew for the first time in his life that it was his fault. One hundred percent, no refunds, he had fucked up.
Which is the thing that pissed him off the most. Because he’d been trying, honest to god putting in an effort to keep it together this time. To make her happy, to make her want to stay with him. Because everyone knew, there weren’t many reasons to give his dumb ass a second chance. Hell, there weren’t many reasons to give him a first chance.
And Hilary had given him more than that. She’d given him so damn many chances that she deserved a fucking medal. No, what was it Trish said? Maxwell deserved a purple heart for being wounded so many times in battle. Yeah, that was it. And he had to give it to the redheaded she-devil, she wasn’t exactly wrong in this case.
Didn’t make it hurt any less though, did it?
With a groan, Zayne dragged his gaze off the floor and faced the room. He should have known that this was coming, the signs had all been there. As per usual, he’d been too oblivious, too up his own backside to see the red flags.
And here he was, alone. Dumped. Kicked to the curb was much more accurate. Hilary had finally had enough of his shit – the drinking, the forgetting, the everything. And while he couldn’t blame her, he was still sad that she’d seen the light. True to form, he’d realized how important she was, how important she still is, too damn late.
He had the fleeting thought that there was a song about that, saying I love you too late, but pushed the thought away. Why the hell did his brain redirect like that? No wonder Hil had had enough of his shit if this is how his thought processes worked. He couldn’t even focus on the fact his world was falling apart while it was falling the fuck apart. What good was he anyway?
“God, I need a drink,” he muttered. Pushing to his feet, he trudged off to the kitchen and yanked open the refrigerator door.
With a frown, he realized that he was out of beer. He was out of everything, really – milk, eggs, bread, anything even remotely resembling food. At that thought, his stomach rumbled.
“Fuck,” he grunted. “Now I’m hungry, too. Might as well go hit the store.”
Ten minutes later, he stood in the frozen food aisle, a six pack in one hand. Why he always did this to himself, he didn’t know. Scratch that, he did know. Hilary liked to cook and was actually damn good at it, too. And if she wasn’t in the mood? They’d either hit the taco truck they both loved, or he’d treat her to a nice meal somewhere. Just one more reason why he was a fucking idiot, he supposed. Now he was going to have to start shopping again and making sure he had food. He briefly wondered how painful it was to starve but reconsidered. It was no way to go.
Wait. There was another option.
No. He couldn’t do that. Not tonight. Especially since he’d likely get the door slammed in his face after his epic screwup with Hil earlier. But he was hungry, and he wasn’t going to find anything standing here, freezing in the ice cream aisle of the grocery store.
Zayne looked at the beer he was holding and sighed. It was worth a try, but he was going to have to do better than a six pack and his mere presence. Trailing his way back to the alcohol department, he put the beer back on the shelf and exchanged it for a bottle of mid-range tequila. It was a better offering, but still not enough. Grinning, Zayne headed towards the bakery. Choosing a four pack of brownies with white frosting, he declared himself a better guest and headed for the checkout. He only prayed he’d get a nicer reception at his destination that he received earlier at his now-ex-girlfriend’s.
--
I should not be left to my own devices/They come with prices and vices
The door opened and a pair of deep blue eyes peered out at him. “Zayne,” Zeklos said, the sigh heavy. “Why are you here? I thought you had a date tonight.”
Zayne wasn’t sure if it was good or bad that his partner didn’t already know. He was going to bank on it being good, since he was here and ready to confess all his sins. Well, sort of.
“Yeah, well, I crashed and burned, baby,” he said. Holding up the tequila, he forced a smile. “I brought gifts, can I come in?”
Zeklos’ lips pressed together for a second, before relaxing. “Of course you can come in,” he said, opening the door so that Zayne could enter. “You are in luck because I also – how did you say it? Crashed and burned.”
“Ouch,” Zayne said sympathetically. “I didn’t think that little bartender had it in him to turn you down.”
His partner’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. “It was not Elias,” he said. “I have not seen Eli in that way for quite some time now.”
“Oh,” Zayne said, setting the tequila and the brownies down on the breakfast bar. “That’s a shame, I really liked him.”
“As did I,” Zeklos confirmed.
There was something else there, something that Zayne couldn’t quite parse. He left it for the moment, he could figure out his partner’s dating woes once he had a handle on his own. On second thought, maybe he should concentrate on Zek. A thought tickled his brain, and he made a face. “Please tell me it wasn’t that redheaded asshole from narcotics, Zek. Anyone but him.”
“If you are referring to Detective Rosewood,” he said, taking the brownies and moving them onto the kitchen counter, “then no, it was not him.” He opened the cupboard to grab two dessert plates, pausing. “I am not sure what you have against James, Zayne, but he is not your enemy.”
They’d had this argument several times since the ginger had first come sniffing around. Currently, Zayne was not in the mood to go through it again. He tried for sincerity. “I worry about you is all. You don’t date much so it’s weird to me when you do.” He shrugged. It was close enough to the truth. “I don’t want you to get hurt.” That was a little more on the nose at least.
“I see,” Zeklos said, not sounding completely convinced. “I know you want a brownie,” he said, changing the subject, “but do you want this?” He held up the bottle of tequila.
“God yes, I’ve had the shittiest night ever.” He winced at the realization that his shitty night had been his own damn fault.
Zeklos’ face fell a bit. He glanced at the refrigerator, thinking. “Do you want it straight?”
“Yes,” Zayne replied almost immediately. “But that’s probably not our best bet either. Can you cobble together a cocktail of some sort?”
Opening the refrigerator, Zeklos rooted around a bit before nodding. He looked over his shoulder and said, “I have the makings for a paloma, is that okay?”
“I’ve never had one, so I can’t say,” Zayne replied. “But you know me, up for anything.”
Zeklos snorted. “Somehow, I believe that is why you landed on my doorstep this evening.”
He couldn’t deny it. “Maybe. What’s in a paloma?”
“Lime juice, agave, sparkling water,” Zeklos recited, pulling each out of the fridge as he named them. “And grapefruit juice.”
Zayne grimaced. “What are you, eighty? Who the hell has grapefruit juice just sitting in their fridge?”
“I do,” Zeklos said, setting a bottle of Simply Grapefruit on the counter. “And I have it because I enjoy it.”
“Ah that’s right,” Zayne said with an affectionate grin. “I forgot how you Romanians like your sour shit.”
Zeklos sighed. “I make you eat ciorbă one time…” His voice trailed off as he stuck his head into another cupboard, looking for glasses. “These should work.” He paused again. “Have you had dinner?”
He looked at the floor. “No.”
“Maybe I ought to feed you before I give you dessert and cocktails,” Zeklos suggested.
“No,” Zayne repeated. “You don’t have to do this for me, you already do too damn much.”
Zeklos set something down on the counter, judging by the soft clank he heard. Then, a light touch on his arm drew his gaze upwards. His partner stood next to him, closer than usual, concern etched on his face.
“Zayne,” he said, his fingers gripping Zayne’s arm a bit more tightly. “You must eat, or you will get so drunk you will not be able to function in the morning.”
“Are you saying that you won’t take care of drunk me,” he teased, knowing that nothing would ever keep Zek from taking care of him.
“I am saying that I want a functional partner in the morning,” he said lightly. “Besides, I have leftovers from dinner.”
“Aren’t your leftovers usually your lunch? I don’t want to eat your lunch, baby.” It was bad enough he’d invaded Zeklos’ quiet time, he didn’t need to be stealing his future lunches, too.
“I have plenty of leftovers,” he assured Zayne. “Which do you prefer – dan dan noodles or stuffed pepper casserole?”
Zayne chuckled. “Do you even have to ask?”
“Right,” Zeklos said with a shake of his head. “Noodles, no vegetables.”
“Here,” Zayne said, coming into the kitchen and taking the container out of his hand. “I can heat up my own noodles, you plate the brownies and make the drinks.”
Zeklos gave him a long look. “And then you’ll tell me why you’re here?”
Zayne made a face. “I fucked up, Zek. Like, majorly. I don’t know how I’m going to fix this.”
“Eat, and then we’ll talk.”
--
Three Years Ago
It's me, hi, I'm the problem, it's me
He laid across his bed, shirt unbuttoned and falling open, replaying that long ago conversation in his head. Zek had told him that sometimes you couldn’t fix your mistakes, all you could do was own them and move on. Well, he’d tried. And now Hilary was dating that asshole narco’s partner.
If cornered, he’d admit that Jake wasn’t a bad guy. He was a hell of a lot more palatable than Rosewood, that was for damn sure. But still, something bothered him seeing Hilary so happy with someone who wasn’t him. Not that he could blame her, she’d done her time and left with nothing but her dignity.
It had taken him a long ass time to face the truth, but it really wasn’t her fault. Nor the fault of any of the other women he’d dated – and been dumped by – over the years. He’d lied, cheated, and was an overall terrible partner on every level. And yet, he’d held out hope that one of them would change him. Or make him realize he had something worth keeping.
Unfortunately, that realization came a little too late.
He glanced across the cafeteria and watched Hilary smile at Hansen, his gut twisting as he did. She was so damn perfect, it hurt. Not perfect in the way that she never screwed up, but in the way that made her a good friend, a great detective, and the best damn girlfriend he’d ever had. And the only one it had ever hurt to lose.
His. Damn. Fault.
“Stop torturing yourself,” Trish Rollins said, sliding into a chair across from him. “She could do much worse than the baby narco.”
“Yeah, she’s been there, done that, actually, Rollins,” Zayne muttered. “With me, remember?”
She reached across the table and gave his hand a squeeze. “You’re an ass, but you loved her, in your own, screwed up way.” Trish looked around the cafeteria quickly, frowning. “Wait, Reyes, where’s Andy?”
Zayne’s eyes dropped to the tabletop, Trish’s hand still resting on his. “He’s at lunch with the baby narco’s asshole partner.”
“Hmm,” she said. “Are you sure you’re not in love with him, Zayne?” She sounded like she was only halfway joking.
He shot her a frustrated look. “I am not,” he said, for what felt like the fiftieth time. Ever since Zeklos’ drugged admission of love, the women had not let him hear the end of it. “I just don’t trust that ginger.”
“You’re going to need to get past that,” she said, not unkindly. “Because I think he’s here to stay.”
“Well fuck me then,” he grunted, pushing his chair back and standing. “Because I’m not sure I can handle the narco invasion into our little group.”
“Yeah,” Trish called to his retreating back. “You’ve got it bad, Reyes.”
--
I'll stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror
A year. A whole damn year it’d been since Zek started dating the narco. Honestly, Zayne was happy for his partner, he deserved all the good things in life since he’d had so much shit already. But he had a hard time being happy that he was with… him.
Rosewood wasn’t a bad guy, not really, there was just something about him that rubbed Zayne the wrong way. A lot of it was his attitude, like he was entitled to Zek’s time. More entitled than Zayne was even. Not that he felt like Zek owed him a damn thing, because he didn’t. But Zek was his partner, his friend, and they had history. Lots of it even. But none of that mattered to Rosewood, he thought that his romance took precedent over years and years of partnership.
Whatever. Fuck him.
Zek had loved me first, you asshole.
Okay, he needed to stop that. He wasn’t going to get himself anywhere with that kind of thinking. Even if it was true. Even if it did make his stomach feel funny when he thought about it.
Still, it hurt like hell to be pushed to the side like he was anytime James stepped into the picture. What was it about him that made people treat him like this? He thought he was a decent person, but maybe he wasn’t. Maybe he really was the asshole everyone thought he was.
“I am leaving,” Zeklos said, approaching the pair of desks they called their own. “I know it is a little early, but I want to –”
“You don’t have to explain,” Zayne said, forcing a smile onto his face. “Go, enjoy your date. I’d say tell the narco hi for me but…” He shrugged.
Zeklos sighed. “I wish you and he could get along, if only for my peace of mind.” He shook his head. “I will not force you, however.” His lips tightened. “Neither of you. Good night, Zayne.”
“Noapte bună,” he said, earning a genuine smile from his partner. God, he loved it when he could make Zek smile like that.
He was free to go, Zeklos had said as much, and despite that, he continued to sit in his chair, at his desk, staring into space. What the hell was wrong with the world? Zeklos had a date, and he was here. Alone.
--
One Year Ago
One day I'll watch as you're leaving/And life will lose all its meaning
He’d never seen Zeklos so angry. If he were honest, he was a little frightened by his boyfriend’s rage. Zek never lost his temper and, even on those rare occasions when he did, it was never like this.
Zayne snuck a look at the redhead beside him, but James was intentionally not looking at him. Fuck, he’d done it again, it seemed. How had he managed to wreck a relationship he hadn’t ever expected to even be in? Why had he thought accepting James’ offer was a good idea? All three of them knew he was shit at relationships, but they’d opened their arms to him anyway. In the end, he’d fouled it all up beyond repair. Again.
His brother Roberto was right. He ruined everything he touched.
The worst part was that he’d not only hurt – and possibly lost – Zeklos, but he’d also hurt and definitely lost the narco. His gingerbread. James.
Never had he imagined that he’d hate seeing the backside of Rosewood’s head, but there it was. Whatever happened next, he was the one being yeeted from the relationship. There wasn’t any other rational choice. He was willing to admit that if he was faced with choosing between someone like James and someone like himself, he’d go for the gingerbread every time. How could he not? Stable and reliable beat whatever the fuck he was these days.
“Zek.” The word was out of his mouth before he could stop it. “It’s fine, you can stop yelling. I’ll leave.”
His partner turned on him, face crumpled in angry confusion. “What? Why are you leaving?”
“Where are you going to go, cowboy,” James added. “You live here.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said, hating how hard the words were. He’d walked away from so many things, so many times, why wasn’t this easier? “It also doesn’t matter why I’m leaving or honestly whose fault all of this is.” He looked up and caught Zeklos’ gaze, blue eyes bloodshot and wet. “In the end, the common denominator is always me, right? I was there when Hilary had had enough. I was there when my mother had had enough. Now, I’m here, and you – both of you – have had more than enough.”
“Reyes,” James said, voice soft as velvet.
“No, it’s fine,” he said again, not believing it any more than he had the first time he’d said it. “It’s easier to leave than to watch you, either of you, leave me.” It was also the greater kindness, that way, neither of them had to choose. He could just remove himself and be done with it all.
“Zayne,” Zeklos said, his voice cracking. “You do not have to leave.”
“Ah, but I do,” he said, knowing in his heart that it was the truth. He tried to smile at them, to reassure them, but it felt like his face would break if he did.
“No,” James said, his words firm in spite of his wavering voice. “You don’t.” He glanced at Zeklos who nodded once. “You don’t have to leave because we don’t want you to leave.”
Zayne shook his head.
“Jay is right,” Zeklos said, stepping forward and pulling Zayne towards him, leaning in close. “I might be angry, but I am angry with both of you. If one of you was going to go,” he looked up from where his head had been resting against Zayne’s shoulder, “both of you were going to go.”
Zayne laughed, against his better judgement. He couldn’t help himself. It was stupid and inappropriate, but then, so was he. The idea that Zeklos would kick them both to the curb at the same time was insane. However, if anyone could, it would be Zek. And he’d have been justified, too.
“Imagine that, gingerbread, we’d both be out there, sitting on my tailgate, wondering where we went wrong.”
James came up behind him and wrapped his arms around Zayne’s middle, tickling Zeklos with his fingers. “That’s what you think, cowboy,” he said. “But we both know it’d be your fault.”
--
Present Day
It's me, hi, I'm the problem, it's me
“Zayne,” Zeklos called down the hallway, “we are going to be late.”
He looked up from where he sat on the edge of the bed and smiled. “I’ve got one shoe left; I’ll be there in forty-five seconds.”
“I will be counting,” Zeklos called back. Zayne was positive that Zeklos was not joking.
James had arrived twenty minutes ago, dressed and ready to go. Asshole. He wasn’t going to hold it against the redhead though, since Zayne had been the one to oversleep. Meeting his boyfriends in the living room, he was once more taken aback by how handsome they both were. Zek in the classical Greek god sort of way and James in the nerdy pasty white boy kind of way, both of which turned him on in ways he’d never dreamed possible. While he knew he was relatively attractive, he often wondered how he fit in with these two, but he also knew better than to question it.
“I’m here,” he said, “let’s go.”
Zeklos brushed an errant piece of lint off Zayne’s shoulder before deeming him acceptable. “Come on, let’s go before we are late.”
“Where are we even going,” Zayne asked, trying not to be annoyed that he was stuck in the back seat of Zeklos’ car. “No one’s told me anything yet.”
“It’s a surprise,” James said.
“A good surprise,” Zeklos added, shooting James a coded look.
“Sure,” Zayne said. “Because the surprises in my life are always good ones.”
Zeklos looked at Zayne and gave him a reassuring smile. “I promise, it is a good thing.”
Zayne smiled back at Zeklos. “I trust you,” he said, “so you’d better not be lying to me.”
“I would not,” Zeklos said, facing forward again. “I promise.”
He found himself speechless when they pulled into the parking lot of a local bar. Confusion didn’t even begin to describe what he was feeling. On one hand, he knew this place, it was where Zek’s bartender friend, Elias, worked. But on the other… why did he have to get dressed up to come here?
“Zek,” he said, praying he didn’t sound ungrateful, “I’m confused. Why are we here?”
Rosewood stuck his head into the car and grinned. “Give it five minutes and you’ll see.”
With a sigh, Zayne unbuckled and hauled himself out of the backseat. As he followed his boys into the bar, he spotted Trish and felt a flutter of something – excitement? Nerves? He wasn’t sure. Hell, he hoped this wasn’t an engagement party for Hilary and the baby narco. Because no matter how much he thought that was exactly where their relationship was headed, he also didn’t want to be part of the announcement either. He wanted her to be happy, but he also still loved her in a way he’d never reconcile.
“Come on, cowboy,” James called over his shoulder. “Get your ass in here.”
Rolling his eyes, Zayne picked up the pace and nearly ran into James’ backside. “Thought you told me to hurry up, gingerbread.”
“Sorry,” James said, trying to contain laughter. “I just wanted to take in the décor for a second.”
Frowning, Zayne pushed past him into the bar, stopping dead in his tracks. The first thing he saw was a large sign congratulating himself and Zeklos on ten years of partnership. Pictures from the department’s files were blown up and framed on either side of it.
“Shit, I’ve aged,” he muttered. Sneaking a glance at Zeklos, he grinned. Boy hadn’t aged a day it seemed. Maybe there was something to that good living shit he preached.
“Yeah, haven’t we all,” Jake Hansen said, clapping Zayne on the back. “Some of us better than others though,” he added, pointing towards Zeklos.
He shook his head, not understanding what he was seeing. “What is all of this,” he asked Hilary, who had snuck up behind him and slid her arm around his waist.
“It’s a party for you and Andy,” she said.
“Why did he seem to know about it?” He looked at Hil, then Trish, who had come to stand on his other side.
“Because you know we can’t keep anything from him,” Tris said. “He’s too damn good at his job.”
Hilary laughed. “So much so that he figured it out before we had even made any concrete plans,” she added.
“Why do I feel like he helped party plan,” Zayne asked.
“Because he did,” the chorused.
“I’m not surprised,” he said. “But I am surprised by the party. Why? No one threw you and Trish a bash when you hit a milestone.”
“That’s because Trish and I have gotten along from the beginning,” Hilary said. “I don’t think I ever told you, but there was a pool betting on how long Andy would last before you drove him out of homicide.”
“And a another taking odds on whether he’d leave the damn country,” Trish pointed out.
“I would have never left the country,” Zeklos said, stopping before them. “Changing departments has crossed my mind a few times over the years but,” he paused, gave Zayne a look that melted even his cold, dead heart, “but I was not ever able to leave you.”
“I don’t understand,” he said, “but thank you. I owe damn near everything I am to you.” He felt the long-repressed emotions welling up. For once, he let them. “God only knows how many problems I’ve caused you, and yet, you stayed.”
“Of course I stayed,” Zeklos said, taking Zayne’s hand and twining their fingers together. “I love you. I have loved you for a very long time and I will continue to love you for as long as I’m alive.”
“Even though I caused you so much heartache?”
“Even so,” he confirmed.
“But why?” It was the one thing he’d never understand.
“Because you are you,” he said. “Broken, confused, trouble in cowboy boots, you are always unrepentantly you.”
“I’m the problem,” he said flatly.
“Sometimes, you are,” James said, joining the conversation. “But more often than not, you are the solution, or at least part of it.”
“You three are like that stupid equation that no one can solve,” Trish said, teasing. “But they keep trying. I think that’s why you work, even though on paper you shouldn’t.”
Zayne looked around him, at their friends, co-workers, and even at Elias, grinning at him from behind the bar. He’d gotten lucky, found his tribe, people who’d love and support him even when he didn’t deserve it. It was obvious that he’d never be the hero of this story, but maybe he could be the anti-hero.
It was worth a try.
