Author's note: Thank you for continuing to read the story!
MarcLuciFer - yes, you're right, there is a connection and it will be revealed at one point. And true story? Brrr, I guess reality is stranger - and creepier - than fiction.
cannd - Otis transforms when he's with Hudson :)
Anon - thank you, and I hope you'll enjoy this new chapter.
Chapter Fourteen -- Gentle Darkness
Hudson woke up with a start and groaned as he worked a kink in his neck. Otis was not far off the mark in telling him that his sofa was very impractical, as far as sleeping was concerned. It wasn't like him to check out like that, but he had been bone-tired after the night with the police raid at Twinlight and, without realizing it, he had slept well into the afternoon.
Watkins, in his amazing generosity, had recommended the day off for both him and Jackie, and that meant he could take the time to rest. At least some good had come out of his undercover work so far; he had sent Jasper away, so one person had been saved. Better than no one, but still so many more to go.
Hudson traipsed to the kitchen, rolling one shoulder and craning his neck left and right. He should have thought of getting a place with better furnishings for his mission. But if he had done that, he would have never met Otis; bad sofa and all, it had been the best choice he had made in a long time.
He couldn't keep in a grin at the sight of the small slow cooker sitting on the counter. As he fixed his coffee, his mind went back to all the times he'd had a man in his life for more than just a few weeks. Was he the one who'd made all those relationships fail? He liked to believe that he could be considerate enough. Hmm, maybe he was fooling himself into thinking too nice things about his own personality. His work had come first so many times. No, not so many times, but always. No one wanted to stay in the life of someone who had other priorities, one hundred percent of the time. Funny how, while growing up, he wouldn't have pegged himself as a candidate for becoming a workaholic. Seeing your best friend die could change a man's goals, it seemed.
He hadn't thought of Pete in a long time. Pete had been the closest he'd had to a family, one he cared about at least. They hadn't been lovers. There had been moments, sure, but maybe that was just his overactive imagination driven by a teenager's raging hormones and nothing else. A hand lent here and there, but every time, a thing between bros and no more than that. Hudson smiled and shook his head. Pete had been one hell of a guy, larger than life, ideas running through his hot head at a million miles per second, not all of them good, obviously. He had never cared about anyone else in his life more, although he wouldn't fall down memory lane to feel sorry for himself. One thing was certain: he hadn't been in love with Pete, although he had loved him more than all the people he'd ever known.
And after he'd died, his choice had been made. Hudson left his cup on the counter and took another look at his new slow cooker. He had become a detective because he needed to do everything in his power and beyond to save as many people as he could. No matter what the captain said.
He patted the kitchen appliance on its lid on his way out as if it were a person. The bitter fix he'd just ingested would kick in soon. And he had some research to run on Angel. With Jasper and the other guys, he had had no luck so far, but he never gave up. Like a dog with a bone, as the captain often said about him. He actually liked that comparison, because not giving up was part of who he was.
***
Tonight had to be perfect if he wanted to convince Hudson to sleep over. Otis pondered for a moment and then opened the windows again. Grandma always said that it was vital to let the sun and air in or otherwise any house would get sick. He liked the way she treated inanimate objects as if they had souls. That was why he loved his glass miniature collection. She had started him on it, but he had quickly become fond of them. They could be his; they didn't bother anyone, with them being so tiny and all.
One of the hardest things for him to do had been to take things into his possession after having nothing for so long. Grandma wasn't rich, but she always found ways to give him little gifts, and not only on his birthday. A few times, he had caught her wiping away tears from her eyes, but she always said that it was nothing, and he didn't make her cry.
She had been so good to him, and after he'd had so much bad in his life, he hadn't known at first what to do with all that kindness. After the fire, he had been in a strange state for several weeks, one with a medical name that sounded very close to the name of a place. Catatonia. Grandma had explained it to him, years later, what it all meant. He himself had encountered great difficulty in telling the doctors what was wrong with him, but the general consensus had been that he had experienced an overwhelming fear, one that had paralyzed him for all those weeks on end.
Could someone be afraid of being afraid? It was the reason why grandma always took care to explain everything to him in minute detail, asking him questions along the way so that she could be sure he understood. For a good portion of his life, he had worried about falling into the same state again, out of the blue. That was it; he only worried -- he couldn't be afraid because he didn't recall his thoughts or feelings from being like that. If he thought about it enough, he thought it resembled a long sleep without dreams.
He observed the room with a critical eye. The sheets were freshly laundered, all the surfaces wiped clean of any traces of dust, and not one thing appeared to be out of place. That left him with only one thing left to check. Taking a deep breath, he opened the small bag and extracted the shorts he had just bought for the occasion. Missy had been so sure that he would look good in such things, and when he had searched the store for the kind of underwear he never bought for himself, just seeing these had convinced him that he had to have them.
Now, doubt was creeping in. What if he looked silly? He undressed and put the black shorts on, taking his time to tie the strings on the sides. Was he supposed to make little bows or just let them dangle downward like that? Bows it had to be; they were prettier.
No matter how embarrassing, he had to take a look or else he might end up not wearing them at all, and then the shorts would be nothing but money wasted. Otis knew very well that he wasn't rich enough to spend money on underwear he'd never put on. That was the ultimate argument, and he proceeded toward the hallway, where the large mirror was still in the same place. Hudson had said something about helping him out with it. Between showing him his new shorts and inviting him to sleep over in a bed that was better than that cramped sofa, maybe he'd find the time to remind his neighbor, as politely as possible, about his promise.
He looked and blushed at how he looked. The word sexy hadn't been put there on the package for nothing. The shorts did make him feel that, and it was a strange feeling. Although he was the one looking at his own reflection in the mirror, he felt as if someone else was looking at him. He brushed one hand across his chest and over his belly, stopping right above where the shorts started. It was odd and different, but he didn't dislike it. That was the first step when trying something new. Even if it was a little scary, just pushing through could work wonders sometimes.
He would have to ask Hudson for his honest opinion on these shorts. That was another thing he had learned -- that, when in doubt, asking for what other people thought was the correct way to learn the truth.
***
It had been a long day and a fruitless one on top of everything. Hudson groaned and pushed his hands against his eyes, rubbing them for a good half minute. A detective's job could be such a downer at times; there were times when, no matter how much work you put into it, the answers remained out of reach.
He'd had no luck finding Angel's real identity. A better way was to snoop around at the club and find out the guy's personal details, the ones he must have provided when he'd been hired at Twinlight. The chances were high, seeing the shady kind of business Watkins ran there, that Angel had an identity as carefully fabricated as Hudson's.
Or maybe he was reading too much into things and Angel was, like many other pretty boys his age, in this business to turn a quick buck based on his looks alone. He looked old enough not to be underage, but there was something so unpleasant about him, as if what lurked under the surface matched in intensity his outward beauty but was skewed in another direction.
Could it be that he just disliked the guy profoundly? That was always a possibility, and Hudson forced his mind into taking a long view. What he knew of Angel so far was that he didn't mind playing into the sick games his masters ordered, and that he liked making bad jokes.
Bad dark jokes.
