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Blanc stayed in the stairwell of their building a little longer to finish the rest of his cigar. While Phillip had been more lenient about him smoking indoors – so long as he was near the window and for heaven’s sake, Blanc, empty the ashtray – he thought it might be best for their reunion if he finished beforehand.
The only reason he’d taken one out was to settle his nerves. Not anxious, per se, but worn-out, strung-out, and washed-out. Getting back from Greece had taken a day or so longer than he anticipated. Little frustrated him more than petty bureaucracy, and international travel could be full of it. His luggage was still knocking around Italy somewhere, and his phone little more than a pile of melted plastic on a damned Greek island.
Though for the latter, he was almost grateful. A few glances at the newspapers around the airport had told him enough. He did plan on checking in with Helen after he got settled. There’d been little discussion about her presence on the island, but Blanc was no newshound. Hard to say whether the whole thing would be drug up after the fireworks faded.
At least he had remained well out of it, for which he was grateful. The only person in the world who knew about his trip, beyond the people there, was Phillip. He didn’t want to be mixed up in all that.
That was about all he could get out of this cigar. He stubbed the rest of it out and let out a weary sigh.
He wanted a bath.
And he wasn’t all that content to relate what happened to Phillip, either. He wished he’d been able to send an email on the plane. He was never much by way of a storyteller, and Phillip always seemed most interested in the details Blanc thought relatively mundane. In this particular case… well, it’d been messy. Sad, dull, excruciating. Ms. Brand might have gotten her comeuppance, but there was still a sister to grieve for. Nor did Blanc particularly enjoy standing in the blast zone of a disaster, even if most of the people involved were – it had to be said – shitheads.
People didn’t have to die for this, but they had, and Blanc was tired of simple indecency.
Perhaps he could convince Phillip to let him lay down for a bit. Let him get his wits about him – let him sleep for the first time in a day. Surely Phillip would understand that.
(Besides, he needed to, perhaps… embellish the story a bit. Not lie, no, he’d never lie to someone he cared for so dearly, but perhaps underplay how close he was to any danger. That seemed fair.)
Up the stairs he went.
He lingered outside their door for a moment, before giving three quick knocks.
No answer.
Oh. Well, like the rest of the world, it seemed odd that Phillip would be out. Not impossible, Blanc supposed, though…
Well, a little more likely that he was in the metaphorical doghouse.
Hm.
It had been one of the rules they agreed upon, in the terms of Phillip’s retirement contract (not a contract in the legal sense, but Phillip was an unusual sort who enjoyed drawing up that sort of thing). If Phillip was not going to be at his side, then Blanc had to do the decency of checking in from time to time.
‘Because I worry about you, darling,’ Phillip had admitted, like it was some character stain he was trying to rub out. Blanc couldn’t argue against that, necessarily.
At least he’d be reasonable about it. Maybe he ought to have put his phone in his pocket, or maybe he ought to have called at the airport…
Well. Oops.
Blanc fished for his keys and slid them in the door, ignoring the spasms of pain shooting down his spine and collecting like a stagnant pool in his lower back. The door creaked open. No Phillip in the entryway, arms crossed and face drawn in disappointment.
Maybe he’d caught him taking a nap? That seemed even more bizarre. The pandemic had filled Phillip with frenzied energy, doing this, that or the other to keep himself occupied. Blanc couldn’t relate.
Or maybe…
Perhaps his nerves were just worn down. It wasn’t like Blanc didn’t worry about such things – though less now than he had. Bron had been a powerful figure, even if his foundation was cracking underneath him, and who was to say that he wouldn’t just…
Nonsense. That was nonsense. For one thing, Bron wouldn’t be clever enough to think of going after Phillip. That was one step further than what he was capable of, strategically speaking.
And still, Blanc breathed a familiar sigh of relief when he heard a creak towards the kitchen.
“Phillip? Thought you were out, I –”
Oh. Oh, no.
He would have preferred the doghouse by a wide margin.
Phillip had been crying. Though his face was dry now, Blanc knew what to make of his red-rimmed eyes and sunken expression. He wore clothes like he intended to go out today, his phone still clutched in his hand.
“Blanc?”
Fear gripped Blanc by the throat. Jesus, he hadn’t had his phone on him, he hadn’t had his phone on him for days, what kind of foolish... “What happened?” No, that was never a good question to ask. Blanc took a step forward and asked the one question he needed to know: not as a detective, but just… “Did something happen to –”
“I couldn’t get ahold of you.” Phillip’s eyes flicked to his own hand, like the phone were some foreign object. Carefully, he put it down. “I-I, they said the island blew up, it…”
Oh. Oh.
“Jesus Christ,” Phillip whispered under his breath, rushing over.
It was scarcely a lover’s embrace, not with the way Phillip nearly bowled him over. Blanc could feel the tension under Phillip’s skin. His partner gave one long shudder and then went still, like he might just pass out then and there. Blanc raised his arms and held Phillip in return, trying to shake off the initial astonishment. You thought I was dead? Worry, yes, of course, but dead?
“They said they found a body,” Phillip went on. He gave one long sniff, like he might start blubbering if he didn’t. “A-and they said it was, it was that, that, ehm, Cody –”
“Duke Cody,” Blanc agreed, keeping his tone calm. “Yes, that was him.”
“But then you didn’t call, and I thought, god, if nobody knew you were meant to be there –”
“My phone,” Blanc blurted. “I’d forgot I left it in my room, before everything went to –”
“And then it was days since I heard from you, and you ought to have been home by now –”
“Had an awful delay with the plane, and then I had to talk to the police –”
“ Christ, I almost called the police to file a missing persons report, for God’s sake, I almost called Elizabeth –”
That made Blanc jerk. He leaned away from Phillip, holding him by his elbows firmly. “You didn’t, did you?” Perhaps it was more intent than he ought to have been, perhaps he ought to have been kinder, but the idea of Phillip calling up their daughter in this state… if she thought he was dead, then they had to go now.
“No.” Phillip’s eyes met his. He seemed to internally recalculate, before pulling himself together. “No, I thought I ought to wait. See what the police said, before…” His arms fell from around Blanc. “Scaring her to death, you know.”
That was some relief, Blanc supposed. He only had to apologize to one person, even if it was one person he’d inadvertently put through hell while Blanc internally whined about uncomfortable airport seats.
Blanc set his hands up on Phillip’s shoulders. “I am so sorry,” he said solemnly. “It was… it was a darned mess, Phillip.”
“I’d say.” Phillip looked him over, just briefly – the way he did, still, like Blanc wouldn’t notice. “You… you are okay, though? It didn’t look like they were exaggerating when they said the island blew up.”
“No, the island did blow up. I was a long ways away,” Blanc said, a little hastily. Not a long ways as such, but enough that he didn’t feel too poorly about fabricating. “I’m fine, just worn out.”
“I don’t know what to believe from the papers. It all seems so…”
“Fantastical?” He could understand that. It’d been easy, even knowing what he did, to simply be mystified by the world Bron had created on that island. Apart from the common man, with no financial limit to what he could do, and he chose stupidity. “It was. And also… the basest thing you could imagine. Really, the most unimaginative drivel –”
“Thank heavens for that,” Phillip returned. He let out a lengthy sigh, bringing his hand up to run through his greasy hair.
Well… perhaps where his own safety was concerned, yes. Then again, god knew the rampaging elephant of Bron could’ve trampled them all down just as easily. Best not to bring that up.
“I’m fine,” he insisted. “Just a little worn from the trip, that’s all. Sit down, Phillip, sit down. You look like you’re about to fall over. Let me pour you something. Have we got a little wine, or…?”
“We do.” Phillip bobbed his head up and down. “We do, but – no, Blanc, you sit, you’re the one who’s been all over the globe.”
His back really was starting to ache. “If you insist,” he added with a half-smile, letting his hand drift down Phillip’s shoulder.
As eager as he’d been to get out of the apartment, he was just as eager to sit back down in his chair. March had been worse than April, but May had started to drift back downwards again. Blanc had been a frequent traveler before, a great lover of people – what was more, a great lover of exercising his mind.
Then he’d been stuck indoors. With a man he loved most in all the world, mind, and also – statistically speaking – the man he was most likely to murder stone-cold dead in his life. Phillip hadn’t altogether appreciated Blanc approaching him with his murder plans. All theoretical, of course. Of course.
Still, they’d found their separate hobbies, and it’d granted them a little peace from each other… but, Blanc had begun to consider whether that was as much of an improvement. He'd been growing a little morose.
He didn’t know. All he knew was that he was beyond glad to see him again, and beyond guilty to have worried him so.
Phillip returned with two glasses of wine. He leaned over Blanc’s shoulder to place the glass in his hand; before he could lean back, Blanc leaned to the right and captured him in a kiss.
It was brief, and warm, and while it didn’t erase the past few days’ worth of stress for both of them, it reminded Blanc of the days where his arduous trips with Phillip at his side, and they were all fond memories. How pleasant it was that the stress of travel passed and Phillip always stayed.
“I missed you,” Phillip admitted.
Blanc’s free finger curled on the inside of his collar. “You did not, you fool liar. I’m sure you were pleased to have the place to yourself, at least for a few days.” Minus, his mind unhelpfully added and his tongue wisely kept quiet, when you thought me dead.
“Then I missed you for a few days, minus… twenty or so minutes.”
That sounded more on the right track. “Only took me about twenty minutes to solve that case.” When he really got going on it, anyhow. He was inclined to measure it that way. “So I could say the same for you, my dear.”
Phillip chuckled. He settled on the arm of the chair, one knee casually crooked over the other. Glass of wine held casually in one hand, he settled the other over Blanc’s shoulders. After a moment’s pause, he exhaled, and Blanc hoped he wasn’t being fanciful in imagining that some of the stress left with it.
Home. Home, lit by soft light, an all-encompassing blackness outside. Phillip leaning against his shoulder, a glass of wine in his hand. Even with all the horror he’d seen in the past few days, the unending selfishness, the childishness, the god-damn tragic losses…
Well, he still had this. At this age, it was good to know that he hadn’t been so utterly jaded yet. He let his head fall to the side, resting against Phillip’s shoulder. “I am sorry for worrying you,” he repeated, slowly.
“Should’ve known it’d be odd,” Phillip said. A quiet deflection. Alright, alright, Blanc wasn’t going to press him on it. Best cure for it was probably being home, all things considered, and it wasn’t the nastiest fright he’d had. “A woman coming to you with a smashed-up puzzle box.”
“And you said we shouldn’t list the address online.”
“We still shouldn’t!” A swift slap to the shoulder had Blanc laughing. Phillip took a sip of his wine. “But… all worked out in the end. You’re home, we – you probably ought to call Elizabeth tomorrow, you know. While you were on the case, I think I’ve been driving her mad, but, you know.”
Elizabeth had never complained about her father calling her. Her step-father, on the other hand, with his tendency for long ramblings and disconnect with ‘youth culture’... well, she humored him. That was about what Blanc could ask for.
“I will. I overheard a few things at the party, I’d … I think I’ll need her to explain what they are.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
They sat in silence a few moments longer. Blanc could feel himself getting lulled into… not quite sleep, exactly, but a placid contentment nevertheless. It wouldn’t last. He gave it a week, maybe two, before he started climbing the walls or digging into the bathtub again. Still, though, now? He could manage it, especially with Phillip rubbing his shoulder.
He got about halfway through his cup of wine before Phillip spoke again. “I know you’re dying to tell me about it.”
Phillip had that way about him. Always seemed to wipe away his grief, his sorrows. Before he walked in that door, Blanc hadn't wanted to breathe a word of it. Now...
“ Well.” He couldn’t be blamed! Phillip used to be his faithful chronicler. Even now, he was more liable to take notes on his cases, even when he no longer personally attended. Besides, Phillip always told him when he was being clever, even when he wasn’t all that clever.
Phillip shifted off the chair. “I did think you were dead all day,” he said firmly. “You can tell me, but I’m going to need a second glass of wine for it. Top you off?”
“Please.” Blanc held out his glass.
Before Phillip took it, Blanc caught him by the forearm. He pressed his lips against the top of his wrist, just against the base of his thumb bone, and looked up at Phillip from underneath his eyelashes.
“I do love you, Phillip.”
It would take a magnifying glass to note how Phillip melted at it, but thankfully, Blanc always had a keen eye for that sort of thing. A twitch of the lips, a slight tensing. “As well you should,” he told him. “I can’t think of anyone else who’d be half so understanding. I’m only made of flesh and blood, Blanc.”
Blanc couldn’t hold back a smile at the fussing, as Phillip retreated into the kitchen. He let himself relax more fully in the chair, his head tilted back, eyes shut. The glass of the wine bottle clinked softly in the kitchen.
“By the way,” Phillip called, as the grin spread further on Blanc’s face. “I love you, too! And you'll have to remember that, when I bring out this bread for you to try.”