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"You seem happy today, Ewan." Marcia's voice drew him from his thoughts, and he realised he was smiling like a buffoon. He shouldn't be surprised - he'd been thinking of Ortega, of course. Difficult to stop smiling when he thought of him.
"I have never been happy about anything, ever, in my entire life," he told her anyway because he had a reputation to maintain.
"Of course not," she agreed, her bright smile unwavering. "Though I couldn't help but notice, you did look very ... dishevelled ... when you came back to the shop the other night."
Ewan choked on his food at a comment so far out of the left field he hadn't even sensed it coming in her thoughts - not that he'd been actively searching. He grabbed for his drink, taking the opportunity to think about how he could proceed from here.
He wasn't used to this. Having the kinds of friends who might comment on his sex life. Having a sex life at all for them to notice.
It had been a touchy subject for him when he had been with Ortega the first time around. Ortega hadn't been pushy - for more than he was giving, or for an explanation as to why not.
He'd thought he was broken at first. He didn't know how it should be for other re-genes but assumed the way his body refused to show interest in sex the way skimmed thoughts and library books said it should was just another way he could never be human. He'd broken down, sobbing into that stupid novelty Sidestep mug while Marshal Charge had been dealing with a press conference. He hadn't planned on Chen turning up and definitely not on telling him any of what was bothering him. Chen had listened quietly but not contributed anything, and Ewan had spent the next few days in a panic, the topic forgotten being the best-case scenario. He'd half expected Special Directive forces to jump out of the shadows and chase him away. Instead, he'd found an additional unofficial document in the debriefing file after his next job with the Rangers. Detailing what asexuality was, listing some books that were apparently good places to start with further research.
He'd spent the evening crying again, this time in relief, reading the words of people - human people - who felt the exact same way he did.
Heartbreak had prevented him from having that conversation with Ortega, and perhaps that was for the best because, in recent months, he'd realised they may have been mistaken. Or maybe he'd just changed.
New and frankly frightening feelings around Ortega had inspired him to build on that initial research, and as of now, demisexual was the term he felt most comfortable with. He couldn't imagine doing what they'd done that night with anyone other than Ricardo. Not that he needed to know that; his ego was big enough as it was.
"You're smiling again." Marcia's observation was gleeful and triumphant, and Ewan rolled his eyes. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad for her to know he was capable of having feelings.
"Yeah, maybe he does make me happy," he relented, seeing how Marcia's smile softened at the admission. Still weird, having people care about him. Ortega was an idiot, didn't know how to give up. What was her excuse?
There was a ringing sound, cutting across whatever she had intended to say next. Ewan was so accustomed to their conversations being interrupted by her phone that it took a moment to realise that this time it was his. He looked at the screen, feeling the smile hit his lips without his permission when he saw Ortega's details on the screen. Marcia smiled knowingly, gathering up their empty plates and moving away to give him some privacy as he answered.
"Ricardo." He tried to strike a balance between giving a warm greeting and keeping his excitement in check. How did he use to answer the phone to Ortega? How was one supposed to answer the phone after what they did? It wasn't exactly part of the curriculum at the Farm.
"Hey, Beans." He could hear the smile in Ortega's voice, but then there was a long silence after the greeting, one that left him confused and uncertain. Was Ortega as unsure of how to act as he was? Or was there something deeper going on?
"Is everything all right?" he asked when he said nothing, mind racing through uncomfortable possibilities. He'd heard that some people ended the relationship once they'd got sex; Ortega wouldn't do that, would he? Say he loved him just to get in his pants? Or perhaps he hadn't intended it. He had a lot more sexual experience than Ewan did - perhaps he hadn't performed adequately enough. Perhaps Ewan couldn't give him what he wanted. Perhaps he'd taken the revelation that he was trans worse than he'd let on. Perhaps-
"It's fine." Ortega's voice cut across his panicked thoughts. "I just..." he let out a laugh that sounded awkward even across the phone. "I don't know how to have this conversation."
"If you don't know, I don't stand a chance."
"True." Ortega's laugh was a little more genuine that time. "I'm getting a rare insight into what it's like to be Ewan Becker."
"What's going on?" He didn't want to ask, not really. His blood was running cold in panic, his palms slick with sweat and trembling. He couldn't quash that voice in his head telling him he knew. He was sure of it. Ortega knew he was Sidestep. He'd seen it frequently in how he looked at him, even as far back as the night of the gala. The expression on his face before he came out just the other night - he'd been expecting him to tell him.
"So," Ortega continued speaking, oblivious to Ewan's inner turmoil. "You ... forgot something. When you came over last."
It took him a moment to hear what Ortega had said over the pounding of his heart in his ears.
"Fuck," he managed finally.
He'd have preferred Ortega to call him out as Sidestep.
"Yeah..."
"This is actually the worst possible thing you could've been calling about," he sighed, rubbing at the ache in his head.
"This wasn't a conversation I ever expected to be having either," Ortega agreed with an awkward laugh. "I figured you'd be missing it, but you didn't come back, so..."
"I knew it was gone right away," Ewan admitted, "I just didn't want to go back and-"
"Admit you'd left your dick behind?" The teasing was more familiar, and easier to deal with than the awkwardness. Ewan rolled his eyes even though Ortega couldn't see it - judging by his laughter, he could sense it anyway.
"It would be the only thing more torturous than this conversation."
"Fair." He could hear the soft smile in his voice, the open affection that always took him so off-guard. He didn't know how to respond to that, the genuine care. "Are you free this afternoon to come pick it up? I want to talk to you about something anyway."
"Talk, sure," Ewan huffed, checking his watch. "Give me half an hour. Just don't make a habit of this. I'm not a dog; I won't come whenever you call."
"Of course not." That at least sounded sincere. "I'll see you soon then. Love you, Jellybean."
Ewan spluttered out a barely cognisant reply, all the composure and carefully curated control of the disaster of a conversation thrown out the window by those last words. He hung up before he could embarrass himself further. Did Ortega know the power he had over him? He had to.
Marcia was grinning knowingly at him when he made to leave, citing a pickup.
"I was wrong," he called to her as he pulled on his headphones, hoping he could drown out the deluge of thoughts outside with too-loud music. "He's an asshole."
"But you're going to see him anyway," she pointed out, seeing through him in seconds. Ewan held himself back from rolling his eyes because she was right, wasn't she?
"Guess I always will," he smiled, pushing open the door and heading outside before he could admit anything else to her.
Ortega was making him soft. Sappy. Making him want things he'd never wanted before.
He shouldn't be going. Shouldn't be jumping to go see him at every invite. Every time Ortega paid him any mind.
But it wasn't long before Ewan knocked on the door to his apartment, barely having the time to linger anxiously before it swung open to reveal the man himself. He was far less teasing than he'd expected and far more soft as he smiled at him, and Ewan was momentarily stumped for how to react. His brain had spent the journey coming up with witty defences against whatever teasing might come his way. This threw him off before he'd even come in.
"Are you okay?" Ortega had a worried crease in his brow - was it that obvious that he'd rattled him?
"Fine." The lie was automatic as he narrowed his eyes at Ortega, trying to work out what his play might be. "You're weird."
"I'm weird?" Ortega grinned at him as he brushed past into the apartment with no further acknowledgement. "How far along were you in your heist planning? Did you have a plan to get in here yet?"
"Maybe." Ewan didn't even have to try hard to make his smile soft, even if he couldn't make it light up his face like Bishop's did. Ricardo responded regardless, smiling wide in the way that was so much easier for him. How did it always come so naturally to him?
It was so easy for Ortega to reach out, not even thinking of how he might hurt him. They might hurt each other.
The ways they already had.
There was no expectation there; no way he was pushing for Ewan to reciprocate. He did anyway, far more comfortable with being given the freedom to set the pace for himself.
He easily slipped into Ricardo's arms, holding back the shiver in his body that pressed for caution. He took a deep breath to steady himself, and he leaned in for a soft kiss that Ricardo happily deepened, arms wrapping securely around his waist even as Ewan's hands slipped inside his jacket, trailing boldly over his chest. Was it what had happened between them the last time he was here that made him so confident? Or just the spark of mischief in his chest?
"How would you have managed it, do you think?" Ortega asked him, too confident in his (admittedly correct) assumption and too curious to be distracted from their previous conversation. Ewan pulled away with a chuckle, feeling Ortega's gaze on him like he'd hung the moon as he followed him into the main room, trailing after him as though drawn by their own gravitational pull.
"These would've helped," he teased, holding up the keys he'd just pinched from his jacket pocket. Ortega laughed in delight as he tossed them back to him, catching them out of the air with ease. Ewan went straight to the side cabinet where Ortega kept his collection of hero awards. There was one, in particular, he remembered from 8 years ago, arms in the air in a muscular display (one of the tamer poses in the collection. They'd recreated them before, enough for Ewan to have had his own personal Charge calendar made from the photos).
It was in the perfect position to have displayed his packer atop it. So perfect, in fact, that he'd briefly forgotten it wasn't eight years ago, when stealing each others' things and displaying them had been a silly game. When his invitations for Ortega to meet with him had consisted of a ransom photo of whatever he'd recently pilfered in the place he wanted to meet so he could wait for him to turn up. He stood dumbly in the middle of the room, completely taken off guard that it wasn't there. He turned back to Ortega, not sure how to express his confusion beyond his mute bewilderment.
"You know me too well, but no," Ortega said with a chuckle. "It's just under the bed, exactly where you left it."
"Right, I forgot you wouldn't want to touch it." Ewan wasn't sure if he was upset or relieved by that. Would mixing his gender in with old in-jokes make him feel more or less accepted for it?
"No," Ortega replied simply. "I just knew it was a sensitive topic for you and figured you wouldn't appreciate me touching it." He lounged against his bedroom doorway rather than following him all the way in, giving him space as he found and retrieved what he had gone there for and shoved it quickly and unceremoniously into the pocket of his hoody. "Besides," he continued as Ewan straightened up, wondering if it wouldn't be better to climb out of the window rather than continue this conversation. "I wouldn't tease you about something that's this important to you. You know that, right?"
There was a significant amount of sincerity and meaning in those words. Enough for Ewan to fix him under a narrow-eyed stare. Ortega had straightened from his place by the door, not coming closer, but it was clear from his expression that he was trying to convey ... something.
"Who are you, and what have you done with Ortega?" he joked because it felt like this conversation was moving towards more heavy than he knew how to deal with.
"Yeah, I know, I'm..." It fell flat, Ortega grimacing briefly and averting his gaze with a sigh. "I'm pretty bad, I know."
"You're getting at something with this." Ewan frowned at him. Was this how Ortega felt, talking to him about things he didn't know how to express? He didn't know how he had the patience. "You need to tell me. I don't understand."
"I want to apologise." He was so firm, so certain when he said it, looking him right in the eye for the split second he allowed it. But Ewan was more confused than ever - of all the things he had expected, that wasn't it.
"Apologise?" he repeated, "For me leaving my packer in your bedroom?"
"No, for everything else." Ricardo was restless, running his hands through his hair as he began to pace on the other side of the too-large bed. "I lost you once, and I can't go through that again. I'm trying to do better - be better."
"You didn't do anything wrong?" Ewan was so confused it came out as a question. "I don't understand what you're apologising for." Ewan was the one with the secrets, the lies, the manipulations. Why couldn't Ortega see that he was the one who should be spilling everything and begging for forgiveness? How could he possibly blame himself?
"This," Ricardo gestured between the two of them. "Everything that's wrong here. It's my fault."
"But-"
"I'm the one who did this!" The raised voice was a surprise that drove Ewan back a step, eyes wide, and Ricardo raised his hands apologetically. His voice was soft when he continued, a light sheen of tears in his eyes. "I'm the one who did this."
"Did what?"
Ricardo let out a long sigh, rubbing at his beard as he flumped onto the bed, staring at the wall across from where he was sitting but seemingly not really seeing it.
"I love you," he told him. The words came so easily. There was no hesitation, no doubt. It was a firm fact from which to springboard into the things that couldn't be said so easily. "But somewhere along the line, I've done this. I've made it so for the years we've known each other, you didn't feel safe to tell me about being trans."
"That's not you," Ewan huffed. This wasn't where he had expected this conversation to go, and he felt the tension fall from his shoulders as he moved to sit heavily beside him on the bed. "That's the world."
"You didn't think you could come back and tell me you'd forgotten something important to you for fear that I'd humiliate you."
"No, I'm just a coward." Ewan nudged Ricardo's hand with his own, gently linking their pinkies together, too overwhelmed for anything more. Ortega stared down at the touch as though it held the meaning of life, momentarily losing his train of thought.
"I just know you have secrets, that you like your privacy, and I'd never push you to tell me anything you're not ready to." Ewan would've scoffed at that if it wasn't clear from Ortega's face that he was already well aware of his thoughts on the statement. "I want to be someone you can talk to, someone you feel comfortable coming to even about the scary or embarrassing things. And I'm sorry for anything I've done that makes you feel like you can't."
Ewan released his hand so he could hug his knees to his chest on the bed, resting his chin atop them. How was he even supposed to reply to all that? This was a lot more than he'd expected when he agreed to come.
"I feel safe with you." It was a small confession but an honest one somehow (safe with his enemy, what was he thinking?) He felt Ricardo's gaze on his face and looked up to meet it head-on for once. He couldn't hold it for long, but he needed him to know he meant it. "Too safe." An afterthought, barely mumbled, but Ortega caught it anyway.
"No such thing, Beans."
"I envy the life experience that taught you that." Ewan shivered as he got to his feet, rubbing his arms through his layers to ward off the sudden chill. "This was a lot more emotionally taxing than I thought it would be."
"Yeah, sorry."
"No, I'm glad we had this talk." He watched Ricardo as he got to his feet, apparently restless as he was.
"Do you want to stay for a while?"
"I have work." The regret was genuine, but the planning he'd been putting off wouldn't complete itself.
"Okay, well, I've got some leftovers for you if you want them." Ricardo was making his way over to the fridge without waiting for an answer (they both knew 'if you want them' was a lie), and Ewan huffed a laugh as he wandered back into the main room.
"Why does everyone keep giving me food? Do I look that hungry?" he asked lightly, swiping Ortega's award for best-dressed hero (which ironically stood undressed for ... some reason?) and slipping it into his free pocket. After all the emotion of the afternoon, he felt the need to reignite some old jokes.
"When you cook, you get a sixth sense for when people should never be allowed near a kitchen." Ricardo returned to find Ewan lingering innocently by the front door, slipping his shoes on. The tupperware box he handed him was so full he'd had to wrap an elastic band around it to hold the lid on. "Stay safe, Jellybean. Please?"
He mumbled something vaguely assenting, meeting his kiss halfway. And if the hug that came after was a little tighter, a little longer than usual, neither of them mentioned it.
Ricardo watched him down the corridor until he was out of sight, and Ewan cradled the tupperware to his chest as he left the building. He wasn't used to being cared for like this. His chest and throat were not tight, and it certainly wasn't tears that made his eyes prickle and sting.
Bleeding, bruised, broken-
What was he doing to him?
Ricardo may have thought he was helping, thought he was pulling him up, saving him. He didn't even realise Ewan was dragging him down with him.
He swiped away the tears, taking a deep breath as he began making his way home, leftovers clutched to his chest. He couldn't keep running in circles in his brain; he was too tired, too deeply entangled.
Just for now, he would forget.
Just for now, he would pretend to be a person.