Rowan’s idea was to rest his eyes for a few minutes before heading to his apartment to sleep. It was about dinner time, late but not too late, and if he finished this analysis for Danute tonight, he could sleep in tomorrow morning. It was a good plan as long as he ignored the fever soreness that was slowly settling across his eyes.
Fevers brought out weird dreams. Dan was there, that made sense because he was helping her with the case with the local PD, and she brought Marcos, and that made sense because if he thought about the police here, he remembered Hunter’s murder and their success at solving it, and Marcos, and dating, and he was clearly dreaming.
It was a good dream and not a bad dream, because Marcos wasn’t looking at him like he never really liked him and that’s why he broke up. It was a bit weird, because he kept looking at his tattoo and dream!Marcos never noticed that before.
When Rowan woke up, he was fever shaking in his apartment. After feeling miserable, going to the bathroom, taking some medicine, and crawling back to bed because he was still feeling miserable, he realized that he did not go to sleep in his bed.
Hm. That was curious. He looked for his phone, which was … on the other side of the room. Too difficult, he’d figure this out later.
And then he remembered he had work to call into and groaned. He hadn’t been there a month yet, he didn’t have the clout to go AWOL. So he dragged himself out of bed and to where his phone was sitting on the dresser.
The first text on his phone was Dan.
Don’t think about coming in until Monday and focus on getting better.
Okay, he didn’t have to call in and that explained who got him home. She said she was at the station when he texted her that he finished working on the report, so that was logical.
He yawned and went back to bed, but took his phone with him so he didn’t have to make effort again. Lucius would want to know, because that’s just how he was, but he could have a few more hours of peace before he got smothered by Lucius being a mom from three hours away.
There was another text from Dan. It was probably more of the same, but Rowan clicked into it just in case.
Don’t worry about calling Marcos your dream cop. He gets that a lot.
He did what? Clearly, he was still dreaming. Even if he didn’t feel like it. Fever dreams were so strange and none of that could have happened. Logic nudged at the edge of his mind that pointed out that he knew full well Marcos was going to be a police officer and there was no way he was going to leave Milton and he may not have acknowledged it while making a decision, all of that was in the back of his mind.
Logic was incorrect and he was dreaming and when he woke up, none of it would have happened.
--
It didn’t go away. Nor did he end up going back to sleep, because the fever had thrown him into that strange place where he was so tired he couldn’t sleep and, instead, stared at the ceiling in a miserable frame of mind until he gave up and settled on his couch to watch the TV.
Not that it helped. Not even Xena, Warrior Princess and her awesome battles and being clearly in love with Gabrielle could distract him.
Please tell me I didn’t really do that
Dan’s response to his text was quick and to the point. If she was Lucius, he thought, all it would’ve been was a gif of the Fenneko laugh.
You did. I think he’s straight, though, so bad luck there.
That was even worse. Not that Rowan had any time for hope to develop between finding out Marcos was there and the most embarrassing way to meet up again that he didn’t fully remember, but now it was dead entirely. He didn’t know if he was just over being bi, or he was in the closest between the current political climate (of bullshit and hate) and being in law enforcement, but this felt like the final nail of a coffin he didn’t realize was there and already mostly done.
He would have to apologise. Marcos’ number was still in his phone, so he could apologize directly. Or he could go through Dan, since they were clearly friends. Not friends enough to know that Marcos’ wasn’t straight, but friends enough to have his number and pass on an apology.
Both options were bad. Rowan huddled under a blanket with his dog, a freckled mutt named Ra that loved whoever was feeding him treats the most ever, and stared unseeing as he stared in the direction of the television.
He should go directly to Marcos. He was capable and it was rude to go through someone else if he could do just it himself. But … it was awkward. It was extra awkward because he wasn’t sure what happened because it was a blur of dream memories, so he wasn’t sure what to apologise for.
So, he could go through Dan and have her pass on the message. Awkward that was a bit less awkward because it was someone else but more awkward because now he was involving someone else. But she was already involved and knew what happened, so she’d know what the apologize for.
Both options were bad. This situation was bad. And he was too sick to deal with it.
“What about it, boy,” he asked, looking down at Ra. “Should I text him or have Dan do it for me?”
Ra might a small grumble sound, which was either to let him sleep and bask in the body heat or give him more treats, please.
“That sounds about right.” He was already sure the real result of all of this was going to be him putting it off long enough to make it three times as awkward when he finally got around to doing something.
---
Rowan was feeling a bit more human the next day. He gave in and called Lucius and managed to convince to not drive down earlier than the weekend, because by then he’d be feeling better and less likely to throw things at his head. He could watch television and not feel like he was dying. He attempted to log into work and was told to get out and go rest, they had this and he could help them on Monday.
And he finally sent the text to Marcos.
Sorry about Tuesday. I thought I was dreaming, but it was still rude of me.
No reply yet. Maybe it was the wrong number now. If that was the case, he’d go through Dan. Or assume it was the right number and Marcos didn’t want to talk to him, even if it was to acknowledge an apology.
This was a level of complicated Rowan didn’t want to deal with. His memories of dating Marcos were positive, but it was clouded by doubt. Him being happy didn’t mean Marcos was happy, and he was naive enough he didn’t trust himself to know if Marcos was or wasn’t, even in retrospect. The rest of his relationships were obviously unhappy before they ended, but it could have been Rowan being more aware of it.
He knew that, even now, he should trust Marcos to be honest. It was about the long distance, and he couldn’t be there in a way Rowan needed, and that was that. It wasn’t him pulling up reasons to make Rowan feel better and not like he was a failure of a boyfriend for not noticing Marcos was unhappy.
But doubt was an insidious monster worming it way through his head and wouldn’t leave him alone.
Lucius wasn’t much help, because his only “advice” on the situation was that Rowan would get right back on that ‘boring but hot I guess’ ride given half a chance. Which was true, but was an aside to pretty much every other consideration, up to and considering Marcos might be keeping that on the down-low for professional reasons and Rowan would have to just act as if they were friends in college and that was it.
This sucked. When would he return to his normal love life where he mostly dated women because any time he tried with a guy, they were never good enough for reasons he very deliberately ignored?
In retrospect, Rowan should’ve kept talking to that therapist after graduating college.
His phone vibrated on the table in front of him. It could have been any number of people - Lucius being mom-like, Ivan sharing pictures of the kids, Theo complaining about how hard writing is because that’s what happens when you make that your job, a work related thing …
But it was Marcos. And it was actually Marcos, and not someone who had inherited his old number.
There’s no need to apologise.
Because that was exactly what he’d say. Rowan considered how to reply back to that - experience had taught him saying yes, he did have reason to apologise didn’t go over that well- when his phone vibrated again.
How are you feeling?
That he could reply to.
Better. Thanks for your help.
Whatever it happened to be, since that was a shot in the dark. But he knew Marcos, and knew he wouldn’t have just let Dan do everything, even if he wasn’t fond of Rowan anymore and would’ve helped her get Rowan into her car.
You’re welcome. Your dog is cute
Oh. Oh no. It was logical but it was also- oh no. It was a tangle of emotions that was difficult to tell apart, but there was fear and shame and comfort and maybe relief. Whatever happened was not going to be kind to his emotional center, he could tell already.
But right now, he could ignore all of that in favor about talking about his dog.
The cutest. He’ll be your best friend if he thinks you have treats for him or want to go on a walk.
“Because you are the least loyal and think you have three daddies,” he said out loud, scratching Ra behind his ears. “And doing cute things on camera makes you think you get food.”
--
That could have been worse. Small talk with Marcos was brief, to no one’s surprise, and Lucius taking over for the weekend was a welcome distraction of feeling sick with only his dog and plants as company.
By the time he got to work on Monday, he was feeling better over the whole thing. He knew Marcos was a person in Milton and they’d interact, at some point. Maybe he’d invite him out to a completely platonic dinner to update each other on their lives. They could manage to be friends, right? Right.
He suffered the good-natured ribbing from his coworkers with good humor, though he was quietly horrified that the whole dream cop fiasco did not just stay with Dan. Who could have known that such a quiet woman had such a big mouth?
Then it got worse. A small flower, an iris that was a stunning violet color, was sitting on his desk, with a notecard in familiar writing with only, ‘From your dream cop’ written on it.
His first thought that one of his coworkers set this up … but he did recognize the handwriting. That was hard to fake. And Marcos had known him for nearly two years and was there for more instances of Rowan handing out flowers than he was comfortable admitting to.
Thanks for the flower. It’s beautiful and happy. My desk needed more plants.
He placed it in his eyeline, because it confused him but also made him happy and the happy ended up winning.
--
The next day, it was a sunflower with a new postcard. It was also the day someone else read it before he got there and there was a mix of aw and perplexity.
--
The third day it was a dahlia.
“Are you going to tell your dream cop about your sugar daddy?” Ella asked, leaning back in her chair just enough she could see Rowan. “That sounds like a conversation you need to have now.”
“They know each other,” Rowan replied, half distracted replying to a text from Marcos, who was being cagey on where he was getting these flowers. He hoped it was Flora’s, because her shop was the best and the best job he’d ever had. “And he’s not my sugar daddy. He’s a friend.”
“You keep telling yourself that.”
---
The fourth day it was snapdragons.
Rowan was starting to suspect Marcos wasn’t just having him on at this point.
---
On Friday, it was donuts.
It was for the entire office (the entire ten of them) and was from the PD for thanks on helping them speeding up the lab analysis, but it came with Marcos and he handed Rowan his favorite donut and coffee, and a look that reminded him of … well, a lot of things, but mostly Friday mornings.
Both had a ridiculous full day on Thursdays, between classes and Rowan had Environmental Club and Marcos had Dancing Club, and barely saw each other, but neither had class until the afternoon on Fridays. So they’d go to the bakery Marcos grew up with - this bakery - and have coffee and donuts and just relax for a few hours before going back to campus.
It was odd how a nice gesture to everyone in an office could also be extremely personal at the same time.
It was also odd that, after a week of casual text conversation, to have Marcos around. Not a dream, not in the midst of a fever, not safely on the other side of the text that allowed him to have some emotional distance. It was easy to pretend Rowan had any handle on this.
Marcos was Marcos still. Intense and focused and looked at people - looked at Rowan - like he was the only person in the world. It felt more intense now and Rowan couldn’t tell if it was from the added authority of being a real detective and not an aspiring one or he had forgotten it over the past seven years.
He didn’t expect much personal attention outside of the donut and coffee, or even for Marcos to remain very long after delivering it. Or why he delivered it himself in the first place, but he was too distracted by donuts to think on that too much.
Then Marcos didn’t go away, but hung around to chat. Sort of, he wasn’t a big talker, but he stood in the circle of conversation, close enough to Rowan’s back that he could feel his body warmth, smell the cologne (different from college, but good), and was about a centimeter away from leaning back into the comfort that was Marcos being a very territorial, bitey, and comfortable blanket that required attention upkeep to the boyfriend meter at parties before he started to get affectionately inappropriate.
But he wasn’t his boyfriend and that wasn’t appropriate at work even if he was.
Even so, a couple of braincells lit up to point out that maybe Marcos was interested in more than a platonic reestablishment of their friendship. Relationship.
“I’m coming back later for a meeting,” he said, when the casual gathering of the donuts dispersed back to their desks or labs for the real work of the day. “Let’s go eat after. A new restaurant opened nearby.”
“That sounds good. I’d like that.” Though, if it was after work … “I’d need to run home first to let Ra out and feed him dinner. It’s only a few blocks away.” Oh, right. About that. “Which you already knew.”
“That’s fine. I’ll walk with you.”
Rowan beamed at him. “Sounds like a plan.”
Any attempts to focus on work for the rest of the day were ruined. It was Friday, so focus was hard won to begin with, but now Rowan had dinner to think about. Dinner with Marcos.
Dinner with Marcos that was overheard by pretty much everyone else in the office.
Dancing around that was a challenge of the day, though Rowan did a decent job at it. It helped no one guessed close to the truth; the common theory was that Rowan was such a damsel in distress when he was princess-carried home, supervised by Dan, it overtook what was Marcos’ theoretical straightness.
He just let it sit. He had consulting jobs to attempt to find and contracts to learn how to write up, and a date to focus on.
Was it a date? Everyone else assumed it was. Why was he doubting it?
Doubt. If he didn’t has high expectations, he wouldn’t be disappointed. It kept him safe.
It was too late, though, so he might as well have high expectations. But how high? And how much of this, if he was trying to be honest with himself, was because of that bit of himself that never got over Marcos?
It was hard to admit, even to himself. He hadn’t done it before now, and only now because he was facing the potential of starting again. It was exciting, it was a relief, it was a shame because he should have been able to get over it. It didn’t affect him dating women - at least, no greater difficulties than being himself was a barrier to anything relating to romance - but it was always overhanging with anything with men. They were measured up to Marcos, or to a Marcos built up so high in Rowan’s head it was ironically god-like, and found wanting each time.
Could Real Marcos measure up to Built Up, God-Like Marcos? He’d find out.
So far he was doing a good job.
It wasn’t worth trying to untangle the mess that was his head quite yet. He’d do that later, if he had to. Or was he obligated to if it worked out? No need to get over Marcos if he had Marcos.
That was … a lot of projecting. A lot of assumptions. Potentially a giant red flag.
But it was a red flag on his side, not on Marcos’ side. He was fine, Rowan was … something. A storm of drama and emotions that was growing stronger by the minute as he thought about this.
There were a lot of thoughts. Most of them were bad as he berated himself for still being so invested and never dealing with it.
And then it was time for the meeting. Rowan looked up from his computer as the officers filed in and to the conference room and caught Marcos’ eye as he followed them in. Rowan got a small, brief smile, and then they were gone and he was left alone.
But his thoughts had calmed down. The storm of emotion was still there, but it was further away and wasn’t drowning him in emotion. That moment was a moment, but it was a gentle reminder of something he’d forgotten over the past hour of melodramatic drama.
Marcos asked him out. Stepping out of the mindset that he was Rowan and deserved nothing, Rowan could recognize that sending flowers every day was a romantic gesture, and one tailored to Rowan specifically. Marcos knew full well the implication of the donuts were, even if it was offered to the entire office.
He wasn’t clinging to a past everyone else had moved on from. He was being given a second chance. The exact second chance, he realized, that he all but cried about while drunk and going on about ex boyfriends and girlfriends with Mia, the complicated friends with benefits sort of ex girlfriend that he wanted to date but she had a thing against it so he had to stop things before it got worse but they remained friends even now.
That was not a great memory. It was one of the first and only times he admitted he wasn’t over it. But that, and everything today, forgot the fact he wasn’t alone in this. Even if he tried to ignore the implications because he was an idiot and had issues with emotions and people and self worth.
But this was different. He wasn’t pining after a memory of Marcos, states and years away. He reached forward and ran a finger down the first flower he got, the delicate iris, and felt it react to his power. Over the years, he found himself better able to read the music of nature. It flourished under his finger and sang, simple but healthy and happy.
They had a date, whenever the meeting ended. At worst, they’d catch up. At best …
He would see. |
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
definelie
