*Unexpected Past/Heated Kiss*
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Sarge is waiting on his nest when Reiner gets back to the apartment, and a delivery box with a very distinctive smile logo is leaning against the door. Reiner uses a pair of scissors to get the box open, and it’s a plush new dog bed.
“Look what I’ve got for you, buddy!”
Sarge wags his tail.
Once the dog is deposited on his new bed and snoozing in the sunshine, Reiner takes a long, steaming shower, letting the hot water beat away all the aches and pains in him. He finds some longish, red-gold hair on his shampoo bottle, and that makes him smile; Galliard won’t be smelling like cheap, industrial soap today. Once he’s clean, he changes into some comfortable clothes and then strips the bed, frowning at the giant stain on it from last night, and gets a load of laundry going before he remakes it.
With all his chores done, Reiner sits down at the kitchen table with his work laptop to begin another long, boring day of reading chemical formulas and trying to find places where they differ. This isn’t why he went to law school, or minored in Chemistry, not by a long shot. But it pays the bills and keeps him in this apartment, so he can’t complain too much. He has a good lifestyle! Everyone at work says his apartment looks really nice, and that he dresses well and plays the part of an up and coming young lawyer to the hilt. The firm doesn’t even mind that he’s gay, as long as he’s not too flamboyant about it; he’d had a long and uncomfortable talk with the partners when a picture of him in his peacock Pride outfit had surfaced on the Internet. Things could be worse. Things could be a hell of a lot worse, and Reiner knows when to keep his head down and keep a good thing going. He’s not going to be foolish enough to make waves and attract unwanted attention.
His self-pep talk done, Reiner turns his attention to his work, bending low over the formulas and getting ready for a long, boring morning.
True to Galliard’s prediction, Sarge sleeps most of the morning. It turns out that he snores, and farts, in his sleep, and Reiner has to get up to open the balcony door at one point, or risk getting run out of the apartment by the stench. It turns out to be a beautiful, sunny spring day outside, with just a hint of summer’s heat in the air, and Reiner ends up standing out there for a few minutes, looking thoughtfully at his grill, currently swaddled with its protective winter tarp.
The dog wakes up and starts getting restless around eleven thirty, and Reiner gladly pushes his computer aside to take him for a walk. It’s just as pretty outside as he thought it would be, and even Sarge has a little bounce in his step as they make their way around the neighborhood. Reiner lets the dog follow his nose, and Sarge leads him to a tiny butcher shop, tucked away in an alley, that Reiner would have never found on his own. They stay on the sidewalk, but the butcher is happy to come out and talk to them, and Reiner is glad he brought his wallet; they leave with two huge steaks and one smaller one, and a soup bone for Sarge to chew on.
Reiner leaves the door unlocked when he gets home, so Galliard can get back in, and Sarge doesn’t immediately retreat to his bed. Instead, he pads after Reiner, nosing hopefully at his leg as he puts the steaks on the counter.
“Sorry, pal, these aren’t for you.” The little one is, but Reiner wants to cook it first. Sarge gives him the saddest, most mournful eyes, and Reiner pulls the soup bone out of the bag. “But this is!”
Sarge practically dances with glee, but when that almost topples him over, he settles for wagging his tail fiercely and drooling all over Reiner’s foot. Reiner escorts him back to his bed and gets him to lay down, then spreads an old towel under his head so he doesn’t get anything on the carpet. Then he presents Sarge with the bone, and he sets to work on the serious business of gnawing on it while Reiner goes back to the kitchen.
Galliard comes back at around one fifteen, reeking of coffee and in a foul mood. He announces his entrance with a slammed door and a complaint, which gets muffled before it reaches Reiner.
“Can’t hear you!”
“Why not, where the hell…” Galliard comes into the living room, carrying Reiner’s scarf in one hand, already shrugging out of his jacket, and stops dead in his tracks. “What are you doing?”
“Grilling.” The grill has emerged from hibernation, and Reiner is out on the balcony, carefully turning a steak with his tongs. On the upper level of the grill, he has four baked potatoes wrapped in tinfoil cooking away, and on the kitchen table, he’s made a pretty sad excuse for a salad with the slightly wilted lettuce and cucumber he found in the refrigerator.
Galliard’s eyes have gone wide, and Reiner can almost see him drooling. “Uh… that’s a nice grill.”
“Thanks.” The steaks are sizzling, getting some nice grill marks on them, and Reiner estimates they’ll be done in about ten minutes on this heat. “I bought too much, though. Can Sarge have this little one?”
“He’d… really like that.” Galliard’s voice sounds faint. “Just cut it up first.”
“Of course.” Reiner half-turns towards Galliard and smiles with one side of his mouth. “I don’t think I can eat both of the big ones, though.”
Galliard nods. “I’m going to go take a shower. I smell like shit.”
“You smell like coffee.”
“Like I said… like shit.”
“All right.” Reiner turns a potato with the tongs. “Will you help me eat the other one? It’s too big for Sarge.”
“Yeah, okay.”
When Reiner looks up, Galliard is gone and the bathroom door is closed, the only trace of him being a discarded green apron on the floor.
By the time Galliard emerges from the bathroom, flushed pink and followed by a cloud of steam, wearing Reiner’s bathrobe again, the steaks are cooked to a nice medium-rare and the potatoes are baked through. Reiner has everything on the table, and Sarge has already gobbled down his steak and returned to his bone. Galliard plops down without a word and reaches for the butter to slather on his potatoes.
It’s almost alarming, watching Galliard eat; he eats with a single-minded determination that leaves no room for conversation, no room for anything but the food in front of him, like he’s afraid someone is going to snatch it away. That kind of desperation stirs something in Reiner, awakens memories long since buried and forgotten, and he pays attention to his own plate, the only sounds in the room the clink of forks and knives on china, the frantic gulping as Galliard swallows.
Galliard finishes first, polishing off his steak and potatoes in record time, and then attacking the sad little salad. While he’s working on that, Reiner quietly cuts one of his potatoes in half and slips the bigger half onto Galliard’s plate, which he immediately lays into. It’s impressive, in a strange way, how much food he’s able to pack away in a short amount of time, and Reiner half-wonders if he’s going to get sick. He slows down over the last potato, though, and is swaying in his seat by the time Reiner is finished, his eyes at half-mast and looking the most content Reiner has ever seen him.
“You grill good.”
“Thank you.” Reiner stands up and clears the plates, taking them to the sink to rinse off. “You didn’t mind the steak being medium rare?”
Galliard laughs, his dry, self-deprecating chuckle. “Did I look like someone who cared about that?”
“Not really.” Reiner walks back to him and drops a hand on Galliard’s shoulder. To his surprise, Galliard reaches up and puts his hand over his; Galliard’s fingers are rough and calloused with work, but he’s surprisingly gentle when he squeezes Reiner’s hand. “What’s your schedule today?”
Galliard groans, and his hand drops from Reiner’s and onto the table. “I have to…” He pauses, clearly thinking, and then shakes his head. “I don’t have to go to the gym.” He sounds astonished by this revelation. “I don’t have anything going on until my shift at the club later.”
“What time is that?”
“Nine.”
That’s not for another seven hours, and Reiner’s pulse picks up a beat. “Do you want to hang out here?”
“I…” Galliard suddenly sits forward, putting both hands on the table. “What’s Sarge sleeping on?”
“What… oh.” Galliard has turned around, watching Reiner through narrowed, suspicious eyes, and Reiner is suddenly embarrassed. “I got him a bed. So he doesn’t have to lay right on the floor! If he moved too much, he’d mess up that nest and end up on the hardwood!”
Thank god for law school and preparing him for quick thinking.
Galliard looks at Reiner a moment longer, then gets up to brush past him and go over to the dog’s bed, crouching next to him. Sarge lifts his head and wags his tail, and Galliard pets him with one hand while poking at the bite-marked soup bone with the other. “You’re spoiling him.”
Reiner shrugs. “Probably. But he’s seventeen, right? Hasn’t he earned a little spoiling?”
Galliard snorts and stands, but there’s a hint of humor in his eyes when he looks back at Reiner, a certain tilt to the corners of his mouth that give Reiner hope. “The damn dog is having a better retirement than I will.”
“Maybe he’s just off active duty now.”
Reiner means it as a joke, a play on the dog’s military name, but as soon as he says it, Galliard’s face fractures. For a split second, everything caves in around his eyes and mouth, revealing something raw and anguished and hideously vulnerable, and Reiner thinks, for a horrifying moment, that Galliard is going to burst into tears. But then, just as quickly as it came on, it disappears; Galliard’s expression seals away again, all that pain locked down tight, and he just looks cool and impassive again, his face an impenetrable mask.
“I guess so.” He bends down to pat Sarge again, and then, not looking at Reiner or meeting his eyes, moves towards the bedroom. “I’m going to take a nap.”
Reiner follows him, feeling depressed and out of sorts. He doesn’t know what he did, and Galliard isn’t lashing out at him or calling attention to it, but that joke had clearly prodded something free and he wants… he doesn’t know what he wants. To apologize, to make it right, to know what he’d done wrong so he can avoid it in the future. But he knows what happens when he tries to press Galliard on anything, and so settles for turning down the blankets for him. “What time do you want me to wake you up?”
“I’ll set an alarm.” Galliard sheds Reiner’s bathrobe, and he’s naked underneath, his skin still rosy and pink from his shower. He glances up at Reiner, and something in Reiner’s expression must get to him, because he sighs and relents. “Sixish?”
“Okay.” Reiner watches as Galliard crawls into his bed and flops on his back, immediately spreading out his arms and legs and sighing contentedly, his eyelids already drooping, his dog tags glinting dully on his chest. “I’ll… I’ll see you then.”
He’s almost out the door when Galliard’s voice, already thick with sleep, calls him back.
“Reiner?”
Reiner stops and turns, one hand on the door frame. “Yeah?”
“You didn’t fuck up.”
“Huh?”
“You didn’t fuck up. You just didn’t know.”
“Didn’t know what?” Reiner takes a step into the room, his full attention on the lump on the bed. “What didn’t I know?”
He’s too late; Galliard is already asleep, his lips parted slightly and his face more relaxed than Reiner has ever seen it.
Without thinking too much about it, Reiner pulls a blanket over Galliard—it might be spring, but it can still get cold awfully fast—then stands at the side of the bed and watches him for a few minutes. It isn’t until he leaves the room, shutting the door quietly behind him, that he realizes that might be the first time, outside of the gym, that Galliard has called him by his name.
~*~
The rest of the day passes in a long, slow trudge of monotony. Reiner keeps up with his work, but the chemical formulas all start blurring before his eyes, and he knows his heart isn’t in it. If he’s honest with himself, his heart hasn’t been in it for a long, long time. He takes a break around four to try and get Sarge to play with him, but the dog isn’t interested beyond some tail wagging and a few swipes at Reiner’s hands with his tongue. Reiner leaves him to his nap and goes out for a walk, picking up some much-needed groceries and trying to clear his head.
That kills some time, and when he comes back, Sarge is awake and restless, so he gives him his second dose of pills and takes him outside to relieve himself. Sarge marks the side of the building again, then seems eager to go back inside, so back they go, and by then, it’s time to wake up Galliard.
Reiner lets himself into his bedroom, which the lowering afternoon sun has painted in shades of grey and purple with shadows, and stands at the side of the bed, looking down at Galliard.
He’s still on his back, his arms spread wide; it looks like he’s hardly moved at all. The blanket Reiner put on him covers him to the waist, and his dog tags lay in the middle of his chest, rising up and down as he breathes.
Reiner eyes those dog tags, suddenly wondering about them. He has always assumed that Galliard had served at some point, and that they’re a souvenir from an earlier part of his life, but now he’s not sure. Reiner has known some former military men, and every single one of them has some level of ink crawling over his skin; Galliard is unmarked but for some freckles on his shoulders and the occasional mole. Most former military guys have short hair all over, not long on top like Galliard’s, and most of them are all too happy to talk about their service, especially if they’re still wearing their tags. The way Galliard had shut down when Reiner had talked about being off active duty spoke of some deeper trauma, something buried but still with the power to cut and wound.
Reiner wonders what name is on those tags, and what it means to Galliard. Maybe it would be a clue to Galliard’s past, to who he was before he came to Trost, to why he’s so sad underneath his bristly, aggressive persona. Whoever it was, they must have been important.
Reiner realizes he’s been standing in one spot for at least a couple of minutes, staring at the tags with glazed, half-closed eyes, and he shakes his head. He wants to look at them; he can admit that to himself. He wants to start to piece together the mystery of Galliard, to help him heal whatever deep wounds he’s hiding. But as much as he wants that, he knows looking at the tags would be a deep betrayal of Galliard’s trust, and so instead, he settles for reaching out and shaking his shoulder.
“Galliard. Galliard, wake up, it’s almost six.”
Galliard doesn’t move, and he’s a dead weight against Reiner’s hand. Then he sucks in a quick breath, his face scrunches up, and he turns over to his side, curling into a fetal position and nearly rolling onto Reiner’s arm. He makes an indistinct sound that’s definitely not any actual words, and Reiner moves his hand to his top shoulder and gives him another gentle shake.
“Come on, you told me to wake you up.”
Galliard sighs, stretching his legs down, and cracks one eye to look up at Reiner. There’s something pensive about his gaze, something naked and honest from his sleep, and his arms suddenly shoot up, grabbing Reiner and pulling him down. Reiner is too surprised to resist, and lands on the bed with an ungainly flop, half on and half off Galliard.
Galliard makes quick work of the situation; Reiner might be half a foot taller than he is and outweigh him by almost thirty pounds, but Galliard works out all the time too, and it doesn’t take him long to manhandle Reiner into the position he wants him in. Before Reiner quite realizes what’s happening, he’s laying on his side with Galliard curled behind him in the classic spooning position, Galliard’s knees pressed against the back of his thighs, his arms around Reiner’s waist, and his face pressed between Reiner’s shoulder blades. It’s abruptly, shockingly intimate, and Reiner is almost afraid to breathe. Tentatively, he lays his arm on top of Galliard’s, and Galliard responds by rubbing his face across Reiner’s back and mumbling something under his breath.
“What?” Reiner isn’t expecting a response, his question is one he asks without thinking, and he’s ill-prepared for Galliard to lift his head and voice himself more clearly.
“Why are you so nice to me?”
Reiner has no idea how to answer that, or if Galliard even wants an answer, so he stays quiet. Galliard waits a beat, then rests his cheek against Reiner’s shoulder blade and sighs.
“I’m not nice to you. I’ve never been nice to you. But you… you’ve always been really good to me.” From behind him, Reiner can feel Galliard turn his head a little, and brush his lips against his back, their passage feeling like searing little brands. “Why?”
It’s a good question; it’s the question, and Reiner hopes Galliard isn’t offended if he needs to take a moment to think of the answer. Why is he so nice to Galliard? If he was just the first guy to make his dick hard after a bad breakup, then that would explain the strip club, and the cam shows. It doesn’t explain the gym sessions, or letting Galliard into his house, or taking care of his dog or helping him find more gym clients or deliberately buying the fruit he seems to go for and making sure it’s stocked when he comes over. It explains none of that, and Reiner has to grapple with an unpleasant thought: why is he nice to Galliard?
“I think…” he starts, going slow, taking his time, and Reiner moves to take Galliard’s hand in his. To his surprise, Galliard entwines their fingers together, possessive and uncertain at the same time, and it gives Reiner the strength he needs to continue. “I think it’s because you remind me a lot of myself, when I was younger, and I can relate to the kind of stuff you’re going through.”
There’s a beat of stunned silence, and then Galliard snorts behind him. “Yeah, right. Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not.”
“But that’s bullshit!” Galliard shifts behind him, propping himself up on one elbow without letting go of Reiner’s hand, and Reiner rolls to his back so he can see him. Galliard’s jaw is set, and he looks stubborn and disbelieving. “I mean, come on! You’re going to tell me your fancy private school ass knows what it’s like to have four jobs?”
“I didn’t go to a private school. And I had three jobs when I was in college.”
The way Galliard’s mouth drops open is almost comical. “What?”
“I went to Trost Public 104.” Reiner wriggles the arm between them free, and cups Galliard’s hand in both of his. “I grew up on the south side and lived in government housing until I was twenty-three.”
“But… but… this!” Galliard makes a sweeping gesture with his head, like he’s trying to take in the whole apartment, and Reiner feels a small, bittersweet smile play at the corner of his mouth.
“I worked my ass off and got very, very lucky at a couple of key times in my life. But I don’t come from money.” Reiner pauses, wondering how much he wants to tell Galliard, and realizes something: he wants to tell him all of it. He wants Galliard to know that they’re not so different, that he knows what suffering and sacrifice is, that they might have been born under the same set of unlucky stars but that that doesn’t set your course for the rest of your life. “My mom was seventeen when she had me, and my dad was thirty-three and married. To someone else.”
Galliard is staring now, wide awake, and he shifts forward a little to listen better. The movement jars his dog tags, and they fall onto Reiner’s arm with a soft jingle. “Did you ever meet him?”
Without realizing it, Reiner reaches up and rubs the bridge of his nose, where it’s crooked and bent. He wants to tell Galliard almost all of it. Only Bertolt knows the story about his nose; he’d never even told Jean. “Once. It was enough.”
“Holy shit.” Galliard sounds cowed, almost awed, and his speech is thick with his accent, soft and slurring, a gentle, almost musical quality instead of his normal terse, clipped enunciation. “So you were a country redneck?”
Reiner drops his hand from his nose, covering Galliard’s hand with both of his. “They call us white trash up here, but I’m pretty sure the sentiment is the same.”
Galliard glances down, tearing his gaze away from Reiner’s like he’s ashamed, and starts toying with Reiner’s hand. “They call us trailer trash down where I’m from.”
Reiner lets Galliard play with his hand for a moment, then gently frees himself so he can prop up on his elbows. Galliard moves over, staying on his side and watching every movement, quickly swiping his hair back and off his face. “I don’t think you’re trash.”
Galliard’s eyes widen at that, and he looks away with a quiet snort. “Thanks.”
Reiner gives him a minute to collect himself, then turns onto his side, so they’re facing each other. “Hey. Can I ask you something?”
Galliard meets Reiner’s gaze, and if his eyes are looking a little glassy, Reiner is too polite to say anything. “Do I have to answer?”
“No.” That’s not going to stop Reiner from asking, though, and he gestures at Galliard’s dog tags. “Who did those belong to?”
Galliard looks away again, his face pulling tight and jagged, but he answers. “Marcel. My older brother.”
“Okay.” That’s really all the information Reiner needs, and he sits up. “Are you hungry again?”
Galliard blinks, then barks sudden, surprised laughter. “What, that’s it? Conversation over?”
Reiner shrugs. “We don’t have to unpack everything all at one time.” He starts to get off the bed.
“Reiner, wait.” Galliard’s hand is on his arm, and Reiner turns, his legs hanging off the side of the bed, his upper body turned towards Galliard, who has a strange look on his face, both determined and afraid at the same time.
“Yeah?”
Galliard opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, then closes it and sets his jaw. He scoots a little closer on the bed, the blanket pooling around his waist, and lifts one hand. Reiner holds very, very still as Galliard touches his face, his fingers light and almost shy, questing over Reiner’s cheekbone and let settling to cup his jaw and chin. Galliard frowns a little, his brows drawing down in concentration, and he puts his other hand on Reiner’s chest, close to his heart. Reiner is almost about to ask what he’s doing when Galliard shifts his thumb, turning Reiner’s head a fraction of an inch, and then leaning in to press his lips against Reiner’s.
Reiner’s breath catches in his chest, and he has a split second to hope Galliard doesn’t notice how his pulse picks up before he completely melts into the kiss. Galliard’s kiss is soft, almost shy, his lips warm and pliant against Reiner’s, and Reiner is suddenly reminded of his first kiss ever, shared with Bertolt in a shitty closet in an equally shitty apartment, accompanied by the thunder of music from another apartment and the cacophony of traffic and shouting from outside. There’s something almost innocent about it, tentative and fragile, and it’s a bizarre juxtaposition to what he’s used to from Galliard, to all the bluster and confidence and easy, natural swagger. It’s sweet and pure and so damn emotional it feels like it’s going to make Reiner’s chest burst, and he realizes he’s trembling all over but can’t stop.
Galliard might not feel Reiner’s pulse pick up, but he definitely notices the trembling, because he breaks off the kiss and pulls back, his brows still drawn down, but this time in what is touching concern. “Are you okay?”
Reiner nods. “I’m fine.” He shifts on the bed, turning so he’s more comfortably perched on it, and cautiously rests a hand on Galliard’s hip. “I just… want you to kiss me more.”
Galliard’s eyes open wide at that, and Reiner is close enough to watch his pupils blow out, black consuming his bluish-grey irises. Then he’s leaning in, kissing Reiner again but with more confidence this time, his hand slipping up from Reiner’s chest to cup his face on both sides, and Reiner hauls his legs up and onto the bed.
This kiss is better, deeper and more heady, proving that Galliard isn’t a kissing novice at all, and Reiner almost swoons when Galliard sucks on his lower lip. He loves kissing, always has, and he hadn’t realized how much he’s been missing it until this exact moment. He could kiss Galliard forever, could spend a lifetime learning the taste and shape and texture of his mouth, and it still wouldn’t be enough. It would never be enough.
He’s fallen, Reiner realizes, just as Galliard slips his tongue into his mouth and he falls back onto the bed, Galliard traveling with him and landing sprawled across his chest; he’s fallen so, so hard. How could he have missed it, he wonders as his hands land on Galliard’s hips, as his arms move up to circle Galliard’s waist and pull him close. Is he really so dense, so out of touch with his emotions, that he didn’t see what was happening?
When had he let himself fall head over heels for Galliard?
Galliard has both hands in Reiner’s hair, threading through it, when he abruptly breaks the kiss and lets his head drop onto Reiner’s chest. “Fuck…”
Reiner waits a moment, expecting things to start up again, and when they don’t, he lifts his head. “You all right?”
Galliard nods. “Don’t want to go to work.”
Dammit. Reiner glances at the alarm clock, and is shocked to see it creeping towards six forty-five. “It’s almost seven.”
“Goddammit!” Galliard lifts his head and glares at the clock, like he can make it turn backwards, then pushes himself up and off Reiner. “Sorry, I’ve got to go.”
Reiner parts his arms reluctantly, already missing the heat and weight of Galliard nestled between them, and watches sadly as Galliard gets out of bed and walks into the living room. The fact that he’s naked and looking particularly delectable just adds insult to injury, and Reiner stays in the bedroom for a few moments, giving Galliard time to get dressed and himself time to calm down a little and gather his thoughts. That had… that had sounded, and felt, like a boyfriend kind of talk. Like they were talking to each other like a pair of guys feeling each other out, seeing if they were on the same page for a relationship.
Reiner shakes his head, dismissing it, and climbs off the bed.
Back in the living room, Galliard is dressed again and crouched by Sarge’s bed, clipping his leash to his collar. He glances up when Reiner comes into the room, and for just a second, he smiles. It’s sweet and shy and almost embarrassed, there and then gone, and Reiner swallows.
Damn it. Completely head over heels.
“We’ve got a gym session tomorrow.” Galliard gently urges Sarge to his feet before standing up himself and turning to face Reiner. “I’m going to bring Sarge over here around eight, and then we can go to the gym together.”
“All right.” That means they can have breakfast together, and Reiner realizes he’ll be going to the grocery store tonight to stock up.
He follows Galliard and Sarge to the door, expecting them to just leave the way they’ve done before, but Galliard pauses and turns towards him. He looks up at Reiner, clearly mulling something over, before reaching a decision and nodding, once. “Give me a kiss.”
He doesn’t have to demand twice; Reiner gleefully steps forward and bends down to kiss him, Galliard tilting his head back to meet Reiner halfway. Reiner has to hold himself back, has to consciously remind himself that Galliard has to go to work, has to fight every instinct in his body to keep from drawing Galliard into his arms. He loses one of those battles and puts an arm around Galliard’s waist, only to have it gently but firmly brushed off.
Galliard breaks the kiss and steps back. “I have to go.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” Reiner stoops to pet Sarge. “If you ever wanted to stay the night…”
Galliard snorts and shakes his head. “Like I’ll ever have the free time for that!”
It’s a sad truth, and Reiner can’t argue with it. “Isn’t your schedule getting better?”
“Yeah. But I still don’t get free nights, especially on the weekends.” Galliard pauses, like he wants to say more, but then shakes his head again. “Can’t keep all the bachelorettes waiting, right?”
“Right.” Reiner wonders why Galliard doesn’t work at one of the gay strip clubs in town—he happens to know there are at least a handful of them—but he doesn’t want to ask now. Instead, he straightens up and, on a whim, adjusts the scarf, his scarf, that Galliard is wearing. Galliard allows it for about three seconds before batting him away. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Goodnight.” Galliard studies Reiner’s face for a moment longer, something beseeching and needy in his eyes, something that would probably drive him insane if he knew it was there, before turning around and letting himself and Sarge out of the apartment.