Into the Lion's Den

Notes: This is Matheson's POV. Since the tallest building in Boston is the John Hancock Tower at 60 stories, needless to say I've disguised the location of Huntingdon Corp. whistles innocently

Thanks to Tim Mead and Tracy for looking this over, and as always, to Gail.

Into the Lion's Den Part 1/1

I never thought of myself as gay, not that I had anything against it. The Mathesons were a very large family, and it made sense that if ten percent of the population were gay, then ten percent of us might be as well.

Take my Uncle Pete, for instance. He was my Dad's older brother, and a Marine, and gay, and everyone in the family accepted him, so it wasn't as if the worry of being ostracized by those I loved was what kept me from wondering if I might also be gay. It just never crossed my mind. I'd been dating girls since I was fourteen, and aside from the kissing thing - god, I loved kissing, but Cindy had complained I'd hurt her lip, and ever after I made sure I was careful, which kind of took the pleasure out of it, but there you go - it was the best thing since ginger ale, as the nun who taught my confraternity class was fond of saying.

Although I didn't think she had dating in mind when she made that comparison. Nuns weren't supposed to know about dating. Were they?

I had been surprised and a little startled by my reaction to a male nurse in Southside Hospital when my cousin Harry had driven me there after accidently shooting me in the ass with a nail gun, but afterwards, I decided it was probably because the cute guy was so androgynous-looking. He'd have made just as cute a girl.

Of course, there was that thing with Michael, but that was only a couple of months that spring of our junior year in college, and it wasn't dating, and I was twenty, and it didn't last...

The spring before graduation, headhunters from Huntingdon Corporation set up a meeting with me, and I was offered a position in their Boston office. It surprised me that somehow Michael managed to charm his way in as well. Not that he could charm them - he was very good at that - but that he'd be interested in working for the same company as I did.

We had been growing further and further apart, and that saddened me, but he would always be my friend

We had no idea that Huntingdon was the training ground for the Washington Bureau of Intelligence and Security. Maybe we never would have found out, but I was passed over for a promotion that I damned well should have gotten - I was the best computer tech Huntingdon had - so on the Saturday of Presidents' Day weekend, I sauntered into the building dressed in my 501 jeans and work boots, with my tool belt slung low on my hips. I intended to use my skills to reprogram a certain computer in Human Resources.

The security guard seemed more interested in checking my ass than my ID, which identified me as Matt Williams, an electrician who specialized in low voltage. Surprised at the rush I felt, I flirted with him.

Flustered, he ducked his head, and I sauntered toward the elevator. A glance over my shoulder showed his attention was once more focused on my ass. I entered the elevator, waited until he raised his eyes, and winked at him.

The doors slid shut, and I grinned to myself, almost as pleased as if I'd scored with a girl.

If I'd realized what I was letting myself in for, would I still have been so cocksure on that elevator ride up to the sixty-seventh floor?

I used the ride up to strip off the work clothes and put on the uniform of a security guard; its present owner was on vacation, and I'd return it to his locker on Tuesday.

Once the doors slid open, I stepped out into the corridor with confidence, knowing that the tapes would reveal nothing more than a guard going about his regular rounds.

After I reprogrammed the targeted computer, I returned to the elevator and quickly changed.

Another security guard was in the lobby when I came down to sign out. He was older, with a potbelly and sagging jowls, and he didn't give me more than a cursory glance.

"Have a good weekend," I said politely.

He scowled, "Yeah, yeah," and turned back to the little TV that was airing a rerun of American Gladiators.

I went back to my little apartment in Medford, changed out of the work clothes, showered, surfed the Net for a bit, then put on something more appropriate for dinner out and clubbing.

Huntingdon was closed for Presidents' Day, and I expected to find out if my plan was successful when I arrived at work on Tuesday.

Michael poked his head into the cubicle I used when I was in town.

"Hey, Willie Boy. Where you been?"

"Hi, Michael." Sometimes I thought he called me 'Willie Boy' simply because he knew it aggravated me. I didn't bother telling him not to call me that at work. "I've been around." I'd replaced the uniform, then had gone to the cafeteria and picked up a cup of coffee and a hardboiled egg.

"How was your weekend?" Michael's question surprised me. Did he really want to know? And why, now of all times?

"Oh, you know," I replied cautiously. "Same old same old."

"With the family, right?"

"Actually, no. They went skiing- "

"And didn't invite you? I'm shocked!"

"Go fuck yourself, Michael. I had some work I had to catch up on- "

"You always were a suck up."

Lately it seemed that every time we ran into each other he had nothing but snide comments to make either to or about me. Once again I decided to ignore it. "How was your weekend?"

"Fan-fucking-tastic! My girl went down on me." He watched me from under his lashes.

He'd long since broken up with Crystal, and was seeing a junior associate from Huntingdon's law department. She was a tall brunette who wore her hair in a French plait and favored plain gray business suits that did nothing for her. Yeah, I'd seen them together a time or two.

"She's one hot bitch, y'know?" He waited a beat, then asked, "Jealous?"

"Why would I be? I had a blow job over the weekend too." I wasn't going to mention it was from a woman I'd picked up in a bar and who I'd never see again. We'd enjoyed each other, but I didn't regret that we'd only exchanged first names and not phone numbers.

"You did?" Michael suddenly looked deflated. "I had to keep telling her to watch her teeth. I never had to tell you that, Wills. Not even that first time. Wanna know something? She wasn't bad, but you were better. Maybe- "

My phone rang, but I ignored it, my heart beating slow and heavy. "Maybe what, Michael?"

He grinned and shook his head. "It's not important. Answer the phone."

"Just wait here." I knew every one of his grins, and that grin wasn't pleased or cocky or smug or insincere. "This conversation isn't finished."

"It's beyond finished, Willie Boy." He sauntered out.

When he was in a mood like that, what was the point in going after him? I'd give him some time to remove the bug that had crawled up his ass and died, then track him down and hash this out. If he wanted to start something up with me again...

The phone continued to ring incessantly. I swore and scooped it up. "Matheson."

"It took you long enough! Where were you? The can?"

"Is Huntingdon keeping track of how often its employees use the bathroom, Saddler?" He worked in Human Resources, and had been the one who'd told me that I'd been up for that promotion, and then that I'd been passed over for some idiot who didn't have a quarter of my qualifications. "Isn't that violating my civil rights or something?"

"More your right to privacy, wiseass. Speaking of which, get your ass up to Sixty-Seven. Weiss wants you in his office."

I drew in a slow, deep breath. Weiss was associate director of Human Resources. Could this be it? "Any idea why?"

"You know us peons never know what's going on until after the fact." And that was a load of bullshit if ever I'd heard it.

I just said, "I guess you're right. I'll be right up."

Michael was nowhere to be seen. Well, I'd track him down after I'd met with Human Resources. I straightened my suit jacket, smoothed my hair back, and made sure the knot in my tie was straight.

Weiss' secretary smiled at me. "Hi, William."

"Hi, Trina. How are you?"

"Tired. The baby had me up all weekend."

"That's rough. Teething or colic?"

"Colic."

"I remember when my little sister had that." It was a good thing Jill had me and Dad, as well as Alice, our housekeeper, to spell her.

"Then you know what it's like! Oh, you'd better go right on in. Mr. Weiss is waiting for you. Good luck!"

"Thanks." I winked at her and entered the inner office. "You sent for me, sir?"

"Yes." He wasn't alone. With him was Daniel McCormack, the head of my department, as well as another man who was sitting in the chair beside his desk.

"Mr. McCormack." I hadn't expected to see him here.

He nodded.

Weiss nodded toward the other man. "This is James Adams. He's from DC."

I judged him to be in his late forties. His hair was iron-gray and his eyes were so black they looked like empty pits.

"Mr. Adams." I offered my hand. "How do you do, sir?"

He let those eyes run over me, then took my extended hand.

"Sit down, please," Weiss told me, and I sat. "You'll recall you were up for a promotion."

"Yes, sir. I didn't get it. Something about not having the qualifications."

Mr. McCormack grinned at Weiss.

"Yes, well, that was an error. The promotion is yours."

"Really, sir?" I made sure to keep what I was feeling hidden. "I'm pleased to hear that."

Weiss' lips stretched in a thin line. He nodded toward the man who sat beside him. "Adams will take over your training in DC."

"DC, sir?" What was this about?

"Your promotion is taking you to our affiliate in DC."

"But- "

"Congratulation, Matheson." For the first time Mr. McCormack spoke. "You've got a week to wrap up any open files you have here in Boston."

"Yes, sir." I felt dazed. I'd been to DC on a field trip in high school and had fallen in love with the town, but I'd never thought of moving there. "But I've got a lease- "

"We'll take care of what remains on it. Mr. Adams will see you're supplied with an apartment and a vehicle for transportation. As for your salary... " Mr. Weiss named a figure that was almost twice what I was making now. "Consider it a cost of living raise."

I swallowed hard. What was the rent on the apartment in DC going to cost me?

"How much time do I have to think about this?"

"Come now, Matheson. You've surely given it plenty of thought."

"You've only just now told me that I got the position."

"Yes, that's true, but you were quite the busy little bee over the weekend."

"I don't know what you're talking about, sir."

"Don't you? We're aware that you were in this building over the weekend and hacked into HR's computers. Not only did you get your name back on the list, but you bumped it to the top of the list as well."

I felt the color leave my cheeks and rose from my seat so quickly it toppled over. "I don't understand." Was this some kind of sick joke, and now he was going to tell me I'd lost my job? I turned to my department head. "Mr. McCormack... "

"Sit down, Matheson." He glanced at me casually. "We've had our eye on you for some time, and frankly, we were interested in seeing how you reacted to a scenario in which you were passed over for a position for which you were eminently qualified."

"You... you expected me to change the program?" I righted my chair and sank back down in it, dazed. I thought I'd covered all my bases. I must have screwed up, although I couldn't figure out how.

"Mmm, rather let's say that if you hadn't exhibited some initiative, hadn't demonstrated your expertise, you wouldn't be getting this promotion. Well done, especially getting into these offices this past Saturday."

"Th-thank you, sir."

"Fill these forms out." Mr. Weiss handed me a manila envelope.

"Yes, sir." Even more dazed, I took it and peeked in quickly. It was stuffed with page after page of... pages. With so many blank spaces my eyes almost crossed.

"That's all."

"Yes, sir. Thank you for giving me this opportunity. I promise I won't disappoint you." I stood once more, shook the hands of all three men, and turned to walk out.

"Matheson."

"Yes, Mr. McCormack?"

"Good job."

I blew out a silent breath. "Thank you, sir."

Before I got to the door, I heard Adams say, "What do you mean that was a good job, Dan? He went way overboard on the cloak and dagger bullshit."

"Cloak and dagger? And this from James Bond Adams?"

I bit back a laugh. It wouldn't be smart to let my prospective boss know I found a joke at his expense amusing. He didn't seem have much of a sense of humor, at least not where I was concerned.

Mr. Adams huffed." Nevertheless, it was a damned sloppy job!"

"No, it wasn't, Jim. You're just ticked because the candidate you were certain would be a lead pipe cinch just sat back and accepted that he wasn't getting the job."

"I still say it was sloppy. But no matter. I'll train that out of him, once he's in my department!"

I swallowed, all trace of laughter gone, and hurried to the elevator.

I dropped off the envelope in my cubicle and went looking for Michael. I found him in the cafeteria, sitting across from the intern, her hand folded in his.

He looked at me indifferently. "You wanted something, Willie Boy?"

The junior associate giggled.

"Don't call me that, Michael."

"Fine. You wanted something, Wills?"

"I want to talk to you."

He grinned. "I'm busy, as you can see."

"Yeah, I can see."

He yawned. "So, what's up?"

"I've got that promotion. I'll be transferring to DC within the week." Was that panic in his eyes? No, I must have read that wrong. "If you want to join me for a drink after work, I'll be at Silvertone."

I turned on my heel and walked out.

I sat at the bar, a glass of Budweiser and the remains of a burger in front of me. It was almost 7, and I'd been waiting for Michael for the last two hours. I'd hoped we could have a beer, maybe go to dinner...

Well, it was obvious he didn't want to join me. I guessed that was that.

I tossed back the rest of the Bud, left a tip on the bar, and walked out. I had a lot to do.

None of the family looked happy when I announced I'd be leaving for DC within the next week, although Dad tried to hide it. He was proud of me, I never doubted it, but he was going to miss me as much as I would miss him.

I made the transfer to DC, and to my surprise, Michael made it with me.

"I'm like a bad penny, Wills. I always turn up."

And maybe our friendship would warm up.

"How does your girlfriend feel about the move?"

"Why should she care? She isn't coming."

"Won't she miss you?"

He shrugged. "She was getting too fucking possessive. I'm not ready to settle down." He slanted a look at me. "What about you?"

"I haven't found anybody."

"That was always your problem. You're too fucking picky."

"Why? Because I want a love that will last?"

"Because there's no such thing."

"I think there is, but I'm not going to argue it with you."

"Fine. Want to go out for a drink?"

"I'd like to, but I can't. I need to get my place in some kind of shape."

"How'd you find a place so fast? I'm still living out of a motel room."

"Huntingdon found it for me. Didn't they- "

"Obviously not. Listen, forget about the drink. I've got stuff to do."

"Wait a minute! I can change my plans... "

"I said forget it. I'll see you around."

And like that, he was gone.

Once I was settled in, I learned that I'd be required to do more than troubleshoot computers.

"You... you want me to be an assassin?"

"Of course not," Mr. Adams insisted, a little too heartily. "We would never ask one of our people to kill for us."

My feeling of relief was short-lived.

"No, it would be for the good of the country."

"And if I refuse?"

He shrugged. "Then you refuse. Your promotion will be rescinded and you'll be sent back to Boston. But keep in mind this isn't a pretty world we live in. There are countries and organizations that would dance with joy at seeing the United States being taken down. You have an uncle who's served this country with honor and diligence for almost forty years. A Matheson has been in every major conflict going back to the Civil War."

"How did you know- " Gramps had fought in North Africa in World War II under General Patton. Great-gramps had been in the Fighting 69th in World War I, his father had charged up San Juan Hill with Teddy Roosevelt, and his father before him had managed to survive Antietam.

"It's the WBIS' business to know. There are other ways to serve. Give it some thought, why don't you?" He pushed a slip of paper across his desk toward me.

"What is this?"

"We're not an unreasonable organization. This is a list of young ladies who will help you overcome any aftereffects of... tidying up."

'Tidying?' Was that what the WBIS called taking out the opposition? I took it blindly and stuffed it into my wallet, too shaken to even wonder if I'd ever use it, and quickly left Mr. Adams' office.

I called Uncle Pete. He'd taught me a lot of stuff, and he'd have some idea if I should stay or tell them to shove this job.

"Sorry, Wills. Pete's gone out of the country," Dave, his partner, told me. "I'm not sure when he'll be back. Do you want to leave a message for him?"

"No, that's okay, Dave. Just tell him I said hi. Talk to you soon. Bye."

Michael was here, though. He'd found an apartment in 1210 Mass. I could talk to him about it, maybe go over to visit him.

But I couldn't talk, not here at work. There were too many people who'd be only too interested in seeing how I reacted to learning I was going to be a... I swallowed. ... a wet boy.

As soon as I got home, I called his apartment.

"Hey, Willie Boy! How's it hanging?"

"Fine, Michael," I responded automatically.

"Sure. How could it be anything else?" he sneered. God, I hated when he did that.

"Look, Michael. I have to see you."

"Why? So you can rub your promotion in my face?" He'd made the transfer, but he'd be starting all over again, at the bottom of the ladder, and that didn't make him happy at all.

"What? No! I've... Something's come up, and I really need to talk to you."

"Well, that's too bad. I'm busy!"

"Michael! I... " The dial tone hummed in my ear, and I finished, "... need you."

I took the list out of my wallet, fingered it for a minute or so, then sat down and did some heavy thinking.

The first time I looked into a man's eyes and shot him, I barely managed to turn away in time to puke out my guts. That night I woke from a nightmare that had me sweating and shaking, and sick to my stomach again.

But it had to be done. For the good of the country, to keep her safe.

To keep my family safe.

I wasn't called on to do it very frequently, maybe once or twice a year. Three or four times, in a really bad year. I learned to live with it.

Michael, meanwhile... Of course he wasn't asked to do anything like that, but that was okay, I told myself. Not everyone had the temperament for it.

But if I was honest with myself, I resented like hell that he wasn't there when I needed him.

It was just supposed to be an exercise. That was all it was supposed to fucking be. Then there had been that explosion, and I'd been hurled forward from the shock wave.

"Matheson."

The voice that was calling my name seemed to be calling down a well.

"Matheson!"

"Wha?"

"Stay with us!"

"Not... Regret to say, not able to do anything else. How... how bad am I hurt?"

"What makes you think you're hurt."

Aside from the fact that the voice was trying to be cheerful? "Back... feels like it's on fire" My ears rang so much I could barely hear my own words. "Think I'm... in puddle of blood." Or else I'd pissed myself, and of the two, and in spite of how embarrassing it would be, I'd rather be lying in piss.

"You're gonna be fine."

"Tell... tell it to... Marines."

"Huh?"

But I slipped back into unconsciousness before I could answer him.

The next time I surfaced, I could feel a slight buffeting.

"Glad to see you're with us again, Matheson. No, don't try to speak. You've already been stitched up, and we're in a medical helicopter, taking you to Joseph P. Kennedy Memorial."

"Huh?" Was I repeating myself, I wondered muzzily? Oh, no, someone else had said that. I was pretty sure. "Why?"

"It's a teaching hospital in Weymouth. Mr. Adams has notified your family."

"Thanks." I didn't want to come across as a wuss; I was an adult after all, and I had a number of 'tidyings' under my belt, but I wanted my Dad. "How's... " Fuck it! How was he going to feel about his first born being torn up in an explosion? "Explanation?"

"Not to worry. We'll tell him you were involved in a freak car accident."

"No! You- "

"Now, you're going to feel a slight prick."

The bastard sounded pleased about it.

"No! Don't tell him- " But once again I was out cold.

This time when I regained consciousness, it was to hear my Dad's voice. I breathed a sigh of relief, then winced at the pain that had managed to slip past the drug. That didn't matter though. I was finally home.

"How is he? What happened?" Dad sounded upset. Dammit, that was the last thing I wanted.

"... son was in a freak accident."

The drug I had been given was clouding my brain, and I was losing chunks of the conversation.

"Yes, we were told that. But what happened?"

"... motor vehicle accident." Dammit, I didn't want- "Not your son's fault... would have been a lot worse... seatbelt." Goddammit, the man was lying himself blue in the face! "... but he's got the other one, so that's okay."

The other one what? Oh, shit, how badly had I been injured? Was I going to be able to work again?

"What... "

"He's getting something for pain through his IV." IV? They'd set up an IV at home? "Well, I'm sure you'll want to stay with your son. I'll just talk to one of the nurses and see that you get a couple of cots in here. It was very nice meeting you. Goodnight."

I could hear the squeak of the soles of his shoes as he left. The wooden floors at home didn't squeak like that.

"But... Son of a bitch!"

"Dad?"

"We're here, son."

"Wasn't sure. Been... been thinking since it happened that I've heard your voice. I'm home?"

"You're in the hospital."

That was right. I vaguely remembered someone telling me I was being taken there. "What happened?"

"We were told you were in a freak car accident."

"S-sorry, Dad. Wish they... they hadn't put it like that." I struggled to keep my eyes open.

"Are you in pain? Do you want us to get a nurse?"

"No. Tired. Jill here too?"

"Of course, sweetie." Her hands were gentle on my hair. I remembered a time when I'd been about eleven, and I'd got the flu. Her hands had been just as gentle then. "Where else would I be?"

And then her hand was gone, and I wanted to protest, but before I could, I felt something slick running over my lips. What- Oh, Chapstick.

"Jill?"

"Yes."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome. Though I could smack you for scaring us like this! If you'd wanted to see us so badly... "

"Sorry. Dunno what... what went wrong... "

"Go back to sleep, sport." Dad fussed with the covers. "We'll be here when you wake up."

"Th-thanks, Dad. Been... been a long time... since you... called me... 'sport.'"

"Wills... " He sounded even more upset. Did he think I resented his giving my pet name to Jar? I couldn't let him think that.

"'sokay. Missed... missed hearing it. Didn't... realize... how... much... "

"Oh, son... " His voice wobbled, and I heard Jill sobbing.

Dammit, I'd hurt them. I needed to let them know- "'sokay."

But then I was out again.

Dr. Sorenson, the family practitioner who'd looked after the family since we'd moved to Cambridge, couldn't get the X-rays to make sense, especially after he'd examined my back.

I wasn't going to explain it to him, not when it could put his life in jeopardy. I knew the WBIS well enough by this point to know that if they wanted everyone to think I'd lost the function of one kidney, they had a reason for it, and it wasn't worth questioning it.

Friends and neighbors dropped by to see how I was doing, but there was one glaring absence.

"Did you let Michael know I was here, Dad?"

"I left a message on his machine." He frowned. He'd never liked Michael and I'd had the feeling he'd worried Michael would lead me astray.

I thought briefly of those two months our junior year in college.

What he didn't know was that I was the one who steadied Michael, who kept him from going further off the deep end than he had.

"And don't try to tell me he couldn't at least send you a get well card! He must have told his parents. They sent you a fruit basket!"

"Mr. and Mrs. Shaw were always nice to me." And I knew they often held me up to Michael. Maybe that was why he'd put some distance between us.

I returned to DC, not a word from Michael, and no one in the family any the wiser about what my job really entailed.

It was one of the few times we were together that we happened to see Mark Vincent coming in to make a report. He was dripping wet, and his shirt hung open, revealing a Kevlar vest that was pocked with bullet holes. He looked tired, but under it all was a sense of triumph. Later, we learned that he had managed to outsmart some CIA spooks and delivered a self-renewing, nonpolluting source of energy to R&D.

Michael's eyes grew avid. He still denied any interest in men, but I could see there was something about Vincent that challenged him.

"I'm gonna get him, Wills!" he muttered as we watched the senior special agent disappear into his corner office. "And I'm gonna get that office, too! All I have to do is- "

"What, Michael? What do you have to do?"

His lips tightened into a thin line, and then he grinned. "Never you mind, Willie Boy!"

Of course, Mr. Vincent never noticed my friend - he was a loner, and his reputation was legend.

Michael grew bitter. Perhaps I should have worried about him, but he was a grown man, and our assignments took us in different directions. From time to time we'd run into each other in the men's room, and if we were alone, he'd tease me about crawling under his desk and sucking him off. I'd long since stopped teasing him back. We were in our mid-twenties now, too old for that bullshit.

"Hey, Wills, want to join us tonight?" Michael's eyes had a strange glitter to them. Although technically he was supposed to be in PR, he was working for Mr. Sperling in Interior Affairs. I'd tried to talk to him about what was happening, but he'd been so enthralled with his new position, with the DC nightlife, with his new, fucking friends. He'd had no time for me then, and maybe it was mean and petty, but I'd be damned if I found time for him now.

"Sorry, Michael." If it had just been him, if it would have been just the two of us, I would have gone with him, but I didn't like the crowd my friend was hanging out with. More than that, I didn't trust them. "My folks are in town, and I promised to show them the sights."

"Your loss, pal," he shrugged, and walked off, and I silently blessed that fact. If he'd hung around much longer, he'd have known I was lying. Michael could always tell. Maybe because I so seldom did and I wasn't good at it.

Maybe because he was such a good liar himself.

His behavior became more and more erratic, and I wondered what shit he was using. He was becoming hollow-eyed, almost gaunt.

I realized I'd have to intervene. But before I could, he was dead.

I ran a hand over my face as I waited for the elevator to take me down to the parking garage. Michael's funeral was today. I would have wondered why I hadn't cried for him, but I hadn't cried for anyone since my Mom had passed away.

And I was too fucking pissed to cry for him.

How could he have been so stupid to mix cocaine with autoeroticism?

And if he had to do that, why hadn't he asked me to be there with him?

I wasn't surprised to see so many people at the funeral home. Mr. and Mrs. Shaw were both well-liked, and there was a good turnout of the people Michael worked with, even that doped-up crowd he'd been hanging out with.

I was surprised to see Mr. Sperling there, and I watched coolly as he mouthed social nothings to Michael's parents. There was no doubt in my mind that he had something to do with my friend's slide into drugs and kink. He must have felt my eyes on him. He rubbed the back of his neck, and turned, his gaze surreptitiously searching for whoever was watching him.

I straightened, ready to face him when he realized it was a junior agent who regarded him with such contempt, but his eyes were caught by Mark Vincent's. Sperling turned sheet white, and his mouth gaped like a hooked fish.

He hastily excused himself, and then he was gone.

"William! You came!"

"Of course I'd be here, Mrs. Shaw." I hugged her and kissed her cheek. She felt so fragile. "I'm so sorry for your loss."

"Your loss as well, William." Mr. Shaw gripped my shoulder. He looked tired, and although he was my Dad's age, he looked about twenty years older. "You were Michael's best friend. I just... I wish... " He sighed. "Well, wishes are futile at this point."

"Yes." That was the way it went sometimes.

"If only he hadn't been home when that burglar broke in." They'd been told their son had been killed in a home break-in gone tragically wrong.

"William, will you be coming to the cemetery?"

"Of course."

"And back to the house?"

"Yes." Mr. Wallace had told us that whoever chose to go wouldn't be docked for the time.

"Thank you. Oh!" she gazed over my shoulder to the person behind me. "Thank you so much for coming."

I didn't recognize the woman as being WBIS, but that didn't mean anything. She could have been one of the Shaws' friends.

I took Mr. Shaw's hand carefully. He looked as fragile as his wife felt.

"We'll see you at the cemetery," he murmured, and I stepped away, looking back at my friend who lay in his casket.

He had been my best friend for a long time, and even though he'd been on the periphery of my life for the last few years, shouldn't I have wept?

A soft ping signaled the arrival of the elevator, and I stepped into it, focusing on the coming meeting at Human Resources. Was the scuttlebutt right? Was I about to be trained by the very man Michael had dreamed of fucking over?

Mr. Vincent's secretary smiled when I approached her desk, but it didn't reach her eyes. She was a pretty woman, but just then she looked almost as hard as her boss!

Would he take her with him? I hoped so. If I had to face her every day, I was certain I'd wind up with a stress ulcer.

"You can wait for Mr. Vincent in his office, Matheson. He should be returning shortly." She peered down her nose at me, a nice trick, since she was sitting and I was standing. "Don't touch anything!"

"Do you think I'm nuts?" I muttered under my breath. I went into the office, leaving the door open behind me, and looked around

No one I knew had ever been in this office, and there was some speculation as to what it contained. I wasn't sure if I was surprised or not to find there wasn't an iron maiden or a rack set up in the corner.

The office was furnished sparsely, with just a decent-sized desk and chair, and a file cabinet in the far corner. The computer on the desk looked ancient, and I wondered if Mr. Vincent was going to leave it. I was leaving mine for whoever took over my cubicle. I'd already backed up all my files and folders to a portable drive R&D had come up with, and once that was done, I'd wiped it.

The room was bare of any other furniture. There wasn't even a plant at the window, that corner window that Michael had coveted.

Oh, Michael...

"Nice view, isn't it?" The voice, seeming to come out of nowhere, startled me out of my reverie, and I jumped.

Shit. Mr. Vincent had entered his office, and I reacted like a kid who'd been caught where he shouldn't be. Could I have made a worse first impression?

I took a deep breath, willed my heart rate to return to normal, and turned to face him.

"Mr. Vincent." //Don't blow this, Matheson,// I warned myself. He'd always worked alone. How did he feel about now having to train me? Was he going to look for ways that would see me fired or leave me no course but to resign? I'd overcome everything Mr. Adams had thrown at me, although it had been difficult, but he wasn't in Mr. Vincent's league.

Mr. Vincent regarded me for a moment, and I swallowed, trying to work up a mouthful of spit.

He picked up his telephone. "This is Vincent on 7. I need my hard drive moved to my new office."

That answered that question. I'd need to contact the IT department and get a new computer for myself.

"Yes, that's on 7 also. Yes, immediately. Thanks." He hung up and grinned at me. It wasn't precisely an unfriendly grin, but why did I want to pull a blanket over my head and call for my mommy? "Looks like we're going to be working together fairly closely, Matheson."

Yes, it looked like we were.

~End~

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