Single Player (16 page)

Travis looked up when Silas entered the lab. He was the only one currently at work, everyone else probably down in another office depending on their role in the project. Travis's eyebrows drew together in concern. “Hey, man. You look like you've seen a ghost. Everything okay?”

This was Silas's moment of truth, where he had to tell him exactly what was happening or make up some kind of convincing story. The heck with all that. Silas had never been a very good liar. “I'm being put on a leave of absence so I don't burn out.” He tried out the words in his mouth for the first time, imagining himself having to say them over and over in the future to other questioning parties. “Apparently I'm working too much lately.”

“Aw, dude, that sucks.” Travis clapped him on the back, then immediately withdrew his hand, probably seeing on Silas's face that physical contact was something he wasn't ready for just yet. “You okay?”

“I guess not.” Silas laughed, and he heard a touch of hysteria at the edges. He felt himself coming unglued at the seams, like he was going to spill over into different pieces and puddle out onto the floor. “I will be, though, I guess. Don't, uh, screw up my work too much while I'm gone, okay?” He was trying for a joking tone, but Travis didn't laugh.

His colleague gave him a serious nod. “You got it, man. Anything you need, you drop me a line, okay? You've always been good to me.” He extended a hand.

Silas didn't think he'd been very good to Travis at all, and felt a bit of guilt at his coworker's show of support and loyalty even though Silas had, quite frankly, been a bit of an ass to him much of the time. “Thanks.” Silas took Travis's hand and shook it. Funny, he'd never thought of Travis much like a friend, but the kid had always been nice to him, even when he was being abrasive. Maybe he'd try to kindle something cordial there when he returned, something deliberately nice as opposed to just professionally distant and polite.

If he returned
.

Silas shook his head to clear out that terrifying thought and set upon the task of getting his things together. He didn't have many belongings to gather up except his set of tools, which he kept here at work because he didn't work on anything that wasn't for his job. He closed up his tool set, though, and scanned the rest of his station. Nothing. With a final wave in Travis's direction, he walked out of the office that had felt more like home than his actual home for as long as he could remember.

He didn't feel sad as he drove to his house. In fact, he felt hollow, empty, burned out, a shell of a person, but not sad. He felt totally lost, but not sad. Not angry, either. He had a hard time feeling much of anything. Numb, he decided. The numbness felt like grief. He remembered grief, the way it settled into the limbs and weighed them down, making everything feel like it was impossible, even simple movement. He remembered the days of lethargy after the funeral was over, when he couldn't bring himself to shower or dress. That was grief. This was its own kind of grief, less strong but just as deadening. He felt a palpable urge to feel something, anything. Instead, he drove all the way home feeling like he was falling apart more and more with every mile.

Once inside the house, he paced a complete lap. What was he supposed to do now? Just read for a few weeks? Completely waste his time? Ridiculous. Who was he if he wasn't a biomedical engineer, helping people with every job he completed? He ran both hands through his hair, feeling panic begin to build like it had in Maria's office. Deep breaths, Silas. He needed to take deep breaths.

A new project. Surely there was some kind of project he could do at home that would help him fill the time and also be useful. He remembered Matthew's cat, pulled out his computer, and sat down at the kitchen table. This was something he could do.

He only stopped when the program started to blur in his eyes and he couldn't stare at the screen any longer, and then he got to his feet and made another lap around the house. He could call Dee and she would be comforting and kind, but that wasn't exactly what he wanted right now. Instead, he dialed Matthew. He'd still be at work, but Silas could leave him a voice mail.

Instead, Matthew picked up. “Silas? What's up?” It was like he already knew that something was wrong, because Silas could hear the concern in Matthew's voice.

“Hey.” Silas's original plan was just to talk about the adaptive equipment he was designing, but at the warmth in Matthew's tone, everything came tumbling out. “Listen. I just got put on a four-week leave of absence from work. I've spent the whole afternoon designing things for your cat and I could really use a drink. I thought maybe you could help me out.”

Long silence.

“I know it's still work, and you're still at work. I just . . . needed to check in with someone.” Silas heard his voice catch and felt a hot rush of embarrassment. His eyes were unexpectedly blurry with unshed tears. He rubbed at his face to dispel them. He would not cry. He was not a person who cried.

“No, that's cool, man. I'm here.” He heard some noises on the other end of the line, shuffling papers. “I've got a bit more to do, but I'll bet I can cut out of here a few minutes early. Want me to pick you up so you don't have to drive?”

Silas exhaled slowly, willing his voice to remain steady. It took all his focus to sound normal, but soon the numbness took over again. He wasn't sure which was worse. “No, I'm fine to drive. I can meet you at your place.” Silas wasn't sure he'd be fine to drive
afterward,
but he could always take a cab home. “Thanks.”

“No problem. Come by at five. I'll see you then.” Matthew hung up.

Matthew walked at a
healthy clip, one hand gently swinging the take-out bag from the little mom-and-pop Italian place around the corner where he'd ordered two heaping servings of fresh lasagna for him and Silas. He figured it was a comfort food kind of night.

Matthew still couldn't believe Silas had reached out to him in a moment of what seemed like real struggle. He hadn't been sure what to make of the guy's tone. He'd been distant, a bit distracted, not sounding nearly as distraught as Matthew felt he probably was. His tone hid all of that behind a calm, placid demeanor. Silas sounded almost numb. Definitely detached. Matthew hoped he could give Silas what he needed—generally, he was the type of guy to offer a few empty platitudes but tell people the absolute truth, even if it was harsh. He wasn't sure Silas was the kind of guy for empty platitudes, but he was definitely sure he was a guy who would appreciate absolute truth. He wouldn't need to sugarcoat things with Silas. And while he hated that the guy was so obviously hurting, he couldn't help but be a little bit flattered that Silas had sought him out when he was at his most vulnerable.

Just then Matthew's phone buzzed, and he picked up to hear Silas's voice. “Are you almost here? I'm in the parking garage.”

“Sure, man, I'll come down and meet you. I just went to get some food.” He went through the building and down the stairs to find Silas, who was just getting out of his car. His expression was wild, eyes large and desperate, jaw set. He looked like a man on the verge of losing his shit. So much for numb.

“Hey. Come on in.” Matthew let him in and guided him to the elevator, one hand resting on Silas's elbow, the other holding the bag of food. “I got Italian. Thought you could use a good meal.”

“Thanks. I don't feel much like eating, but I skipped lunch so I probably should. Dee says I tend to forget to eat too often.” He smiled, but it was an empty grin. “I don't even know what she's going to say to this. I haven't told her yet.”

“You can tell her later tonight, after you eat and settle down a bit.” Matthew heard himself being soothing, like he'd talk to a wild animal too skittish to trust. “Come on. Red Rose has the best Italian. I even got garlic bread, because it's a sin not to get their garlic bread.”

Silas followed him robotically from the elevator into his apartment and then sat down at the table. “I was hoping you could get me drunk, too.”

Matthew stopped the laugh in his throat. Silas probably wouldn't appreciate being laughed at, even though his delivery was pretty funny. “Let's take it one step at a time. Being drunk is fun in the moment and not fun at all afterward. Let's get food into you first. Alcohol later.” He scooped the lasagna onto plates and set one in front of Silas along with silverware and a glass of water.

“Water?” Silas raised an eyebrow.

“In case you want to get drunk later, you'll want to stay hydrated now.” Matthew nodded solemnly to encourage Silas to yield, which he did after a moment. Silas dug into his lasagna without comment. Matthew watched him for signs of life, but he didn't give many. The rate at which he was putting away the food was encouraging, though. He started eating his own portion, using the garlic bread to mop up the leftover sauce, and settled into the silence. Silas would talk when he was ready. Until then, Matthew would provide food and, when the time came, alcohol.

Silas started talking when he'd finished his lasagna and garlic bread and moved on to the cannoli that Matthew had also brought home, because sometimes sugar helped. “I'm not much of a guy for idle indulgences,” he said between bites. “I suppose you've figured that out by now.”

“I've got a sense of it, yeah. The cannoli's good, though, right?” He picked up his own cannoli and gestured with it, a few flakes of shaved chocolate drifting off into the Styrofoam container in which the pastries had been packaged.

“Yes. I've never had one before.”

“No shit. You've never had a cannoli? Dude, you had a deprived upbringing.” Matthew shook his head in sadness for all the cannolis that had gone untried in Silas's lifetime.

“Not deprived, just . . . austere.” Silas chewed a bite of his cannoli thoughtfully, his expression more settled than before, less wild. “My parents were both believers in hard work and discipline. I grew up in an environment that prized achievement and didn't coddle weakness. It was good. It made me understand the value of my accomplishments. No participation trophies at my house.” He smiled bitterly. “They were proud of me when I made something of myself. I suppose I grew to accept nothing less.”

“And you still feel that way.” Matthew could tell these values had not diminished despite Silas's parents having died a few years ago.

Silas nodded as he crunched his cannoli, the pastry shell crumbling around his fingers and falling in pieces onto the napkin. He finished his bite, then began picking up the delicate shards and eating them one by one. “I don't know, maybe. It's easy to blame them and say that they're the reason I'm committed to my job like I am, but I think after you turn twenty, you can't keep blaming your parents for the way you are, right?” Silas shrugged. He was looking a little more relaxed now after a full meal and midway through his dessert. The last bits of cannoli disappeared into his mouth. A bit of sweetened ricotta filling stuck to his upper lip, and he licked it away. Matthew found himself watching Silas's tongue with interest, wanting to reach out a finger and trace the path it had just traveled. Matthew shook himself free of that thought—Silas had come to him for conversation and comfort, not a booty call. He needed to get hold of himself.

He realized he'd been asked a question. “I suppose you're right.” He admired Silas for not trying to place blame. “But they had an impact.”

“Of course they did. As a kid, I wanted all the gaming systems and junk food that other kids wanted. I never wanted to do work. I wanted to goof off and make nothing of myself. My parents taught me discipline.” He said the last sentence with determination, but to Matthew it sounded more like a rehearsed line than something he believed. After a moment, Silas tipped his head to the side. “I don't know. Maybe they taught me too much discipline.” He brushed his hands off on his napkin. “I'm ready for that drink now.”

Matthew got to his feet, bringing the dishes into the kitchen. Silas followed him with his own plates, but Matthew tried to shoo him away. “I'll get that. Don't worry about it.”

“Please let me do something.” Silas's tone had a rough edge to it, some kind of desperation like when he'd first arrived, so Matthew acquiesced and let him put the plates into the dishwasher.

“Okay. So do you really want to get drunk, or just a little buzzed? Because I can get you drunk, but you're going to regret it tomorrow.” He walked over to the cabinet, pulled down his shaker, and started gathering the liquors he'd need.

Silas leaned against the counter next to Matthew. “I want to feel like everything's going to be all right. Drunk but not blackout drunk.”

“One Irish Trash Can, coming right up.” Matthew remembered making these at DiceCon last year. Funny, how a year had passed so quickly. Next week, he'd be there again. “Don't pound it though, okay? Go slow. It's got Red Bull in it. The caffeine makes the alcohol absorb faster.”

“Whatever. I don't even care.” Silas watched as Matthew mixed the liquors together and began to shake. Matthew knew he looked good when tending bar; his arm muscles were finely honed, and an athletically shaken shaker always brought the eyes on him. Generally female eyes, unfortunately, but now and then he'd get the kind of look from a guy that Silas was giving him now. “You do that very well,” Silas observed as Matthew poured the drink over ice, a terrifying blue liquid that turned green once topped off with Red Bull. “What's in this?” He took the tall glass and sniffed it.

Matthew gestured to the array of open liquors out in front of him. “All of these. You just saw me make it.”

“It looks unhealthy.” Silas took a sip and made a face. “It's strong.”

“Drink it slowly,” Matthew repeated. He poured himself a simple 7 and 7, and then walked back over to the couch. Zuul was stretched out there, her back legs straight out behind her, and he scooped her up onto his lap once he sat down. She blinked her kitten eyes up at him and then began kneading his leg, her tiny needle claws piercing the fabric of his jeans.

“She's out of the crate now?” Silas sat down next to Matthew and reached out to pet the cat, his hand temptingly close to Matthew's groin.

“Yeah, I've been letting her out when I'm home. She seems okay with it.” Matthew petted Zuul as well, his hand brushing Silas's. Maybe he could provide another comfort to Silas after all.

But Silas either didn't take notice of Matthew's overture or didn't care, because he abruptly stood, severing their contact, and went to take his laptop out of his bag. “That reminds me. While I was home today, I designed a few new things for her.” He sat back down next to Matthew and opened several files. “Here. This is a litter box with a truncated side to make her entrance and exit easier, plus dimensions that will accommodate her turning around in the cat wheelchair. And I also created a couple of different ramps for your furniture. I know they're just ramps, and you can buy them, but I designed them with textured surfaces for her claw health, too.”

Matthew flipped between the files. “You did all this today?”

“I had time.” Silas took the laptop back and set it aside. “Did you talk to your coworker about using his workshop for construction? Some of this would be better 3-D printed, but I don't think that's an option for us.”

Matthew nodded. “Yeah, Caleb is happy to help. He rents an air-conditioned storage locker and does his welding in there. Does Friday afternoon work for you?”

“Sure. I have nothing else to do.” Silas sighed mightily, the sigh of the world-weary. “I don't know what I'm going to do, Matthew. I don't know who I am if I'm not working.” He drank, taking a much larger swallow than Matthew would have advised, followed by another.

“Easy, man. The liquor cabinet's not going anywhere and we've got all night.” Matthew held out a hand to steady Silas's arm.

Silas looked down into the drink. “The later sips are better than the first.”

“Yeah, alcohol tends to be like that.” Matthew grinned. “Still, if you drink this fast, it'll hit you hard and all at once, and you'll end up facedown on my floor. I don't want to be picking you up and dragging you up onto the sofa. You're not a small guy.”

“Nope.” Silas drank more. “Of course, if I remember correctly, neither are you.” He winked.

Matthew chuckled. He couldn't figure Silas out. “You change moods fast. Are you making a sex joke?”

“I'm a mess, Matthew. I'm making whatever jokes I can think of.” Silas sobered almost immediately, and Matthew regretted having called attention to his change of mood. “I'm going to have to get a part-time job or something.”

“Why? Aren't they going to pay you?” Matthew shifted slightly, but Zuul dug her claws into his leg to keep him from moving. “Ow. Chill, Zuul.” He refocused on Silas. “I thought if it was forced leave like this, but not because of any misconduct, they had to pay you.”

“They're going to pay me, but what am I supposed to do with my time?” Silas spread his hands. “I can only read so many books.”

Matthew rubbed his chin. “You could volunteer somewhere. There's probably an animal shelter or something nearby.”

Silas made a face. “Present company excepted, I'm not a big fan of animals.”

Matthew fake-gasped and covered Zuul's ears with his hands. “Don't listen, sweetheart. The big mean man is lying.”

That got a smile out of Silas. “I'm serious. You know how long my life as a cat owner lasted.”

“I remember. I'll tell you, if I'd lived nearby, you could've played with all my pets. I dragged home every stray in the neighborhood.” Matthew took to rubbing Zuul's ears, and she started to purr.

“Kind of like you're doing now, with me.” Silas's smile looked wistful. He reached a hand over to pet Zuul, and she batted lightly at his fingers before letting him scratch her.

Matthew shook his head. “Nah, man, you're not a stray.” His hand brushed Silas's, and he wrapped his fingers around the other man's palm and lightly squeezed. Zuul, deciding she'd had enough, crawled out from under their hands and toward the edge of the couch. Matthew lifted her up and set her down on the ground, where she dragged herself off to the crate.

Silas watched her move across the floor. “She has an interesting walk.”

“Like one of those zombies on
The Walking Dead,
” Matthew observed. “The ones without legs.”

Silas nodded absently. “I suppose I could do some volunteering somewhere.” He sounded unenthusiastic at the prospect.