Title: The Argument

Author: kyrdwyn

Rating: R (bilingual cursing)

The Argument

by kyrdwyn

I watched my lover as he was making dinner in his kitchen. Though we had both moved into the same duplex a few years ago, we kept our separate quarters. It worked better that way for us. We had our own space when we needed it; and when we needed closeness, the other was only a sliding door away. The owner of the house had installed a connecting door between the two apartments when he had lived here with his elderly parents. It was perfect for Gil and me. We could stay lovers, yet to the rest of the world, we appeared just friends.

Tonight was Gil's turn to cook. My lover was a good cook, when he was sticking to regular food. When Gil tries something exotic, we always end up having to call for take out. Tonight, I had prevailed on him to make spaghetti. Even my culinary challenged lover can't ruin spaghetti.

It's after dinner that he changes. During the meal we'd chatted about our days, the cases we'd seen at work. After dinner, in his living room, with the framed bugs and beetles watching over us and cold beers in our hands, I sat next to him, barely an inch of space between our bodies. He was quiet, so I leaned into him, nuzzling his neck. There's a spot right below his left ear that is sensitive and usually turns him on in no time flat. Tonight, though, he moved away from me when I reached that spot. Undaunted, I let my hand trail up his thigh. He stood up and went to look out the window. Stung, I sat there. Gil had never rejected me before - unless we'd been in the middle of an argument. We'd had our share of those, but as of last night we'd been fine. Hell, we'd been more than fine; we'd been spooned underneath the covers of Gil's bed, his hand resting lightly on the arm I'd draped over him. I'd been awake long after he'd fallen asleep, just listening to my araña breathe. We hadn't even made love, just enjoyed the closeness of each other.

"Gil, what's wrong?" I ask.

He bows his head. "That headhunter called back today."

I was silent. Gil had told me a few weeks ago he'd received a phone call from a headhunting firm. They were looking for someone with medical examiner experience to run the Las Vegas field services office. Basically, they wanted someone for fieldwork and management in their CSI office. I wasn't so sure about Gil and management, but it did sound like a great opportunity for him. But I didn't want him to go.

"What did you tell him?"

"I agreed to an interview. In Las Vegas."

I stayed silent. He'd agreed to an interview. This wasn't good. I know the way my araña thinks as well as I know his body. He was seriously considering moving. I suddenly got angry.

"You're going to take the job, aren't you?"

He looked at me, confused. "It's just an interview."

I shook my head. "You would never have agreed to one if you weren't honestly considering it." I got up from the couch. "So where the hell does that leave us? I can't leave here, Gil. I've got too much time in the department, too much keeping me here."

"Robert, you're jumping to conclusions. It's an interview - nothing more. They may not even want me."

I stared at Gil. Not want him? How could they not want my brilliant entomologist-coroner Gil? Not want the man that most homicide cops hoped would be the coroner on their case, because he was so thorough and precise? Vegas wanted him, all right. Gil had turned down the headhunter before and he still called back. But Gil didn't see that.

He did see my anger, though, and moved closer, putting his hand on my arm. "I'm not just going to leave, corazón," he said softly.

Corazón. Díos, how I normally loved to hear him call me that. Gil's not an extrovert by any means. He doesn't say what he's feeling. Long after I'd started calling him araña affectionately, after his affinity for spiders, he'd still only used my name. I can remember the first time he did call me corazón. Totally unexpected, but yet so Gil. He said it casually, as we were leaving for work one morning. 'Take care of yourself, mi corazón' he told me. My heart stopped when he said that.

Now, though, hearing him call me the Spanish endearment only made me angrier. I yanked my arm away from him. "Don't. Don't call me that if you don't mean it. And don't call me that in Spanish."

His blue eyes were wide, stunned. "Robert, what is…"

Angry and barely knowing why, I rounded on Gil. "What has all this been to you? Just two guys fucking each other? The gringo feeling good about having a 'spic in his bed? You liked hearing me talk dirty to you in Spanish? ¿Le gustó acostarse conmigo? ¿Le gustó chingarme?" Díos, but I was so angry I'd reverted to formal when asking him if he enjoyed sleeping with me, enjoyed fucking me.

Gil didn't say anything, but I knew I had hurt him. I could see it in his eyes. Díos, but I regretted what I had said as soon as I said it. Gil was innocent of what I accused him of - he was the most non-judgmental person I'd ever met. I turned away from him, knowing I wasn't angry at him, but at the thought of losing him. And now at myself, for taking my anger out on the man I love.

I heard the clinking of glass on glass and knew Gil had put his bottle down on the table. "Nunca digo nada que no quiero decir," he said softly. I closed my eyes as he told me what I had already known. He never said anything he didn't mean. I turned around, an apology on my lips, but it was too late. Gil was gone from the room. I heard his bedroom door shut quietly. No angry slams for my Gil. Just a simple closing of the door, and probably his heart. I didn't know how to repair this damage.

I walked down to his bedroom door, but didn't try to open it. Instead, I stood on the other side and spoke low, but loud enough for him to hear me. "Gil…lo siento. Lo siento mucho, mi amor. Perdóneme por favor. Te amo." I knew that apologizing in Spanish or English would make no difference. But I was sorry. I asked him to please forgive me, told him I loved him.

I didn't get a response. I hadn't expected one. I'd made what we had together seem crude and tawdry. I'd all but said that I considered him no better than the cops we worked with who boasted about sleeping with the chicanas in their districts, seeing them as nothing more than sexual prey. That wasn't something he'd forgive easily.

I turned away from his door and headed back to my side of the house. As I closed the sliding door between our quarters, I suddenly realized that I had probably done the one thing I didn't want to do. If he hadn't been sure about Las Vegas before, he would be now. And there would be nothing I could do or say to stop him. When I lost my temper, I'd lost my araña.

END