Christmas Delights 3 (35 page)

Gene stopped and looked at the walls for a moment, then
moved forward to the battered table with coffee rings and cigarette scars on
it.  He touched the thick, battered wood.  "What a shame."

"Ah, we'll bring in a better table, or refinish this
one.  But I think it has woodworm."

"I could check."  Gene looked at him for
approval.  "That's one of the things I can do."

Rex smiled at him, a smile that felt fond and gentle on his
face, an unexpected feeling.  This man made him feel soft inside.  He knew it
was ridiculous, because he'd only just met him.  But he felt like he wanted to
protect him somehow.  Which was even more ridiculous when he thought about it a
moment: Gene had already protected him!

"If you like," he said, as he moved to the stove. 
He'd banked up the coal fire as soon as he arrived, and now he stoked it higher
and put the coffee pot on one of the burners.  "Care for some eggs too, or
did you already have breakfast?"

Gene smiled.  "Do you always feed your employees?" 
He had a gentle, wistful expression that looked almost happy.

Rex found himself wishing he could earn a real smile from
Gene.  He shrugged.  "We keep some food here in the ice box, for breaks. 
You'd be surprised what hungry work it can be, especially on cold days."

"I wouldn't," said Gene.  "I've helped my
family often enough."

"Is there much magic involved in construction?  I'm
just curious.  I've never really encountered it before."

Gene grimaced.  "Well, I, if I was better at magic, I'd
be more use of course…"  His voice trailed off, and he bent over,
examining the table, touching one of the thick, sturdy, ancient legs lightly
with his fingertips. 

Rex swallowed, watching him touch the wood so lightly with
his eloquent, delicate hands.  There's nothing erotic about that, he told
himself.  Behave!

"I mostly do things like the moldings, or check to see
how sturdy the structure is.  I'm afraid I can't do much when it comes to
holding up the building."  He looked apologetic.

"Well, I didn't hire you to be my own personal
Samson."  He smiled.  "But thank you.  I appreciate it.  I suppose
sometimes I bite off more than I can chew."

Rex nodded, still looking preoccupied.  "I also paint
and do odd jobs, and fetch and carry.  I'm not much use, but I will do my best
at what I can do."

"I'm sure you'll do fine.  Well?  How's the
table?"

He straightened, and tugged his oversized red flannel shirt
back down neatly, meeting Rex's gaze a little nervously.  "Woodworm.  I
can eliminate the infestation and reinforce the legs, and I can sand down and
refinish the top for you, if you want.  I can handle the woodworm by magic, but
most of the rest I have to do by hand, and it'll take time."

Rex thought about it.  "It's a nice table.  Go
ahead."

Gene smiled slightly and nodded, looking more at ease now
that he had something concrete to focus on. 

They sat down at the scarred table across from one another
and drank coffee, without sugar because there wasn't any here at the moment. 
What the workmen didn't use up, the ants stole.  The ant infestation was
probably a bad one: just one more thing that needed work before the old
building was usable.

Rex found himself watching Gene's hands, enjoying the way
they moved, delicate and precise and perfectly formed.  He felt a funny little
spark of warmth while sitting here with Gene, as they drank their coffee
quietly, the morning sunlight spilling onto the table between them, lighting
their hands and faces, as if to lend more importance to them.  As if this was a
special, sacred moment, instead of just a little break.

He heard the door slam and sat up straighter, startled.

"That must be your help arriving," said Gene.  He
put down his mug carefully, turning it slightly so the handle faced exactly
away from him.  He cupped the white mug briefly between his hands as if
savoring the last of its warmth, and then rose.  "I'll get to work
checking those moldings, and tell you how much I can do now.  Some of it may
have to wait until the heavy work is closer to completion."

Their gazes met, and Rex nodded.  "Thanks.  I…I can see
why you wouldn't be able to do it all now."  What was it about this man
that left him tongue-tied?  It irritated him that he was reacting this way, but
at the same time, he didn't want Gene to go just yet.

One of the workmen entered the kitchen with a loud greeting
of "Hey boss!"  Gene slipped away, quietly leaving the sanctuary of
the kitchen. 

In the next room, someone was already hammering.  Rex turned
to face the foreman, pulling his mind back to the tasks of the day and all they
needed to accomplish.

* * * * *

Rex stopped, wavering for a moment on the threshold to the
kitchen.  He'd been so completely taken up with work that he'd lost track of
where Gene was.  Now to see him unexpectedly, took his breath away with a
pleasant jolt of warmth through his body.  He found himself smiling like an
idiot.

Gene looked so good there, on his knees at the kitchen
table, so engrossed and serene as he worked.  He must be doing magic: Rex felt
that funny little prickle on his skin, but it was a peaceful feeling this time,
not the surprised, almost rough magic Gene had used to hold up the ceiling.

The building structure was going to need a lot of work yet. 
Gene's family should be here, but apparently they'd overbooked and were putting
him off as long as they could.  He wished Gene could help with it, could be
involved every step of the way.  But even just clearing out woodworm, he seemed
so intimately involved.

Rex cleared his throat quietly and stepped carefully into
the kitchen.  "Coffee?"

Gene straightened up and took a deep breath, letting his
hand fall away from the wood.  He looked tired and ragged, and a little lost. 
He wiped a hand across the back of his mouth, which looked strangely bruised,
and nodded wearily.

"You all right?"  Rex cast him a quick, concerned
look.  "Does it tire you out too much?"

Gene hesitated, his mouth pursing slightly as though he was
struggling to know what to say.  He shook his head hesitantly.  "Just…a
long day."

"You can tell me, you know," said Rex quietly.  He
rinsed out mugs in the sink and then filled them from the pot that had been on
the stove all day.  It supplied a steady quantity of strong, thick coffee for
the workers, and now for him and Rex.  He carried the mugs over and sat down,
giving Gene an encouraging smile.  "I won't tell anyone."

"Thanks."  He accepted the mug that Rex slid over
to him, turning it awkwardly between his hands, pressing his palms against it
for warmth.  His mouth was twitching or trembling a little.  And Rex realized
with a sudden, painful rush of emotion—it hit him like a twisting pain in the
gut—that Gene was very near tears.

"Hey.  What happened?"  He reached across the
table—it felt entirely natural—and laid a hand on Gene's arm.  His voice was
soft and his touch gentle, but Gene closed his eyes, swallowing hard, his face
constricted and pained-looking.

"I—I just…"  He shook his head, took a deep
breath, and opened his eyes, meeting Rex's gaze guiltily.  "I'm sorry. 
It's nothing."

Something clicked.  The laughter, the rowdiness of the other
workers when Gene’s family weren’t around—it fit a little too well with the
harried, tired expression Gene wore.  "They're harassing you, aren't
they?"

"No," said Gene, too quickly.

Rex scowled.  "I won't have it."  He rose,
scraping back his chair.

"No, please.  Don't make a fuss."  Gene rose too,
catching hold of his arm, giving him a nervous look.  "It'll…it'll pass. 
I know I don't look very tough, but I am good at—."  He swallowed. 
"At enduring."

"You shouldn't have to endure.  I'm paying them, and I
don't want anyone mistreated here."

"Th-they'll think I came crying to you."  Gene
flushed.  "I wouldn't.  I…I didn't mean to say anything.  You
just…guessed."  He ran a hand back through his hair and licked his lips
nervously.

Rex felt his stomach do that strange little flip-flop
again.  He moved back to the table, sat down, and lifted his mug.  He thought
for a moment.  "All right," he said calmly.  "I won't make a
scene.  I'll talk to the foreman later.  He can see to it that everyone knows. 
I won't have anyone teasing or bullying you."

Gene flinched a little from the words, looking away, as if
ashamed of himself: as if he'd caused it.  "I wish it didn't happen,"
he said softly.  "But it's like they know.  I'm too slight for
construction, and I'm not strong enough magically to make anyone afraid.  I've
never intimidated anyone in my life—and sometimes I wish I could."  His
mouth twisted unhappily as he lifted his mug again, held it between both hands
as if for warmth and protection from the cruel world.

"You intimidate me," said Rex honestly.  He spoke
before thinking it through—and then flushed.  He got up and moved back to the
stove, fussed with the coffeepot, and refilled his mug, even though he wasn't
empty yet.  When he moved back to the table, Gene looked away quickly, his
cheeks flushed.

They sat in silence for a moment, but it was an awkward
silence now.

At last Rex cleared his throat.  "Sorry," he said
quietly.  "I won't mention it again.  But I can't help noticing, you
know."  He looked out the dusty window into the overgrown, faded bushes
outside.  Their leaves were brown or already fallen, revealing twigs and
branches readying themselves for the onslaught of winter.

"Thanks," said Gene.  "I…I find this very
awkward.  But…it's nice to know someone notices me in a good way."

"Surely I'm not the first," said Rex, casting him
a quick little smile.

Gene looked out the window, his gaze far away.  "No,
not the first.  But the first in a while who's been nice about it and not
pushy."  He met Rex's gaze, then smiled and stood up.  "I'll get back
to work.  Thanks for…" He smiled ruefully and sweetly. 
"Thanks."

He seemed happier as he got back to work.  Rex forced
himself to finish his coffee and leave, and not to stare as the magician worked
at the woodworm.

* * * * *

The next few days passed in a haze, juggling work and
exhaustion—and catching wonderful glimpses of Gene.  A little smile exchanged,
a quick cup of coffee shared in a brief, blissful break from work; any little
interaction like that powered Rex with inward warmth and happiness for hours. 
Even just seeing a glimpse of that soft, nearly-blond head bent over some task
made him feel warm inside. 

Gene spent a lot of time planing the table down with deep,
even strokes of his tools, a rhythmic, calming motion, the way he seemed to do
everything.  Everything about him was fascinating.  His careful, precise hands,
the perfect, slender size and shape of his body, and the way he moved like he
was in tune with a song or rhythm only he could hear.  Rex had to remind
himself to work, not stare.

Talking to the foreman took care of the problem of the
workers harassing Gene.  And they did a good job with shoring up the structure,
ripping out bad parts of the wall and replacing them, and generally doing the
heavy duty work that he'd hired them for.  Rex did as much as he could; he
loved working with his hands, feeling useful, making some small improvement in
the world.

His family was in the financial world, banking and
investment.  They wore suits and talked about dividends, and the men married
society women.  When it became clear that Rex wasn't going to marry any woman
at all, that he had no head for banking brilliance and in fact preferred to
work with almost anything rather than numbers, they set him in charge of
organizing things for some of their bigger parties. 

Social activities were apparently a big part of banking, but
he didn't mind that: he enjoyed the challenge of finding good places to hold
parties, inviting people, and hiring good staff.  He was always ready to wade
in himself and take a tray of drinks around, wield a hammer and nails, or
deliver an invitation in person to someone who normally wouldn't be bothered to
respond.  Because he worked so closely on everything and took it seriously,
he'd never had an event go off poorly yet.  He got the guests he wanted, and he
always knew if the staff was doing a good job or not, because he was doing it
with them.

But he'd never before been quite so distracted by one of the
staff, especially such a quiet, meek employee.  Despite Gene's shy, unassuming
attitude, his skills seemed quite valuable.  When Rex walked into the kitchen
one day to find Gene standing on a chair, deeply engrossed in painting vines
and flower designs on newly buttercup-yellow kitchen walls, he could only stand
in awe and stare.

It took long moments before Gene looked up and saw him, and
smiled.  He brushed back a strand of hair self-consciously, leaving behind a
streak of green.  "Hello.  You mentioned wanting a unique look to the
kitchen.  I thought I'd give it a try.  If it doesn't work for you, I can paint
it over again."  Then he looked nervous—as if he actually thought Rex
might not like what he'd created!

"It's wonderful," said Rex, from the bottom of his
heart, regarding the vines and little flowers that flowed gently and
whimsically across the kitchen walls, creating a garden-like haven in the
utilitarian room.  He whistled quietly and shook his head slowly. 
"Wow."  Gene ducked his head, cheeks pinkening.  "Do you have
any idea how good this looks?" inquired Rex.

"It…it's just a little painting," faltered Gene. 
"Wait till I'm done to tell me what you think."

"I don't have to.  I can already see it's great."

"Please don't," said Gene in a low, serious
voice—the most serious one Rex had yet heard from him.  He looked up, meeting
Rex's gaze, and there was no joy in his eyes.  "Please don't flatter me. 
Then it hurts worse once I know the truth.  It's better to tell me the flat out
honest truth, even if it hurts."