Cold Equations

by Lady J


I.

He hadn't been wanting to meet anyone that night. But there was no rush to go home because Joan wasn't going to be there. She decided to pack Daryl up and go to her mother's for the weekend believing that a strategic retreat was better than a protracted, emotional struggle with her husband. Simon Banks was inclined to agree.

All Simon wanted this particular Friday was a stiff drink (several were a definite possibility) and a place to think while everything good in his life crashed and burned. The anonymous sanctuary of Jack's was as good a place as any to be at the moment. Curiously enough, the bar was quiet; usually it was packed to the gills. Simon was grateful for the lack of bodies. Outside, a warm rain fell, a perfect accompaniment to his own dark mood.

There was movement to Simon's right as another body settled on the stool beside him. "Blue Heron," a rough voice ordered. The bartender deftly drew a pint of amber colored ale and placing on the bar. A grunt of thanks and then several audible swallows before the glass was put back on the bar.

Simon stole a glance in the mirror behind the bar only to meet the eyes of the man next to him. "Sorry," he muttered, dropping his eyes back to the tumbler of Scotch in front of him.

"No sweat," replied his seatmate, who went back to his beer. Something made Simon steal another glance at the other man and once more, the same set of icy blue eyes stared back at him. This time, they twinkled slightly in amusement. Banks looked away first.

Simon raised his tumbler and drained the last of his scotch. Sweet and bitter all at once, the liquid rolled its way to his stomach. He drew breath through slightly clenched teeth and contemplated the empty glass before settling it on the bar.

"Another for me and for my friend here," the rough-smooth voice rumbled at Simon's side. A crisp twenty fell on the bar. The bartender nodded, sweeping the bill up with quick efficiency before bustling off to get the drinks.

Startled, Simon shot a glance at his sudden benefactor who shrugged. "I hate drinking alone," he said simply. When their drinks arrived, he raised his glass. "Cheers." Simon raised his own in salute then drained half the scotch before setting the tumbler on the bar. His seatmate shook his head before taking a sip of his beer.

"You must be in a world of hurt to drink good scotch like that, buddy."

Simon snorted as he tapped his glass with his fingers. "Does it show?" he asked.

The man on the other stool nodded. "A little."

Simon took a moment to look at his companion. Wavy brown hair fell to the collar of a broken in, brown leather jacket, and a single silver hoop graced his left earlobe. Banks' eyes drifted downward, taking in the well-muscled legs encased in dark blue Levi's. The scuffed but serviceable engineer's boots.

"Like what you see?"

Simon's head jerked like a skittish horse at the richly voiced question. The other man shifted a little, parting his legs a little wider. Simon now had a clear view of the impressive package below his companion's belt.

Don't even think it. Don't even consider it. Words of caution flitted through Simon's brain at the speed of light. And yet, even then, he knew he was going to ignore them. He swallowed, moistening a suddenly dry throat before answering.

"Yes."

One word and the pale blue eyes of the other man glittered with flaring desire, latching on to first Simon's body then his face. "Good," he replied then finished the rest of his beer. "You interested?" he asked. Simon looked at his glass, knowing he had reached his limit. He swirled the last of the hard liquor in the bottom of his glass before downing it then nodded quickly.

His companion waited in anticipatory silence as he watched as the tall, handsome black man settled his great coat on his shoulders. Together they headed out into the damp Cascade night.

As they cleared the door, Simon realized that the rain had given way to drizzle; a light mist hit their faces leaving a sheen that sparkled beneath the butter yellow glare of the street lamp. "I have a place," the hustler said, cocking his head towards the left. "Couple of blocks from here. We can walk if you want." Simon hesitated and the other man eyed him speculatively.

Banks, you are ten times the fool to trust this guy, Simon's police trained brain muttered. Everything he had ever been taught about situations like this crowded into his head and still he locked it all away, refusing to listen to the siren song that beckoned him to a safer course of action.

He slipped his glasses into his pocket and tipped his head back, letting the drizzle caress his face. It felt good and he rubbed one large hand over his eyes and mouth as if to press the rain into his skin.

"Hey."

Simon turned to his companion. "Ready to go?" the other man asked.

Banks could hear another question beneath the surface: Do you still want this? Make up your mind. He nodded and the two men walked into the night. No words passed between them as they walked although both men traded surreptitious glances until they came to a small apartment building that faced the bay. It had seen better days; the paint was peeling and the gutters needed work from what Simon could see by the streetlight.

A baby's cry, quickly cut off, greeted the two men when they opened the main door of the building. Anemic light in the hallway was provided by a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. The building was musty with age but fortunately lacking the underlying scent of urine that permeated so many of the older structures on the waterfront.

The hustler opened the first door on the left and flicked on the light, leaving Simon to follow him into the small apartment. The captain's practiced eye quickly took in the painfully neat studio apartment before looking at his 'host.' The other man hung his jacket on a hook near the kitchen.

"So," Simon began politely, "you have a name?"

A slight sneer twisted the other man's lips, marring the handsome face. "I guess this is where I would tell you that you could call me anything you want," he said sarcastically

"Not that I was hoping for any real intimacy," Simon replied, "but it would be nice to know who I was about to do the dirty with."

The softly voiced words must have hit home because the hustler frowned. "Name's Cord," he said gruffly. He stuck his hands in his pockets and regarded Simon boldy. "What's yours?"

"Simon."

Cord sauntered over to stand in front of the tall black man. For the first time, Simon noticed that he was a half a head taller than Cord but that didn't stop the other man from exuding a lambent animal magnetism that was almost irresistible.

"You don't usually pay for it, do you, Simon?"

"Uh, what?"

"I said, you usually don't pay for it," Cord replied. He cocked his head to one side and a stray lock of hair fell across his forehead. "In fact, I'm willing to bet this is your first time."

Simon resisted the impulse to step back. "Not exactly. I just have some things in my life right now that are a little hard to handle." He let out a breath that he didn't know he was holding when a warm hand landed on his chest above his heart.

"I can make it better for a little while," Cord said softly. He rubbed his hand in soothing circles. "If that's what you want."

"Yes."

Cord slid his hand up behind Simon's neck and pressed himself against the larger man. "Yes, what, Simon? Gotta tell me straight: is this what you want?"

As if in a dream, Simon found his arms sliding around Cord's waist. He swallowed. "I want this," he said. "I want you."

"Good choice." Cord stroked his fingers along the fine hairs of Simon's neck. "Got a preference?"

"How much?"

"I'm feeling generous. Tonight it's free."

Simon drew back to look at Cord. The other man's eyes shone bright with mischief and desire. "You sure?" he asked skeptically. Suddenly, a practiced hand stole between his legs to give his balls a knowing squeeze.

"I'm a big boy, Simon," Cord said. He nibble at Simon's earlobe before nipping it lightly. "Once in a blue moon, I feel like giving it away. It just so happens tonight's the night." He rubbed Simon's cock a little and felt it grow beneath his hand.

Somewhere in the back of Simon's brain, the last line of resistance fell in the face of Cord's assault. A small part of him mourned the inherent coldness of it all but somehow it didn't really matter. He'd never see this man again. And he needed to be touched, needed to be held.

He pulled back a little and shrugged out of his coat, letting it pool at his feet. Cord watched hungrily as Simon divested himself of his shirt and tie and stopped the other man when Simon began to take off his pants.

"We'll get to that," he purred. Cord slipped his hands up Simon's bare chest, lightly teasing his nipples before sliding his arms around Simon's neck. "There's one thing I want to do first," he said.

"What's that?" Simon asked breathlessly.

"Kiss you," Cord replied and proceeded to do just that, pressing his mouth against Simon's. He lightly flicked his tongue against the full lips and was rewarded when the other man opened his mouth. Cord swept his tongue inside the moist cavern, caressing the older man's tongue. When they finally broke apart, both men were breathing heavily.

"I thought..." Simon began and Cord nipped his bottom lip.

"You thought that whores didn't kiss," Cord finished for him. He ran his tongue over the nipped spot, soothing it.

"Well, yeah."

Cord looked up at Simon from beneath his lashes with a sweetly seductive smile. "I'm not you're average whore."


II.

Four months later: Friday afternoon:

Carlos Sanchez pushed the folder across the table to the black man sitting across from him. "This is the guy I wanted you to take a look at, Simon."

Captain Simon Banks of Cascade PD's Major Crimes division put down his napkin and picked up the file. He flipped it open and began to read. "He wants to transfer into Major Crimes," said Carlos. Simon lifted up another page and one elegant eyebrow shot upward.

"This is the guy who spent a year and a half in Peru?" he asked. Sanchez nodded and gestured to the file. "Ellison is one of the best I've ever had."

Simon put the file down and pushed it aside. "So what's wrong with him?" he asked.

"Wrong?"

"Carlos," Simon began, "One week into my new job and you ask me to lunch, a very nice lunch mind you. You bring me a file on one of your best men and ask me to give it a read." He leaned forward, one finger tapping the closed folder. "What's on your mind?"

The other man chuckled. "Can't get anything past you, Simon." Banks leaned back in his chair and shrugged.

"I've got a mind like a steel trap, or so I'm told. Now, give."

Sanchez sighed. "Ellison's been in Vice for about a year and a half; came in after losing his first partner out of the Academy."

"Ouch."

"Yeah, well, all that military training got him through. He's a real lone wolf, Simon. Works deep cover real well." Sanchez stopped and sipped his water. "Maybe a little too well. The last few busts," the captain of the Vice Squad paused. "Let's just say he's running a on pretty fine edge right now."

Simon sat back in his chair. "And you want to send this paragon of virtue my way for what reason?" he asked.

Carlos shrugged and said, "He thinks it's time to move on. I happen to agree with him. Figured I'd talk to you first before the transfer request hit your desk."

Simon's fingers tapped the folder again. "We've known each other a long time, Carlos; since the Academy. You know I don't like bullshit." He held up a hand when the other man began to speak. "I'm willing to take a look at your boy but I won't have any maverick screw up my department. I've got enough on my plate right now just trying to bring it up to speed. He either works with us or he's gone."

Carlos nodded. "Fair enough." He looked at his friend beseechingly. "He's a good man, Simon. Just give him a chance."

Simon sipped at his water and smiled. "That's all I can give him. The rest is up to Ellison."

Monday morning:

Simon sat back in his chair and rubbed his forehead as he adjusted the phone against his ear. "Joan, I don't have time for this now."

"When will you have time, Simon?" Joan Banks' rich contralto sounded tinny over the phone."Or is saving our marriage not a priority for you?"

He closed his eyes and counted to ten. Damn, the woman knew what buttons to push. "Joan, our family is a priority for me, you know that!" Simon said vehemently

"Do I, Simon?" Joan replied. "Once I thought that was true but now I'm not so sure." She sighed into the phone. "I think I want a trial separation."

"What?" Simon surged to his feet, scattering papers and folders from his desk. "What do you mean, you want a trial separation?"

"Just what I said. I'm going to stay at my mother's for a while..."

"What about Daryl?" Simon broke in. "Have you talked to him about any of this yet?"

Joan was silent for a moment. " No, but I think we ought to tell him together."

Oh, yeah, let's just dump this on him, too, Simon thought savagely. His stomach rolled at the thought of having to tell his son about this development but it wasn't as though Daryl hadn't figured out that his parents were having problems. Simon took a deep breath before speaking again. "Set up the time, Joan. I'll be there."

"Simon, I'm not trying to hurt you..."

He sat back in his chair heavily. "I said, I'd be there," Simon bit out. "Now, I need to go. I'll talk to you soon." He hung up the phone before she could say anything else then took off his glasses and rubbed his hands over his face. He felt like he wanted to cry but didn't know what for. Anticipated loss? It's not like the separation was all that much of a surprise but he still felt as though Joan had punched him in the guts.

Simon got down on his knees to pick up the spilled papers. As he was putting them back in order, there was a knock at the door. "Come in."

"Captain Banks?"

"Yes, what can I do for you?" Simon was reaching for a folder beneath his desk when he saw the tips of a pair of shoes appear in the space between the desk and the floor. For a moment, the harried captain thought about sliding beneath his desk and just staying there; it was that kind of day.

"I'm Jim Ellison." The folder was just out of Simon's reach but he could hear the baritone voice just fine. Finally, his long fingers snagged the edge of offending item and he pulled it toward him.

Just as he began to sit up, Simon whacked his head on the edge of his desk. "Shit."

"Are you alright, Captain?"

Closing his eyes against the brief pain, Simon said, "Give me a minute." He counted to ten, willing his head to stop hurting. Slipping the offending file on to his desk, he stood up, took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes a little. Finally, Simon turned. "What can I do..." His voice trailed off as he locked gazes with the man he had last seen four months before. This time there was no fog of alcohol for Simon to blame for his reaction. In the cold light of day, "Cord" or Detective James Joseph Ellison was still a very handsome and attractive man.

One who had been buried up to his balls in you not too long ago, his conscience supplied readily.

From the look in the other man's eyes, it was obvious that Ellison's mind was following a similar train of thought.

Simon ruthlessly thrust the thoughts away and once more became the consummate professional. "So, you're Ellison."

"Yes, sir."

The beleaguered police captain sat down at his desk and flipped open Ellison's file. It was essentially the same information he had perused before, except the notes from Ellison's last deep cover assignment had been added. Simon skimmed most of the details.

For all intents and purposes, "Cord Devareaux" made himself quite popular at Jack's. Popular enough to attract the head of one of Cascade's oldest crime bosses and become that man's favorite spice. Popular enough to become that same man's sometime confidant. It took some doing, but enough evidence was gathered to shut down Thomas Purcell's business dealing for a very long time.

Looking up from the folder, Simon took a little time to really look at his newest detective. The brown hair was a little shorter but not by much, and the silver hoop earring had been replaced by a sapphire stud. A hip length black leather coat topped a cobalt blue t-shirt. The Levi's were still tight but mercifully black as well, hiding Ellison's impressive package.

"Like what you see?"

The purring voice pulled Simon out of his examination. His eyes flicked up to Ellison's face just in time to see the slight smirk resting there.

Simon chose to ignore the deliberate prod. "Have a seat, Detective," he said.

Icy blue eyes met his own, then slid away. "I think I'll stand. Sir."

Simon shot Ellison a quick look. The slight hesitation before his title was not lost on the new captain of Major Crimes. "Be that as it may," Simon replied, "I don't feel like looking up at you. Sit down." He added just enough command voice to put the other man on notice that he wasn't in any sort of mood to mess around. He pulled a cigar out of his desktop humidor and clipped the end. Lighting it, he puffed on it slowly, his eyes never leaving the large man before him. Jim winced at the smoke but didn't say anything. Finally he sat down, every line in his body screaming defiance.

"Do you go by James or Jim, detective?"

"Jim will do. Only my father ever called me James."

Well, well, a bit of a sore spot, Simon thought. "All right, Jim," he said succinctly. "Why do you want to be in my department?"

"I need a change." The words were tinged with an air of arrogance; Jim might as well have been talking to a window for all the attention he paid to Simon.

Simon leaned forward on his desk and pinned the other man with his stare. "What, Vice isn't exciting enough for you? If that's the case, don't waste my time."

Ah, that got his attention. Simon watched the play of emotions wash across Ellison's face as his sarcastic words sank in. "I'd like to think my Vice record speaks for itself," Jim replied. "My arrest record is good and I think I can bring something to this department."

"Sounds good but I don't have room for hot dogs on my staff." Simon tapped the file with one finger, then stubbed out his cigar. "You have a good arrest record, or so it says here. But then paper can only tell me so much. I have to know that you can be depended on." He got out of his chair and walked around his desk and sat on the edge, looking down at the other. "You'll be assigned a partner..."

"I work better alone."

"Nobody works alone in my department, Ellison," Simon said as if the other man had never spoken. "Got a problem with that?"

Mutiny flared in Jim's eyes before he brought it under control. "No problem, sir."

"Good. I've got two cases for you to start on," Simon picked up two thick files from his desk and handed them to Jim. "Think you can work up some notes by tomorrow morning?"

Jim nodded. "Yes, sir. Is that all?"

This is going to be a thrill, Simon thought ruefully. "Yes, we're done here." He held out a hand. "Welcome to Major Crimes."

Jim shook it. "Thanks." He walked to the door and Simon walked back around his desk. Just before he opened it however, Jim stopped. "May I ask you a question, sir?"

Simon sat down and pulled a folder toward him. "Yes?"

"Are you still with her?"

The question caught Simon off guard. "What?"

Jim didn't turn around. "I asked you if you were still with her. Sir."

Simon stiffened angrily. "I really don't think that's any of your business, Ellison," he snapped.

"I take it that's a no," Jim shot back and walked out of the office, leaving Simon silent and stunned in his wake.


The characters of Jim Ellison and Simon Banks belong to Pet Fly Productions and Paramount. All other characters mentioned are the creation of the author. No copyright infringement is intended. This work is a piece of fanfiction and not being produced for profit.