Maybe it’s time, Shaw thought, and he wasn’t sure why the thought was both liberating and gut wrenching. Maybe it’s time.

Matty was looking at him, waiting. Matty wanted to touch him. Matty wanted to hold his hand. Matty wanted his help. It was more than want; it was need. And Shaw had never felt needed, not like this, not by someone so beautiful and vulnerable and present for him.

“Maybe I should go back to your place with you,” Shaw said, and his throat felt like it was packed with crumbled saltines. “You know, to make sure it’s safe.”

Matty’s head came up, and his smile was so open, so genuine, so full of surprised hope that it went through Shaw like a laser: just this perfect hole drilled straight to his heart. “Really? I didn’t want to ask because it seemed, I don’t know, forward.”

“Forward?” Shaw asked, and he actually laughed when Matty ducked his head in embarrassment.

“You know what I mean.”

Shaw thought he did. He was starting to think North was right. He was starting to think he’d been missing a lot of signals, wasting a lot of years, letting so many wonderful things slip through his grasp because he was too stupid to know when a game was over and lost and the teams packed up and gone home.

The front door to the office opened again, and footsteps moved through the inner office.

“I’m looking for Shaw,” came the voice.

“Sure,” Pari said. “Great. Fantastic. We’ve only had one million people in here today. Go on through. This might as well be—” Her voice rose shrilly as the footsteps moved toward the office. “—the Paris Peace Convention of 1946!”

It took a moment for Shaw to place the pretty face in the doorway. Then he remembered the taste of the whiskey sour. “Hey, Jake, right?”

“Jack.” He grinned, blushed, and jerked a thumb back at the front office. “Is it ok—”

“World Civ 2,” Shaw explained.

“Uh, right. Listen, I—oh. Sorry. You’re with somebody.”

Matty shifted, putting himself behind Shaw, his hand coming up to rest—not quite taking hold, just fingers brushing—on the back of Shaw’s arm.

“This is—” Shaw wasn’t sure why his face was heating, why he was suddenly stumbling. “A client. I’m sorry Jake—”

“Jack.”

“Did I—did my partner—”

“Oh, yeah. He just told me to pick you up around now for dinner.”

“He did?” And somehow, that clinched it: the fact that North felt so sorry for Shaw that he was sending strangers to their office made the decision final. Shaw was going to do what he wanted to do. He was going to take care of Matty.

Jack stared for a moment, and then he shook his head. “Oh my God, you didn’t even know.”

“Look, there was some kind of misunderstanding. I’ve got to help this client—”

“Oh my God,” Jack said again.

“You seem really nice—”

“Why did I think this was a good idea? Ok. I’m out.”