Special Episode: Golden Days
This episode is part of a larger story, Soft Touch. If you haven’t yet, you can go back and read it from the beginning right here.
Spencer desperately wants to turn around and look behind himself. But he’s afraid to, for a whole lot of reasons. And he wouldn’t be able to see anything, anyways. Not with the hood over his head.
The big man with his hand planted on Spencer’s back gives him a hard shove, sending him stumbling forward, forcing him to keep going. There’s a quiet conversation happening between the two goons, but with the fabric covering Spencer’s ears, it’s hard to make out what they’re saying.
He forces himself to focus and listen over the pounding of his own heartbeat.
“-tall one might know something,” one of the goons is murmuring to his comrade. “He had the plans for this building on him.”
“Could just be a break-in. We should find out before we take care of him. What about the short one? Do we need him for anything first, or should I take him out back right now?”
Spencer swallows down the horrified sound threatening to rise in his throat.
“Keep them both for now,” the first man answers. “We should go make sure we don’t have any other unwelcome guests on the property.”
“Fine. But it’s almost dawn. We should handle these two before then.”
“Works for me. Dawn it is.”
Spencer hears a door opened, and then he’s shoved forward. It was a harsh enough push to send him down to his knees. He hears stumbling footsteps behind him, someone else staggering into the room. The door is shut after them, and there's the heavy sound of someone locking it from the other side.
Silence falls.
Spencer stays there for a second, frozen with shock. Panting hard, struggling to breathe with the hood over his head.
“Floyd?” he gasps.
“I’m right here, buddy,” comes Floyd’s breathless answer, his words muffled beneath his own hood. “Come towards my voice.”
Spencer awkwardly staggers to his feet - difficult to do with his hands tied behind his back - and goes in the direction of Floyd’s voice until he bumps into him.
“Wait a minute, we can just shake these hoods off, right?” Floyd asks.
Spencer pauses, then experimentally tips forward, bowing and shaking his head until the hood slips off and falls to the ground by his muddy shoes. He looks up, blinking hard in the low light. Right as Floyd straightens up, doing the same thing.
Spencer looks down at Floyd, relieved beyond measure to see him. His short honey-blonde hair cascading a little over his forehead, his young face, his warm eyes. His way too big, perfectly round glasses. All of it is a relief to Spencer.
Floyd lets out a shaky breath, clearly relieved to see Spencer unhurt, too. The two of them both slump forward in relief, leaning against each other for a second.
Floyd turns around and puts his back to Spencer, holding out his tied-up wrists. Spencer starts undoing the bindings with trembling fingers, working as fast as he can.
“Okay,” Floyd says, still panting. “So - this got a little bit out of control, didn’t it?”
“A little b-bit out of c-control,” Spencer stammers, breathing very fast. “Little b-bit, yeah.”
He keeps his eyes on what he’s doing. Floyd is peering around the room they’re trapped in, already searching for a way out.
They’re in an office, simply but expensively furnished. The only light turned on is a lamp on the desk, giving the room a faint golden glow. Some moonlight makes it in through the windows, diffused through the heavy glass panes.
There’s only one door to the office. The one that was firmly locked after the goons left.
“Those bastards!” Floyd pants, shaking out his wrists before he spins around to untie Spencer’s. “How did they sneak up on us like that?”
“It’s their p-property we were s-sneaking around on, Floyd,” Spencer gasps, struggling to keep himself from going completely to pieces. “They know it better than we d-d-do!”
“Well, clearly you were right, Spence!” Floyd’s voice, unbelievably, fills up with excitement. “Something very illegal is going on here! And the boss told you to drop this story, that your theory wasn’t worth anything! Not bad for a junior reporter, is it?”
“Yeah, b-b-but - Floyd!” Spencer hangs his head. He wants to cry. “Is the p-payoff worth the p-price, in this situation?”
There’s a pause from behind Spencer. Floyd’s fingers stop their movements.
“Alright, just - it’s okay, Spencer. It’s gonna be okay. How do we get out of here?” Floyd finishes untying Spencer’s hands, then turns to stare around at the half-lit office, pushing his blonde curls back from his temple. “There must be - must be something. Come on, help me find it.”
They split up and start feverishly searching the office, looking for their way out. Feeling out the well-built, sturdy walls, the solid windows.
Floyd tries all of the drawers in the desk. But they’re locked, and even the full force of both Spencer and Floyd leaning back on the handles doesn’t budge them.
Floyd starts rifling through the stuff on the desk, searching for a key, something, anything.
“We’ve still got some time before dawn!” He turns to the bookshelf set against the back wall, starts looking through the shelves. “There must be-”
Floyd breaks off sharply, having glanced over his shoulder and caught sight of Spencer.
He’s sitting on the floor, his back against the wall. The instant Floyd catches the expression on his face, he flies across the room to Spencer like the wind picked him up and threw him there.
“Hey! Just take a breath!” He drops down to one knee in front of Spencer, taking him by his shoulders. “Don’t-”
“Floyd,” Spencer rasps, looking into his eyes. “We’re - we’re going to d-die, aren’t we?”
Floyd stares at Spencer, his blonde eyebrows furrowed, then bites his lip.
He slowly sits down beside Spencer on the floor, leans his back against the wall, and loosens his tie.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I - I think we are, Spence.”
There’s a heavy silence. Floyd and Spencer don’t look at each other, or say anything.
“Fuck,” Floyd murmurs softly, after a moment. “I wish I could say goodbye to Nellie.”
Spencer’s mind goes to Floyd’s big, brown-eyed Rottweiler, named for Nellie Bly. Currently waiting for Floyd back at his apartment. On the rug by the door, as always.
The image stabs right through the center of Spencer’s heart.
“I don’t b-b-believe this,” he blurts out, nearly in tears. “I can’t b-believe - Floyd, I’m so sorry, this - this is all m-my fault!”
This isn’t even a story that Floyd was working on. This was Spencer’s story, and he’d dragged Floyd into the investigation.
Floyd didn’t even want to come. When Spencer walked up to him tonight, he so exhausted that he was nearly asleep at his desk, right there in the bullpen of the newspaper office. When Spencer asked him to come along, Floyd dramatically dropped over his typewriter and somehow managed to type out GO AWAY using only his nose, which Spencer had thought was impressive.
But as soon as Spencer filled him in - an investigation, some sneaking around, a big fancy house outside of town routinely receiving suspicious, large-scale shipments - Floyd lit up with excitement, the lightning crackling in his eyes.
There’s no way around it. Floyd wouldn’t be here right now, if it wasn’t for Spencer.
“This is all m-my f-fault,” Spencer stammers again, so crestfallen he can barely speak. “It’s b-because of me…”
He falters into silence, all out of words.
Floyd reaches out and gently squeezes Spencer’s upper arm.
“It’s okay,” he says softly, his voice no less warm than it’s ever been with Spencer. “Hey. Seriously. It’s not your fault, not really. You had no way of knowing this was gonna happen.”
Spencer finally lifts his eyes to Floyd’s face. He stares at him, dumbfounded.
A rush of painful gratitude rises up in him, burning hot, followed by a tidal wave of unbelievable guilt. He can barely look into Floyd’s enormous eyes.
Spencer has been subjected to a lot of cruel laughter in his life. That’s accounted for most of the laughter he’s known, actually. Right up until he met Floyd, on his first day at the paper. Another one in the group of young new recruits, with a junior reporter’s badge.
On that first day, Floyd laughed with Spencer, never at him. That alone was enough to make something deep in Spencer’s soul sob with gratitude.
But then he found that Floyd wanted to take lunch breaks with him, grab dinner with him after work. Wanted to hear all of his theories about everything. Spencer shyly started to tell him, starting with the tamest ones, preemptively flinching every time. Waiting for some hint to turn up in Floyd’s voice that would reveal how he was actually making fun of Spencer, listening and nodding sarcastically.
But no hint ever did turn up. In fact, Floyd would go off and do more research on his own, then come back around to enthusiastically discuss the new information with Spencer. And he had theories of his own, some of them miles past the wildest things that Spencer’s ever dreamed up.
They can talk for hours and hours on end. They argue all the time, but Spencer loves it. It’s never nasty or cold. It has no malice at its heart.
They both tend to stay at the office way later than everyone else. Neither of them is interested in going out to the bars with the rest of the young guys from work, who hit them almost nightly in the hope that some pretty girls will be hanging around.
Floyd always passes on going because he doesn’t care about that kind of thing. Spencer, because he’s never had any success with that kind of thing, anyways.
Eventually, though, it was because they would rather be with each other. Researching and debating, bringing back takeout food, helping each other with their stories or investigations. Talking until their bodies gave up in exhaustion and they both passed out at their desks.
It’s been a big change for Spencer. Things have been lonely, up until now. Usually the only reasons that cause people to come up to him are bad ones, and he can see it in their eyes. He’s miserable preemptively by the time they get there.
But every time Spencer sees the shortest staff member at the office excitedly weaving his way across the bullpen towards him, an immense smile rises on his face. He knows it won’t be anything bad.
Even now, when Floyd has all the reason in the world to go cold on Spencer, his voice and words are still warm.
It’s almost incomprehensible to Spencer. He can’t wrap his head around it. People have been cruel to him over so, so much less.
Spencer always thought that if he ever had a friend, a real friend, he would do everything humanly possible to make them not regret that choice.
Now here’s Floyd, the best and only friend Spencer has ever had. He finally got one, after all this time. And what did he do? Made a fatal mistake that’s going to cost both of them everything.
Spencer drops his forehead onto his knees, taking two fistfuls of his black hair.
“No,” he moans softly, his voice breaking. “I n-never wanted you t-to regret it.”
Floyd blinks at him in faint confusion, his thoughts clearly on something else. “Regret what?”
“Wh-?” Spencer’s head snaps up, his eyes wide. “How d-do you not know what I’m t-talking abou-?”
“Look, Spencer - they know you know something,” Floyd cuts in abruptly, all in a rush. “You had the building plans on you. They’re not gonna let you go. I might be able to talk my way out of this, but you can’t, no matter what. So - maybe I should try to distract them. Then you can try to get away, and - make a run for it?”
For a long moment, Spencer stares at Floyd in blank-faced disbelief.
“Are you serious?” he finally manages, the stutter shocked out of his voice. “You know I’m not gonna be able to get back with help in time!”
“But you could get away-”
“You’ll die, Floyd!”
“Probably, yeah, but at least I’d have a chance! And… come on, Spence.” Floyd shakes his head helplessly. “Would you really rather die here with me? Wouldn’t you rather survive? I think you probably know the answer.”
“I - I don’t know.” Spencer’s body trembles with an indrawn, sobbing breath. “Can I have a moment to think about it?”
Floyd tilts his head to the side, taken aback. “Are you serious?”
“Yes, goddamnit!”
“Okay…” Floyd draws his head back, staring at Spencer with startled eyes. “I just - thought that question had a pretty obvious, easy answer.”
“Not for me.” Spencer wrenches his tie loose, trying to breathe. “Not if it means that you… Floyd, I was going to - trying to find a way to talk to you - about - to tell you-”
He cuts himself off, pale in the face. He can’t believe what he was about to say out loud, but…
With death right around the corner, things suddenly seem a lot more simple to Spencer. He knows now that he can’t die without saying this, at least once.
“Tell me what?” Floyd asks, his head slightly tipped to the side, blonde hair falling over his glasses.
Spencer looks at him, then stares straight ahead at the wall, his heart pounding. “That I - l-love y-y-you.”
Floyd looks at him with his eyebrows knitted, waiting for more, then stirs in surprise when he realizes that’s all.
“Oh,” he says, and affectionately clasps Spencer’s shoulder. “I love you too, man.”
Spencer turns his head to stare at him, thrown off - then suddenly gets it. He thought maybe Floyd suspected, but clearly he didn’t. He doesn’t know, because it’s just not something he experiences. He’s got the sharpest mind Spencer has ever found on anyone, but about this, he’s in the dark.
Even now, he looks faintly bewildered, like he’s not sure he’s following this conversation.
“N-no, Floyd,” Spencer stammers. He takes off his glasses and starts polishing them on his shirt. His vision goes too fuzzy to clearly see Floyd, which is the only thing that enables him to keep going. “I - I meant - I know you’re not interested in being with anyone, and - I know you won’t love me back like that, but still, I…”
“Love you back like-? Oh.” Floyd’s voice grows softer, full of surprise. “Oh.”
There’s a long, precarious pause. Spencer is frozen with fear, his heart thundering against his ribcage.
“Spence, I mean… you know how I feel about that stuff. I told you-”
“Yeah, but I’ve thought about it, and I don’t care,” Spencer blurts out hoarsely, speaking very fast, tears running over the scorching hot blush in his cheeks. “Not if you don’t. If it’s only from my side, that’s okay with me. I thought maybe you could just - let me love you, if it’s not annoying. I - I just wanted us to stick together. That’s all I was gonna ask, was for you to say you’ll stick with me...”
He falters into silence, and the silence holds. Floyd doesn’t answer. Doesn’t say a word.
Spencer keeps his glasses off for as long as he can, then drags his sleeve over his eyes, slowly puts them back on, and risks a fast little glance at Floyd.
Floyd is staring at him, his eyebrows knitted. His eyes are deep in thought, and also wide with surprise.
“Don’t…?” he begins slowly, then stops, shaking his head, staring into Spencer’s eyes. “Don’t you want to wait for someone who can love you back the same way? Won’t you feel like something’s - missing?”
Spencer draws back sharply.
He had no way of knowing how Floyd would react, but this wasn’t even on the long list of potentials he’d mentally written out. That Floyd might think he wasn’t a good enough option for Spencer? It’s so backwards from what Spencer expected that it leaves him speechless for a moment.
“No,” he insists, as soon as he wraps his head around it. “No!”
“You seriously wouldn’t care that I’d be loving you as a friend?”
“That’s still love, isn’t it?” Spencer looks earnestly at Floyd, hoping he can see just how much he means it. “I’ve thought about it a lot. I’d b-be happy, if you w-would.”
Floyd nibbles his lip, leans his blonde head back against the wall, and looks at Spencer thoughtfully. “What would I have to do different?”
“Nothing.” Spencer is half in a daze, unsure if this conversation is really happening. “I - might do some stuff differently, but you can tell me if it’s bothering you.”
Floyd slowly turns his gaze to the wall across from them, deep in thought. He runs a hand over his jaw, shifting the shadows of the half-lit room.
“I - I think I’d like that,” Floyd says slowly, not looking at Spencer. “I’ve - wondered who’s gonna stick with me. In the long term. If I’m not going to love them back in the way we’re talking about. But - you would, Spence? You’d stick with me?”
He looks at Spencer, almost - hopefully.
Spencer nods at him, a little breathless, in something like shock. “Yes.”
Floyd breaks into a small, bright smile. Spencer stares at him, in complete, total disbelief.
“Hang on, that’s why you’ve been looking at me like that?” Floyd’s smile slowly breaks into a big, full-on grin. “I feel like I should take it as a compliment.”
“Go ahead, that’s the right instinct,” Spencer says dazedly, to a little laugh from Floyd. “But yeah, that’s why. Can’t help it. I thought you’d probably have figured it out on your own.”
Floyd shrugs helplessly, still smiling. “I mean, I saw something, and I see it now, but - that stuff is all a mystery to me.”
“Well, isn’t that your favorite thing? A mystery?”
“Yeah, man.” Floyd affectionately squeezes his arm, smiling up into his face. “Exactly.”
Very slowly, Spencer turns to stare at the wall. He can’t believe that Floyd thought he’d feel like something was missing. He’s never been so happy in all his life as he is at this moment.
And then, out of nowhere, it strikes him that his life expectancy has shortened dramatically over the course of the last few hours.
Floyd seems to remember at the same time. The bright smiles fall from both of their faces. As one, they look up at the windows, then turn to look at each other. Dawn is coming.
“Hey,” Floyd says, in a quiet, shaky voice. “Whatever’s on the other side - at least we’ll find out together, right?”
Spencer runs a trembling hand over his face, hesitates, then laces his fingers through Floyd’s.
“Is this okay?” he asks hoarsely, and Floyd nods.
“Yeah. I need it too, right now.”
Spencer squeezes his fingers, and Floyd drops his head, takes in a trembling breath.
Spencer honestly can’t believe this. Just when he finally found a little happiness for himself… and that Floyd is going to go down, too… he can’t bear this.
“No, there - there must be something we can do,” he blurts out desperately. “There must have been something in the case file I compiled-”
Floyd lets out a tired laugh, his head hanging, honey-blonde hair falling into his eyes. “I love that that’s where your brain went, but I don’t think in this case the file is gonna be any h…”
He trails off. His head snaps up, his eyes alight behind his glasses, blazing with some new idea.
“Spence… the building plans that you copied over for the case file - didn’t they show a garage underneath the first floor of the house?”
Spencer’s eyebrows shoot up. “You actually read all the way to the building plans?”
“Where was the door to the garage?”
Spencer falls silent, casting his mind back over those building plans.
Where was the door leading to the garage, in those plans? There was one that went directly from the garage into the entryway, and one more, too…
Spencer scrambles to his feet and looks out of the windows at the night landscape on the other side. It’s blurred by the thick glass, but he can see enough to get his bearings as to where they are in the house.
“The garage door, it was…” He turns slowly to the wall with the bookshelf, then points at it, baffled. “Right there.”
Floyd stares at Spencer, then leaps upright and rushes over to the bookshelf.
“Maybe there’s a secret lever, or a button!” he says excitedly, running his hands over the spines of the books. “Do you think if we take one of these out, there’ll-?”
He breaks off as Spencer shoves the bookshelf aside, revealing a regular door in the wall hidden behind it.
“Oh,” Floyd says, with obvious disappointment. And then, with sudden delight - “Oh!”
He and Spencer exchange a wide-eyed glance. Floyd tries the doorknob, and the latch easily clicks open, revealing a set of stairs leading down.
Spencer gasps softly, and Floyd nearly sinks to the floor.
They’re getting out.
Unable to stop himself, Spencer bends down almost double and wraps his arms around Floyd. He hugs him tightly from behind, resting his cheek on the top of his head.
Floyd doesn’t seem to mind it. He’s still beaming at the dark staircase, his shoulders sagging with relief.
Spencer gives him a squeeze, then lets him go. He races after Floyd down the stairs, his heart singing, his nerves going wild.
He and Floyd stop breathlessly at the bottom of the stairs. Floyd unlocks it, and they both peer around the corner into the garage.
There’s a shiny car parked there. Someone clearly just went into the house through the other door in a hurry. They left a file folder, their car keys, and a takeout bag from Pup ‘N’ Taco on the tool bench against the garage wall.
But the garage itself is empty, the door left wide open.
“Floyd!” Spencer hisses, as he darts in not the direction of the open garage door.
“Come on, Spence!” Floyd snatches up the file folder, turns around, and holds it out. “Look at this and memorize everything you can! The break in your story might be in here somewhere!”
“My story? Forget my story, Floyd, it doesn’t matter! Let’s just get out of here before they decide we’re worth tracking down-”
“Of course it matters!” Floyd cuts in, bewildered. “It’s - it’s your story!”
Spencer stares at him, really glad that he doesn’t have to hide the love in his eyes anymore.
He rushes forward and snatches the file from Floyd. They can’t take it with them. Two random, unknown intruders who got away are probably dealt with very differently from two random, unknown intruders who got away with important information. But he scans his eyes over everything, reading as fast as he can, mentally noting down dates and times and names and places -
Voices from overhead.
Floyd snatches back the file and tosses it onto the tool bench. “Time’s up! Let’s get the fuck out of here!”
“For god’s sake, leave the Pup ‘N’ Taco bag, Floyd!”
“I’m hungry, aren’t you?”
“Oh my god, come on!”
They rush over to the garage door and peer outside. The grounds on the expensive property are silent, seemingly empty. Crickets are chirping amidst the lavishly-maintained gardens, the trees with their summer blossoms. Spencer can hear the splash of a fountain running somewhere.
Floyd and Spencer look at each other, then silently go sprinting out into the night.
Well. Floyd is sprinting. Spencer is taking it at half of his maximum clip, so he doesn’t outpace him. Every terrified instinct wants him to run as fast as he can, but he’s just not going to do that. There’s no way he’s leaving Floyd behind, even temporarily.
His heartbeat is racing in his ears, stumbling at every crack of a snapping twig beneath his shoes. With every panted breath he takes, he’s waiting for someone to shout or shoot.
But neither sound comes. The first sunbeams of dawn spill down onto Spencer and Floyd as they hop the fence and run for the car.
Spencer wants to drop to the ground in relief, but he makes himself keep going until he’s slamming the passenger’s side door closed behind himself.
Floyd sticks the keys in the ignition. The wheels grind against the mud, and then they’re off, tearing down the forested road as dawn slowly paints its colors into the sky.
Neither of them moves or speaks for a minute or two, not until the big house and all of its associated private property are far behind them.
Then Spencer looks at Floyd in the rosy-blue, slow-growing sunlight, and Floyd looks back at him.
They both burst into relieved, stunned laughter. Floyd shakes his head, lighting up a joint, and Spencer sinks down in his seat, pushing his hands into his black hair.
“Oh, man!” he blurts out, unable to stop himself. “And the paper said there was no story here!”
“Well, it’s a story of real consequence, so they probably don’t want to print it.”
“God, you’re right,” Spencer groan-laughs, taking big, deep, life-giving breaths of cool air. “They’ll probably throw it out and ask me to do a piece on - I don’t know. How science fiction is corrupting today’s youth.”
Floyd laughs, too, then groans. “Maybe the day they ask you to write that piece is the day we should finally walk out and start up our mystery bookshop.”
Spencer turns his head to look at him, lets out a shy laugh. “I can never tell if you’re being serious about that.”
“Sure I am, Spence!” Floyd says brightly, the wind rolling through his curls, smoke curling up from the joint. “We’ll get a place and live above it together. Run the shop together. Start a newsletter, or something.”
Spencer is smiling so hard that his cheeks hurt. “Really?”
“It’ll be absolutely dynamite, trust me! You know Port Sitka, that tiny little town where I was investigating the Botswick case before they threw me off it? I was thinking we should go there to set up our bookshop. Or somewhere nearby, like Greenrock. It’s a beautiful area. I think you’d like it.”
Spencer stares at him, his heart pounding hard all over again. “I - I didn’t know you’d given it so much thought.”
“Because I’m serious.”
Spencer is having a hard time letting himself hope that high. Floyd can definitely tell.
“Yes, Spence, we’re doing it! I mean - if that’s what you want, too.” Floyd takes his eyes off of the road just long enough to cast a nervous smile at Spencer. “But we said we’d stick together, right? It’s you and me?”
Spencer nods, still in disbelief. His eyes are welling up, but he’s smiling.
He starts to reach out, pauses, then moves quickly, before he can think too hard about it. He gently runs a hand over Floyd’s soft, honey-blonde hair, smoothing his curls back from his forehead. Then he hastily drops his hand back into his lap, working his thumb into his palm. His fingers are trembling, full of electricity.
Floyd looks over at him, blinking in surprise, then glances down at his shaking fingers.
Spencer’s cheeks start to burn. “Was that too much?”
“No,” Floyd says thoughtfully. “Just - not used to it, I guess.”
“Did you hate it?”
“No. Actually, it made me happy, but in a roundabout way. ‘Cause I can see it made you happy.” Floyd narrows his eyes at Spencer. “Why, I honestly don’t get.”
“You don’t have to get it. I’m still gonna give it.”
Floyd laughs, wrenching his tie off and tossing it in the backseat. “Go on and get some sleep. We’ve got a long drive back. I’m gonna pull over soon and take a nap, myself. Soon as we get some distance.”
Spencer doesn’t want to sleep, but he settles down into the seat, realizing he’s not going to have a choice. The adrenaline is wearing off fast. Deep exhaustion crashes down on him all at once, shuts his eyelids for him.
But his heart is glowing.
He falls silent, taking slow breaths, waiting for sleep to take him away.
Then he goes perfectly, completely motionless as Floyd gently, experimentally smooths a hand over his black hair, the same way Spencer just did to him.
Spencer holds his breath until Floyd’s warm fingers fall away.
He opens his eyes a tiny bit. He finds Floyd looking down at his own hand, almost as if he’s waiting for something to happen.
After a moment he shrugs to himself, like he doesn’t get it. But his eyes are bright with interest and curiosity, the way he always looks when faced with some kind of mystery.
Spencer falls asleep smiling. He dreams of golden days ahead.
Him, and Floyd, and their bookshop.
Want to leave a comment? I would love it if you did, and you can do so on the Tapas episode!