A PERFECT RENDEZVOUS

Cooperation

[WARNING- THIS CHAPTER MAYBE TRIGGERING. KINDLY KEEP CAUTION]

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Harry's hope that he'd bounce back from his sombre mood proved to be a little too optimistic this time. He was polite but preoccupied through most of their meal and now that Harry had cleared the dishes away, he was resorting to the underhanded but hopefully effective trick of trying to loosen Zayn up with wine. Harry had questions to ask, and he felt he had a better chance to get forthright, complete answers if Zayn were relaxed and his guard was down.

Leaning forward, he picked up the bottle and carefully refilled Zayn's glass for the fourth time, then he handed it to Zayn, congratulating himself on his subtlety.

Zayn looked from the wine glass to his face. "I hope you aren't trying to get me drunk," he stated drily, "because if you are, wine isn't the way to go about it."

"Shall I get the Scotch instead?" Harry said, stifling a nervous laugh.

Zayn stopped with the glass halfway to his lips, belatedly realizing that he had been deliberately trying to pour wine down him as fast as he could drink it as well as watching him with a strange look throughout most of the meal. "Am I going to need it?"

"I don't know."

With a feeling of vague foreboding, he watched Harry shift positions so that his back was against the arm of the sofa and he was facing Zayn. His opening question seemed like a joking and innocuous one: "Zayn, wouldn't you say I've been a model hostage?"

"Exemplary," he agreed, smiling a little at Harry's contagious humour and trying to match his mood.

"Wouldn't you also say I've been obedient, cooperative pleasant, orderly and—and that I've even done more than my share of the cooking?"

"Yes, to all but the 'obedient' part."

Harry smiled at that. "And as an exemplary prisoner, don't you agree that I'm entitled to certain ... well ... extra privileges."

"What do you have in mind?"

"Answers to some questions."

Harry watched his expression turn guarded. "Possibly. It depends on the questions."

A little unnerved by his un-encouraging response, Harry nevertheless forged ahead: "You do intend to try to find out who really killed your wife, don't you?"

"Ask another question," he said flatly.

"Okay. Do you have any ideas about who the murderer really is?"

"Try a different topic."

His unnecessary curtness grated on Harry, not only because loving him made Harry extremely sensitive to his attitudes, but because Harry honestly felt he was entitled to answers. Keeping his voice sincere and level, he said, "Please don't brush me off like this."

"Then please pick another topic."

"Will you stop being flippant and listen to me? Try to understand—I was away on a foreign-exchange college program when your trial took place. I don't even know exactly what happened, and I want to, very much."

"You'll find it all in your local library in old newspapers. Look it up when you get home."

Sarcasm was always guaranteed to rile Harry. "I don't want to read the media's version, damn it! I want to hear yours. I need to know what happened—from you."

"You're out of luck." He stood up, put his glass down, and held out his hand to Harry.

Harry stood up, too, so that Zayn didn't dwarf him and automatically started to put his hand in Zayn's, thinking it was a conciliating gesture.