We'll Meet Again

Chapter Nineteen: We'll Meet Again

Life grew comfortable for Vox and Alastor, though it was filled with the constant joy of one another's presence, it was more or less unremarkable. Alastor still picked his targets with care, striking with precision, and ran the radio station, keeping New Orleans informed and entertained. Vox settled rather comfortably into a housekeeping role while using some of his spare time and their combined wealth to continue building a little empire for them. They laughed at the comments about being the most eligible bachelors in Louisiana, mostly amused that no one noticed when they started wearing matching gold bands. They often reminisce on warm nights sitting close on the porch swing about how they met, laughing over their many awkward missteps. It felt like their love would last forever.

After Vox learned of Alastor's bitter side business, he dispensed with the subterfuge. If the time came to strike, he would come home from the station, tell Vox he was working late, and head off to do what needed to be done. Vox would kiss him, tell him he loved him, and beg that he be careful. Then while Alastor worked, Vox waited, sometimes reading, sometimes listening to music, but never sleeping. Many times over many years this ritual played out unchanged, so Alastor assumed it would be as he gathered the papers on his desk together, checked his pocket for the newspaper clipping, and left for home. He had already made arrangements to be off the next day, hoping to have a lovely day about town with Vox after sleeping in a bit from the late work. He moved up the steps of the house with a spring in his step. He announced he had arrived as he swept through the door, and Vox stepped out of the kitchen to meet him. They embraced in the entryway; their lips met with passion before Alastor created some space between them.

"I need to do some late work tonight."

Vox looked him over and sighed; he had grown to hate those words. They meant a night of restless worry and anxiety.

"Oh, of course. I made you some lunch; did you want to have that first?"

Alastor quirked a suspicious eyebrow at his longtime love. This was not a normal part of the ritual.

"I suppose I could have a bit before I start my preparations."

Vox urged him out of his coat and shoes and into the dining room. He rushed off to the kitchen to get the lunch he had genuinely been preparing for them. This feeling was different somehow, more desperate. It didn't feel like the normal building anxiety. He wasn't sure how Alastor would react to him if he suggested not doing this, but as he picked up the plate of food, he decided he was going to try. He placed the plate, a toasted half sandwich, and home fries, in front of Alastor and took his seat across the table with his plate. They ate in relative silence, which was uncommon for them. After a time, Alastor decided that whatever this tension in the air was, it needed to be addressed.

"Vox...what is the matter with you?"

He stiffened in his chair, for some reason feeling like a child with his hand in the cookie jar.

"I...um...well. I don't want you to go. Something feels off about this."

Alastor frowned, puzzled by the request.

"Vox, you know I have to do this. These situations have a window of opportunity that closes rapidly. It is tonight or never."

He lowered his fork back to the plate, home fries still pierced on the tines. Leveling his eyes on the man he loved, he allowed himself a full, deep breath before speaking.

"Maybe this one should be never then. I have never once asked you not to do this, Alastor, but I want you to stay home with me tonight. We can have a glass of rye, go to bed early, and spend tomorrow together. Please."

The surprise on Alastor's face was plain. Vox was right; all these years and all of the targets, he had never once asked Alastor to stay home. He considered it, but not for very long.