Chapter 5: Part 1

“I overreacted,” Sebastian raised both arms up, miming innocence, “I didn't mean to upset you, I am sorry Theo.”

“Better,” Thomas took off his glasses, with lenses square and thick as his thumb. He liked to use them as a prop, especially if it allowed him to see everyone through a blur. Sebastian knew Thomas never to be the one to confront the faces of friends with both hard words and clear sight.

“Better…” Sebastian folded his arms, “let's hear it then.”

“Well, you can't say that she was upset.”

“What do you mean? She was upset.”

“Sure. but maybe explaining what happened, and trapping Theo in an emotion are two separate things.”

“You may be over thinking this Thomas.”

“I’m with Seb.” a rotund man, with a mustache large enough to hide a squirrel, eased his bulk into the seat on Sebastian’s left. The three men still wore their ceremonial whites from this morning, but their favorite brewery kept the air icy cold, a sanctuary from the southern heat wave that had decided to wage war on Sebastian’s waning temperament.

Weston passed out the first round, a set of crisp shandies, “We are overthinking this boys. Theoline will take some time to rally, and when she comes back, just say you're sorry!” he paused to take a draft from the lemony scented beer, captioned by a practically ritualistic swiping of the remnant drops that clung to his red whiskers.

Sebastian resisted the urge to prod a question at the larger man hair dyeing routine. He and Thomas both knew to steer well enough away from the topic, given the last bout of silent treatment Weston had laid upon them. Some things were meant to go by without comment, like the sensitive giant’s gratuitous treatment of his waning crop of hairs.

Thomas huffed, “I don't care for this sweet drink.”

“A bitter man for bitter beer.” Weston made to take away his friend’s glass, but Thomas hugged the drink close instinctively.

Sebastian watched the two, unfolding his stiff arms and wrapping a sweaty hand around the frosty glass. He felt the coals in his chest glow with a new warmth.

This is all to do with that woman…

“Let's talk about the real issue here,” Sebastian kept his voice carefully soft, “what I would love to know, as if Thomas actually brought a plus one to my wife's funeral.”

The lanky man flinched, gushing a mouthful of mouth-warmed beer back into his glass. Weston stared at both men, his forehead a spitting image of the fissures set into the Grand Canyon.

Thomas looked to be squeezing his eye glasses to the point of breaking, “Well, he was just in the area, and-”

Sebastian roared a laugh, clapping his hand onto Thomas shoulder, “I like his look, brother, Holly would have been happy for you.”

“A handsome catch!” Weston said, raising his glass.

Thomas spluttered through something incoherent and touched his own cup to theirs.

“About time,” Weston said, “you took a while there, but we couldn't be happier for you.”

The lanky man turned a shade of red ironically similar to the fire Sebastian had sequestered away for later. His thoughts swirled with images of Holly and he gave Thomas a squeeze at the shoulder, “you are the most thoughtful man I know. This new guy? He's one lucky bastard. I tell you, if I wasn't a straight myself…”

Thomas chuckled and shook off Sebastian’s grip, “Well -uh, we’ll where this one goes, yeah?”

They settled into a comfortable silence, watching the mass of rebel risk patrons from their perch in the mezzanine.

“Can I be blunt with you boys?” Sebastian hesitated, the next thought attempting to lock itself away on instinct.

“Don’t do that.” Weston waggled his prodigious mustache mockingly.

Thomas eyed Sebastian and shook his own head, already guessing at what was coming next with experienced ease, “No, we can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Engram would fall to pieces, Seb.”

Weston became serious as stone at the mention of the company, “What's he spouting on about?”

Sebastian sighed. His head of security had this grating habit to hurl whatever made up that warmth, that radiant component of quality friendships, into a deep pit. Now, something more formal and foreign remained in his place.

“Ease up now, Sir Weston Gile,” Thomas rocked back on his seat, looking down his nose at the table, “Sebastian just wants to fire our director of Research and Development.”

Weston coughed, “Why?! She may have crossed you today Seb, I understand you have your grievances, but everything would grind to powder without Zoya. She's like a genius.”

“Like a genius the same way a nuke is like a firecracker. She is a genius,” Thomas said, “but she broke her word to Seb. She talked to Theo today.”

Weston turned a disbelieving eye to Sebastian, “you can't fire someone for wanting to pay their respects.”

“Fucking watch me.”