Chapter Text
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is youhere is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars aparti carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)
'It was a strange thing to be born with numbers on your wrist. Words and symbols are far more common. Soul identifying marks is what they are called. It was the mark to draw you to your true love. All touch seems muted in till the day you touch your soul. For the poor souls who were born with numbers, the subtle sensations of touch are never realized. The day that we all dream of is lost to them...'
Phil scoffed at the paper and then at the mark on his own wrist. As one of the few in the country to be born with a number he ran as far as he could from his hometown. People looked at him with pity, most of the ones with a number died alone. There was no context, no understanding of what the numbers meant. That all changed when Phil was thirty three, the first couple to find each other with numbers made international news. It was two NYPD officers, the numbers being each on the other's badges. Soon after there was a push for the police, the government, for somebody to register all of the badge numbers. The city of San Francisco took the lead.
“THE CITY TO BE THE FIRST TO CATALOG ALL BADGES!”
With a final glance at the headline of the article he was reading, Phil threw the paper in the trash bin. Just as he stood to close up shop for the day, his phone rang. He heard the muted click of the operator connecting the line,
“Marlowe.”
“Hey Phil.” Ybarra's voice came over the line, slightly muffled by static. He sounded exasperated. Phil chuckled hearing the tone in his friend's voice,
“Heya Ybarra. What can I do for you?”
“I was wondering if you wanted to grab a drink? I've about had it with the station. All anyone can talk about is this damn mark thing.”
“Our usual spot?”
“I'll be there in five”
Phil hung up with a smile, pulled out of his dour mood at the thought of good whiskey and company.
Their usual spot is a quiet bar on the corner between Phil's office and the police station. It wasn't much to look at, dull brown exterior with an equally drab sign. But it was small, quiet, and well kept. In the low lights, the bar always gleamed with polish and the glasses sparkled without a spot on them. It had a few tables and three booths. They had claimed the corner booth some time ago, coming here for drinks almost nightly. Just as Phil settled into their normal booth, Ybarra came through the door. With a wave, Ybarra sat down next to Phil.
“It's all anyone can talk about right now.” Ybarra groused as he sat down. “Ben couldn't keep his mouth shut. Talking about how now maybe people with numbers won't die alone after all.” Ybarra thumped his head on the table. Although they were close friends, they had never spoken of their marks with each other.
“There are so few of us with numbers why would they even bother? Hell, only three other officers in my station have numbers.”
Phil couldn't quite help himself,
“Did any of them match?”
Before Ybarra could answer, another thing he said dawned on Phil,
“Other?”
Ybarra flinched, he didn't like talking about his mark.
“Two of them. And before you ask, no it wasn't me. It was the new operator, Sally, I think her name is, and Anderson.”
Phil chuckled at that.
“Good, Anderson could use a woman's touch in his life.” Phil looked very carefully at his glass before asking, “Do you want to talk about yours?”
Ybarra scoffed before asking sarcastically, “Do you?”
Without responding, Phil rolled his sleeve up to reveal the neatly typed black number with off-white lines of faded scars around it on his wrist. The scars were jagged and surrounded the numbers in what looked like an attempt to cut them out. It's believed that the way the mark is imprinted on your body is a reflection of your soulmate
Phil always felt the clinical blocky look to his spoke of someone with a neat and orderly life, that even if he found his mate they wouldn't want him. Wallowing in his own self-pity, he didn't see Ybarra’s eyes widen.
“I don't talk about it because I'm certain of two things. One, I'll never find them, and two, even if I did they wouldn't want me. See how clean this is, no way somebody like that would want this.”
Phil gestured to himself dismissively.
Phil looked at Ybarra when he cleared his throat.
“Can I see your license?”
With a puzzled look, Phil pulled it out of his inner coat pocket. He handed over to Ybarra with a question on his lips. Ybarra took a careful look at it,
“This your handwriting?”
Phil nodded, still unsure about what was going on.
Without another word, Ybarra put his badge on the table and bared his forearm to Phil's confused look. There on Ybarra's arm, in the slanted, shaken writing of his first day as a Private investigator, was his number. His mark bared the dark blue of the pen that Phil used to fill out his license.
Needing confirmation, Phil looked down at his badge. The pressed typography that all badges were minted with seemed to mock him. Phil almost felt betrayed by it. He was so convinced that he was going to die alone that the joy of finding his chosen mate was absent.
Phil looked to Ybarra, wondering how he was doing with all this. Between all of his time in the army and then in the police force, having a male partner couldn't have sat easily with him. Phil didn't mind. One more thing that made him odd in the world he lived in.
With a clipped laugh, Ybarra said, “Well, I guess you ought to call me James now.”
Phil felt his mouth open and shut a few times before any words came out.
“That's all you have to say?” Phil damned near shouted. A few of the other patrons of the bar turned to look at him. Phil took a few breaths before he spoke again. “You seem okay with this.”
Ybarra just shrugged his shoulders.
“Not something we can do anything about. I grew up thinking that I would die alone. I'm sure you did too, numbers being so rare. I'll freak out if I think about it more. For now, I want to finish my drink and go home with you. Or take you home with me. I just need company right now. Deeply held beliefs being disproved isn't something to face alone”
He handed Phil back his license, being careful not to touch him. They hadn't touched before but now they were making an effort not to. Phil moved a little further away so Ybarra had room to move about. They both finished their whiskeys and stood. Phil twisted his hat in his hands, waiting on Ybarra.
“I invited you out, let me pay the tab. Mine or yours?” Phil almost resented how easy it was for him to take care of him knowing what they were supposed to be, but as he thought about it, Ybarra had always taken care of him. Buying him dinner, showing up when and where Phil needed him, no matter the time of day. Helping him break into that apartment....Phil made up his mind then.
“Yours. I think I'm going to handle this better.”
With a small smile, Ybarra nodded and went to the counter, bill in hand. They carefully climbed into Ybarra's car and took off for the suburbs.
“You know, when that couple made the splash on the papers, Anderson and Jones showed each other their marks. I didn't want to know. I'm not sure how I feel now that I do. My mother cried on my tenth birthday. That's when my mark appeared. Between it being a number and the age gap, she told me to put it out of mind and build my own life. She didn't want....” Ybarra stopped speaking, shaking his head. Phil filled the silence with his own story,
“Being born with it makes for awkward conversions. When I got to school, I asked my parents why others weren't marked like me. My teachers looked at me in pity. Nobody would talk to me about it. So I stopped asking at thirteen. When I was seventeen, my dad told me to never get close. That I would die alone just like the rest of the number baring freaks. He tried to cut it out of me. Said that it would be better to have no mark than one that will haunt me for the rest of my life. My mother disowned me, said I would never give her the family she wanted and to just leave. I fled to San Francisco that day and never looked back.”
Phil watched as Ybarra's hand tightened on the steering wheel as he spoke. His anger at Phil's parents is visible in the tight line of his jaw. Phil told him this because he wanted Ybarra to understand what he was getting into. He was just a lonely, broken man. Phil didn't want that for him. Didn't want this strong man pulled down because of him. Phil watched what happened when the soul mark seemed to be wrong. The destruction and anger it brings.
“Jeez, Phil. That's a tough break. My folks just didn't want me hurt.”
He killed the car in a driveway in front of a small one bedroom house.
“Welcome to Casa Ybarra.” They both piled out of the car at his dry words.
The house was small, neatly decorated. There were a few trophies on the fireplace and more than a few plaques on the wall. Phil studied them carefully, seeing years of service reflected. He knew Ybarra to be a dedicated man, he was by Phil's side whenever he needed him. To see that the city saw that as well was, oddly, a relief for him. Ybarra came into the living room with a tumbler of whiskey in each hand. He put one on the end table to Phil's right and took a step back to drink his own. Upon seeing what Phil was looking at, he offered,
“My army medals are locked in my bedroom closet. I try to not think about the war too much. But I'll show them to you if you'd like.”
The ten years between them almost felt like a lifetime with that statement. He shook the thoughts loose.
“What should we do about this?” Phil gestured to his wrist, unsure of how he felt, of how Ybarra felt. Ybarra looked at his arm in thought. After another long drink, Ybarra spoke,
“Well, I figure there are only two things we can do. We can ignore it. We both are already committed to the idea of dying alone. Or we can touch each other and see what happens.”
He let out a weary laugh.
“When those officers made the paper, some part of me had hoped it would be another cop. Someone who understands the job, why I'd be gone so much. In my weaker moments, I pictured a pretty blonde. Someone I could have kids with, build a family with.” Ybarra drained the rest of his drink in one go. He eyed Phil carefully.
“You've been quiet about this. Your only outburst was at my reaction, not the situation. What do you think, what do you want?”
Phil finally picked up the glass of whiskey beside him. Drinking it in a single swallow, he shrugged.
“Like you, I gave up. Never allowed myself to think on it afterwards. Just did my best to survive. Bernie got me through a lot. He saw the numbers on my wrist once or twice but never said anything.” Phil squared up, looking Ybarra in the eyes,
“It doesn't bother me that you're a man. When you do what I do, you meet all kinds. The only time I've ever been touched was by a man.” Phil got lost in his memories, eyes becoming unfocused, “We kissed, exchanged a few hand jobs. Already found his mate, but he was just miserable. Knew we weren't anything, we both did. He said it would feel better with my 'one'. But he was three gimlets in.”
Phil sat heavily on the couch. Memories of Terry only bring sorrow. They both knew what they were doing was wrong, by most people's standards. Terry would be drunk and philosophical, rambling on, then he would cry about getting a raw deal. Phil had done his best to comfort him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. Terry had only cried harder at the kindness Phil showed him. The only language Terry understood was with his body, so he kissed Phil as a thank you. He knew, they both knew they weren't supposed to be touching each other. Most of society believed that the only one that you should be with is your chosen one, especially the high society that Terry lived in. But Terry insisted that Phil couldn't die without knowing some kind of pleasure. It's the least I can do, he had told him. Burying his head in his hands Phil began crying,
“I can't lose you like I did Terry. So if you never want this, want us, then you need to tell me now. You and Bernie are about all I've got. You two are the only things that have kept me from collapsing in on myself.” Phil couldn't bring himself to look at Ybarra's face. Feeling every bit like the lonely seventeen year old that had fled all those years ago. He had seen Ybarra’s face morph to shock when he confessed about Terry to him but looked away. He couldn't handle what else was there.
“Did you love him?” Ybarra's voice was soft and quiet. Phil shook his head.
“I didn't love Terry. He just was...just Terry.” Phil finally gathered his courage enough to look at him again. The look on his face was soft with traces of pity. Ybarra crossed the living room to stand before Phil. He reached his right hand out, stopping just shy of his face.
“Nothing will be the same for us. I can't just ignore this. I don't think you can either. You're like a dog with a bone when you get fixed on something. You're the only friend outside of the force I have and even then....” He dropped his hand to his side as he continued to speak,
“I like you, Phil. You're an upstanding man. Just never pictured myself with a man. Doesn't seem right. Those marks are supposed to give you a family, something to hang on to.” Ybarra took a deep breath and continued speaking,
“I don't know what God was thinking when he seemingly condemned people like us to loneliness. Then to find my soulmate. So late in life, I'm forty three for fucks sake! I've gone my whole life...” Ybarra took a few deep, steadying breaths. He began to pace. Phil noted how stiffly he held himself and the clear irritation in his steps. Phil stood from his place on the couch.
“I can call a cab to take me home.” Ybarra stopped his pacing with Phil's words. He had his back to the younger man. With a sharp turn, he crossed the small room in a few quick steps.
It felt like someone had electrocuted him when Ybarra touched his face. The sharp spasm of sensation made Phil cry out. The calluses of years of holding a gun felt rough against his skin, his hand warm.
Ybarra marveled briefly at the cool moist tracks of tears against Phi's warmer face. The feeling of emptiness gone with just the brief connection. Ybarra let his hand fall away, just as overwhelmed as Phil about touching his soul mate.
“Oh.”
Phil barked out a harsh laugh at Ybarra's understated reaction. Conventional wisdom says that touching your soul mate will lead to intense feelings. Not being able to feel everything so intensely is what led so many people with numbers for their marks to become cops, firefighters, and other jobs where the sensations being dulled was a boon. It's easier to fight a fire when the fire doesn't seem to burn as hot. Phil brought his hands up to Ybarra's chest. The feel of the fine texture of the wool under his hand startled him.
“I can't give you any of that, James.”
Ybarra brought his hand back to Phil's face.
“You can give me something to hang on to. Even if nothing else comes of this, I'll know that I found you. That the emptiness we both felt is gone. I'm not sure if it should matter that you're a man. I know that so much of our society says this is wrong but if it is then why…” Ybarra trailed off with a shrug. He looked Phil in the eyes as he spoke again,
“I went my whole life thinking that I would never find my mate and if I did it’d be a woman. Now that I have, I'm not going to let it go. It's odd but it being you ain't so bad. At least we already know each other.” Ybarra let his hands fall beside him again.
Phil tangled his fingers up in the smooth silk tie, pulling Ybarra flush to him, and asked, “Can I at least kiss you?”
With a nod, Ybarra felt Phil press a kiss on his cheek. Phil felt the sharp rise of Ybarra’s chest as his lips connected. Phil wanted to kiss his lips but didn't know what he was allowed, didn't want to overstep any barriers. He was so distracted by his own worry that he didn't see Ybarra's eyes close. Phil got lost in the feel of the warm, stubbly skin under his lips. It only made his desire for a proper kiss with Ybarra more potent.
Ybarra took in the feeling of Phil's breath on his cheek, trying to commit this moment to memory. The gentle press of Phil's slightly chapped lips against his cheek made him crave more. He wondered how it would feel to have Phil’s lips against his own. Acting on impulse, Ybarra brought his hands up to redirect Phil but the man stepped back. The cold of the space between them almost seemed frigid.
“That wasn't what I was expecting. Or really what I wanted.” Ybarra complained. Reaching for Phil again, he again stepped back.
“Can I call that cab? It's getting late and you, at least, have to be up early.”
Ybarra let out a smile at Phil's worry.
“My department grants leave for this kind of thing. Figuring on marriage and a honeymoon, It's three paid weeks. I'll call the desk Sergeant on duty to get that going. Then I'm going to drive you to that shitty building you call an apartment and help you pack. I want to spend those three weeks with you. If you'll have me.”
Phil felt relieved, the knowledge of what they were supposed to be didn't change anything about him. He watched as Ybarra called his home station. As Ybarra told the person on the other side he found his mate, Phil couldn’t hear the words on the other side of the line but he could hear the excited tone in the young woman's voice. With many ‘thanks yous’ he hung up. Phil watched as Ybarra picked up their hats, he saw the wonder in Ybarra’s eyes as he rubbed at the rough texture of them. Phil cleared his throat to get Ybarra’s attention, with a sheepish smile, Ybarra handed his hat off to him. As they left Ybarra’s house, Phil felt hope bloom carefully in his chest.