Will was ready to go home. Boston was cold and the traffic was even worse than in Baltimore and he was sick to death of his hotel room and was even more sick of running into international brick walls. In four weeks, with over thirty victims on their hands and counting, they’d brought in a bunch of johns and other minor criminals and four mid-level guys, only two of whom would probably get convictions. The real money and power people behind the trafficking ring seemed to be located safely overseas where neither the Boston PD nor the Baltimore PD had any jurisdiction. It was looking like they really had no choice but to turn the investigation over to the Feds who had the budget and the clout necessary for international cases, and that meant surrendering control of the outcome after months and months of work. It was not the swift and satisfying resolution any of them had hoped for.

When Will had gotten the call informing him about Al Campbell's death back in Maryland, he’d jumped on it as a reason to head back home a little early in order to attend his funeral, with many mental apologies to Al for his enthusiasm about returning. Al had been a nice old guy, and he’d miss him. He silently promised Al a worthy send-off.

By the time Will got back to his townhouse the next day, he’d barely had enough time to change into his Prince Charlie and kilt and head to the cathedral before the funeral started. As Jim and Jim had piped Al down the aisle, Will and other members of Baltimore First Responders Pipe Band group had escorted the coffin and joined in honoring Al’s desire to have Loch Lomond sung at his funeral. When the funeral mass was over, they all headed over to the Galway Bay for the wake.

Will was glad to see his work buddies again, and was looking forward to getting drunk and swapping Al stories at Galway. He’d had two pints of stout and was halfway through his third when someone yelled out his name. 

He looked around. It was, predictably, one of the Jims.

“Will! Parting Glass!”

Will grinned, and started to shake his head no. He didn’t mind performing with the group, but he didn't like being a solo act–too much undiluted attention. Then he remembered that he’d promised Al a good send off. That was Debt of Honor stuff.

The other Jim joined in, pounding his glass on the table and starting a chant of “Will! Will! Will! Will!” that the entire bar enthusiastically joined.

“Alright, alright!” Will shouted, shushing everyone before they all got thrown out. “I’ll sing. Let me get a glass for Al.”

He went over to the bar and ordered a pint for Al and a fresh one for himself, set them both on the bar and then cleared his throat. “You guys join in, alright?” he told the room. He cleared his throat and found his note.

“O-of all the money that e’er I had

I spent it in good company, 

And all the harm that e’er I done

Alas, it was to none but me.

“And all I've done for want of wit

To memory now I can't recall,

So fill to me the parting glass

Good night and joy be to you all…”

He sang, and managed to get the bar to join in for the choruses at least, which he felt sure Al would have enjoyed. Then he slowed it down for the final verses.

“But since it fell into my lot

That I should rise and you should not

I'll gently rise and softly call

Good night and joy be to you all

“So fill to me the parting glass

And drink a health whate'er befalls

Then gently rise and softly call

Good night and joy be to you all

…Good night and joy be to you all,”

He held the final note as he turned to clink his pint glass against Al’s and then drank to him and as he did so, he saw Brent James and choked slightly on his beer. Holy shit. He's here. And still too big to be real. Brent was standing just inside the doors, casually leaning against the wall, watching, his face impassive. The room exploded into applause, which Will waved off, and then raised his glass to the room, smiling, suddenly in an incandescently good mood. Probably just the beers and cheers. That was the best explanation for being this happy at the wake for a guy he didn’t know especially well, but whom he had always liked. Feeling sociable as one often did at times like this, he set his beer down on the bar and fixed his face into a less goofy expression. He started walking towards Brent to greet him with what felt like a normal, neutral face, but by the time he got to him, the big smile had crept back into place. Brent had shown up within hours of Will’s arrival back in town? What a weirdo. He must have been thinking about me all month. Then he just stood there and watched me sing? That’s…of course I should go say hi. This is technically almost a work function, so it’s professional and appropriate to say hi.

“Hey Brent. Nice to see you. Did you know Al?” Will queried cordially, keeping it profesh. I’m pretty sure you did not know Al.

“No.”

“Just stopping by for a drink?”

“No.”

“I know you didn’t come for the food, because I love this place, but the food--”

Brent cut him off. “What are you doing for the next three hours?”

Will thought about it. He had been thinking about this situation on and off while he was gone, mostly off, no big deal, and he had decided that Brent, as an attorney, was probably correct about the fact that their gentleman’s agreement over the one night stand meant Will owed him two-thirds of an evening. Ethically.** Since he considered himself a good cop, it could be destructive to his sense of self to violate the tenets of good ethics in some way. He probably needed to square things up. He had also realized that he never had gotten a good look at Brent’s eyes to see what color they were, and that had been annoying him all month. It was too dark in here to tell, too. There was another part of Brent that he also, disappointingly, hadn’t gotten to see. There was no help for it.

"Letting you find out what I wear under my kilt?” Will suggested, abandoning all things "profesh" completely.

And damn it, the gold eyes were now back, undermining the main reason why he had suggested the hook up. Probably the main reason. Ok, possibly the main reason. Part of the reason. If Will had anything to do with it, the eyes would stay that way for a couple of hours, too, because Will was an honest, ethical guy with a couple of pints in him and a month of jerking off in a lonely hotel room to the memory of the best blowjob of his life...and he had a heart that had thumped like an angry downstairs neighbor when he’d seen Brent leaning against the wall staring at him. He could wait to find out about the eye color, but he couldn’t wait for the rest of it.

Brent pushed open the door and held it. “Let’s go.”

Will checked his pockets. He had his phone and his keys. He’d ridden over with some other officers, and he caught one of their eyes and gave him a quick goodbye wave. His buddy sized up the situation and gave him a wave and a knowing look in return.

Brent also held the car door open for Will and closed it carefully after him. What he did not do was look at Will. Or speak, other than to calmly ask the road in front of him, “Is my place okay? It’s closer.”

“Sure.”

Brent was right about it being closer. They were there in less than five silent, sexually-fraught minutes. They pulled quietly into the parking garage of the most Brent-looking luxury apartment building ever, rode up quietly in the elevator, walked quietly down the hall to Brent’s tasteful, super-Scandi front door, Brent quietly unlocked it, and then they damn near fell through it because they were so tangled up in each other. The Scandi door slammed shut much less quietly than it had opened.