Free time was few and far between-- as such, whenever Will was fortuitous to land a spot of open time, he tried to put it to the best use. Sometimes that meant watching a sports game, others that meant a much needed nap. Tonight, it meant high-tailing it to the nearest bar and laying claim to a stool close to the bar itself. He loosely held a cold bottle of beer in his hands, swirling it as he watched the game on the t.v. Of course, the din of the bar drowned it out.

Will took a swig of his drink, before setting it on the countertop. Did it count as drinking alone when you were surrounded by a few dozen strangers? Blue eyes slid over the faces around the bar. He'd tried to invite a few guys from work, but they had various commitments-- girlfriends, wives, meetings of sorts-- others were on-duty. So tonight it was just him and the bottle. 

He wore a dark grey t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. His leather aviator jacket was draped over one leg. 

"Come on-" he murmured at the t.v. 

Natalie was…

Okay, Nate needed another sip of his beer before he could think about Natalie.

Life was settling into a good place for Nate. He was busier than ever, but he was in a good spot professionally, personally, and maybe even romantically. School was back in session so he had returned to teaching classes alongside his work for Haven and his role as an informant for the Feds and various state and city authorities. Norah accepted her father with open arms, which gave Nate an extra spring in his step on hard days. He never expected to be the archetypal father, but lo and behold, he was wearing a bracelet she made him and her picture was in his wallet. His youthful, wild days were behind him.

Or maybe not. The breakup with Sarah was months in the past and Nate was slowly dipping his toe back in the dating world. Then again, it was less the “dating world” and more the “noncommittal sexual encounters with women from his past” world. Hanging out with Quincy Archer was always a nice addition to his week, and he was not planning on complaining about their agreement to occasionally enjoy the creature comforts of kissing and cuddling together.

And then there was Natalie Ross. Natalie was… okay, one more sip. That was better. Natalie was like nicotine: likely bad for him long-term, but irresistible in the moment. What was the phrase? Once is a mistake. Twice is a pattern. They were one hookup away from making their new sexual relationship a habit, and Nate was still unsure how to feel about that. Natalie was more human than he once gave her credit for, but they still had to navigate the delicate territory of co-parenting, and Nate knew firsthand how messy things could end without factoring a child.

Since his return from prison, Nate was revisiting his past and adding nothing new to his “love life.” Maybe that was the problem; with his cozy new life he was returning to things he already knew felt comfortable. He was single in the largest city in America; maybe he had to make more of an effort to branch out.

>> "Come on-“

Nate glanced two seats to his right. He knew the man, but he could not place exactly where, which meant they had never shared a conversation. Nate was good associating names and faces, so they must have come across one another in passing. The man was focused on his beer and the game on television. He was also handsome, with the five-o-clock shadow left behind after a long day.

Nate had come out with the intention of a quiet drink or two after work. Who said he had to do that alone? ”Seriously, don’t they know the last thing anyone wants to see after a long day of work is New York getting their asses kicked?” His tone was light, matching his smirk. Nate was not a huge sports follower, but he could joke and engage in a surface-level conversation when necessary.

Will took to bouncing his knee as his attention focused on the baseball game. New York was getting their *sses handed to them, tonight. And as a New Yorker born-and-raised, this was an affront. He groaned, turning his attention to the beer clenched in his hand. Apparently that would be the only solace from his usual, working life that Will would find tonight.

>> ”Seriously, don’t they know the last thing anyone wants to see after a long day of work is New York getting their asses kicked?”

Fair blue eyes slid sidelong at the speaker, whom Will had previously not noticed. A blondish fellow with grey-blue eyes. There was an inkling of recognition in the cop's expression, too, but he said nothing. If it wasn't a coworker, and it wasn't a fellow churchgoer, than they were probably on the other side of the law. Will didn't do much beyond work and church. Except maybe drink... maybe this guy was a regular? He cracked a droll little smile at the commentator, sipping his beer.

"No one plans on getting their *sses kicked," he said with a laugh, "Guess you can't expect much better with all these players out for injuries right now, though..."

A handful of first-string players were out, some for the season, which meant less big-name athletes had taken their places.

"I feel like I've seen you before..." he commented, after another swig, "Come here often?"

In any other context it might've sounded like some lame pick-up, but Will was just making conversation... no big deal...

Talking to men and women at bars came with different challenges. Some women were suspicious of men approaching them at bars and averse to the intrusion; getting too forward could quickly lead to a martini splashed in Nate’s face. Admittedly, Nate was handsome enough to get away with making the first move with many straight and bisexual women, and he was not modest enough to be oblivious to the fact.

Men were different because straight men still comprised the majority of men, and many straight men were known for getting overwhelmingly uncomfortable the moment they believed another man was coming onto them. At the same time, many men were willing to strike up casual conversation at the bar. Excusing the men who embraced solitude, those who came to the bar alone often felt a sense of camaraderie with the men they shared the bar with, (provided those men were not flirting.)

So it was not surprising when the handsome brunet accepted Nate’s attempt at engagement. Talking was easy; the challenge was slowly introducing small elements of flirtation to test the waters. It was like a game with the losing condition of the occasional homophobe taking a swing at him.

It was fortunate the other man mentioned the reason for New York’s piss-poor play, because Nate was not versed in sports news or the disabled lists of the MLB. ”Nothing much to do about injuries,” he admitted with a shrug. ”Add depth maybe, but good luck finding that.” Look at Nate sounding like a proper frat bro!

Nate’s suspicion that the man’s face was familiar was well-founded, as he was not the only one. ”Been here a few times,” he replied in his trademark southern drawl, taking a swig of his beer. ”Wouldn’t say often; too many bars in the city.”

Now that conversation was actually underway, the next logical step was for Nate to find out who he was chatting up. He offered a hand and smiled. ”I’m Nate,” he said, hoping it would prompt a name in return.

Will didn't know what his brunette companion met by "depth", so he swallowed any inclination to comment upon it with a swig of beer. The man confessed he'd been to the bar a few times, not often. Huh. Will's memory wasn't that good. He didn't pay that much attention to people at the bar, unless they were a regular like him...

The officer swirled his beer, giving a dissatisfied "hm". He'd have to play with his cards close to his chest... at least until he figured-out who the other man was. "Nate", apparently.

Will cracked a winsome smile, wiping the condensation from his beer bottle off on his shirt before extending his hadn to meet Nate's. The other man was met with a firm, decisive handshake. It had a quiet confidence, one good shake and then a release.

"Will," the cop said warmly, before settling back into his seat.

"So you may have been here a few times..." Will mused, gaze flicking from the game (still an absolute massacre, by any standards), to his beer, to Nate. The urge to say something about how singularly memorable Nate was (aesthetically) flitted like a passing thought in Will's mind. Not in some dive like this...

"What do you do?" Will pressed. It was obvious that he was trying to put the puzzle pieces together, still.

It took a moment, but the other man offered his hand and a charming smile. Nate was not one to swoon or deal with a fluttering heart, but the smile looked undeniably good on Will all the same. The handshake was brief but firm; definitely a man’s man handshake.

Nate relaxed back into his seat, reflecting on the man’s name and initial impressions. His name was Will, which was still ringing no bells. However their paths crossed, Nate never got so much as a name. He thought to narrow down to the crowded places he frequented. Given time, he would work his way to the answer.


The ex-con was evidently not alone in seeking information, as Will asked about his work. It could have been friendly conversation, but Nate was almost sure he knew Will, meaning the inverse was likely true. Nate wore many hats, but it was easiest to answer with what he considered to be his two “main” roles. ”I’m an art teacher who does some humanitarian work on the side.” Strictly speaking, it was more mutanitarian, but he was close enough to the truth for partial credit.

Nate’s own smile grew as he tactfully took the chance at revealing the truth to see if Will could meet him half way. ”I’m sorry, this might sound silly, but I can’t shake the feeling I’ve seen you before.” He wondered how much of a hint that could be; straight men did not often pick out a handsome face in a crowd to linger on, after all. ”What do you do, Will?”

Will certainly didn't know any art teachers-- but that ruled-out the possibility of Nate being a cop. There hours were so varied, it'd be impossible to serve as a police officer while simultaneously teaching kids to paint.

A smirk crossed his face, as he agreed, "I feel like I've seen you around, too."

His stomach flip-flopped-- that meant that Nate was likely either a criminal, a victim of a crime, or a classmate. Will hoped it was one of the latter two.

"I'm a cop," Will admonished, appraising Nate for a reaction, "Been one about twelve years, now. Studying to be a detective, though. Going to school at NYU."

He took a swig of beer, but his gaze still lingered on Nate, awaiting some indication of if any of these rang a bell.

A cop! Of course! In hindsight, there were clues like his close-cropped hair and his physique, but neither of those were definitive. Plenty of men liked their hair short and their bodies toned and—

Anyway, the point was Nate finally knew where he had met Will. As an informant for the New York Police Department and the Feds, he was pulled into the station on occasion to provide insight on some active case. His points of contact were usually detectives, and according to his own admission, Will was not yet at that point in his career. It was likely they saw one another in passing, which explained the faint feelings of familiarity.

”That definitely makes sense,” he admitted with a warm smile. ”You probably caught my eye at the station. I’m an informant on white collar crimes, so I make appearances down there on occasion.” He took a sip of his drink, wondering how Will would react. Nate liked to leave off the “criminal” part of “criminal informant,” but any cop with an understanding of the job would automatically fill in the omitted word. His relationships with police officers had been surprisingly amicable in recent memory, but that was not always the case so he had to tread carefully. His charm would only get him so far, (probably.)

Will listened, still appraising the other man. As he explained his affiliation with the NYPD, the tension left his shoulders. An informant, huh. Of course that suggested some involvement with crime, be it a former perpetrator or just someone one the inside, but... well... that was a hell of a lot better than someone he'd taken into the station. The last thing he needed was someone to try and jump him when he was off-duty. Even if Nate wanted to jump him, if he was an informant, relocating him would be no issue.

"That's a f***ing relief," Will breathed, the smirk returning, "For a moment I was worried you'd be someone I'd taken in. Last thing I want is trouble on my night-off."

No one wanted to work when they weren't being paid to do so. He polished off his beer, lightly setting the empty down upon the counter. His mind was flirting with the edge between "slightly buzzed" and "drunken", and the cop was wondering if he'd cross that line. He still had to get home, and he wasn't going to leave his bike at some dive. He rolled the bottle in lazy circles by the edge of its base, contemplating another one.

They had no business talking to each other, if he was an informant. Conflict of interests and all that. But damn, if he wasn't good-looking... the cop hazarded a longer-than-average look at Nate. Like, really looked at him. Will cleared his throat as the bartender came within range.

"Another, please," he wasn't drunk enough for this. There was a faint flush on his cheeks, but that could easily be attributed to the alcohol.

Much to Nate’s relief, Will responded positively to the news of Nate’s involvement as a Criminal Informant with the Police Department. He had evidently been more concerned with Nate being one of the criminals he dragged into the station. The notion made Nate smirked. ”Nope. I can confidently say you’ve yet to put me in handcuffs.” He took another sip of his beer, emptying his glass. Was the double entendre intentional? Who knows? (Nate did; it was incredibly intentional.)

The attractive officer ordered another beer and Nate raised two fingers and smiled to the bartender. ”Same, please, sugar.” The bartender nodded and she retreated to the taps so she could fill new glasses for the two men.

With that out of the way, Nate could give his attention back to the youthful-faced cop. ”Seriously though, you don’t have to worry about trouble from me. I’ve been out of the game for years now, enjoying retirement and whatnot.” Of course, “retirement” was a stretch when Nate was now working two jobs with much stricter schedules than that of an art thief.

Nate's remark pushed a warm flush into the cop's neck, causing Will to look abashedly towards the game. This might the only instance where he'd find solace in watching his team get stomped into a bleeding pulp. Nate also ordered another beer.

A smile quirked at the corners of Will's mouth at the reassurance, "I'm glad."

Will was glad that he wasn't going to get jumped, but... also that Nate was "retired". You saw a lot of people who couldn't get away from their old lives. They'd get out... and then go right back in, often for the very same thing. Sad, really. Though also job security, Will supposed. The bartender returned with two beers.

"Thanks," the brunette grunted. There was a small trail of vapor ghosted off of the bottle after the cap was removed. He let a silence stretch between them, shifting in his stool. He nursed the first swig of beer, glancing towards the t.v. Yes, that'd be his pretense for not talking. The game was on. Definitely not that he was "too bi for this".

Nate was being genuine when he said he had no inclinations to return to crime, but he often found himself appreciating the skills his past left him with. His art, his charm, and his knowledge were all useful gifts, but Nate took pride in his ability to pick up important minute details people had that could prove useful to him. Will, for instance, was starting to turn red. He was not blushing like a lovesick schoolgirl, but it was out of place with the tough guy cop stereotypes. There was a twinkle of mischief in Nate’s eye as he considered the possibilities.

The two men received new drinks and William, seemingly a soft-spoken man, let Nate know he was “glad.” He could not blame the officer of the law; there was a reason “cops and robbers” stood as a universal example of opposing forces. Some police were of the opinion that criminals never stopped being criminals; they just took breaks. Nate lucked out and William did not seem to be one of the black-and-white police. ”I’m glad you’re glad,” Nate replied lightheartedly, the smirk on his face clear as day.

”So, Officer,” Nate said warmly, ”I hope I’m not intruding. I’m sure after a long day out there, you’re dying to relax.” Nate had first-hand experience of how taxing the day of a police officer could be from his days with Quin, but Nate was not going to name drop his ex-girlfriend in a situation where he was finally starting to toe the line of flirting. ”I figured you wouldn’t mind the company, but if you do, I can certainly give you a little space.” That felt like a sufficient attempt to test the waters and see if anything was biting.

Will relished the cool respite that the sip of beer provided. Silence stretched, Will could feel the flush subsiding. Maybe they'd let it drop and Will could tease the feelings churning within him out in-peace. And then Nate spoke-up again. Baby-blue eyes slid towards the other man.

>> ”I hope I’m not intruding. I’m sure after a long day out there, you’re dying to relax. I figured you wouldn’t mind the company, but if you do, I can certainly give you a little space.”

For once, the smart-*ss remarks weren't quick to simmer to the surface. He could rebuke Nate and get some peace of mind. He could invite him to stay, be it in a genuine, heartfelt manner or in a smart-*ss one.

"I woulda let you know, if you were annoying me," Will said frankly, tilting a smile at Nate. It was true. He wasn't one to tolerate bullsh** readily.

Another sip of beer.

"Honestly. It's nice to have actual conversations with someone. You know. Not having strung-out M users screaming in your face."

His job was by no means romantic. Even the "best" people he brought in were scarcely ever happy to see him. And, unless you had someone working with you (a partner, so to speak), it was actually a fairly lonely job. You kept company with the worst kind of people, flew solo, and on rare occasions collaborated with other officers. That was about it. Casual conversation was... admittedly pleasant, even if dealing with "the worst kind of people" was mentally and emotionally taxing.

Nate had to be careful with Will. He seemed like a nice guy, but there was nothing stopping a straight guy from being nice. The key was gauging Will’s interest and deciding if the intent was just friendly or something more fun.

When Will spoke, he spoke plainly but very clearly. He was fine with Nate sticking around, but he did not give Nate much to go on at first. It was only after a sip of beer that Will confessed the conversation was a nice change of pace for him. ”Yeah, from what I hear, M isn’t exactly a party drug." The possibilities of M were endless, but on the whole, it did not make people sociable, (with notable exceptions.)

Taking a sip of his own beer, Nate grinned. But I get it. I love me some good conversation. Heck, I was a conman. Conversation and charm made up most of the job requirements. I’d like to think I pull off both.” Nate was letting some arrogance slip out, but Will struck him as the kind of man who would appreciate a confident, no BS approach. There was a philosophy in business about “being the duck,” where all the hardest work goes unseen so everything appeared to be running smoothly. The feet were paddling hard, but all anyone saw was a duck gliding across the water. Conversation was like that; Nate put in a lot of effort and thought to ensure that everything appeared to be effortless.