Cut and Run 1 - Cut and Run

doors opened.
    Ty stood there, looking out into the parking deck with a sort of distance to his expression that was fairly common lately. “No,” he answered softly.
    Zane swallowed, hurting. He reached out and blocked the door open and waved Ty through.
    Ty walked past him with his head down again, hands in his pockets as he headed for his car. Suddenly, he stopped and looked up, inhaling deeply. “You did have a choice,” he murmured.
    Zane halted in place. He'd considered the other option. Once. Fleetingly. “No,” he said clearly. “I didn't want to give up on seeing you again."
    Ty's eyes wandered along the cement ceiling of the parking structure, his back still turned as he considered Zane's answer. “But it wasn't worth it to leave,” he finally murmured, as if talking to himself.
    Swallowing on the pain, Zane closed his eyes for a long moment. When he spoke, it was a rasp. “We can still cut and run.” His shoulders tightened. “But now we don't have to."
    Ty stood there for another moment before turning slowly to look back at Zane. He looked at the leather and the fresh scars, letting his eyes carry over them pointedly. “You didn't listen to a damn thing I told you,” he said softly. “Did you?"
    Zane flinched, and true regret was clear on his face. “No,” he said miserably. “Not for awhile. I wasn't.... “He huffed. “I wasn't ... there,” he said weakly, waving at his head.
    "You shouldn't have to be there to be careful,” Ty growled in response. “It's common fucking sense, Garrett!” he shouted suddenly, his voice echoing through the structure.
    Nervously licking his upper lip, Zane winced and straightened his shoulders. “What do you want me to say, Ty?” he asked. “It won't change it."
    "I want you to say you're sorry,” Ty demanded stubbornly. “And I want you to tell me how pissed you are at me for leaving when I did!"
    "I was so angry I saw red for weeks,” Zane admitted. “Even though I knew there wasn't a goddamn thing you could do about it,” he went on, voice getting louder as he allowed the emotion to break through. “I was furious with the Bureau for chucking me back into hell, and I was pissed with myself for letting them. For a while, the best thing I could come up with was hoping an injury would land me back in the fucking hospital,” he growled, incensed, his eyes flashing. “I would have done anything. Anything to get back to you. I can't say I'm sorry for that."
    Ty exhaled slowly, calming. “Better,” he said softly with a nod.
    Shaking, Zane took a couple steps toward Ty, set a hand on his chest, and pushed him hard against the concrete pillar behind him. “That's all you have to say?” he demanded, the fury still clear.
    Ty moved suddenly, shoving Zane away before grabbing his face with both hands and kissing him forcefully, right there in the parking garage. Zane reeled back a couple steps as Ty's weight hit him. He got his balance and grabbed both of Ty's upper arms, taking those steps forward again and pinning Ty against the wall. It was a gloriously violent kiss that he poured all his anguish and anger into.
    Ty gripped him mindlessly, not even concerned about the possibility of the security cameras catching them as they took out the past five months of frustration on each other. Finally, he shoved at Zane roughly, gasping for breath. When pushed, Zane turned and stalked a few steps away. He stood there, trying to get his breath, and he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I'm not sorry,” he muttered as he dragged a hand through his short hair.
    Ty rested his head back against the concrete wall and closed his eyes. “I am,” he whispered.
    Zane's emotions played openly across his face. He wasn't even trying to hide them. He was hurt, he was confused, and he was scared. “What for?” he asked, voice aching. He couldn't bring himself to move again, to rejoin Ty four strides away.
    "Leaving,” Ty answered as he opened his eyes again.
    The frustration and anger faded as Zane took a good long look at him. He looked like hell. He was tan enough that it spoke of time in some exotic location, but the arduous past five months fairly clung to him. His eyes were flat and tired, his face was scruffy, and even though he'd slept, he still looked haggard. Three of the fingers on his right hand were badly broken and bandaged. The smoke of the expensive cigars he smoked was strong enough for Zane to smell without trying.
    Zane considered