Merry Christmas Cobalt

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean Neville had gotten off on the wrong foot with Cobalt Weaver, twice over. Their first interaction, the more civil of the two, had involved a party which neither of them would ever mention and had never been cleared with Cobalt in the first place. Sean had wanted to apologize for his unwitting role in that nightmare but hadn’t been afforded the opportunity. Their second encounter had been when Josh was assaulted and neither of them had been at their best. While Sean still believed his defensiveness was justified and that Cobalt’s accusations during a time of emotional stress were unfair and unwarranted, he had also forgiven him because it had been a time of emotional stress for both of them.

Because he was a generally amiable person, he tried to bury the hatchet the next time they saw each other. It had been more uncomfortable than expected, since he hadn’t expected to run into him at the bakery, but the telepath had put forth a good faith effort. And with that, he thought that they could try to get to know each other in a more legitimate way, since Cobalt was friends with Josh and now knew several of Sean’s other friends.

While they hadn’t been alone since, he’d heard in the other man’s thoughts that he had no interest in making the attempt. That was Cobalt’s choice and the telepath didn’t care either way, because life was too short to care. He had more than enough drama with Kathleen. Besides, regardless of one man’s opinion, he was a decent person and strove to do his best.

All of that aside, he was still a psychiatrist and a telepath. And he had learned from Cobalt’s thoughts – never from the man himself or from others – that he was gay. He also knew that he had issues with accepting himself; it was a wonder how an insecure subconscious was louder than a teenager blasting rock music from a car radio. Every time he was around the other man at social gatherings, it was oppressive.

And because Sean had been elected the world’s counselor – or so it often felt - and because he couldn’t stand the thought of someone in middle age still so uncomfortable with himself, he decided that the first step fell to him. It was a shame that the other man was so stunted. Even Josh, still closeted to his mother, was anything but in his life otherwise.

Sean wouldn’t seek out Cobalt for conversation, because that wouldn’t end well; actually, it might end with a door slammed in his face and with Cobalt suppressing even more. So he elected for books, just as he’d done with coworkers in the past.

Since he knew that Cobalt wouldn’t accept a present from him – and because he couldn’t slip the books into his mailbox or bag as he could at Hammel – he’d had to settle for the postal service. He’d chosen two books: “Get Closer: A Gay Man’s Guide to Intimacy and Relationships” – which should provide him with the ability to meet another person and accept himself – and “The Joy of Gay Sex” – because as a forty-five-year-old man, if he didn’t know what he was doing, he needed to learn immediately. He’d given that book out before, and he had yet to hear complaints.

He’d wrapped both books and put them in the mail, to be delivered on Christmas Eve. The package had Cobalt’s address listed as the return address, and the packing slip and letter had been typed, so it couldn’t be traced to him. There was more chance of the other man accepting the gifts that way and working through his issues.

The accompanying letter was short and to the point.

Cobalt –

Merry Christmas!

Use these to your advantage and try to enjoy them because they’re non-refundable.

[Cobalt Weaver]

Cobalt eyed the package with some suspicion. He hadn’t been expecting anything, and he’d already exchanged gifts with the people who cared about him and vice versa. There was a possibility that this was a mistake, but he was pretty sure that Cobalt Weaver wasn’t all that common a name. He sat on the couch and set the package—still unopened—on the coffee table, scrutinizing it. It had his name and his address on it. The probability for it to be a mistake was extremely low. But the typed address and the fact that his own address was used as a return address made it weird. He gingerly picked up the package and shook it. There didn’t seem to be a box, but the creases in the wrapping denoted something that felt like… books. Cobalt squinted off into space, trying to remember if he ordered any books these past few weeks. Nothing came to mind. Deciding that he didn’t need to worry about something as innocuous as books, he gingerly set about opening the packaging paper. When he opened it, he saw that he was indeed correct, the package had been two books: paperback and glossy. He turned the books over to glance at their titles and—

“AUGH WHAT.” Cobalt dropped the offending books and leapt to his feet, nearly falling back on the couch in his haste. He stared with wide eyes at the paperbacks, now slightly bent from their abrupt trip to the floor. “Wh—how…?” He turned back to the packaging, picking through it before finding a letter, folded amongst the paper. It was typed. Damn. He ran a hand through his hair, staring at the books, then the letter. “Okay.” He growled quietly, “What the hell is going on here?”

There were two explanations to this: someone was playing a tasteless, albeit accurate practical joke that was most decidedly not funny. This was possible, but he really couldn’t think of anyone who knew his address being that immature. Also, he was pretty sure that the vast majority of his friends and the people who knew his address were gay themselves, so this being a joke would be strange and out of character.

Which left another option: that someone knew about his orientation. He knew Elaine knew. She had more or less told him she could smell it in his aura and he was relatively okay with her knowing. In the scale of people-whose-opinion-actually-matters, Elaine was at the top, but she had reacted with affectionate exasperation than anything else. He’d promised her they’d talk about it later, and he anticipated that conversation involving cookies and Elaine telling him to get over himself.

So Elaine was out, then.

He didn’t know of anyone else who knew about this. He’d certainly never told anyone, and he was always careful in his interactions with close male friends anyways. Josh, certainly not, because the man was clueless as is, and even if he did know, he wouldn’t do something like this. He would instantly suspect Leila, but he was almost certain she didn’t know. Mostly because if she’d found out, she’d have confronted him about it. Then sent books. But he was pretty sure there would be a confrontation first. That, and she wouldn’t type a letter. She’d write it as loudly and obviously as possible.

He briefly, very, very briefly considered the people he’d met in college. Contrary to what this mysterious sender seemed to believe, he had managed to date in college. Well, sort of. He wasn’t willing to let idle attraction and an ill-timed kiss at eleven years old be the reason he identified as gay, so he’d tried to date women in college. With no success. So he’d even tried to date men. Well… man. He’d “dated” one boy in college and it had ended very shortly after they’d started. But still. But there was no chance it was a well-meaning gift from any of them, even though he’d ended on fairly amicable terms with at least two of them. Mostly because he’d fell out of touch with them and didn’t leave a forwarding address. No one from Chicago knew (or probably cared) where he was now.

He eyed the books, the initial horror residing into something more akin to offended. When he decided that he wanted help, he’d ask for it. Until then, he didn’t really appreciate anonymous books disrupting his evening. He ought to throw the books away. Really, he should. He didn’t appreciate them. And he didn’t want them. Cobalt stared at the books, which lay innocently on the floor. Sighing, he sat back down on the couch, leaned over with his foot and kicked them under his couch. There. They could gather dust there for all he cared.

With that taken care of, Cobalt pulled on his sweats and running shoes and prepared to go out for a run, intent on forgetting mysterious Christmas presents and well-meaning, yet annoying, mysterious gift-givers.