Noah did not actually remember going to bed. Last he remembered, he’d been crawling out the window of a rich woman’s bedroom with a bag full of pilfered jewels, and sure, he’d been on his way home, where he probably would have gone to bed, but he didn’t remember making it there. Granted, it wouldn’t have been the first time he’d been so tired he fell into bed with little memory of getting there, but he didn’t remember his bed being this comfortable–hell, the whole length of him was stretched out, flat on his stomach, and there wasn’t a single spring stabbing him, and the pillow his face was half mashed into smelled distinctly of laundry detergent, which was weird.
Weirder still was the feeling of movement from the other side of the mattress, when Noah certainly didn’t remember taking anyone home. Immediately, Noah pushed himself up onto his side, squinted at the man across from him for half a second before his eyes widened.
He definitely did not remember this.
Still, for a moment Noah almost smiled, eyebrows raising as Ortega spoke. “I’d be hurt, ‘cept I don’t remember either,” he mused. “Huh. Shit. Did we go for a drink or somethin’?” It didn’t seem likely, but it was the only possibility Noah saw, and though he’d have preferred to remember getting the CARMA agent into bed, Lachlan still owed him money. He rolled onto his back, closed his eyes, said, “You’ve got a big bed. I like the night light,” and was fully prepared to go back to sleep and figure this out later, because he had been working, and he was tired, but then–
“What does that mean, 2051?” he asked, opening his eyes again and lifting his head to look at Guillermo with an expression that was almost annoyed. He could be sleeping right now, was the thing, in a very comfortable bed, so at the moment he didn’t much care how he’d got there and he was going to be very offended if Guillermo kicked him out without at least another hour to enjoy it. It was only when he sat up enough to note the very genuine way that the agent was studying his alarm clock that Noah decided the question had been sincere, rolled onto his side and placed a gentle hand on Guillermo’s arm to alert him of his presence as he leaned over to look at the clock–close, because he wasn’t wearing glasses, obviously, but apparently they’d been close tonight already.
“2051,” Noah repeated, and then rolled away with a frown to the other side of the bed, looking for–he didn’t know what, his discarded pants to find his phone, maybe, but instead his phone was right there–on the nearest end table, plugged in and charging. Which again, was weird, but if anyone Noah knew seemed like the type to have an emergency charger for guests, he supposed it was Ortega. A moment of fiddling and squinting–was his phone less scratched than it had been last night?–and then Noah said, “Says it here, too. Fuck does that mean, 2051?” A pause to yawn, rake a hand through his hair, and then he looked at Guillermo, still squinting sleepily, and said, “You work for the government. You guys break the internet or somethin’? This some kinda Y2K thing?”
Regardless of the fact that his legs were well within reach, the fact remained that he was naked. In front of Noah, who short of his own daughter was the absolute worst person to be naked in front of in Guillermo’s mind right now. It took a solid thirty seconds of fumbling with that fact for him to find the mental fortitude to shove past it. Legs, clothes, then they could get to work on this puzzle. It wouldn’t help if he sat here mired in his own roiling feelings. So he legged up, stood, and went over to his dresser as quickly as possible only to find that the drawer in which he habitually kept his underwear was occupied by some that very clearly were not his. Well, Noah had most definitely been naked too. So he chucked a pair at the younger man, then found his own on the opposite side of the dresser. Pants, shirt, he could think if he could feel less exposed, or so he told himself. Noah’s question made him frown, an expression that only deepened as he surveyed a trail of love bites on his own chest. “I would assume it means we’re in the future, but hey, who the fuck knows at this point. And no, I don’t know why. Just like I don’t know why you’re in my bed or I’ve got...” Guillermo gestured vaguely at the marks on his chest, exasperated. His phone he slid into the pocket of jeans someone had altered to have magnetic leg closures, and his wallet he jammed into the back pocket.
“We’re going to have to figure it out. I guess.” Not a prospect he relished, not when he had caught himself watching Noah dress more than once in the past five minutes. Swallowing hard, he walked into the living room to see just what lay beyond the doorway. Roughly the room he remembered, but with more clutter. Soft pillows, throws, and pictures he didn’t recognize. Pictures with Hope, which warmed his heart, but also pictures of him with Noah that were very clearly past the pale of platonic. He was deep in thought, staring at one of these collage frames of photos when Noah slunk into the room. “I’m going to have to find Director Sinclair, that’s...well, she’s the only person I can think of who would have clearance to know if this is something we did.” The look on Noah’s face was strange once he saw the photos, and Guillermo’s cheeks colored at the very fact that the younger man was looking at them. “I don’t...you’re very handsome, I like you a hell of lot even though you’re an absolute shit half the time. But I don’t know what this is. And I’m sorry ahead of time if CARMA has something to do with it.”
