Chapter Text
It must have looked to Phillip, upon entering their bedroom, that he’d lost his damn mind.
Not quite. Had Phillip waited at least five seconds to appear, he probably would have spent the next five–give or take an hour–dispensing calming advice before gently applying the metaphorical cattle prod.
Phillip strolled into their room, head down and fiddling with the wayward zipper on a travel shaving kit, to remind him of their rideshare’s pending arrival. Phillip looked up from his handiwork, straightening the zipper’s teeth so they could better clasp together, and let his mouth drop.
“Blanc, you haven’t even packed.”
Benoit Blanc hovered near their bed, concentrating on the collection of socks covering the bedspread. Twelve pairs in all, each a different color and style, laid side by side with each toe pointing toward the headboard. Tube socks with stripes, argyle socks, tight-cuffed cycling socks, non-elastic cuffs requiring garters, athletic socks with green-stitched reinforced toes…every pair Benoit Blanc owned was on display.
None would do.
“We need to go shopping,” Benoit said. “I need a few new pairs of socks.”
Phillip sagged in place before stepping further into the room. “I didn’t think you owned this many pairs of socks.” Finding an empty duffel bag on the floor, he lifted and shook it. “This is a simple weekend trip requiring only one business casual outfit for an outdoor reception, at which nobody will be looking down to see if your socks clash with your trousers. We don’t need to go shopping.”
“Well, my beloved, that is where you are wrong.” Benoit tutted and, with a placating gesture, relieved Phillip of the large tote. “You, of all people, ought to be aware of how deep college rivalries run.”
Phillip blinked, looking absolutely adorable in his befuddlement. After a beat, he shook his head. “For one,” he said, “I attended the same university as you for more then one semester.”
“More than enough time to discern the lay of the land.”
“I also know this isn’t a game weekend, Blanc.” Phillip moved into the en suite bathroom. Bottles and aerosol canisters clinked as Benoit presumed Phillip was loading the shaving kit with little thought to it. “Everybody will be focused on the event at hand, and the guest of honor,” Phillip called from within the depths. “I fail to understand why none of those socks are suitable.”
“Think about it, Phillip. Come here.” Benoit beckoned his husband closer, grateful that Phillip seemed willing to humor him. Attention back to the bedspread, he pointed out the column of socks closest to him. “Tell me what each of these pairs have in common.”
Phillip, having left the travel kit in the bathroom, folded his arms. He looked none too pleased that Benoit had interrupted his own last-minute packing. “They’re socks,” he said, his voice flat.
“And?”
“They’re all yours. I’ve already packed mine for the trip.”
Benoit felt the stretch of his skin, the crease of his own forehead, as he pressed for Phillip to continue.
“And,” Phillip said on a sigh, “They are in good to excellent condition. No runs, no worn heels, and the colors are as vibrant as the day they were purchased. Considering I handle the laundry, I wouldn’t expect less.”
Benoit saw the pronounced wrinkles in the corners of his husband’s eyes, obvious signs of exasperation. While he nursed a pang of guilt for stringing Phillip along on this exploratory sock inspection, he couldn’t quite empathize in other ways. Phillip was looking at the socks, but he wasn’t seeing them.
“What they have in common,” he said, edging closer to pull Phillip to his side, “is a thread.”
“A common thread.” Phillip turned in Benoit’s loose, one-arm embrace. “I’m going to murder you where you stand if you do not start packing that bag–”
“Threads, to be more precise.” Time to hurry this along before Phillip made good on that threat. Benoit gestured to the socks. “Each pair features colors representative of my alma mater , purple and gold. Note the stripes on the tube socks, the solid dark violet diamonds intersecting with the gold outlines in the argyle, and of course this pair,” he said, holding up the two with the school’s logo woven into the cuffs, “which speaks for itself.”
Phillip obliged, and silently noted. Then he flicked his gaze back to Benoit. “Nobody will see them, nobody will care. Choose three pairs and put them in a bag or I will choose for you.”
Benoit pressed the college socks to his chest, worried yet slightly thrilled at the prospect of Phillip getting passionately physical about trip preparations. He loved a good tumble; if only they had time for a round of tug of war with the socks.
“Helen will see them,” he said.
“Helen will be focused on other things besides your choice of apparel.” Phillip then disappointed Benoit by not reaching for the pair in his fist, but for the argyles and the two sets of black dress socks with the gold toe stitching. “If you let me pack these, I promise you a trip to the nearest college store in town. You can buy out the entire line of University of Georgia footwear if you choose.”
“Well, let’s not get carried away.” Benoit tossed his pair with the others and followed Phillip toward the closet. “I’m only concerned about raising the ire of faculty and administration while on their home turf. After all, we are UGA's rivals.”
Phillip huffed out a short laugh. “Blanc, you never played football,” he said.
“Three pairs of plain black socks.” Standing behind Phillip, Benoit reached for his husband’s waist just as Phillip reached for a hanging shirt. “One quick Target run before we go.”
“Or,” Phillip said, turning in Benoit’s loose embrace, “I’ll loan you three pairs of black socks from my collection, seeing as how we are about the same size. Shocking how that solution never occurred to the man Newseek once called one of the brilliant analytical minds of this century.”
Benoit smiled into the kiss Phillip laid on his cheek. “Well now, perhaps it had.” Taking the shirt and hanger from Phillip’s hand, he tossed it with enough force for it to reach the bed. “Perhaps this was all a ruse to calm your pre-flight fidgeting. I know how you get before you board an airplane.” It came out as ayer-plane in his accent, and he reveled in Phillip’s laughing reaction to the inflection. “I mean, were you an easy-going traveler like myself you’d have seen the bag I have mostly packed on the floor beside the bed.”
He pointed out the hardshell roller, the handle extended an inch from the casing, leaning against the wall.
“So all this talk of socks was a ruse,” Phillip said, not a question.
“Not quite. I still believe it's gauche to flaunt my colors on so-called ‘enemy territory’ in the off-season.” Benoit canted his head to one side and regarded Phillip with what he hoped was a placating expression. “Do you still wish to murder me where I stand?”
Phillip nodded. “Of course, but I won’t,” he said. “The tickets and hotel are non-refundable, and I can’t justify wasting the money.”
“Smart man.”
~*~
Helen Brand had arranged for the Blancs to stay at the fully functional hotel located on the campus of the University of Georgia. Conveniently located near all venues reserved for the dedication ceremony, the hotel was clean and contemporary and the Blancs’ room offered a lovely view of lush lawns and underclassmen scurrying to their respective classes. A bountiful gift basket containing a variety of Georgian treats–peanuts, dried peach slices, barbecue sauce–sat on the bed alongside a stuffed white bulldog wearing a red sweater. The accompanying card, addressed to both men, wished them a pleasant stay.
Phillip tugged the card from Benoit’s fingers. “I’d say three minutes to read two lines on a greeting card is more than sufficient,” he said, turning down his frown in a playful frown. “It isn’t necessary to analyze everything as potential clues, especially since you’re not on the clock.”
“Phillip, love, you know I am forever on the clock.” Benoit eased past Phillip to gaze out the window. “It’s the curse of the curious mind. One finds in the mundanest of situations little quirks hide in plain sight. Come here for a second.”
He extended his arm, drawing Phillip into a loose embrace. “Observe,” he said, pointing with his free hand at a long stretch of sidewalk bisecting the green. “What do you see?”
Benoit faced the window, but focused his side eye on Phillip, willing him to pick up on the scene that triggered his detective senses. He counted the seconds in his head, close to thirty, when Phillip said, “I see a young woman walking west, her head down. She’s holding books and not paying attention to her surroundings, which I suppose is typical for this phone-obsessed generation.”
“Very astute.” He was rubbing off on Phillip. “What else?”
The next detail took nearly a minute, but Benoit puffed up with pride when Phillip noticed the young man on the sidewalk, strolling at a stalkable distance. His attention on the female student he tracked, even from their point of view, was obvious.
“Whether this person is entertaining lascivious behavior is up for debate,” Benoit said, “but when it comes to crime prevention I have a saying.” Unlatching the window, he raised the sash. “Better safe than sorry.”
With that he leaned out the window and emitted a sharp whistle, loud enough to call the young woman’s attention. She paused and looked around for the source of the noise then, on turning to see her so-called admirer, let out her own squeal and ran toward him.
“Looks like we were both wrong on that account,” Phillip said, watching with Benoit as the couple embraced. “At least I’ll sleep easy tonight.”
Benoit agreed. He’d also celebrate this weekend with one less mystery weighing on his mind.
~*~
The dedication of the Cassandra Brand Center for Women’s Studies in STEM was scheduled on Saturday, and would feature remarks from the president of the university, the state’s governor, and Cassandra’s sister Helen. Although “Andi” herself had not attended the school at any level, her generous bequest to the university happened via Helen, who had earned her Bachelor’s here.
“She scattered her money all over the South,” Helen told them when they all met for dinner that evening. “She wanted to foster a sense of independence in young women, to take control of their ideas and grow them without running the risk of what happened to her.”
A shadow crossed her features, and it had nothing to do with the waning lights in the restaurant. Andi’s death and the subsequent events remained a sore spot; this dedication was one step toward healing for Andi’s loved ones.
“You would have liked her, Blanc,” she said, after they toasted Andi’s memory, “and she’d have adored you both. Though it may seem callous of me to say sometimes I wish I didn’t have to make your acquaintance, because it would mean she’d still be here.”
Benoit crawled one hand under the table to twine with Phillip’s. “Well, it’s entirely possible our paths might have crossed in a happier situation,” he said, glancing at his husband. “Take Phillip for instance, here. I can think of multiple alternatives for our first meet-cute than the one we actually experienced. With us, however, I’d like to believe all the possibilities would have ended the same way.”
“The same way?” Helen asked, arching her eyebrow. “You mean, here at this table?”
“I mean in the happily ever after, in the general sense.” With or without her acquaintance, but he left that unsaid.
Phillip, squeezing his hand, asked, “Exactly how many possibilities have you calculated, Blanc? We met in college. Had I not chosen that particular university for my exchange program I could have ended up anywhere in the country.” To Helen, he added, “I very nearly picked Boston College, which may as well have been light years from Louisiana.”
Helen leaned forward, pushing her empty plate aside. “How did you meet?” She shook her head. “You seem so different, yet so perfect for each other. Was it love at first sight?”
Benoit signaled the waiter and ordered coffee all around. They would need plenty of it for the story he was about to tell. “For me, I’d say yes,” he said. “Phillip might tell a different story.”
“Your version is much more entertaining than mine, Blanc.”
“Yes,” Benoit said, smiling, “I suppose it is.”