Title: Completely Satisfied
Rating: PG
Pairing: Charlie/Matt
Word Count: 1,021
Warnings: Life/Standoff crossover, Matt and Charlie Meet in a Bar 'verse
Summary: For a cranky_zen challenge and the chem15try prompt dissociation - Matt attends a seminar and finds surprises from Charlie.

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He finds the first yellow Post-It note tucked in behind his driver's license at the airport as he waits to get through security. There is a training seminar in San Antonio that Matt was invited to speak at, so he's flying out, spending the night in a hotel, speaking the next afternoon, and taking a red eye back to Los Angeles because Cheryl had insisted that it would be rude for Matt to not stay for the dinner, complete with complementary ass kissing.

Matt hadn't wanted to go, but he figured it was only a couple of days and that he'd live through it. The Post-It, with Charlie's nothing less than perfect handwriting gracing it in black pen, is perplexing but nevertheless brings an amused smile to Matt's face.

Of the terrible doubt of appearances,
Of the uncertainty after all—that we may be deluded,

What it means he has no idea, but it is just so Charlie that Matt tucks it back into where it had been in his wallet, trying not to think about how comforted he felt by its existence and also trying not to think too hard about how he misses Charlie already.

He hadn't expected any more until Matt finds the second one inside his suitcase after he opens it on the bed in the hotel room. The note's stuck to a pair of socks right on top.

That may-be reliance and hope are but speculations after all,
That may-be identity beyond the grave is a beautiful fable only,

This note joins the first in his wallet, and Matt starts to suspect, if Charlie's distinctive swish of a comma is anything to go by, that this isn't the last one, either.

+

Post-It number three is adhered to the legal pad inside his beat up leather portfolio that Matt's had since his academy days and hasn't seen fit to replace or just cave and start taking notes on a laptop like everyone else at the seminar seems to be doing. He likes the act of writing by hand and, as he waits for his scheduled time, Matt hears some interesting points that he wants to remember and ends up finding the next lines of what has to be a poem.

The handwriting is smaller on this one, squeezed tight to get it all to fit, and Matt doesn't realize how closely he's leaning down to read it until he sits back up and sees the odd looks in his direction out of the corner of his eye.

May-be the things I perceive—the animals, plants, men, hills, shining and flowing waters,
The skies of day and night—colors, densities, forms—May-be these are, (as doubtless they are,) only apparitions, and the real something has yet to be known;

He tries not to appear even more anxious to get through his presentation, itching to see where the next note turns up. Matt's distracted and possibly rude at the dinner when he notices less people attempting to talk to him as it goes on, but he doesn't particularly care.

+

Matt's checking out of the hotel when the desk clerk mentions that a message was left for him and hands it over without any further introduction or disclaimer.

(How often they dart out of themselves, as if to confound me and mock me!
How often I think neither I know, nor any man knows, aught of them;)

"There was no name left..." she starts apologetically.

Matt just smirks. "I know who it's from. Thanks." He tucks it in his shirt pocket, the other three already in there.

He reads them over a few times on the plane, trying to figure out where the poem is going, but like so much else with his life with Charlie, Matt understands that he's not going to know until they get there.

+

It's nearly midnight when the plane lands and some minutes after when he finally steps outside. The fifth is stuck to his steering wheel when Matt locates his car in the airport's parking garage.

May-be seeming to me what they are, (as doubtless they indeed but seem,) as from my present point of view—And might prove, (as of course they would,) naught of what they appear, or naught any how, from entirely changed points of view;
—To me, these, and the like of these, are curiously answer'd by my lovers, my dear friends;

The drive to Charlie's house leaves Matt even more exhausted than the plane ride had, and he's half-tempted just to put the light on the roof and take the roads as quickly as he can. He can see the next Post-It on the front door even before fully pulling the car into the driveway and parking.

When he whom I love travels with me, or sits a long while holding me by the hand,
When the subtle air, the impalpable, the sense that words and reason hold not, surround us and pervade us,

Matt quietly unlocks the door and enters, in case Charlie's asleep, considering that it is one o'clock in the morning and a Thursday at that. He leaves his suitcase by the door, wanting nothing more than to just go upstairs and crawl into bed. He's not surprised to find the seventh Post-It stuck to the bedroom door.

Then I am charged with untold and untellable wisdom—I am silent—I require nothing further,
I cannot answer the question of appearances, or that of identity beyond the grave;

Once his eyes have adjusted to the darkness, Matt can see Charlie sound asleep. He quickly and quietly strips down to his boxers, leaving his clothes in puddles on the floor, before slipping into bed. He wraps an arm around Charlie's waist, holding onto him, and can tell that he's awake now based on the rhythm of Charlie's breathing. Charlie twists, bringing himself closer, eyes open but foggy with sleep.

Matt feels Charlie's fingers intertwining with his own. "But I walk or sit indifferent—I am satisfied," Charlie says, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "He ahold of my hand has completely satisfied me."

Sighing into a kiss, Matt's glad to be home.