Asa Meda's Fantasy World

No Common Cure (fragment; WIP)

Fri, 08 Jun 2007 02:08:41 GMT

This is my first Dr Who fic in (counting toes and fingers) about 20 years (I'm serious... of course it wasn't slash back then... few stories in a few zines...)

Comments on characters and stuff welcome. Promise more as I watch more.

Enjoy!

Title: No Common Cure
Arthur: Asa Meda
Rating: PG here... who knows later
Pairing: 9th/Jack/Rose (established); House/Wilson (no so established... but that will change); other possible pairing or threesome
Summary: Rose is ill. The TARDIS knows best. Wilson has a secret. House needs a translator.

FRAGMENT ALERT! This is merely the beginning; but will progress as I watch more Dr. Who...

"What do you mean she's missing!"

Jack Harkness stood his ground, met the Doctor's eyes without flinching. They had had a terrible time on Anon VI. Rebels. Alien influence. Almost near apocalypse. But in the end the aliens were sent away, the warring parties shook hands and the TARDIS departed with parting gifts and good feelings.

Except five hours later Rose started pacing, unable to stop or sit even when it was obvious she wanted to. She had a headache, high fever and disorientation. Jack tried persuasion to get her to go to bed, to let the Doctor take care of her. Irritated and upset Rose told him where to go with detailed directions.

Then the Doctor ended it by stepping in front of her and touched her forehead. He whispered something Jack could not hear then caught her as she collapsed into his arms. Jack followed as the Time Lord carried her to her apartment and put her to bed.

"What's wrong with her!"

"Don't know." The Doctor held his sonic screwdriver above Rose's body, his expression a mask of concentration. "Her lungs and cranium are inflamed." He abruptly stopped his exam and gently combed his fingers through her blond hair now drenched with sweat. "Sleep, Rose," he intoned, almost a whisper. "Deeper."

As the Doctor released her, Jack moved closer, his eyes desperate on her then him. "What's going on!"

"She's sick." The Doctor moved around the bed and pulled up a chair.

"Of course she's sick! Do something!" Jack reached out but the Doctor's hands gripped his wrists, stopping him.

"Don't touch her!" He pulled Jack further back then turned him until they were face to face. "You're both Human." His blue eyes studied Jack carefully. "I'll get you a mask. You'll need to stay with her until-" He swallowed. "I know this planet... before the Daleks destroyed it..."

"Is she going to die?" Jack didn't cry. He had long forgotten to. But his heart raced, his eyes burned. He liked Rose... loved her as much as he loved-

"It's going to be all right, Jack." The Doctor pressed closer, his lips brushed Jack's and Harkness felt a deep wave of comfort pass through him. Then the Time Lord pulled back and released the young man, his expression showing the same dark emotions. "Sit with her. I'm going to make the arrangements, see where I can take her but I need you to watch over her."

Jack sniffed then recovered quickly. "Tell me what to do."

"I had to pee!" Jack could feel the Doctor's anger in the light link they always seem to share. "I was thirty seconds! I had the door open! I was listening!" He gestured towards the empty bed. "You said she wouldn't wake until you told her to!"

The Doctor visibly flinched as the tables turned. "She shouldn't have!" He look about the large room, decorated with Rose's things, still holding Rose's scent. "She-"

And he froze for a single moment, his expression clearing a bit then casually walked out of the room. "Come on, Jack," he ordered as he went, his tone suddenly even and cold. "Now!"

No argument. The Doctor was deadly serious. Jack followed him to the Console Room. There was an odd noise, something different. The column in the middle of the console was still. They had materialized... somewhere. The Time Lord's hands were a blur on the instruments, his concentration absolute. Jack thought to help but he didn't know what he could do. They were stopped.

"You've got to be joking!" the Doctor barked as he glared at the console. "You. Did. What!"

Jack licked his lips and ventured a question. "Who did what, Doctor?"

"She took her!" his companion answered as if it was obvious. "She took her... out there!"

"Out..." Jack watched as the TARDIS doors opened to reveal concrete pillers and passages with the distinct noise of moving vehicles and the faint voices of people milling close. People who spoke English but with a distinct accent. "Where?"

"Earth... United States... New Jersey... Princeton... 2007." The Doctor moved from the console to the door. He grabbed Jack on the way out. "Hospital. Let's go."

FIC: Squeeze My Hand (CSI:NY Don/Mac)

Sun, 04 Jun 2006 19:11:00 GMT

Title: Squeeze My Hand
Pairing: Mac/Don... for the moment
Rating: FRT
Disclaimer: Disclaimer??? What's that??? :-)
Note: Reflections over what has been and what might be...
Spoiler: Charge of This Post

Squeeze My Hand
By Asa Meda

Squeeze my hand

Shouting... Screaming... Orders... Counter orders... Nearly suffocating acrid smell of burning plastic mixed with the dust of what had been...

The boy strained and shook. His eyes were dull... confused... pained. His chest...

Squeeze my hand

Lifeless eyes. He felt the soldier's spirit hover then leave... relieved... free...

Gone.

Squeeze my hand

In the midst of the chaos she called him on the cell. Told him she had gotten out... told him not to worry, to do his job... she would find her way home or somewhere safe.

As he guided a young child and his grandmother away from the scene eight blocks away he told his wife to be safe... that he would see her soon... that-

Thunder... the kind never to be forgotten... He looked back as he heard his wife's gasp through the wireless connection between them. Like a child's toy the Tower fell upon itself, floor after floor after floor...

"Claire!" A great cloud rose like a tsunami from the smoke and fire then rolled like a living thing, overtaking everything in its path. Without thought he lifted the child into his arms then pulled the older woman with him as he dropped to the ground and covered them both with his own body as the wave hit them, raining down dust... debris... the lives of thousands that ended in an eerie silence.

Squeeze my hand

Crushed... Broken....

Machines beeped and moved in an odd dance... monitoring... heralding... waiting...

"Claire," he whispered into her ear... one of few parts of her that wasn't touched by... what had happen... by what had been...

"Squeeze my hand," he ordered gently as he gingerly held her fingers, unwilling to cause her pain... unwilling to believe when they told him she could no longer feel anything. She was found two blocks away... under a chunk of mortar... buried in dust. She was found alive but within the hour, within the Emergency Room, her life signs failed... too much... too much...

"Please," he pleaded, uncaring of his tears that filled his eyes, causing added irritation as the salt water mixed with the thick dust still covering him. Desperately he now crushed her fingers in his fist... the bones seem to give way. Pain... maybe pain would give him what he needed. "Squeeze my hand."

But all remained as it was. Her bandaged face gave no acknowledgement. Her closed eyes did not move. Brain dead. They had told him... gently... too gently. But he had to be sure... very sure...

"Detective."

Quiet. Patient. There was a lot of that. So many injured... dying... space was at a premium for those who will or might survive.... yet they waited as if there was all the time in the world...

He kissed her fingers... still warm... then gathered himself and stood. The physician standing at his side was about his own age but look much older today. Yet his dark eyes were kind... moist...

Detective Mac Taylor gave him a small smile to show his gratitude. "I'll sign," he said directly as his grief... his guilt... plunged deep inside. There wasn't time. He was needed... but not here.

The doctor gave him the clipboard... he signed... it was done. "Thank you, Doctor," he told him then turned and left. He did not want to hear the sounds of the machines ending their delicate dance...

Squeeze my hand

Before he could stop him, Don ran forward and grabbed the guy who had not heard the warnings. The young detective threw the civilian back... away... before the thunder... the acrid smell... the smell of dust from what had been...

"I've never seen anything like this. You probably save his life, Detective."

Don's abdomen had been ripped open... though there wasn't a lot of blood. The heat of the blast had sealed the skin, leaving internal organs exposed, showing Mac that the aorta had been nicked. He had acted without thinking, with a knowledge he had gained so long ago... in another crisis...

Squeeze my hand

So young. He forgot how young Flack was. Fifteen years younger... sixteen really. Looking even younger now... deeply asleep... after surgery. He wanted to touch him, assure him... assure himself. He wanted...

A post-operative nurse passed within his view. Doing inventory of all surgical instruments and supplies to make sure nothing was left behind. Glancing back every few seconds to be sure the patient was still stable while what needed to be done was done.

Needed to be done. Mac stared at his camera. He had told the surgeon to wait after surgery, if possible. He needed to get pictures... of everything. Everything. If they ever found who did it... they needed to know what had been done... everything...

"We need to finish then take him up, Detective Taylor."

The nurse's voice was gentle... too gentle. Mac took a few more shots. Overkill, he knew. But he needed-

"Sir."

More firm... urgent. Mac stopped. They had to take care of Don. Make the young man wake up so he could talk to him... tell him...

"He'll be in ICU room 4, Detective."

Mac nodded. As two more people in surgical garb entered he began to back away. But before he could be out of reach... out of touch... he stole a touch. His fingers brushed strands of hair at Don's temple. One of the nurse's glanced at him, bright eyes understanding, then returned to his work... healing Don of his injuries...

Squeeze my hand

Tired. He was god awful tired. But he couldn't leave. In the little waiting area across from Don Flack's room he couldn't imagine himself anywhere else. Don was in a light coma, healing... hopefully. Concerns for brain damage from the concussion of the blast... the loss of blood. But otherwise he was stable... healing...

Stella came and forced time to move forward as she shared his space and provided the kind of support only she could give. Hawkes came after then left, assuring Mac that he would make sure the hospital staff did their best for Flack... not that they hadn't already. Danny and Lindsey came. Messer was nervous as he looked at Don. Mac could see the memories of not too long ago... when Danny's brother was in another room not too far away... but the result was different... there had been no hope then...

There was the suggestion to leave. Danny took the hint and offered a ride to their newest team member. Lindsey. She had been hurt too. Mild concussion, he found out. But she refused to rest, refused to be anywhere but on the case. Now it was time to go home and Danny would make sure she got there.

And that was all. Mac once thought there might be... something. But his gut told him it was nothing more than a sibling thing... much as it had been with Aiden... only different... as Lindsey was different but nothing romantic there.

Stella had left him but returned. Coffee.

"I'm glad you stayed," he said, too tired to express more than that.

"Mac... that's what we do." She glanced towards Don. "We take care of each other."

Silence followed. Comfortable silence. Supportive silence. Calming silence. After a time he could not determine, Stella rose. She had to go, make sure evidence was properly logged and filed so that Lessing's defense attorney would have nothing to argue about. She would be back in a few hours... hinted that Mac should be home by then, resting.

Mac smiled as they both understood that would not happen. Her eyes studied him closely then she leaned close to him. "You're not to blame for what happened... back then... for Claire... or for what happened to Don. But for once you have a chance to find out what it's like to be on the other side rather than always wondering what it might have been like."

Then she was gone and he was alone... to think... to watch the young man lying unconscious in front of him... to listen to the muted sounds of machines engaged in their delicate dance... monitoring... beckoning...

Squeeze my hand

He couldn't remember how long he sat... thinking. But his bladder warned him that it was nearly too long. He did his business and washed his hands then glanced at his own reflection, at the bandage stuck to the side of his neck. There was bruising visible now where the gauze didn't cover. There were bruises registering all over his body. He knew if he stood naked his skin would be mottled with splotches of red and deep purple. But pain was a relative thing and for the moment it didn't matter. Only Don mattered. Only his need to see him... to make sure he would have a chance to talk to him... tell him...

Harsh laughter escaped him as he wondered if the young man would even be interested in... Mac snorted at himself. Of course Don was interested. Over the years he had seen it in the bright blue eyes, the too long stare... the faint blush when caught. But Mac had avoided it, kept up that one barrier. He was too old... too damaged... too-

He walked down the hallway, giving a smile to the nurses at their station. They returned his smile. One, a young dark woman came forward. "Detective Taylor?"

"Yes." Always ready to help he paused. She had an expression on her face that alerted him. "Anything wrong?" Don? He only left for a moment...

"No," the woman... Angelita her name-tag told him... smiled reassuringly at him. "He's critical but stable. But-" She patted his arm. "You can go in... spend a few minutes... doctor said it was all right."

Mac gazed at her, surprised. Her dark eyes met his with understanding... too much understanding. Did everyone know what he felt?

Squeeze my hand

So young. Mac approached the bed, deaf to the sounds of the machines. He didn't want to hear them. But it was hard to miss the big screen that showed Donald Flack's vitals. All strong by the looks of them. Nothing minimal or flat-lined. For a moment he merely watched, afraid to touch... to make the connection.

But the urge was too strong. He had to know... had to find out...

He leaned close. "Don," he whispered hopefully.

The machines continued their dance. Mac swallowed hard... a knot formed in his gut. He was tempted to go... he didn't want to know. But instead he took Don's hand, careful of the IV taped around it. He had to know.

"If you can hear me... squeeze my hand."

No movement. Part of Mac's mind panicked, part of him realized it might be too early to expect a response. But his gut... his need won out. He squeezed a little tighter.

"Squeeze my hand, Don."

Command. Desperation. Plea. For a moment Mac expected nothing. It would be all the same... as it had before... the dust of what had been... or could have been...

Movement caught his attention. Weak pressure answered his own.

Tears, long denied tears, welled up in Mac's eyes as he understood. Not as it had been but what it would be...

END
</lj_cut>

Visiting Hours (CSI:LV Greg/Nick/Gil)

Fri, 04 Nov 2005 02:20:37 GMT

Title: Visiting Hours
Fandom: CSI:LV
Pairing: Gil/Nick/Greg
Rating: FRT
Spoiler: Playing with Fire
Warning: None
Summary: A tag scene. No sex. No in-depth plot. Just a bit of fluff...

Visiting Hours
by Asa Meda

"How you doing there, bud?"

As awareness returned Greg felt a gentle hand on his shoulder and another gingerly rest on his head. He blinked then squeezed his eyes shut as daylight invaded. Too strong...

"I'll close the blinds." The hand on his arm was gone, taking with it it's warmth. But the hand on his head remained, making up for the loss. "Nick?"

"Right here." There was the sound of movement, blinders being moved and shifted. "It's okay now."

Greg opened his eyes just in time to see Nick sit down in front of him, his broad hand returning to his shoulder. Greg sighed, comforted by the contact. His head still ached and his ankle throbbed. It was badly sprained. But the worst was his back. Some glass had managed to get in through his clothing, sticking into his skin. The concussion of the blast had caused contusions from the nape of his neck down to his butt. No broken bones. No spinal cord injury. He would have to stay in the hospital at least a week then home for several more weeks of recovery.

For the moment, however, the most comfortable position was on his side. Every four hours the nurses came in and carefully turned him from one side to the other, checking his vitals, seeing to his personal needs. He had protested the use of a bedpan. But they insisted that it be used for at least another day or so before they would let him out of bed. At least they gave me this cute male nurse to help me out.

"Greg?"

Greg blinked, realizing he had drifted. "Uh... sorry--"

A hand gently pressed his mouth. "Don't." The hand drew away. Greg focused. Nick was still seated though he had drawn back a bit. Above him stood Gil Grissom, his expression intent, his general appearance showing strain and fatigue. Bet he's been working his ass off... and getting it chewed up from what I understand.

"Catherine was here," he said, wondering how the information would be taken.

"She was leaving when we came about an hour ago." Gil pulled a chair up and sat next to Nick. His hand resumed its place in Greg's hair, lightly massaging. "She said you forgave her."

"There wasn't anything to forgive," Greg said quickly, firmly. "It was an accident. Actually, I'm sort of relieved. I mean considering terrorism in the world getting blown up unintentionally by a friend is far better." He was glad to see both men smile. "Anyway, I'm surprised it didn't happen before now with all the stuff we keep around."

"There's a new protocol," Gil said quietly, his voice oddly even. "The hot plate will be kept in a separate storage container next to the Fumer Hood. The protocol will be to make sure it is turned off and secured after every experiment. No exceptions."

"Catherine told me she was suspended." Greg grunted as he tried to shift. He was getting tired of the bed, the constant movement of the pressure pad under him. "That wasn't fair."

"She'll be fine, Greg," Gil said. "She was expecting more. But ultimately Robert was impressed with the fact she investigated so faithfully and honestly."

"Hmmm." Greg thought. He wished he could stomp into the Director's office and plead for Catherine. But it was done. Grissom seem to think it would be all right. he had to trust that. Now to the other problem he was having. "How's Sara? She hasn't come to see me," he said, trying not to sound hurt. "Warrick said she was injured too."

"She cut her hand and got thrown down." Gil hesitated and Nick lean forward, putting a hand on Grissom's shoulder and patted Greg's leg.

"Sara's recovering. I'm sure she'll be around soon." Nick's hand gently cupped Greg's face, his thumb caressing the younger man's cheek. "We're not going to stay, bud. The old man here needs sleep. You need to sleep. I brought a change of clothes, your favorite robe, some of your mags, your Gameboy... got you that new game you've been talking about."

"You did?" Greg had been salivating, waiting faithfully for the release date, which was on the day of the explosion. He was afraid they would be sold out before he could get it. Now he didn't have to worry. "Thanks!"

"Anytime!" Nick stood then lean down to kiss Greg lightly on the lips. "We're going to let you sleep. And when they let you out we'll take care of everything!"

"Okay." Greg stared at his lover. A year ago Nick Stokes had made the first move, seducing him one night when both of them had been working late. At first he didn't know if he wanted a relationship but somehow over the course of months he found himself caught in the Texan's web. And now he couldn't imagine being anywhere else.

"If you need anything, Greg." Gil stood too and bent over, kissing Greg on the forehead. Quiet. Loving. Intense. Greg closed his eyes, trying to will his tears back. Four months ago Nick approached him, suggesting Grissom. Greg had no problems and they plotted the CSI supervisor's seduction. All worked according to plan, leading them to this strange but loving relationship that seem to grow stronger by the day.

Greg opened his eyes just in time to see Nick put an arm around Gil's shoulders. Grissom's eyes were bright. He looks like hell. Nick told me he went as white as a sheet when they were scraping me up off the floor... wouldn't leave the gurney until they closed the ambo door. Man.

As exhaustion began to claim him, Greg managed a smile and held up his hand in the sign for "I love you." Grissom smiled back and swiftly leaned in for another kiss.

Greg sighed, closing his eyes for good, letting sleep take him, wondering how long it would be before he would be able to get more than pets and kisses...

The End
</i>

Shadows Past (Miami Vice Crockett/Castillo)

Fri, 04 Nov 2005 01:39:27 GMT

Title: Shadows Past
Fandom: Miami Vice
Pairing: Crockett/Castillo
Rating: FRM
Warning: Talk of suicide; trauma experience
Spoiler: Payback
Summary: Just an episode tag that came to mind about 1991.

SHADOWS PAST
by Atira Kei

"The shadows never tell;
they hold their secrets in trust
until the moon comes to
claim them back...."
- Attics by Alayne Gelfand

[This story takes place after the episode Pavback.]

The hallway was dim, the walls nothing more than timber and plaster, full of holes, chipped paint, and peeling wallpaper. And the smell-- James Sonny Crockett kept swallowing, forcing the bile back down his throat as the rank odor of urine and vomit threatened to overwhelm him.

His father had called him, told him to come here. Said he wanted to talk to Sonny, to make everything all right between them. For the fourteen year old, that was enough to bring him here. Maybe he heard about Mom getting married again, maybe he wants to make it up to her, come home.

Sonny reached the door at the end, hesitating as he looked himself over. He hadn't seen his dad in almost a year, since the elder Crockett walked out, after his mother threw him out, calling him a pervert. The boy really didn't understand, and his mother refused to discuss it. She said it was better he didn't know, that he should grow up strong and healthy, not like his father. Maybe Dad's better. Maybe Mom will take him back if I see him now. With the hope of getting his parents back together, Sonny braced himself as he knocked on the door.

"Dad?" he called, hoping he hadn't gotten the address wrong, and that there wasn't some maniac waiting on the other side.

The door creaked open. Crockett blinked as he beheld the sight of a tall thin man, wavy brown hair plastered against his head, blue eyes staring out from hollowed cheeks. Sonny started to back away, but the man caught his arm, causing him to cry out.

"It's all right, son. Don't run away."

Sonny froze. "Dad?"

The gaunt figure's lips turned upward. "Yes, son. It's me." Bright eyes scanned the younger Crockett. "You've grown some since I saw you."

"They measured me at school," Sonny offered as he tried to relax and adjust to the drastic change in his father. "I grew seven inches since last time. The coach says I'm big enough to try out for the football team."

"That's good, son." The elder Crockett gently pulled him into the apartment and closed the door.

Sonny stumbled a little as he entered. Straightening, he looked back, seeing he'd tripped over a paper bag full of garbage. The stench reached his nose a moment later, causing his stomach to protest. But he ruthlessly controlled himself as he looked around, taking In his surroundings. Like the rest of the building, the studio apartment was dark, hot, and filthy. The few furnishings that existed were torn and broken. Sonny rubbed the sweat from his eyes.

"Dad?"

"I'm glad you came, Sonny." The older man moved away from his son, into the single-room apartment. "Does your mother know?"

Crockett shrugged. "No. She wouldn't let me come."

A smile appeared on the thin, dusty face. "No, she wouldn't have. But I'm glad to see you're becoming your own man." He moved to a set of drawers. "Son, I need to tell you something. Something very important."

The teenage boy felt an odd, creeping sensation run down his spine at his father's change in tone. He eyed the door behind him. "Dad... why did you call me? Are you coming home?" he asked hopefully.

His father's laughter was short and harsh. He reached into a drawer. "No, son. I'm not coming home. I can't. I'm not good anymore. I'm sick. Perverted. Your mother doesn't need someone like me. Neither do you."

"I do!" Sonny shouted without thinking. He stepped towards his father. "Dad, we-" He stopped. His father was facing him. Young Crockett saw the glint of steel in the older man's hand... a gun. Fear filled him, froze him. "Dad-"

His father smiled gently. "Don't worry, son. It's not for you. I just wanted you to know," he raised the weapon to his own head, "that I love you...."

Sonny watched in helpless fascination as the trigger was pulled, as an odd popping sound filled the musty air. His father's arm fell followed by the rest of the body. "Dad?" Sonny forced himself to move, stumbling forward. "Dad?" There was blood on the floor, blood on the wall, blood all over the man lying on the floor. "Dad!" Sonny knelt by his father, looking at the blood, at the gaping hole in the other man's head. "Dad.... No, Dad..." He tried to shake the prone figure awake. "No, Dad.... Dad...."

No, Dad... Detective James Sonny Crockett blinked and rubbed a hand over his face then returned his gaze to the bathroom mirror. His reflection showed a face, drawn and pale, and blue-green eyes that questioned him with a familiar haunting gaze. Dad...

"Hey, Sonny!" a new voice called from below. "Sonny, it's Rico! Where are you?"

Crockett looked away then picked up a towel to finish drying himself off. "I'm upstairs, pal," he answered. "Just gettin' out of the shower. Go get some coffee. The Lieutenant said he left the machine on."

"Will do, mon," Ricardo Tubbs called back in his best 'Jamaican' accent. "Jus' don't be too long, or I'll have to dress the baby myself."

Sonny smiled. His heart grew a little lighter. Rico was a good friend, a good brother. Crockett put on a pair of shorts, left the bathroom and made his way down the spiral steps into the living area of Martin Castillo's home. Rico was in the kitchen, stirring milk into one of two cups on the counter. "Smells good. Hope you're doing it the way I like it."

"Don't I always, mon?" Rico took the cups to the small square table set back slightly from the sliding glass doors leading to the back of Castillo's home. "Here ya go, mon. Personal service."

Sonny smiled brightly, taking a whiff of his cup. "You do good work," he told his partner, taking his first sip. "So what brings you to Hotel Castillo?"

Rico sat across from him at the table. "Just a visit. Thought prison life might be getting to you."

Crockett shrugged. "It's not as bad as that." He glanced around. The lines of Castillo's home were straight and clean, the furniture sparse and practical. Yet the area was bright and airy. The semi-tropical plants that surrounded Castillo's home created a barrier and protected the occupant from the outside world. "Marty's an expert cook."

"Is that so?" Rico smiled around his cup. "I can't imagine him being domestic. Does he do dishes?"

Sonny shrugged. "He must, though I've been doing them since I got here. Only fair."

"Ah!" Rico put his cup down, his eyes twinkling. "Slave labor, man. That's why he hasn't let you come back!"

Tubbs' remark caused Sonny to lose his light mood. The Fuente case had been a bad one all around. And it started in the strangest way possible. Sonny had received a message from a petty drug dealer, an unknown he'd sent to prison for a five-to-ten stint. The prisoner, Murato, told Crockett he had some information about an important drug kingpin, information he was willing to exchange for a deal to shorten his time in jail. Against his better judgement, Sonny made the seventy mile journey.

But the result was worse than tragic. In a stark white visiting room within the prison, Murato sat, looking smug and confident. It was then Crockett had felt the wrongness of the situation. He challenged Murato, told him to say his piece or there would be no deal. The Latino was strange. His dark eyes slowly scanned Sonny from head to toe. "You're one tough cop," the convict said to his visitor. "But we find out how tough you really are."

The nightmare began then. Crockett got out of his chair, ready to leave. But Murato pulled out a homemade gun, pointing it at Crockett's chest, freezing the Vice detective in place. Then the prisoner smiled as if he alone knew all the mysteries of the universe. Before Sonny could consider his options he was pulled forward by Murato and kissed. Then the convict turned the primitive gun on himself. The spatter of blood and brain tissue flew everywhere... onto the walls, catching in his hair, staining his clothes....

"Hey, Sonny!" Tubbs called. "Sonny! Snap out of it, man!"

Sonny gulped a lungful of air like a drowning man emerging from the waters. He was in Castillo's kitchen. The blood was gone along with the sound of gunfire... but not the memories. Never the memories. "Sorry, partner." He saw Rico was on his feet, ready to come to his aid. "I'm fine, man."

"Yeah?" Rico slowly sank back down into his chair. "Looks like you were going over some really heavy shit up there in the old attic." He folded his hands. "Wanna talk?"

Crockett rubbed his forehead. His head was throbbing, threatening a major headache. "No, man. I'm fine. All this down time is just playing on my nerves."

"I hear you." Tubbs took another sip of his coffee. "Castillo's been pulling strings left, right and center. Word seems to be getting back to Fuente about Gates and the money he stole. That should take the heat off you."

Sonny sighed. "That's not enough, Rico. My cover's blown. Fuente knows who I am. In the five days I've been cooped up here I expect everyone on the street knows, too."

"The Lieutenant's had me check it out. So far everything's cool. The name Burnett still rings the right bells. In a sense you're helping him out, getting rid of the competition." Tubbs finished his coffee and got up. "Refill?" Crockett shook his head. "Sonny, I think you and I know each other pretty well." Rico poured himself another cup. "I can tell just by looking at you that this Fuente case has thrown you off center." He fixed coppery eyes on his partner. "If you don't want to talk right now I won't pry. But you gotta let it out sometime, man. And when you want to, I'll be around. You know that."

Touched, Sonny nodded. "I will. I just need to figure it out myself."

Tubbs accepted the reply. Returning to his chair he turned the conversation in a new direction. Rico brought Crockett up to date on the latest exploits of Switek and Zito, Gina's newest boyfriend and Trudy's new hobby. Sonny relaxed, his headache forgotten as he laughed and joked. All too soon, however, Rico finished his second cup. He gave Sonny a quick hug then left him, quipping about letting the maid take care of the dirty cups.

Sonny playfully threw him the finger, his thoughts temporarily focused. He went into the kitchen and turned on the water then reached for the first cup to clean when there was a knock at the door.

"What's the matter, Rico," he called cheerfully. "Forget your change of underwear?" He opened the door, unprepared for the sight that greeted him.

Detective Andrew Hodges, a man of average height and build with a long soft-featured face, stood on the steps. Hodges was one of IAD's best people, when he was doing his job right. But during the Fuente case he had accused Crockett of stealing the drug kingpin's money, had caused Sonny's cover to be blow by playing ruthless mind games. In the end Hodges was responsible for the whole fiasco that left two men dead and a carefully worked out plan to bust Fuente in ruins. At that moment Crockett could hardly believe the gall of the man showing up on Castillo's doorstep.

"What the fuck do you want, Hodges!"

The IAD man smirked. His gray eyes scanning Crockett. "Interesting thing to call out as you answer the door, Detective. Especially dressed like this."

Sonny slowly counted to ten. This was Martin's home, his sanctuary. Violence had no place here. "I'll try it again, asshole. What do you want?"

"Watch your mouth, Detective. I'm here on official business." He reached into the breast pocket of his suit jacket. "Heard you were staying with your lieutenant. Nice arrangement."

"Get to the official stuff," Crockett warned harshly.

Hodges laughed lightly. "Right." He held out a piece of paper. "This officially clears you of misconduct charges in connection with the Fuente case."

"Great." Crockett snatched the paper out of his hand. "But aren't you a little off on procedure? Lieutenant Castillo's supposed to be getting this."

Hodges crossed his arms in front of him as a reptilian smile appeared on his lips. "I just thought you deserved the good news straight from the horse's mouth." His hand lightly touched the simple molding around the door. "Anyway. I wanted to see for myself if the rumors running around Metro Dade were true."

The detective tensed. "What rumors?"

"Oh nothing important, Detective," Hodges replied casually as he continued to caress the doorframe. "Just one or two things we heard about Castillo and his former partner, Jack Gretsky, while they did their all for Uncle Sam. Seems the term 'undercover' took on a whole other meaning for them."

"You fuckin' son of a bitch!" Sonny stepped towards him, suddenly enraged. "I'm gonna-"

Hodges straightened. "No you're not, pretty boy! Lay a finger on me and I'll make sure your ass is so chewed up even your... boyfriend wouldn't touch It."

That was the last straw. Crockett's fist connected with Hodges' jaw and sent the IAD detective down into the dirt. "You have no right! You don't know a fuckin' thing about him or me. But you spin your little lies!" Hodges slowly came to his feet and Sonny thought of hitting him again but held back. "You sicken me! You and the whole goddamn department!"

"And you've just made the worst career move of your life," Hodges spat. He wiped the blood from his lip. "I'm going to make sure you're parked behind a desk permanently!"

"Yeah?" Some thread of reason took hold. Crockett rested his hands on his hips. "You gonna bring me up on charges? Like to see you explain how it happened."

Hodges took a step towards him then stopped. "I don't need to bring you up on anything. We didn't have to go that far with your friend Mike."

Invoking Mike Orgel's name was like throwing cold water in Sonny's face. Mike had been a good cop and a good friend. But more than that, Orgel had been gay. And when IAD found out, Mike's life was made a living hell. In the end Mike got himself killed throwing himself in front of a bullet from a robber's gun. Just like my dad...

Crockett rubbed his forehead, blinking back the burning sensation in his eyes. "You're a real bastard, Hodges. You know that?"

"It's my job, hotshot," Hodges replied confidently as if he understood the tables had turned in his favor. "I'm Spic n' Span and you're a dirty floor. You and your lieutenant." He chuckled. "Have a nice day, Crockett."

Sonny managed to stay calm until Hodges' car was out of sight. Then he lost all control and slammed his fist into the door frame. The hard wood survived intact but Crockett's hand came away bloody. "Shit...." Sonny slammed the door shut and went into the kitchen, thrusting his injured hand under the cold tap water until the bleeding stopped. All the while he refused to think, refused to feel.

But as the pain ebbed, Sonny couldn't think of anything else. He turned off the water, patted his knuckles dry then inspected the damage. The skin was split, but it would heal. However healing his sense of trust, his sense of self-worth wouldn't be as easy. It was probably too late for any damage control. Hodges would be showing up at Metro Dade in twenty minutes, Castillo would probably get a call within the hour. Then the shit would really hit the fan.

Sonny went back into the living room and sank down on the pulled out sofa-bed, his home for the past five days. In front of him the sliding glass doors framed the rising sun. It was a beautiful day; a light breeze blew the tropical leaves. Crockett drew his legs up, resting his arms on his knees. Twelve years. Twelve years of giving my every waking hour to those assholes. All gone...

Crockett knew he was wallowing in his own pity. It wasn't the first time the department had implied he was gay. But this was the first time they were being so aggressive, making clear accusations. Was it possible they could see? He had been a guest in homes of other male co-workers before, especially Rico. Why did it make a difference with Castillo? Of all the guys on the force, Marty was the last one Sonny would have fingered as gay. Unless what Hodges said was-

"True?" the detective finished out loud to himself. He thought about it, thought of Castillo. Thought of the possibility of the Intense Latino being gay. No. Not possible. Martin loved May Ying. He had been married to her. Had wanted a family....

(o was your father, bozo. So were you...

Yeah? But I'm not gay! I loved Caroline... still do. I have a son! I've never even thought about guys... that way.

No? Crockett squeezed his eyes shut as his own thoughts betrayed him, uncovering unwanted images of various men he'd known in his life. Some stood out more than others, glowing with a quality Sonny found attractive, a quality that had attracted him to Evan Freed... Mike Orgel... even Rico... and Castillo....

Sonny sighed as he felt the familiar tingle in his groin as his libido focused on the image of his lieutenant. Several months ago it began like this. Once, after a long, tense case, the blond had found himself alone on his boat, throbbing with need. But his attempt to bring himself off proved futile. He couldn't focus. Even imagining himself with Caroline hadn't helped.

Then thoughts of Martin Castillo flashed into his mind. The lean, formidable figure stood before him, wearing only a pair of tight black pants that outlined every muscle in his thighs and buttocks. In his vision, Crockett watched Martin approach, imagined the lieutenant's touch, pretended those black eyes, full of magic and mystery held him enthralled. Sonny's vision continued with the feel of Martin's strong, callused hands closing around his cock, carefully rubbing his shaft into rigid attention, then increasing the pressure, always knowing just how much to give, just the right places to squeeze or rub. Crockett was helpless, too caught up in the motions to speak. All he could do was ride out the gathering storm, groaning as his most sensitive areas were repeatedly stimulated until he was overwhelmed by the eruption of light, the release of all tensions....

Breathing hard Sonny slowly opened his eyes. "Christ!" He released his now flaccid penis, gasping as the still sensitive organ dropped down, resting half in and half out of his shorts. For several minutes Sonny simply lay on his back, unable to believe what he'd done, what he had been doing to himself for the past three months. It couldn't be hidden or denied. Sonny Crockett, the all-star jock, the tough Vietnam vet and Miami's coolest undercover detective desired his lieutenant as he desired no one else.

With a sudden burst of energy Sonny got to his feet, quickly gathering the sheets up into a ball to hide the evidence of his perversion. He ran back up the spiral stairs, stripping off his soiled shorts in one smooth motion as he went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. He couldn't let Marty see what he'd done. First he'd clean up then wash the sheets then wait. When Castillo came home he'd give him notice, turn in his badge, tell him the Fuente case had been one too many. His lieutenant would understand. Duty took priority over their friendship. Castillo wouldn't hesitate to give his approval then Crockett could just go away. Yeah, that was the answer....

Twenty minutes later, Sonny walked back into the living room naked. He grabbed a clean pair of shorts and put them on. Then he moved to the phone. As procedures went Sonny was required to call in once very hour to confirm that he was safe and sound. Normally his calls went straight through to Castillo and they would spend the next few minutes with small talk. Martin was not only interested in Crockett's safety but also in his comfort and well being. But this time Rico answered.

"Hey, Sonny! Everything okay?" the dark detective asked, his tone hesitant.

"Yeah, just fine," Sonny lied. He sensed tension from his partner. "Where's Castillo?"

"At a meeting... with IAD." Rico paused a moment then continued; "I can't tell if it was good or bad. Hodges stormed into Castillo's office, yelling and screaming something about you and him. His jaw was all swollen. Was he over at your place?"

"Yeah," Crockett sighed. Everything was going as he expected. "Right after you left he showed up. He got me pissed off. I guess he couldn't wait to tell Marty all about it."

"Well our Cuban leader was pissed off, too. He barely got out that he was going to IAD as he walked out. Hodges followed him like a whipped dog. I don't know what else I can tell you."

"You don't have to say anything, pal. I know my days are numbered," Crockett told his partner. "I guess I'll just have to wait until he gets back to get the good news."

"Don't think like that, man," Rico admonished. "You don't know that. Castillo always takes your side. He likes you, respects you. He wouldn't have you stayin' in his crib if he didn't. Look, just keep calling in. When the lieutenant gets home he'll fill you in on IAD and Hodges and the rest of the crap. Then you'll know."

"Yeah," Crockett agreed tonelessly. Tubbs was being protective. He didn't understand, didn't know. "Thanks, Rico. I'll just keep callin' and wait for Marty to get back."

"Hey, Sonny," Tubbs' voice was full of concern. "Don't get yourself all worked up. Everything's gonna be all right."

"I'll take care, pal," Crockett replied. "Talk to you later." Sonny cradled the phone, feeling even more depressed and defeated. He knew the outcome of Castillo's meeting with IAD and it didn't do any good to pretend to be positive when there was no chance of victory.

Within the next few hours Sonny had the sheets cleaned and the sofa-bed made and put away. He made calls every hour but each time Tubbs or Switek could only tell him that Castillo was still at a meeting. Crockett found himself wandering around the house, taking short walks on the deck outside. Until he spoke to Castillo there was nothing more he could do.

It was nearly three-thirty in the afternoon when Sonny heard a car coming in to the drive. Castillo's car. Relieved that the wait was over, he stuffed the last of his personal things into a nylon duffel bag. He'd let the lieutenant say his piece and make the proper motions then go.

The front door opened and Castillo stepped in, holding a grocery bag in his arms. Crockett watched, too stunned by the unexpected sight to move. The older man easily maneuvered into the house, closing the door behind him.

"Hello, Sonny," Castillo greeted casually as he walked past the blond into the kitchen.

Crockett had imagined all kinds of scenarios, anything from kind understanding to anger. But this... "Marty?" Dazed, he followed. The bag was deposited on the counter. Castillo began taking out small bags of vegetables, a quart of milk, eggs, a bag of rice, and a six-pack of beer. Sonny knew that the beer was for himself and smiled his thanks even as a pang of sadness crept into his heart. "What's this?" Crockett asked as he spied something flat and green wrapped in cellophane.

"Dried seaweed," Castillo replied as he began taking out a pot, strainer, and a small bamboo mat. "I'm going to make some sushi."

"Great!" Sonny glanced at the clock on the stove. "Aren't you a little early? I didn't expect you home for at least a few hours."

Martin's dark eyes briefly took him in then returned to the job of preparing the promised meal. "I finished what needed to be done. Rico can handle the rest."

Sonny's heart pounded as he simply nodded. Marty knows something but he's going to play the perfect host then let me have it. "Lieutenant." Crockett nearly gulped as the intense gaze touched him again. But he would not be put off. "Marty, Hodges came over this morning. He said IAD is off my back." He shrugged. "That only leaves Fuente-"

"I know." Castillo continued his work, pouring rice into the boiling water and covering the small pot. "I received a report about the same time Hodges was here. I also received word from a... source of mine. Fuente is moving his houseboat."

"Moving it?" Temporarily distracted, Crockett cocked his head. "Where?"

"Somewhere near the coast of Cuba or Brazil. Rumor has it he is being sought by Interpol for questioning. Something about taxes owed the French and British governments." Martin's lips twitched slightly. "He might have to keep a very low profile for a couple of years."

"Yeah." In spite of the situation, Sonny felt some of the strain of the last ten days lift from his shoulders. At least when he was on his own he wouldn't have to worry about a price on his head. Martin started to cut the vegetables, still calm and at ease. Crockett fidgeted nervously as he perched himself next to the kitchen doorway. It was difficult to watch Castillo going through the time and trouble of preparing a meal when he knew he'd have to ruin it with the truth. "Marty. I gotta talk to you."

"After we've eaten, Sonny," Castillo said quietly, never hesitating in his work. "Then we'll talk about Hodges."

Sonny shook his head, unable to accept the calm and repose Martin offered. Growling a curse he walked out. The lieutenant called his name but Crockett ignored him. Adrenaline surged through Sonny's blood and took away his ability to think. He threw open the sliding glass door, refusing to stop until he was standing at the edge of the inlet, gazing down at the water, too full of energy and self-loathing to make any more decisions. From behind he heard Castillo's soft footsteps.

"Sonny, don't let your emotions control you," Martin told him with firm gentleness. "Come back to the house."

"I can't." Crockett stared down at the water. A small jellyfish glided against the side of the dock, wandering aimlessly... much like Sonny's own thoughts. Crockett winced as the sound of gunfire rang through his mind leaving a telltale ache in his head. He rubbed his across his brow to wipe away the sweat. "Marty, don't torture me like this. I'm sure Hodges gave you an earful."

"Hodges was full of himself when he returned," Castillo affirmed. "He made some accusations about you."

"I'm sure." Sonny buried his hands in the pockets of the shorts he wore. "Do you believe him?"

"I believe him when he said you hit him." The lieutenant sounded amused. "His jaw was quite swollen."

"He got on my nerves," Crockett defended poorly. "What about the rest?"

"Why don't you tell me about the rest, Sonny?" Castillo suggested softly. "What did Hodges say to you?"

Sonny shrugged. It didn't matter now what was said. "He told me how cozy he thought it was for me to be staying in my boss' home."

"That's not something out of the ordinary, considering the circumstances," Castillo said, his voice a little closer. "Sonny, tell me what he said."

"He accused me... accused us-" Crockett moved to put more space between himself and the older man. "Marty, he accused me of being gay!"

"Are you?" Castillo asked.

Sonny winced. Again the sound of gunfire echoed through his mind. "I don't know," he managed to respond. "I don't know!"

"All right, Sonny," Martin soothed, his voice again close. The warmth of his presence touched Sonny's back. "Just relax and talk to me. I want to know your feelings on this. What you say to me won't go beyond this home," he promised.

Sonny gripped his hands together to stop their shaking. "I loved my wife, Marty. I still like her. I like the way she and other women feel under my hands. I love making love to women. But--" Crockett closed his eyes. I love you son. "I can't."

"Yes, you can," Castillo urged calmly. "Talk to me."

The detective glanced back. Castillo stood by his side, dark eyes watching him, supporting him. He cares. Sonny returned his gaze to the water and let the first barrier in his mind fall away. "When I was thirteen, my mom threw my dad out of the house. She accused him of being perverted. Then they divorced... the court denied him visitation." Sonny smiled. "He was a great guy, Marty. Before the divorce, he was there for me all the time. Taught me how to sail. Took me fishing all the time. But once I remembered him stopping at some guy's home... a friend. They were talking and laughing. The guy, Richard, made the best Sloppy Joes. When we were leaving, my dad sent me out ahead. He said he'd be with me in a second. Being ten years old, I got impatient when he didn't come right away, so I went back to the house." Sonny shivered. "I saw my dad kissing the guy right on the lips." Crockett shrugged and shook his head. "It didn't really bother me, and I never told, mostly because I didn't understand what I'd seen. But a few years later, during the divorce... I started to."

"Your father was gay?" Castillo asked in a neutral tone.

"Or bisexual. I don't know. I know he was unfaithful." Crockett shrugged. "I didn't see my dad for a little over a year, then he called me." And I walked up the stairs, thinking everything was going to be okay. Dad called. He wanted to make everything right. "He said he wanted to see me. So I went. He lived in this run down hotel, full of cracked walls and bad smells." Sonny shifted uncomfortably, his voice took on a slightly youthful quality as the memories once again became real.

"He looked awful... dirty. And he was drinking. His room was full of garbage and bugs. He said he needed to tell me something." I should have seen it then... the gun. I could've stopped it. "He said he wasn't fit to be around anyone... that he was bad. I tried to tell him it was okay, but he didn't listen. He said he loved me...." Tears rolled down Crockett's face. "He killed himself! I was standing right there and he told me he loved me, then he shot himself In the head... just like that!" Crockett held out his hands, seeing it all as it had been. "There was blood everywhere! His blood. His brains. Even after a bath I was still picking parts of him out of me!"

"Sonny." Martin's hands came down on Crockett's shoulders and squeezed gently. "Sonny, it's over."

"No!" Sonny shrugged out of the lieutenant's grasp, wiped the tears from his eyes, the sweat from his brow. The phantom scent of garbage and blood assaulted him. "I'm not looking for comfort! It happened!" Anger and frustration came to the surface as he focused on Martin. "And it keeps happening! Every day, and every night! Every time I think about another guy, how he looks, how much I want him-" Crockett halted as he realized what he was saying. He glared at Castillo, daring him. His stomach churned with fear.

Martin raised a hand as if to comfort his subordinate then drew back. Instead his intense gaze locked on the younger man. "Sonny, listen to me. I'm not the enemy. I'm not IAD. And I'm not your father. Your father, as good as he was, chose to leave his son with a lifetime of nightmares and doubts. But you have something precious he chose to sacrifice. Your life. You have the ability to change, Sonny. You have the ability to deal with those nightmares and grow beyond them. Or you can choose to stay in the pit of your pain and despair for the rest of your life."

"Marty, you don't understand. You can't." Sonny swallowed the lump rising in his throat, clenched his hands into fists. "Every time I get close to another guy, every time I let myself go with the feelings I have for him, my dad's there." He rubbed his forehead. "Then the headaches start."

"You have a headache now?" Martin interrupted firmly. Sonny nodded. "Come back to the house."

Emotionally drained Crockett followed Castillo then sat down on the sofa as directed. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I've ruined your dinner."

"Dinner can wait, Bonny. There's no reason to be sorry." Castillo handed Sonny a glass of water and two aspirin. "Here. These should help."

Crockett graciously accepted the pills but knew they wouldn't help. Nothing did, not even alcohol. Castillo touched him on the shoulder then returned to the kitchen. Sonny took the time to try and relax. He distracted himself by watching Martin finish two sushi rolls, wrap them then put them in the refrigerator. Dinner would wait.

"How's the headache?" Martin asked as he returned.

"Better," Crockett lied. "I'll be fine, Marty." He sighed. It was time to set the record straight. "Do you want my badge now? Or can it wait until tomorrow?"

"Do you want to give up your career?" There was a dip in the couch. Castillo settled next to him. "Sonny?"

"I thought that was the rule concerning officers who practiced... alternate lifestyles," Sonny muttered.

"Have you been practicing alternate lifestyles, Sonny?"

"No," the detective responded defensively, wishing he could gather the courage and energy to get up and leave. All this talk meant nothing. "I've never been to bed with a man."

"But you've wanted to go to bed with a man," Castillo stated matter-of-factly. Crockett nodded. "That's nothing to be ashamed of, Sonny."

Crockett twisted his head around to stare at his lieutenant. Martin was the picture of serenity, seated calmly on the sofa next to him. The top three buttons of his short-sleeved cotton shirt were undone, revealing a stark white undershirt that outlined hard chest muscles underneath. Sonny's heart beat a little faster. "What do you mean, 'nothing to be ashamed of'? Marty, this isn't some passing phase. I'm not a teenager. I really feel..." Crockett looked away, his cheeks burning. "Lieutenant, I think it would be best if I just handed in my resignation."

"And I ask you again," Castillo demanded. "Do you want to give up your career?"

"Why are you even asking the question? I just admitted to you that I'm gay," Sonny said, wondering how his boss could even consider breaking one of Metro Date's etched-in-granite rules.

"You've said you've had feelings," Martin pointed out. "That's not the same."

"Christ, Marty!" Crockett jumped up from the sofa and walked to the opposite end of the room. "Aren't you listening? I'm attracted to men, and I can't change it!"

"No, you can't." Castillo wiped his mustache. "I never tried."

Sonny had his mouth open, ready to reply to what he thought Martin was going to say. But as the older man's words sank in, he found himself frozen in mid-motion. "You?" Sonny's legs began to tremble. He gripped the railing on the spiral steps to steady himself. "Then what Hodges said-"

Martin's eyebrows came up with interest. "Hodges said many things, Sonny. What did he say to you?"

"He said." Sonny sighed. "He said you and Jack Gretsky were lovers."

"We were," the Latino responded casually. He got up from the sofa. "We loved each other very much."

There was grief in Castillo's words, grief and tragedy. Scant months ago Sonny experienced one of the most bizarre cases in his entire life. During that time Martin had been forced to kill an old friend, Jack Gretsky. Sonny could tell then that the action, though necessary, had torn the Cuban's soul. Now Sonny finally understood the depth of feeling between the two men.

"You must have been good for each other," Crockett said awkwardly, trying to express his feeling. "I can't imagine you with anyone you couldn't devote yourself to."

"Maybe... I don't know," Castillo told him honestly. He looked into Sonny's eyes. "It wasn't a perfect match... and there was May Ying. I loved her, too. She gave me what Jack couldn't. Together they offered everything I was looking for. But they never came together, never made a whole. I've had to wait several years to find one person who could give me the stability, the wholeness I've wanted."

Martin's words were warm and soft. Sonny stood helplessly as the older man stepped up In front of him, shivered as Castillo's hands cupped his face. His heart pounded into his throat as he understood what Castillo was saying. "Marty?"

"Shhh..." Martin pushed a wisp of hair from the younger man's forehead. "Your headache any better?"

Headache? Sonny was too engrossed with the sensation of Castillo's hands on his face, fingertips brushing his unshaven cheek. His cock hardened against the restraints of his shorts. "I feel...."

"I know what you're feeling, Sonny." Castillo continued to caress Crockett's face. "You're afraid."

The male within Sonny Crockett silently rebelled, then relented. He was scared shitless. But he was excited, too. "Marty, I want you," he admitted

Martin's teeth flashed as he smiled. "And I, you." He considered the detective with an analytical eye. "Do you know how to kiss?"

Sonny's heart slammed against his chest. Castillo was encouraging him to make the first move, to kiss a man. Crockett tensed, memories warring with his desires. "God, Marty... I want to...."

"You're beautiful, Sonny," Martin whispered. Dark eyes shone as he drew in a deep breath. "I love the way you smell," he added softly. "I love the way you feel." He wrapped strong arms around Crockett's waist. "Kiss me, Sonny."

They were standing nose-to-nose. All Sonny wanted to do was to take this man in his arms and hold him as he'd held no other man. But the shadows... Suddenly he was fourteen years old. His father stood, sad blue eyes appealing to his son even as his finger moved, pulling the trigger...

"I love you, Sonny," Castillo assured, breaking the long silence. "I won't push you into something you're not ready for. I can wait."

Sonny shook his head, knowing that if nothing happened now the ghost of his past would win forever. He dipped his head and touched his lips to the Latino's. The feel of a mustache briefly shocked him, almost made him pull back. But Martin pressed the small of his back, encouraging him, igniting him. Crockett slowly adjusted to the strangeness, relaxing in the older man's embrace. The kiss deepened. Martin's tongue lightly probed at Sonny's lips. Sonny gave into the quiet demand for entrance with a sigh. His hands awkwardly caressed Castillo's back, touched steel-hard masculine muscles. Martin responded with a moan, his lips gliding from Crockett's mouth to a soft spot behind the blond's left ear. Sonny came alive as the Latino's teeth gently bit at the skin. He reached down to the waistband of Castillo's pants, digging at the cotton shirt and under shirt tucked inside.

Castillo helped by undoing the rest of his buttons then pulled off his shirt. He gently stroked Sonny's hands and arms as he encountered them. A low rumble escaped him as Crockett's hands brushed his skin. "Mmmm.... Good, Sonny--"

Crockett shuddered with desire, with the feel of Martin's bare skin against his own. His senses were sharp, almost too sharp. He could smell the musk of the lieutenant's arousal, feel the smooth bumps and ridges on Castillo's back... the scars from battles past. "You're beautiful," he whispered, pulling Castillo more firmly against him.

Castillo sighed. His fingers combed through Crockett's hair. "You're sunlight, my love. Bright sunlight..." He drew a deep breath. "I'm going to give you a taste of the pleasures that we can share, Sonny."

Unable to find his voice Sonny groaned his response. He heard laughter escape Castillo, an odd, wonderful sound. Crockett was drawn into another session of passionate kisses. Martin's hands seemed to be everywhere, touching all his secret places. Sonny was lost in a storm of sensations. He whimpered when the Latino opened his fly, then cried out as skillful fingers wrapped around his cock, squeezing firmly.

"Feel good, amante?" Castillo brushed his lips along Crockett's jaw. "Digame, Sonny. I need to hear it."

Crockett tried to speak, tried to tell his lover how good it was, but nothing emerged but a faint guttural sounds. Martin's hand worked harder, pressing and sliding. Sonny flung his head back, his eyes screwed shut as his whole body gathered and centered. He shivered and thrust uncontrollably, his breath coming in short, harsh bursts mixed with soft whimpers. The first spasm hit, then the second. Sonny was helpless to stop the cascade and trusted himself to the strong arms holding him as he released himself.

"Sonny."

Castillo's voice touched Sonny's ears, drawing him back to the present. Crockett still stood on his feet, held in Martin's supportive embrace. "Marty, I-"

"Shhh." Martin kissed Crockett, his tongue lapping at the beads of sweat along Sonny's shoulders. "Be still, Sonny," he commanded. "Relax."

Sonny giggled. "God, Marty! I'm so relaxed I'm boneless." He moved slowly, raking his fingers over Martin's spine, feeling a faint tremor of excitement as the older man groaned comfortably. "Marty?"

"Hmmm?" Castillo's head came up, dark eyes watching Sonny closely. "All right?"

Crockett smiled lazily as he caressed Martin's cheek. "I love you, Marty."

Castillo's eyes lit up. He pulled Sonny against him, randomly kissing his neck and shoulders. "You're my soul and my heart."

Crockett basked in the warmth of Castillo's loving words, in his lover's strength. As Martin moved against him, Sonny noticed a particular hardness his thigh. Still nervous, but determined, he pushed back. "Marty." Sonny's eyes wandered over Castillo. The site of the hard smooth chest, the smell of Martin's arousal excited him, aroused him once more. Crockett reached out and caressed over his chest, felt the heat as his hand grazed over Castillo's crotch. "Teach me how to make love to you, Marty. Tell me what you need."

Martin studied Crockett, his dark eyes glittered with excitement. "My classes are long and slow," he purred as he took Sonny's hands and kissed them. "But you should find them interesting, and satisfying." He guided him to the spiral steps leading up to his bedroom. "Do you want to begin now?"

Crockett stared at Martin as he fought one last battle with his past. There was a moment of indecision, of letting go, of moving forward as the war was won. He embraced Castillo one more time then followed his lover up the stairs.

END

Bonded Reality (Alien Nation Matthew Sikes/Marvin Gardens)

Thu, 03 Nov 2005 01:32:58 GMT

Title: Bonded Reality
Fandom: Alien Nation (remember that??? Loved the show!)
Pairing: Matthew Sikes/Marvin Gardens (one-time character)
Spoiler: That one with "Sardinac" in it...
Rating: FRT
Summary: What if Matt had given in and not turned Marvin away.
Note: This was written before the later movies came out. So anything that's inaccurate... think of it as time delayed AU...

Written in 1990 (before mailing lists... and much of the Internet)
my pseudo-name used to be Atira Kei

Bonded Reality
by Atira Kei

Sometimes it is a subtle thing...
a thing created in spite of reason
rather than because of it...

It was a mistake. He knew it the moment he walked into the squad room. They were all staring at him. Human and Newcomer. They all knew. Every single one of them; and they were just waiting for the shit to hit the fan.

"Good morning, Matt."

Sikes nodded in response, refusing to look up. Dammit, I'm ashamed! Why? I didn't do anything to be ashamed of! Did I?

"Matthew? Anything wrong?"

George Francisco's voice was soft, concerned. Matthew started fiddling with his CRT. "I'm okay, George. Just a little tired. Didn't get a lot of sleep last night."

"Are you ill?"

"No, George. I'm fine." His fingers hit the keyboard a little harder. "I was just a little distracted." He stopped, shocked by the words that had tumbled out. He wasn't handling this well at all.

"Matthew, something's happened." Statement of fact. The Newcomer leaned closer to his partner. "Was it Cathy? Did you two--"

"No, it wasn't Cathy!" Matthew shouted then regretted it as every head turned in his direction. Out of the corner of his eye he saw one older man approach, an unwelcome grin spread across the rounded face. Detective Alan Meiers, the oldest man in the unit. When he wasn't planning out his retirement six month from now he was making Matthew's life hell by keeping old rumors alive.

"What's the matter, Francisco? Havin' trouble waking your partner up this morning? Not surprised." He stopped by Sike's desk. "He probably got a little... busy last night, eh guy?"

"Go to hell, Meiers!"

Meiers casually sipped at his coffee. "You know, I was out last night. Just getting a sandwich from around the corner." He brought his face closer to the younger man. "Wanna know what I saw?"

Matthew's heart pounded. Dammit, he saw us! "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm talking about your and your boyfriend, Matty," he whispered evenly. "I saw you two comin' out of that new *Batman* movie." He grinned, giving Sikes an all-knowing wink. "Was it any good, or were you two too busy to notice..."

"Shut up!" Matthew ignored the surprised expression on George's face as he glared at the older detective. "You don't know shit!"

"Don't I?" Meiers straightened. "I remember when that sla- When that guy came in here last month. He was ready to fuck you into the floor then!"

"Meiers."

Francisco's voice was quiet, but full of warning. Meiers hesitated, staring at the alien with contempt. "This isn't your fight. Stay out of it."

George's face hardened. His hand rested on Matthew's shoulder. "He's my friend."

"What... this pansy?" Meiers looked him up and down. "Heard you guys had no sense of morals. Heard the ladies got it all over you men, even making you have their babies for them."

It was the wrong thing to say. George started to look away, his body-language clearly showing his dismissal of the narrow-minded human. But Matthew launched himself at Meiers and tackled him to the floor. He managed a single punch to the older man's face before George and another Newcomer were able to pull him off. "God-damn son of a bitch!" he screamed as he struggled against the hold they had on him. "Let me go!"

"You're crazy, Sikes!" Meiers nursed a bloody nose as he picked himself up off the floor. "Out of your mind!"

Matthew yanked himself free. His eyes scanned those around him. Humans and Newcomers had gathered. There were expressions of disgust on their faces. Sikes turned. George was behind him, hands ready to grab him again, the same expression on his face. It was all over. "Dammit!"

"Matt!"

"No!" Fear and self-loathing was all consuming. Sikes ran, plowing through anyone who stood between him and the exit. He had to get away.

"Matthew!"

A new voice... a familiar voice. Matthew saw the Newcomer standing in front of him. Marvin Gardens. He skidded to a halt. "Get away from me!" he cried out, backing away. "Just get out!"

Marvin took a step forward then stopped. Confusion wrinkled his brow. "Matthew, what is it? What's wrong?"

"Nothing!" Matthew continued to move away. "I don't want to see you! Get out of here!"

He ran again, in the opposite direction. But there was no way out, not without going through the squad room again. In desperation he turned into the men's room and came to a stop only when he met the white tiled wall. Breathing hard, he slowly sank to the cold, hard floor, drawing his knees up against his chest, hoping some crazed escapee from lock-up would find him and put him out of his misery.

The door swung open slowly. Soft footsteps entered. Matthew tensed, too scared to look up and see who it was.

"Matthew?"

George. Go away, George. Fun's over!

"Are you all right?"

Yeah, George, I'm fine. Can't you tell? He shook his head.

The other presence drew closer, knelt before him. "Meiers is in Grazer's office."

"Does he want me there, too?" Sikes asked, still holding his head against his legs. He didn't want to face anyone, least of all his superior, but if Grazer ordered it...

"No, he wanted you to go home."

"I'm suspended?"

"No, Matt. Meiers is. He provoked it."

"Yeah, but I gave into it."

"You had reason. Grazer heard all of it."

Great! Just great! "Bet he did. Now everyone knows."

"Knows what?"

"Knows what I am."

"I don't understand. What do you think you are?"

"Didn't you hear?" Matthew brought his head up, looking up at George, surprised by the compassion he saw there... or was it pity? "I'm gay, George... a freakin' homosexual!" His eyes widened as George's expression remained unchanged. "Doesn't that bother you?"

"Should it?" George turned himself, sitting cross-legged on the floor, facing his friends. "Why should it bother me if you prefer intimate relations with someone of your own gender?"

"Because..." Matthew sighed, clenching his hands into fists. "Because it's not normal! I'm supposed to like women!"

"Don't you? You like Cathy... and Susan..."

"Jesus, don't be dense! You know what I mean."

"Yes I do, Matthew." The tone was quiet and gentle. "Some of us had... problems when we started living among humans. Our choice of companionship was sometimes scorned and ridiculed because of strong opinions humans have about what is male and what is female. At first we thought it was something inherent in being human. But later we learned that it was cultural, a restriction imposed upon the general population no matter what an individual's natural desire might be."

Matthew took a moment, considering the words, his thoughts and emotions wandering. "So you really don't care?"

"I care that you're so upset... that Meiers was able to hurt you with something so natural..." Pause "Matthew, what he said about Marvin. Is it true?"

Sikes stiffened as the name was spoken. He bowed his head, his cheeks burning. Fleeting images came and went from his mind. "Yeah. He and I went to a movie last night."

"I thought you didn't want to see him."

"I didn't-" Matthew shifted uncomfortably. "Look, I don't want to talk about it. Okay?"

"What happened last night?" George insisted.

"Nothing!"

"You had sex with him."

"We made love!" Matthew corrected before he realized what he was saying. "Shit!"

"You love him?"

"Dammit, George, I said I didn't want to talk about it!"

"Were you hurt? Was he?"

Images wafted through Matthew's mind; memories from the night before. Two men faced each other, totally nude, each alien to the other. At first they touched with gentle curiosity, seeking to know what would pleasure the other. But soon the touches became caresses. Contact and controlled passion followed. He'd always wondered what it was about humming that excited them. Now he understood. But it wasn't right. He had done it for all the wrong reasons and with the wrong person. And it was too late to undo the damage. "It was good, George," he said finally to break the silence. "I'm fine."

There was a release of breath... relief. "Matthew, Marvin is outside in the lobby, very upset. He thinks he hurt you."

Matthew let out a laugh, a hollow, painful sound. "Hurt me!" His eyes met George's. "He didn't hurt me! I've hurt him! And he doesn't even realize it yet!"

Lines appeared on the Newcomer's face. Puzzlement. "What are you talking about?"

"The sardinac, George. Don't you remember? That stuff started this, got him hooked on me. You know, the aphrodisiac of the century? I tried to keep him away, tried to make him understand. But he just kept showing up at my doorstep. He was in so much pain... So I made a deal with him. Told him he could visit until the stuff wore off, but that we couldn't... do it."

"Why?"

Matthew stared at him in amazement. "Why! Because we'd be bonded! Cathy said-"

"You've talked to Cathy about this?"

"Yeah... when it all started." She asked if we'd had sex, too... All very casual, like she knew... "She said if we had sex we'd be bonded permanently. I didn't want that. It wasn't right. Not for me and not for him. So we just hung out together. Got him hooked to the Three Stooges." Matthew smiled, remembering the sound of Marvin's laughter, the comfortable feeling he began to have each time the Newcomer came, the one time he actually missed the other's presence when unexpected work kept them apart one weekend.

"After awhile I got used to him being around."

"You fell in love."

Matthew shrugged. "I guess. He's not a bad guy. We have a lot in common. I mean... it's almost like we don't have to talk to each other. We just know." He stared at his fingers. "But it was just the drug, George. It wasn't real. I know that. But now I've committed him. When I woke up this morning... I could feel him here!" Matthew tapped his chest. "That's the bonding, isn't it?"

George raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Yes, that's a common feeling when bonding has taken place." He scrutinized the human. "Tell me, do you feel him now?"

Sikes stared at him then concentrated on himself. Deep inside he felt a mixture of anguish and confusion. Not his own feelings... but Marvin's. "Yeah. He's upset." Matthew shook his head to clear it. "Is that how it is, George? Is that how it is with you and Susan?"

"No. Most of us never reach that level, not without the sardinac. And even then it's artificial. There's never a true sharing."

"But how come-"

"I don't know. The human word is empathy. As a race, we seem to be more empathic than humans, some more than others. The stronger the ability, the greater the bonding will be. But Matt, you have a saying that goes... it takes two to tango."

"Meaning that I'm psychic or something?"

George smiled a little. "You have a sixth sense, Matthew. I've noticed it many times."

"Then there's nothing I can do." The detective rubbed his face, forcing back tears that threatened. He was tired and angry. Angry with himself. "I've committed him."

"Committed him? You make it sound as if no one would *want* to be committed to you. Ever since I've known you, you've been like this. Reaching out to others, but drawing back if they should reach out to you." George grasped Sikes' arm. "Why?"

The human shut his eyes. He tried to pull away but George's hold only firmed. There would be no escape. Matthew sighed. George deserved and answer. "It's just a lot of bad baggage. When you get the crap beaten out of you every other day and told you're not worth shit all the time you start to believe it."

"Your father?" George asked, remembering several remarks the younger man had let slip over the past months.

"Yeah." Bastard's been lying half-dead in a coma for twenty-five years and still he can touch me.

"I'm truly sorry, Matthew. But why deny yourself now? Marvin cares for you--"

"It's the drug!" Sikes yelled. "It's only the god-damned drug! He doesn't give a shit about me! It was all a mistake! He was there to see that woman, not me! He doesn't want me!"

"How do you know that?"

Matthew heard the question but the voice was very different. Marvin was here. He could sense his presence.

"Matthew, answer me."

The human withdrew and let his universe narrow up. He didn't want to face this. He couldn't. Beside him George moved. The Newcomer's hand briefly brushed the side of Sikes' head. Reassurance. There were words - alien words - spoken between his partner and his lover. He couldn't understand, not all of it, but the tone was calm, almost soothing. Then George touched him once more before leaving them alone. Matthew remained still as he prepared himself for what might come next.

"Poor ba'shu," Marvin whispered softly. "I never knew."

Silence.

"You won't even look at me. Have I hurt you so much?"

"You're not to blame."

"I am if you think what I feel for you has anything to do with the sardinac."

Matthew sensed truth in that statement and raised his head. Marvin stood, hands on hips, studying him closely. A feeling fluttered from Sike's stomach to his groin. "You can't want me," he insisted.

"I do." Marvin knelt in front of him. Both his hands came up to brush back Matthew's hair; warm fingers grazed soothingly over the Human's temples.

Matthew groaned and closed his eyes as a small shock passed through his body. "Marvin."

"Shhh..." The Newcomer's fingers continued to stroke lightly. "Relax. Doesn't it feel good? I'm told most humans don't react to this at all. Only the sensitive ones..."

"Stop!" Matthew grabbed the other's wrists, holding them away, ending the torture before he could fall under its spell.

"Why? Because it's not real?" Marvin easily pulled Matthew's hands away. "The sardinac is gone, Matt. It wore off almost two weeks ago. What we feel for each other is very real."

Shocked, Matthew could only stare. "What? How do you know it's gone? I mean-"

Marvin smiled. "It's gone, ba'shu. Gone."

"but you were at a woman's apartment. You were--"

"I was desperate for contact, Matthew. I didn't care who I had that contact with." Marvin looked away. "I had a... companion on the Ship. He and I.. were bonded. But he didn't survive. Until a month ago I'd been lost, not really caring about anything, or anyone."

Sikes felt an overwhelming grief pass through Marvin into himself. Without thought he caressed the other's cheek. "I had someone, too, after I got divorced. We were together awhile but... he died." Cancer. Months of caring... support... all ended on a crisp day in October...

Marvin winced as if sharing the recalled memories. His caresses became more gentle. "You're a survivor, too."

Matthew shrugged. He was still alive. Donald was long gone.

"I love you."

Matthew opened his mouth, ready to deny Marvin's words. The he stopped himself as he experienced the Newcomer's feelings that lingered behind. He loves me. He really loves me. It's not the drug... "Dammit, Marvin! Why didn't you tell me the stuff had worn off?"

"I didn't think it was important." Marvin continued to massage the pulse points on Matthew's head. "We'd already started to bond. I thought you understood. I thought you were aware of what was happening."

"I only knew I liked having you around." Matthew groaned as he found himself caught up in the sensations sweeping through him. "I only knew that I was falling in love with you."

"And that's why we bonded. We were open to one another and we had the energy. That's uncommon. In fact, no one thought it was possible between Newcomers and Humans."

Sikes acknowledged the statement with another moan. His body was slowly turning to fire. He caressed the soft, smooth surface of Marvin's head, letting his fingers skim over the spots, smiling as his lover responded, humming with pleasure. It was so easy. Matthew's groin tingled with anticipation. But then, suddenly, he gathered himself and pulled them apart. "I hate to get practical," he apologized to sooth Marvin's startled expression. "But I think we should get out of here. Someone's bound to come in on us."

Marvin looked around as if he suddenly realized where they were. "You're right, ba'shu." He stood up and held out a hand to his bonded mate. "George told me to take you home."

Home... Matthew wondered which home Marvin was referring to then realized that he didn't care. Right now all he wanted to do was share with this man, finish what they had started last night. But... it would have to wait. Instead he tightened his grip on Marvin's hand. "By the way." He stopped their progress towards the door. "What's a bashu?"

"Ba'shu," Marvin corrected with a soft smile, pronouncing it with that subtle clicking sound common to Newcomer speech. "On our world, it was a small, shy animal. A cross between a spider monkey and a domestic cat." His hand briefly played through Matthew's hair. "You remind me of one."

"Yeah?" Matthew grinned. "Does that mean I get a saucer of warm milk?"

Marvin stared at him with a blank expression fro a moment then laughter escaped him as understand lit his eyes. "I think we can do better than milk, Matthew. Don't you?"

The End.

Of Chili and Coffee (NCIS Gibbs/Dinozzo)

Thu, 03 Nov 2005 01:31:29 GMT

Title: Of Coffee and Chili
Fandom: NCIS
Pairing: Gibbs/Dinozzo
Rating: FRM
Spoiler: Conspiracy Theory
Warning: um... can't think of any
Note: This begins as the episode ends... enjoy...

Of Coffee and Chili (Parts I & II)
by Asa Meda

Tag to "Conspiracy Theory"

One new mail... then two...

Gibbs heard the hushed gasp, the quick gathering of personal belongings. He could almost smell the carpet burning as Tony and Kate walked in unison to the elevator and out of the office, muttering their good-byes.

Thank god...

Gibbs was about ten seconds away from letting them know that the brother-sister feud was really, really getting on his last nerve this time around. But now, it seemed, they had found some common ground. He heard Tony say something about deleting something then a count off. Now he had two new messages in his inbox. One from Kate. One from Tony.

He opened Kate's first and blinked in surprise. Two men in leather sat next to each other... a type of photo he had seen before... obviously a 'gay' type picture for some magazine cover probably. Only... one of the men looked like Tony DiNozzo; and Tony seemed rather comfortable in leathers, sitting next to an equally well-built man as they posed. Gibbs studied the picture, his body responding to the sight of the handsome face... muscles... the way the leather straps lay...

Then Jethro shook himself free of his emerging fantasies. Right away he knew the photo was fake. He had seen Tony naked... in the locker room of the gym... in a quick glance in the showers. DiNozzo in his own right was nicely built, young and strong, but not like this. Gibbs smiled. In his fantasy world, where he made passionate love to the young agent, he was quite comfortable with the physic offered. This muscle-bound toy wasn't what he wanted.

Gibbs grunted amusedly at the joke played on Dinozzo as he opened Tony's email. Something had been going on between those two for the past two days. Now he would find out what-

Oh.

"That real?"

Gibbs chuckled lightly as he heard and sensed Tobias Fornell perch himself on the narrow desktop behind him, Starbucks coffee in hand. They were going to have dinner together. "I think so. She looks about twenty there. I'm willing to bet Tony got it somehow. Something about a trip to Panama City."

"Oh... that explains it." Fornell sipped at his coffee. "Since the eighties they've had a wet t-shirt contest during Spring Break. They keep the winners photos on a board at this bar." He used his cup as a pointer. "Must have won. She's cute there."

"Yeah." He hit the delete key. This picture disappeared to reveal the one behind it.

"Oh christ, Jethro! That can't be real!"

Gibbs' eyes wandered over the photo again, admiring the handsome face, only briefly scanning the body. "Nah... bet it's Abby's work. Kate did something to piss Tony off and Tony, I think, threaten to email that other photo to the whole office." Gibbs smirked. "I know he wouldn't have. He's got too much respect for her. But she didn't know that."

Tobias grunted. "Insurance policy?"

"Oh yeah. She's got a mean streak... and a bit of a gender issue."

"Gender issue?"

Gibbs' eyes wandered longingly over the photo one more time then hit the delete key and emptied his inbox trash. "I don't think she has problems with someone whose gay but she seems to have a problem with Tony. Or she just likes to taunt him with one of the few things that makes him squirm." His rubbed his hand across his eyes. One of the reasons he would never approach DiNozzo. He wasn't certain the young man's orientation was completely straight and narrow but he wasn't certain if Tony knew that. "They have this sibling thing between them. Most of the time it's pretty entertaining. And while I know they'd watch each other's backs anyway I know that they pay extra special attention when they cover each other."

"I admire your style of management," Fornell congratulated with a raised cup. "So... what do you think about DiNozzo's gender issues?"

Gibbs glanced back at his friend, noting the smirk. Between himself and Ducky it was an old topic. Now Tobias... "I don't."

"Liar." Fornell finished his coffee and threw the empty cup in the wastepaper basket at his feet. "You think about him all the time." He smiled openly. "You fantasize about him. I know."

Gibbs turned his chair around completely to face the FBI agent. A tiny butterfly drifted across his stomach. He didn't think he had given anything away, not about Tony. "You've been talking to Ducky," he accused in a low voice as he wondered what he could torture the old Medical Examiner with the next time he saw him.

Looking like the cat who caught the canary Fornell's smile grew wider. "Nope." He shrugged casually as he got up. "Call it instinct borne of long years as an agent." He leaned close to Gibbs, his mouth next to Jethro's ear as he whispered, "Or maybe it's the way you whispered "Tony" when you were fucking me the last time we were together."

Oh shit. Gibbs jerked back so hard the back of his chair hit his desk as he studied his friend and occasional lover. Amusement glittered in Tobias' eyes. My. God. Jethro's cheeks burned. In the last few months he had imagined the younger man beneath him when he was... but he didn't think he had... "Tobias--"

"Don't sweat it," Fornell warned quietly, still amused. "That's not why we're together... you know?"

Yeah. Their relationship was... odd... casual... absolutely no strings. Still. Gibbs sighed as guilt rose from within. "I--"

Fornell put a hand over Gibbs' mouth. "You're not listening, Jethro." He gave him another brilliant grin. "It's all right." He straightened and stepped back in preparation to leave. "I already knew... just didn't know if you did." He glanced towards DiNozzo's desk then back to his friend. "Oh... and I'm going to save you a lot of angst in wondering about him. The first time I suspected I did a deeper personal background check... deeper than you did."

Confused, Gibbs frowned at him. "Why--"

Tobias again stopped him with a touch. "Because I've made it my personal mission to protect your gorgeous ass whenever I can... just like you have." He pursed his lips and gave Gibbs a sharp look. "Anthony DiNozzo's a good storyteller I'll give you that. A woman for every weekend... in every port... that kind of thing. But I know it's all bullshit. Peoria's Police Chief had a lot to say about that young man and the real reason he left." His eyes swept upward dramatically as if working to recall. "Something about 'that faggot hiding among us' or something like that." He winked at Gibbs and gave his shoulder one last rough pat then turned. "I'm going to grab a burger on the way home tonight, Jethro. We can do dinner another time."

"Tobias!" Gibbs stood, disoriented. What had started out a moment of amusement had turned serious. He had been looking forward to--

Fornell faced him, his expression calm. "I told you. Don't sweat it. Go ask DiNozzo out. See what happens." Cheshire cat smile. "You might be surprised. Then let me know." He swept up the steps and punched the elevator button. "Maybe he'll let you share... but just you and me," he amended as his cheeks colored slightly. "He's not my type and frankly you're more than enough to handle all by yourself." The elevator opened. "Go get him, Jethro," he said as he got in and gave a mock salute. "Just make sure you get me that bottle of bourbon you promised."

Gibbs stood still as the elevator doors closed, leaving him alone. He glanced at his computer monitor. It was nearly eight o'clock at night. Friday. Federal holiday on Monday... free day unless there was a case. He had planned to spend part of that time with Fornell. They both needed the break... the intimacy. But--

Shit. He scanned his desk. Reports were done. Only needed review and sign off. He stared at his monitor then shut his computer down. He took out his cell then put it back, annoyed by his own cowardice. Ask Tony out? He couldn't. He shouldn't. He--

His cell rang. Gibbs sighed as he saw DiNozzo's name. "Gibbs!" he barked.

There was momentary silence then, "Hey, boss! What did you need? We got a case?"

Case? "What are you talking about?" he demanded as he reigned in his emotions. Something wasn't right.

"I got beeped... you didn't beep me?"

Beeped? Gibbs hung his head. Set up. Fornell was going to pay. "No... no case, Tony. I didn't beep you. Sorry you got interrupted."

"Uh no... it's fine. I wasn't doing anything... um..."

Gibbs smiled and gave into an urge to tease. "What about that hot date you were going on about at the beginning of the week?"

Silence. Gibbs felt a little kernel of hope as he began to understand. "I... um... she..." Pause. "Didn't have a date, boss. Just something to annoy Kate with."

Loneliness. Tony's tone was pleasant but Gibbs could hear the deeper emotions that so echoed his own. His heart skipped a beat. Maybe... "I'm just leaving the office," he said evenly, ready for any response. "If you're not doing anything I'm in the mood to cook and watch a game... of course the television's small... black and white..."

Silence again. Gibbs wondered what Tony was thinking, if Fornell had been wrong... "Um... you're going to make that chili?"

Gibbs smiled. He would make anything DiNozzo's heart desired if it got him to come over. "Yeah... that three alarm special you liked when you were here."

"Okay." Tony seemed hesitant. "Um... those emails from Kate and I--"

"What emails?" Gibbs offered as a way out.

"Uh." Pause. "Okay. I'll be there in about an hour?"

"Sounds good. See you then." He closed the phone and grabbed his things. He had less than a half hour to get the food, get home and start cooking.

An opening... Gibbs sighed. He would take an opening. As the elevator doors closed Jethro Gibbs made a mental note to have two of the finest bottles of Bourbon delivered a certain FBI agent's home...

*********************
Part II

DiNozzo closed his phone and collapsed into his sofa. He glanced around. The ghost of Rod Serling had to be about ready to emerge any time now. Gibbs had invited him over for chili and a game? Tony took deep breaths. Why? Something wasn't right... but nothing seemed to be wrong either.

Was he imagining things when he heard the hopeful tone in his supervisor's voice? Tony shrugged. //He probably just wants company. I mean I've been there before... stayed there. Why am I making something out of nothing?// He pushed himself off the couch and began to strip. //Shower. Change. Drive. Eat. Enjoy a game. Go home with good feelings for the rest of the weekend. Sounds like a plan to me.//

The chili was great but the television was too snowy to watch any kind of sports game for more than thirty seconds. Instead Tony found himself settling in the corner of the basement and watching as Gibbs worked on his beloved boat. At some point in his years working for Gibbs the older man let slip that his father had been a master carpenter among other things and had taught him everything he knew about woodworking.

Forty-seven. Somehow Tony had found out Gibbs' age... his birthday. In spite of the gray hairs Tony was surprised. He had thought Gibbs a little younger... not that it mattered. His boss was a pleasure to watch, his body moving in sync to his task; taking a board from a steamer, bending it to his will while it was still wet, fastening it in place with wooden pegs.

Muscles. Strength. Control. Experience. Tony focused on keeping his hands on top of the small table he sat next to rather than let them roam to his crotch where his cock was already taking more than mild interest in what his eyes beheld. //He'd probably deck you two seconds flat if he knew... suspected...//

"Tony?"

DiNozzo jerked to attention, startled out of his wandering thoughts. //Shit.// "Yeah, boss?" he said with what he thought was calm inquiry. His face, he knew, burned with embarrassment. His body sweated from head to foot. His lungs filled fitfully as his hormones raged. In front of him Jethro Gibbs was watching, his expression as neutral as any poker player's. His eyes sparkled with... something. //Oh god... maybe he wouldn't deck me...//

"You want to help?"

There was a piece of sandpaper in Gibbs' calloused hand. Gibbs' sweats were soaked across his chest and shoulders by his labors. Tony eyed the boat then met the older man's gaze, his own feet growing a little cold. "I'm not really good with tools, boss," he announced. His libido chided him ruthlessly but reason warned him to be very sure.

Gibbs studied him then his lips turned in a gentle smile. "First... my name is Jethro... here." He held out the sandpaper. "And this isn't something you can screw up." He raised an eyebrow. "Just want to give you a quick lesson so you can do it on your own."

All very casual. Nothing in the other man's tone betrayed more than a friendly offer. But Tony's instincts knew better. //Does he know what he's asking? Why would he want anything from me? I don't have anything to give... that he'd want.//

"Come on, Tony." Gibbs gestured towards the bowed structure. "I'll show you."

Coaxing. Gibbs' head was cocked, his stance one of total relaxation and patience, even interest. DiNozzo made a decision and stood up. Gibbs' eyes lit up in response but his expression remained as it was.

He was handed a piece of coarse paper then turned around to face a piece of thick wood, part of the skeleton of what would one day be Gibbs' boat. Curious he touched the surface, surprised to find it as smooth as glass.

"Still needs some finishing touches." Gibbs stood close without touching; his hand rested just above Tony's with another piece of sandpaper in it. "Watch me."

Gibbs hand moved slowly over the wood in short, precise rubs, going with the grain, polishing rather than scraping. Tony hesitated. He wasn't exactly telling the truth when he said he wasn't good with tools. He knew how to rewire, how to interconnect surveillance equipment, how to keep something running in a hitch. But he wasn't good like this, able to build something from scratch. He didn't want to do the wrong thing with something as precious as this was to Gibbs...

"Copy me, Tony."

Copy. DiNozzo carefully applied the working side of the paper to the wood and began to sand. He winced as the sound he made failed to match the softer, smoother sounds Gibbs made as he worked.

"Don't be afraid," Gibbs admonished quietly as he continued his own sanding, stretching up, presenting well toned muscles close to Tony's face. "You can't do anything wrong," he assured.

Tony gave him a doubtful glance then started again with uncertain scrapes.

"Here."

Gibbs let out a long breath. In the next moment he was behind Tony; his hand closed around DiNozzo's wrist. "Just short strokes on the surface to smooth out the rough areas."

Captured by the touch; by the warmth of Gibbs' body so close to his; by the scent of wood, steam and pure male sweat, Tony just let the older man guide him, let expert fingers move the sandpaper in precise motions. He was fully aroused, about ready to lean back against Gibbs and beg to be taken. But he wasn't sure... the stakes were too high...

"See what I mean?" Gibbs' body shifted even closer. His breath teased the hairs on the back of Tony's neck. "Just relax and feel the wood."

Tony's heart quickened and his cock screamed for release from his now too tight jeans. His heart nearly stopped as Gibbs sighed and warm lips grazed his neck. "Boss?"

"Jethro." A hand slid from Tony's wrist then both of Gibbs' hands slid up DiNozzo's arms. Gibbs' entire body pressed lightly against DiNozzo's, the hardness in the older man's crotch obvious to the younger man's butt even between the jersey and denim materials separating them. "Say no and it goes no further," his supervisor whispered. "We'll never talk about it." His hands rested on Tony's hips. "But I don't think you're going to say no."

No? He wanted to say no? A tongue danced across the back of his neck and made him shiver. The sandpaper began to slip from his hand...

"Here." Gibbs leaned even closer. His fingers caressed as he took the paper from Tony and put it aside. "Turn around."

Taking a step he knew was more than physical, Tony turned. Gibbs's mouth was on his immediately, demanding. Work roughened hands slipped under his shirt, caressing and massaging with strength and knowledge. Tony gasped then relaxed as he found himself slipping into a role he hadn't allowed in too many years. Gibbs was a man of control and Tony was in need of letting go but could never find the ability to trust. But he trusted Gibbs...

"Okay?" Jethro whispered as his lips drew back.

DiNozzo's mouth ached. His body was drawn tight. Gibbs' hands glided up and down his sides and back, over bare skin, alternately comforting and enticing. Somehow, Tony realized, his shirt had disappeared. He stared into Gibbs' eyes, trembling with need but unable to initiate. Gibbs was supposed to be in control.

"Tony." Some light of understanding appeared in Gibbs eyes. "Okay," he said softly, kissing DiNozzo, reassuring. "It's okay, Tony." He kissed him again then captured Tony's gaze with an intent one of his own. "One rule. If you're not comfortable say something. I don't mind driving but want the passenger's input." His finger traced Tony's jawline seductively. "And we're going to take it slow because this is not just for today. All right?"

Tony nodded mutely as the words flowed into his heart and soul. For the first time in his life he wanted to believe. He was needy... he knew. He tried to curb it but it was too much a part of him. There would be a point where his insecurities would make his lovers break off and separate themselves from him. It was a pattern he controlled by having only occasional one-night stands. No strings. No hurt feelings on either side, most of the time. But now... would Gibbs be willing to deal it when undefined anxieties would make him seek Gibbs' reassurance time and again?

Strong hands cupped Tony's face. Gibbs' expression was open and caring. "You're a pain in the ass, DiNozzo. I already know that." He lightly kissed him. "But you're my pain in the ass and I take care of what's mine."

His answer... for now. Tony breathed in the scent of sawdust... the sweat of his potential lover... the chili they had just shared. His body swayed, seeking physical union and release as his mind sought something even deeper.

Gibbs smiled then took Tony's hand and interlaced their fingers as he gently tugged. "I need a shower," he announced, his voice deeper, huskier. "You can help with that too."

Tony grinned. "Always available to help the elderly, boss!" He ducked as he anticipated the smack to the back of his head but instead Gibbs gave him a disturbing smile as he led Tony up the basement steps.

"DiNozzo, by the end of this weekend," Jethro began quietly as Tony was pulled to another set of stairs leading to the second floor, to the master bedroom... and bath. "You'll know exactly what the elderly are capable of in bed."

END

Gone Awry Part 2 (CSI: LV Gil/Nick)

Thu, 03 Nov 2005 01:22:24 GMT

PART 2 - SEE PART 1 FOR ALL WARNINGS AND SUCH...

There was a sense of something not right that woke him. Grissom opened his eyes and looked around, instantly alert. He sat up on the couch where he settled after Nick's parents had gone to bed and looked back towards their bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, the room dark. Silent. Grissom swung his legs over and stood, grabbing a pair of sweat pants to put on over his boxers and padded towards Nick's room, feeling the pull of his concerns in that direction.

"Nick?" Grissom called as he entered. The room was vaguely lit by the lights of Las Vegas coming through the large picture window on the opposite side of the room. To his left the bathroom light was on and the water was running. Through the space between the door and the doorjamb Grissom could see Nick washing off his face. For a moment he thought of walking up, to ask if the younger man was all right then decided to give Nick his privacy and took a seat on the end of the bed.

Minutes later the water stopped and Nick walked out, toweling his face, stopping short as he noticed Grissom on the bed. "Gil..." His face was puffy and red, his eyes blood-shot. Crying. Grissom's expression softened as he forced himself to remain still when all he wanted to do was take the young man in his arms. Nick blinked. "Did I wake you?" he asked quietly. "I'm sor--"

"Don't apologize." Grissom watched him. "Are you all right?"

Nick stared at him as if considering his answer then shrugged, throwing his towel back in the bathroom. "Just me being a cry baby. No big deal." He wiped at his eyes then leaned against the wall next to the picture window his arms crossed in front of his chest as he faced Grissom. But the CSI supervisor could already see it was a temporary pose. The younger man's body was already becoming restless.

"You're not a cry baby, Nick. This is normal," Grissom told him. "You're going to feel a lot of things, suddenly and extremely for a long time. It's normal." He paused as he saw a curious twitch pass over Nick's face before the young body exploded in movement and began pacing around the room. Grissom watched with mild concern. This pacing was not new but its intensity was. //Did I say something wrong?// he wondered. //Nicky, how can I help you?//

"Gil?" Nick stopped dead in mid-step. He faced the picture window, his back to Grissom, watching the lights of Las Vegas glowing in the middle of the night. "I-I think we need to talk," he said finally, his voice just loud enough for Grissom to hear.

//Talk.// Grissom prepared himself, ready to hear anything Nick was willing the share. "I'm here to listen," he assured.

Nick took in a deep breath, his hands on his hips as he continued to stare out across the city. "I'm attracted to guys," he said finally, like a revelation. "I was afraid to say it before. But I have to. I don't want to lie to anyone or myself anymore."

Grissom forced himself to keep a casual pose as he cheered internally. //Admission. You're a brave young man, Nick Stokes.// "It's okay," he began in response then made a decision of his own. "I'm attracted to guys too."

Nick whirled around, his expression as shocked as Grissom had ever seen it. If the circumstances weren't so serious Grissom would have laughed. "You are?" Nick said, his tone testing.

Now Grissom did allow a smile. "Surprise," he replied as he tried to ease the new spike of tension in the room. "Did you think you were alone?"

"No. I mean--" Nick slowly walked to the bed and sat down. "I didn't think you were--"

"Gay? Bi?" Grissom continued to smile, charmed by Nick's reaction. "Actually, in my case, I don't like the ladies... like that."

"Oh." Nick was clearly stunned. He ran his hands through his disheveled hair. "So I guess you're really okay with this."

//You have no idea,// Grissom commented to himself. He leaned forward, placing a hand on Nick's knee, keeping the touch friendly and detached. "I don't care, Nick. I try not to label. As long as it's two or more consenting adults it's none of my business."

Nick nodded, still surprised but more thoughtful. //And calmer,// Grissom noted with relief. //It was the right decision to tell him... I'm glad.// He pulled back then stood. His body was suddenly too aware of Nick. //Friendship,// he strictly commanded his awakening libido. //Just because he's admitted he's attracted to men doesn't mean he's attracted to me or anyone at the moment. And above all, he's fifteen years younger with his whole life in front of him. I'm a middle-aged man who's going deaf and whose body has seen better days. Not a good match no matter how much I might want it.//

"Gil?"

Grissom blinked, his cheeks burned a bit as he realized he had distracted himself. "I'm sorry, Nick. I'm more tired than I realized," he half-lied. He rubbed his eyes. "Are you feeling better?"

Nick regarded him a moment, a curious expression passing over his face, then nodded. "Gil," he began then hesitated. "Thank you," he said finally.

Grissom grinned. "Don't worry about it, Nick," he assured. "It's almost over now. With the plea agreement yesterday you'll be old news by tomorrow. Trust me. Warrick is going to come by tomorrow and take you to the doctor to get those stitches out. Then Sunday afternoon I'll help you get home." He edged towards the door, finding this to be a good place for the conversation to end. He needed to cool down and get some sleep. He had to return to work tomorrow evening now that most of this was over. He studied Nick's face, seeing some doubt wrinkle the younger man's brow. //Does he think it'll all go back to where it was before?// Grissom decided to squelch that idea immediately. "Nick... don't hesitate to come to me... to talk to me. Anytime. A week from now. A month. I mean that."

Nick's expression brightened a bit. "Thanks," he said again.

Grissom nodded and started to turn then stopped, feeling it a good time to say at least one thing he had really wanted to say since seeing Nick in the hospital all those days ago. "And Nicky... if you ever do something as stupid as you did Friday night I will personally make your life a living hell... assuming you survive."

A burst of short, sharp laughter escaped Nick. "Oh man... my parents said just about the same thing this morning."

//Bet they did.// Feeling truly relieved by Nick's good humor, Grissom cocked his head. "Well you know how us elders are... wise beyond our years... willing to teach by the school of hard knocks when inspired." He gave one last smile. "Good night, Nick."

Nick smiled brightly, something Grissom had not seen since before the attack. "Good night, Gil... thanks for listening."

"What are friends for?"

Grissom closed the door over slightly as he left Nick. He felt accomplished though a little frustrated. He wanted it all... but knew he had to settle for second best. Nick's friendship but not--

Movement caught his eye as he walked towards the couch. Shadows seem to shift in the darkened opening of the bedroom door where Nick's parent's stayed. Grissom blinked. The shadow was gone as if he had never been. He thought a moment about calling out to see if everything was all right. //No... they're probably sound asleep. The lighting from the outside changed. No big deal.// He lay down on the couch and drifted back to sleep within minutes.

CNN had a breaking story. A shooting in a high school in Maryland. Five dead. Ten seriously injured. Everyone traumatized. At the same time some well-known rock star decided to overdose on a favored drug. Grissom watched as the story of Nick's attack began to take far less airtime, reduced to a quick update comment about the plea bargain and crawler space at the bottom. It was pretty much the same on the other networks, cable and local. The doorman downstairs informed him that there were only local stragglers, intern reporters who had Nick's story dumped on them "for the experience".

Grissom pointed the universal remote and changed the station back to where it had been, Animal Planet, then put the device on the coffee table in easy reach of the man slumbering on the couch. Nick was much better this morning. His bruises were ugly but less painful. Tomorrow the stitches would come out of his forearm. But more important than anything else his spirits were greatly improved. He greeted his parents with a smile and nearly finished the breakfast his mother prepared. Somewhere in there, Nick's sister called and Nick spoke and laughed. All good things. Grissom couldn't be happier.

Now, after taking his morning medication, Nick dozed as his parents got ready to leave. Grissom was taking them to the airport and Nick wanted to come. But Grissom warned him that there were still some reporters outside; that one more day would end their interest for sure. His mother firmly agreed.

"I think we're ready, Gil," Berle said as he came out of the bedroom, freshly dressed, carrying the two small bags the Stokes' had brought with them. They didn't want to go, Grissom knew. But Nick was fine and they had important lives to go back to now that the crisis was nearly done.

"Nick still asleep?" Janet came out and walked to the couch. Grissom watched as the older woman simply watched Nick, was reminded of his own mother's attention. //I miss her,// he thought sadly. //Five years and I still miss her terribly.//

"Hey mom," came Nick's sleepy words as he opened his eyes when she touched his cheek. "You're going?" He got up, moving carefully to stand. "I'm glad you came," he said. "I'm okay," he assured them.

"I know," his mother said firmly. She drew her son into a tight hug. "I expect to see you at our home for Fourth of July weekend... got it?"

Nick's expression altered. "I have to work."

"No you don't," Grissom chirped in. "I think you can talk your supervisor into letting you switch out with one of the team." Nick's parents had already said something. Grissom had already spoken to Warrick. All but signed, sealed and delivered.

Nick swallowed as he studied Grissom, then he seemed to shake himself and smiled at his mother. "Okay... I'll be there."

"Good." Her eyes twinkled. "And bring a guest." She hugged him again. "Call me tomorrow. Hear?"

"Yes, Mom," Nick chimed dutifully.

"You can email me," Berle told him as he replaced Janet, drawing his son into an embrace. "Your mother likes phones... I like email. Remember that." He drew back, his dark eyes regarding Nick. "Look forward to see you in July."

Nick's eyes were turning red with unshed tears. "Same here, Dad." He glanced to Grissom. "You'll come back before you have to go in?"

"I'll try." Such was the nature of what he did... of what they all did. "If not I'll call and I'll be back tomorrow morning." Gil smiled. "Warrick's on his way here to take you to get those stitches out then I think he mentioned something about a new game... Taser Force?"

"Oh yeah?" Nick smiled suddenly excited. "He likes losing."

//Ah youth.// Grissom took the bags from Nick's father then opened the door. Time to go. "He's been practicing," he shot back. He was glad to see a hint of annoyance cross Nick's eyes. He began to walk out the door followed by the Stokes' "See you or call you later."

Just in case Grissom left via the VIP entrance. There were a few cub reporters but he went too fast for them to do more than get out of the way. The traveling was done mostly in silence. Grissom sensed that Nick's parents were exhausted and didn't try to talk to them. But about halfway to the airport Janet moved and Grissom suddenly felt her attention on him.

"Gil," Janet Stokes began. "Do you... like my son?"

Grissom jumped at the question, at the special emphasis she gave to the word "like". His hands barely kept control of the steering wheel he gripped. //She didn't mean anything,// he told himself. //You're imagining things.// "I'm his supervisor," Grissom answered calmly, honestly. "He's one of my best investigators... and a friend. I like him fine."

"Good." She seemed satisfied. "He likes you too but I think he has a hard time expressing that. He has trouble with his self-esteem sometimes."

Grissom barely kept a curse from escaping his mouth as he found himself flying through a red light, breathing in relief when no accident occurred. "Um... Janet." He glanced at the rear view mirror and saw Nick's father watching his wife with an odd expression on his face. He glanced aside and thought he could see an amused gleam in her eyes and immediately understood where Nick had inherited this charming but somewhat annoying aspect. He sighed as he missed the turn he needed for the airport and realized he had completely lost the ability to concentrate on the road. He found an appropriate place, pulled into a parking lot and shut off the engine. "I'm sorry," he said as he turned his body slightly to face Janet Stokes. "I think I'm going to make you both late for your flight."

A smile widened across Janet's face. "We'll be all right," she told him calmly. "Did I shock you?"

Shock? Grissom cocked his head, examining her as he would a suspect who suddenly did something out of character. "I honestly don't know what you're trying to say to me," he challenged lightly. Well, he did... almost. But he couldn't believe it. Not from Nick's parents. This was getting very strange very quickly and he didn't like strange.

"Do I have to go into details?" Janet shifted uncomfortably then rallied, pinning him with her gaze. "Nick is our baby. He was unexpected but very welcome. And because his brothers and sister were so much older we were able to take our time with him. I know all my children," she declared. "I know when they are happy or sad... or in love by just looking at them, even when they manage to hide it from others." She glanced back at her husband who now wore a more neutral expression as he met his wife's gaze. "I've seen the way he watches you and I've seen the way you take care of and watch him. And though I didn't mean to... I saw you with him last night."

Grissom quickly raised a hand to stop her, embarrassed that he had been seen. "Janet, I only talked to him. He needed to say something and I was willing to listen."

"You love him," she said bluntly. "And he loves you." She glanced away then back. "Something happened when he was a child, Gil. I'm not going to tell you anything here. That's for Nicky to tell if he wants to. But in spite of our best efforts he was left a little uncertain about himself, skittish about disappointing those he wants to be close to or make demands on others. Most of the time he's managed to overcome it, hide it away, be the man he is. But in things like this..." Her eyes raked over him. "Just so you know."

Janet Stokes stopped speaking and turned to face forward, her expression calm as if nothing had been said. Grissom looked back at Berle who seemed busy looking for something on the floor. //Okay.// Feeling disoriented, as if he were waking from a deep sleep he put his keys in the ignition and started the Tahoe. "I think I know a faster way we can go," he offered as his emotions swung from confusion to an amazing sense of calm, as his brain began to process what had been said to him. Beside and behind him he suddenly felt the generational, "we know but don't really want to know", walls erect around Nick's parents. They were done discussing intimate matters concerning their child. Grissom silently agreed as he pulled back out into traffic. "But I can't guarantee I'll get there in time," he said casually.

"Oh don't worry, Gil" Janet said brightly, her eyes on the road ahead. "I understand how Las Vegas traffic can be. Berle and I will be just fine."

Warrick came about noon, protective and supportive as Nick left the condo for the first time since leaving the hospital. Nick kept his head below the dash as they drove out even as his friend commented that there didn't seem to be anyone around. After that it was as if nothing had happened. No one pointed at him. No one seemed to notice him at all. At the doctor's office his stitches were removed and he was examined. He was told he was healing well but needed to continue to rest. Nick protested when he was told to come back in a week so they could discuss when he could be released to return to work. But Warrick merely slapped him on the back and thanked the doctor as they walked out the door. Then they went to a casual diner and got lunch.

It felt almost like it did when he first came to Vegas. Everything seemed brand new and terribly familiar. But as they ate, as Warrick began to fill him in on closed cases rather than office gossip Nick finally relaxed as he began to pick up the rhythm of what had been before his attack. The first day or so he had questioned his ability to being a part of CSI. Then he wondered whether he would be accepted. But there didn't seem to be any hesitation on Warrick's part... or Grissom's. It was expected he would return, that he was needed. There wasn't a question, though Nick was not naïve. He knew there would be some who would be offended, some who would distance themselves from him. But so far it seemed that with those who counted it was all right.

Now he was back at the condo. Warrick said his friend asked if they could leave by this Friday now that the media attention was over. Nick didn't see a reason why not. He wanted to go home. He wanted things to be normal again, or at least as normal as possible. He wanted time to figure out what he understood about himself... about Grissom. //What now?// he wondered. Could he approach Grissom, risk the friendship they had formed? And then what? How experienced was the older man? Nick knew he wouldn't be able to give much to the CSI supervisor and didn't want to burden Grissom with his own ignorance. So he understood any erotic thoughts he might have about Gil Grissom would be just that, thoughts...

"Earth to Nick."

Stokes jumped. Warrick hand was on his back. They were seated side by side on the couch. The television image was dark show nothing of the wild time they had had for the past two hours, playing the new game Warrick brought. "Sorry--"

"Why do you keep apologizing?" Warrick interrupted. "You're distracted. You have a right to be distracted." He smiled and patted Nick on the back. "It'll get better." He glanced at his watch, his expression falling. "Damn... I gotta go." He stood and looked for his jacket. "Sorry, bro."

"Hey... part of the job," Nick assured though his heart sank. Warrick had been his salvation for the day. Now he would be alone without even Gil's distracting presence. "Crime calls."

"I hear that." Warrick put on his jacket. He stared at Nick and pursed his lips, a serious expression suddenly settling on his face. "Nick, I know we haven't talked about what happened... not much. I don't know how to say this so you'll take it the right way. But I love you, man. Like the brother I never had. And I don't give a shit who you sleep with. You got that?"

"Okay," Nick said, surprised by Warrick's admission, already understanding his friend's position. //What's going on?//

Warrick nodded, still serious. "Good. Because this time it was a mistake, my friend," he informed Nick. "But next time you do something stupid like that I'm going to kick your butt and I know for a fact I'll have help." He glared at him. "You got that?"

"You're the third person in twenty-four hours to say that," Nick told him feeling a bit annoyed though strangely warmed by Warrick's parental tone... the implied love he was being shown. "You'll have to stand in line."

"I'll bet." Warrick smiled. "Anyway, don't know why you wanted to do something like that when all you needed to do was look in your own backyard."

"Excuse me?" Nick couldn't believe he was hearing right.

Warrick's hazel eyes scanned him and his lips turned up in a smirk. "I'll let you stew on that, bro. I gotta go." He reached for the doorknob. "Let me know if you need--"

Warrick's voice faded as the door unexpectedly opened, revealing Grissom who bore a pizza box and some bags. Warrick grinned at his supervisor. "Hey Gris," Warrick greeted in surprise. "Thought you were going in."

Grissom shook his head. "No. Catherine agreed to handle one more shift. " He moved past Warrick and walked towards the kitchen. "I'm on beeper if I'm absolutely needed."

"Cool." Warrick grinned as he glanced at Nick. "Nick's pretty good at that game I brought. See if you can beat him."

Grissom grinned back. "Wouldn't even think about trying." He started to root through a bag. "Don't give Sara a hard time."

"Who me?" Warrick raised his eyebrows in mock innocence. "You know she loves it."

Grissom sighed. "Good night, Warrick."

"Enjoy your dinner." Warrick turned his head towards Nick and winked. "Backyards. Right, man?"

Nick stared at the door as it closed. //What the hell just happened?// His eyes moved to the kitchen, to where Grissom stood, focused on what he was doing. "Grissom?"

Grissom didn't acknowledge him. Nick frowned. "Gil," he said again. No reaction.

//I've seen this more and more lately.// Nick stepped closer ready to test a theory he had for a long time concerning Grissom and his apparent ability to completely shut everyone out without warning. "Grissom!"

Grissom's head jerked up, his eyes alert. Nick studied him, seeing a fearful expression ripple over the older man's face then settle into something more neutral. All at once all the pieces, all the evidence he had been gathering over the past couple of years snapped into place. "You couldn't hear me," he said, stunned.

Grissom stared at him. His expression grew dark. "No, I couldn't hear you."

//Man... now there's a secret.// Nick crossed his arms in front of him, part of him glad he could do that again. //Is he mad that I know?// Nick thought a moment, remembering what Sara had said to him during a case at Gilbert College of the Deaf. Grissom could sign. Wanting to stop the tension building between them Nick made a decision. He raised his hands and signed. Okay with me.

Grissom frowned. He put down what he was doing and came into the living area. "You know how to sign," he said, his tone clearly stunned.

Gratified he could have that effect on his boss Nick smiled. Surprise. he shot back then grew serious. My brother, the one just before me, is deaf. he supplied. "Are you mad?" he asked aloud suddenly unsure.

"Why would I be mad?" Grissom cocked his head. "My mother was deaf," he supplied. "The reason she's deaf is why I'm going deaf."

"Nothing they can do?"

Grissom smiled a little. "There's surgery but there are risks. I don't think it's gotten that far yet."

Nick returned the smile. "People think you ignore them."

"Hmmm..." Grissom shifted, clearly uncomfortable. "I'm not ready," he said simply.

"It's okay," Nick assured, glad to be the one to give comfort and support to the man who had been doing the same for him. "I'm not going to say anything. I wouldn't do that. But I can help you now that I know."

Grissom brightened a bit. "Catherine knows too... I had to tell her... during a case."

//But didn't share this with anyone else.// Nick mentally shook his head, dismissing the selfish hurt that reared its head within his mind. //It was none of my business. Grissom's got enemies. He has to be careful. And if he didn't trust me he would have lied to me, pulled rank if I had insisted.// Nick grinned then glanced over towards the kitchen, more than willing to change the subject. "You're not going in?"

Grissom's blues eyes grew intent as they studied Nick. "I wanted another night off and I thought you'd want company."

Nick heard something else in Gil's words that drew his attention. //What's going on?// "I always like company," he said positively. He walked into the kitchen and lifted the lid to one of the pizza boxes. "You got the works?"

"I didn't know what you'd like... so I figured you could pick off what you didn't want," Grissom said as he came to stand beside him. "I got beer," he added. "So long as you don't have to take any pain meds."

"No." Nick's mouth watered at the mere thought of something other than soda, coffee or water. "Not since this morning." Impatient he reached for the bag that looked like it held the beer. "Oh man," he commented in awe as he pulled up his favorite brand, nearly ice cold. //How did he know?//

"Don't guzzle it down. There's more," Grissom commanded quietly as he gave Nick a little push. "Go in. I'll bring everything out."

The meal was casual, comfortable and simple. Nick ate better than he had in days, finally feeling more like himself. Grissom put on the Discovery Channel, which was showing something about the significance of insects in ancient civilizations. Nick sat back and listened as his boss, his friend, made running commentary, his voice much easier on the ears than the narrator's. But after the third bottle beer and an obligatory trip to the bathroom Nick returned to find the television had been turned off and the coffee table cleared. Grissom sat quietly. Nick paused as he sensed a strange tension rising. "Gil?"

Grissom looked at him and smiled. "I need to tell you something, Nicky." He patted cushion next to him. "It's okay. Come and sit."

Nick's eyes narrowed. //Something's wrong.// He eased himself next to Grissom then looked at him expectantly. "What's going on?"

"Nothing bad, Nick. At least I hope not." Gil's eyes passed over him then he gathered Nick's hands into his. His expression held a hint of fear mixed with something more intent. "I didn't go in tonight because I wanted to say something then do something I've wanted to do for a long time, since you and I sat down for your evaluation almost two years ago." He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Just remember, if you want me to stop... just say so." His lips brushed Nick's lightly. "I love you, Nicholas Stokes."

Surprised Nick drew back. Grissom's eyes were gentle as they watched him. Nick ran a tongue over his lips, tasting Gil. //He kissed me.// He stared at Grissom, his mouth tingling. //He kissed me.// An arresting smile suddenly graced Grissom's lips. His fingertips traced over Nick's mouth, his gaze as soft as a caress. Nick's eyes inventoried Grissom's face in a way he never did with a woman. His body pulsed with need. He leaned forward, his lips capturing Grissom's, slowly adapting to the feel of another man as his hands wandered over Grissom's shoulders.

Grissom's hands roamed intimately, knowledgeably over Nick's heated body, rousing passion between them. Nick groaned. //Oh man, this is good.// Grissom's hands were in his hair, his kiss becoming more urgent, his tongue moving between Nick's lips and teeth to delve within his mouth. Nick grunted as Grissom's weight pressed his injured side causing sharp pain. "Gil--" he gasped, pushing at the older man. "Stop..."

Instantly Grissom drew back, his flushed face and passion filled eyes watching him. "I'm sorry... too fast?"

Nick blinked, surprised to find himself on his back. Grissom's knee was planted between his parted legs. Nick shifted, patting Grissom's hand where it pressed into his side. "Hurts." Grissom sighed, lifting his hand, bracing his weight with an arm on the back of the couch. "Sorry." The mood was broken for the moment but not the passion, the arousal. He lifted his hand to Grissom's cheek, feeling the sweat and the heat. "So that's what it's like kissing a man?" he asked, trying for a kind of humor, needing the moment to breathe, to deal with what just happened before it happened again.

"No," Grissom responded in his forensic voice, his eyes glittering. "That's what it's like me kissing you and you kissing me."

//Oh.// Nick let his fingers trail down the older man's jaw then his neck. "You love me?" Nick asked as Grissom's first words wandered into his dazed mind.

Grissom's gaze traveled over Nick's face. His expression softened into something Nick had never seen before. "Yes." His hand skimmed over the cloth of Nick shirt with tentative movements. "I want you, Nick. You're a handsome man with a beautiful mind. This,"-- his hips pressed closer. His bulging crotch brushed Nick's thigh-- "is important to me but not as important as,"-- his fingers brushed over Nick's forehead, barely touching the healing cut there-- "what you have here."

"Beautiful mind, eh?" Nick shifted, allowing his own aroused cock to press against Grissom's let, revealing his matched desire, adapting to this unfamiliar communication between men. "You're the Miss Universe of minds," he teased.

Gil's brow wrinkled in confusion then smoothed as he smiled. "Don't compare, Nick. It's not like that. There are things you understand as easily as you breathe that are beyond me no matter how much I try. You have a way with people that evades me." His fingers brushed over Nick's cheek and jaw. "I depend on your insights, Nicky." His lips barely whispered over Nick's. "And I want to show my appreciation."

A shiver rippled through Nick as he finally understood. //He loves me... wants me. For real...// He closed his eyes as he shared the next kiss, his tongue taking the lead, plunging into Grissom's mouth, tasting the oregano from the pizza they had shared. He felt Gil shift, felt the heavier body press against him. Nick's body came alive as their crotches touched then he gasped as pain again ripped through him. //Oh man... I want this!//

"Okay, Nicky. I'm sorry." Grissom's weight quickly lifted off of him. Nick took a deep breath then another, as much to suppress his pain as to calm his rising passions. //Fuck!// He looked up. Grissom stood by the couch, his intent gaze studying him as if he were evidence. "We don't have to do anything... right now," Gil offered reluctantly then quirked a smile. "It's not obligatory the moment love is declared."

//No... no...// Nick swallowed. Now that it had gone this far he wanted to see it through, to know that his fantasies were real. "We can't do anything?" he asked, wincing as he heard the whine in his voice.

Grissom cocked his head as if considering a puzzle. "Maybe." He held out his hands. "Come on."

Nick wasted no time. He forced his body to move, ignored the discomfort as he sat up and stood. Grissom took his hands to steady him, to guide him towards the bedroom. Nick's perceptions sharpened, noticing everything and nothing at all. The bedroom was nearly dark as fading sunlight shone through the window. Across and below the lights of Las Vegas were coming alive, the slow beginning of this city's prime hours. Nick stared, wondering for a moment who might not make it through the night, where the night shift was going to wind up. Investigating another crime. An assault like his... a murder like--

"Ah. Ah." Grissom chided softly. "No thinking about work, Nicky-boy."

Nick's attention shifted. He met Grissom's eyes, suddenly unsure. //What am I doing?// Moments ago he wanted nothing more than to have sex with Gil Grissom. Now even his arousal was gone, replaced by a numb feeling that had no origin. //I can't do this.//

Grissom watched him, seem to notice the change. "What's wrong, Nick?" he asked quietly.

Nick turned away and shook his head as his mind crowded with different thoughts and memories. He walked with a man, scared but determined to learn what men did, to know what to do with Grissom even though he believed there would never be anything. There was the moment when he realized the betrayal, the moment he had stepped into a lethal situation. Then the cries, the screams quickly silenced by a sickening crack that repeated over and over as his attackers laughed. Nick knew he should have been home, still curious but safe... and that man would be alive. Nick's eyes squeezed shut as the tears came. //Holy shit... not now...//

Strong hands gripped his shoulders from behind. "Nick, don't hold back. It's all right to cry." Arms wrapped around Nick's chest then pulled back, providing reassuring warmth against Nick's back. "Just let me hold you, Nicky. Let me be here."

It was all Nick needed to hear as his sobs found freedom. His hands covered his face as his face burned once more with endless tears. //This is so stupid... I'm such a wimp...// He was vaguely aware of being turned, of a broad shoulder replacing his hands, pillowing his face as arms held him close to Grissom's chest. Fingers glided through his hair, gently massaging the back of his neck. Grissom's voice whispered support as Nick's whole body was gently rocked.

Nick's arms were wrapped around Grissom's shoulders, holding on as if his life depended on it. //Didn't I already get this out of me? Why am I slobbering about it again?// He sniffed, catching his breath, physically and emotionally exhausted. //I did a shitty thing and got a man killed,// his brain reminded him. //Jesus... he had a wife and kids. Now I'm just suppose to go on? Find happiness in the arms of this man? The reason I started this stupid shit to begin with?//

"I killed a man, Grissom," Nick cried out, finally giving voice to something he could no longer keep inside. "Man, I'm such a shit."

"You didn't kill anyone, Nick." Gil's voice was rough. "You didn't do anything wrong." He push Nick back just enough to bring them face-to-face. Grissom's eyes were bright with unshed tears, his expression stern. "Those men were determined to hurt someone Friday night. If not you then it would have been someone else. The man who tried to help would have tried to help no matter who it had been." His hand shook as he wiped some of the moisture from Nick's face. "I can't tell you how to feel, Nick. I can only tell you that it was not within your power to change what happened to Tomas Alvez."

Nick calmed as he listened, as the older man's steady voice soothed. His body was molded to Grissom's as they swayed together slightly, comfortably. "I'm--" He was going to apologize and stopped himself. Grissom would stop him. And what was he apologizing for? "I'm okay," he said instead.

"I know, Nicky." Grissom smiled. "Better?"

Nick met his gaze. He still felt guilty, embarrassed, shamed but he was handling it better. His hands slid over Grissom's shoulders and upper back. The earlier erotic excitement was gone but it was comfortable here, being held. In fact if he weren't standing he would be falling asleep.

"Bed, Nicky." Grissom guided him to the edge of the bed. "Sit."

Numbly Nick obeyed. //Bed.// He watched Gil take a step back. //Are we...// He was so tired. //I don't think I can.// He rubbed his eyes. "Gil, I don't think I--we can--"

"Be quiet," Grissom ordered. "Just sit there for a minute."

Nick didn't reply. He just sat. He heard running water. Gil's presence returned but Nick didn't have the energy to look at him.

A finger curled under his chin, lifting his head. Nick barely opened his eyes as a cool cloth wiped over his face. "You need to rest," Grissom said quietly. "Lie down."

Nick lay down, sinking into the mattress. His hand was taken and the cool cloth wiped over his hand then up his left arm. "This isn't what I think you had in mind tonight," he mumbled in the silence. His other arm was taken, the cool cloth moving more carefully over the healing wound where the stitches had just been removed. "I wanted to make love," he complained no longer caring how he sounded.

There was muted laughter. Grissom's presence left him again then returned. The mattress beside him rocked a little. A hand gently rested on his chest as Grissom's body lay beside him. "We are making love, Nicky." Fingers caressed his jaw line. "Go to sleep."

Nicky.

He shifted, groaning as the movement caused a pleasant sensation across his chest, across his thighs. Touches whispered over his hips, brushing his aroused cock, applying the lightest of pressure.

So beautiful, Nicky. So big...

"Mmmm..." His breathing deepened as his body tingled. It felt so good, the hand on his cock, the lips on his mouth. He remembered waking like this... the voice in his ear.... the touches...

My beautiful boy...

Sudden blind terror assailed Nick gasped as he heard faint echoes of a woman's voice. He was being touched in a way no one had every touched him and it scared him. It wasn't right... he had to make it stop... Make it stop--

"No! Don't!" Nick grabbed the offending hand, holding it away, making it stop- "Don't!"

"Nick! Wake up!"

Wake up? Nick wheezed. He was awake. Sitting up. Ready to fight back--

"Nick, it's Gil! Look at me."

Gil. Air whooshed out of Nick's lungs. He blinked. Grissom's face hovered in front of him, looking alarmed and pained. //What happened?// Memories flowed into him. He had fallen asleep with Gil by his side. They had kissed... almost made love. Nick's hand was cramping and he looked down, shocked to find his fingers in a death grip around Grissom's wrist. Grissom's hand was halfway under the waistband of his sweatpants. "Holy shit!" He released him. //What the hell did I do?// He stared at his hand as a dream played through his mind. He had been asleep when it happened, when she had-

"Nick, talk to me."

Nick's gaze wandered back to Grissom who sat back on the bed cross-legged, rubbing his wrist. "I'm sorry," he said then looked away as he realized what must have happened. //I forgot to say something... I was so tired... I didn't think. Man, I just didn't think--//

"Who did this?"

Nick stared at Grissom. "Are you all right?" he asked. His EMT instincts wanted to take Grissom's hand and examine what he had done. But he knew better. Angie had freaked; her wrist was sprained. Once he told her she forgave him. But he never saw her again. "Man, I'm-"

Grissom shook his head and touched Nick's face with his uninjured hand. "I'm all right, Nick. You didn't do any damage. I'll be fine in a few minutes." His eyes examined Nick. "Answer my question."

Demand. Nick swallowed. He felt like crying but he was too shocked to produce the tears. //Damn, it had felt so good...//

"Nicky, I'm not mad. I'm not hurt." Grissom leaned closer. His hand slid up to thread into Nick's hair. "I was trying to give you a little pleasure..." He paused. "Who did this?"

Who did this. The room they sat in was dark. The lights of Las Vegas were dimming as the horizon began to gain a pasty glow. Dawn. "I'm sorry, Gil. I-I didn't mean it." His hands balled into fists as he wished he could drop dead on the spot.

Hands touched his shoulders, pulling. "Come on, Nick. Let me hold you."

Nick grunted as he moved, letting Grissom guide him back until he sat between the older man's extended legs and arms surrounded him from behind in an embrace. It should have been comforting but his stomach churned, his conscience writhed at his lack of self-control. "You're sure you're okay?" Nick finally asked. He had to know.

"I'm fine. See?" Grissom's hand came up in front of Nick's face. His wrist and forearm had red impressions wrapped around it but otherwise didn't seem to be damaged. "Please tell me," he asked.

"I was molested," Nick said, hearing his own flat tone as his mind shifted to a more clinical mode. "I was too young to go to a wedding reception... my cousin's. We're a big family so the cut off age was fourteen... I was nine. My sister's best friend was suppose to come but she got sick at the last minute so my brother Tad's girlfriend's older sister came." Nick shrugged, relaxing a little as he rested against Gil's chest. "I knew her but I didn't like her too much. She was... weird..." He shivered. "I was asleep when she-" His stomach warned him but he pressed forward determined to give Grissom the information he wanted. "She was all over me. I didn't really understand what was happening and when I tried to make her stop she held me down... threatened me. Told me if I ever told anyone she would hurt my brother... that it would make my parents mad at me... that she would tell them I attacked her..."

"Bitch," Grissom muttered. Nick raised an eyebrow. Gil didn't often curse.

"I was scared shitless but I told my parents because I was afraid she would hurt my brother anyway." Nick wiped at his face as stray tears fell. "They were great. Told me none of it was my fault. Tried to get her prosecuted but the DA at the time said that because I was a boy and she was a girl the jury wouldn't convict or take it too seriously." He remembered his father's voice, raised to an angry shout, one of the only times he ever heard his voice raised. Anger. He had made them angry... or so he believed... even when they told him it wasn't true.

"Most of the time I'm okay. I've made love to women, though it's hard to get too close for too long. But all the equipment works all right. I'm satisfied. Women are satisfied. It's just when I'm not awake." He tried to pull away, uncomfortable with his recollection. But Grissom tightened his embrace, his lips brushing the back of Nick's neck reassuringly. "I was a virgin for the longest time... and when I wasn't I made sure women knew not to wake me up... like that. But a few years ago Angie didn't listen... she didn't know. I hurt her."

"You couldn't help it," Grissom absolved, his hands slowly moved over Nick's abdomen. "I have no doubt she was all right."

"She freaked but she was okay." Nick relaxed a little. Grissom's hands were roaming, giving small pleasures as fingertips delved under his t-shirt. "When women find out they're very understanding and then they're very gone." He gasped as his nipples were brushed by calloused skin. "Gris... um... what are you doing..."

Grissom drew a deep breath, his body pressing closer. "I'll stop if you tell me to," he responded, his hands rested on the hem of Nick's t-shirt. "Otherwise, raise your arms."

Stop? The heat of Grissom's body infused Nick's. //He's not put off. He still wants me.// Nick slowly raised his arms. Grissom pulled his shirt up and over his head, exposing his chest to the cool air. Grissom's warm hands returned, sliding over his chest, carefully avoiding his right side where the deep bruise still caused him discomfort. Nick closed his eyes as Gil's lips began to explore his upper back. "Gil--"

"Shhh..." Grissom's mouth slid over his increasingly sensitive skin. "All you need to do is say no and I'll stop no matter what's going on." His hands slid into the waistband of Nick's pants. "This is for you... not for me."

Nick groaned in response as Gil's fingers found his arousing cock. //Oh man...// Grissom's lips were exploring his neck, under his jaw. "Oh yeah," he moaned as teeth lightly nipped in just the right place.

"Lie down, Nicky."

Command. Nick obeyed without thought, stifling a grunt as he rested on his back. Gil stared down at him. His eyes slowly and seductively slid over Nick's body. Then Grissom's hands followed, taking a careful journey over Nick's shoulders and chest, petting and caressing, avoiding the deep bruises. Nick closed his eyes, finally trusting, his body slowly arousing in response to the experienced touch.

"Lift your hips."

Gil's hands rested restlessly on Nick's hips, waiting. Nick sighed and winced a bit as he lifted his hips briefly, feeling his pants lowered then removed. He was naked, completely open to his lover's scrutiny.

Lover? Nick's eyes slit open. Grissom was kneeling beside him, his expression now deeply focused, his eyes raking over Nick's body as he would a corpse on the field, though his eyes held a hint of deep desire and need that he never graced a dead body with. Nick found himself no less fascinated as he realized Grissom had stripped off his own clothes as well. He himself had been shirtless in Grissom's presence, even down to his trunks when an "experiment" commanded it. But he had only once seen Grissom's shirtless, when some fluids got spilled on him at a crime scene, forcing him to take off his jacket and shirt. Back then Nick didn't think anything of it, didn't pause to watch or speculate. It was on the job and Grissom soon had another shirt on, one he pulled from his Tahoe.

But now he was thinking and he was looking. Grissom was a broadly built man with a middle-aged spread. No surprise there and not a turn off in Nick's book. //He a fine looking man,// he observed as he cast his gaze lower, taking in the aroused cock, larger than his own. Nick swallowed. He had surfed the net, had at least seen a few gay porn videos... read some books. He wasn't coming to this completely ignorant but there was a difference between speculation and reality...

"I know I'm not built like an Adonis... like you," Grissom said, sounding almost hesitant.

Nick's eyes moved back up to meet's Gil's. "Man, don't even go there," he said in warning. "I don't give a flying fuck about stuff like that." He touched Grissom's bare thigh, rubbing over the hairs, working to adapt to the feel of masculine muscles rather then a more feminine firmness. "And like you said, don't compare. I barely even work out so anything you see is just the way I am." He experimentally moved his hand up, his fingers touching the base of Grissom's cock. "It's weird."

Grissom watched Nick's hand, his mouth working. "What's weird?" he asked, his voice becoming deeper again, aroused.

Nick let his fingers lightly brush the underside of Grissom's cock, withdrawing quickly when the older man hissed and jumped. "Sor--"

"Don't stop, Nicky!" Grissom took Nick's hand and guided it back to himself. "It feels good," he said. "Please go on... if you want to."

Want to? Nick brushed his fingers more firmly on the warm surface, taking in the differences, the way the silken skin moved when he caressed it. "I've never touched a guy's dick," he said as his face burned. "I mean I know how mine feels--"

"Then do what you like, Nicky," Grissom encouraged, his voice strained. "So far I have no complaints."

Nick smiled. He wanted to move on his side, get into a better position to do what he wanted to do but his injured side was already broadcasting a warning to him. Grissom seem to read his mind however and pulled back to cautiously straddle his hips, forcing their aroused cocks to touch and brush. Nick groaned in reaction, the new sensation setting off firecrackers in his nerve endings. He pushed his hips up for stimulation then cried out as his right side stiffened painfully.

"All right, Nick," Grissom soothed, his hand's lightly caressing Nick's abdomen. "Take a deep breath."

Nick obeyed, riding out the pain until it ebbed to an agreeable level. "Oh fuck... this is too much!"

"You're still healing," Grissom said. His hands continued their soothing motions. "We're going to do this carefully."

"But I want to do everything with you, Gil!" Nick expressed in utter frustration. His arousal was nearly gone, his body protesting any further moves on his part.

"We will, Nick," Gil promised. "But not today." His hands slid over Nick's cock. "I'll be all right," he assured as he maneuvered back. He lay between Nick's parted legs. "Just let me do the work."

Nick shivered with renewed anticipation as he understood what Gil was about to do. He had had a blow job before, some by very talented women who left him sated for hours. But this was Gil Grissom, the center of his fantasies for the better part of two years. Fantasies where he, Nick Stokes, was the one doing this, not the other way around...

Grissom's hands gently held his hips as his tongue lapped the underside of Nick's arousing cock. //Oh man...// Nick spread his hands to the side as electricity spread up his spine. //Oh man...// Gil's tongue didn't experiment, it already knew, finding every pleasure point, every erogenous zone that Nick ever had as its journeyed over his cock and around his balls. Nick tried to shift, to demand more, but Grissom's strong hands stopped him, forced him to remain still. For a single moment Nick panicked as he flashed to the babysitter in his youth but then he conquered his fear and groaned as erotic pleasure exploded over his entire body as Grissom's mouth finally descended on his cock, drawing his into a warm, moist haven, the tongue continuing its play joined by the hint of teeth.

//Oh god...// Nick understood the need to stay still, to let Grissom do it all. His side was aching, teasing him with the punishment he would get if he tried to thrust, tried to participate. Most of the time he simply held onto the sheets, moaning in rhythm to what was being done, feeling his balls tighten, his being gather. As if sensing this Grissom's sucked harder and Nick's cockhead slid into the older man's throat where muscles there did more fantastic things. //Shit... shit...// He knew he was screaming, wondered if anyone in the adjoining units would notice then didn't give a damn. Grissom's was moaning as well, the vibration of his vocal chords becoming the final straw for Nick as he came in a way he couldn't ever remember coming before...

His side hurt. But he didn't care. His cock jumped and jittered as cool air wafted over it. But he didn't care. He was boneless, barely able to stay awake. Beside him the bed shifted. A mouth sealed over his in a leisurely fashion, opening as his opened in acceptance, tasting an odd bitter taste that he knew from his experience with women was his own cum. "Gil."

"Yes... the very same." Grissom's voice was gentle, quiet... relaxed. Nick managed to open an eye and was treated to the sight of his boss' face hovering over him, his expression full of humor and satiation. Nick touched Gil's face, unsure it was the same man. Grissom smiled and took Nick's hand in both of his, kissing the younger man's palm. "All right?" he asked.

Nick started to laugh then stopped as his bruised side stiffened. "I think we gave the units around us a good show." He reached down. He was so tired. But it wasn't right to fall asleep without giving Gil something.

"Careful, Nicky," Grissom told him as he gently gripped Nick's wrist as his hand brushed against moist hairs. "I'm a bit sensitive there."

Sensitive? Nick looked at his hand, seeing tiny white flecks of moisture. He gazed at Grissom. //You came?//.

Short laughter escaped Grissom as he leaned down to give Nick another thorough kiss. "I was going to come in my pants in the living room, Nicky." He drew back. "Don't ever doubt the effect you have on me."

Nick wanted to cry but didn't have the energy. He looked at the cum on his hand then experimentally licked one of the droplets. Still bitter but different from his own taste. Something he could get used to when he--

"Nick, you really want to torture me don't you?"

Nick gazed at him and noted the heated expression. He smiled devilishly and started to lick more--

Grissom growled. "Stop!" he ordered in mock anger as he got off the bed. "I don't have the control and you don't have the energy right now though I'm sorely tempted." He walked in the bathroom, turned on the water then came out a moment later with a damp cloth. "Your hand."

"Aw mom!" Nick tried not to laugh as he tried to sound serious. "You don't let me have any fun!"

Grissom maintained a dark facade though his blue eyes glittered, openly amused. "Oh the moment you can stand to move around without ruining the moment you'll know what fun is!" He wiped off Nick's belly and around his deflated cock then wiped himself and threw the cloth on the floor. He lay down on Nick's left side and drew Nick close. "Can't wait for the moment I can actually hold you in my arms, Nicky," he sighed.

//Neither can I,// Nick agreed silently as pleasant exhaustion overtook him and he fell asleep as the first rays of the morning peeked through the window.

Something woke him. Grissom opened his eyes, instantly awake. He looked down at his lover, relieved to see him sound asleep. He heard a faint sound and drew up a sheet over himself and Nick. Someone was in the condo unit, probably one of his team checking in as they have been since Nick got here. He waited. It was too late to get out of bed. He would rather be caught under the sheet than completely naked. He gazed down at Nick with some concern. Before seducing Nick he had thought through what it would mean for his team, for CSI as a whole. Eventually he thought they would be all right, as soon as it was understood that when at work they were a team and he was their leader bound to treat them all equally no matter what. But he wasn't ready to test the theory so soon.

"Nick?"

Warrick. Grissom relaxed a little. He glanced at the clock radio on the nightstand. It was nearly ten o'clock. Full morning. He saw a shadow move against the bedroom door then Warrick's figure in the doorway.

Warrick's eyes took in the tableau before him for several seconds then his lips turned upward briefly before they moved downward in a frown as his gaze fixed on Grissom. "Hey man, I'm sorry... I was just checking on him--"

Grissom held a finger to his lips, ordering quiet. Warrick nodded, his posture relaxing, his dark face turning a shade darker as he seemed to fully understand what he was looking at. Then he grinned a little. "Breakfast's in the kitchen," he said, probably in a low voice because Grissom could not hear. Fortunately Warrick mouthed his words so Gil got the gist. He grinned back at Warrick then waved him off. Warrick echoed the gesture and was gone, a genuine smile in his eyes and on his lips.

Grissom let himself fully relax as he realized Warrick was a friend and would be an ally. The only other person who would have been all right with this would have been Catherine. Sara... //Well that's going to be a problem,// he noted to himself. //But a bridge we'll cross and hopefully not burn down when we get there.// Grissom lightly caressed Nick's face, enjoying the feel of the younger man's light growth of beard that had emerged overnight, careful not to arouse and repeat last night's incident. //Yet another area we'll have deal with... at some time... but not in the near future...// he assured himself as he set priorities in his head.

Nick grunted, shifting away towards his uninjured side. Grissom assisted then waited for him to settle. The smell of something cooked reached his nose and he carefully got up, looking out at the glorious new day in Las Vegas. He would see what Warrick brought then get Nick up to eat. Then... well there were a few hours to kill before he had to work tonight.

Work. Grissom smiled as he gazed down at his lover, his potential life partner. Yes, they were all going to notice a change and he was more than happy to let them.

THE END

Gone Awry Part 1 (CSI:LV Gil/Nick)

Thu, 03 Nov 2005 01:20:38 GMT

Title: Gone Awry
Fandom: CSI: Las Vegas
Pairing: Gil/Nick
Rating: FRAO
Summary: Sometimes first steps are more like stumbles
Warning: Violence; Slash; Off-Scene Gay Bashing; Mention of Child Abuse

NOTE: I now know Nick has Five sisters and One brother. Somehow I got that mixed up when I was writing this but I was unwilling to change it.

Update Note: This story was written about three years ago... long before "Grave Danger" so info on parents, particularly names, has become completely inaccurate... but I hope I captured the personalities all the same...

Gone Awry
by Asa Meda

University Medical Center. ER. Grissom had been here hundreds of times. Assignments. As he approached the entrance he took in the organized chaos around him. It was Thursday night, not quite the same as the more active weekend but a good build up. Old and young. Accidents. Illness. Violence. Grissom paused as a child ran across his path follow by a young woman holding a toddler in her arms. The younger child was unusually quite, her arm splinted. Grissom met the child's eyes and smiled reassuringly. The child blinked at him then hid her head against the woman's neck, clearly shy. Mentally he wished her well and continued his journey.

There had been a beating in an isolated parking lot behind a popular bar. Two men were attacked. One was dead. He sent Warrick to handle the scene. The other man was not seriously hurt but in need of medical attention. He came to see the second victim, question him if possible. Gather evidence.

This case, he suspected as he approached the triage station, would hold his interest more than usual. Shane's Bar and Grill was popular among the gay community so it didn't take much to speculate on the reason behind the attack.

"Gil Grissom," he introduced as he met the eyes of the nurse behind the desk. The young man returned his gaze with mild interest. "Crime Lab." He held up his shield. "I'm here to see an attack victim you got from Shane's bar?"

Mild interest turned to full attention. "Come with me," he said as he moved down a small hallway. "We isolated him once we realized who he was. There's a detective with him."

Grissom frowned, confused. "Who is he?" //Let it not be a celebrity,// he prayed.

The nurse paused as they came to the end of a row of curtains in an area away from the main crowd of people. The faint sound of beeps reached Grissom's ears. "No one told you?"

"Told me what?" Anticipatory, he faced the ER nurse. "What's going on?"

"That's okay, Mr. Roberts," another very familiar voice spoke from behind the curtain. A moment later Captain Jim Brass emerged, his expression bleak. "Gil--" He paused, looking away then back. "Nick's in there."

Grissom moved before his brain fully understood the words. His hand pulled away the thick fabric. On the ER gurney laid the unconscious form of Nick Stokes, one of his investigators. //He was off tonight,// Grissom remembered as shock filtered through his body. //First time in awhile.// His eyes scanned the injured man, taking in the wrapped forearm, the blackened eyes, the bandaged head. An EKG monitor beside the bed showed good numbers. Fluid dripped from an IV bag on the other side into Nick's uninjured arm. //My god...//

"Mr. Grissom... come on... sit down."

Someone forced him to sit. Grissom blinked. The male nurse was bent in front of him, studying him closely. "You're in a little shock, Mr. Grissom," the young man said evenly. "Just relax. Nick is all right. He's got a mild concussion and a lacerated forearm along with some bruising. But that's all. He'll be all right."

All right. Grissom took a deep breath then another. All right. "I'm all right," he said as he saw a young woman in a physician's coat join the nurse. "I'm all right."

"I'm Dr. Maria Kensington," the physician introduced. Her dark eyes watched him speculatively. "I'm sorry you weren't told before you got here. We only just found out his identity about twenty minutes ago."

"Twenty minutes?" The call came in almost an hour ago. He looked at Brass. //How come they didn't know?//

"Nick was out of it by the time the ambo came. The EMTs just scraped him off the ground and loaded him in." Anger swarmed in his eyes. "The assholes took his wallet and the uniforms had to chase them down. You were on the way just as I was getting here and found out. The Press were already sniffing so I had him put back here." Brass patted Grissom on the shoulder. "I didn't want to distract you while you were driving."

"He's in a deep sleep right now," Dr. Kensington reported in a low voice. "I gave him something for the pain. I'm waiting for a bed upstairs then I'm going to admit him. I want him kept for observation tonight and tomorrow. If all's well, he can go home." She walked over to her patient and checked on the equipment that monitored his vitals. "Someone will in to check on him every half hour until there's a room." She looked to Grissom. "I understand he has no family here. Can you be here... or arrange for someone? After something like this it would be better if there was a familiar face."

"I'll stay," Grissom responded without hesitation. The doctor nodded with a friendly smile. Then she and the nurse left. //Should I call his parents?// he wondered as he watched Nick breathe. //His brothers and sister? Should I wait for Nick to wake up and decide?// Grissom slowly closed his eyes, ordering his mind to focus. There was something important he needed to do immediately. "Jim," he began as he stood and pulled out his cell phone. "I'm pulling my team from this one. We're too close." He pushed a single key to speed dial his call. "Conrad? This is Grissom. I've got a situation here..."

Steady noises. Murmured voices. Nick had dreamed about... something. But the memory was fading as his body began to ache. He lay on something firm. He shifted to make himself more comfortable and frowned when he couldn't. He tried to move his hands to rub his eyes. But one hand felt too heavy and the other was firmly held...

"Nicky, it's Grissom. You're in University Medical. You've been hurt."

Grissom? Nick fought to regain awareness, opening his eyes in spite of the pain that lanced through his eyelids from the too bright lighting around him. Grissom's blurred face was just inches from his, blue eyes bright with concern. Hurt? Nick assessed himself, feeling tightness and pounding aches. There was a fight. This guy had hit him, calling him a-- //Oh man... What the fuck did I do... What happened to--// He moved his mouth but there was a thick, nasty tasting film surrounding his tongue almost made him gag.

"Here, Nick. Drink slowly." The bed moved, raising Nick up into a sitting position with a low mechanical noise. He was in a hospital room. There were machines near him that beeped and hummed. His skin stung and pulsed where an IV and tubing was taped to the underside of his forearm. //How bad am I hurt?// His vision wavered but he was able to make out a short thin man standing off to the side, a familiar face in casual but conservative shirt and pants. Dark rimmed glasses graced his face. //George Donaldson... Ecklie's team... shit...// He let Grissom slip the straw in his mouth and he drank a few sips, grateful for the coolness of the ice water until it ran down and hit his stomach. "The guy," he rasped as he battled waves of nausea. "I think they beat him pretty bad."

Grissom withdrew the water then grasped Nick's hand once more, the older man's skin warm against his. "The other man is dead, Nick."

Dead? Flashes of memory wafted through him. He was on the ground, stunned, his head pounding. Two guys were spitting on him, yelling. Then the other guy-- "They killed him?"

"So far as we know," Grissom confirmed. His grip on Nick's hand tightened. "Ecklie's team is handling this. George needs to ask you a few questions. Can you do that?"

Nick closed his eyes again and sank against the pillows as the shock of Grissom's news washed through him, as he fully understood what kind of situation he had gotten himself into. //They know... goddammit they know! What an idiot I am! And that guy... I got him killed...//

"Nick?" Grissom's voice was quiet and steady. "You know he needs to do this. And the sooner you talk to him the better the details. Okay?"

Nick found himself nodding, wishing that he could just crawl up and die inside. //I can't believe it... Just once... the first time... I was just curious... just wanted to know... this isn't fair!//

"Nick, I'm sorry this happened." Donaldson's voice. Nick forced his head to move against the pillow in marginal acknowledgement. George wasn't a bad guy but not good with working outside the rules. "Do you know who the other man was?"

"Don't know," he responded, inwardly irritated at how weak his voice sounded.

"You... weren't... close?" The question was asked in careful tone.

"I had never seen him before." //They think he was my date... oh man.// A violent shiver ran down Nick's spine. "He tried to help," he managed, amazed how difficult it was to talk. His tongue refused to cooperate. His face felt as if it had been smashed against a wall. //Well almost... the cement ground...//

"Nick." Grissom. Nick sighed, grateful his boss was still holding his hand, holding back the grief and hysteria that threatened to rise. He got someone killed for doing something he didn't really do... something he shouldn't have been doing. Nick wondered if Grissom would continue to be so gracious once he knew the whole story. "What happened?" Grissom urged gently.

Nick worked his mouth. More water was offered and he took the barest of sips, just enough to moisten without irritating his stomach. "I... uh... was at the bar. I was talking to this guy. We-- hit it off." Nick waited for Grissom's hold on his hand to withdraw and was heartened when it did not. "We went out... to go to his place. But this other guy came... and the guy I was with..."

//Hey Arnie! This fucking fag wanted to fucking fuck me! Can you believe it?//

"We were in the back part of a parking lot... the one near Harris'. I know I should have known better... but..." Nick tried to focus on the facts. His mind was beginning to crowd with a crawling sensations and he knew he had to concentrate hard if he was going to be any help. "The guy I was with... he said his name was Carson. He had something in his jacket. He hit me before I knew what was going on." Nick tightened his hold on Grissom's hand, needing the Human contact to continue. "I tried to fight back... but I fell... caught my arm on something..." They kicked and spit on him. Carson raised his weapon again. "It was a pipe I think," he said vaguely. "I tried to get up then this guy came. He was yelling at them... told them to get away..." Nick shuttered.

//Christ, Carson! Another homo! Get him!//

"He tried to help me... but they went after him... Carson hit him with the pipe again and again... I couldn't do anything." //I got him killed.// "I heard someone scream... then sirens I think... the two guys were yelling at each other. Then-- I don't remember."

"It's all right, Nick." Grissom voice was unusually gentle... calming. His one hand held Nick's possessively while his other hand petted over the top of Nick's head. "It's all right. You did what you could, Nicky. It wasn't your fault." Pause. "That enough, George?"

"Uh... yeah. Maybe more later... when he's ready." George's voice was professional but something in it held a note of disgust. //At me probably. One of their own is a fag. But I'm not... I didn't even...// "Nick, I mean it. I'm sorry this happened. I'll share what you said with Brass so we won't have to ask you again. And Nick... we got the bastards who did this and we're going to do everything we can to make sure they don't do it to anyone else ever again. Okay?"

Surprised, Nick's eyes drifted open. Donaldson's blurry face stared down at him with a vaguely angry expression on it. //He's upset at them. He doesn't care that I'm... that I might be...// The understanding stressed his injured brain. Nick felt his awareness slip away, his heavy eyelids closed again.

"I think we're losing him for the moment," he heard Grissom say in the air around him. "Nicky... Listen to me. I'm going to be right here and if I'm not one of our team will be... they're all doing assignments now but they're all concerned about you. I promise you won't be alone. It's going to be all right..."

"Arnie Tipper and Carson Winters were denied bond today at District Court. The two were arrested almost a week ago for the slaying of businessman, Tomas Alvez, and the brutal beating of another man whose identity had not been released but is reported to be a part of the Las Vegas Police Department. At first the motive was thought to be gay-bashing as the two men were found behind a popular gay bar, Shane's, in downtown Las Vegas. Now it seems it may be a case of mistaken identity, at least as far as Tomas Alvez was concerned. Reports indicate the forty year old executive, happily married and father of three, was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, trying to stop the savage beating of the other man..."

Nick listened. His stomach twisted as the cable news station pinned up Alvez's picture, a family portrait showing his wife, an infant, and two young boys, all smiling, all representative of the "traditional" family conservative groups wanted everyone to be. Nick had managed to make himself a sandwich but the food was left untouched, long forgotten. The cable news stations were all covering it, focusing on the hate crime angle, on the "hero saving a victim from an apparent hate crime."

//Apparent.// Nick shifted as his side began to ache. He had been kicked in the stomach and the side, causing deep bruising that throbbed painfully every time he moved or sat in once place too long. During the past few days he had tried to relax, tried to heal. When he was released from the hospital yesterday afternoon, Warrick and Grissom were there, bundling him into Grissom's Tahoe before the Press, camped out in another part of the hospital, caught wind. Grissom told him then that he wasn't being taken home. When the Press found out they would be there. But there was a condo unit that Warrick's friend owned that was usually rented out on a time-share basis. Warrick said his friend would let them have it for as long as they needed it. The unit was well maintained and well furnished with two bedrooms, two full baths, a large living area, a breakfast bar and a kitchenette. Expensively cozy and secure. Safe from the Press or anyone else Nick didn't want to see.

And every evening Grissom was with him, taking over the second bedroom on the other side of the unit, lending a physical presence Nick found comforting and unnerving. Gil had changed his schedule, working five to six hours during the day, taking care of administrative duties, working with the Sheriff in dealing with possible Press fallout. During that time Catherine, Sara, Warrick, Greg or any number of CSI team members would show up, bearing gifts, gossip, or competition in a video game. Nick forced himself to be social, to put up the best face possible. And they helped. Their care helped. But it also left a knot in his soul, feeding his guilt. It was his own stupid actions that got an innocent man killed over something that was a lie... might be a lie...

Nick heard the anchor's tone change, introducing a new piece. The crime scene where he had been attacked had quickly become stock footage for the story. They were calling in "experts" to go "in depth" in order for the public to learn the story behind the story. Civil Rights. Gay bashing. LVPD's policy on employing openly gay men. Nick winced, terrified and fascinated. Never in his life had he ever imaged being a part of one of "those stories". But there it was. He was a victim... recalling every blow... every word... the cries of the man who tried to help...

"Fuck!" He aimed the remote and turned off the television, trembling and sick. //Fucking vultures! What do they know! They don't even know who I am!//

//But they will... probably know now. Now that the two clowns have been arraigned Grissom told you they wouldn't be able to stop your name from becoming public knowledge.// In a surge of frustration Nick threw the remote across the room, satisfied as he heard the satisfying sound of shattering plastic when the device hit the opposite wall. //You know what, Nicky? You've really screwed up your life, old son. All for what?// Nick wiped at his eyes, angered by his total lack of control as tears welled up. //Because you wanted to see what it would be like to be with a guy... to be with--//

Nick heard his cell phone ring. "Grissom," he hissed out loud as he grabbed the phone. The older man had been good to him, putting up with a lot since his attack. Nick wondered if he could ever tell him the truth... "Hey," he said in a friendly voice.

"Well hi there," came a completely unfamiliar voice. "This is Kelly Anderson calling from Fox Station, KLVT. I'm the producer for the News at Five. We were wondering if we could get a statement from you about your brutal attack and Mr. Alvez's death..."

//What?// Suddenly cold and shaking, Nick pulled the phone away and stared at it, noting the unfamiliar phone number on the Caller ID display. //Fox Station? Television? Oh fuck!//

He could hear the woman calling his name and switched off the phone. But almost immediately it rang again. Another unfamiliar number. //They found me!// Panic rose within his gut as he looked around. //They know who I am!// The phone went silent then rang again. "Fuck you!" he yelled at the phone then threw it, watching with only mild alarm as it smashed through the glass door on a hutch next to the kitchen, further smashing through the ornate gravy boat inside.

Then the cordless phone in the condo rang. Enraged Nick picked it up. "What the fuck do you want?"

"Nicky? It's Grissom."

//Oh Christ...// Nick sniffed, tears blurred his vision and burned down his cheeks. The adrenaline flow was leaving him, his mind and body shifting sharply downward. "I'm sorry, Gris--"

"It's all right, Nick." Grissom's voice was calm and steady, much as it had been since he woke up in University's hospital room. "Brian warned me. He said he got a call from some news station asking to confirm your identity. I'm on my way to you, Nicky. I'm about two blocks away. They told me I could use the VIP entrance. Listen to me carefully, Nick. No one can get to you without going through security. Okay?"

"Okay."

"I have to hang up so I can drive. But I'll be right there."

"Okay." Nick heard a click at the other end and his world fell apart. He didn't bother to control the tears flowing out of his eyes, would be a waste of time. //This is stupid! I should be able to handle this!// He put the phone back in the charger, noting how shaky his hands were. His entire body felt as if he had been beaten up again. //I'm such a wimp!// He glanced at the hutch, suddenly sorry for the damage. //Damn! I was a cop, an EMT! I've dragged bodies out of shootouts. What's wrong with me!//

Fighting for calm he found a pan and brush under the sink and moved as much as his body would allow in order to clean up the glass from the floor. "Man," he said aloud to himself. "Wonder how much this costs." He hoped not too much. He hoped it wasn't a heirloom. "I can't believe I lost control like that!"

He cleaned what he could and rescued his cell phone. It was damaged but he separated the battery from the main unit anyway. No more calls there. He stepped into the kitchen and threw cold water over his face then sat down on the couch, staring at the blank screen of the big screen television. He had destroyed the remote, dented the wall. Of course the television could be turned on manually, the channel changed through the descrambler box. But it was just too much effort. There was nothing to see, except his name in lights. His parents would know now. He should call them... tell them...

//Fag for a son...//

Nick tensed as the door opened behind him. Instinct told him it was Grissom. And if it wasn't... he decided didn't care.

"Are you all right?"

All right? Nick twisted his head up. Grissom stood just inside the door. A grocery bag hung from his hand. His blue eyes were fixed on Nick as a frown wrinkled his brow. "Yeah... I'm great!"

Grissom lowered the grocery bag and came over to sit by Nick. His hand gently raised Nick's face while his other hand assessed the small bandage on his head. The touch was professional but somehow also personal. Nick alternately yearned to lean into Grissom's hand while a saner part of his psyche kept that urge in check. "I'm sorry you got a call before I could get to you," he said quietly. He pulled back and met Nick's gaze. "I won't be going back into work until this is done."

//Grissom taking time off? For me?// Guilt assaulted Nick. He shook his head. "I can take care of myself. I mean... I appreciate everything you... and everyone else has done. But I don't want to interfere--"

Grissom's hand covered his mouth. "Shut up, Nick. Okay?" He looked around as he got up, taking the untouched plate of food off the coffee table. His eyes roamed, resting on the hutch then the remains of the remote on the floor. He assessed Nick calmly. "I see you didn't get a chance to eat. I was going to make a few sandwiches. Do you think you could eat now?"

Nick laid his head back on the sofa, drained. "No... not hungry." Stokes heard Grissom move around. The bag was picked up then footsteps into the kitchen. "What time is it?" he asked. That was his biggest problem since the attack. His usual ability to internally sense the time of day had completely disappeared.

"Nearly eleven-thirty." Grissom continued to move around, opening doors, drawers, bags. Nick caught the faint scent of deli meats and involuntarily took a deep breath. His stomach suddenly came alive, making muted demands.

"Can I change my mind... on the sandwich?" he ventured.

"Of course."

Silence. Nick wanted to sleep... wanted to scream... wanted to do more damage. //And what good would that do?// "Sorry about... the remote," he said finally, deciding he hated the silence.

"I'll ask the next person coming up to bring a Universal remote." Grissom walked in with sandwiches on a plate and two bottles, one of soda and one of beer. "You can have a sip of mine but no more," Grissom offered, holding the beer out to him. "Not until you're off the meds."

Nick frowned. He was getting tired of soda but it was better than milk. He took the bottle and threw back a large 'sip' then held out the bottle. "Thanks."

Grissom seem to hesitate, blue eyes watching Nick a moment before flicking away. "You're welcome," he said distractedly as he put the food down on the coffee table along with Nick's soda bottle as he sat down. For a moment he studied the bottle he held then drank from it.

Nick watched, confused. //What's the big deal?// But his body reacted, tightening slightly as he realized his mouth had just been there... //Oh man, stop it!// He turned his attention to the food, a ham sandwich with lettuce and tomato, and let another hunger take control. He glanced back at the man sitting next to him. Grissom was reaching for a sandwich as well, his expression completely normal.

"Anything wrong?" Grissom asked as he noted Nick's gaze.

"No!" Nick glanced away and bit into his sandwich. //See? Your imagination! Now that you think you're gay, you think everyone else is too. Well you're not and neither is Grissom.//

They ate in friendly silence. At some point Grissom walked over to the television and turned it on, making no comment as the first thing that came on was a news story about the "gay bashing incident in Las Vegas". He changed stations, finally settling on the Discovery Channel. The view looked like a deep jungle with a diversity of life echoing from within. There was the steady voice of a narrator talking about life cycles of some rare butterfly.

"Do you mind?" Grissom asked as he came back to sit next to Nick.

"No. Whatever you want." Nick laid his head back again. Food had been a good idea. He felt more in control, though more intense aches and pains were starting to report in. His pain medication was beginning to wear off. Nick lifted his head and eyed the prescription bottle on the table. He was supposed to take them every four to five hours. It had been six since his last dose but he didn't like to take drugs. He could wait.

"I need to tell you something, Nick." Grissom voice was lower, firmer. Nick's eyes wandered open. "Your parents are coming in tomorrow morning," Gil stated evenly. "I'm going to pick them up from the airport."

Parents. Nick quickly sat up, shock and adrenaline fighting off any discomfort the moves caused. //I didn't call them yet. How could they be coming?// His heart pounded as he understood. "Man, they saw the news!" //And I didn't call them...//

"You know the news went national this morning, Nicky. They saw the report." Grissom's eyes were watchful, his tone lightly chided. "They called about two hours ago. Your name hadn't been mentioned yet but your mother said she had a feeling. They tried to call you at home then work. I took the call and talked to them. They are very concerned, Nicky."

//Oh god.// Nick shot off the couch, needing space, suddenly ashamed. //I didn't call them! I should have! What could I have said?// He combed his hands through his hair, wincing as his bandaged arm protested the movement. //They know... Fag for a son... but I'm not... Jesus, I'm in a hole. How do I get out?//

"Nicky, calm down. It's all right--"

"Dammit! It's not all right!" Nick faced his supervisor to vent his anger and frustration. "I didn't want them to know!"

"But they already did, Nick," Grissom reasoned. "And they were very upset. But Nick, they understood. They're not angry. They wanted to come tonight but I said I wanted to talk to you first. They're taking an early morning flight out of Dallas/Fort Worth."

//They're coming.// Nick put a hand on the wall beside him to keep steady. //They're coming. Okay... You need them and they're coming.// He shook his head and wiped the stray tears from his eyes. "Man, I've really fucked up my life!"

"Because you're gay?" Grissom cocked his head as he studied Nick. "Or because other people know?"

"I'm not gay!" Agitated, Nick started pacing again. "I'm not!" he said again as if repeating it would make it the truth.

Grissom's face took on that focused, speculative expression. Then his posture relaxed. "You're not attracted to men?"

Nick swallowed the automatic response. Grissom would know he was lying. "I-- like women. I mean I *really* like women." There... that was the truth.

"You can like women, Nick." Grissom sounded amused. "Some people would call that being bi."

Bi? Stokes grimaced. His side was beginning to feel like a wild animal had gotten a hold of him. All his pacing and moving around had irritated his bruises. And his head... "I don't know, Gil. But I didn't mean to be at Shane's that night. I just..." //Idiot! Don't confess! Not to him!// "I don't know."

Grissom nodded at the response and pick up the small medicine bottle from the table. "Looks a bit full," he said lightly. "I think you need to take some more." He opened the pill bottle and shook out a pill. He jerked his chin towards the couch. "Come on, Nick. You can use the rest. I have some paperwork I have to finish."

Bird sounds came from the television and a different voice was introducing something about Whooping Cranes in the United States. Nick's eyes flicked to the clock on the stove in the kitchen. Just after noon. He walked back to the couch feeling deflated and somewhat contrite. He started to sit down when Grissom stopped him with a hand on his leg.

"Wait a sec. You need to be more comfortable." Grissom grabbed the two pillows Nick had used to support his back and threw them to the other end of the couch. "Lie down, Nicky," he ordered.

Nick nodded. The pain was getting sharper. His head pounded louder than his thoughts. Grissom got up as Nick lay down. A thin blanket was put over him. "Here." Grissom held out his hand. Nick took the pill. "Here." Grissom offered him the half full soda bottle. Nick took the pill and drank it down then closed his eyes and waited for the drug to take effect.

A cell phone ring made him jerk. His nerves sparked. //Not again! I thought I broke it--//

"Grissom." Gil had his own cell phone out. He raised a calming hand towards Nick as he listened intently. "Anthony? I'm Gil Grissom, Nick's supervisor with CSI."

//Anthony?// Nick nearly sobbed as he wished for instant death. Tony... his brother. His oldest brother.

"No, he's here." Gil looked Nick over. "He's nearly asleep. Did you want to talk to him?"

//No! No!// Nick's heart pounded against his rib cage as panic ripped through him. Sixteen years older, Tony was like a second father to him. Presently Anthony Taylor Stokes was a Sheriff in the middle of a small Texas city with a wife and five kids. Normal. He couldn't--

"He's doing fine," Grissom's voice continued. "They're being held without bond. I hope not." Pause. "Yes... I will." Grissom laughed a little. "I'll tell him. Nice meeting you too."

Nick heard Grissom hang up his phone. //What did he say?// he asked silently, wondering if he wanted to know. Tony's little brother was a--

"Your brother said he heard from your parents this morning," Grissom began. Nick felt his legs moved and shifted then his feet were lifted then comfortably settled on a slightly higher, softer, warmer surface. Nick raised his head. His legs were on Grissom's lap. Grissom's hands covered his sweat pant covered calves and his sock covered feet.

"Okay?" Gil asked, his expression neutral.

Nick didn't have the energy to blush. The medication was starting to work. "That's fine," he said, putting his head back. "Tony's my oldest brother." He smiled as he realized. "He's only a year older than you."

"Is he?" Grissom's hands were still but their warmth invaded Nick's body, calming him. "He wanted to make sure you were all right. He said your parents called everyone in the family."

"Damn!" //They all know!// Nick made motions to get up, needing to--

"Nick, stay still." Grissom's hands gripped his thigh and ankle, holding him in place. "Your parents wanted to be sure everyone they can think of knows that 'no comment' is the only acceptable statement any of them can make to the Press." He lightly rubbed Nick's leg in a comforting gesture. "They want to protect you."

"The Press knows about them?" //Shit! I've gotten myself in a hole and I've taken them down with me...//

"Reporters are resourceful, " Grissom said lightly, tiredly. "Your father is a State Supreme Court judge. Your mother is a well-known defense attorney. So they didn't have to research too deeply to find them."

Nick threw his arms over his face, ignoring the pain in his left arm, the one with the stitches. "Gris... is this the part where I wake up and thank God it was all a dream?"

Grissom's light touch became a gentle massage. "This is going to work out, Nick. Everyone who counts is supporting you."

"Dammit, Gil! I didn't do anything!" Tears escaped his eyes, rolling over his cheeks, falling lightly into his ears. The medication was eroding his control. "I mean... we didn't do anything! And I didn't do anything before..."

Grissom's hands stilled. "You never-- Nick, you've never been with a man?"

"No!" Nick tried to get up again but Grissom's strong grip stopped him. Defeated, Nick again cocooned his face in his arms, hiding behind the darkness as the dam burst within his heart. "I--I just wanted to know! I wanted to see! I wasn't thinking..."

"Shhh..." Grissom's hand lightly gripped his uninjured arm. "Nick, look at me."

"I can't!" Nick sobbed, ashamed and fearful. //If I look at him I'm going to spill the rest of it and what little I have of him right now will be gone.// "Gris, I'm sor--"

"Don't apologize!" Grissom's tone was sharp, even angry. "Nick, look at me!"

Nick gave in. He lowered his arms. Grissom was leaning sideways towards him, holding out his handkerchief. His eyes were intent, meeting Nick's, a snake seeking its prey. "Gris--"

"Take this." Grissom waved the handkerchief. Shyly Nick took it, gingerly using it. His face felt raw now. His eyes hurt. "Now listen to me carefully," Gil began in that gentle, steady voice that had become common to his ears. "You didn't do anything wrong... though I wish you had taken more care. You've been a police officer... now a criminologist. You should have known better." His fingers briefly brushed Nick's hand, taking the sting from his words, offering comfort. "Nick, is this the first time you were interested in men?"

//Lord no!// Nick sighed, exhaustion spreading through his body. His emotional outburst had aided the effects of the medication he had taken. "I... looked... but never..." Nick growled in frustration as he fought to find the right words to say rather than say what he really wanted to. "I just wanted to know..."

"What changed to make you... want to know?" Grissom's body had shifted, pulling back to sit normally, his hands again resting around Nick's foot.

//Oh man! Not going to answer that one!// Nick felt a final wave of stillness settle within him. He was falling asleep and was more than happy to do so. Grissom's hands moved, rubbing his foot, his ankle. Asking nothing else of him as he drifted off.

Grissom began to relax as he saw Nick drift off to sleep. He stared at the television screen but stopped paying attention. Even bugs didn't interest him at the moment. Nothing mattered beyond the man whose feet he held and the puzzle he was slowly beginning to resolve.

//I'm not gay!//

A smile crept across his lips as he remembered the denial. //Of course not, Nicky. You went to a gay bar and admitted that you "hit it off" with another man because you weren't interested?// Grissom let out a near silent snort. Classic denial. His gazed fixed on Nick's face, on the minor cuts and bruises. His mood quickly swung in the opposite direction. //God Nicky, what were you doing?// Grissom bowed his head as fatigue warred with anxious realization. //You could have been killed! And I never would have known...//

//Known what? That he was gay? Bi? Meaning what... that he would be available? Interested... in you?// Grissom sighed, quickly putting aside his fantastic thoughts. //He's a young man... unsure... confused... and hurt. He's looking to me for support.// Grissom lifted his head to study his contact with Stokes, his hands moving casually over Nick's legs. If he were a woman friend no one would question them sitting together like this, wouldn't necessarily give it sexual connotations. But he was a man... and the one he comforted was a man. People had a tendency to make all kinds of assumptions. //And in this case... in my case... they would be close to the truth.// Grissom dared a stray caress over Nick's abdomen and crouch. //But nothing will come of it. And I would never presume.//

Grissom laid his head back. Nick's parents were coming tomorrow. They sounded anxious, even a bit hurt that it had been him and not their son who told them. But they quickly rallied, quickly forgave. And Nick's brother had made it clear that if his little brother's attackers ever got bond he was to be called immediately. Grissom didn't dare ask what Tony would do with the information as he put Nick's brother's number on his speed dial. Just in case.

Nick moved, turning in his sleep, away from his injured side. Grissom gently braced Nick's legs, helping him find a more comfortable position without waking up or falling off the couch. In the end he wound up holding Stokes' thighs against his stomach. Uncomfortable but welcomed opportunity. He stared at the television screen. The life of squirrels in North America. Charming. Noise. And he didn't want to disturb Nick to get up and turn it off. So he ignored it. //Think I'll take a nap instead.// He shifted carefully and relaxed, closing his eyes, letting his fantasies out to play as his fingers move minutely over the tiny patch of expose skin between edge of Nick's shirt-- displaced when the younger man had moved-- and the waistband of his pants.

Nick Stokes tried not to obsess the whole morning while Grissom was gone to pick up his parents. But his visitor was no help in that area. The personal assistant to the Assistant District Attorney was in the living room of his borrowed home. She had come just as Grissom was leaving, asking questions he didn't want to hear.

"Nick, I need you to focus."

Stokes blinked. Angela Brookes was a good-looking woman in her forties, professional but personable. She accepted his coffee and got right to work, asking questions, listening as Nick spoke. It was the first step before an official statement, a picking of his brain before he actually met with the ADA to go the next step in building and presenting the prosecution case. She began by asking him the same questions as the police. Where was he? Why was he there? What did he say? What did the other guy say? Did the other guy make his intentions clear? Did he... force himself on the other guy? Provoke him?

//Was it my fault?//

"Nick?"

"What!" Stokes was pacing across the apartment. Overall he felt better. His head felt less like a punching bag. His bruises were beginning to turn brilliant colors. His side hurt but he didn't like to take pills so ignored the discomfort, though it was hard as Brookes continued her questions, making him relive his attack in detail, making him analyze his motives... their motives...

"Nick... I know this is difficult--"

"You don't know shit!" He began pacing at warp speed. "I don't want to talk about it anymore! Okay?" He knew he shouldn't be yelling, shouldn't be cursing at this woman. It wasn't her fault. It wasn't anyone's fault... except maybe his. //That Alvez guy would be alive and his two little boys would have their father--//

"Hey Nick."

Stokes jumped. //Shit!// Grissom was back. Nick swung around. Brookes was closing her case, gathering her coat. She studied him with some annoyance mixed with concern. Then she gave him a small smile and turned her head towards Grissom who stood just inside the condo accompanied by two others. //Grissom... and--// The paralegal smiled and shook hands with the new arrivals then left. As the door closed Nick felt an overwhelming urge to bolt, to follow her out, speed past her... run away to-- He focused on Grissom, frustrated and frightened.

"You all right, son?"

Dad. Nick could feel the tears welling up. His parents eyes were fastened on him, watching, concerned. Nick forced himself to gather his sanity, to put on a casual face, to greet them like always. //Hey guys! Have a good trip? Glad to see you...// Then courage left him completely as he turned away. He couldn't face them. He was so ashamed...

A hand touched his arm, turning him. He looked and found himself caught in his mother's eyes. She wasn't much shorter than he was, tall for a woman in her generation. Her gaze moved over him as if taking inventory, her fingers touched the bandage on his forehead, the bruises around his eyes.

"I'm so sorry, Nicky," she said finally. She put her hands on his shoulders then pulled him against her. Nick squeezed his eyes shut as he returned the hug, determined not to give in but losing the battle a moment later as a sob escaped him as he broke down and openly wept.

"We're here now, Nicky," his mother cooed as she rocked him awkwardly. Her embrace grew tight, possessive and protective. "Your father and I are here to help."

"He's recovering though there have been ups and downs... as you saw."

Nick toweled himself dry and took off the light plastic wrapping from where it had been protecting the stitches on his forearm. His ears were on alert, straining to capture the quiet voices in conversation in the living room. After his tears ended the skin on his face felt as if it were on fire. His body ached and spasmed. His mother ordered him to take a cool shower. And it helped. Though the aches remained his face felt less irritated, his eyes less blood-shot.

"I wish he had called us." Nick winced. He and his father had always talked, always shared. //I should have called him.// He grabbed a clean pair of sweat pants and put them on. //And told him what?// He grabbed his shirt, grunting as he put it on. It still hurt but it was better. //Hi Dad. Just to let you guys know I got the shit beaten out of me by some freaks who don't like homosexuals. What? Yeah... no... Dad... I'm not... I didn't--//

There was a polite knock then Grissom's head slipped in before this body followed as blue eyes took in Nick's state of dress. Grissom himself wore jeans, t-shirt and well-worn shoes. Casual. Open. Attentive. Nick wondered for the thousandth time why his boss was taking the trouble, unconsciously torturing him with his presence. "I'm almost done." He sat down on the bed to put on his socks. These and the sweat pants and shirt were all that he'd been wearing since coming home from the hospital. Part of him wondered if he would ever get used to wearing regular work clothes again.

"I have to go out," Grissom said shortly. "Get some supplies. Let you have some time with your--"

"Don't go." Nick swallowed, silently cursing his mouth and his brain as they reacted faster than his ability to control them. He looked down at his bare foot, contemplating putting on his other sock as shame flushed through him. //Where the fuck did that come from?//

He heard the bedroom door quietly close then saw a shadow fall across the floor. "Nicky, they love you. They want to make sure you're all right." The bed dipped. Grissom's body brushed his as the older man sat down next to him. "Nick, what are you afraid of?"

Nick forgot about his other sock and stood up to separate himself from Grissom's proximity. "I'm not afraid of anything!" he defended.

"That's why you're standing in front of me acting like a caged animal? Why you're not comfortable seeing your parents alone?"

Suddenly angry Nick faced him, his raw nerves screaming from his attempts keep himself and others in line. "Don't analyze me! I'm not a suspect!" Grissom flinched and Nick immediately regretted his words. His ran his hands through his hair and over his face, wishing for the gift of invisibility. "I'm sorry, Gil!" he cried out. "I'm sorry!" He waited, knowing the man who had been nothing less than his lifeline and support over the past several days was about to get up and leave, hurt. That Nick Stokes, idiot-at-large, had crossed the line.

Grissom got up but instead of moving to the door he moved towards Nick. Nick wanted to back away but held his ground. Gil smiled a little as he stopped. His hand came up, almost brushing Nick's cheek before laying on his shoulder. "I'm going out for awhile, Nicky. I'm going to get something to cook for you and your parents tonight and take care of some calls I need to make. I should be back by three or so." His fingers on Nick's shoulder tightened. "Your parents love you. They want to talk to you." He smiled. "And I'm okay, Nick. I wasn't offended. Okay?"

Okay. Nick was breathing hard though he couldn't tell now if it was from high anxiety or Grissom's touch. //God I want him...// His heart slammed into his throat as he saw Grissom's expression change, his brow wrinkle. His hand moved from Nick's shoulder and hovered above his face before dropping away. Nick sighed, not knowing whether to be relieved or disappointed. //What's going on?//

"I'll see you later," Grissom said evenly. His expression and posture showed nothing more than friendly concern, normal. As if nothing had happened. He opened the bedroom door and walked out. Nick could see his parents standing up, his father shaking hands with Grissom, small words exchanged. Then Grissom was gone and his parents, Berle and Janet Stokes, looked back towards him with focused concerned.

And Nick realized that he was just staring at them, barely dressed, a sock in his hand, the other on his foot. With a sigh he went to the bed and sat down, quickly pulling on the remaining sock then got up and went into the living room. His father was sitting, reading the newspaper. His mother was in the kitchen, washing whatever had been left in the sink. //Just like they were home.// "Mom, I can do that--"

"I'm nearly done, Nick. I can make some coffee. Why don't you go sit with your father?"

Nick heard the firm tone in her voice. He heard paper shift and saw his father putting aside his reading and look at him expectantly. //Oh shit... they're going to "talk" to me.//

"Come on, son," his father encouraged.

//Don't I get a final meal?// Nick obeyed, easing his aching body onto the sofa, sitting as far away from his father as he thought he could get away with. His father frowned.

"Nicky, we're not angry with you," his father said quietly, almost defensively.

"I'm sorry." Nick tried to relax. His mother came from the kitchenette carrying a glass of water.

"Gil told us you probably haven't taken your medicine." She put the glass on a coaster in front of Nick then held out her hand. A small pill sat in the middle of her palm, waiting. "Knowing you he's probably right."

Nick's eyes shifted from one parent to the other then he sighed and took the pill and drank the water. His mother smiled then moved back to sit down in a chair next to the sofa. For a moment there was complete silence then his mother cleared her throat.

"Nick, why didn't you call us? Tell us? We had to hear about you on the national news." Her words were laced with hurt.

Nick bowed his head. "I--I don't know." Lie.

"Yes you do, Nicky," his mother insisted. "And we understand. But it hurt nevertheless."

//Oh man.// Nick squeezed his eyes shut, wishing the men who had attacked him had finished the job. He so did not want to be here.

"Son." His father. "How long have you... liked other men?"

Nick glanced up, shocked. //They're asking about my sex life... this is not going well at all.// "I don't know." Truth.

His father looked at his mother with that kind of silent communication children always hated. "Nick," his mother took over, her voice far less hesitant. "Your father and I want to make some things very clear to you so you understand how we feel about you and what's happened. Then you can tell us anything you don't think we understand. Clear?"

His mother sounded like she was in her "lawyer" mode, making a summation. When he was a kid this was never a good sign but, like an execution at the end of an appeals process, there was no escaping it. Nick nodded.

"First, you are our son, Nicholas Stokes. Our youngest child and one of our seven joys. When we saw the news report I knew it was you. Knew some people who had no business touching you had hurt you badly because they didn't like who you were." Her expression turned anxious. "Second. Your father and I love you no matter what. No matter who you are or who you love. I'm just sorry you felt uncomfortable telling us." She met his eyes. "Did you think we'd... reject you? That your brothers and sister would? They were very upset and angry when they heard... upset at you and angry with the bastards who did this to you. They all wanted to call you yesterday but I told them to wait until tonight. And I warned them to be patient with you."

Nick shifted uncomfortably as he took in what his parents were telling him. All his fears and assumptions had been way off base... why had he ever doubted them? //Because you're a coward, Nicky. If you said nothing, you never needed to know how they felt... and you could keep lying to yourself about what you really want.// "I don't know what to tell you," he said finally after long thought. "I've never... done anything... until... this Friday. I mean... I've always felt... something but I like women too." //Damn... I'm such a shit. Lie to my parents... my family. Get a guy killed--//

"What changed, son?"

His father's question was asked in the same way Grissom had asked last night. Only he wasn't falling asleep. He was wide-awake, in spite of the pain pill he just took. Nick stared at his father then shrugged, deciding on some honesty. "I met... someone. Only he doesn't know. And I don't know if he would be interested in me... that way. I didn't want to try without knowing how--" Knowing he was turning a pure shade of red, Nick covered his face in his hands. "Do you really want me to finish the answer?"

"Um... no..." both his parents said in unison, finally setting the limits. "Do we know him?" his mother asked, changing the focus of the discussion.

//Yes.// Still hiding his face, Nick shrugged. "Sort of."

"And you can't tell him?"

Nick groaned. "It could cause a problem... at work."

Silence answered his revelation. He ventured a glance at his parents. His father gazed at him kindly, patting him on the leg when their eyes met. His mother had an expression on her face that he recognized as deep thought. //Oh man... not good...// "Mom?"

His mother seemed to start. Her expression turned outward, regarding him with a smile. "Oh... I'm sorry, Nicky." She got up walked to the side of the couch. A moment later Nick found himself pulled against his mother as she embraced him where he sat. "Don't ever doubt us again, little man," she said, using a term of endearment she had used when he was a child. She kissed the top of his head and drew back, her eyes boring into his, her expression as serious as he had ever seen it. "You are a grown man, Nick. And none of us would dare tell you how you should behave or what you should do. But if you should ever pull a stunt like you did the other night again I'll have Tony kick your butt," she finished in her finest Texan accent. "And I know the rest of us would be holding you down while he does it. Got it?"

Nick felt gentle tears flow over his face as he smiled. "Thanks, mom," he said lightly, realizing everything was all right... as far as his family went. He looked at his father whose eyes also shown a bit. Then his eyes drifted to the door, to the two small bags there. "Hey, I'm sorry. Gil said he got the other room ready for you guys." He stood up then sat down, suddenly dizzy. The pain pill had kicked in. And now that his adrenaline surge was easing, he could feel himself starting to decline.

"Take a nap," his mother ordered. "Your father and I will make ourselves at home." Pause. "We're only going to be here until tomorrow afternoon," she said apologetically. "I could only get a forty-eight hour continuance on a motions hearing I have to attend."

"And I have to be present for an appeals hearing for a death penalty case." Nick's father stood. At just over seventy he was taller than Nick, narrower in frame. "Come on, son," he encouraged as he gently pulled on Nick's arm to get him to stand. For a moment the years peeled away and Nick let himself feel like the boy he had been, enjoying the care as his father guided him into the bedroom.

"I'll wake you up in an hour or so," his mother said. "Gil told me he left some lunch meat in the refrigerator. I'll make us something."

"Okay." Nick let himself be guided into his bedroom and put to bed. As he sighed in preparation to sleep he heard his parents quietly speaking to each other, making comments on the broken glass in the hutch, the pieces of the remote. Then he thought he heard Grissom's name mentioned several times and wondered if they had already figured it out...

It was surreal. Not in a bad way but not in a way that Nick could fully make sense of. Grissom came home by three and made the best chili Nick had ever had, though he wouldn't admit that to his mother. They talked about this and that. His sister Margaret's new baby, Nicole. His nephew's interest in law enforcement. It was as if they had dropped by for a quick visit, nothing out of the ordinary. Nick found himself smiling and laughing in all the right places but it all felt made-up, pretended but oddly good because Grissom was next to him, meeting his eyes every so often, casting a reassuring glance, even a conspiratorial wink when his parents said something revealing about Nick that Stokes himself would never thought of sharing with Grissom.

And in the midst of this were questions that left Nick wondering. Where was Grissom from? How long had he been a criminologist? What were his interests? Did he have family? Siblings? Pets? Nick wanted to stop them several times, knowing how private Grissom was, how he didn't like to reveal too much about himself. But tonight Grissom was more open than Nick could ever remember, answering their questions, though not in detail. It was a friendly exchange intermingled with normal family talk. It was comforting and odd. But Nick tried to focus on the comfort, the back of his mind tracking the fact that his parents would be gone tomorrow and he would be missing their physical presence while he dealt with this... all of this.

Towards the end of the meal there was a phone call. The ADA told them that the two attackers had agreed to plea guilty to the charges. The two had felt overwhelming guilt over the killing of a straight man with children yet still justified in their attack on Nick. However, it was an all or nothing deal. Life in prison for the charge of murder and attempted murder. With Nick's attack classified as a hate crime there would be no possibility of parole. It was all but signed and sealed. There would be no trial. Nick would not have to testify. It was over just like that as far as the justice system was concerned.

In reaction Nick's eyes filled with tears. His mother hugged him, assuring him everything would be all right now. His father hovered, his presence a comfort. And Grissom stayed seated next to him. At some point Grissom's hand was on his arm, offering a gentle squeeze. It was a simple gesture but one that helped Nick more than Grissom probably realized.

The conversation continued. His other brothers called. His sister called. Tony called back. All genuinely relieved to talk to him, all expressing their love, their anger and what happened. It was energizing, comforting and overwhelming. By nine o'clock his eyes were weighing down and his body ached, though not nearly as bad as it had been.

"Bed, Nicky."

Nick blinked. He was sitting on the couch, his body feeling like a puddle from exhaustion. Grissom stood above him, his hand held out, his eyes twinkling. "It's not a school night," he protested with a fake whine.

Grissom's lips twitched. "Come on."

Nick smiled and took his friend's hand, grunting painfully as Gil helped him to stand. He saw his father watching him, watching Grissom, a faint expression on his face Nick couldn't place but made him blush all the same. He carefully let go of Grissom and took a step aside. "Good night, Dad," he said, determined not to ruin the evening by getting anxious.

"Goodnight, son," Berle Stokes said calmly as he raised his newspaper up and began to read once again. Nick hesitated. Was he mad... uncomfortable? //You're making something out of it that's not there,// his mind commented sharply.

"Nick." Grissom's hand was on his shoulder, firmly guiding. "You're going to pass out. Come on."

Okay. Nick looked at the closed door, the bedroom where his parents were staying. His mother was taking a shower. Nick wanted to wait to say goodnight to her. Living so far away from home he rarely got the chance anymore.

"Go to bed, Nicky," his father encouraged, his eyes regarded him with a hint of amusement. "I'll let your mother know." He raised his newspaper again. "Let Gil help you."

//Let Gil help me.// Nick sighed, giving up on analyzing his own spin on what was going on. He was too tired.

He let Grissom put him to bed.

Continued in Gone Awry Part 2

Interlude (Kindred Julian/Frank)

Sun, 30 Oct 2005 23:29:18 GMT

Title: Interlude
Fandom: Kindred (TV Show)
Pairing: Julian/Frank
Rating: FRAO
Spoiler: Nightstalker
Summary: That scene between Julian and Frank in the Nighthawk Diner could not be left alone.

Interlude
by Asa Meda

Nighthawk Diner. He had been coming here since he was a rookie. But since his time with Alexandra, since he found he was able to sense Kindred, he was surprised to know how many and how often Kindred came here. It was nearly twelve-thirty in the morning and there were only a few customers here, eating little, talking quietly. In fact, Frank realized, he was the only human there. And he was here because he was just too tired to drive anymore and because it warmer here than outside...

"Refill, Detective?"

Refill? Frank stared at his empty cup. That's all he had been drinking since he got here nearly a half an hour ago... coffee. No food. Didn't have time for food. But he had time for coffee. He nodded as he pushed the cup in her direction.

"I don't know if I should tell you this since I... uh... pour this stuff for a living," the waitress, Ruth, began as she served him. "But coffee doesn't actually relax you." She pushed the cup back towards him. "It makes you more tense." Her voice held a tone that made him glance at her. "But I guess people need their illusions."

Ruth's words were quietly critical. Irritated, Frank ignored her. She was Kindred. She always seemed to know what was going on. And every so often she would express herself. But he had bigger thoughts to think, a dozen things to get done. Frank rested his head on his hands. Inhaling, he nearly gagged. Mixed in with the fresh scent of coffee were the stronger scents of death that clung to his knitted shirt. Blood... Urine... Visions of bodies, twisted and pale. Starkweather. Some media idiot was trying to make the connection between this guy and another Starkweather decades ago who had killed some nurses. Others were already arguing over violence on television and its influence on the young. Frank knew the truth, of course. Starkweather was Kindred gone wild, killing for his own sick pleasure... for the blood... Frank squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to force away the ache in his head... as he tried to ignore his stomach as it rolled...

Air lightly whispered around him. A familiar presence brushed his mind. Startled, Frank looked up to see Julian Luna sitting in the booth across from him as if he had been there for hours. //Where the hell did he come from and how did he know I was--// He glanced at Ruth who was behind the counter, her back to him as she spoke to the cook. //Skip that last question.//

Frank noticed a look of deep concern in the Kindred's eyes as Julian studied him. Frank shifted uncomfortably, uneasy with any attention on him. There was a killer out there and he didn't need anyone, especially Kindred, focusing on him. "We're going to get your Blood Brother," he said, hoping his turn Luna away with an argument.

"He's no 'brother' of mine," Julian replied smoothly as he continued to watch Frank. "I would like to see him destroyed as much as you."

Truth. But Frank didn't care. He wanted Luna to stop looking at him. If that meant he had to be nasty so be it. There was a killer out there! "Why's that?" he sneered. "Because he's messy?"

Julian gaze became penetrating. "Kindred don't kill for pleasure. We don't even kill to feed." A strange expression came and went on Luna's face. "You'll learn that... in time."
'
Frank swallowed as the words touched a deeper part of himself, a place the rest of him did not want to face... wasn't ready to face. The added conflict encouraged Frank to remain antagonistic, to keep his mind focused. "Why don't you tell that to Starkweather? He's turned San Francisco into a blood bath."

"We didn't make him a killer, Frank," Julian stated firmly in darker tone. "He was systematically abused by his father then abandoned. He's killed his abuser and now he's just moving up the food chain."

The forensic people... those who did profiles for a living had already told him this. But it wasn't public. Frank's eyes narrowed at Julian. "I suppose you learned this from whichever one of you turned him into a vampire."

That was a direct hit. Julian's eyebrows rose, his posture changed. "Is that what you think of us?" he asked with a suggestion of hurt in his voice. "That we live to create monsters out of humans?"

No, Frank conceded silently but refused to give. "Am I wrong?"

Julian didn't answer. His expression was stony. "We didn't start this," he said, clearly ending that part of their discussion. "We can help you stop it."

Help. Frank just wanted to sleep... to eat... to get the smell off his clothes... his skin. But he still couldn't give in. //Sometimes I think it's the only way I can face him one-on-one... by arguing.// "Thanks," he conceded, hearing the genuine offer. But the law enforcement office inside of him couldn't allow it. "But we got about a thousand cops looking for this guy."

"If this monster kills again," Luna countered, his hands gesturing as an outward expression of his agitation; "and you could have stopped it with our help, how would you live with yourself?"

That struck a nerve. Julian was looking at him with that look again. "I don't get it, Luna! Why do you want to help me!" //Why are you still here?//

Julian pointed a finger at him. "I took an oath to protect you," he answered, his eyes holding Frank's. "The only way I can keep it is to make you understand. To turn you into someone who isn't our enemy."

There was something in Luna's words, some plea. Frank thought he sensed a reaching, a need he didn't fully understand and in his exhaustion didn't want to explore. "You're dreamin', Luna," he threw out.

Julian's lips cursed upward. His expression relaxed. "I'd have thought the same thing." He paused then added; "But Alexandra believed in you."

Invoking Alexandra's name was like tossing a bucket of ice water. Frank opened his mouth to throw back a comment then stopped as he finally understood that wayward emotions weren't going to work against Luna. Anyway, why was he fighting with Julian? They seem to be on the same side in this. Still, ego wouldn't let him toss in the towel. "You want to help me find this Nightstalker? I'm not gonna stop you. It just seems to me to use Kindred to find a serial killer is a little bit like using a fox to guard the hen house."

It was a cheap shot and a stupid thing to say. Frank wondered if he'd gone too far as he found himself again caught in Luna's penetrating stare. "There are no serial killers amongst the Kindred."

"Why not?" Frank asked before he could stop himself.

Julian watched him. "Kindred justice doesn't permit it."

With those words the atmosphere around them changed. Frank knew he had heard nothing but the absolute truth from Luna. For Kindred to remain hidden, none of them could lose control like Starkweather had. Frank noticed Julian's posture had become quietly regal. His oddly colored eyes regarded him curiously. Frank sighed, wishing the man would leave so he could just put his head down for a minute before going back to his hunt on the streets...

"When did you last eat, Frank?" Julian asked suddenly.

Kohanek blinked. Eat? Was he hungry? "I'm okay," he said quickly, cursing silently as his stomach growled, proving his lie. The whole precinct was on duty. No vacations. No sick hours. Sixteen hours on, eight hours off. Sonny did more but then he went home for some rest each day. Frank couldn't blame him. But he couldn't do the same. He couldn't sleep when he got home so he wandered the streets, his mind on the clues, on what he knew but couldn't tell.

Something different drew his attention. The scent of food reached his nose setting off a flurry of responses within his body as a plate was placed under him, hamburger surrounded by fries. Frank stared at the food then looked up to find Ruth looking at him, her lips curled in a small smile.

"Rare, Detective," she said as she straightened. "Just as like you like it." She nodded towards Julian then walked away.

Frank glared at Luna. "I said I wasn't hungry." He put a hand to his mid-section as his gut screamed at him in mutiny.

"Eat, Frank," Julian ordered in a compelling tone.

Frank sighed. Against his will his mouth was watered in preparation; his fingers itched to pick up the burger. But he resisted. He wanted to eat... to sleep. But he had to get back out there before someone else died--

"Eat your food, Frank."

Julian's voice was deeper. Frank looked at him as he felt a strange sensation wander along his nerves to flow into his mind. Luna's expression was stern, even parental. "Someone else is going to die," he said plaintively as he tried to resist what he suddenly understood was happening. Kindred had the ability to Dominate humans.

"Someone might," Julian agreed. "But you are not going to be able to find him if you don't take care of yourself." He nodded his head towards the plate in front of Frank. "I don't want to force you to do anything, Frank. But I won't have you weakened by your inability to take care of yourself."

//Fine... whatever...// Frank picked up a french fry and ate it. Immediately he picked up a few more pieces and gulped them down as his body demanded more. In silence he ate, his body compelling him to finish every last crumb.

As he finished the soda that had suddenly appeared on the table he glanced up, his cheeks tingling as he realized he had just pigged out in front of Julian Luna. "I guess I was hungry," he said to cover himself.

"I guess you were," Julian agreed with a smile. He slid over to stand up. "Come on," he offered.

"Where?" Without thinking, Frank stood. He glanced around. The diner was completely empty except for the blond waitress who was busy wiping off the counters. She paused to look at him, her expression showing the same quiet concern Julian's had before she turned back to her work.

"Back to my place," Julian told him as he opened the door open for him. "You can sleep a few hours then start your search again."

Frank forced himself to stop even as his body protested his disobedience to Julian's order. "I don't need sleep, Luna," he said firmly. "I need to find the bastard!"

"So do we," Julian agreed calmly. "But you're not going to be at your best if you can't focus." He paused then added; "That can be dangerous."

There was something here. Something left unsaid. He probed Luna's face then sighed, frustrated that he could see nothing more than what Julian wanted him to see. "You're not my babysitter," Frank threw out without the venom he had intended on putting into it. He was exhausted.

"Yes I am," Julian said plainly. His eyebrows rose as his eyes sparked with amusement. "You need one." His hand gestured. "So let me do my job. All right?"

Frank found he could no longer muster up the proper rebellion. Julian was being sincere in his concern. And Frank had a feeling that the patient coaxing was only going to go so far. Somewhere within his mind he sensed the Kindred's presence. He would be taken, willing or not. //And I'm fucking too tired to care.//

"Just a few hours," he said, making sure Luna understood.

Julian nodded. "A few hours, Frank," he promised.

The deal was struck. Frank followed Julian to an expensive mid-sized car with darkened windows. The chauffeur was a tall man with long blond hair pulled back in a ponytail popular with some men now. He held the back door open as Julian got in then waited patiently for Frank to follow. Kohanek smiled sheepishly as he got in, nearly falling into the back seat as he stumbled, nearly landing in Julian's lap.

"Um... sorry." He quickly retreated to his own side, feeling somewhat out of his element as he felt the cool leather under his fingers, as he scanned as much as he could of the interior. There was nearly everything a busy business executive could need in compact form built into the framework of the car. Laptop. Cell phone. Small television. Pull out desk. Frank shifted uncomfortably. //Too rich for my tastes.//

"Make yourself comfortable, Frank." Julian pulled a cell phone out of its holder. "I need to make a few calls. We should be back to the mansion in about twenty minutes." Julian's voice was suddenly business-like as the car began to move, as the Kindred's fingers moved over the keypad.

Through the tinted glass Frank watched the city lights, the scattered traffic, the moon hanging over the bay. His ears were attuned to Julian's voice, now matter-of-fact, casually speaking to someone about a telephone conference between himself and New York that needed to be delayed, something about a budget item that needed to be recalculated.

Frank rubbed his hands over his face, forcing down the need to sleep as he continued to listen, his instincts as a detective waiting for the right words, the subtle catch phrase that would make Julian other than who he has presented himself to be. //Julian Luna, Billionaire-Philanthropist.//

//Man, who are you kidding anyway,// Frank chided himself. //There's nothing wrong with Luna. Not what you think. Not what you ever thought. You just hang onto it and give him shit because you want him...//

Frank sighed and leaned back against the softness of the luxurious interior. //Want him?//

//Don't even start lying to yourself, Frank Kohanek. Your cock stands at attention every time you think about it... about him.//

Right on queue, fantasies Frank usually kept at bay for more private moments began to whisper, images of himself... and Julian rising up. //Damn... I thought was too tired for this.// Frank shifted again as his pants seem to tighten around his crotch. //Not here, dammit! Not here!//

Julian's voice continued, his tone deep and steady as he spoke of things Frank no longer listened to. His mind concentrated on relaxing, on making his cock go to sleep before it got noticed. And slowly it worked. His body relaxed. His mind drifted, lulled by the comforting beat of Julian's words.

And woke up on a comfortable, well-cushioned couch, covered with a thin blanket, a pillow placed behind his head. //Where--// He sat up and looked around as memories returned. He was in Julian's mansion, surrounded by decorated walls and expensive furniture. Living room? Sitting room? Frank sighed. He had been in Luna's mansion before but never further than the main foyer and Luna's office.

Frank looked at his watch. It was nearly three in the morning. Two hours. He had slept two hours without interruption. //I feel better.//

Yet... Frank sighed as his bladder talked to him. Bathroom. Frank got up from the couch and moved around the room. To his relief he spotted a half open door and the hint of white porcelain. Quickly he relieved himself then washed up. As he came out of the bathroom he wondered where Julian was and how he was going to get back to his car. //Nap time's over... gotta get going.//

"I would be glad to help you, Nathan. I enjoy your company."

Frank snapped his head around as he heard Julian's voice. Nathan? Frank moved silently towards a door on the other side of the room. It was almost closed, the interior lit. Frank edged closer as he heard movement and shifting, wondering what the hell he was doing. It wasn't his business. It wasn't his house. But still he found himself leaning against the wall beside the door, he found himself looking at the end of a canopied bed. //Julian's bedroom? What-// Suddenly he caught a glimpse of Julian. Luna's chest was bare; his profile focused on something just out of sight.

Julian had a soft expression on his face. Kohanek swallowed, forcing his breath to remain steady as he watched Luna's hand reach out to caress. Strange excitement filtered through him as he barely moved the door, determined to get a better view as a deep groan erupted from the room. //I'm insane! I can't believe I'm doing this! But I have to... damn... who is he... oh god...//

Julian faced a taller, seemingly younger blonde haired man who also stood bare-chested, his paler features softened by obvious sexual arousal. Julian's fingers slid down the other man's torso, caressing. His expression was darkly focused.

Captured by the tableau Frank watched as the two men began kissing. Julian's fingers ran over Nathan's face then glided over his lover's shoulders. The young man's kiss became more urgent as their bodies drew closer. Julian's hands roamed freely. His mouth traveled, nipping along exposed skin.

Frank gripped the doorframe as he ruthlessly tried to keep from making even the slightest noise. The room felt too warm, his pants too tight. It was too late to move back, to do the right thing. His groin pulsed painfully. His mouth salivated. His hands twitched with the need to give into his desires and stroke himself as he witnessed two men make love. But he was a prisoner, unable to escape, unable to find relief from the building tensions within his body.

Julian's body stilled for a moment as Nathan's hand delved into his pants. He groaned then pulled the younger man close. His lips moved in a silent whisper. His lover slowly drew back and studied Julian then nodded. Silently Julian offered his arm and Nathan took it, his lips peeling back to reveal his fangs. Without hesitation he bit into Luna's wrist, his mouth sealing over the wound he made, his throat moving as he swallowed.

Frank bit his lip to keep from crying out as his groin demanded release, as the sight of Kindred feeding only added to his own erotic needs. He watched as Julian's eyes closed, as the Prince's head tilted back, his expression unmistakably orgasmic. As Nathan sucked on him Luna's free hand embraced his lover's head as one would a nursing child. Then the young man groaned and drew back, his tongue running sensuously over Julian's arm as he straightened.

"Thank you, Sire," Nathan said in a breathless tone. He picked up his shirt and dressed quickly.

Julian touched his lover's face. "Thank you, Nathan," he replied.

Nathan smiled, his teeth still fanged. He grabbed his tie then glanced in Frank's direction behind the door. His mouth opened to speak.

"Nathan, it's all right," Julian assured. "Go on."

Nathan faced Julian and bowed a little before leaving the room. Frank flinched as the door opened fully, revealing his presence. But Nathan completely ignored him as he passed.

Julian straightened his pants but didn't pick up his discarded clothes as he faced Frank, revealing a strong, lean torso. "Come in, Frank," he offered as he leveled his gaze on the human.

//Oh god...// Frank moved his foot back, ready to bolt. "I-- I'm sorry." He took another step back. He had his rest... and then some. His cock was still aroused but deflating quickly as fear and shame filled him. He had to go back to the station, get back to the investigation before the killer struck again.

Julian held out a hand. "Frank, it's all right."

Frank backed up another step. "I gotta go," he countered in a near whisper. He turned, hoping he could remember his way back to the couch, to his holster, his wallet and keys. //Get out Kohanek. You've really done it this time. Julian probably thinks you're just a little shit for sneaking up like that.//

"Frank, don't run away."

Julian's voice was right behind him, his presence tingling through Frank's mind. Kohanek cursed silently as he understood Julian wasn't going to just let it go. "I shouldn't have intruded," he said without turning, knowing his lame words would probably do nothing to counter what Julian was thinking about him. "Thanks for the crash space, Julian," he added, trying to keep his voice calm and casual. "You were right... I needed the rest."

"You need a lot of things, Frank," Julian replied then sighed. "I know what you're feeling... about me. The attraction." Frank stiffened as hands gently pressed against his shoulders. "Would it help if I said I'm attracted to you? That I think we both need to ease some tension that's been building between us?"

Frank closed his eyes, wishing he were anywhere but here, wishing he had the guts to turn around. "I've never been with a guy," he said, hoping to end this farce.

"Then I'll show you," Julian countered easily. Fingers tightened gently over Frank's upper arms. "As much or as little as you want to know."

Frank trembled. Sweat gathered over his body. "What about--" //I can't believe I'm considering this!// "What about--"

"Nathan needed to go early... to join the blood hunt for Starkweather. I gave him what I had so I'll need to feed before I go out this morning." His hands slid over the knitted material covering Frank's arms. "But I can find someone else for that... if you don't want me... that way." Julian's voice was a near whisper, his hands flexed in their grip on Frank. "I won't hurt you, Frank. I could never do that."

"Because of Alexandra?" he asked then bit his tongue as he heard the bitterness in his voice. If he was going to do this with Luna he wanted it to be real and not because of her ghost haunting them both.

Gentle laughter erupted behind him. "No, Frank. Alexandra is dead. I loved her... admired her spirit. I took the vow to protect you because I respected her insight. She told me you were special. And from the very first time I met you I knew she was right." His body pressed against Frank's back. "Don't be afraid, Frank. I'm not going to Embrace you. I just want to share some pleasure with you." Pause. "You set the pace. All right?"

All right? Frank searched his soul as he tried to find a reason to refuse. But nothing came to him. His libido, on the other hand, gave him all the right reasons. Bracing himself he turned, swallowing hard as he found his face mere inches from Julian's. His eyes took in the Kindred's dark gaze, the calm passion that sparked in their depths. Then he found himself staring at Julian's lips, his own mouth anticipating.

Julian leaned close. His lips teased Frank's, encouraging contact. Frank shivered then gave in, joining in their first kiss. At first it didn't seem much different than kissing a woman. But as Julian's arms came around his back, as their kiss deepened Frank felt it... the added strength, the absolute need that echoed his own. Still, it seemed Julian was patiently holding back his full strength in favor Frank's needs.

Experimentally Frank's hands roamed, seeking familiar curves, quickly readjusting as he encountered broad muscles. //This is a guy!// his mind supplied in warning. Suddenly feeling out of place, his hands stilled and he pulled back. //What am I doing?//

"Frank?" Julian brows knitted together. His own embrace loosened, giving Frank room. "I can stop..."

"No... I--" Frank cleared this throat. His hands moved again, brushing at the fine hairs on Julian's chest. He took a deep breath as he tried to ignore his painfully aroused cock. //Damn! I'm acting like a virgin!//

"One step at a time, Frank." Julian lightly pushed the human back from him. "Listen to me," he began. "If there's something you don't want me to do you'll tell me." His hands started pulling at Frank's shirt, drawing it up. "And if there's something you do want to do," he added casually. "Do it. Understand?"

Frank nodded. //I say stop and he'll stop. Okay.// He automatically obeyed as Julian gestured for him to raise his arms. In a moment Frank's shirt was pulled off him. Julian smiled as he brushed tousled hair back from Frank's face, letting his hand move downward to caress Kohanek's chest. Frank shivered in response, caught between fear and renewed arousal.

"Don't be afraid, Frank," Julian intoned seductively. His gaze remained steady as his hands gripped the waistband of Frank's pants, opening the clasp, pulling down the zipper... his fingers delving within...

"Oh..." Frank grabbed Julian's arms for support as Luna's touch moved with experienced ease over the head of his cock, caressing down the underside...

"Kiss me," Julian breathed as his face drew close.

Frank refused to think as he obeyed, more comfortable with the gesture, more aroused as their lips parted in unison. The taste of Julian was a deep, heady elixir that seeped onto his tongue, into his throat, spreading throughout his body. His hands slowly explored Luna's body, adjusting more quickly to the maleness, his hips moving in rhythm to Julian's manipulation of his cock, his body shifting minutely to get the maximum stimulation from the Kindred's touch.

At the same time, Frank's hands caressed over Julian's shoulders then raked down Luna's back. His fingers dug under the waistband of Julian's pants as his desires rose. In the course of a moment Frank's feelings focused. He groaned, demanding more as his fingers pushed lower, barely caressing the cleft of Luna's buttocks. Dark thoughts teased his conscience as tensions of the last week... buried feelings of the last several months... emerged. //I want him... need this...// Frank felt somewhat alien as he drew back and surveyed Julian. The Kindred's face was pale, his lips red with abuse, his eyes wolf-like.

"What do you want, Frank?" Julian asked, his voice barely a growl. "Tell me."

Unfamiliar passion filled him. Frank searched Julian's face as he understood what was being asked. //I want...// His cock pulsed, his body commanded. "I want you," he whispered, wondering what reaction he would get. He brought his hands up into Julian's hair and tugged hard, delivering a quick kiss. "I want you," he repeated with more confidence.

Julian's mouth curved into seductive smile. "Then you will have me, Frank." His pulled back but only far enough to take Frank's hand. "Come to bed," he coaxed.

Frank allowed himself to be brought back into the bedroom then pushed onto the soft wide bed. Before he could move Julian was on him, undressing Frank quickly. Then he finished taking off his own clothes. For the first time they faced each other with no physical barriers between them. Frank eyes roamed, automatically inspecting, taking in the differences and similarities. Julian was slightly larger in build than himself. His skin was dusky and smooth. Frank's gaze moved lower, his eyes taking in the erection that bobbed from a nest of black pubic hair. //He's big...// Frank looked away as his mouth watered in reaction to a sudden urge. //What am I doing?// A hand cupped his chin, drawing his face up.

"You like what you see?" Julian asked lightly as he released him to stretch out full length on his own bed.

Frank's face burned. "Yeah," he answered honestly. He glanced around. "This is really weird, Luna."

Julian smirked. "It's not that different from doing it with a woman." He laid back, his head cushioned by the large pillows at the head of the bed. "You've done it... with women?"

//Jesus... how does he know?// Frank nodded. His sex life was sparse but when things happened he wasn't against trying new things. And Alexandra had taught him a lot of new things. "I don't want to hurt you."

"Did you ever hurt them?" Julian held out a hand. "Make love to me, Frank."

Permission. Long buried urges took dominance within Frank's mind. He moved up, taking Julian's hand, kissing the back of it, curious when Julian's eyebrows moved up in surprise. "What?"

Julian shook his head. "It is how a Prince is greeted, acknowledged. I know you didn't mean it that way."

Frank blinked. No, he hadn't. Yet it had felt right. "Sorry," he apologized.

Julian smiled. "Don't kill the mood, Frank."

Frank laughed in response. Then he leaned forward, kissing Julian with renewed passion, his body moving with purpose to stimulate his lover. Julian sighed deeply then spread his legs in invitation.

//He wants this...// Encouraged, Frank concentrated on Julian's pleasure as well as his own. He replaced his hands with his lips, nipping his way downward, giving extra attention when Julian moaned or twitched. As he reached Luna's hips he was startled as Julian's hand touched the back of his head.

"You don't have to," the Kindred managed hoarsely.

Frank lifted his head, surprised at the depth of passion in Julian's eyes. "I want to," he decided. He gazed at the erection presented to him, fascinated by the movement it made, by the scent that filled his nostrils, all adding to his own arousal. Then he took one last deep breath and did what he had seen women do, what he enjoyed having done to himself. His tongue licked, finding the taste slightly bitter but acceptable, encouraged by Julian's hiss. Carefully he held his lover's genitals, massaging the testicles. With some verbal guidance from Julian, he began taking the engorged cock into his mouth, sucking and licking slowly then with more aggression as Julian cried out, thrusting his hips in demand.

Frank could feel his own cock swelling painfully. He wanted Julian... wanted to be inside him, filling him. But he wanted this too, this control over the Kindred Prince, this ability to make Luna lose his rigid disciplines, if only for a moment. Settled in the rhythm, he sensed the nearing to climax, heard Julian's groans increase and wondered what the Kindred would taste like... wondered if he really wanted to know...

"Frank... stop..." A hand, gentle but firm, pulled at Frank's head. "Childe... stop..."

By force of will Frank obeyed, lifting his head, curious and concerned. Had he done something wrong? But Julian smiled, sitting up slightly, caressing Frank's face in reassurance.

"Come inside me, Frank," Julian offered in a low tone. "Now."

Now... Frank pulled himself up as Julian lay back down. The Kindred spread his legs, bringing his knees up. Frank's desires ignited as he studied the submissive pose. He caressed Julian's abdomen and thighs, barely brushing the thick, moist cock. "You sure you don't want me to..."

"I want you to do this, Frank," Julian demanded. "Please..."

Frank didn't question it a second time. He stared at the opening to Julian's body as he began to rub at his own cock in preparation. "I guess condoms are not an issue here," he ventured.

Julian smiled lazily. "No."

Frank leaned forward to deliver a quick kiss on Julian's aroused member, pleased when a hiss escaped his lover. "What about... lubrication?" It was a rhetorical question. Even if it didn't matter to Julian, he was not going to do this without proper preparation in this regard.

Julian sighed, his hand reaching towards the nightstand, to a small bottle sitting behind the lamp there. "Here," he offered. "You won't need much."

Okay. Frank took the bottle, impressed by the ornate design, the obvious expensive packaging. He opened the top and nearly groaned as an exotic scent that made his head tingle pleasantly. "What is it?"

"Something someone gave me as a gift," Julian answered in a deep tone. His hand caressed down Frank's side. "Something I keep for more special moments."

Frank drew a deep breath as Julian's touch guided him back to what was more important between them. He took a drop and coated his cock, closing his eyes as the oil and his own fingers threatened to take him over the edge. He drew himself forward as Julian drew his legs up, exposing the desired opening.

//I'm gonna fuck a guy,// came one of Frank's last coherent thoughts as he positioned himself. He wanted to be careful, to make it good for Julian. But as his organ entered the Kindred's body, as Julian groaned aloud, as his body thrust up to meet the invader, all Frank's resistance fade. He thrust himself fully into Julian's body, giving a cry as his hips pressed hard against Julian's butt. "Oh god..."

"Move, Frank," Julian ordered in a harsh whisper. His legs wrapped around Frank's torso. "Fuck me!"

Kohanek moaned as he drew back from the cool tightness that surrounded his cock. Then he slammed forward, gripping Julian's thighs painfully as he worked to maintain his balance, as he again drew back and thrust forward. Julian's command to push harder and harder turned to moans and cries as Frank obeyed, causing the Kindred to arch his body in obvious ecstasy. In turn, Julian's muscles surrounded his cock like a vice, pulsing around his pumping organ, milking with knowledge and skill. Frank was captured, his body enthralled by the cycle of intense pain and pleasure they shared as he moved against Julian with unfamiliar abandon.

Though it probably had been only minutes, Frank felt as if it had been hours. He could feel sweat dripping off of his skin, his muscles tense with the repeated motions. In the end he rammed his cock deep within Julian's body as he climaxed, as he emptied his seed into the Kindred, as the intensity collapsed into sparks of euphoria.

Frank fell forward, his hands landing on Julian's stomach as he worked to control his breathing, fought to stay coherent as his body quaked in the aftermath. "Damn..." He didn't think it could be like this... that he and Julian could have--

Julian's body moved quickly but carefully, pulling itself away from Frank's softened cock. Before the detective realized what was happening, Julian pushed Frank flat on his back and covered him, his lips taking the human's in a painfully passionate kiss. "Julian..." Frank moaned, a part of him amazed to feel his cock becoming aroused once again as he felt Julian's hard erection against his thigh. //He didn't come... what--// "Julian--"

"Shhhh..." Julian's hands wandered over Frank's abdomen, stroking gently. His lips moved over Frank's face, drifting downward, teasing at his jaw, nipping at his throat with mild purpose. "Let me feed," he whispered hoarsely.

Julian's words integrated with faint whispers within Frank's mind. Need. The Kindred's body held still over his, waiting. Frank pushed at Julian, forcing his lover's head up. Julian's eyes glinted darkly, his expression showed the strain of control. //I can say no.// he understood without asking. //I can say no.//

But also realized he couldn't say no. Julian's need burned through him as if it were his own. In that instant he understood. Blood. It wasn't food... not really. It was life... a gift... and a curse. Frank examined Julian's face as he struggled to maintain control over an irritating pulse that suddenly made its presence known. He needed... Frank reached up and touched his lover's cheek in a vague attempt to express what he couldn't verbalize. Julian's eyebrows rose high. He tilted his head as if hearing something Frank couldn't then kissed him gently. "Please let me share with you," he pleaded.

Frank puzzled at the words but reacted to Julian's undisguised want. He closed his eyes and drew his head back, giving the Kindred silent permission.

Julian exhaled a single breath. Then his mouth softly clamped on Frank's throat. A moan escaped Frank as a sharp sting flashed through him, adding to his renewed passions. Blood flowed from him. Julian's presence filled him. Their bodies came together as those of more familiar lovers, hands already knowing what to seek to bring pleasure to the other. Frank arched to bring his newly aroused cock in contact with Julian's hardened member. His hands raked down Luna's back, scratching the skin. Frank quivered as orgasm came more quickly, ripping through him with more energy. At the same time Julian thrust harshly then lifted his head from Frank's neck to moan as his cocked released a cool fluid between them.

Nearly breathless Frank laid still, his eyes closed as Julian's lips returned to his throat, a warm tongue lapping gently. Then Julian gathered Frank against him. At the same time a scent drew Frank's attention, a scent that reminded him of Alexandra yet it was different, darker. Blood. Confused, Frank tried to focus, to open his eyes. But a strange lethargy held him in a twilight state.

"Don't fight me," Julian whispered breathlessly into his ear. "You need this too... I know." Warm liquid touched Frank's mouth, leaked between his parted lips and over his tongue. "Take from me, childe. Just a little... just enough to help you. One day you will understand..."

Automatically Frank pressed his mouth against the warm skin of his lover, seeking the taste that had been introduced to him. At first his stomach protested as fire coursed through his nerves, making him remember his last time with Alexandra... the blood that ran down her arm. But Julian cradled him, soothing with words as Frank's body adjusted, eagerly accepting the strange fluid as a means to stanch his needs. As the precious liquid was withdrawn, Luna's powerful mind carefully moved a single thought. Then Frank finally sighed as love of a kind he never thought to experience filled his soul as the Prince's arms enfolded him protectively...

Ringing. Something was ringing. Frank turned over, instantly awake. The ringing continued, sharp and shrill, next to his head. //My cell phone... what...//

"Yeah." he said as he looked around, as his memories began to come back to him. //Shit... what did I do!// He was in Julian Luna's bed. Naked. They had had sex... made love...

"Frank, where the hell are you?"

Sonny. Frank sat up, his tongue paralyzed. Julian was gone. "I'm uh..." //Shit, think fast!// "I'm in my car," he lied, wondering if his car was still at the diner... wondering how he was going to get to it.

"You all right?" Sonny sounded less frustrated and more concerned. "I've been looking for you for about an hour. I passed by your place and tried your beeper." Pause. "You sure?"

"Yeah," Frank answered more quickly as he gathered his wits. "I must have fallen asleep," he added tentatively.

"Well you needed it, partner," Sonny forgave. "Don't know whose gas you were running on. It's almost seven. Kwan wants us in his office for a briefing about eight-thirty. Okay?"

"Sure," Frank answered still wondering how he was going to get his car, wondering what had happened here. He licked his lips, puzzled by the odd taste... a familiar taste he couldn't quite place... "I'll see you then."

"Good, buddy."

Frank listened to the connection as it broke then took a moment to stare at his phone. //Damn!//

Voices. Frank's ears picked up as he heard voices just beyond Julian's bedroom. Both familiar... Julian and... Sonny? Frank shook his head, dismissing the idea. //My imagination run amok...//

"Everything all right?" Julian asked as he walked back in, fully dressed, his eyes watching Frank. "I hope you don't mind. I left your cell phone close by in case someone needed you."

"Thanks." All very casual. Frank assessed himself. He had slept for hours... a good sleep. His body was relaxed and energized.

The lingering scent of sweat and sex drew his attention. He eyed the bedding around him, seeing small stains... seeing drops of blood on the pillow... Frank raised a hand to his neck, drawing in a breath as his fingers brushed a sensitive area, though the skin seemed unbroken and smooth. He stared at Julian who stared back, waiting. Frank, still nude, thought a moment about covering himself then stopped as he realized there wasn't anything Julian probably hadn't seen by now.

"I'm okay with this," Frank said, surprising his own ears with those unexpected words.

Julian appeared to relax. He came to the bed and sat down on the edge, his hand falling on Frank's cheek. "I'm glad." His eyes scanned him. "I want to do this again," he said seriously.

Again. Frank looked away. Again? "I don't know," he said honestly without looking up, afraid of what effect his rejection would have, amazed he cared at all. //But I do... about Julian...// Confused, Frank tensed, feeling something out of place, something he couldn't quite remember...

"Frank." A hand gripped his shoulder. "It's all right."

Julian's voice was calm and understanding. Frank raised his head. The Kindred's expression was casual. Nothing out of place. No expectations. Frank was free to make up his mind without losing the odd, tentative friendship they had somehow formed. "Thanks."

Julian smiled and drew back. "I had your car brought here. I had some clothes brought from your place." He gestured with his head to the foot of the bed, at the clothes neatly piled next to his personal belongings, including his keys. "There are towels set out in the bathroom for you."

All the bases covered. Frank nodded again, wanting to say more, knowing the timing wasn't right. There was a killer on the streets... a Kindred killer. And he had to get out... go after him.

"I have business to attend to, Frank." Hesitation. "So I can't stay."

"It's okay." Frank began to move, sliding out of bed, feeling strangely alert. He watched as Julian nodded then turned to go. But as Luna reached the doorway Frank had to say one more thing. "Julian... about Kindred..." He shrugged as Julian's attention focused on him. "I know this guy... isn't what you guys are all about."

Though Julian's expression did not change Frank sensed a change within the Kindred Prince, a deep emotion he didn't know to interpret. "I'm glad, Frank," Julian said. "I'll see you later."

Frank sighed as he watched his lover go. His lover... his male lover... his Kindred male lover... Prince of the City...

//Enough of this shit!// Frank gathered his things and headed for the bathroom, his mind focusing on the day ahead, his heart hoping they caught the killer before it was too late...

END

Being (Without a Trace Martin/Jack)

Sun, 30 Oct 2005 23:10:12 GMT

Title: Being
Pairing: Jack/Martin
Spoiler: Shadows (2nd Season) Oh and written well before current season
Summary: I really didn't like the way Martin was left all alone in the waiting room. So... here's a tag. Enjoy.
Rating: FRAO

Being
by Asa Meda

Oncology Ward at Queens County Hospital. It was small but the doctors and nurses on duty were dedicated and compassionate. His aunt had a private room. They had checked her over, made her comfortable, made arrangements for hospice to come and talk to them. His aunt could go home. She did not have to suffer in her last days. There would be nurses, social workers, homes health aides and others all involved in her care... in the care of her family. Bonnie Toland could die comfortably at home with her family and friends present, just as she wanted.

Martin Fitzgerald shifted in his chair, his home for the past hour or so, though it seemed an eternity. It was four in the morning... at least it was the last time he looked. His cousins, Jamie and Allison, has come, barely sparing him a glance as they headed for their mother's room. Aunt Bonnie, his mother in all ways that was important, had been missing. The twelve-hour journey he had taken to find her had been full of surprises and revelations. His aunt had been growing pot, assisting others in their desire to die rather than suffer and providing sage advice when the choice had truly gone beyond legal bounds. In the end she went to the doctor she knew and trusted best. But the doctor wasn't home. She was found in his backyard, laying among the flowers. The ER doctor had said she might have become temporarily confused, a common symptom of renal failure, of the toxic reaction to chemo.

Bottom line, his aunt was safe. His aunt was dying. And he sat in what passed for the waiting room... waiting. He had cried already, grateful for Sam's presence, for her physical comfort. She had been, he admitted to himself, his last choice to call. But Danny was out East on Long Island, helping his brother to settle in after getting parole, and to get properly acquainted with nephew and sister-in-law he never knew he had. Vivian was at some special occasion with her family. And Jack was going to be with his father this weekend.

But Martin knew better than to lead any kind of investigation of a family member. So he called Sam and she came through. Now she sat with him, waited with him. After everything had settle, he had told Sam she could go, not wanting to ruin her entire weekend. But she remained and brought water and a damp towel to wipe his face. She had suggested food but he politely turned her down. Soon after, Jamie came from her mother's room to ask the same questions, to ask if he want to come back in with her to see his aunt. But he wasn't ready and she understood, kissing his forehead as she had all of his life, even when they were children, and left him. At some point Martin let exhaustion claim him as he relaxed into the chair, leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. He would rest for a moment then maybe then he would be able to go in and face his aunt. Then Sam could go and have her Sunday...

"How long has he been asleep?"

"About half an hour. God Jack he was absolutely great while we worked on this... completely professional from beginning to end. It's only when he knew she was safe that he let go. He's so exhausted. I don't know how he managed to keep his perspective... I couldn't have."

"He's a pro, Sam. Wouldn't expect anything less from one of my best agents... you included."

Hearing Sam and Jack's voices, Martin peeled an eye open then closed it without seeing more than a blur. He was exhausted. His face burned. His eyes ached in sync with his head. Hunger teased his stomach but the thought of eating was too much trouble. He was oddly comfortable where he was for the moment, content to listen.

"Did you talk to Joel Stempler?"

"I told him that the little greenhouse and its contents were to disappear from Bonnie's home within the next four hours." Pause. "I gave him the camcorder tapes. I warned him about offering any further assistance to others. He took the hint."

"Good," Jack agreed quietly, his voice close. "This doesn't need to get blown out of proportion. Just drop by in a few hours... make sure Mr. Stempler has held up his end of the bargain."

"Will do." Pause. "How's your father?"

Father. Jack was supposed to be visiting his father. Something was up there.

"He..." Jack voice caught. "I just found out he has Alzheimer's."

Martin came fully awake and straightened up. "I'm sorry," he mumbled at the same time as Sam. He blinked. Jack Malone, his supervisor at Missing Persons, was sitting next to him in the chair Sam had occupied. Sam was standing in front of him, her expression openly sympathetic as she focused on Jack.

Jack glanced from one agent to the other, his gaze lingering on Martin, assessing. "I really don't know how to handle it yet. I told him... and he threw me out."

Without thinking Martin gripped Jack's arm. The older man was exhausted. His hair was disheveled, his face unshaved. His expression was bleak... and strained. Suddenly Martin felt guilty and wondered why Jack was here at all. Martin hadn't wanted to disturb anyone with his problems. Of course, since he had to make use of FBI resources... even another agent... Jack had to give his approval and get updates but Martin didn't expect his boss to actually come out to the hospital... to personally see him... particularly after what he had just learned about his father--

"My grandmother died about six years ago," Sam volunteered as she touched Jack's shoulder. "I can give you some information I got then and give you some good web sites you can look at."

Jack's eyes glittered as he nodded. "Thanks... I'd appreciate that. I went to see Marie and the girls after leaving his apartment. She said she knew people who could help."

Marie. She and Jack were separated again... maybe divorcing, fallout from the Spaulding case... the second Spaulding case. Rumor had it she wanted Jack out of the line of fire, in a position that gave him more personal time. There were rumors, too, that there were other issues though he didn't hear what... and didn't care. Apparently whatever the problems were, they were still friends. Jack still had someone to go to for support, even if the deeper bonds were gone.

A sharp shrill caused him to jump. Cell phone. He had forgotten to turn it off. Martin looked around as he reached into his pocket, knowing cellphones were generally not allowed. He glanced at the Caller ID. His father. He had to answer. Martin started to get up, anticipating an unpleasant conversation. He had tried to get his father earlier, had left a dozen messages... all of them urgent. Now, after over twelve hours, Mr. Victor Fitzgerald, Deputy Director of the FBI, was honoring him by returning his call.

A firm grip on his arm stopped him. Jack silently gestured for him to answer, his expression clear in his willingness to witness whatever would happen. Martin considered a moment then answered the phone.

"Hey Dad," Martin greeted in the informal yet professional tone he had developed in speaking to his father over the course of his twenty-seven years of existence.

"Martin." His father never called him 'Marty' and never tolerated anyone else using the nickname in his presence. "Did you find your Aunt Bonnie?"

His father's tone was cool as if he were discussing the weather. Martin swallowed the lump in this throat. This was not starting well... already his emotions were rising. "Aunt Bonnie's in Queens County... in the Oncology Unit. That's where I am now." He paused to blink back tears as he prepared himself to deliver the news. "Dad... she's not doing well. Her kidneys are shutting down and--"

"What do you mean she's not doing well, Martin?" Victor Fitzgerald sounded surprised. "Last time I spoke with you, you told me her treatments were going well."

Martin stared at Sam who gave him a puzzled expression then at Jack whose eyebrows knitted together in concern. They couldn't hear his father's end of the conversation but Martin knew his expression must have left no doubt. For himself, this was unbelievable. His father didn't skip a beat. His son just told him his younger sister... his only sibling... was dying and he was making subtle accusations. "The last time we spoke was about three months ago... you haven't talked to Aunt Bonnie?" He had assume at least a phone call--

A patient sigh came through the phone. "Son, you know your Aunt and I have not spoken in many years. I depend on you to let me know what's going on so I can make plans if need be. Today I hear she's missing. Now you tell me she's dying."

Guilt rose in a knee-jerk reaction, quickly followed by anger. He swallowed it all as he usually did. It didn't matter. If he started screaming his father would simply hang up and the next time they spoke it would be as if nothing happened. "She... got lost." He was not going to go into what really happened.

"We found her at an old friend's house," he continued, falling into the habit of giving report, the only form of communication his father appreciated with his son. "She was taken to the hospital. We found out then that the chemo didn't work." He screwed his eyes shut, determine not to let his voice break... not with his father. "She's got maybe a week or two."

Silence. Martin waited, some small hope rising. His father never paused like this. Maybe--

"You'll tell you're uncle how sorry I am," his father began a moment later, his tone as casual as it had been before. "And you'll let me know when I need to make arrangements to come out there. All right?"

Martin shook with the effort it took not to lash out, to tell his father what cold bastard he was. It wouldn't make any difference. "Sure, Dad," he responded, the dutiful son. "Anything else?"

"No. Call me if you need me, Son." Pause. "Good-bye."

The line went dead. Martin sat unmoving, rage gathering from within. Vaguely he could hear the tone of the monitors coming from his aunt's room, marking the passage between life and death. She was dying. His Aunt Bonnie was dying. And his father could care less... even now...

"Damn him!" The explosion came before Martin realized what he was doing. He got up and smashed his cell phone onto the floor, taking little pleasure in the action as it broke into several pieces. "God damn him to hell!"

"Martin!" Strong hands grabbed him, turned him.

"No!" Martin pushed away from the restraint, the concern. He saw his cousins coming out of his aunt's room followed by his uncle whose expression turned from annoyance to understanding in a single second. "My father sends his regards," Martin spat out at the only man he truly considered his father. "I--I told him about--"

"It's all right, Marty," his uncle said quickly. He glanced at Jack. "I'm Roger Toland, Martin's uncle." He held out a hand.

"Jack Malone," Martin's boss chimed in, shaking Roger's hand in a friendly fashion. "I'm sorry about your wife."

The older man's eyes glittered with unshed tears. "I... um... thank you." His gaze moved to Martin. "Come back with me and see your aunt. She's still asleep but I know she'll know you're there."

The flames of rage and frustration instantly cooled, for the moment. He cleared this throat then glanced at Jack. "Sorry."

Malone cocked his head and gave him the hint of a lopsided grin. "You have nothing to be sorry about." He gestured. "Go visit your aunt. I'll be here when you're ready."

Martin stared at him then glanced at the clock hanging by the nurses' station. It was almost five o'clock. Jack looked like something the cat had had for breakfast and threw up. His father was ill. Fitzgerald glanced at Sam who had an interesting smile on her face, one he couldn't decipher. She walked up and gave him a quick hug then turned and walked away. A silent good-bye. Martin focused on his supervisor. "Jack, why don't you go too? You don't have to wait for me. I'll be fine."

"Go see your aunt," Jack urged again, ignoring Martin's command. "I'll be here."

"But--"

"Come on, Marty. Come sit with me. Your cousins need to go and I need a little company."

Martin nodded. Though his emotions were not fully under control he wanted to do what his uncle asked. He gave Jack a half smile. "I might be awhile."

Malone patted him on the shoulder, his touch lingering a moment. "I'll be here."

Jack watched Martin walk with his uncle back into Bonnie Toland's room. For a moment he saw the young boy in the grown man who was just beginning the grieving process. Innocence. Sensitivity. From the first day of Fitzgerald's employment with him these were factors that attracted Jack to his new agent. Realistically, Martin was an agent with potentially powerful political connections; yet he made clear from day one that he wanted none of it... gave the impression that if it were up to him the fact he was Victor Fitzgerald's son would be completely erased from his records. Jack respected this. Respected Martin. Jack learned to channel his attraction into a good working relationship, much as he had with Danny, because nothing more was going to happen. He had made his mistake with Sam. He and his wife, friends since high school, had worked through the hurt and pain he had inflicted and managed to move on.

But three months ago it all changed again. Some of the more important issues in their marriage had nothing to do with Sam or his affair. It was, bottom line, about his job... his position... and the danger. And it all became so clear with the Spaulding case. To find a kidnapped woman Jack had made himself bait. In doing so he had not only brought home his work but a threat to wife and children. Marie had been right, his work took a kind of priority she was not willing to share and he couldn't fault her. Currently they were slowly working through a very civil divorce. Nothing would be contested. No custody issues. They were friends. They had two beautiful daughters. They would be all right.

But a huge door was suddenly left open for Jack... teasing him with that other reason he and Marie were divorcing. He had always known of his own bisexuality. Marie had known... he told her everything. When he had confessed to her his crime of infidelity she had thrown back at him her surprise that he had cheated with a woman. She told him then how she had noticed his attraction to Danny Taylor. At the time Jack tried to deny it but then respected her insight and admitted his attraction. But, he said, nothing was waiting there. Danny seemed very heterosexual... very in tuned to women. Marie accepted, even assured him that looking was all right... cheating was not... no matter what the gender was.

However, during their separation and reconciliation, Martin Fitzgerald came to work for him, adding to the tension by being someone Jack found even more attractive in mind and body. But he loved Marie too and respected her by respecting his fidelity even if that other need continued to buzz just below the surface. A need his very perceptive soon-to-be ex-wife pointed out to him when they realized divorce was the only answer. Marie assured him that she was still his friend, even if they would not be lovers... would not be married. She only made clear that he wasn't to lie to her... that he wasn't to lie to himself anymore.

And Jack was doing his best. There were so many more cons than pros in even attempting a gay relationship... with his subordinate... on the rebound of his divorce. During his college days, before Marie and he became more than good friends, he had some experience with men... one relationship lasting an entire semester. That was more than twenty-five years ago. Jack smiled at himself at the sheer irony of it. His one "long-term" relationship with a man had happened the year Martin was born. Jack sighed and pushed the thought away as he usually did. Above all he didn't even know if Martin was gay... straight... or anything else.

The only clue he had was when he and Martin had worked their first case together, when they had questioned a man about the victim, a missing employee. He had been gracious and informative, but it was obvious he was distracted. His eyes worked to stay on Jack but kept straying to Martin. In the end the younger man seemed clueless, wondering how Jack knew the employer was gay. Malone felt a childish glee rush through him as he told Fitzgerald that the man had been checking him out. Martin's reaction was a positive one. He was surprised then amused. Jack filed that away, concluding Martin was either as straight as a ruler or gay as they came. No way to tell... and no way he would ever be in a position to ask.

"Mr. Malone?"

Jack turned to see Martin's cousins watching him expectantly. //Where are my manners?// he chided himself as he stepped up to them and held out his hand. "I'm Jack Malone. You can call me Jack." He had introduced himself to their father but didn't want to assume they had been paying attention as so much was going on.

The older of the two women smiled and took his hand. "Jamie," she responded warmly then indicated the other woman. "This is Allison."

"Ali," the younger woman corrected as she also shook Jack's hand. "We're so glad you're here!"

Her enthusiasm made Jack pause. His became more alert when he saw Jamie gently elbow her sister and give her sibling a commanding look. //What's going on?//

"What Ali means," the elder sister said quickly. "Is that Martin has been talking about you and we're glad to finally put a face to a name."

//Uh huh.// Tired as he was he wasn't fooled. Something was up. "Martin's talked a lot about you too." He paused as he remembered a point. The older sister was married with a daughter who had been ill recently. "How's Katie?"

Jamie's eyebrows went up on obvious surprise. "She gave us a little scare but it turned out to be nothing more than her way of having a cold, fever and all. She's her active little self again."

Malone smiled. "I have two of my own," he said, remembering his own first steps in infant care. "In fact, my youngest's name is Katie."

"How old is she?"

"Seven. My oldest is Hannah. She's nine." He liked talking about his daughters. They were, above all else, the great joys in his life. Marie and he had already told them about the divorce but made sure the girls understood that their parents were still friends, that there would be no fighting about who would live where... they would live with their mother. But Jack assured them he would be with them often, that he would live close enough so they could stay with him if their mother needed them to... or if they just wanted to be with their father for a time. They seem to accept the situation well enough. But he and Marie would keep an eye on them, make sure they had as normal an environment as possible.

"You're married?"

Ali's tone was shocked. Jamie again bumped her sister's arm, silencing her. "Sorry," the younger woman muttered.

There was something in Allison's facial expression, in her tone and movements that echoed Martin's. Jack gave her a gentle smile, suddenly understanding what they were about though he couldn't understand why. Normally a private man, he decided to follow his instincts and be open with them. "I'm separated." He sighed as he added; "My wife and I are divorcing... but it's a friendly one."

Allison frowned then relaxed. Jamie simply smiled in a fashion that reminded Jack of Marie.

"My Uncle Victor is an ass-wipe, you know," Allison blurted out suddenly, breaking the brief silence. She sat down and rubbed her hands over her face. Both women were clearly exhausted and grief-stricken. "Marty is nothing more than a tool to him... a decoration he takes out when needed. Even his mother... was distant." She wiggled her nose. "It's always been a mystery to me why they had Marty to begin with. I mean it seemed like they didn't want any kids at all because when Marty was born he lived with us almost all the time." She grinned at Jack. "Marty and I are only six weeks apart... until we were three we thought we were twins... with different birthdays... what did we know? I thought Marty called mom and dad.... aunt and uncle because he was a boy." She giggled.

Jack smiled tiredly. He could well imagine two toddlers agreeing to anything that kept their world stable.

"Being four years older I knew," Jamie supplied. "But it didn't matter to me. Marty was and is my baby brother."

"What does Martin think about his parents?" Jack asked curiously.

Jamie frowned. "My parents used to tell us stories about how important Marty's father was, that they had to travel to places where children weren't allowed. But as we all grew older we learned that wasn't true. Aunt Joyce came and took Marty once every few months... more often when there was a political campaign going on. There would be some blip on the news and Victor would be giving a speech, or standing behind someone giving a speech. Aunt Joyce and Marty would be in the background completing the good family image."

"When Marty was twelve, he refused to go," Jamie said sadly. "He said my parents were his real parents and more or less told my aunt and uncle to leave him alone." She gave a small shrug, her expression distant as she remembered. "That's when Uncle Victor sent him to a boarding school. We never got to see him except in the Summer... or Spring Break but we wrote each other all the time... and visited when my parents could manage." She brows knitted. "It was kind of odd, actually. I came home from high school early one time and heard the end of a conversation Dad had with Uncle Victor. Marty wanted to come home for Christmas but my uncle was being... a problem. Seems there was some White House something happening and all the important people were to show up with kids for the Press. Uncle Victor was up for some big posting and wanted to make an impression. My father said something about some agreement and the conversation was over." She smiled pleasantly. "Marty spent his Christmas with us."

"But they weren't complete monsters," Jamie added quickly, earning her a glare from her sister. "Aunt Joyce tried to help, tried to make things easier for Marty, even acting as a shield when Uncle Victor attempts to mold Marty into a clone of himself didn't work. But basically she was loyal--"

"Subservient," Allison interrupted bitterly.

Jamie gave a half-hearted nod. "That too."

Jack studied the women as he tried to process what he had heard, stunned by the insight he was getting. From small comments Martin had made here and there. From the conversation between father and son he had witnessed moments ago, he knew Martin's relationship with his father lacked warmth. He just didn't know just how cold it was. He wondered how someone as sensitive as Martin ever came to be Victor Fitzgerald's son.

"But now he's all grown up and successful in his own right." Allison perked up. "It was really something major when he took his first assignment in Seattle. Uncle Victor wanted him at his side in Washington. My parents helped him where they could... they're so proud of him." Her eyes glittered a bit. "We hoped, then, he might find someone special out there. He had someone in college but it didn't out." Sigh. "But he never really met anyone else. When he came back to New York Jamie and I tried to... help."

"But," Jamie continued with wise grin; "we found out he's a bit gun shy. And he hinted that he had already found someone."

Oh. Martin never heard mention of someone... anyone... in Martin's life. Fitzgerald was very private and discreet but Malone didn't know he was that good.

"Of course he's afraid to tell that person," Allison told him. "We've tried to push him but he told us to back off... that the person was married and off limits. And add to that Martin's assumption since this mystery person was married he wouldn't be interested in Martin... that way."

He? Jack's eyes narrowed as hints became a little more clear. "Are you saying Martin is gay?"

Jamie stood a little straighter and glanced towards her mother's room then pinned Jack with her gaze. "Yes, she is. Problem?"

"No," Jack said immediately. "None. I was just surprised." He cocked his head. "Why are you telling me? I'm his supervisor... his friend--"

"Ali," Jamie interrupted as she shifted her attention. "It's nearly five. Why don't you go home and get a little rest then talk to your boss about rearranging your shifts."

The younger woman was on her feet. "I can wait--"

"Please," Jamie ordered... commanded.

"Okay." Allison sounded annoyed. "I'll be back before noon."

"Okay, honey." Jamie pulled her younger sister into a tight hug. "Tell your boss he's earning his Karma points."

"And then some." Allison held out a hand to Jack. "Pleasure meeting you, Mr-- Jack. Maybe I'll see you again... later?"

He shook her hand. "Probably."

Allison smiled. "Gotta go." She glanced at Jamie. "Let them know... okay?"

"Yeah... go."

Jack watched Allison Toland walk down the hospital corridor then pause at the elevator. A moment later she was gone.

"She's an ER nurse," Jamie said quietly. "Very dedicated... a lot like Marty." Short laughter. "They probably should have been twins."

Jack nodded absently as he prepared himself for whatever might be said. Jamie's face was pale; her eyes blood shot. There was an added weight in her stance that Jack immediately recognized. Elder Child Syndrome. With pronouncement of her mother's terminal diagnosis Jamie was suddenly the main caregiver... the family spokesperson... the shield to her father and younger siblings, which included one Martin Fitzgerald. Jack was an only child but sympathized nonetheless. "If there's anything I can do to help you and your family all you have to do is ask," he offered sincerely.

Jamie studied him a moment more then sighed and sat down, deflating. "Thank you... really." She pressed both hands over her eyes. "God, I just want it to be a year ago when we were all content and on track," she said bitterly. "I want my Uncle Victor to have a cruel and hideous accident," she declared. "Not really," she amended a moment later. She met his gaze. "I want Marty happy for once in his life... to be certain of someone beyond our close family unit." She cocked her head. "Think you're up for it?"

Caught off guard, Jack straightened defensively. "What do you mean?"

It was, obviously, the wrong response. Jamie stood and walked into his personal space, her stance suddenly taking on that of a mother cat checking out a potential threat. "If you don't know then Ali and I just wasted our time." Critical eyes wandered over him. "Ali and I don't care... and my Dad won't care. And my mother--" Her voice caught. "Already knows... she saw it first. So don't go all coy on us for his sake... or yours. I only saw you two together forty-five seconds and it clicked who you were to him."

Totally exposed, Jack swallowed hard. "We're not... together," he confided uncomfortably, his first acknowledgement to another of his desire for his young subordinate. "I didn't think--"

"Well start," Jamie advised. She glanced at her watch. "I have to go. Ryan has to go to work and I need to take Katie off his hands." She stuck a finger into Jack's chest. "Understand this... Marty loves you. He has for a while. He managed to find someone... once. But something happened that hurt him terribly and he's not likely to start something again on his own, no matter how badly he wants it. So you need to make the first move... if you want." Her eyes glinted at him. "Just remember, Jack Malone.... if you hurt him, even a little, there won't be a rock big enough to hide under."

//Okay.// Malone had no doubts this woman, that all of them, would make good in her threat if he screwed up. From one moment to the next he made a decision concerning Martin Fitzgerald, none of which had anything to do with hurting him. He gave the young woman a lopsided smile. "Yes, m'am."

Jamie's perceptive gaze lightened. "All right then." She took his arm. "I'm going to say good-bye to them and go. Marty needs to go home and get some rest." Her fingers squeezed his firmly. "It looks like you do too."

Jack shrugged. "I had some bad news today," he confided briefly, unwilling to go further. Nothing was going to change with his father right away. Martin's aunt was dying now.

"I'm sorry," Jamie said sympathetically as they walked to Bonnie Toland's room. Jack paused in the doorway as Jamie went in, feeling out of place. Bonnie lay sleeping in the hospital bed. A monitor made muted noises; a pump ran quietly as pain medication was delivered into her body in metered doses. Bonnie appeared pale but comfortable. Beside her bed was Roger Toland, his expression a profile of grief and love. But his attention was not on his wife. His arms were wrapped around his nephew, holding the young man close, rocking him as Martin sobbed quietly. Jack itched to take Roger's place, to offer more than comfort to the young man, but he didn't quite know how to step in... yet.

"Dad, I have to go. Ryan has no choice... he has to go in today." Jamie paused by Martin and laid a kiss on her cousin's head. "Thank you so much, Marty," she told him in a trembling voice as she joined her father in hugging him. Her eyes shifted to her father. "I'm sorry--"

Roger raised a hand, stopping her. "Go. She knows." He paused then added; "The hospice nurse is coming at noon to talk to us... for when she goes home."

Jamie kissed her father. "I'll be here. I'll bring Katie with me. Mom will like that."

Her father nodded. "Go."

"See you later, Daddy." She walked around the bed and leaned over to kiss her mother's forehead. "I'll be back later, Mom," she promised the sleeping woman then left, touching Jack's sleeve as she passed him, silent command.

But Jack continued to wait. Martin's head hung, his hands were clasped together as his shoulders trembled. Roger continued to console through touch. Understanding Martin's father better now, Jack wondered how Martin had survived with his psyche intact, with the wonderfully giving personality he had now.

"Marty?" Roger glanced up at Jack as he leaned closer to his nephew. "Your friend is going to take you home. You need to rest... eat. I'll tell your aunt--"

"No." Martin shook his head. His voice was horse, sounding so much younger than it usually did. "I want to stay. I can't--"

"Come on, Martin," Jack said as he eased into the room, seeing his opportunity. He saw the young man stiffen then cover his face with his hands. His heart filled with renewed pride as he realized just how distraught Martin was. Sam said he had been professional... now he had proof as to just how professional his friend had been. Jack hesitated not wanting to force.

Roger studied him, his expression shifting as if seeing something. He squeezed Martin's shoulder as he drew away. "Do what I say, Marty," he ordered gently. "I need to be alone with your aunt for awhile. The hospice people are coming about noon. Come back after you've rested."

Martin looked at his uncle. In the dim light of the hospital room Jack could see the utter devastation on the young man's tear streaked face. Martin Fitzgerald had reached his limit. "I don't want to miss--"

Toland cupped his nephew's face in his hand. "You won't miss anything, Son. I promise she'll be here when you get back." His head jerked towards Jack. "Let your friend take care of you, Marty."

Jack took the cue and laid a hand on Martin's shoulder. "Listen to your uncle," he prompted. "I'll bring you back. I promise."

Martin gazed up, his reddened eyes blurred with moisture. Jack patted him on the back. Martin sniffed and leaned over to draw his uncle into a hug. "Thank you," he muttered. Roger sighed and returned the embrace. Jack kept a hand on his charge as Martin got to his feet and reached for his jacket. Silently Jack helped Martin, aware of Roger's curious scrutiny. Martin sniffed and patted his uncle's shoulder then moved around the bed and leaned close to his aunt. "I'll be back, Aunt Bonnie... promise."

"You do that, Marty."

Everyone jumped as Bonnie's weak voice filled the room. Her eyes slit open, her head turned toward Martin. "Let Jack help you, honey. Your uncle and I need to talk."

Martin nodded. His hand shook as he touched her face. "Okay." He turned then and nearly fled the room. Jack began to follow, not wanting Martin disappear on him. But a grip stopped him.

"Be good to him, Jack," Roger told him in a tone that echoed the warning Jamie had given.

Appropriately intimidated Jack nodded then left the room to find the young man he had been entrusted with.

Martin barely managed to stop in front of the elevators. He didn't want to leave, didn't want to miss out on every moment of what remained of his aunt's life. But she was sending him away. The adult part of him understood why, agreed that this was the best... for him... and her. But the child inside raged. He should have seen the signs, should have known, should have found her sooner. On top of that now he had Jack to deal with. Sure, Jack was a friend. But he was also his boss. He was married though Martin knew Jack and Marie were separated again, maybe divorcing. Jack had two children. And now his father had Alzheimer's. Why was he here?

"Forgot to push the button."

Jack's deep, tired voice startled him. Jack Malone was at his side, pushing the button to summon the elevator. Martin glanced at him then stared at the floor. "I know I'm in no condition to drive," he conceded. "But I can call a cab. You have enough--"

Jack's fingertips appeared on Martin's chest. "Let me make this as clear as I can," his boss said in a no nonsense tone. "I want to be here. I want to help. Okay?"

Fitzgerald nodded absently as he continued to stare at the floor. Having Jack so close... so friendly... so personal. In the past two years he had seen glimpses of this at different moments; a hand here, a look there, soft words at a critical moment. But Jack was a husband... a father... twenty years older. Straight. Had to be straight. And if he wasn't... A tingling sensation teased Martin's stomach then a shadow of fear spread through him. //No. No. I'm making something out of nothing. Jack is just being a friend.//

The elevator doors opened. A hand on his back pushed lightly. "Come on... Marty."

Marty? Fitzgerald looked up. Jack was pushing the button to take them to the garage. His posture was intent on the control panel, his eyes avoiding Martin. "Um... Jack..."

"Is it okay?" Malone interrupted. "I mean... here? Martin is so... formal."

//Martin is my shield,// Fitzgerald's eyes narrowed on Malone. "Why?"

Jack sighed and pulled out a button. The elevator halted. The older man glanced around then focused on Martin, his dark eyes scanning him. "Because I like you," he said carefully. "Because I'm tired of hiding that fact... and I'm tired of giving you mixed signals."

//Oh christ...// Just like that. Jack transformed before his eyes. The FBI special agent and Supervisor of Missing Persons was gone, replaced by a man named Jack Malone, the man Martin liked... loved... wanted. A man who watched him now, his gaze showing uncharacteristic shyness... uncertainty... need. Martin groaned aloud as he leaned against the elevator wall and screwed his eyes shut. "Jack, I can't," he said as his soul chastised him for the lie. "God, this is-- but I can't..."

"Martin, it's okay... if you don't like me... that way." Jack's tone was hesitant, even embarrassed.

Martin inwardly chided himself as he sensed the hurt feelings. In one fluid movement he stepped forward, pushed Jack up against the opposite wall and quickly kissed the older man then pulled back, glaring into Jack Malone's startled eyes. "Don't ever feel that I don't like you... that way." His lips trembled as he smiled. "But it's not as simple as that."

Jack's breath had quickened. His eyes were dilated. His hand combed into Martin's hair. "What's wrong?"

What's wrong... His emotions already raw, Martin couldn't help the tears that rolled down his cheeks as a memory skidded through his mind. Immediately Jack's arms were around him, pulling him close, even rocking him as a sob escaped. "Jack," he whispered, allowing himself to be comforted in his friend's arms. "I--I need to tell you something. Then you'll understand. Okay?"

"Okay," Jack relented, tightening his embrace before stepping back. He pushed the button in and the elevator jerked to life taking them the rest of the way to the parking garage.

Tense silence dominated the air between them as Jack drove them to his apartment. Martin was sprawled in the passenger seat, his attention on the passage of other cars and scenery as they droving in early morning traffic. A few times Jack opened his mouth, started to speak then stopped, feeling the barriers the younger man had erected. He didn't know how to feel. Martin's reaction was confusing. His cousins were so sure, so clear. Even Martin didn't say no, only that he couldn't. Why? Was he worried about their positions? Their age differences? These were things they could discuss, overcome.

He turned into the private entrance of the garage under the apartment house where he was currently living. As he pulled into his parking spot he patted Martin's thigh, somewhat relieved when the young man turned his attention to him but somewhat disturbed by the hollow gaze... the sadness he suspected had little to do with his aunt's terminal illness. Dragging his courage up from somewhere he got out of the car and lead his guest to his apartment. He would at least make sure Martin was well fed and well rested. As to any admission on his part, it seem to him that Fitzgerald had decided to treat it as if it never happened.

"I can make some eggs and bacon," Jack offered as he locked his door. It was a two bedroom apartment. Nice. Clean. Efficient.

Martin nodded absently as he continued to looked around. "Thanks... do you want help?"

"No. It'll be just a moment."

He cooked. He set the food out on the breakfast bar. He thought he would have to coax Martin to eat. But Fitzgerald dug right in, eating silently as Jack did the same. Fifteen minutes later they were done. Martin quietly took the plates in and ran water on them. As he turned off the water he faced Jack, who still sat, his eyes watering once more. Jack started to get up, urged to comfort but Martin quickly gestured for him to stay.

"I'm sorry... seems it starts without warning." He tore off a paper towel and wiped his eyes then blew his nose. "Here I am, being a cry baby and you have problems of your own."

"You're not a cry baby, Martin," Jack said, using the other man's formal name as he wasn't given permission to use the less formal one. "And my problem can wait. My father is all right for the moment." Jack met Martin's gaze. "I meant what I said. You're not going to offend me if you don't feel the same way I do. I just hope it won't change anything between us."

Martin took another paper towel and leaned against the kitchen counter. "No, Jack... I do feel... I feel in love with you awhile ago. I just assumed you were... you know. Jamie told me I might be wrong. But I couldn't take the chance... and then there's... the other thing."

"What's the other thing?"

Bitter laughter escaped Martin as he wiped his face. "My father, Jack. My fucking father."

The profanity startled Jack. "What about your father?" he prompted. What had his father done to make Martin say what he said?

The younger FBI agent cocked his head and studied Jack a moment then sighed. "I was sent away to a boarding school when I was twelve. In my third year I realized liked guys way better than I liked girls. And being in an all boys school there were more than a few who felt the same way. Me and this other kid, Tommy, kind of... got together... messed around." He smiled wistfully. "I mean we didn't... love each other or anything but we were better than friends... until we got caught."

Caught. There was a darkness to Martin's tone. "What happened?"

Martin pointed to himself and snorted. "To me? Absolutely nothing happened, Jack. It was as if it had never been. Tommy and I were suspended pending expulsion and three days later I went back, period. No record. No words. No punishment. Nothing." He took another paper towel. "To Tommy? I never saw him again. His name was never mentioned. Later... a lot later... I found out my father made a deal with his family. Make the boy disappear, make sure he never made contact with me, even accidentally, and Victor Fitzgerald would make sure the boy got a clean start... somewhere else."

"But that was a kindness on his part," Martin continued after he cleared his throat. His eyes were as red as they had been at the hospital. His face was pinched and pale. Jack wondered if he should stop his friend from upsetting himself. But he wanted to know... had to understand. "From then on, when my parents had me at special occasions, I was introduced to a girl... the daughter of an ambassador... of a senator... of a corporate mogul... all girls... some willing." He smirked. "And I was the perfect gentleman... in every respect. Pissed my father off though he never said anything... as usual."

"He doesn't accept that his son could be a homosexual," Jack threw out to encourage Martin to continue speaking. There was more, he sensed, and he wanted to know.

"It's not about acceptance, Jack. My father simply dismisses the matter. If I'm not with a guy then I'm not gay. And he felt, then, that if he forced me to go out with enough young women I'd take the hint and settle down, no matter how I felt about her. But I managed to make it to college unmarried and unattached." He gave a sad grin. "Of course my father's eyes were still on me... and on any potential threat to what he felt were his best laid plans."

"Something happened in college?" Jack asked.

Martin hesitated and Jack wondered if the younger man was going to tell him. Then Fitzgerald sighed and lowered his gaze. "When I was a Sophomore I met Russell. We were assigned as roommates together... I wouldn't let my father buy me a private dorm room. I dunno... we clicked right away. We liked each other then we fell in love. It was all so perfect. I took great pains to warn him. I thought I had it all together... that we were discreet and careful." Anger flashed over Martin's face. "But he found out and Russell suffered for it."

"What did your father do?" Jack couldn't believe what he was hearing. Victor Fitzgerald might be a cold, unfeeling bastard but he had never heard any hints of him abusing his power... his office.

"He had the IRS audit his parents. He made sure certain scholarships Russell depended on didn't come through. He had Russell picked up like a suspect in the middle of his internship at a bank and had a private chat with him... scared the shit out of him." Tears coursed down Martin's cheeks. "He packed his things and left that night... I never saw him again." He closed his eyes. "He was even afraid to kiss me good-bye."

God... Jack stood. The pain broadcasting from the young man was almost more than he could bear. He took a step towards him.

Martin held up a hand as if pushing him away. "Christ, Jack! Aren't you listening? A week later I found out through a mutual friend what my father had done. I confronted him. He just.... he just acted like nothing had happened. When I told him I was gay and there was nothing he could do about it he asked me if I would be home for Christmas or if I would be spending it with Aunt Bonnie again. Even my mother took my side... I'd never seen her angry at him. He ignored us both." He captured Jack's gaze. "Now you understand why we can't do this, Jack! I won't let him touch you!"

Jack didn't hesitate. He closed the distance between them and gripped Martin's shoulders. "I love you, Marty," was all his said.

//Oh shit.// Martin wanted to resist. It was dangerous. His father would destroy Jack's career. Destroy Jack Malone personally. He could do it. "He'll hurt you."

"He might try," Jack agreed, his fingers began a light massage, coaxing. "But I'm not a young man just beginning. I'm not without some connections. He can't do too much damage without exposing himself." He pulled at Martin. "Let me make love to you."

Love. Martin's inside jittered as he realized what was going to happen, what he and Jack both wanted. //Maybe just this time to get it out of out systems then I can make him let me go--//

Hands slid from his shoulders to cup his face. Jack's eyes searched Martin's. "This is not a one time deal, Marty."

//Damn! He's reading me!// Martin's cheeks burned. "It might be if my father finds out."

Sigh. Jack leaned closer. His lips brushed against Martin's. No longer able to resist, Fitzgerald pulled Malone to him, taking control as he plundered Jack mouth, igniting the passion between them. After the events of the past twenty-four hours he needed this kind of connection, flesh to flesh. And, it seemed, so did Jack as the older man's larger hands roamed his back, settled on his buttocks, forcing their hips together, making clear their shared arousal.

"Bed," Jack muttered huskily into his ear.

"Here," Martin countered as he began working at the fly to his lover's pants.

Jack chuckled, forcing Martin to arm's length. His face was flushed, his lips slightly swollen. His eyes held a glint of passion and amusement. "I'm an old man," Malone parried. "Bed."

Fitzgerald swallowed hard, mouth open, ready to protest. But Jack's simply leaned forward for a brief, passionate kiss then pushed him back, his grip making clear there was no choice. "Okay."

Jack smiled and took Martin's hand. "Come on."

As Jack guided Martin to his bedroom, but Fitzgerald quickly made clear he was in the lead. As they crossed the threshold Jack found himself expertly stripped, lips following hands, causing Malone to close his eyes and groan as his own hands worked at the cloth covering his young lover.

"Wait, Jack."

Martin's voice sent a ripple of awareness through him. He opened his eyes as his hands were taken. He was pulled to the bed and silently commanded to sit. Then Martin stepped back and slowly shed his clothes revealing a well-muscled, beautifully proportioned body. Jack heart pounded a little faster as his eyes fell on the younger man's aroused cock, already weeping with pre-cum. "Marty..."

Fitzgerald smiled... the first true smile Jack had seen on him this evening. "You are a sight to behold, Jack Malone," he appraised in a husky voice. He walked up to the bed. "Like what you see?"

Thirty years... almost. Jack hadn't faced a nude man for sexual purposes in thirty years. His eyes wandered over the pale, smooth skin. His hands caressed narrow hips. His mouth filled with saliva as the scent of male arousal made his own cock stir into full attention. He shifted then leaned forward, the tip of his tongue peeking out to test the taste of Martin's cock. //Yes.// He moaned as he licked the sensitive organ again, holding on as Martin gasped and thrust. //I remember this...//

He took the chance and closed his mouth around Martin's cock, letting the engorged, pulsing organ slide over his tongue and touch his throat. //Yes.// He liked doing this... sucking cock. Some saw it as a submissive thing but Jack knew better. He had the control... to end it at any moment, to draw out the pleasure. Martin's hands petted his hair, gently urging but not forcing... sign of an attentive lover, a gentle man. Jack caressed Martin's hips as he slowly began to suck, to play his tongue over the silken surface, his teeth teasing gently as he remembered how to do that. As a reward Martin cried out and gripped Jack's head. Malone expected Martin's cock to be pushed into his throat but even now Martin was careful, considerate, pushing evenly with great need but without demand.

Jack continued his ministrations, his right hand drifting down to play over his own arousal. They were both tired... and overly stimulated with the excitement of new found love. Martin grunted, thrusting harshly then pushing Jack back, obviously in warning of his climax. But Jack groaned in complaint, sucking harder, forcing Martin over the edge as he swallowed convulsively then coughed lightly as errant drops briefly found their way down the wrong pipe.

"Jesus fucking christ, Jack!"

Jack Malone barely had time to react as he was pushed back onto the bed, as his hand was slapped away from his cock, as Martin's mouth fully engulfed his weeping cock, throat muscles convulsing around Jack's cockhead, causing him to explode...

"Damn, Jack. You are fantastic!"

Jack lifted himself up onto his elbows to gaze at Martin. His young lover's head rested on crossed arms laid across Jack's thighs. The dark tension that had dominated Fitzgerald's face was replaced by bright satiation. His blue eyes glistened with uninhibited pleasure... and love. "You were pretty good too," Jack said, hearing his own voice cracking slightly. They both had just had the roughest twenty-four hours he wouldn't wish on an enemy. "You good? With this?"

Martin's expression became serious. His head lifted to regard Jack. "Are you?" he asked uncertainly.

Jack realized he had hit a fragile spot in Martin's heart... a wound that had yet to heal. Sitting up fully he took Fitzgerald's face in his hands and kissed him with lazy passion, tasting himself on the other's lips and tongue. "Don't be scared, Marty," he assured roughly. "I would never hurt you... but I can't promise it will be a smooth ride. I know we both can be professional... out there. But I don't ever want you to think that when I'm being the boss and ripping you a new one that I would ever do anything to take advantage of what we might have in private." His thumbs caressed over the stubble on Martin's cheeks. He wanted this understood from the beginning, knowing failure for either of them to do so would mark the end of what they were creating this morning. "Okay?"

Small ribbons of tears suddenly spilled down Martin's face even as firm lips twitched up in a shy smile. "Yeah, Jack." He sniffled. "Sorry... "

"Don't!" Jack hugged Martin's head and shoulders to his chest, relieved as he felt the younger man shudder and heard him sob. //He trusts me,// he realized as sobs became open, tearful cries. "I'm here," he whispered to his lover... his partner as he slowly rocked him and kissed the dark hair. "I'm here."

A sharp, pulsing sound invaded his dreams. Jack moaned, shifting, his memories quickly aligning as he felt warm flesh at his side. His hand came out automatically, slamming into the source of the irritating noise. His alarm clock. Blurrily he focused. Ten o'clock in the morning. They had about four hours sleep, the amount they agreed to when they climbed into bed together and finally gave into exhaustion and the afterglow of brief sex. The snooze was five minutes long and Jack was determined not to hit it again. Martin needed to be back at the hospital and Jack had an important appointment to keep before he tried to visit his father... again. Before going to the hospital Jack had taken the time to read through a few websites, to gain a better understanding of what to expect. Today he was going to take a first step, to regain his father's trust and build a kind of relationship that would give he and his father some comfort for as long as possible.

"Do I have to go to school?"

Jack turned his head. Martin lay on his side, his head braced in his hand, his eyes wandering over Jack in open invitation. Early this morning they had given each other pleasure, released some unhealthy tension. It was not full-blown, mind-altering sex but it great all the same and Jack knew it was merely the beginning of what he knew was going to be an active relationship. Jack smiled tiredly as his fingers drifted over the faint beard on Fitzgerald's face. "You're beautiful," he commented for no reason.

For an instant a frown creased Martin's brow then smoothed out as his eyes lit up. "I love you," he replied and kissed him.

It was easy to give in. Jack opened his mouth, letting passion erupt between them as Martin's tongue sought his own, as their hands began a mutual caress of their bodies. As the thrill of renewed arousal tingled down his spine...

And came to an abrupt end as the alarm interrupted, reminding them that this Sunday was not one free of obligation for either of them. Jack turned off the offending device then focused on his lover. Martin's expression had reverted to that kind of sadness reserved for the loss or anticipated loss of a loved one. "Come here," Jack ordered and drew Martin into a hug and ran his hands up and down the broad back into a soothing fashion. "Go shower... there's towels in the closet in there," he said as he knew it was time for them to begin their long day. "I'll find something for you to wear and drop you off at the hospital."

"Okay," Martin replied in a little boy voice. He drew back. His fingers lingered over Jack's bare chest then whispered over Malone's jaw. "Thank you."

"Go," Jack ordered quietly, unwilling to get into an exchange of gratitude. If they were to be together then what they did for each other did not always need acknowledgement. It was simply what they did for each other.

"You know," Martin said quietly as he got out of bed. "We could share," he teased... suggested.

Jack's eyes ran over the young man's body, his libido in full conflict with his sense of obligation. Obligation won...for now. "Tonght? If we're both up for it?" he replied... asked...

Disappointment warped Martin's handsome features then the young man nodded. "I cook," he offered.

Jack's eyebrows rose in contemplation. "I eat," he countered.

Fitzgerald's face suddenly flushed pure red as his tongue glazed over his lips. "Um... yeah... you do..."

Jack stared at him puzzled until he understood what Martin meant and laughed. "Get out! Bathroom is across the hall. Leave some hot water for me!"

"Yes sir!" Martin threw out as he barely avoided Jack's swat.

The End