Every once in a while Zeke's conscience did not object to a little gloating. Just a glance at Dr. Anthony Spadoni, a brief bit of silent contact between them while letting a half- smirk play upon his lips, and Zeke was beyond happy. Oh, to be the one who took Casey away from Whitby Psychiatric Hospital forever, and to do it literally in front of Spadoni, and at Casey's direction too... It didn't get much better than this.

But savouring the moment took Zeke only a few miles down the road. The exhilaration was withering as Zeke began to suspect that the person beside him was not the same person that he had delivered into the hands of the doctors twelve days ago. Zeke had not made the mistake of thinking that a Casey who had begun the process of healing would not also be changed. But this...this was someone else who looked and sounded like Casey, possessed of all Casey's attributes, and presumably his memories – but a stranger. A stranger whom Zeke had helped to create.

Over the past several weeks Zeke had become accustomed to seeing emptiness in Casey. For too long Casey had been a wraith – obviously hurting, yes, but faded and consumed from within by the many monsters that he was exerting all his will to keep within. Anyone who looked at Casey two weeks ago might have readily identified him as ill but would have been unable to say much more than that. Not so, now. At some point over those two weeks, all the demons had come out to play and were clamouring and flailing right there in Casey's eyes, straining to see the light of day, and he was still squandering his energies to keep them down – but they simply would not be subdued any longer. They were on the verge of breaking through, whether Casey wanted that or not, and Zeke supposed that this had to be a change for the better. He only hoped they would survive it.

"So what happened?" he ventured after a couple minutes of charged silence.

"They couldn't help me," came Casey's answer.

This was barely even Casey's voice. The tone was soft and flat like it had been all along, but like his eyes, it harboured all the things that needed to get out.

"I think the hospital did help you some, Case," Zeke said, wanting to give credit where credit was due. "What made it so important to leave now?"

There was a long, long wait until Casey finally decided to respond. "Spadoni...kept trying to tell me I shouldn't be with you, that... it's sick."

Zeke didn't think he was entitled to comment on that. "Hmm," he said.

"I know what I want," Casey muttered. There was something in him that warned Zeke not to approach, to keep a careful distance.

"I don't doubt it," Zeke answered neutrally.

Casey squirmed, embracing his knees and remaining in that pose with his eyes trained on Zeke, who received the distinct impression that he was being dared to say something about Casey putting his feet on the seat.

"What's the paper?" Zeke asked, for lack of anything else to say.

"Prescription."

"We could get it filled..."

"Mom – she'll do it."

"So you – you want to go home home. I thought, maybe–"

"No."

Just like that.

"Okay." Zeke drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and considered apologies.

At the forefront of a host of recent transgressions was his failure the other night when they had been alone in the Mustang. Zeke had thought himself well-acquainted with the nature of his passion for Casey; it was a mania that needed only a tiny touch of Casey's hand or eyes to leap out of his control. Still, nothing prepared him for the moment when Casey nearly threw himself into Zeke's lap, kissing him with such fervency that to pull away would have been an act of violence. And when Zeke had mustered up the will to withdraw and Casey had made a noise that would best be described as terror, Zeke knew he was lost. He had tried one more time, actively attempting to separate them, and the response was a soft wail of desperation and longing and fear and – rage, he realized now, it had been rage -- that terrified Zeke in turn. So Zeke did not resist further and Casey had then easily reduced Zeke to a state of frenzied dependence where he was only dimly aware that he was almost crushing Casey against the steering wheel and then the door, probably hurting him, and just for one nanosecond as he came in Casey's hand he hated Casey for bringing them to this, destroying his innocent, high-school fantasy that went back three years now, of the two of them together in the Mustang.

"Can we have the radio on?" Casey asked suddenly, and turned his whole body in the direction of the window in a most blatant plea to be left alone.

"Sure," Zeke said, swallowing his feelings about it. He was practised at that by now. He switched on the radio; an old rock tune poured into the silence.

In the beginning, Zeke had congratulated himself on how very well he was coping. He was managing everything quite well – and there was a little bit of everything to manage. Betrayal, guilt, anger, discomfort with his new sexual identity, and permeating it all the fear that he had lost control of the situation irreparably and just didn't know how bad it was yet. But he was postponing really feeling any of this, using a kind of reverse self-affirmation: I'm not guilty, I'm not angry, I'm fine. As long as he could expect that his own mess would someday receive its due attention, the chant was effective.

Then as the days ticked away, other thoughts began to creep in. Like he really could use a fucking break. Like maybe he should check into Whitby himself because it must be really, really nice to exist in that carefully controlled environment where no one criticized you if you slept most of the day, where your meals were brought to you and there was nothing to do but reflect and rest and stroll around the park.

He knew these thoughts for what they were – typical, human -- and subjugated them ruthlessly. He had wanted something apart from the ordinary, he reminded himself, and it couldn't get more extraordinary than this: Driving back and forth between Herrington and Whitby on a daily basis, doing almost nothing else unless it was the completion of a step that would get him and Casey closer to Seattle. It was like time had broken and stopped, suspended in a frozen state that would shatter the moment he finally caught that exit west. Back-and-forth between home and hospital, smashing, flattening down those moments of resentment, crushing them under his wheels. But like all weeds they would find a way to come back.

A lot of that time in the car had been spent contemplating that surreal clarity he experienced on the first day, when he confronted the essence of Casey in the TV lounge. He figured he had to have been in an altered state of consciousness just then, even while believing himself to be of perfectly sound mind. There was no other explanation for that moment of perfect understanding in which messages from his body and brain crashed together to give him a singular insight: He had never really seen Casey before, not until this abrupt encounter with a self that sought identity by giving itself away. Yet having achieved this moment of revelation, he had then turned around without a word to Casey – proof of how very far from common sense he was at that time – and gone home and slept for sixteen hours. It occurred to him later that his great epiphany might have been the product of simple delirium; even so, a part of him would continue to cherish the residue of his original vision, clinging to it like some mad desert prophet, hiding it from his own reason. The core of it was impervious to logic.

Some people with a lot of degrees on their wall would call it dangerous. Sure, he could see where they were coming from and in the middle of the night he would lie awake and agree with them. None of which altered the truth: Casey had placed himself in Zeke's care. It would not always be this way. Casey would wake up one morning and decide that it wasn't true anymore, but for now it was true, because Casey wanted it to be. Zeke could not and would not expose that delicate trust to anyone's judgment, particularly Spadoni, who had made it his personal quest to excise Zeke from Casey's life. Thus Zeke drove to Whitby every day and spent mostly silent hours with Casey, curled with him on a couch or a bed, whatever was comfortable at the moment. Neither of them felt the need to speak. Zeke understood that the moment he tried to describe this it would vanish, as it was a thing wholly elusive, fragile – and temporary.

So on the first day he had built a wall around those feelings of having merged completely with Casey, to shut out and ignore everything except their connection. Inevitably, as the days passed that barrier began to fail, and he had to face everything that was happening outside of it. To the good people of Herrington, he was the enemy – and for precisely the same reasons that Spadoni considered him the enemy. It seemed that everything about his relationship with Casey was wrong.

On the second day, he discovered that a stoic calm had its uses. A town that had once bathed Zeke in the gentle warmth of admiration and approval now apparently hated his guts. But he was prepared to ignored that as long as they maintained their hatred at a reasonable distance from him.

On the third day, he was forced to give up the Jam. His server – not Anne that day – took open delight in serving him an inedible breakfast. His toast and bacon were burned and his eggs were runny. He could have fought for his favourite meal, but there really wasn't any point as he was going to be leaving town very soon. Inevitably, bridges would get burned.

On the fourth day, a couple of Zeke's part-time sales staff – pimply fifteen-year- old boys not exactly overflowing with intelligence -- had quit, citing a preference for employment at the Multiplex and the Gap. He knew it was actually fear that his gayness would rub off on them and demolish their social standing, and it didn't concern him. Much. It was a little bit tougher to take the mistrustful glances of Petra, who kept looking at him as though he were some predator that would pounce if they were alone together for more than thirty seconds. This despite the fact that she had known him for two years and had always been quite comfortable with him before now.

On the fifth day, his mother called.

On the sixth day, he abandoned the high road. He announced to Petra that, rather than selling the sporting goods store, he would be closing it altogether, and spent a good part of the day with his lawyer signing papers. Any remorse he might have felt about putting Petra and the others out of a job was easily counteracted by his outrage at their small-mindedness. He had thought better of them.

By the seventh day, Zeke constantly had his hand in his pocket, compulsively fingering his keys. The trunk of the Mustang had received more than half of his belongings. That was also the day that he arrived at the hospital and discovered that Casey had locked himself in the bathroom. In a way, it was what Zeke had been expecting. He pushed aside a perverse sense of grief, reconciling himself to further acts of separation.

Sasha and Casey's mother– newly discovered compatriots in adversity – were being completely useless, wringing their hands and trying to coax Casey out. Zeke knew that Casey wouldn't be persuaded. These days Casey's world was all or nothing and Zeke didn't feel like waiting for everyone else to figure that out, particularly the hospital staff. Zeke issued an order and got results.

The suggestion that they go for a drive was impulse, fuelled by desperation; after prying Casey out of the bathroom, Zeke couldn't condemn him to endless corridors of pastel sameness and the repetitive, patronizing insights of a self-important doctor. And it did seem like Casey found some enjoyment in their brief excursion, although he sat in the back seat with his hands folded in his lap and didn't say a word and had no interest in getting out of the car when they stopped at a corner store to grab a soda.

Casey was nodding off on his feet when they brought him back in. Zeke was feeling almost equally fatigued, but that was immediately drowned by adrenalin as they stepped into the lobby and he saw the old bat he had tangled with previously pick up the phone and mutter something into it. Within moments, Spadoni appeared in the adjacent hallway with an orderly at his side. Zeke recognized the orderly too; he was the beefy fellow who had proposed a sedative for Casey earlier that afternoon, asking the question of anyone except the patient himself.

"There you are, Casey," Spadoni said, a paragon of caring. "We were a little concerned. You look tired." The doctor nodded to the orderly. "Steven's going to take you to your room now."

Without a word Steven took Casey away from Zeke, and Zeke was forced to either let him go or engage in some ludicrous tug of war over Casey's arm. Zeke watched as Steven escorted Casey down the hallway. He reminded himself that these people were trying to help. Maybe it was inevitable that after repeated exposure to every kind of human distress you would adopt that dry, overly patient voice of condescension.

"I'd like to talk to you," Spadoni said. "Both of you," he added as Sasha came up behind them. Zeke and Sasha had just enough time for a mutual roll of the eyes as they walked to Spadoni's office.

"You realize that you have been extremely irresponsible."

Sasha had a rejoinder before Zeke did – no doubt because Zeke was suddenly choked by seven days robust growth of ugly feeling all at once and had to take a few seconds to recover the ability to speak. "Is that a fact?" Sasha returned cooly. "How, exactly?"

"Taking Casey out of the hospital without telling anyone, without asking... and after the incident this afternoon..."

"It was just for a short drive," Sasha answered. "No harm done."

Having put down a minor emotional insurrection, Zeke was ready to join in. "Casey can leave here if he wants to," he challenged. "You aren't his guardians."

"I am aware of that, Zeke." Spadoni pinched the bridge of his nose like his head was hurting him. If Zeke were at all inclined to sympathy for the man, he would have allowed that Spadoni looked somewhat defeated and stressed. "I'm thinking about his well- being. It's going to be hard enough to convince him that he can stand on his own without having to fight you two on it as well."

Sasha seemed shocked by the doctor's comments. "That's a little extreme, isn't it?"

"I don't believe it is, Sasha. Between the two of you, Casey is quite well- insulated from everyone here. I want him to interact with people and participate in things, and it doesn't help that you two are trying to do everything and be everything to him."

Zeke considered everything he could have said to that and decided to be humane. He settled for replying, "He wanted to leave today, you know. He was ready to check out. I thought a short drive and a breath of air were a reasonable compromise."

"Under the circumstances I would consider his leaving extremely unlikely – unless, of course, you were determined to enable him."

"I told him I thought he should stay," Zeke gritted. "If that makes any difference to you."

At this Spadoni appeared to be somewhat pacified. "It does, Zeke. I especially appreciate you saying that... given your influence over him. But there's not much point to his staying when I can't make any progress with him."

Zeke opened his mouth to say something about how it was far too early for Spadoni to be blaming Zeke for his failures – when out of nowhere Sasha conceded, "Okay, I can see your point."

Sasha the Peace-Maker had struck again, and not for the first time since arriving in Herrington. In his more rational moments Zeke was grateful for it, but at the moment he was incensed. He rounded on Sasha with a glower but Sasha just waved him off.

"But you can't expect us to just toss him in the deep end and hope that he floats," Sasha went on, being very persuasive. "We're his best friends."

Zeke didn't want to hear anymore; he left Sasha to his consensus-building. When Sasha emerged from the hospital Zeke had already smoked two cigarettes down to the filter and was waiting with the car parked right in front. Zeke didn't say a word as they both got in and he maintained his silence until Sasha broke, which took all of forty seconds.

"You going to give me the Tyler glare all the way home?"

"You're lucky I didn't leave you here with your new pal."

"You're off the Richter scale, you know that, right?"

"He's jealous."

"Who... who's jealous?"

"Spadoni!" Zeke shouted.

"Now, Zeke, really–"

"I've got that little shit's number. He likes to believe his patients wouldn't make it without him. He's gotta be right there at every turn, making sure everyone understands how important he is to Casey's recovery so that at the end Casey falls down on his knees and thanks Spadoni for saving him."

"Oh, I see... so basically he's trying to do your job for you."

Zeke didn't respond; during the past week or so he had gotten quite used to having Sasha around, and had schooled himself not to react even when Sasha was being deliberately provocative. Besides, Sasha usually had a valid point even when it was couched in bombast and fluff.

"He is right in a way –" Sasha debated, but Zeke wouldn't let him finish.

"Whatever, can we just – take the night off? I'm gonna pick up some beer."

"Zeke."

"I've had it with everyone and I want to get hammered. Is that acceptable to you?"

Sasha uttered a long, dramatic sigh. "Well... I think I could choke down an alcoholic beverage. But why don't we go to a bar instead? I haven't seen all that Herrington has to offer, yet. Show me the nightlife."

"Actually, you have seen all that Herrington has to offer."

But Zeke obliged him, even though he normally preferred to dull his senses in the relative privacy and quiet of his home. For lack of anywhere better, he took Sasha to one of the clubs that was popular with the younger crowd. The place changed names frequently but was currently known as "Warp Ten". It had just been renovated so the carpet was new and didn't adhere or squish underfoot and the tables were relatively unscuffed. The music was Top Forty all the way, constant and stomach-rattling. Zeke and Sasha sat near the back of the club, where they could carry on a conversation as long as they maintained something close to a shout.

Sasha didn't want to give up on the conundrum of Spadoni just yet. "You know, I'm surprised by how much of a personal investment the doctor seems to have in this."

Zeke replied, "Everyone in this town is personally invested."

"Right. The alien thing. Always. So what has he said to you about that?" Sasha wanted to know, slurping his gin and tonic.

"Nothing important." Zeke tapped his foot along with the pounding rhythm and wondered if he and Casey would ever do things as unmomentous as going to a bar together, having a beer... even dancing. Zeke had no actual memories to go on but imagined that Casey would be a funny, awkward dancer. Of course he was thinking moreof the Casey of high school, the Casey who had yet to discover that bodies were good for anything except bleeding. In Seattle, post-Roy...maybe he would surprise Zeke.

"Aw, Zeke, c'mon."

"You know, I'm tired of thinking about Dr. Fucking Spadoni. He wants us to back off... I get it, I'm just not gonna do it."

"But he is right about us enabling Casey – and I hate to say it, but you especially, Zeke."

Zeke levelled a finger at Sasha. "Don't even."

"Don't point at me, young man. Hey, I'm thrilled to see you embracing your inner care bear... I just wonder who you're doing it for."

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," Zeke said, consciously avoiding a fight. "Can we just drop it?"

"Sure," Sasha allowed. "Good idea... okay, let's dance then."

"What?"

"Dancing. Moving your body along with music." Sasha was swaying and bobbing his head a bit. "This song's not bad."

"It's boring."

"It's dance music, it's not boring. It's all about losing yourself to the rhythm. I can't stand that old boy rock 'n roll redneck crap they were playing earlier...reminds me too much of where I grew up. And I see your foot going up and down so you can ditch the Real Men Don't Dance routine." Sasha jumped up. "C'mon!"

Zeke shook his head.

"Oh, fine..." Sasha rolled his eyes and drew a straight line through the teenagers to the dance floor. He wasn't the only person there, but he wasn't going to be anonymous either, and it didn't help that he towered about a foot over most of the others. He was graceful despite his height – fuck that, he had moves. He was one of those rare men whose joints seemed to be made out of water -- and he knew it. Zeke couldn't help watching him, along with at least half of the people in the club. Of course, Sasha didn't appear to notice or care.

The music changed and Sasha returned to their table, breathing a bit hard but looking essentially unruffled. "You ready to get up there yet?" he demanded.

"Nope."

"Don't be silly, there's plenty of people, they'll hide you."

"No, already!"

"You kill me, Zeke." Sasha slumped back into his chair. "But I'm not giving up."

"I'm not doing your 'how to be gay in ten easy steps' program."

"Oh, is that what I'm doing?" Sasha downed the liquid in his glass, which consisted mostly of melted ice cubes, and looked supremely unconcerned. "I think I'd like another drink."

Regretting his remark, Zeke offered, "I'll get it, I need a beer anyway..."

He pushed through the clutter of people around the bar and called for a beer and a gin and tonic, wondering if it was his imagination that the bartender had a displeased curve to her lips. Someone grabbed his shoulder. "Hey, Zeke!"

He spun. There were Walter Selton... and Gabe. Walter was obviously shit- faced, while Gabe just looked stony. Gabe had gone on to a football scholarship at some college; Zeke hadn't cared to notice which one. They hadn't seen each other or spoken since high school ended, and seeing him now, Zeke knew that had been the right approach. The very sight of Gabe's face caused some inflamed abscess within him to pop, rage oozing out along his nerve endings. He didn't remember experiencing this in Gabe's presence before and knew that it wasn't really about Gabe, who was your average bully motivated by an impersonal interest in cruelty. Gabe hadn't sought Casey out, he had simply explored his own meanness whenever they happened to come into contact.

There was a bit of an awkward silence that was smothered by the raucous music and general bar noise.

"How you doin', Zeke?" Walter asked, grinning.

"Fine." Zeke collected his drinks, gave the bartender a ten. He wasn't going to wait for change.

"Gabe's just in for a visit!"

Zeke indulged in a glance at Gabe. The rage thrilled up and down his legs and arms, into his fists.

"Hey, how's Casey doing?" Walter shouted with a touch of a leer.

"Fine!" Zeke shouted back and walked away.

Incredibly, the two guys followed him and sat down with him at his table. Mercifully, Sasha was back on the dance floor. Zeke started a cigarette.

"He didn't look too good at Delilah's birthday party," Walter rambled on, his voice still raised to almost the point of yelling. "I heard they've got him tied down out there and so drugged up he doesn't know his own name... is that true?"

"No!" Zeke erupted. "Fuck!"

Walter raised his eyebrows and mouthed sorry, man. Gabe suddenly sat forward like he was going to speak and Zeke was about to tell them to piss off – but then Sasha was back.

"Oh, hi boys," he said. All the chairs were occupied so he stood there, snapping his drink up and holding it, still moving a bit to the music. Zeke began pounding back his beer, intent on a quick departure. Walter and Gabe looked at Sasha, then looked at Zeke, and their faces spoke the language instinctively understood by all heterosexual male football jocks. Irrepressible and plainly not fluent in their language, Sasha introduced himself: "I'm Sasha, by the way."

"Walter!"

"Gabe," said that person.

A fresh pulse of anger made Zeke's fingertips throb.

"Gabe..." Sasha echoed, and gave the man a pointed stare. "Nice."

Zeke slammed his beer bottle down on the table. "Let's go."

"Oh, not yet!" Sasha implored of Zeke, grinning at Gabe, who wore an expression between outrage and – just rage. "You wanna dance, sweetness?"

Walter burst out laughing.

Gabe surged up from the table.

Quickly Sasha held up his hands. "Hey, chill, baby. It was an innocent question... promise I won't hurt you." He shot a look at Zeke, which was to say: Can you believe these weirdos, getting offended because I asked for a dance?

Zeke waited for history to repeat itself, but quite unexpectedly, Gabe just stood there breathing hard and glaring for a few seconds before subsiding into his seat.

"So, Zeke," Walter sniggered. "You two-timing Casey already?"

Certain people at the table were showing a lot of restraint. Zeke didn't want to obviate their efforts, so he had a final, deep haul on his cigarette, stabbed it out, and didn't answer.

"C'mon, Zeke, help me out! How could you dump Delilah for – agh, I can't even think about it. Say it isn't so, man!"

Zeke looked fixedly at Walter. "You wanna know if I'm with Casey. Yes, I am, so I guess that makes me gay. Other than that I can't help you, Walt."

Gabe tilted his head, considering Zeke.

"What about high school?" Walter blathered.

"What?"

"Were you... were you fucking him then?"

"What's it to you?"

"Dammit, were you always gay?!"

Zeke laughed out loud at this. "Walt, I promise you, when I put my hands on your ass, it was for the greater good. Okay?"

Walter stared at him, unblinking. "Okay," he said uncertainly.

Zeke got up. "You tire me, Walt. I'm outa here." He indicated to Sasha that he was leaving, with or without him. Sasha nodded, ready to join him.

Then – a funny thing, Zeke and Gabe exchanged a long look where many things appeared to be said but Zeke wasn't sure he knew what they were. And then, finally, Gabe spoke. He said, "From what I hear, Zeke's the one who was two-timed."

This was just about the last thing that Zeke would have thought to hear. "What?" he asked in heartfelt disbelief.

Gabe sneered, "Just that I heard that someone else was getting his ass. That why you put him in the hospital?"

Walter gave his buddy a look of amazed terror. "Gabe, lay off," he groaned.

Gabe ignored him. "I'll bet you showed your little alien-killer who's boss, huh?"

Zeke stepped in a bit, looming over Gabe and shrugging off a Sasha-shaped fly that was tickling his arm. "I'm not sure I heard you. You want to repeat that?"

"You heard me," Gabe said, staring up at Zeke with a grin.

"That's funny... because it sounds like you've really given this a lot of thought," he spat. "Did you want to show him who's boss, Gabe? Was that a little fantasy of yours back in the good old days?"

Gabe was on his feet again with fists clenched, now at last with all the malice glinting in him. They were almost nose to nose.

"I guess that was the deal, huh?" Zeke concluded. "Couldn't quite find the nerve to kiss him, so you hit him instead?"

"There's an alley behind this dump," Gabe stated. "I'll be back there five minutes from now."

"Zeke, he's not worth this," Sasha interjected.

Zeke rounded about and snapped at Sasha, "I know that. You think I'm going to waste my time with this freak? Five minutes from now I'm going to be in my car on the way home."

He walked away from the entire scene, figuring with only three beers in him he could still drive home legally. Sasha was close behind him, probably keeping an eye on Gabe, who had been left standing there in attack position.

But Herrington wasn't finished with Zeke yet tonight. Arriving in the parking lot he discovered that all four of his tires had been slashed.

For long seconds he stood there repeating the words to himself: I'm not guilty, I'm not angry...I'm fine...not guilty...not angry... "Motherfucking fuck!" he screamed at no one in particular. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck – FUCK!"

Sasha skidded up behind him. "What–?" he said breathlessly.

"They – the fuckers – they slashed my fucking tires –"

It couldn't be dignified, stomping back and forth like a three year old in the middle of the parking lot. It had to be a low point – except it could get worse which he discovered a moment later when he turned around and saw that Gabe had followed him out. Walt was standing there, maw hanging open, and quite a few others were gathering, drawn by Zeke's chorus of obscenity.

"Having a rough time, aren't you?" Gabe sneered. "Poor hero, no one likes him anymore."

"Go fuck yourself," Zeke answered, pawing for his phone with every intention of calling a cab and getting out of there.

And then Gabe hit him.

It was a solid hit in the ribs that socked the breath out of him. Everything after that was a blur. He knew that his own fists were making contact with some areas of soft flesh and others that were solid bone; he heard grunting, snarling noises and the sound of scuffling on pavement and then eventually he was being tugged away and in the back of his mind was getting ready to remove whoever that was because he wasn't finished.

"Zeke –!" Sasha was holding onto him and was certainly more alarmed than Zeke had ever heard him.

"Break it up!" squawked another voice.

Zeke heard a warning siren. He straightened, sucking in air and noticing a satisfying blossom of red on the face that had recently been in the vicinity of his fists; Gabe was lying on the ground looking murderous, his nose bleeding. Zeke stepped back quickly. The police cruiser came to a stop, the red strobe light spinning. Two officers got out of the car, one stalking Zeke while the other helped up Gabe. The bystanders had melted away save for Sasha and Walt.

"What's going on here?" demanded the officer who was in Zeke's face.

"A little disagreement," Zeke admitted. "I lost my temper. I apologize."

"He attacked me!" screamed Gabe from several feet away.

Sasha spoke up loudly, looking right at the officer who was monitoring Zeke. "After he punched this man in the chest!"

The officer appeared to weigh this information. "What's your name?" he asked.

"Zeke Tyler."

At this the man cocked his head. "Zeke..."

"Yes, that Zeke Tyler. Look, officer, I'm very sorry. I've had a very bad day, I stopped here for a drink, I came out and found my tires slashed and then this jerk jumped on me."

"How many drinks have you had?"

"Three beers."

"You realize that you could be arrested for assault."

Zeke silently hated Gabe, who seemed to be somehow excluded from this evaluation. "Yes, sir."

"The next time it won't just be a warning."

"Yes, sir. I understand."

Zeke didn't take his eyes off Gabe while the creep had brushed the dirt off his clothes and retreated into the bar, complaining loudly to Walt about his injuries. The police got back into their car but didn't drive away just yet, sticking around to observe as Zeke called for a cab. Sasha drifted near him, looking half wary and half impressed. "You okay?"

"Yeah."

"He got you a couple of times."

"I'm fine," he snapped.

His tolerance of human weakness, what there had ever been of it, was used up.

The first thing the next morning – after a miserable night of tossing and twisting – Zeke had made arrangements to have his car towed and the tires replaced. He had the impression that the mechanic overcharged him for the tires but he didn't bother to take it up with the man. As soon as that was done he drove his car home on its new tires and started packing, filling the trunk of the Mustang.

He was standing in his bathroom, examining the medicine cabinet for items he wouldn't need over the next few days, when his cell phone rang. It was Delilah, looking for an update on Casey's condition.

The last time Delilah had seen Casey had been four days ago in the hospital, and Casey hadn't known that she was there, nor had he given any indication after that of remembering her visit. Zeke had been curious to see how Delilah would perform in the role of concerned friend; for some reason he had imagined it would be amusing, but it wasn't. He didn't feel at all like teasing Delilah about the way her eyes got all watery and chipped holes in her makeup. She'd sat there looking terribly sad and frightened and awkward, like she wanted to touch Casey but didn't know how, and Zeke had left her to it. When she emerged from the room a little while later, her face was back in place. She didn't have to say that she wouldn't be coming to the hospital again.

"I think he's doing better," Zeke informed her. He didn't feel it was necessary to mention yesterday's bathroom incident. "The IV is gone and the nurses told us he's been up walking around a bit more and he's been talking with the doctor."

"That's good," she sighed.

"Yeah." He appreciated suddenly that over these long days that he had been waiting, feeling like things were standing still, he was actually watching change occur very gradually. "Delilah... what are people saying about me?"

"Um..."

"I want to know the worst."

"Why? It won't change anything."

"I just want to know."

"Okay... but don't kill the messenger." Delilah lowered her voice to an intense whisper. "Erm... my... mother she called me the other day. People have made you and Casey into Herrington's own gay scandal. They say that you found out Casey was cheating on you and that you... well, you beat him up and... Zeke, I can't say it."

"And what else?"

"Huh?"

"What else have you heard?"

"The same kind of stuff, mostly –"

"Who? What did they say?"

"Does it matter? It's all the same."

He spluttered, "What –? How does –? I'd like to fucking kill whoever started that rumour – was it her? Delilah, was it her –?"

"Who?"

"Your mother, dammit!"

"I'm sure it wasn't my mother who started it," Delilah replied quietly. "She was just more than happy to spread it around. Let her be, Zeke. The last thing you need is to add murder to your list of crimes."

"Delilah –" He tried to speak but it was all garbled.

"I know it's crap, Zeke."

"Of course it's crap!"

"Because you're really such a gentle guy underneath the swearing and the death threats. I've been trying to tell people that."

"Shit."

"I just don't know why people think it's their business."

"We're public property, Delilah. Even you –"

"I'm not –"

" --although you try to pretend it had nothing to do with you."

"I don't buy that – but you and Casey, sure."

"You know, I can take people hating me for being 'a homo' but I really – can't – stand that people think I would do that to Casey."

"I know."

"I can't wait to get out of this shithole. A week is too long."

"A week –? You've made plans?"

"Yep. I'm leaving for Seattle, starting school this fall. I've already made arrangements to close the store."

"You going to hook up with Stokely and Stan?"

"That's the plan."

"And what about Casey?"

"He's coming too."

"But will he even be out of the hospital?"

"I think so – but if not, I'll wait. I don't mind starting school a few days late."

Delilah sighed, "I'm glad he's going with you, Zeke. You'll be good for him."

Of course, Delilah was just about the only person who thought so. Even Sasha was having his doubts by then.

That night when Zeke got to the hospital and saw Casey he was overcome with a mad desire: to grab Casey and run away. He imagined it like a football play – himself holding Casey, streaking down the hallway, dodging obstacles, a stream of nurses and orderlies behind him calling his name frantically and protesting. His more rational self got no help from Casey, who seemed to be silently begging him to get me out of here, kidnap me, take me, do something please. Zeke was forced to stand with his back to Casey or succumb – which he did eventually. They got in the car and for a while he couldn't quite shake off the illusion that he was driving away from their lives at top speed. As usual, it was Sasha who saved the day, calling him back just enough to get the car turned around.

So Zeke settled instead for describing to Casey the exact order of events that would take them to their new life in Seattle. The look on Casey's face could only be described as peace; there was no other term that applied. And as they stood there, Zeke's private revelation from days ago in the TV lounge was exhumed and up came all the feelings that went with it. Suddenly it was just the two of them in their own moral world where someone could belong to someone else and the most important thing was that Casey was Zeke's – his lover, not Spadoni's patient or Roy's victim.

Then the moment was over, and he couldn't really blame Sasha for acting like the old maid chaperone in some novel of manners, escorting Casey to the car and demanding an accounting from Zeke the moment they were alone in the car together later.

"What the hell was that?"

"What was what?"

It was a childish response, but Zeke wasn't prepared to return to emotional maturity just yet. He was intoxicated with Casey's rapt stare; he had basked in it all the way back to the hospital.

Sasha was apparently speechless, but not for long.

"Zeke, I thought the point of going out for these drives was to help, not to–"

"I am helping," Zeke insisted.

"How? By getting into his pants? You're just proving that doctor right."

"I'm proving him wrong," Zeke said, and was aware that he was drowning a little bit. He was completely sure and completely lost at the same time.

"Spadoni thinks you're like some – some –"

"Sexual predator?" Zeke broke in bitterly.

"What –? No...no. But taking advantage of him, maybe. Getting your kicks while he doesn't know any better and then bringing him back for the doctors and nurses to deal with the aftermath."

"Don't talk about him like...he doesn't know any better . He's not some idiot child, he knows what he wants."

"Where have you been the last couple of weeks, Zeke? Do you think he wanted to be Roy's side action? Do you think he wanted to be sneaking around lying to everyone?"

"No," Zeke allowed. He was experiencing a curious sensation of standing apart from himself; was this what it was like in Casey's head? A part of him was completely convinced by what he was saying and another part knew that it was utter nonsense. "What he wanted was me. He didn't know that he had me, so now I'm letting him know that he does have me. I told him the plan and that he's coming with me and he seemed happy, Sasha."

"This is nuts. You've lost it, Zeke."

"Whatever," Zeke said tiredly. For the past two days he had been going to bed with a headache and waking up with a headache. Nothing made a dent in that area of pain located above his left eye. Occasionally it would move to another sector of his head, for variety.

"Are you hearing yourself? You're telling me you'll just do whatever the hell you want because it's what Casey wants! How do you know it isn't all an excuse! Where do you draw the line?"

"I'm not Roy."

"Well, you're beginning to look a bit like him."

"I – am not -- Roy!"

The next morning Sasha and Zeke were not speaking to each other, but they made their peace later as they stood watch over Casey in his chemically-induced stupor. They had been told that Casey was sedated after a rough therapy session but Zeke fretted about what he had said and done the night before and had trouble meeting Sasha's eyes. His fears weren't eased any when, at one point, Casey dragged his eyes open long enough to accuse him, "You put me in the closet. Again." His pupils were huge and his words slurred almost beyond recognition and even Sasha didn't think anything of it, assuming it was drugged-up nonsense. Zeke feared he knew better.

They arrived at the Connor residence around noon. Neither of the parental vehicles was in the driveway. "Looks like no one's home," Zeke observed.

Wordless, Casey got out of the car. Zeke watched him walk to the front door and ring the doorbell. He came back a minute later and re-joined Zeke in the car, shaking visibly.

"You don't have a key?" Zeke asked.

Casey shook his head. Not surprising, considering the events that had led up to his arrival at Whitby. If he had been carrying a key it was long gone, and his parents had received no warning that he was coming home today.

"There's no secret hiding place?" Zeke wondered.

"No."

"Okay," said Zeke brightly, perfectly aware that Casey was falling apart in front of him. "I'm sure your mom's just out for a while. You can just come on over to my place. Sasha's there, he can make us some lunch and after we'll call and see if she's back."

"Sasha's... staying with you?"

Zeke frowned to himself, but replied patiently, "Yep."

Zeke had never been more grateful that Sasha existed as when they got to his apartment and Sasha was actually removing a pie from the oven. A pie, and the entire apartment smelled deliciously of it. "Hey, you've gotta try this," Sasha said without looking up. "Where'd you go, anyway?" Then he turned in time to see Zeke giving Casey a little nudge across the threshold. "Kitten!" Sasha pounced on Casey, hugging him with his characteristic largesse. "Are you – are you visiting?"

"Casey's left the hospital," Zeke said.

"Huh – really? Well, that's –" Sasha looked Casey over, saw the tremors, and quieted himself considerably. "I was just going to make some lunch," he said in a muted voice. "And then maybe we'll try the pie, I've been wanting to test out this new pastry recipe... are you staying here then?"

Zeke could actually see the moment that Casey gave up on speech entirely. The morning's events had already burned him out for today.

"It's up to you, of course," Zeke said, trying to sound encouraging so Casey would feel welcome, while not being too forceful so Casey wouldn't feel he was being strong-armed. "But if you wanted to stay here..."

"Yeah, it'd be awesome!" Sasha chimed in immediately. "Of course, Allison would flip out."

Zeke rolled his eyes. "Allison wasn't at home."

"She went back to work on Monday... you didn't know?"

"I didn't, actually." Zeke eyed Casey for his reaction. "Casey says he wants to stay at home but we're locked out, it'll have to wait until later."

Now infected by Zeke's discomfort and Casey's distress, Sasha faltered. "Oh, well... let's have some lunch then." He recovered quickly, though, waving his hands. "Go, get out of my kitchen now. I need to work my magic."

Casey took a place on the futon, his entire body screaming apartness, holding his arms tight across his chest, the prescription still clutched in one hand. Zeke sat next to him but was careful to maintain a neutral space. After a moment he tentatively touched Casey's fist. "I guess everything feels a little odd right now," Zeke offered.

"Mmm."

"How can I help?"

Casey shook his head. Not so long ago – mere days – Zeke would not have hesitated to just hold him. Today he knew beyond any doubt that it was not wanted and he didn't quite understand why. The possibilities were endless but Zeke was hesitant to press for answers; he had learned caution when he tried to push for answers from Casey two nights ago at Lee's restaurant. The panic attack that Casey had conjured up had told Zeke something, though: Whatever you put me in the closet meant, it was not the nothing Casey tried to pretend it was.

"Lunch!"

The meal was pastrami and Swiss on rye with the fermented type of dill pickles that burned the tongue. Sasha presented Casey and Zeke with their plates first, then went back and got his own; he also brought glasses of water for himself and Zeke but milk for Casey, who responded to this offering with a questioning stare. Sasha shrugged and said, "Just drink it."

For several seconds the three of them were sitting there in the living room holding their plates on their lap in an utter silence. To distract himself, Zeke picked up his sandwich and took a bite. "Mmm, this is good," he remarked, quite sincerely. "I'm starving."

He tried not to watch Casey eat.

"So, Casey," Sasha began. "What did Spadoni think about you leaving?" Unlike Zeke, he was watching Casey intently.

"Nothing," Casey replied in a faint voice.

Zeke couldn't stand it. He was situated in an excellent place to observe; he gave into temptation and did so. He saw Casey holding half of his pastrami on rye with two hands while his arms were essentially resting in his lap so he was just holding the sandwich and shaking, staring at it like it was a problem he was expected to solve.

"Nothing," Sasha repeated. He raised his brows and said. "Eat, kitten."

Casey was torturously slow about eating his lunch. After about twenty minutes Sasha apparently couldn't take it anymore and pronounced Casey's efforts sufficient; Sasha then got a slice of pie for each of them. Zeke demolished his, and another slice, and he noticed that Casey showed the pie a tad more enthusiasm than he had the sandwich. Sasha was beaming by the time Casey was done. "Now the milk," Sasha said.

Complying, Casey reached for his glass and promptly knocked it over. His eyes were several stages past moist as he looked apologetically at Sasha.

"It's okay," Zeke said. It was, too, as it gave him something to do for about three minutes.

"So what shall we do this afternoon?" Sasha asked, visually pleading with Zeke. Even his ebullience was starting to dull.

"Can I take a nap?" Casey requested, his voice hoarse.

"Sure," Zeke was quick to reply. He hoped his relief wasn't too obvious.

Casey got up slowly and disappeared down the hall towards Zeke's bedroom. His feet made no sound at all.

Zeke collected the lunch dishes and washed them. The only problem with having a chef in the house was that the chef sometimes assumed that washing up was beneath him. Most times Zeke didn't mind, though; it seemed a fair trade.

When he was nearly finished, he noticed Sasha sneaking down the hallway towards the bedroom. A few seconds later Sasha was back. "He's asleep," he informed Zeke softly. By silent agreement they returned to the living room to debrief. Sasha demanded quietly, "What happened?"

"I don't know," Zeke replied. "He called me. Practically ordered me to come get him. He said he had to leave."

"But that's good, right? He made a decision for himself."

"Yeah, but... something's not right. I think he's upset."

"When is he not upset, Zeke?"

"I mean he's upset at me about something."

"That doesn't seem possible. You're teflon man, aren't you?"

"Maybe I was, but..."

"Why? What did you do?"

"I don't know. I mean, I do, but I don't know which thing he's mad about. There's too many to pick from."

"Um..." Sasha looked smugly amused. "That's true." He glanced over his shoulder, needing to verify that Casey wasn't standing there listening, and lowered his voice so much that Zeke had to strain to listen. "Do you think he'll be ready to hit the road so soon?"

"I think he has to."

Sasha growled, "Zeke..."

"I mean that he'll stay sick if he stays in Herrington," snapped Zeke.

"Fine, but I'm talking about the difference between days and weeks? You're the one in the big hurry."

"Do you ever get tired of trying to be my conscience? I do have one of my own."

"Show it to me and I'll lay off." Sasha grinned and nudged Zeke's foot. "I'm kidding...I know you have a conscience." Serious again, he said, "You realize that Casey's parents are going to freak out when they hear about the plan."

"Yeah."

"They need to hear as soon as possible so they'll have more time to get used to it."

"Mm hmm."

"I think we had better tell them – like tonight."

"Shouldn't Casey tell them?"

"Well, sure," Sasha allowed. "But what will he say? He's pretty nonverbal."

"But he is better," Zeke said. He heard himself being defensive and wondered why. "At least he can carry on a bit of a conversation, when he wants to." Restless, Zeke changed his position on the futon. "I'll ask him, then. If he minds me telling his parents. And what's this 'we' stuff anyway?"

"I know it's not actually any of my business..."

Sasha actually looked bashful. Zeke hadn't thought him capable of it; the man had not even a rudimentary grasp of none-of-his-business as a concept. "Oh, spare me," Zeke returned, rolling his eyes.

At this, Sasha smiled broadly. "Yeah, you're right. I'm a nosy bugger, aren't I? You know, Zeke, I was thinking..."

"What?"

Sasha let his mouth hang for a few seconds, looking like he was thinking about something that made him rather nervous. Zeke's interest was piqued but then Sasha retreated with, "Never mind."

Casey could tell immediately that he had slept through the afternoon. The smell of dinner had wafted down the hall, advising him that Sasha had made pasta carbonara. Sasha believed that pasta carbonara was Casey's favourite. Casey had never told him otherwise because he did like the dish; he liked everything that Sasha cooked about the same, actually.

Zeke was talking on the phone as Casey appeared in the kitchen. He nodded to Casey.

" – yes, Mrs. C, I'll bring him over right after dinner. See you soon." Zeke hung up the phone and said, "I hope you don't mind, Case, I was wondering if the hospital might call and tell them you checked out and then they would be panicking thinking I'd absconded with you. I didn't want them to worry."

Of course Zeke had a rationale for the things he did, that was why it was better to just let him be in charge. Especially right now, because Casey didn't feel like he had the strength to dial the phone, let alone talk into it. He couldn't believe that he had said and done the things he remembered from – earlier today, that had been, and incredibly, that day was still in progress. Thinking of the morning's events was like watching a video clip of some other person who bore no resemblance to himself. That person had demonstrated a lot of qualities that had been absent in Casey for some time, but all the same, Casey didn't want to think about becoming that person again. That person was frightening.

"Hey, kitten, I made your favourite!" Sasha said, beaming.

"Smells good," Casey answered. He remembered to smile.

"How was the sleep? Do you feel better?"

"Mmm... yeah, a bit."

"Case," Zeke said abruptly. "I think that when we get you home we should have a talk with your parents."

"Talk?" he echoed. He searched for some idea of what it was they needed to talk about with his parents and found it eluded him. He started a bit when Zeke spoke next.

"About you going to Seattle."

Ah, yes... he did know that they were going to Seattle but he hadn't thought about it for some time now, at least a day... maybe two days. The important thing, the thing that he did remember quite distinctly, was that he was leaving Herrington with Zeke. "Oh," he said. "Right."

Thoughtful looks were exchanged right in front of him. "You... do remember Zeke asking you?" Sasha asked.

He felt an urge to giggle at their obvious dismay. "Yes... Zeke's taking philosophy."

"And it starts in a week," Sasha reminded him.

"But I don't want to rush you," Zeke put in quickly. "I... when we talked about this before I said we'd leave soon. You...You did seem happy about it."

"I didn't remember... that part," Casey said.

"Well, I thought Sunday would be a good day to get on the road," Zeke offered up. "Um... what... day is it now?"

Now the looks were downright alarmed. "Wednesday," Zeke stated crisply. He was looking edgy; he began to pace around the floor space available to him in the kitchen area, which was limited. "I don't know... maybe it isn't such a good idea..."

Zeke was that animal again... climbing the walls, desperate to get out of his trap. He was all packed... Casey had seen earlier that most of Zeke's belongings had disappeared from his bedroom. "I – I can go S-Sunday... really."

"Zeke," snapped Sasha warningly.

Zeke stopped, looked, and Sasha nodded his head in Casey's direction. Zeke stilled himself with an apparent effort.

"I mean," Zeke corrected himself, "maybe we should wait to leave here a bit longer."

Casey shook his head in protest.

Zeke insisted, "But I don't want to rush you."

"You're not --"

"Technically, yes, I am."

With nothing further to say, Casey looked at the floor

"This is what I suggest," Sasha intervened. "We should eat now, because you really don't want to have overcooked pasta, that's just immoral and wrong. And then after we eat we'll bring you home, Casey, and you can tell your parents that you are going to Seattle. We'll negotiate the departure date later."

At that moment Casey knew a profound relief that Sasha was there and not in Cincinnati. Sasha was the buffer between him and Zeke's bright, hard energy, Sasha would help him to just exist. Casey wasn't proud of having that need but he didn't know how he would have survived the whole of this day otherwise.

"Do you want to tell your folks, Casey?" Zeke asked as they acceded to Sasha's pointing finger and went to sit at the dining table. "Or – I could tell them. If you want."

Casey figured that Zeke was definitely better than him at telling people things. Zeke had been telling people things left and right... why stop him now?

It happened in the living room. That was wrong, for a start. All of Casey's life, serious conversations happened at the dinner table. But Casey didn't tell Zeke that so he couldn't have known and so here they were Casey, Zeke and Sasha lined up on a couch, Casey sitting in between the two others and Sasha was surreptitiously stroking Casey's hand with a finger, perhaps without realizing he was doing it.

"Mr. and Mrs. Connor," Zeke began, immediately indicating that this was Something Serious by his respectful use of their full name. "There's something we need to tell you."

Casey's parents were sitting close together on the other couch, and they already knew that whatever it was, they weren't going to like it. The tension was... tense. But there was nothing to do but deliver the information and Zeke was not a man to waffle.

"Casey and I are going to Seattle," Zeke announced. "I'm going to school there. The University of Washington. I asked Casey to come with me and he said yes."

There was a longish silence. Sasha continued his contact with Casey's hand.

"When?" asked Casey's mom, seemingly calm...

"Er...well, I had hoped...you see, the semester starts in a week."

.... and the calm was over.

"What about Casey's school?" erupted his dad, shooting to his feet.

It was kind of irrelevant as far as Casey was concerned, but Zeke answered the question for him anyway. "They have bachelor of science degrees there too. If Casey wants to finish, he can. When he's ready."

"What do you mean 'if'?"

"Just that people may change their minds."

"I paid good money for physics, he's going to finish it..."

Now Zeke was also on his feet, squaring off with Casey's father across the coffee table. "You know, I'll reimburse you if it means you'll shut up about that."

"Oh, here we go, Mr. I'm-So-Rich..."

Sasha muttered, for Casey's ears only, "Just pull them out and measure them already."

Casey giggled. The sound of it split the air in the room and Casey put a hand over his mouth to ensure that it stopped while everyone stared at him for a second. Zeke sat down, containing himself for the moment, as did Casey's dad.

"When was this decided?" asked his mom. She was using her I'm-keeping- it-all-in voice.

"About a week ago," Zeke chimed in again. "Does it matter?"

"Yes, it matters." Casey's mom addressed him directly then. "Casey, do you think you were in the right frame of mind to make this kind of decision? I thought you'd be staying at home for a while."

Everyone's attention was on Casey, and while he should have known to expect it, he was nevertheless unprepared for it. His mind blanked out – but slowly, slowly, some thoughts managed to crystallize.... Zeke wanted this.... Zeke needed to get out of Herrington, needed it desperately and...Casey knew too that he could not stay in this town. Not anymore. It was not enough to leave the hospital because every person in town was a Spadoni who would hate seeing him and Zeke together and would think that he needed to get away from Zeke because there hadn't actually been any aliens... and then because there were no aliens he and Zeke were even more sick and wrong.... and because there were no aliens, Casey was nothing more than the product of Zeke's mistakes.

"I understand you want to go with Zeke," his mom went on. "But let's not rush things. He could go ahead and you could join him in a month or so. Would that be so terrible?"

"Yes, goddammit!" Zeke exploded. "It would!"

Casey's mother didn't like hearing that. Her face got very red, almost as red as his dad's could get at times. "And no one else cares about him except you, I suppose?"

Zeke appealed to Casey, evidently hoping he would say something. When Casey didn't help him, Zeke said, "He can't stay here, he needs to get out of this place."

Casey's father replied coldly. "I know you need to get out, before they run you out..."

"We both need to leave," Zeke avowed. "This place will make him sicker, don't you understand that? I don't mean you, I don't mean this house. I mean this town."

Casey's mom buried her face in her hands for a moment. Lifting it, she challenged, "Did you even ask Casey what he wants?"

"He wants to go," Zeke said. "Too much has happened here."

"Why do you have to keep bringing that up!" cried Casey's mother. "Can't we just forget it once and for all?!"

Casey knew he had to get away from this. He lurched to his feet and walked out the front door, crouching down on the front step and squinting into the sun. The door creaked behind him. He braced himself for Zeke to appear, but it was Sasha who sat down beside him and slung an arm around his shoulders.

"Nice sunset," observed Sasha, noncommittal.

"Hmm."

Sasha made a pretense of watching it for about three seconds.

"What's going on with you?" he wanted to know. "You sat there and let them talk about you for the last half hour. Didn't you want to say something?"

Casey shook his head fervently.

"But that's your life they're talking about in there – " Sasha had to be able to feel the strain in Casey, and how every one of his words stretched Casey a bit thinner. He wrapped up his diatribe instantly. "Okay. I'll stop nagging." Sasha gave Casey's shoulder a little squeeze. "You've had a really intense day already, haven't you?"

"Yeah... long day."

"Probably best if you hit the sack, huh?"

"Love to," Casey said and tried for a short laugh that got totally bungled and turned into a sad little croak.

"Kitten, if it means anything... I do agree with Zeke. The sooner you get out of Herrington the better. I get a pretty uncomfortable vibe from this town, and I don't even have your history here. Just think... the open road... nice long drive... plenty of scenery... a new start..."

"You could come too," Casey said, realizing it as he said it.

Sasha sighed deeply, but he didn't say anything in reply to this.

"Now don't you worry, kitten. Even if your dad locks you in the attic, we'll come and rescue you. Zeke will drive up and stand under your window and call 'Casey, my dearest... come down...'" Earnestly, Sasha added, "Now, tell me, just for my own peace of mind... You do want to go?"

"Yes."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

"Well, then... I'm sure your parents will understand. Eventually. Over the last week or so I've gotten to know your mother a little. You know she loves you, right?"

He nodded. The noise from inside had died down to a trickle; perhaps it was safe to go back inside.

Zeke and his parents had taken their disagreement to that point of mutual opposition where everything had been said and all arguments had been made; they were now reduced to glaring at each other. Sasha was quick to suggest that he and Zeke depart. Casey wanted only to go straight to bed but he was aware that his parents would be expecting some conversation with him. He accepted a hug from Sasha and a soulful look from Zeke, and then went directly to the dining room table and took his seat. There was a furtive, whispered conversation going on in the kitchen.

He waited. After about ten minutes he was joined by his parents; they were now in their proper places for a family discussion.

"You tired, hon?" his mom said. He nodded wearily. "How about we just talk about this for a bit, and then you can go to bed, okay?"

"All right."

"Hum," said his father, uncertain.

"Casey, I don't want you to go," declared his mom, not holding back. "I don't like it, you should be with your family right now. I don't mean forever, but right now... right now you need someone to look after you."

"Zeke – " Casey protested.

"Zeke, oh, yes, Zeke, he'll do. Listen, honey. I like Zeke very much, but he grew up without a mother or father really, he raised himself and he turned out okay but he has some funny ideas about things."

"Mom."

"What, hon? Talk to me."

"Should – shouldn't be about that."

"What?"

"Taking care of me."

"I see." A tear had found its way out of his mom's eye, followed immediately by another. "It shouldn't be but it is, you need someone right now and it should be me..." Her voice decayed quickly. "I – I'm trying not to get upset."

Casey's dad put his hand over hers as it lay on the table and she gripped it in return. That was not something Casey was used to seeing, not in his conscious memory. Something was definitely going on with these two.

"Casey," his dad said, his tone admirably damped down but Casey still felt the space between his shoulder blades tighten. "Is this what you want? If I saw you – if we thought you were really excited and happy about this plan, maybe it would help."

"I do – I want to," Casey answered, putting his hands under the table and clenching them.

"But you just got out of a hospital!" his mom objected, tears flowing freely now. "Why does it have to be now – " She broke off and said the next directly to her husband, not Casey. "I'll tell you why, Zeke has to start school next week –"

"– yeah, and he's not everyone's hero anymore," added Casey's dad.

Casey blurted out, "I can't stay in Herrington."

His mom flinched. "What – what does that mean?" she asked forlornly.

God, how he wanted to go to be asleep. "Can – can we talk about it tomorrow, Mom?" He thought about the quantum of pure energy it was going to take to get to his bed, considered the distance and the number of stairs... "Please?"

"All right," she allowed, somewhat unwillingly. "I guess you've had a long day."

He forced a slight smile.

Both his parents seemed to feel it was necessary to escort him upstairs and to his room; they were barely able to leave him alone long enough for him to strip down to his underwear and get into the bed. A tentative knock announced their intention come back in. "Yeah," he called.

It was his dad who entered, by himself, and sat down on the edge of the bed, looking uncomfortable still but determined.

"Your mother's back to work this week," said his dad. "So I'm going to take a few days off... stay here with you."

"You don't have to..."

His dad didn't reply to that directly. "I'll be here for the next few days." Clearing his throat, he plunged on rather abruptly, "Maybe you were wondering why I didn't always come to see you in the hospital."

Casey hadn't, really, but his father didn't need to know that.

"I – er – I didn't like it... the way they were." His dad reached over and wiped imaginary dust off Casey's clock radio. "With you. I mean..." He found Casey's eyes. "I didn't like to see it."

Casey scraped up a word. "Okay."

His dad sucked a big breath, puffing up his chest. "You know...I do understand why you want to leave here, Casey." He patted Casey's arm, just once, a longish pat. "I'll talk to your mother... she'll come around."

It had to be the kindest thing his father had ever done for him, and in his exhausted state he couldn't stop the tears from coming. He turned his head away, waiting for his father to bolt in disgust. Sure enough, there was the creaking as his dad's weight was removed from his bed and the sound of feet moving away... his door opening...

A few seconds later his dad was back, though. Casey kept his face turned until suddenly he became aware of the weight beside him again. He looked around anxiously, just in time to see his father's hand come at his face. He cringed... but the hand held a tissue that his dad used to wipe his eyes for him with the sort of casual efficiency one would use with a snivelling toddler.

"Go to sleep," said his dad and smoothed the covers with one hand, briefly. He got up. "Good night, Casey."

The bedroom door shut softly. Casey put his head under his pillow and sobbed for a while before meandering into sleep.

The next morning Zeke could barely wait until nine o'clock before showing his face at Casey's door. He came bearing gifts – as though he needed some pretext, but he did want to give Casey the books he had purchased for him almost two weeks ago, as well as a blank notebook with the word "Journal" printed on the cover to indicate its use. He had them under his arm as he knocked at the front door. He had never felt so much like an unwelcome suitor. It was ridiculous to be standing here wondering if his hair wasn't sticking up and his shirt was tucked in and maybe he should have brought gifts for the parents too –

Casey's father answered the door. He welcomed Zeke with a displeased grimace but otherwise was strangely cordial. Zeke had expected more parental wrath and blustering.

"Mr. Connor," Zeke said, minding his tone. "Is he up?"

"Yeah. Watching the TV."

"May I come in?"

Casey's father stepped back and waved Zeke in.

"In the family room?" Zeke queried.

"Yeah...go ahead..."

Walking through the kitchen, Zeke noted the remains of breakfast dishes and thought briefly, longingly, about the Jam. He would have to find a replacement diner when he got to Seattle. He also noticed an enormous bottle of pills on the counter; he hoped that Casey was not going to make any trouble about taking them.

Continuing into the family room, Zeke found Casey sitting in his father's armchair, feet tucked up, holding the TV remote. At first glance, he seemed quite intent on whatever was on the tube, which turned out to be "The Price is Right". Close-up, it was easily apparent that Casey was not actually watching it.

"Case."

At least Zeke only had to say his name once. Casey blinked, saw Zeke. He even smiled – and the smile sent a shudder down Zeke's spine. Casey appeared even more drained than he had been last night. His eyes were deep set in shadow, glittering with an unwholesome light. At the sight of him, Zeke found an even greater resolve to say what he had come to say.

"Hi," said Zeke, unnecessarily. "Did you – did you get any sleep?"

"Yes."

"Er... I brought you a few things." He held out the three books, feeling like an idiot. "Didn't wrap them, sorry."

Casey set the remote on the table beside him and accepted Zeke's offerings. "It's okay."

"They're just a couple of film books I saw that made me think of you. And I got you a journal. You don't have to do anything with it, I just thought... they say it helps to put things on paper sometimes."

"Thanks, Zeke," Casey said. He didn't look at the books, placing them on the seat beside him, in the niche between his feet and the back of the chair. He looked up with something both less and more than gratitude in his eyes. It was fervent, demanding, a come-hither with the warning that if Zeke did approach he might get bitten, even as he was kissed.

"I'd like to talk to you," Zeke requested, trying not to make it sound momentous.

"Talk?"

"About stuff, you know... about our plans." Zeke sat on the ottoman in front of Casey. "Have you eaten?"

Casey clenched up, just for a moment. He looked away from Zeke as he answered. "Yes."

"Sorry – had to ask." Zeke tried to think about how to tackle what would be a controversial topic and decided on an oblique approach. "More importantly – did you get coffee?"

Casey's mask cracked a little. "Yeah," he said, amused. "First coffee in... two weeks, I guess."

"They wouldn't let you have it?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Not sure."

Casey stroked one of the books' covers with a languid, circular motion. The gesture was unexplainably erotic; an ache developed in the pit of Zeke's stomach and moved almost instantly to his crotch.

"Actually," Casey mused, "I don't think anyone gets coffee there... that I saw." His voice trailed away under Zeke's gaze. "We can talk in my room," he suggested, still handling the book as though he would much rather caress it than read it.

"How about another coffee?" Zeke proposed. "My treat, of course."

"No, thanks," Casey replied, darkness-shrouded eyes pinned on Zeke.

"All right. How about juice or water?"

Casey just smiled faintly. There was nothing blatantly sexual in it -- except that it was entirely about the silent, unacknowledged conversation they were having right now. Zeke felt his lower body going ca-thunk...ca-thunk. He was sweating.

"Casey," he said. Pleaded. "I want to talk to you."

Casey reached for Zeke's hand; Zeke declined to give it to him.

"We can go to my room, Zeke," Casey urged with a bit of a pout. "It's okay, my dad won't hear us."

"Hmm... I don't know. How about a walk?"

"I don't feel up to it."

"Fine," Zeke snapped. "Your room."

This was becoming impossible. Zeke was looking at a person who had illness written all over them, a person whom he worried about constantly, and still, when that person chose to call to him, he still couldn't seem to not want him.

Upstairs, Casey positioned himself on his bed, cross-legged. Zeke took a seat in the computer chair. He had brought his gifts up for Casey, and placed them on the computer desk. This tableau was uncomfortably familiar -- except this time Casey was staring at him with burning, demanding eyes. Shit, if he had known what he was doing in that initial encounter, if he had had the first clue that Casey's breakdown that day had not been the healthy catharsis he thought it was at the time, if he had really understood that it was just the launch of the real breakdown... would he be here now? Yes. Hell, yes. He just wished he'd figured out then what he was finally coming to understand.

He didn't know what the fuck he was doing.

"I don't know if you heard last night... I told your parents we would be leaving on Sunday."

Casey gave a nod.

"Does that mean Sunday is okay?"

Now it was a look of challenge. "I could go tomorrow."

"I don't think they would like that."

A tiny shrug. "Tomorrow or Sunday... doesn't matter."

So this was battle with the passive aggressive. Zeke tried to remember a time when he hadn't been at the mercy of Casey's every facial expression, before everything got mixed up with guilt and misplaced intentions. He was tangled in it now, snared every time he tried to move, so Casey only had to raise an eyebrow and he felt the tug of longing and anger and desperation and other feelings that couldn't comprehend themselves.

"I think we'll stick with Sunday," he concluded firmly.

"That's fine."

"Casey... we need to talk."

If he had wanted to deliberately shut Casey down he couldn't have picked a better way. Casey read the seriousness of his tone, sensed a conversation he didn't want to have, and went the colour of despair. Casey's eyes flew to the door as though assessing his chances if he were to try for it. "I..." Casey said, fumbling with his hands and feet. "I – I don't have a lot to pack."

It was a straightforward plea and Zeke regretted that he was compelled to ignore it. "That's not what I want to talk about." It didn't feel right, he wanted to be up and pacing, but he made himself sit on the bed and take Casey's hand. "You know there are things..."

Casey pulled back with a look of utter betrayal. "No."

"Yes, Casey."

"I'm tired of talking," Casey protested, his voice getting louder. "People – always feel like they have to talk – to say things –"

"Things that need to be said."

"They don't have to say anything but they do anyway and it's just a waste."

"This is me apologizing -- it is not a waste."

Casey visibly surrendered. His shoulders slumped and he just nodded, staring down at his lap. Zeke gripped his hand tightly; it sat limply in his, refusing to grip back.

Zeke plunged in anyway. "I'm sorry for some of the things I said and did this past week. I've been a bit out of control, and... stuff has been going on that's had me pretty wound up." He paused. "I don't want to make excuses, but... well, when people act stupid it pisses me off and then I almost feel tempted to do my worst, you know?"

Something had broken open. He started rattling away, confessing.

"I didn't get along with Spadoni, and yeah, he's an ass but I could have tried harder. I hope it didn't make it more difficult for you. It just really bugs me how he tried to fit you into his little mould and I... I guess I got a little intense and I'm sorry for that. Of course I prefer you to make your own decisions and I really – really don't want to do anything to hurt you, Case."

Casey's hand suddenly closed around his. "You didn't hurt me," he said.

Zeke was appalled at the depths of avoidance on display before him. "Yes, I did, Casey and you know it too, I can tell. You know I shouldn't have talked to you like I did, and I shouldn't have come on so strong –"

Casey looked at him with blank confusion. "I don't know when you mean," he said.

"I'm talking about what happened in the car the other night...and before that, when I told you I was making your decisions for you, and..." Zeke rubbed his forehead, hating this conversation. "I got turned on and...I was all over you. I shouldn't have... I shouldn't have touched you that way."

"But I like it when you touch me," Casey whispered, desolate.

"I'll give you all the affection you can stand, Casey, I promise. But there's affection and then there's... what I was doing. It isn't right when you're so sick and I promise it won't happen again."

"It was okay, it was... it was what we needed."

"Casey – I can't believe I'm having to say this -- touching doesn't have to mean sex and sex doesn't have to mean ownership."

"It does for us."

They were in the heart of the storm now. Zeke was cut loose from his moorings, buffeted and tossed about, reacting as best he could but aware that he had no idea where he was going or what was coming. And he was terrified. At last he said, "Explain that to me, Casey, because I don't think I get it."

"I can't," Casey said. "If – if I could then it wouldn't be true."

"That makes no sense to me."

"Because you think everything can be put into words."

It sounded like an accusation.

"Yeah, I do," Zeke said, just a little bit defensive. "I do think that – I believe that. So why don't you try?"

Casey lifted his head; his eyes pummelled Zeke. There went the look, the submission, the offering of himself. Inside Zeke's, his hand moved, his thumb caressing Zeke's skin lightly. "Sometimes... sometimes you look at me and I just know...you want all of me..."

Zeke's heart was pounding through his ribcage.

"...so I give it to you."

Fuck...fuck, he needed time, he needed to think --

"It's not sick," Casey added, his voice quite insistent. He was now gripping both of Zeke's hands, holding them so tightly that his nails cut into Zeke's flesh. "It's not."

"I don't think it's sick," Zeke replied, although in his heart, he had some doubt. He had chosen to trust Casey, though, and the moment had arrived when he understood exactly what that meant. He tried to shift Casey's grip, to get him to ease up. He wasn't having much success. "It's an amazing gift..." a tremendous, dazzling, terrible gift "that...I don't think I really deserve."

"You –" Casey breathed.

He was undoubtedly about to protest that Zeke did in fact deserve it, which was really, in Zeke's mind, the most enigmatic aspect of what Casey felt about him. Zeke couldn't hear it. He said quickly, "You don't have to give me everything, Casey. Roy made you believe that was necessary. I'm not Roy. There has to be some sort of happy medium here."

"But you – you already – you took it."

With this Zeke knew he had completely, unquestionably and inexcusably fucked up. For an eternity he imagined that there could be no recovery, that everything was as absolute and unconditional as Casey painted it, that Zeke had doomed them both in a series of moments that tallied to about one minute of atrociously bad judgment. For he had taken. Every time that Casey had prostrated himself, for a few seconds Zeke had wallowed in his own omnipotence, and even if it was a tiny, silent and limited portion of glory, Casey would know and be validated, primed for another act of submission.

Zeke pondered his failure, while Casey clutched at him, drawing his blood.

And then the eternity was over and Zeke returned to common sense. It could not be unfixable, there had to be a way of escape; to think otherwise was to prolong the self-administered illusion, and Zeke had already indulged in those fantasies a lot longer than was healthy. It was simply a matter of making Casey believe in his own autonomy, which certainly couldn't be any harder than making him learn to be happy.

So knowing that he could be striking a terrible blow, Zeke responded, "If I did... it was a mistake. I'm giving it back. I have to give it back."

Casey released Zeke's hands all at once and looked at him then with a dank, monstrous emotion that said there would be no release, no escape from the bondage, the silence. "There's no giving it back," he husked, fully possessed of the will to submit, and by submitting to take his revenge upon Zeke. "It's done but it's okay, you don't have to be afraid. You act, that's what you do... I had Roy all over me and you needed to erase him."

Zeke needed time to recover himself. He begged, "Shut up, now, Casey, please."

Casey closed his mouth, his eyes puncturing Zeke.

"You know," Zeke said then, "This is all bullshit -- because when I look at you what I see is anger. That's what's all over you so why don't you stop absolving me and tell me the truth for once."

"I'm not angry, Zeke."

"That's a fucking lie."

Casey moved quickly, his hand towards Zeke's face. Zeke reared back a little, thinking Casey was actually going to hit him... but he was actually attempting to stroke Zeke's jaw. "You could absolve me."

"What are you talking about?"

Casey leaned in. "For what I did to you," he whispered.

Zeke put a hand on Casey's shoulder, to hold him back. "For the last time... this isn't about me."

He remembered thinking to watch himself when Casey's rage arrived, and he knew now that he had underestimated the threat. Casey moved sinuously, getting out from under Zeke's hand and suddenly beside him, almost pressed against Zeke's back. His voice was a feral hum that Zeke could feel inside his chest. "But it's always about you, Zeke," he crooned, his hands snaking around the front of Zeke. "It's too late to give back what you took. And now you want me to forgive you for it... so why don't you let me show you how I forgive you..."

Zeke managed to catch both of Casey's wrists. "Don't touch me, Casey."

"...and you can forgive me for being with Roy."

"I mean it. I don't want to hurt you."

Casey's mouth grazed the spot just beneath Zeke's left ear. "Forgive me, Zeke?"

In a heartbeat Zeke had twisted around and grabbed Casey and pinned him down on the bed. The two globes of deep blue that he had spent hours and hours staring into were underneath him at last, glowing not with surrender but with pure demand, with complete expectation....Prove that I'm still whole, Zeke, because if I am whole like you want me to be, you can do this, there wouldn't be any harm in it.... And while Zeke saw through that completely, still arousal beckoned to him, stealing over him, making him tighten and shake and swell all at once. No doubt Casey felt him get hard with their lower bodies glued together like they were, and Casey laughed even as Zeke propelled himself off the bed. The laugh was a cackle of pure hysteria; it hurt Zeke's ears.

Zeke retreated to the window, staring enviously at someone casually strolling by on the sidewalk.

"I don't think you've forgiven me at all," came Casey's voice, taunting him.

"I do forgive you," Zeke ground out, talking to the glass. He was far closer to tears than he wanted to be. "Roy is old news, you get that? He's not in the picture."

"Are you sure?"

Zeke whirled around. Casey was once again sitting up, this time holding his knees. Could he have actually said what he had said? "What the hell does that mean?"

"Maybe I should go back to Cincinnati instead of Seattle."

Helpless, Zeke wondered, "Do you have any idea how crazy you are right now?"

It seemed that Casey was silenced.

"I'm going to leave you alone now," Zeke resolved. His body shuddered, taking him away from the window. His voice was shot through with deep cracks. He stopped just at the door. "I mean – just for today, not –" He couldn't finish.

And he fled.

His apartment was cool and quiet and perfectly sane. He took three Tylenols and lay on the futon.

He shouldn't have bolted, he knew that. Casey was probably contemplating the abyss right now – but that was the ideal outcome of the whole thing, wasn't it, to prove that it was all fucked up and hopeless? To fulfill his worst fears of being abandoned... to have a reason to dial Roy's number... Zeke wished he could believe that was out of the realm of possibility.

Sasha came through the door about twenty minutes into Zeke's internal harangue, carrying a bag of groceries. "Whew, it's getting hot ag –" Sasha spotted Zeke. "What's with you?"

Not moving, Zeke closed his eyes and said, "We just had a fight. At least, I think that's what that was."

Sasha dumped the groceries in the kitchen and immediately joined Zeke in the living room. "What happened?"

"I went over to apologize. He didn't want to hear it. I had to fight him just to let me say the words and he tried to pretend that he isn't angry, that everything between us is just the way it ought to be."

"What did –"

"It's so fucked up, Sasha, I can't even..."

"Just tell me."

"Everything I tried, he just... he kept coming on to me like it was his sole purpose for being, he got hurt when I suggested that it was wrong and he even tried to turn it around and make it about me being angry at him. He basically told me that the only way to prove that I forgave him for being with Roy was for me to fuck him and when I refused he actually insinuated that he'd go back to that creep! I left, I couldn't be in that room with him."

Somewhere in the middle of this Sasha had sat down; now he rested his head in his hands. "Jesus."

"Something like that."

"What are we going to do with him?"

"Right now I'd like to beat some sanity into him."

Sasha retorted, "Oh, that'll work."

"Do you have any other suggestions?"

"What do you want me to say, Zeke?"

"Say?" Zeke sat up slowly; the pain in his head shifted around a bit. "I suppose you're going to say you told me so."

"I did, didn't I?"

"That's not helping. I know I made a mistake."

"All right , but..." Sasha broke off and looked penetratingly at Zeke. "Did you have sex with him?"

"When would I have done that?" Zeke protested, avoiding Sasha's eyes.

"I don't know -- maybe during one of your little evening jaunts?"

"I know I'm an egomaniac but I'm not that bad."

"Why do you look so guilty then?"

"Okay," Zeke admitted. It would be a relief to confess to someone who wasn't fucked up in the head, actually. "The night before last we did some stuff in the car. I know it shouldn't have happened. I could tell he was upset about something, but... he came onto me, Sasha, and he was very determined – and you know, I had this stupid idea that it would actually help if I didn't treat him like an emotional cripple."

Sasha muttered something.

"I've screwed up, okay? I've screwed up, I admit it. But you know, there has to be a way to be close to him without it turning into this – this insanity."

"There is, Zeke. It's called 'waiting for the right time'."

"Fuck you. Like you've never lost control."

"Don't jump on me! Okay, the important thing is you know not to let it happen again."

"I'll tell you... it wasn't too difficult to resist this time. He was scary, Sasha. It's like he's determined to make me hurt him." Zeke rocked on the futon a little, thinking anxiously about how they had parted and what Casey was thinking or doing right now. "He's punishing me..."

Sasha ran his hands through his hair, massaging his scalp. "Okay. I had better go and talk to him. That is, if he isn't dead."

"That isn't funny. Not in the least bit."

"I didn't mean it as a joke."

"I'm the one who should talk to him."

"No – let me. Please."

Two minutes after Zeke bolted, Casey's father was at the bedroom door. "Casey? Everything okay?"

"Fine."

"Can I come in?"

"Yeah."

His dad inserted half his body in the room and gave Casey a long stare of assessment. "You're sure you're okay?"

"Yes." His voice broke on that little word.

His father stared at him, obviously at a loss. "I'm going to make a sandwich – you want one?"

"Yes," he said, holding everything rigidly still, waiting, waiting, the door was closing...

He had thought he was going to scream. He was waiting to jam the pillow in his mouth and once he was safe to do it, he flopped over and pressed his open mouth to the soft fabric but as often happened when one put the screams off for a while, by the time he got to them it was too late. The window of opportunity had closed.

So instead he clenched the pillow to his body, up against his stomach. He fixed his eyes on the wall and remained very still, concentrating solely on the task of keeping in his breakfast.

A knock made him blink. "Casey!"

"Yeah," he said weakly.

His father came in, holding a plate with a sandwich and an apple. Upon seeing Casey lying there he put the plate down on the bedside table and knelt down. "Stomach bothering you?"

"Mm hmm."

"Maybe if you eat you'll feel better."

"Okay," he said, because it was easier. He pulled himself up and took the sandwich. Peanut butter and raspberry jam on Wonderbread. He had loved that when he was five. He smiled to himself and felt the smile twist into something else as he took a bite. He put the sandwich down and noticed that his father had already gone.

Maybe he really should go back to Cincinnati. He wasn't fit for a relationship with Zeke, who expected forgiveness for his sins. Roy never asked for forgiveness. He didn't have to. Roy never made demands of Casey that Casey couldn't meet; Roy only asked things of him that he was accustomed to giving and helped Casey avoid the feelings that needed to be avoided. Roy helped Casey to forget. Not Zeke. Zeke wanted far too much.

His dad had left the bedroom door open; Casey got up to close it. As he did, he found Zeke's presents lying on his desk. He took the journal and a pen and sat once again on the bed, opening the journal to the back page. He wrote down Roy's phone number on the inside back cover... just in case he forgot it. Then he flipped back to the front and held his pen over the clean, white page.

Time got away from him, he let it just go – until his eyes again found the journal but now there was a large blob of ink under the point of the pen. Casey lifted the point and drew a figure eight on the page. He traced it several times, watching the lines get thicker and thicker. Then he put a circle around it, and the circle inside a box. Then the box was two boxes sitting inside another figure eight and he was just scribbling, scribbling, until finally he was drawing a big blue ball of ink that had filled the page and soaked through and tore a big hole in it. He tore that page out, crumpling it in his fist. The sight of the empty page beneath bothered him, so he tore it out, and then the next. He tore all the other pages out, one after another, in no real hurry. At the end he had nothing but the cover, binding together a clump of jagged edges. He threw the thing at the wall above the desk, watched it settle on the desk beside one of the movie books.

Just as he was tearing off Roger Ebert's title page, a noise startled him; he saw that Sasha had come into his room. Sasha did not comment on the puddles of white all over the bed and floor. He sat down and waited, calmly observing Casey.

"I think your dad's starting to like me," Sasha commented when he was ready to talk. "He didn't glare as much as usual when he let me in."

Casey closed the book in his lap with a crack. He hugged Ebert's face against his chest.

"You should have been around at our first meeting," Sasha added, trying on a grin. "Of course I couldn't help telling him how it was my mission to train you up for the gay invasion –"

"Sasha?"

"Yes, kitten?"

There was a question that Casey wanted to ask him. He had wondered about it for some time but fear of the answer had always outweighed his desire to know. Now he needed to know. "Do you believe me?"

"Believe...?"

"About the – the aliens?"

Casey saw Sasha take a breath and hold it. He saw thoughts racing around. He saw the answer in Sasha's face.

"Does it matter if I do or not?" Sasha replied.

"Yes..."

"Then I don't know what to tell you, kitten. I just don't know. I don't consider it out of the realm of possibility."

"Roy never believed me."

Sasha was not a person who hesitated to lie if he thought he could spare a friend some pain. He answered, "I don't really know, Casey. He used to be fairly open-minded to that kind of thing. Anyway, I'm pretty sure it doesn't matter what he thinks."

"He – he didn't believe me and... he said I was crazy –"

"I don't think you're crazy – or delusional, or whatever the correct term is."

"Then what?"

"I don't know, exactly. Whatever it was, Zeke experienced it too, didn't he? He insists that it happened and I don't like to contradict Zeke unless absolutely necessary."

"Maybe he lied though. Maybe he made it all up and I was stupid enough to go along with it."

"Kitten, what are you getting at? What is this all about?"

"Nothing," Casey said around a sob. "I just – sometimes – I'm afraid it didn't happen."

"You know, this is exactly why you need to get away from here. You're putting way too much energy into this one issue. The aliens don't define you, Casey. They're not your whole story."

"Zeke said I was crazy too."

"If he did, I doubt that he meant it. And I'm sure that it wasn't because you believe in aliens because then he'd have to be right there with you in the loony bin."

"He did mean it," Casey muttered, "because it's true."

"Casey," Sasha chastised. "That's no way to talk. You and Zeke had a fight and he mouthed off. Like that's never happened before." Sasha grinned hugely. He was quite obviously handling Casey, working the conversation for a laugh, but that was a part of the joke too and Casey smiled a little despite himself.

"Omigod!" Sasha grabbed his chest, letting his eyes roll up towards heaven. "Is that a smile!? Can it be?" He flopped on the bed beside Casey, sprawling out like they were two teenagers having a sleep over. "In vain I hoped for this day to come upon us."

Casey lay back and put his head on Sasha's shoulder. "Sasha... Zeke's mad at me, isn't he?"

"He's not so much angry as frustrated. In fact, he's afraid that you don't want him. He's afraid... you meant it when you said you'd go back to Cincinnati. You're quite a pair, the two of you." Sasha cleared his throat. "You didn't mean it, did you? About Cincinnati?"

"No."

"That's good. Because I really would have to do something drastic if you tried it." Sasha patted Casey's hand that happened to be laying close to his own. "Stuff like that's going to really get to me – and Zeke. Why'd you say it? You angry at him about something?"

Casey sat up quickly, drawing apart from Sasha. He heard Sasha sigh.

"If he's botched up something," Sasha insisted, "he needs to know about it so he can apologize. That's what this morning was about --"

"Will you just leave me alone?" It wasn't what he wanted to say. What he really wanted to say was that if he was mad about anything, it was people trying to dictate when and how he gave them his emotions. He didn't actually want Sasha to go anywhere.

"Okay," Sasha said. "I'm sorry."

Sasha started to get up, to leave, and Casey grabbed at him. "Sasha –" he said, urgently.

"Hey, it's okay." Sasha sounded tired. And hurt. "I know I'm a pest. I just want to make things better."

"You do," Casey said, afraid that he would go and not come back.

Sasha considered him, perhaps evaluating his sincerity. Sasha's chin lifted, his usual positive attitude serving its purpose, transforming his expression into a happy face mask. "Yeah, sure."

"Really... you do."

"Hmm, okay. Now, if you want to really want to make me believe it..."

"What?"

"Nah, I wouldn't want to push it, you might snarl at me again."

"What?"

"Come over to Zeke's with me now so you two can make up. That'll really make my stock rise with him."

Casey stammered, "...um...I..." He truly wasn't prepared to face Zeke right now. If he were in Zeke's presence, he would panic and stutter and be generally incapable of saying anything useful. But Sasha was looking at him so hopefully...

"He wants to talk to you, kitten, I promise. It'll be fine, you'll see."

"Okay," Casey agreed with reluctance, figuring he probably couldn't do much more worse to Zeke than he already had. Sasha held out a hand, which he used to pull Casey onto his feet.

They found Casey's dad in the kitchen, digging through the fridge. "Dad?"

Straightening up, his father said, "I was thinking about burgers for supper."

"That – that sounds good."

"On the barbecue, of course."

"Dad...I – I'm going to – to Zeke's for a bit."

His father made a visible effort not to scowl. "Okay." But true to form, he levelled a bit of silent accusation at Sasha.

Sasha was unfazed. "Mr. Connor, Zeke wanted to invite you and Mrs. Connor – and Casey, of course – to his place for dinner – er, tomorrow. Will you come? I'll be cooking."

"You?"

"I'm trained as a chef. What do you say?"

"Well..." It was nearly funny, seeing his dad struggle with his initial reaction and force it down in an attempt to be gracious. "If we don't have plans. I'll have to check with Allison."

"Sure, you let me know if you can't make it." Sasha winked at Casey.

"Do you... do you work in a restaurant then?"

"Not at the moment. Actually..." Sasha directed his next words to Casey. "I think there are a lot of opportunities in Seattle. It's a very happening place as far as the restaurant biz."

"Oh, so you're going to Seattle...too?" Casey's dad asked.

"Think so." Sasha favoured Casey with a big, bright grin. "Let's go."

The Mustang was parked out in front and for a second Casey was stricken, thinking Zeke had just shown up at his doorstep. Then he realized... "He lets you drive it?"

"Only in an emergency, kitten."

It was only a ten minute drive from home to Zeke's apartment, more than sufficient for Casey's nerves to take possession of him, body and mind. When they arrived, Casey couldn't make himself open the car door at first and Sasha had to do a little more persuading. Sasha let them into the apartment with his own key; Casey couldn't help but ask himself when Zeke had become so trusting of Sasha that he gave him a key and let him drive the Mustang. He trudged up the stairs behind Sasha, trying to suck in complete breaths.

Just inside the door Sasha announced, "I'm back!"

"Did you –?" Zeke started, from the bedroom. He emerged into the hall and broke off, seeing Casey there with Sasha.

"I brought someone with me," Sasha explained unnecessarily.

No one said anything. Plainly, Zeke had not been expecting this.

"Do I have to do everything?" Sasha complained loudly. "I'm going for a walk – you two are on your own."

And just like that he was gone and they were alone together, both standing in the doorway. Zeke showed no inclination to move elsewhere and Casey didn't dare take another step without some encouragement.

Zeke asked, a bit hesitantly, "Are you speaking to me?"

"Yes," Casey gulped.

Zeke's tension appeared to ease a little. "That's good," he breathed.

They stood there.

"If I talk, will you answer?" Zeke said then.

Casey nodded. "Try." His mouth was too dry for anything more.

"Okay," Zeke said, folding his arms. "Here's what I propose. You just let me ask the questions. You say 'yes, Zeke'– or 'no, Zeke.' First question....you do like me?"

"Yes, Zeke."

"And you do want to come to Seattle with me?"

"Yes, Zeke."

"And there's something that's really bothering you although you can't really say it just yet. Something about me."

The silence filled Casey's mind, choked off his voice.

"You can say it, Casey," Zeke whispered.

"I...don't..."

"Say it."

"Yes," Casey got out, putting his hand on the wall.

Zeke went on, "And you'd really rather I didn't push you about it."

Casey pulled in a truncated breath, trying to steady himself. "...yes."

"Now, I need you to do something for me. If I promise not to pester you about whatever it is that's had you so – upset -- and let you decide when you want to tell me, then I need to know that you're not going to do something incredibly self-destructive in an attempt to make me sorry for it in the meantime. All right?"

"Yes."

"And that includes laying off the if-you-love-me-you'll-fuck-me attitude. Do we have an understanding?"

Casey nodded. "Yes, Zeke."

"Good. Now the minute you decide you want to tell me what's really on your mind, we'll just consider this agreement defunct. It's completely up to you, Casey."

"Zeke?"

"Yes?"

"I... I ripped up your journal."

Zeke was hurt -- how could he not be? – but as always he was generous to Casey. Casey had never ceased to know that Zeke was generous to him, and he was grateful for it. "Well, it was your journal," Zeke granted. "And the book said it could be a beneficial form of therapy – maybe that wasn't quite how they intended it, but whatever works, right?" He seemed to looking for some sort of smile and didn't get it, not this time. With a sigh he moved closer to Casey, winding an arm around him. Casey put his head against Zeke's shoulder.

"I do have to say one thing and this is not a demand for any kind of acknowledgment from you," Zeke went on. "I'm really sorry for what I said to you just now, about...being crazy. It was inexcusable."

"I'm s-sorry too," Casey muttered.

Zeke uttered a relieved sigh. Casey couldn't really see his face from where he was with his head tucked against Zeke's shoulder, but he guessed that Zeke was smiling by the way he was holding his body. "So, we know we're both really sorry. Let's work on some other state of mind, like curious... or happy, maybe. Do you think we can do happy?"

"Yes, Zeke."

They stood that way for a while before Zeke slowly and smoothly dipped his head down and kissed Casey. It was barely more than a touch of the lips but it was the taste of Zeke. Cigarettes, and a sweetish tang underneath.

"One more thing," Zeke added, rather offhand. "I'm practising abstinence for the foreseeable future. I'll give you all the kissing and cuddling you can take, but no sex. This is not me trying to push you or control you. This is a decision I've made for myself – because I'm really afraid that you're going to hate me at some point down the road." He paused, asked tentatively. "Do you hate me, Casey?"

"No, Zeke," Casey said instantly.

He would put off any consideration of the implications of the no sex rule until later, when it was safe to think about it.

Zeke made a sound that was suspiciously like a sob, and enfolded Casey completely in both arms. They just stood that way until Sasha came back, which was perhaps five minutes.

"I didn't think it would take very long," Sasha said, very pleased with himself.

Another day of emotional chaos had left Casey almost stunned with fatigue, so Zeke took him home without delay. Zeke was thinking he too could use a nap when he got back, but Sasha had a revelation of his own to deliver.

"I'm going with you to Seattle," he declared. "Don't even try to argue, Zeke. You need me, Casey needs me... and I could use a fresh start. So I'm imposing myself. I got tired of waiting for you to ask. I'll pay for my hotels and meals, don't worry."

Zeke did like to seem surprised – at least, so surprised that his mouth was hanging open. He closed it and frowned, wondering what, if anything, he should say.

"I'm afraid that if you and Casey get in that car together one or both of you won't make it to Seattle with body and soul intact. So just consider me your chaperone. And by the way, you invited Casey and his parents for dinner tomorrow night so maybe we should have a little chat about the menu."

Zeke had suspected that he had yet to discover how very brazen Sasha could be. Now he knew. "Dinner."

"Yup," Sasha said, eyes sparkling.

"Did they accept?"

"More or less."

"More or less?"

"Mmm hmm."

"And I suppose you told Casey you were coming with us."

"Sure thing."

"And he was happy about that?"

"You bet."

"Maybe you'd like to move in with us next?"

"Thanks for the offer, I'll think about it."

"Did you happen to discuss anything related to what you went over there for?"

"A bit." Sasha leaned back and let out a long breath. "I don't know what he's got in his head, Zeke, but I don't think it's what either of us thinks it is. I tried to ask him, and he got snippy with me. But I'm determined to believe that's a sign of improvement. It's just going to take some time."

"But for now I need a chaperone to protect me from him." Zeke rubbed his face. "It's crazy, but... fuck, he really knows how to push my buttons."

"That's why you need me around, Zeke," said Sasha sweetly. "If there's one thing I can do, it's interfere."

"Don't I know it," Zeke grumbled. "It shouldn't be necessary, though. I'm not an animal, dammit, I can control my impulses."

"Like you did the other night?"

"Okay -- I'm an animal."

"We're all animals, Zeke. Animals with big fat brains, but still animals. We get overwhelmed by emotion... even you. Casey knows that, and that's why he can play you the way he does."

"Not anymore."

Sasha raised his eyebrows.

"I just took a vow of celibacy."

"I don't think I want to comment on that... does Casey know?"

"I told him."

"Hmm," was all Sasha had to say about it.

It was time to change the subject.

"So what are we serving tomorrow night?" Zeke asked.

For the first time in a long time, Casey couldn't sleep.

Over barbecued hamburgers he had explained to his parents how it would be. He had been as fragmented as ever, but he succeeded in getting out the major points. He was going to Seattle. With Zeke... and Sasha. Upon hearing that Sasha would be coming with them, his mother had appeared to be more accepting if not actually happy about it. She offered to take Casey shopping for new clothes and to help him pack, and hugged him fiercely when they got up from the table. She didn't cry as much as Casey had feared. She said one thing just before she let him go. "Do you trust Zeke?" she had asked.

"Yes," he had answered.

His dad had offered to help him clean up "the disaster you call your room" before he retired for the night and went upstairs with him, almost but not quite holding his arm. Casey wouldn't complain about that, for he was every bit as exhausted as he had been night before, perhaps even more so. His legs were almost too weak to take him up the stairs.

"You know," his father had said. He was squatting down, picking up the paper on Casey's floor while Casey worked on clearing off the bed. "You'll never believe this, but when you were little you were really keen on games and sports. I remember for about a year there – you were around five or six – you said you were going to be a football player."

"Sorry," Casey had apologized.

His father had straightened up and handed Casey a pile of pages. "Nah, that's not what I'm getting at. Just...we used to get along is all." His dad had laughed a little, to himself. "You decided one day that football wasn't interesting. I guess it says something about your old man that he hasn't figured out yet what you figured out at five. You informed me one night at dinner. You've always been that way... figure out something on your own, then let us know over dinner."

"Dad."

"Hmmm?"

"I... want to get along with you."

His father had been very still and Casey thought then, this is what your father looks like when he's trying not to cry. His face had screwed up and gotten very red and his mouth was pressed together so tightly that the tracery of wrinkles etched themselves into deep grooves. He had reached out and put his hand on Casey's shoulder for a minute, taking long, shuddery breaths before saying good night.

Casey had fallen asleep immediately, but now it was the middle of the night and he was uncomfortably awake. He didn't think he had dreamed, but he had wakened with a feeling of endangerment that had him huddled under the sheets, shivering all over, his body clenched as small as he could make it.

Finally he got out of his bed and found his waste paper basket in the dark, where he had tossed all the blank pages from the journal. He grabbed the first one that came to hand, and his pen, and using a shaft of moonlight to see by, he wrote Roy's number on it.

Looking down at the seven digits, so very familiar, he whispered to himself, "Do you know how crazy you are right now?"

He crumpled the paper and put it in the waste paper basket, going back to bed.

After half an hour of lying there staring into the dark, he got up and retrieved the crumpled paper. He found his backpack in the closet, and tucked the little piece of paper into the smallest front pocket, smoothing it and folding it in half twice so it was the size of a pill.

After he did that, he was able to sleep.

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