Sunday morning at 7:00 saw Zeke more than ready to depart. The Mustang was humming, black and impatient on the curb, and they were all standing awkwardly there on the paved street in front of the Connor home.

"So," began Allison Connor, trying to say goodbye.

For Zeke, the last two days had crawled. It had barely taken him a day to finish his own packing and complete a few other remaining tasks. This included solving the puzzle of how to maximize the car's limited trunk space; in the end they had to ship several boxes. Once this had been handled, however, there were still an excess of minutes left to count.

Zeke had made himself available to help Casey and Sasha, but there really wasn't much to be done except conduct himself with the utmost maturity and sincerity in an effort to reassure Casey's parents that he could in fact be trusted. Perhaps they had accepted that this was Casey's decision, but they were far from being qualm-free. No one tried to pretend that this wasn't entirely different from two years ago when they had put him on the train and sent him the two hundred miles to Cincinnati to start college. Even had Casey been completely healthy, they would still have had to digest the fact that their child was truly leaving home.

Now confronted by the event itself, Casey's mom tried to choke out a few words, and then more or less disintegrated. Zeke was relieved to see that Casey didn't break down as he was enclosed in her tight grasp. "I'll be okay, Mom," he promised, his tone harsh from the struggle not to cry. "Really... it's okay."

Sasha, never one to be left out of the melodrama, looked like he was preparing to cast himself sympathetically on Allison's shoulder. Zeke nudged him and made a face that Sasha deliberately ignored, so Zeke was forced to share an uncomfortable moment with Frank Connor instead.

Finally Casey's mom stood back and, to Zeke's complete astonishment, Frank Connor stepped forward and hugged his son. It was still a man-hug – of short duration, capped with a few hesitant back pats – but a genuine expression of affection nonetheless. "You can come home any time you want," advised Casey's father, directing a warning glare at Zeke over Casey's shoulder.

"Okay, Dad."

It sounded like Casey's composure, not extremely solid to begin with, was dissolving. Enough was enough; Zeke didn't want to have Casey in ashes before they even got in the car.

"We'll call when we get to Stokely's," Zeke interposed – which was to say that it was time for them to leave. Father and son parted.

Zeke offered his hand to Casey's father, not sure of the reception it would get. After a scant pause, Frank Connor shook his hand, perhaps with just a little more force than was really required. He also shook Sasha's hand, which seemed to amuse Sasha exceedingly.

They had easily resolved who was sitting where in the car. A 1967 Ford Mustang was not a form of transport that was celebrated for its leg room, and Zeke had suffered a few pangs of guilt knowing that two of their merry band of three were going to use their height as a trump card. Casey didn't appear to mind, though. "Short people go in the back seat," he had said amiably. The less convenient truth was he probably preferred it back there, where he could validly withhold participation in front seat activities if he so wished. Zeke had stuffed two pillows back there for his comfort, and for his personal entertainment Casey had his backpack containing his discman and an array of music and books.

The Connors stood forlornly on the sidewalk, waving as Zeke drove away. He heard Casey sigh and wondered if it were relief or sadness – both, more likely. He peered in the Casey-view mirror. The occupant of the backseat was sitting dead centre looking out the front windshield, not terribly at ease if the flat mask he was wearing was any indication.

It had occurred to Zeke that, among other things, Casey was apprehensive about the journey, about leaving a known place and travelling such a distance to an unknown place, even with friends. Casey had always been slow to warm up to new situations, and then there was that whole problem of people potentially being aliens in human skin that Zeke tended to forget but was surely never far from Casey's mind. Zeke wondered whether it was more helpful to acknowledge the phobia or to ignore it. He wanted to ask Casey for his preference on that, but to ask would make the question redundant.

For his own part, Zeke was working hard to not over-think this departure. He would not make each point on the drive through town as significant as it felt. There was that cursed high school with its stone walls and arched entranceway, he would not think about how harmless it looked. He would not think about how this was the last time he'd drive past the Jam and the mall... it was foolish to think that way and none of them needed the occasion to feel any more meaningful than it was. Still. Though. For most of his life this had been his home, and it was as familiar to him as... well, as home.

"Who wants coffee?" Zeke asked, trying not to sound purposefully upbeat.

"Oh, god, yes," Sasha drawled.

"Yeah, coffee would be good," agreed Casey.

Sasha wondered, "What about breakfast?"

"My stomach isn't quite awake yet," Zeke said.

"Oh, all right... I'll grab a muffin. Casey?"

"Mom... made pancakes."

Zeke could not suppress a tingle of suspicion. Mom made pancakes... that he believed. Nothing was said about eating them...trust, Tyler, fucking trust... These were unworthy thoughts.... but on the other hand, if Casey shed one ounce on this trip it would be Zeke Tyler's fault. If Casey shed one tear, it would be Zeke Tyler's fault.

The past two days had been free of major incidents at least. Zeke figured he could live with the status quo that he had negotiated – except that he now had to become used to the feeling that Casey was lobbing hostile glares at him every time his back was turned. And then there were the bristly moments when Casey would go rigid and be unable to contain some little jibe or comment. And the silences, too.

Perhaps all this wouldn't have bothered Zeke quite so much if it weren't that the rest of the time Casey was trying to hug or snuggle or otherwise cling to him, apparently without any notion of when it was convenient for Zeke. In fact, it seemed that the more likely it was to make Zeke uneasy, the more likely it would happen. Like the other night when Sasha had cooked for Casey and his parents at Zeke's apartment. Casey had glommed onto Zeke the moment he came in the door, and later wanted to hold Zeke's hand under the dinner table. Zeke had to shake him off so they could eat their meal and then had to stomach an angry stare even as he tried to consume grilled salmon and lobster mashed potatoes.

The Mustang ambled into the Starbuck's parking lot – for the last time. He opened his door and put one foot out on the pavement while asking, "Who wants what? Case, just coffee with milk? Sasha?"

"I'll get it," Sasha offered.

"Nah, I'll go." Zeke was not going to give anyone the impression that he was scuttling out of town, avoiding the light like a cockroach.

"In that case," Sasha said, yielding, "I'll have a non-fat grande decaf cappucino and a low-fat muffin."

"I mighta guessed," was Zeke's reply.

He enjoyed the early morning freshness as he strolled across the lot, thinking that it was a perfect day for traveling – neither too bright nor too hot. He knew not to expect the temperature to remain as moderate as they proceeded west across prairie and desert. The pleasant conditions should be enjoyed while they lasted.

Inside the coffee shop he was surprised to find Delilah. She was not a customer; she was waiting for him, dressed for work and standing near the counter, just standing and not drinking coffee, watching the door with a clear purpose.

"Forget something, Zeke?" she suggested when he got close enough.

Aw, shit... There was no point attempting excuses so he said immediately, "I'm sorry, I should have called... how did you...?"

"I knew you were leaving bright and early today, and I figured this would be your first stop."

They could easily have missed each other, though. Zeke found that he would have regretted that. "So – you're here to see us off?"

"Where's Casey? In the car?"

"Where else?" Zeke approached the counter. The girl behind it took his order, wide-eyed.

"I'll need to say good-bye to him," Delilah asserted.

"Of course." Zeke paid for the coffee.

Now there were a few minutes to wait, thanks to Sasha. Delilah said, "I haven't said... thank you... about the house."

"Don't mention it."

"It's a house, I have to mention it," Delilah snapped. "Anyway... I'm really grateful. I just had to say that."

Zeke replied easily, "It's okay, Del."

"And I'm glad we're not married."

Zeke grinned. "Right back ‘atcha."

"What were we thinking?"

Well, he was leaving town... "I don't know about you, but I was thinking about someone whose company I liked... someone who can be a lot of fun."

Delilah showed her model-perfect teeth. "Surprised you, didn't I? You know, Casey told me once that he thinks I'm pretty cool... well, he said when I'm not being a bitch."

"It was the bitch that I liked," Zeke admitted.

Her smile widened. "And I always enjoyed the prick in you."

"Grande non-fat decaf cappucino!" called the barista.

Zeke offered Delilah a kiss – a quick, goodbye peck – and she accepted it with aplomb.

"But," Delilah added softly after their lips parted, "if you're a prick to Casey, this bitch will kill you."

"Wowza," Sasha remarked. "Who's that?"

Casey peered out at the person approaching the car alongside Zeke. "Delilah."

"Delilah, your ex?"

"Zeke's ex," Casey corrected. He began the process of extracting himself from the back seat of the car, pushing his backpack out of the way. Sasha got out first and offered Casey a hand to pull him out.

Zeke handed Casey his coffee with the statement, "Guess who I found. Seems like we forgot to make a certain phone call."

"Oh... sorry," Casey apologized.

"It's okay, I just had to intercept you at the crack of dawn is all..." Her voice trailed away. She noticed Sasha. "Hello," she said, tentative.

Zeke introduced them perfunctorily: "Sasha, Delilah... Delilah, Sasha." He took Sasha's arm and added, none too subtly, "Let's go over here for a minute."

Casey had a great fear of Delilah becoming teary. It was like that with the ones who rarely cried; Delilah would be appalled by herself and that would require him to get distressed on her behalf. He prayed that it wouldn't happen this time; it had already been a long enough morning with his parents and they hadn't gotten past the city limits yet.

"So," Delilah said. "You're out of here."

"Yeah."

"I hope you'll visit."

"Okay," he said, having no idea if it would happen or not.

"You look a lot better," she observed unexpectedly. "Since – the hospital."

His last memory of her was her birthday party. He struggled to unearth an image that she could be referring to and came up with nothing. "The... the hospital?"

"You don't remember?"

"Sorry," was all he could offer.

Delilah was almost undone. She looked at the sky and the ground, anywhere but at Casey, while her throat worked convulsively. Casey wanted to take her hand but knew from experience that she wouldn't like that. When they dated she had been stringently opposed to handholding in public although the odd kiss on the lips was allowed. "It's not like we need to advertise," had been the motto.

"‘s okay," she said now, recovering equanimity. "You were rather... out of it."

Without warning Delilah was in motion, gliding towards him. He didn't know what this was... until she had clasped him a concise hug. It was over almost the second he had it figured out. "You're going to be splendid in Seattle," she said, flashing her most appealing smile. "You and Zeke will be great together, just... don't let him get away with crap, okay?"

"Right," he said.

"Say hi to Stan for me," she added slyly. "And Stokely."

"Okay, enough!" Zeke called to them. "I want to get out of here some time today."

"I'm done!" returned Delilah. Then she gave Casey an agitated little grin. "You won't forget me?"

"I wouldn't do that," he replied sincerely.

With a proper smile now, Delilah leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. Her lips were as soft as he remembered. She pulled back and said loudly, "Bye, Zeke!" before heading off to her car.

They piled back into the Mustang and were soon heading north to Toledo. Yesterday Zeke had sat Sasha and Casey down and, with great seriousness, outlined their itinerary, which was basically a straight shot west on the I-90. He had looked eagerly to Casey and Sasha for their commentary on the route and was a bit disgruntled when neither or them had any strong opinions.

A sign proclaimed Now Leaving Herrington and Zeke chimed, "Seven forty-seven. Not bad."

"Are you one of those road-trip Nazis?" Sasha demanded of Zeke. "Just tell me now."

"I like to get an early start is all."

"Hmm, what was my first clue? Was it maybe the fact that you set not one but two alarm clocks for five thirty in the friggin' morning?"

"I've noticed that some people have trouble waking up."

"You can't mean me. I'm a light sleeper –"

Casey tuned them out.

Despite the general tension in the car, Zeke felt more renewed than he had for a long time. At last Herrington – and maybe, just maybe the spectre of aliens -- would be behind him. Sure, everything was not exactly wonderful in his life, but at least he had set something in motion that he felt confident would bear positive results. He had called Stokes the night before to confirm their departure; they were expected in Seattle in five days, barring any disasters. Watching those miles fall away, hearing the noise of engine and wind as the centre line blurred past, Zeke contemplated the immediate future and found it promising.

He'd had a brand new car stereo installed in the Mustang. He wasn't afraid of the silence – nope, not him. There was just nothing like heading down the road with the tunes blaring. Right now, however, it was still early for tunes and he was hungry. Spotting a McDonald's ahead, he queried of his fellow travellers, "I'm going to grab a McMuffin. Anyone else want anything?"

"Ugh," Sasha responded. "You've got to be kidding."

Zeke ignored that; he would save the next philosophical debate over food for later in the day. "Casey?" Nothing from the back seat. "Case?"

"Hmm."

Zeke glanced in his mirror. Eyes that were just a trifle too wide stared glassily at him. "You want anything from Mickey Dee's?"

"No... thanks."

Ten minutes later with a sandwich and a hash brown in his gut, Zeke was ready for the long haul. "Okay... " he stated briskly. "Shall we have some music? We can take turns choosing them."

"Sounds good," Sasha said readily. "But I have one stipulation. When it's another person's turn there's absolutely no comments or complaints about the selection."

"Okay. But driver gets first pick."

Sasha shot a sideways look at him. "I'm not so sure about that. Casey?"

"Doesn't matter," came the reply.

Wincing, Sasha agreed, "All right, driver's pick. Be gentle, Zeke."

Despite the rule that music selection was to be absolute, Zeke made a point of choosing Van Morrison on the assumption that it would be inoffensive, but Sasha's mouth immediately got tight. "What?" Zeke snapped.

Sasha's grimace began to mutate into a smirk. "All set for college life, are you?"

"Remember the rule? No commentary?"

"Okay, okay."

"I like Van Morrison," Zeke said hotly. "I've always liked Van Morrison. I didn't think there was anyone who didn't like Van Morrison."

"Well, guess again."

"I suppose you only listen to Barbra Streisand and Savage Garden."

"As a matter of fact, my favourite type of music is jazz, but I also like most contemporary pop music."

The banter broke off for a moment, as both Sasha and Zeke were expecting to hear something from Casey. They got the usual silence. Sasha twisted about in his seat to address Casey. Zeke didn't look; he imagined Casey would be in the same taut pose as before, staring out the window.

"That doesn't look very comfortable," Sasha said to the back seat. "Why don't you lean on the pillow, kitten?"

There were sounds of activity in the back. If Sasha had been talking to Zeke he never would have gotten away with that mouthful of saccharine. But Sasha was not talking to Zeke, who had noticed that Casey accepted portions of mother hen from Sasha that were not palatable from anyone else. In fact, these days even the mildest inquiry from Zeke seemed to irritate Casey.

The morning zipped by; around noon they pulled over at a gas station with attached restaurant, at an exit just the other side of the Ohio-Indiana border. It was a fairly busy place; the parking lot was filled with transport trucks. This was a sign that the food was good and Zeke would have loved to check it out but Casey's mom had packed them a lunch on the theory that they would want to avoid at least one restaurant meal. They stood right next to the car and ate meatloaf sandwiches, carrot sticks and chocolate brownies. Zeke saw Casey gazing wistfully towards the restaurant and recalled that Casey had consumed a venti sized coffee about four hours ago.

"Gotta take a piss," Zeke announced. "Er... you coming, Case?"

He walked in that direction, not looking behind. He heard Casey scuffling up behind him, staying close to Zeke as they went in.

"Bathroom?" Zeke asked the surly woman standing at the glass counter at the front of the restaurant. Under the counter was a selection of pastries, sandwiches, beverages and fruit. The pastries looked rather tempting.

"Bathroom is for customers," she snapped, her eyes raking them. She paused on Casey, giving him a hard twice-over. Zeke was keenly aware that Casey didn't exactly blend into a crowd, especially as he was almost on Zeke's back.

"Then I'll take a toasted Danish and, um... a coffee, to go," Zeke returned smoothly.

The woman narrowed her eyes. "That way." She pointed to one end of the restaurant, which was rather full of people. Many of the customers were males who manifested the wardrobe and physique of those who drove for a living.

Zeke half-turned, just to make sure Casey was still with him. Casey's face was communicating sheer panic; Zeke apprehended suddenly that Casey was going to grab his hand and maybe the rest of him too. He couldn't handle that in this place, at this time, so he seized Casey's arm and hauled him down the passage between the rows of booths, staring grimly at the sign marked, "Men."

There was a long mirror above the two urinals. As he did his business, Zeke assessed Casey in the mirror as objectively as he could manage. It really was time for a haircut. And how could someone sleep so much and still look so tired? With the overgrown hair and a visage that was constantly just at the point of surrendering its fragile hold on calm, Casey looked like someone you'd avoid on the bus – yet to Zeke's eyes he was as strange and unearthly beautiful as ever, and Zeke feared the reactions of the general public to this being that he himself worshipped.

Now they had to fetch the Danish and coffee that Zeke had promised to purchase. It turned out that the woman had just put the Danish in the toaster, which would have been okay except that while they were standing there in the narrow corridor between the counter and the exit, a large table had finished their meal; six guys got up and stood behind Zeke and Casey at the cash register, talking loudly. It made for a very crowded space; Casey had to be feeling trapped. Zeke knew it for a fact when Casey started to wheeze a little, hanging onto the glass counter with a hand.

"Excuse me," Zeke called out to the surly woman. "Never mind the Danish, I'll just pay for it and go, okay?"

This caused a minor outburst. "I'll take his Danish, Renie!" exclaimed the man behind Zeke. "They make them real good here," agreed another, probably right in Casey's ear. That man shifted his weight and moved as someone pushed through the clutter in that narrow space. He jostled Casey, forcing him up against the counter for just a second.

"Sorry," he apologized, off-hand.

Casey started to suck air like his lungs were failing. Zeke slapped some money down on the counter and took hold of Casey, fearing he would go catatonic at any moment. He steered Casey through the men while Casey hyperventilated. "He's claustrophobic," Zeke offered to the assembled spectators.

Then he watched helplessly as Casey threw up his mother's lunch in the ditch next to the car.

Zeke was having something of an attack himself. A little less than five hours and already he had screwed up. Score one for the parents... It was too soon to be out here. But this would have happened, now or a month from now, wouldn't it? It would happen in Herrington, it would happen no matter who Casey was with. It was cruel to think it, but Zeke understood that this would keep happening to Casey until he was ready for it to stop.

"All done?" Sasha was asking. He was bowed over beside Casey, rubbing his back.

Casey nodded, still labouring for breath. He peered unhappily at Zeke. "I'm s- so-sorry," he gasped.

"Not your fault."

"Just... gonna... have to... pee on the side... side of the road."

Zeke gaped at Casey, who at first didn't seem to realize he'd said anything funny. Then, seeing Zeke's face split into a rueful grin, he smiled. He drew a jagged breath and added wistfully, "I need gum."

Until this moment there had been something missing in Zeke's catalogue of revelations. I fucking love him went his head, quite taken aback. How had he missed that one? Somehow he had figured out the oddball friendship, the unrequited lust and the obsession, and totally missed the bottom line.

Still grinning like an idiot, he said to Casey, "I'll get you some gum... be right back."

Casey fell asleep in the back of the car shortly after they got back on the road. Zeke started to feel a little drowsy himself mid-way through the afternoon; mile after mile of corn and soy was having a soporific effect. The only variation was in the sky, where the original bright grey was becoming heavy and more concentrated. Zeke asked Sasha to take over the driving.

They didn't talk much while Casey was sleeping and that was just fine with Zeke. He sat quietly watching the clouds thicken and lower, getting darker and darker until they were almost blue, and finally with a snake of lightning and a tremendous crack, they let go of their moisture. Within moments the downpour was so heavy that it was difficult to see the road.

"Are you okay to keep going?" Zeke asked Sasha.

"Of course!" Sasha snarked. "Geez."

Whereupon then the rain got even more violent, and Zeke was about to say something again –

"I'm pulling over," Sasha conceded. "Just ‘til it eases up."

They settled onto the shoulder of the highway. Some other cars on the Interstate had done the same; others continued obstinately on their way. Sasha left the engine running in order to keep the fan blowing, despite which the windows became entirely fogged over for a while. Zeke listened to the clatter of rain on the roof and windshield and thought, this is one of those things you will remember.

He heard a groan behind him. Casey, getting upright.

"Hello, sleeping beauty," Sasha welcomed him.

"How long have we –?"

"We just pulled over. How are you feeling?"

"...'mm...slept funny... neck hurts."

"Poor kitten," Sasha crooned. "A hot shower should fix that up."

"You're driving," Casey noticed.

"Zeke needed a break."

"Oh."

"It just occurs to me... do you drive, kitten? I guess it was never really that important in the big city so I never thought about it."

"No."

"No one ever taught you?"

"Um... no."

"Then we're going to have to teach you one of these days, kitten."

No one said anything to that. Zeke was ashamed to realize that he was not willing to let Casey behind the wheel, at least for the time being.

"Where are we?" Casey asked.

The downpour was ending just as suddenly as it began; Zeke could see the sun trying to break through cloud up ahead. "About fifty miles from Gary," he answered. "That'll be a good place to stop for the night. We don't want to get too close to Chicago, that'll just waste time."

Gary was a small city but big enough to provide all the necessary amenities. They found a convenient stretch of highway on the outside of the city where hotel chains and fast food joints were accessibly lined up. Sasha grumbled something about "wearing this trip on his waistline" as he surveyed their options. The choice of hotel was a simple matter of finding the Comfort Inn. Zeke and Sasha went in, leaving the Casey with the car which was parked in the circular drive in front of the building.

The person behind the desk was a teenaged girl wearing excessive quantities of makeup and hairspray. "Hi," she greeted them disinterestedly. "Can I help you?"

"We'd like –" Zeke started, and then realized they'd had no discussion about the sleeping configuration. "Do you have double rooms?"

"‘Course," said the girl.

"We might as well share," Sasha suggested casually, just as Zeke was hoping. "God, why am I having flashbacks to Boy Scout days?"

"Okay, we'll take one double room," Zeke said, fishing out his credit card.

While the girl was dithering with the computer, Zeke and Sasha put their heads together and quietly conspired that Casey should sleep with Sasha. They knew that Casey would want to sleep with Zeke, and even though nothing could possibly happen with Sasha in the room, Zeke would have a rough time with Casey in his bed.

"I can pay for tomorrow night," Sasha was saying for about the third time.

"But I told you, it's an expense I would be incurring anyway, so I really don't mind," Zeke said, also for the third time.

Travelling with Sasha and Zeke essentially meant listening to Sasha and Zeke argue. Casey understood that it was sport to them, but it tormented his nerves all the same. He was entirely conscious that they were his guardians, in practice if not in fact, and listening to them bicker was somewhat disquieting. Even worse, it put him in mind of two war buddies, trusting each other completely while they pulled through something terrible. Casey was the ordeal they were having to endure; he had no part in that companionable chatter.

"Then let me help with the gas," Sasha tried.

"The same goes for the gas," Zeke said dismissively, flipping open the menu for Carrie's Family Restaurant.

What Sasha didn't realize was that Zeke was accustomed to paying the way for other people. People like Casey... The night before they left Herrington, Casey's father had taken him aside and informed him that he and Zeke had worked through how they would divide up "the costs". Zeke would take care of the trip to Seattle. When they found a place to live, Casey's dad would pay his portion of the rent and Zeke would cover the other expenses. If and when Casey wanted to return to school, he and his dad would discuss it. This had all been negotiated without consulting Casey – and why should they consult Casey? He had nothing to contribute, after all. His part in this was to be sick.

Sasha was looking outraged. Apparently, this was the first time he had experienced the highhanded side of his new best friend. Casey was well acquainted with it. It had been out in strength this evening already. There was the way Zeke had arranged everything so that he and Casey could not at any point be alone together. Then when they were in their motel room before supper, Zeke made a point of reminding Casey to take his pill.

He knew Zeke only wanted to help him – and he needed a lot of help, didn't he? He had forgotten about the pill and they had already established that he couldn't even go to the bathroom by himself. If only he could give Zeke something in return for everything... but that had been forbidden. Zeke's prescribed interest in Casey's body was to make sure that it was adequately fed and watered. And Casey knew perfectly well that if Zeke faltered for a second, Sasha would be there to bring him in line.

"Salisbury Steak...Chicken Fried Steak...Pork Steak," Sasha was muttering, reading the menu now. "All those good all-American classics."

"For fuck's sake," Zeke said in a tight voice. "You're the one who insisted we come here."

"It was the lesser of many evils," Sasha replied haughtily. "But they don't even – "

"They have salad," Casey blurted, and oh, shit, he had said that out loud and they were staring at him. He lowered his head. "You – " he stuttered. "You two – you've been –"

"Yes?" Sasha asked neutrally.

"... arguing all day."

With his head down he couldn't see their expressions.

"We haven't been arguing," Zeke protested, sounding puzzled.

"I would call it light-hearted repartee," Sasha declared. "I wasn't mad at Zeke... until about a minute ago, that is."

Casey wished he could be a mute, that his vocal cords could actually break or dissolve. Then no one would care if he never spoke.

"I don't know what to say," Sasha admitted. "I had no idea. I'll try to control how much Zeke annoys me."

Zeke let out a snort. "Maybe you can control your urge to nag," he suggested.

"Okay, then you can control your overwhelming urge to be in control," Sasha retorted, then batted his eyes at Casey with a playful expression. "Sorry."

Casey played along, giving up a wan smile.

"I apologize for being difficult about where we eat." Sasha lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "I'm a food snob. But I'll just shut up now and have my salad."

In the end, the salad was of acceptable quality. After they ate, they walked back to the motel; Zeke had insisted they walk the two blocks to the restaurant because it would be Good For Casey. It was now quite late, almost nine o'clock, and there was nothing to do with what was left of the day but hang around in the room. Casey found that he wasn't ready for sleep yet, which was strange. Most days he was barely able to hold his eyes open long before night fell.

He was used to being scared. He had been scared for the better part of the past several years, but this constant jangling sensation along his nerves like he was in some danger that was lurking just outside his peripheral vision – that was a new symptom. It had been with him frequently since he and Zeke came to their understanding. He didn't know what he worried would happen; he only knew everything was unfamiliar and he was at large in the world, completely dependent on Zeke.

Of course, Zeke would take care of him, there seemed little doubt about that. If it had to do with his general health, Zeke was all for it. Meanwhile Zeke refused to touch him with anything resembling sexual interest, and that was supposedly Good For Casey too. Just when Zeke had seemed ready to step up and take what Casey genuinely wanted him to have, he suddenly backed down. So it was Good For Casey for Zeke to control every aspect of his life but to deny him the only thing that had the potential to make him feel good. Casey wished he had the self-respect to stop seeking those little bits of physical contact that Zeke allowed him – but he had no such thing as self-respect. He dreaded the moment that Zeke withdrew further and refused even to touch him.

"Let's see what's on the tube," Zeke said. He bounded onto the bed he had chosen and began flipping through the on-screen guide. "Yell if you see anything you want to watch."

Casey watched Zeke, not the screen.

"Ahem?"

He blinked. "What?"

"I said, do you mind if I watch the news?" Zeke asked.

"No."

Zeke was getting comfortable with the pillows on the bed. He caught sight of Casey standing there like a junkie eying his fix, and patted the bed beside him. Casey wormed his way in and Zeke squirmed and shifted and jostled until they found just the right position, with Casey's cheek resting in a conveniently shaped hollow in Zeke's chest area.

It was not conducive to watching the TV but Casey didn't mind. He didn't like the news much; he avoided looking at newspaper headlines for fear of seeing the signs that they were back. Maybe it wouldn't be Aliens Attack Oklahoma. It would start with Citizens of Small Town Hospitalize Loner and then Democratic California Senator Urges Greater Social Control. Casey had gotten into the habit, a while back, of glancing quickly at newspapers as he walked by, just to check that the world wasn't ending. Of course, the world had ended anyway, but he was still watching, monitoring... Maybe for nothing. Maybe he was waiting for a recurrence of something that had never happened because false memories were false memories and that was that –

Sasha made a sound not dissimilar to an airplane engine.

Casey was temporarily dislodged as Zeke stiffened and looked over at the other bed. "Wow," he marvelled. "I didn't think he could make a noise like that."

"He's always snored," Casey murmured.

"Oh?" Zeke said, sounding very interested.

Casey reviewed what he had said. He sat up hurriedly, searching Zeke's face for disaster. Zeke seemed amused but that was no guideline. Zeke was generally at his calmest when he was most upset and Casey hadn't exactly behaved in ways that would encourage his full trust.

"Casey?" Zeke looked a bit disappointed. "What are you thinking now?"

"That... me... and Sasha..."

"I was just teasing, Casey. I don't subscribe to the theory that all gay men are constantly screwing each other at the drop of a hat. You know..." Zeke smoothed his voice and poured on a healthy dollop of charm. "Teasing?"

"Oh," Casey said with a raw throat.

"It was stupid of me." Zeke was looking pained now. "I should have thought."

"We never –"

"I know, Case. If it wasn't so blatantly, perfectly obvious that you two are just friends, I never would have tried to crack a joke."

Casey nodded uneasily. "He used to stay with me... at Roy's... a lot," he ventured.

"Did Roy ever get jealous?"

"No..." But there had been that time when Roy had come in and found them asleep together in the big bed. He had seemed amused more than anything, and when Sasha was gone Roy had gotten in the bed with Casey, slid cold hands up under Casey's shirt, murmured so nice of Sasha to keep you warm for me.

Sasha's snore broke off. "...what?" he asked sleepily.

"Nothing," Zeke said loudly. "Go to sleep."

"Ugh...‘don wanna sleep in my clothes..."

Sasha dragged himself up and disappeared into the bathroom for several minutes. He re-appeared in t-shirt and boxers, scrubbed, buffed and polished. As he was passing by the bed Zeke and Casey were using he stopped. Standing between them and the TV, he said, "Kitten, do you want to sleep with me?"

This conversation had been planned all along, of course. Zeke and Sasha had their secret pacts, their silent understandings....It was far too dangerous for Casey and Zeke to sleep together in the same bed ...Another rule as decreed by Zeke... enforced by Sasha.

"Fine," Casey said and moved immediately from Zeke's vicinity.

"You don't have to go now," Zeke said.

"Yes, I do have to go now," Casey returned coldly.

"Case..."

There was this thing that kept happening to him. It had happened first in Spadoni's office and now it was happening quite often when Zeke said something or did something. It was such a physical experience, like a needle was stuck in his vein. It would flood his body with a fearless power, so he was taking two drugs in reality, but unlike the Paxil, this second, illicit drug worked instantaneously. It seemed to burn anxiety for fuel so for those few minutes when it was flooding his body words would occur to him in whole sentences and those sentences would come out of him uncensored.

"I wouldn't want you to be uncomfortable," Casey said to Zeke's unhappy face.

"Casey, it's not that I wouldn't like –"

"No, you can't lose control. I get it. We're just animals, we can't help ourselves. I know I certainly can't help myself. We couldn't have you fucking me with Sasha right here in the room, could we? That would be terribly embarrassing."

Zeke was stupified. Casey saw him glance quickly over at Sasha, asking for help, probably.

"Don't think that Sasha's shocked," Casey went on. "And he is here to help... I thought you two already discussed this, you do tell each other everything. In fact, maybe the two of you should sleep together and I'll sleep by myself."

"Casey!" gasped Sasha.

It was the sight of Sasha's appalled face that flattened him. That was the thing about this drug; the euphoria was intense but so very brief.

He darted into the bathroom. "Don't lock the door, Casey!" Zeke belted out behind him as he slammed it shut.

Casey tore off his clothes, desperate to get into the shower where his sobs could be muffled. Even then they sounded terribly loud to him, so he crammed his hands in his mouth and stood under the hot soothing water wishing he had the nerve to do something really damaging like beating his head on the wall until blood ran down the tiles... evocative image, blood running down the tiles... like Psycho... Janet Leigh and Anthony Perkins... Anthony Perkins as someone who took a direct approach to destroying his only friend... never really overcame the typecasting so the poor guy was forced to keep playing that madman over and over.

Even with unlimited hot water he did eventually start to feel cold. He took his time drying off and put back on the same clothes as before. He didn't want to open the bathroom door, but he pretty much had no choice. Eventually they would come and remove him. He put a foot into the room, looking around.

"Zeke went for ‘a breath of fresh air'," Sasha supplied right away. "And in his case that would be defined as ‘another dose of carcinogens'."

Miraculously, Sasha was not looking at Casey like he hated him; Sasha was lying in bed wearing what appeared to be two-piece cotton pajamas, holding a book on his lap. With the last comment, Sasha closed the book and smiled. "C'mere," he said and held open the covers so Casey could hurry to get under them. He had just climbed in when Sasha asked, "You don't want to change into your ‘jams?"

So Casey moved reluctantly, stripping down and quickly changing to a fresh pair of boxers and a clean t-shirt. Then he crawled back under Sasha's covers and lay there stiffly for a moment, until Sasha opened his arms and welcomed him. Curled up with Sasha, he closed his eyes and exhaled a shuddery breath.

Sasha was touching his hair idly, twirling the ends. "You really need to do something about this hair, kitten. The waitress at the restaurant kept looking at you like you were an escapee from the zoo."

"I should be locked up," Casey choked.

"Nope, that's too easy," Sasha said quietly. "You don't get to avoid us that way. We expect you to be out here with us, even when you're bitchy."

"Sorry –"

"Don't tell me. Tell Zeke. Tomorrow morning, though, not now. Everyone's too tired to be at their best."

It was kind of Sasha to lump them all together and not remark that it was Casey who was a quivering wreck at the end of every day. Casey dozed off to the sensation of Sasha's rhythmic stroking against his tight skin.

Casey bolted up, shivering, heart racing. He was having a full out panic attack. For whole minutes he wheezed and panted, trying to remember this place, trying to believe he wasn't dying. The familiar sound of snoring very close to his ear brought him some sense of where and when. He looked over at the other bed, at Zeke, who happened to be lying facing him, deep in sleep.

Staring at Zeke from ten feet away didn't make anything better. He started to feel quite certain that he would die after all, and it just seemed right to get out of Sasha's bed and slide into Zeke's. It felt right to move as close as he dared, close enough to detect the perfume of Zeke – a heady musk of male and shower and cigarettes. And beer – that must have happened after Casey fell asleep. He positioned himself parallel to Zeke with half a handspan between them. Within a few minutes his breathing eased.

He fell into a light sleep but woke when Zeke rolled over and got so close to Casey that they were skin to skin, and Casey had a close-up view of Zeke's mouth, murmuring things that were not quite words. Zeke's body was like a furnace. He had a very full erection that was sending greetings to Casey's hip.

Just for a few moments Casey thought his penis might respond in kind, but... nothing. His body was broken.

Zeke moved slightly, unconsciously discovering that there was a source of friction nearby; he worked his hard cock against Casey's leg. Casey had a dilemma, briefly. After a second or two of enjoying the satisfaction that rose inside him at the pressure of Zeke against his thigh, he realized that there was no way this could happen. Zeke would not stay asleep, he would not think it was a dream, and when he realized what Casey had done, he would be furious. He might not forgive Casey.

"Mmm... Casey?"

Suddenly Zeke reared up halfway, his eyes wide.

"Casey?" he gulped. Zeke was completely upright now, pushed back against the headboard. Casey sat up as well, keeping a good sized space between them. "How long have you been here?" Zeke pulled up his knees defensively, trying to hide his arousal even though he had to know that Casey had been intimately aware of it.

"Not long –" Casey started to say, to explain.

"How long have you been here?"

Zeke would not settle for inaccurate answers when he was as embarrassed and shaken as he was now. "I'm – not sure." Casey thought about the light in the room, where it had been and where it was now. "H-half an hour... I think."

"Casey," Zeke said, with barely contained fury. "Did we not have an understanding about this?"

"I didn't...didn't mean... I just... I wanted to lie down with you."

Zeke didn't appear to believe this.

Behind him, Casey could see that Sasha had been moving restlessly for the last part of this exchange. Now he seemed awake enough to discover that someone was missing and he too sat upright in a hurry, crying Casey's name.

"He's accounted for," Zeke replied, on a slow simmer.

Sasha looked befuddled. "When did you get over there?"

"He says half an hour ago," Zeke replied tightly. "Sasha... I need to talk to Casey alone... if you don't mind."

"All right." Still puzzling, Sasha took note of the time. "Six o'clock... you'll be wanting to get in the car any second now... I'll shower." Sasha stumbled past them and shut the bathroom door firmly.

Zeke seemed to have recovered from the blow to his dignity and his unwanted arousal too. He was on his feet, pacing as he spoke. "I can't believe you just did what you did." Zeke took a position at the foot of the bed, looming over Casey. "We talked about this – and anyway I would have thought you'd have a little respect for my privacy."

There was nowhere to go. Whatever Zeke said, Casey would have to hear it.

"Casey. You with me now?"

He nodded.

"Don't you have anything to say?"

If he opened his mouth he would wail. He shook his head, concentrating on a particular flower on the patterned bedspread.

"You must have something to say," Zeke insisted. "You had plenty to say last night."

"I just – wanted – to – to –"

"You wanted to lie down."

"Yes," he whispered. The flower was orange with pink on the edges and in the centre –

"Well, you won't do it again. Can you do that much?"

– in the centre it was a cluster of tiny purple and black dots.

"Casey?"

He started, looked up, and understood that he had lost at least as long as it took Zeke to get dressed. Zeke was standing in front of him and he had his hands on Casey's shoulders. He didn't look like he was having one of his more patient moments.

"You did that on purpose, Case."

"No," he croaked.

"Yes, you did. It's safe for now, okay? I've stopped yelling." Zeke turned away from him and began stuffing things into his suitcase, zipping it up assertively. "I wish you wouldn't do that. It's not fair."

"I'll try," Casey muttered.

Zeke didn't answer. He said with his back to Casey, "Don't forget your pill."

His other, bitter-tasting drug was certainly working faster, if not better. It welled up now at Zeke's not-quite-tolerance, his assuming the worst and that he could regulate and control everything. It welled up at the International House of Pancakes when Casey wanted the bathroom and Zeke offered to go with him. He rejected the offer with a glare and a head shake. Then when he returned to his seat he discovered that Zeke had ordered breakfast for him. He didn't dare say anything since Zeke had chosen to put aside Casey's abhorrent behaviour of last night and this morning. He sat in that booth and obediently choked down exactly fifty-one per cent of what was on his plate.

When they were back in the car and flying across Illinois, Casey put Linkin Park in his discman to drown out the sound of Sasha's Natalie Cole. He turned the volume up loud enough to guarantee that if Zeke and Sasha said anything about him he wouldn't hear it.

It was a very long day of driving through field after monotonous field. Casey listened to Linkin Park and then the Deftones and after that he moved on to Disturbed. Later he fell asleep again listening to Sasha and Zeke quibble over sightseeing detours. Sasha had suddenly come to realize that they would be driving very close to the Badlands of South Dakota and he was lobbying for a brief deviation from The Route in order to see them. Zeke, being Zeke, felt that he was the principal navigator as well as the driver by a priori right. He was determined to maintain a straight line all the way to Seattle, with no unscheduled or irrelevant stops.

They arrived in Sioux Falls at 8:00 that night, having paused for supper earlier in some town, it was impossible to care which. When the time came to check into the next motel, it didn't need to be discussed. They would share a double room again and Casey would keep to Sasha's bed.

This time Casey woke near dawn, in the semi-darkness. Sasha was lying apart from him, on his back, with one hand on Casey's arm. Zeke was a solid lump in the other bed, his back to them. Both men were sound asleep. At first Casey's heart was making such a racket he couldn't believe it didn't wake them up. It gradually came back to something like normalcy, but was still thrumming as he lay there for a while hoping to fall asleep again. It wasn't going to happen.

Carefully, he extricated himself, watching for a sign that Sasha's sleep was being disturbed, and got out of bed. He crept to the door. Before opening it he pushed aside the curtain in the window immediately to the right of the door and satisfied himself that there were no people around. It was early morning at an exit just outside Sioux Falls; trucks and cars went by fairly regularly on the highway but few stopped, and it was too early for most people to be up and about. It was safe enough.

The small, grassy median in the centre of the parking area suggested a children's play area with the placement of a Wal-Mart swing-set. Casey walked out to it and sat down on one of the plastic swings, letting his own momentum carry him forward into a gentle to-and-fro. Gradually the sense of imminent peril faded to a dull apprehension. His eyelids drooped a bit as he swung back and forth, hypnotized by the green blur under his feet and the frequent whoosh of vehicles passing on the highway.

"Casey!"

Zeke was sounding upset again. Casey twisted in the swing and saw Zeke charging at him from their room, Sasha standing behind him in the open door. Zeke was wearing his jeans and that was all; Sasha was still in his pajamas.

"Casey – what the fuck are you doing?"

The tone was that of an outraged parent. Casey put his feet down and dodged Zeke's hand that was grabbing for him. "Nothing," he muttered.

"Nothing–?"

"I couldn't sleep."

"You couldn't figure out how to amuse yourself without freaking us out?"

"How about you just tie me down on the bed?" Casey proposed sweetly.

Sasha was close behind Zeke now, having thrown on a shirt and pants although both were unbuttoned. "Casey," he puffed. "If I weren't so relieved that you're alive, I think I'd have to kill you." He was shaking, nearly crying with anger. "Do you have any idea what I – what we thought? Waking up and finding you gone?"

"Sasha..." Zeke murmured.

"Don't you ever – ever – you don't leave the room, or the car, or whatever, without telling one of us, do you understand? I don't care if you don't like it."

Tears sizzled in Casey's eyes. Sasha had never talked to him like this, never. But it was what he deserved, he supposed. Do nothing for yourself for too long and people would come to believe you were capable of nothing.

"Sasha, that's enough," Zeke said quietly, looking at Casey with some slight sympathy. "Come on... let's go get packed up. I'm hungry."

Zeke had never expected to see a failure of that good-natured ease that Sasha projected at the entire world, but then Zeke had never seen Sasha as terrified as he was when they woke up and realized Casey wasn't in the room. Neither of them dared speak the specific fear that had taken them instantly. They had seen nothing to suggest that a suicide attempt was even a possibility, but they also knew that didn't mean a damn thing. Zeke had paid particular attention to that part of the book and knew that apparent improvement could just as easily be a warning sign. And after yesterday, Zeke wondered if Casey was improving at all.

No. All that self-centred, sullen emotion had to be an improvement, because if it weren't, Zeke would have to give in to temptation at some point and put Casey out on the side of the road.

Zeke knew he had been harsh with Casey yesterday morning. At the time, he couldn't believe that Casey had embarrassed him that way, wriggling right inside Zeke's dreams and rubbing up against him without his consent. Since then he had decided it had to have been unintended, because he couldn't accept anything else. No, Casey had merely invaded his personal space out of some desperate need for physical contact with him, and after Zeke tore a strip off him he had lapsed into a brooding silence for the rest of the day, obeying instructions with seething eyes. He had kept the volume on his CD player so high that Zeke almost could listen to it himself, and whatever it was, it was violent, full of visceral howling and screaming and apocalyptic guitars. At one point Zeke saw in the mirror that Casey was rocking slightly as he listened to it. Casey's lips were moving, almost but not quite soundless. He had done that without a break – except to change CDs – for hours, no doubt aware and quite pleased that he was making Zeke and Sasha uneasy. They were both tense to the point of exhaustion when Casey himself had finally hunkered down with his pillows and gone to sleep, mid-afternoon.

And now. They were both scared, but it was Sasha who rose up dictator-style and crushed Casey. Suddenly Zeke could appreciate what it must feel like to be chastised for doing simple things that anyone else would take as their prerogative. The tears Zeke saw in Casey's eyes at Sasha's words seemed to hold humiliation as much as anger. From Casey's perspective it must seem like he was imprisoned in his caretakers' web and his only option to show some independent spirit was to defy the system a little – or a lot.

So Zeke said to Sasha, "That's enough," bemused at being the person who was calling for a level head for once. He tried to think of a way to extend a hand to Casey without seeming paternalistic, and couldn't, so he settled for turning and going back to the hotel room, assuming that Casey would follow. Casey did, although Zeke half expected him to turn about and bolt, requiring them to chase him down and make the oppressive regime show itself for what it actually was.

They had fallen naturally into a pattern where Casey showered at night, Zeke and Sasha in the morning. This time Sasha told Zeke to go first, perhaps wanting to make some amends. Zeke luxuriated in the pressure of hot water on the back of his neck, massaging out some of his tension. He emerged from the bathroom dressed and shaved and noted Casey sitting stiffly on the edge of one of the beds while Sasha busied himself collecting up his things.

"Your turn," Zeke said to Sasha. "And then –"

"I know," Sasha sighed. "Breakfast."

"You make it sound like some sort of perverse habit."

"Eating bacon and eggs every day is perverse," Sasha tossed off, but without his usual enthusiasm. He walked deliberately over to Casey and kissed his forehead. Casey didn't react, didn't soften to the kiss or demonstrate any of his usual hug- seeking behaviours.

Sasha disappeared into the bathroom, and Zeke was alone with Casey, who remained exactly as he was, isolated. Zeke couldn't figure how things had gotten so shaky, so quickly.

He gave himself a sensible talking-to. A week ago Casey had been in a hospital, and in the opinion of some, probably should still be there. Recovery was not a straight dash up a long, steady incline, there would be bumps, valleys even. This felt more like a crevasse, though, and they still seemed to be falling.

Zeke set about tidying up the room, resisting the urge to ask Casey if he had taken his pill. He had a pretty fair idea that the only reason Casey was forgetting to take them was Zeke's insistence on reminding him. When Zeke was ready to go and Casey still had not moved, every instinct screamed to leave Casey alone but he couldn't do it. He was obligated to interfere. "Are you ready?"

Casey moved his head; it resembled a nod.

"You have things laying out, though," said Zeke, hating the way he sounded. "And you haven't even brushed your teeth."

Slowly Casey got up and gathered his few items and put them in his suitcase. Before Zeke could ask, he pulled out his bottle of Paxil and overtly dry-swallowed one, staring at Zeke. He didn't submit to the invitation to brush his teeth, or attempt to smooth down his hair which was standing straight up in places. Zeke started to collect their suitcases and take them to the car, intending to be long-suffering and silently tolerant but all at once a need rose and wailed free.

"What is it that you want to say?" he begged Casey. "Or is it something... something you want from me? Tell me and I'll try to do it."

Casey stared morosely at him and didn't answer. Everything was close to erupting, just so close now that Zeke felt sure that Casey was going to split right down the centre. He just wished he had some idea what would be borne forth, so he could prepare himself.

"Okay," he surrendered. "You don't want to tell me now. But I'll be waiting to hear it... whenever you're ready."

So it was on to breakfast then, and Sasha renewed his argument that they needed to see the Badlands. "We can't miss them," Sasha pressed. "Today will be our chance."

"This isn't a sightseeing tour," Zeke grumbled.

"It's one hour out of our way. Surely, O Philosophy Major, you can see the educational merit in taking the time to experience something spiritually and aesthetically meaningful."

"Not necessarily," Zeke hedged. "But – " He broke off, tired of debating, needing to demonstrate that he was less tyrannical than some people might think. "All right, okay. What the hell."

They both looked to Casey in the hope that he might have an opinion or comment to make. But no. He was hunched over his bagel, of which he had not bothered to take a single bite. Seeing the eyes on him, he picked the bagel up and tore its throat out, chewing joylessly.

It occurred to Zeke that they were in over their heads here.

Casey let the bagel fall. "Need the bathroom," he said gutterally, his lips bleached white. Zeke had to let him out, having deliberately wedged him in on one side of their booth, and watched Casey running away from them.

"Is it possible," Zeke said to Sasha, "that you overreacted this morning?"

"Not really, no. He scared the crap out of me."

"If we wanted to leave the room in the middle of the night and take a stroll along the highway, it wouldn't be an issue."

"It wasn't, though. It was him. Like it or not, he has to expect us to want to know where he is. I promised his mother I would watch him."

Zeke rubbed the space between his eyes. "And I think he's very aware that he's being watched, by both of us. He only slipped the noose for a few minutes and he didn't go far."

Sasha seemed on the verge of tears suddenly. "When I saw he was gone, Zeke, I thought... something terrible."

"I know."

"I really believed it...I thought... he's dead and...I envisioned myself trying to tell Allison..." Sasha shook himself. "But he wasn't. Isn't. God, what a mess."

Their server approached, a young man just on the verge of being done with adolescence. "Anything else?" he asked, scribbling on a notepad.

"No, thanks," Sasha said, checking the boy out while he wasn't looking. The boy laid their bills face down on the table, said, "thanks" and left.

Zeke cast a worried look in the direction Casey had gone. "Maybe I should..."

"No, leave him," Sasha decided. "He'll mutiny if we don't let him be to throw up."

"Shh... he's coming back now."

Casey slid in beside Sasha, looking miserable. "Are you done with that?" Zeke asked, indicating the bagel, and got a definitive yes. He didn't have the heart to push, seeing Casey lean his head against Sasha's arm and close his eyes, his throat working. With that, it seemed that Sasha's earlier outburst was forgiven. Zeke wished he could get that lucky.

"Right...we're off, then."

At nine o'clock it was already scorching hot. "This is going to be one sweaty day," Sasha observed as they set out across the flat terrain. Indeed, it didn't take long under that sun for the dark interior of the car to soak up enough heat to have them all pouring sweat. Having the windows down completely didn't help matters much either. And no one was talking.

"Are we anywhere near your old stomping grounds, Sasha?" Zeke asked, trying to chip at the silence. "Maybe we could stop in for a visit."

"Are you looking for a beating?"

Zeke laughed. "That's funny."

"No, we are not near ‘my old stomping grounds'," Sasha said crossly, "and even if we were, I wouldn't tell you." After a moment he eased up and said, "But it isn't much different from a lot of these small towns. You know, I do believe we should have some music."

"It's Casey's turn to choose," Zeke decreed. "Case?"

Casey waited long enough to let them know that he was answering unwillingly and then mumbled, "Don't care."

"You have music with you," Zeke recalled. "We all heard it yesterday so might as well pop it in there." He waved at the CD player.

"You won't like it."

"Why don't you let me decide that?"

"Roy didn't like it... Sasha doesn't either."

"Good thing it isn't Roy or Sasha's turn to pick the music."

Yielding, Casey passed a jewel case to Sasha.

"‘Disturbed'?" Zeke read, peering over at it. The cover images were unsettling.

Sasha groaned.

"Hey, remember your own rules," Zeke chided. "No whining."

"Okay, okay...sorry." Sasha slid the disc in.

It soon became abundantly obvious that "Disturbed" was exactly what the music was about. It was alternative metal and the singer had a punchy, rhythmic style when he wasn't screaming – interesting as far as Zeke was concerned, but it was really tough to follow the lyrics. He was making a point of listening, too, hoping for a glimpse into Casey's head. He made out enough to realize that every song really was about illness. The message was a mantra of rage at the fucked-up-ed-ness of everything.

Sasha was having a hard time with it. He was writhing in his seat and sighing dramatically, and wincing at every scream as drums and guitars filled the sweaty interior of the car. He made it through almost four songs. The fourth track contained something about "getting with the sickness" and this seemed to upset Sasha, but it was the conclusion of the song that did him in. The singer started to roar something to the effect of don't do it again, mommy, please don't hurt me mommy... how'd you like some of that, you stupid abusive sadistic fucking whore... and Sasha reached over and peremptorily pressed the stop button, cutting him off mid-psychosis.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, "but I can't, I just can't. I make no judgment on the artistic merit, I just can't hear that. I'm sorry, kitten."

He didn't sound very sorry, though.

"I was listening to that, you know," Zeke said. But he had to admit to himself that the screaming had been getting a little wearying.

Casey didn't say a word. He just stuck his hand out, asking for the CD back. Sasha obliged, saying, "Maybe there's something else–?"

Ignoring the query that was dangling, Casey took the CD, put it in his discman, slipped the headset on and resumed listening with the volume up as before, enclosed in his personal world of shrieks and wails of rage now muted to assuage Sasha and Zeke's sensibilities.

"Good work," Zeke muttered.

"Sorry," growled Sasha, folding his arms.

The glare off the road was hurting Zeke's eyes despite his sunglasses. He really would have liked to tell Sasha a thing or two. Now was not the time, though, even if Casey most likely wouldn't hear it. He tried to spot Casey in the mirror – no good, he had moved back into the corner. All there was of him was that muffled racket. The atmosphere in the car was buzzing with things not being said and Zeke felt quite certain that this was the moment that he was going to lose Casey. He had asked Casey that morning what he wanted; he thought he had sounded sincere when he asked, so why did it have no effect? The equation was simple, there was no reason why Casey shouldn't understand it: Zeke asks for the data he is lacking, Casey gives it to him once and for all, and then they finally get fucking happy.

He thought he heard Casey's voice. He tossed a look in the mirror. "Case? Did you say something?"

It was a soft moan. "...now...I'm feeling nothing..."

Zeke was nearly horrified – and then he understood that it was the music, Casey was doing that thing he had been doing yesterday, mouthing along with the band and this time a few words here and there were rising to audibility, just for a second, giving Zeke tantalizing glimpses of what was going on inside the sensory barrier.

"Feeding... inside of me..."

Zeke waited for more. It was hard to focus on the road.

"Do you have to go so fast?" Sasha asked. The breeze through the car was almost as loud as the music had been. A sign whipped past:...Exit 110... to Badlands...Loop Road.

"That's the turn we want," Sasha said.

"I know," replied Zeke tightly.

"Your mind won't let you say that you want me," Casey's voice floated, clear and distinct.

Something in Zeke's chest went thud...thud....thud. Of course it was the music again, but Casey was talking to Zeke it seemed, having moved into the centre where Zeke could see him. His eyes were hollows sucking in all the light behind Zeke. "I feel your hunger –"

Sasha started to say something.

"Shut up!" Zeke hissed, and listened ferociously.

He had no idea if it was the real tune, if Casey could even carry a tune or if he was completely tone deaf. Not that it mattered. Casey was just grinding out words, singsong without it being actual singing, his voice tremulous but purposeful. "Your kind is just the type that should use me, but your mind won't seem to let you have the opportunity to abuse me... Your mind won't even let you feel."

Sasha was breathing fast beside Zeke.

"Your mind won't let you say that you're wondering... hungering. Won't let you say that you're questioning, wavering, weakening....listening, heeding me now... Won't let you say that you want–" Casey faltered. He fell silent and moved back into the corner.

"Good god," Sasha breathed.

For the thirty-some minutes between there and the next stopping place, the only sound was the incessant crashing and crunching of Casey's music in the distance. Sasha tried to speak once and Zeke shook his head slightly, warning him off. Finally there was an Exxon sign ahead of them, alongside several other familiar franchise symbols. Zeke pulled in to the gas station, driving up to one of the pumps and said to Sasha, "Fill ‘er up... and we need water. Lots of it." He twisted in his seat to look into the back. He had been sneaking the occasional glance in the mirror but there had been no sightings of the apparition in the back seat. "Get out, Casey."

Sasha made a sound.

"I mean, get out of the car, please." Zeke said to the glitter of Casey's eyes in their recessed corner. "We're going to talk..." He gestured. "There's a picnic table over there, under a tree. That's where we're going."

"No," Casey refused.

"You just had your say. The ball's in my court now, Case, and we're going to talk. I'll drag you out of this car if I have to."

Zeke waited.

At last Casey moved, sluggishly climbing out of the car, his limbs dragging like they were weighted down. Zeke pointed him to the spot he had picked. It was a patch of yellowed grass adjoining the gas station, off to the side, not secluded but apart enough to give them at least a notion of privacy. From that spot they could observe Sasha, who remained by the car filling the gas tank and looking very anxious.

Casey had perched himself on top of the picnic table.

"We're not going another mile," Zeke said, "Until I hear from you what's really bothering you."

Casey looked up at him, his mouth forming shapes without sound.

"It's a mystery to me," Zeke mused aloud, "why you seem so scared to lose me when you keep acting like you can't stand me." He paused, thought about strategy. "Just say something, Casey. Anything. I'll wait."

A gaping silence ensued.

"Casey," Zeke begged. "I'm asking you, okay? Give me something to go on."

He had despaired that he would get anything out of this when –

"You know," Casey muttered.

"I know what? What you're thinking? I'm not quite that smart, Casey." Zeke used the tail of his t-shirt to wipe his sweaty face and pushed back the thought that it was possible he might go mad if he didn't get some relief from this heat. "I see you being angry all the time... like when I nag you about taking care of yourself and I guess I can understand that. I know I can be controlling. There's more to it, though. What you were trying to tell me just now in the car... that it's about the sex, or lack thereof, I guess."

Casey shook his head. "No."

"It sure the hell sounded like it."

"It's – you – you told, you didn't ask."

"If it was okay for me to decide not to be your next abuser? Yeah, I decided. That is my right, Casey, whatever you might think. And, by the way? That stuff about how I'm the type to use you? That's fucking garbage."

"But you said."

"I said? Go on, tell me."

Casey stood up suddenly so he was standing on the bench of the picnic table, looking down at Zeke. "You made me believe you. You acted like... you wanted... you said ‘feel that, that's for you' and you made me feel it. Then you – you changed your mind, you got scared."

"I seem to remember asking you straight out if we could put all that on hold and you said yes! And I am not some stud animal who's supposed to get it up for you on demand! Did you ever think maybe I wanted more than a casual fuck?"

Casey gasped out, "It's not like that... not casual."

"I'm glad you think so."

"I just want to give you –"

"Don't." Zeke turned his back to Casey, not wanting to see him when he said what he was about to say. "You try to make this about me holding back... yeah, right, I won't say that I want you... You don't even want me."

He heard a noise of desperate denial.

Zeke whirled, saw that Casey was sitting again, hunched up. "No, you don't. If you did, maybe... just maybe while you were so busy trying to seduce me you would have gotten turned on a little. You think I don't notice that? You don't want me, you don't even want sex, Casey, but for some reason you think you should pretend –" He ran out of breath and his voice strangled itself.

By now Casey was holding himself tightly, squeezing his arms, pinching his flesh and Zeke knew he was probably going way too far. "I... just want to feel something..." Casey implored. "I need it, that's not a lie... not pretend. Why won't you do that for me... just once..."

Zeke closed his eyes and wished that he hadn't lost the ability to analyze his own choices. Common sense and logic had their parts down: If he were to accept Casey's invitations at face value, to treat him like an intact sexual being and let the passion do its thing, he would do Casey serious harm. But something else was crying out in protest, saying it was cruel to keep them both suspended in this moment of interruptus. It was saying maybe if he were to just let go and have sex with Casey it would be helpful in some weird way, like Casey could believe he had a chance at a healthy relationship, that he was actually suitable for someone other than Roy... Roy who taught him that sex could be used to hide himself...

"I can't do that to you," Zeke said.

Silence. Zeke knew that Casey wouldn't see the battle raging on inside him, wouldn't hear the back and forth of argument and desire. All Casey would hear was a cowardly shit saying, "I can't," and Casey might not be far wrong.

The Mustang was parked off to one side of the gas station lot; Sasha was leaning against the side of it, sucking back an enormous bottle of water. He was looking directly at them, perhaps trying to decide if he should get involved. Zeke knew he would butt in sooner or later – probably sooner. "We should move on," Zeke said tiredly, knowing it was another evasion.

Casey's head came up. "You got enough truth to keep you going then?" he snarled.

Zeke wondered... If he started to cry what would Casey do? Would he take pity on him? He said aloud, trying to sound unperturbed, "Let's go... we have a lot of miles to cover yet today."

"We should have a camera," Sasha exclaimed. He had been talking almost non- stop, rattling on in an effort to smother some of the tension. "Dammit, I should have thought... kitten, whatever happened to your camera?"

"Dunno," Casey replied dully.

Zeke gritted his teeth. Since leaving the gas station Casey had been teaching him that there was a whole other level of impossible. He made snarky comments when the opportunity presented itself, but otherwise refused to participate in the conversation other than to deliver sullen, monosyllabic excerpts from the vocabulary of a child of four. He was emanating a rage that made it difficult to breathe.

It didn't help that the temperature in the car was dangerously high and they were all stinking. Zeke couldn't believe he had agreed to this, but it was in the end only slightly out of the way. Things couldn't actually get much more uncomfortable than this. The landscape suited his mood, too. All along the Loop Road it was laid out, unfinished, broken, starkly fascinating. They descended into it from familiar ground and even knowing they would emerge from it, it was hard not to feel like they were in some alternate reality.

"This is wild," Sasha observed.

"Like another planet," Zeke agreed.

"I hear aliens like to visit here," Casey put in bitterly. "Maybe I'll see one."

"Oh, kitten," Sasha said, trying to placate him.

"No, don't even try, Sasha," snapped Zeke.

But there were still things that could go wrong. The car hadn't broken down. Zeke supposed he should have expected it. Right about the same moment he noticed the white vapour seeping from under the hood, the engine began huffing and sputtering.

"Oh, shit," Sasha muttered.

They stumbled to a stop; Zeke was able to get it onto the shoulder before the final gasp. Zeke turned off the ignition, yanked off his shades, and just laid himself down on the steering wheel. His skin was crawling. He closed his eyes and sought some untapped reservoir of cool.

"I think we've overheated," Sasha said.

"You think?"

"If it's just overheated we might be able to go on in a bit if we let the engine cool down... pour some water in the radiator."

Zeke turned his head to stare at Sasha.

"That's assuming we've just overheated," Sasha went on, acting oblivious. "If it's something more serious..."

"Let's have a look," Zeke sighed. "Casey, stay put."

The hood was too hot to touch; Zeke had to peel off his filthy shirt and use it to get the hood up. The vapour was indeed emanating from the radiator but beyond that Zeke couldn't tell what he was looking at. Sasha peered more closely at everything, futilely smearing the sweat pearled on his forehead.

"Do you actually know what you're doing?" Zeke inquired.

"I'll have you know that my father is a mechanic, so I picked up stuff about cars whether I wanted to or not. I take it you don't?"

"No, actually," Zeke admitted. "I've never gotten around to the fine details of automobile engines."

"So there's something Zeke Tyler doesn't know? All right, well... I think you've lost your radiator hose."

"Lost my hose?"

"Yeah. You see here, there's a tear."

"So that means..."

"You can pour gallon after gallon of water in there and you won't get anywhere."

"Right." Zeke turned and peered out at the striated rocks around him. They actually seemed to be changing colour. "I'm buying a new car tomorrow," Zeke threatened, only half kidding.

He glanced up and down a highway that was dotted with heat shimmers. He didn't see a vehicle but there would have to be someone along soon; it was the tourist season and they were far from being the only people out here. "I'm going to have to flag someone down, get a ride back to that gas station we passed. It can't be very far... ten miles maybe."

Inside the car had to be hotter than outside the car. There weren't any other options, though, if they wanted shelter. Zeke chugged half a bottle of water and twisted to address Casey. "I'm going to have to hitch a ride, get some help. Casey, you and Sasha stay here."

Casey sat forward. "What if I want to go with you?" he challenged.

Zeke rubbed his head. His hair was damp with sweat. "Just stay here, please. I'm sure it won't be long."

He got out, his entire body begging him to get to cover. He started to walk away, to take a position at the side of the highway. He heard gravel crunch as Casey caught up to him. "Maybe I'm going to hitch to the gas station too," Casey said.

Zeke came close to losing it, but looking at Casey he managed to retain sufficient pity to hold his tongue one more time. Casey looked twice as bad as Zeke felt, and probably wasn't up to rational thought right now. "Casey, go back to the car. You'll fry out here."

"No."

"Do it, would you – just – just – do it!" Zeke heard his own voice shudder, shot through with frustrated anger. He saw with relief that Sasha was approaching and hoped devoutly that Sasha had it in him to just toss Casey over his shoulder.

"You don't own me," Casey said in a low voice.

Zeke didn't think he had heard what he heard. "What did you say?"

"You don't own me. You're not my nurse and you don't own me." Casey was standing with arms tight at his side, completely rigid.

"I think I knew that, Casey," Zeke replied, not minding that he came off completely condescending. "Now go back to the car."

"No, I want –"

"I don't care what you want!" Zeke exploded. "First you can't stand to talk to me then you're clinging to my side! How's it going to be, Casey? Huh? How do you want it?"

Something shattered, like it had to.

Zeke knew he had been expecting something, but he was still overwhelmed by the violence of it as Casey began screaming and pounding the sides of his own legs with his fists. "You don't own me! You don't own me, you don't – you don't –!"

Sasha tried to put his arms around Casey. "Kitten, c'mon –"

"No!" Casey tore away from Sasha; intent on getting away from them both he struck out over the multi-toned desert, apparently not caring if he walked right into a pit in the earth. "Don't touch me! Leave me alone!"

Zeke followed him a few steps and stopped. "I can't do this right now!" he yelled. Casey stopped walking but didn't turn around. He stood facing oblivion with his back to Zeke. "Why did you do it?" he demanded.

"Do what? Casey, so help me I'm –"

"Why did you do it!?"

"Do what?!" Zeke bellowed. "Make some sense, will you?"

"You – you took – you took it – everything –"

"We've been through this!" Zeke noted that he was waving his arms. That was ludicrous, and it was also ludicrous to be yelling at the back of Casey's head but he was doing it, sick with anger. "I did not take it, and if I did I'm more than happy to give it back so I don't know what the fuck you're talking about –"

Casey spun around to confront him, shrieking, "You told him there were no aliens!"

Zeke was stunned, startled and thoroughly silenced.

"You – you – told him you made them up... " Just as suddenly as he had begun screaming, Casey turned to sobbing. "... you made me up... I'm nothing... just this thing you made up... I'm... nothing –"

Zeke struggled to find two wits to rub together.

"Why... did you... do it?" Casey got out, not doing very well with crying, talking and breathing all at the same time.

"Casey." Zeke took a step towards him and froze when Casey seemed poised to flee from him. "Don't – don't run, Casey, please. I'm so... fucking sorry... I really didn't think he was going to tell you that."

"He had to tell me," Casey sobbed, "because he needed me to know and he had to prove it so I'm nothing –"

"Stop saying that, please, I was only –" Zeke sucked on the scalded air. "– I only wanted to protect you, I was afraid they would lock you up because no one ever believed us about the aliens, you know that. I needed an explanation. He just wasn't supposed to tell you."

"I – wasn't supposed to – to know?"

"I was going to tell you after we were gone from that place and after you were better. When you could handle it."

"That's not your right...." Casey moaned.

At that point Zeke knew there was nothing he could say to placate Casey – because he did have the right. Casey had been in danger and he needed to do something. He wasn't going to regret that. Because Casey had placed himself in his care. He held out his hand. "Case... come back here, please."

"No!"

"We're both getting cooked to death out here. I need – I need you to stay in the car. We'll discuss this later, I promise you... I need you to just do this for me now."

Far gone from paying attention to anything that Zeke needed, Casey sat down on the rocks and exuded nothing less than a complete intent to shrivel to nothing. Zeke's eyes and brain were boiling in his skull. Not having the luxury of time to engage in a long campaign of soothing and persuading, he stomped the few steps between them and laid hands on Casey, who curled instantly into a Zeke-resistant ball. "Don't touch me!"

Zeke yanked and pulled the smaller body upright, using all the force that was necessary. "I'm sorry, I'm –"

"No...no, no..." Casey cried. He was turning himself inside out, trying to wriggle out of Zeke's grasp. He mashed his hands in Zeke's face, pushing Zeke's head back with all his strength, and when that got him nowhere he began swinging. His fists struck Zeke in the face and the neck. The slap of flesh against flesh was buried under Casey's frenzied chorus of "no, no..."

There was only one usable word left...enough.

Zeke got hold of one of Casey's wrists and pinned it to his side, then contained the other by wrapping his arm around Casey, over his shoulder and across his chest. He lifted Casey's body off the ground slightly and hauled him towards the car with his feet just scrabbling the ground but getting no purchase, all the way back to Sasha who was standing there viewing the horror with an open mouth. Zeke tried to devise a way to stuff Casey into the car.

Sasha touched Zeke's shoulder. "Give him to me," he instructed quietly. His tone held absolute authority.

Zeke let go of Casey who collapsed into Sasha's arms and resumed his sobbing with fresh intensity. Sasha just sat down in the front seat of the car holding Casey, speaking comforting nonsense, rocking him. Zeke staggered around to the other side and got in himself, needing a few moments respite from the murderous brightness that was pounding down on him. With his back to the scene taking place on the other side of the car, he grabbed another bottle of water and emptied it.

A couple of vehicles drove past while they sat there and Zeke listened to Casey's hysterical crying. It gradually eased to a sniffling quiet as he wore himself out. Zeke twisted, looked over his shoulder and saw that Sasha was still rocking slightly. He had covered Casey's head completely with his arms and the bottom half of his shirt.

Zeke turned back to watch the road. He saw what appeared to be another, relatively large vehicle just over the nearest bump in the horizon. As it grew closer, he saw that it was a motorhome. He got up and put himself in the middle of the road, waving his arms. He was quite prepared to fling himself under the wheels if necessary.

It wasn't, though; the vehicle pulled over onto the shoulder, parking behind the Mustang. It had Texas plates. Zeke saw a man and woman up front; the man said something to the woman, no doubt his wife, and exited the vehicle alone. "Howdy," he said with a powerful twang. "Y'all havin' some car trouble?"

"Overheated," Zeke replied.

"Have you tried letting it cool down, pour some water –"

"Yeah, we tried all that. It looks like the radiator is shot. Listen, I wouldn't ask this if it weren't urgent. Can you give my friends and me a ride back to the gas station?"

"I have a cell phone, maybe we could call for a tow."

"I... appreciate that. But – er, my friend is very sick. I don't want him to be out here any longer than he has to, and I'm feeling a bit overheated myself."

The Texan looked suspicious, perhaps justifiably. Zeke noted that there were now two children along with the woman pressed in the front window.

"I understand why you might feel hesitant," Zeke added. "But this really is as it seems."

"All right, I guess. Go get your friends, then."

Zeke hurried back to the Mustang, where Sasha still sat with Casey under his arm. "They'll give us a ride," he said. "Come on."

"Thank Christ," Sasha said in reply. He shifted, trying to get on his feet. Zeke helped to steady him, not touching Casey who stood up unresisting – and of course he didn't resist, because Zeke couldn't have done a better job of breaking him if that had been his actual intention.

Oh, and that wasn't your intention, then, Zekie boy?

"You need to bring our bags," Sasha reminded Zeke in the same, collected tones he had been using.

"Right," Zeke said immediately. Clearly, his brain was not working well.

They went to the door in the side of the motorhome, sitting open now, offering welcome. The children, female and male aged about six and ten, were standing by looking excited at the idea of rescuing three complete strangers. Their mother, however, did not appear at all thrilled by it.

"Hi," Zeke said, as winningly as possible given he was raining sweat and there was a metal spike slowly working its way through his left eye into his frontal lobe. "I'm Zeke. Thank you for doing this. This is Sasha... and Casey."

"Yes," Sasha echoed in his most cultured voice. "You have our eternal gratitude, ma'am."

At this the woman looked somewhat appeased. Her eyes were all over Casey, though... Casey, who was tucked in against Sasha's side, looking unquestionably tragic.

"Mom," whispered the little girl. "What's wrong with that boy?"

"Shh, Lydia," snapped the mother. "I'm sorry about that. Y'all can use the bed in the back if you like... to lay down."

"Thank you," Sasha replied, heartfelt. He guided Casey back there, followed by the children's eyes. Zeke remained up front, sitting in one of the small swivel armchairs, soaking up the air conditioning. It didn't take very long for him to begin to feel chilled, though. His heart was racing a little.

It was a short trip back to that gas station. It was part of the tiny community they had passed some time ago, barely more than a row of buildings dropped into the middle of the desert, but obviously a launch pad to many of the recreational activities the park had to offer. There were signs everywhere pronouncing the entrance to "The Interior" and other points of interest. For accommodation there was the Cedar Pass Lodge, which appeared to be a step up from the budget motels they had been frequenting.

The gas station consisted of a small garage with a single gas pump and a couple of vehicles parked out front with "For Sale" signs. "Thank you," Zeke said thickly to their benefactors as they came to a stop there. "Can I – can I reimburse you for gas?"

"Not necessary," replied the Texan. "Glad to help."

Zeke was out of the motorhome first, turning to see how Casey fared. Casey had stepped down readily, wobbling slightly from lack of attention to where his feet were; Sasha grasped his arm quickly. Inadvertently Casey's eyes met Zeke's and glanced off of him as if two people could hold opposing magnetic charges.

"You look green," Sasha observed Zeke as the motorhome drove away.

"Sick," Zeke replied shortly, swallowing bile. "Too much sun."

A man whom Zeke presumed to be the garage owner approached them, a short, somewhat spare fellow with a moustache and a mouthful of gum. "Hey there."

"Hey," Zeke returned. "We broke down..." His voice wavered just the tiniest bit "...about twelve miles up the road."

Sasha told Zeke, "I'm going to go check us into the lodge. I'll let them know you'll be coming."

Zeke nodded. They would not be going anywhere for a while.

He rode all the way back to get the car in the mechanic's tow truck. Fred, the mechanic's name was, and he was a jovial man, eager to talk. He nattered all the way back to the Mustang's resting place, mostly about his quest for the perfect anniversary gift for his girlfriend; on the way back into town he switched to the topic of Zeke's life history and aspirations. Even if Zeke hadn't been feeling increasingly unwell he would have been disinclined to answer. He was preoccupied with the instant replay, trying to believe that those things his brain remembered had really happened --

"So... you're starting college," Fred was saying. "Whatcha going to take?"

"Philosophy."

– because he had not betrayed Casey... he was only trying to help. If Casey were in a bit saner frame of mind and not needing an outlet for two whole years worth of anger, he might understand that Zeke had only been doing what he thought was right --

"Oh, philosophy – neat, man! I have a cousin who took this course by correspondence that was about philosophy. ‘From Plato to Castenada' I think it was called. You ever read Castenada? Anyway, my cousin's been working on his diploma by correspondence for about ten years I bet–"

– and that fucking Spadoni. There was Zeke's real mistake, believing a word that little shit said –

"– your friends? They going to college too?"

Zeke fought back a wave of nausea and replied, "Not right now."

Yeah, he should have realized Spadoni wouldn't be able to resist telling Casey what Zeke had said. Spadoni had to make his point about Zeke having too much power and of course he would use the information on hand, wouldn't he? How could Zeke have been so stupid?

"So who won?"

"Huh?"

"Well, if you don't mind me saying, you look like you fought a war. Who won?"

That brutal sun had really fucked him over; tears came up into his eyes. "No one," Zeke replied curtly.

"Beautiful car," Fred said, of the Mustang. "That's a classic. Mint."

"A classic heap," Zeke growled. "I'll sell it to you."

Fred looked doubtful. "Say what?"

"You had a couple of cars for sale at your shop. I'll trade this for one of them...there was a Pathfinder...'98 or ‘99, right? Looked in good shape."

"Are you sure you want to do that?"

"Pretty sure."

"Oh, you're just mad at the old girl right now." Fred glanced fondly in his rearview mirror, at the car trundling along behind them. "Tell you what... you think about it and if you're still interested tomorrow, we'll talk."

"Fine," Zeke agreed.

Then he had to ask Fred to stop so he could throw up at the side of the road.

"Heat exhaustion," Fred diagnosed when he dragged his ass back into the truck. "You wouldn't believe how often it happens... seems like they're pulling some hiker out of here on a stretcher every other day. You just can't underestimate these hills, you know? I think they have it in for people." He examined Zeke sideways. "Make sure you drink lots of water and get a good sleep... you should be fine."'

"Thanks," Zeke rasped.

"I've had my share," Fred shrugged. "Learned my lesson now. Once when I was a kid I got burned so bad, the skin on my shoulders was purple... Anyway," he finished, perhaps noticing that Zeke wasn't in the mood to listen to a childhood anecdote. "We'll be there soon. I'll drop you at the lodge."

Where, no doubt, Casey was airing the latest episode of I'm-Not-Here-You-Can't-Find-Me. It was a convenient way to avoid further discussion of unpleasant topics.

"You look really bummed, Zeke. That argument must have been a doozy, huh?" Fred spit his gum out the window. "Don't sweat it... my girlfriend and I have had some rip-roaring battles over the years. We always get along great after... if you know what I mean." Fred offered Zeke a wink.

Zeke was ready to fall over when he got to the lodge, and there was still the business about finding out which room and getting a key. He also discovered that Sasha – the sneak – already had paid for the room. Zeke dragged his feet walking to their door, not knowing what his reception would be. From either of them.

He needn't have worried. They were both asleep, both looking freshly showered, skin dewy and hair damp, wearing clean, sweat-free clothes. But Casey appeared inconsolable even in sleep, like the emotional violence had continued in Zeke's absence; he was curled and sprawled on Sasha like he had just fallen unconscious in the midst of a fit. Sasha was propped uncomfortably against a pillow and the headboard, his arms draped protectively around Casey. At Zeke's entrance his eyes opened sleepily for a few seconds, and closed without comment.

Zeke dropped onto the other bed. He hated his own stink but he simply couldn't manage a shower, not now. He was instantly asleep.

He dreamed that they were fleeing from a lot of men in dark suits. It had something to do with them telling something they were not supposed to tell and they were being chased over the Badlands. Zeke knew that they wanted Casey for some terrible purpose... experiments of an unspeakable nature. Zeke knew if they could just get to a certain spot where the mechanic was waiting with his truck, they would be okay. They ran towards a cliff, helpless to turn because of the swarm of men behind them. They were trapped – but Casey jumped. Zeke screamed, certain he was dead, and jumped after him. Then suddenly they were safe below and Zeke said to Casey, "I thought you were dead" and Casey said, "But I flew" and Zeke was about to kiss him when he saw a row of black jeeps coming towards them and they had to run again –

He woke with his heart in his throat and a titanium hard-on. His clothes felt crusted onto his skin. Disgusted by himself, he took a shower and felt a hundred times better. He drank the remains of one of their bottles of water that he hadn't noticed sitting the dresser the night before, and fell back into his bed.

Then it was full daylight, mid-morning according to his watch, and he felt almost normal. The skin on his face was tender and sore but otherwise there were no lasting effects of the previous day's exposure. He rolled over and saw Sasha standing up, rummaging in his suitcase.

"Hey," Zeke said tentatively.

"Hey." Sasha folded his arms and looked at him. Very neutral, Sasha said, "You're feeling better?"

"Yes." Zeke cleared his throat. "Casey's in the shower?"

"Yes."

"Again?"

Sasha raised his brows and shrugged. "I guess he needed some alone time."

"How – how is he?"

"Ask him yourself," Sasha replied shortly.

"Are you pissed at me too, then?"

All at once Sasha released his forbidding pose and sighed. "I'm not pissed at you," he said. "Not really."

"That's a great comfort."

"I'm not the one who cares about the fucking aliens. I don't give a damn whether or not they're real. But Casey does and I had to spend an hour last night listening to him cry about it. I don't get the alien thing – but I do understand why he's upset."

"Then maybe you can explain it to me," Zeke said miserably. "Everyone in that town thinks he's nuts for no good reason... I only wanted to take that out of the equation."

"But you robbed him of a huge chunk of his identity, Zeke, when he really needed it. He's Herrington's resident alien and you made him... just the town freak."

Zeke groaned, flopping on his back. "I never intended --"

"But that's what happened." Sasha pulled out a shirt that was far more wrinkled than anything he would normally be seen in. Shrugging it on, he said, more mildly, "I'm hungry and I'm cranky."

"Go get something to eat," Zeke suggested, frowning at the ceiling.

"Not right now."

"Sasha..."

"I'm not leaving until he tells me it's okay, and last time I checked, it was not okay."

Zeke muttered, "You know, believe it or not, there are some things between Casey and me that aren't your business."

"Wrong, Zeke. Everything about Casey is my business. I don't go in for that privacy crap anymore – it's just a way of covering up so people can get hurt."

The shower was turned off and the room suddenly got very quiet. Zeke jumped up and began to pace, but there wasn't anything he could say.

"You want to earn points?" Sasha said. "Go get us all something to eat. Please." He crossed the space between them as he spoke and put his hand compassionately on Zeke's shoulder. Zeke was caught between wanting to smack the hand away and curling into his arms to weep.

In a moment the bathroom door opened and Casey came out. He stopped upon seeing Zeke, growing very still. He was fully clothed, his hair wet all over again, hanging in his face. He seemed smaller than he had been yesterday, yet Zeke was afraid of him.

"I'll go get us a bite," Zeke volunteered, speaking to Sasha, averting his own gaze. He found that he had absolutely no clue what Casey was going to say or do but his guess was that Casey would be relieved to have him out of his space right now.

"I'll take a burger and fries," Sasha promptly requested. Zeke looked at him in surprise. "It's been that kind of week," he said with a shrug.

Zeke didn't look at Casey as he asked him, "Do you want anything?"

"Where are you going?" came Casey's voice, disregarding the question entirely.

It happened before he could stop it; Zeke looked at Casey and got caught by his eyes. They didn't look blaming or accusing or angry – just sorrowful. Zeke's voice jammed up for a second. Clearing his throat, he answered, "I'm going to get –"

"No."

Zeke blinked.

"No," repeated Casey. He angled his next words to Sasha. "I want – I want to talk to him." He sounded plaintive, like he was asking permission.

"Okay," Sasha said breathlessly. "Okay, kitten. I'm going to step out for a bit. I expect you to meet me in the restaurant – in exactly one hour," he stressed.

He shot a single look at Zeke as he departed, a look that basically said everything.

Zeke was watching Casey like he did sometimes, watching him hard. Casey had become accustomed to it, addicted to it even. It was a comfort to know that he had Zeke's attention. Zeke would sometimes stare so much that he forgot to notice that there was someone who might look back at him. This time, though, Zeke was probably looking for some sign that Casey was going to behave like a sane, grown-up person. Sane grown- ups generally didn't cause scenes like the one Zeke had been subjected to yesterday, but if they did you could be sure they would try to make amends – and Casey really did want to make amends. He wanted to understand what Zeke had done, because you could be sure there was a very sound reason for it. Zeke had a sound reason for most things he did. Once Casey had heard the reason and accepted it, there would be nothing left for him to do but to spring Zeke from his trap.

Waking up this morning, Casey knew he had a purpose. He would free two people who had never really done anything to deserve all this pain and difficulty –

"Case?" Zeke said.

– and Seattle would be wonderful for Zeke once he was free of Casey. He would be brilliant at philosophy, probably write books about it, and he would put this whole sordid part of his life behind him and maybe write a book about that too. He wouldn't have to be gay, he wouldn't have to carry another person financially or emotionally, he would find some woman who could listen and understand his logic. Once in a while he would think about Casey with regret and pity, while Casey would be in Cincinnati, maybe, or someplace else altogether. Someplace quiet and still.

"Are you okay?" was what Zeke was saying.

And Sasha. He would be a great chef, one of the greatest in the country. He would be featured in magazines and maybe have his own TV show. He would find some man he could pour his heart into and make a difference to them –

"Casey.... you said you wanted to talk to me."

He had to focus, he had to pay attention and get them free of this...so he could go wherever it was he was meant to go.

"Tell me why," he said softly. He could do this, he could hold it together long enough to find out why Zeke had betrayed him. He would listen and then he would be ready to let go.

"Why did I tell Spadoni that there were no aliens?"

Casey nodded, moving away from the bathroom door. Zeke retreated from him, seating himself on the bed furthest from Casey. Zeke was probably thinking that Casey was going to erupt and attack him again. Casey wanted Zeke to know that it wouldn'thappen. It couldn't, because it didn't even seem like it had been Casey who had done it in the first place. He was in possession of these recorded images of himself, screaming and thrashing against the limbs that were all around him, trying to pin him down, but it was a cloudy bit of footage that he had watched from somewhere above his own shoulder. Yet it had to have been him, because his hands still held the sense memory of how it had felt when they impacted on the other's skin. It made Casey feel sick every time he thought about it.

"I told you yesterday... " Zeke said. "I was afraid they were going to use it as an excuse to lock you up." Zeke folded his arms, lifting his chin a little. "I... won't say I'm sorry for that, Casey. I can't. I'm sorry I had to do it, and that it hurt you, but that wasn't supposed to happen. I realize I made a mistake in not telling you right away. I didn't think you were in any shape to listen but I still should have told you."

Hearing this, Casey knew what his bitter drug had been. It was everything about Zeke that he didn't like, every thing that he didn't want Zeke to know that he felt. He would have given anything not to have Zeke know that he was this poisoned. But it was done now; he had overdosed yesterday. Today, he was drained and detoxified. Today, when he listened to Zeke he didn't feel the drug. He only felt the needle. It was stuck in a vital place. Casey didn't remember feeling anything this clean for a terribly long time and if this was what it would mean to be healthy... he so didn't want it.

He supposed he hadn't said anything for a while, for Zeke had stood up now and had walked over almost to where Casey was, and he was demanding, requiring Casey's comprehension. "You're still angry at me," Zeke went on. "But you've got to understand – you don't know what it was like having to see you like that and know that every single doctor and nurse was fitting you for a straightjacket, I was losing my mind, Casey! It was easy for you, you got to just be catatonic. I had to deal!"

"Stop talking," Casey said.

"What?"

"Stop talking... please."

Zeke gaped at him. "Okay."

"You talk and... everything you say makes me feel so much, I can't – I can't think."

"I've stopped," Zeke protested.

Now he was supposed to say something. Problem was, his mind was still a blank. He couldn't remember what he had intended when he told Zeke to be quiet. All he had to work with was the gist of Zeke's speech, which was that Zeke had been having a difficult time lately.

"I'm sorry," Casey whispered.

"No," Zeke refused him. "I don't want to hear sorry."

Casey looked at the floor. Zeke wanted to argue and debate and get everything on the table and hash it out... Casey understood this, but he wasn't Zeke, he wasn't strong or brave enough to do that. "But...I am sorry... I'm too much work."

He held his whole body stiff, trying to brace for whatever words would come

"Oh, for fuck's sake..." Zeke said, sounding utterly done. "Can I – do we have to do this with you standing in the corner? Can I hold you, please?"

Lifting his head, Casey said wonderingly, "You – want to –?"

Zeke was rolling his eyes and smiling ruefully. "Yes, I want to, you..."

Casey approached slowly, thinking that it was possible that Zeke had grown to like his cage and didn't want to be emancipated just yet. That sort of thing happened – but it didn't mean that Casey wasn't obligated to let him go. He was just too weak to do it – today. He moved cautiously into the circle of Zeke's arms.

"...impossible...unreal... person," Zeke finished, his chest heaving against Casey. "Yeah, you're work, Casey, but it's good work. I may get bothered and impatient and I may shout but I am not about to give up. Zeke Tyler does not give up. Get that through your head now. You can yell and scream and throw things at me to your heart's content... I probably deserve it. But I'm not going anywhere."

"But you... you do so much for me... you and Sasha..."

"I have no intention of stopping and neither does Sasha, I'm sure."

"I've been so terrible."

"It's allowed, Casey."

"But...it's too much, you and Sasha need to get away from me –"

Zeke put a hand over Casey's mouth, just firm enough to stop him talking. "You really have to do something about that playback you've got going on in there," he said quietly. His little finger moved against Casey's jaw, slowly massaging.

Zeke took his hand away, but not his eyes. He kept looking. He didn't stop looking and it was not his typical kind of Casey-watching. This was something different that made Casey's heart thrum and his skin ripple with nerves. Casey tried to look away and Zeke grasped his chin gently and turned it back in his direction.

"What..." Casey whispered.

"Do you feel this, Casey?" Zeke murmured. He was still touching only Casey's face, still looking.

There was some motion; Zeke's hand took Casey's hand and made it lie against Zeke's face. When he tried to remove it, Zeke's grip tightened slightly, just enough to let him know he wanted it to stay there. So he obeyed and had his hand against the side of Zeke's face, his arm and his body stiff with terror.

"And this, do you feel this?" Zeke said. "It is something, isn't it?"

Casey took a shaky step backwards, out of Zeke's reach, and met the wall.

"I see you, Casey," Zeke said, his voice smooth. "I don't want you to hide from me."

"I..."

"There is something I want," Zeke continued, his dark gaze caressing Casey.

"Wha – what?" Casey asked with a throat too dry for more than that. His face was scorched by Zeke's eyes.

"Can we sleep in the same bed – just sleep?"

Rocking against the wall a bit, Casey muttered, "Okay."

"That's a good thing, isn't it?" Zeke asked.

Zeke sounded so patient, waiting for Casey to sort it out – but Casey just didn't know the answer. He didn't know if he could sleep with Zeke when Zeke was seeing him that way, he didn't want to be seen, yet he wanted to be near Zeke although it wouldn't be any easier if he was going to be letting Zeke go and he should really turn down Zeke's offer... but he was so weak.

"Well," Zeke said. "Why don't you think about it and tell me what you want to do later? The offer will stay open." Moving away from Casey suddenly, Zeke announced a change of subject. "You know, I think we've been in this room long enough." He held out his hand. "Come on."

The light of day was unbelievably harsh. It hurt. Casey looked for the Mustang with its lovely, dark alcove in the back, remembered that it had broken down. "Where's the car?" he asked Zeke.

"Getting repaired," Zeke replied. "Actually, it's probably done by now, we could head over to the garage and see. It's only a few blocks." Still holding Casey's hand, Zeke gave him a gentle tug. He began walking, a bit unwillingly. "I was thinking of trading it for something newer, for the rest of our drive," Zeke mused. "Something with air conditioning."

Casey saw that Zeke wasn't kidding; a shiver of nerves went through him. "Why?" he needed to know.

"It's just been such a fucking nuisance. We could use a bit more space too."

"Don't," Casey blurted. He wasn't sure why the thought of Zeke without his Mustang was so frightening, but it was. Zeke with some brand new plastic car without personality, without originality...

Zeke had stopped walking. "Don't?"

"Don't get rid of it!"

"Casey," Zeke said tolerantly, looking at Casey like he had the reason for Casey's agitation all figured out. "It's just a car. I can let go of a car. And I'll probably sell it when we get to Seattle anyway. I don't need it."

"I...like that car," Casey protested, his heart hammering wildly.

"Really?" Zeke said, seeming surprised. "I honestly didn't think it would matter to you, but – okay, I won't get rid of it. You're the one who's been stuffed in the back seat anyway. You really don't mind?"

Casey shook his head.

"Okay," Zeke said and squeezed his hand a little.

Not talking, they headed to the garage at a slow amble.

"Would you... " Zeke said all of sudden. "I just was thinking... Case, do you want to learn how to drive?" He watched Casey with plain eagerness on his sunburned face. "It's a good time to learn."

Casey felt like he was spinning, unable to find his focal point. "Sure," he got out. He let Zeke pull him along, squinting into the light. Strangers passed them, just a few who looked like they were on vacation. They smiled and said hello as they drifted by. Casey was glad that Zeke was holding his hand, that Zeke didn't seem to mind that Casey just didn't know how to let go.

Both Sasha and Zeke had performed their morning rites, and Casey was still asleep, lying in a boneless sprawl.

"I think I wore him out," Zeke remarked.

Sasha raised his eyebrows and didn't go with the obvious opening. "How did the driving lesson go?"

"Fine," Zeke grinned.

It had been a good night. They had gone to retrieve the Mustang and Fred had recommended a hard-packed, dusty expanse just behind his garage, citing it as the place his dad had taught him to drive. They then found Sasha at the nearby diner, and the three of them had supper there together. After, Sasha disappeared, and Casey had his first driving lesson. He had been jittery for a while, but he quickly learned that a slight failure in performance would not lead to his, Zeke's, or the Mustang's destruction, and he relaxed. By the time they were done he was able to start and stop smoothly and to steer without over or undercompensating. He seemed to be enjoying himself even. He was amused when Zeke sat on his hands to keep himself from reflexively grabbing the wheel. And when Zeke stomped down on an invisible brake pedal on the passenger side, he laughed out loud.

Casey had passed out in Zeke's bed immediately upon returning to their room. So Zeke assumed that his invitation had been accepted, which was a relief. He figured it was just as well that they would have a reprieve that night from fully digesting the implications of sleeping in close proximity. The day had already been replete with discussion and meaning-filled moments; Zeke was quite ready to sleep on it. He had propped himself up beside him and watched the tube for a while until his eyes grew heavy. He had been waiting up for Sasha, but Sasha had still not returned when he finally dropped off to sleep some time after 1:30.

"Where were you last night, then?" Zeke asked Sasha now.

Sasha grinned slyly. "I'll never tell."

"I don't think I believe that."

"Busted! You see, yesterday afternoon before you two showed up I met this lovely young man in the lobby. He just got back from a hiking expedition in Thailand actually..." Sasha trailed off, regarding Casey. "Should we wake him up?"

"Nah... let him sleep a bit longer."

"I didn't get to hear the upshot of the big discussion – other than the changed sleeping arrangements, and might I say it was just a little chilly all by myself last night. Did you get the air cleared, then?"

"Fuck if I know," Zeke answered.

He didn't delude himself for a moment that everything was good now. It was only that it was better. At least Casey didn't seem to be quite so angry at him anymore.

At breakfast, while Casey nibbled on a muffin and paid scant attention to Sasha hyping the adventures of his new boyfriend, Zeke came to the conclusion that, suddenly, his attention seemed to make Casey very jumpy. And this after a few months of soaking up Zeke's obsessive intensity and brazenly propositioning Zeke to do very rude things with body parts that people didn't usually discuss freely in their daily conversation. It seemed that a calloused layer of feeling had been scrubbed away, leaving a rawness that could barely look Zeke in the eye.

"So, Zeke," Sasha said, pausing in his song of praise to Brad the Hiker. "Did you know what's on that highway that we're going to pass right by today?"

Distracted from his perusal of Casey, Zeke replied, "You know, I'd really like to make it to Seattle for this term."

"It's barely out of the way at all. I should have thought of it, but anyway Brad reminded me. Devil's Tower."

"So?" Zeke said. He noticed that Casey had perked up a bit. "Doesn't ring a bell."

"Ever see ‘Close Encounters'?"

"The movie?"

Sasha made a face. "No, the video game. Yeah, the movie!"

"I think I might have rented it at some point..."

Sasha appealed to Casey to relieve Zeke of his ignorance.

"It's where the aliens landed," Casey supplied readily enough. He was shredding his muffin as he spoke. "In the movie... all these people are drawn there... they climb this mountain..."

"Alien invasion?"

Sasha interjected scornfully, "I don't think you watched the movie, Zeke. No, they were invited. We invited them, put out a landing strip for them even. I love that scene." He turned a full-beam smile on Casey. "It's a national monument," he added.

"Why... because aliens came there?"

"No," Sasha groaned. "That was just in the movie. It was a national monument before Spielberg ever got to it."

"Did he leave the landing strip behind?"

"I'm gonna hit you."

Zeke relented. "Okay, I give... we stop at Devil's Tower." They would still be only a day late. Zeke made a mental note to call Stokely later, and to nag Casey to phone his parents.

They filled up on gas in Rapid City, where Sasha had the inspiration to stop at a grocery store and buy the makings of lunch. They then lit out over the broad stretches of desert plain, making excellent time in the absence of a real speed limit. They had reached Devil's Tower National Park by noon. It was an odd but ultimately recognizable jutting formation that loomed up suddenly as they wound through a series of hills. Apparently there was a short, paved trail that circled the base of the tower; Sasha didn't ask if they could walk it, obviously not wanting to push his luck. So they simply parked in the picnic area lying in the tower's shadow and absorbed the sight of it while they ate lunch.

"See all those spots of colour up there?" Sasha held forth, waving his sandwich in the direction of the tower. "Those are little men dangling from the rocks." Casey giggled and Sasha, very pleased with himself, added, "People come from all over the world to climb this thing."

"Has Brad climbed it, then?" Casey asked, just a little sly.

Without missing a beat Sasha answered, "Nope, he's more of a feet on the ground type of guy."

"Feet on the ground," Casey mused. "Don't know much about that."

Zeke made a point of not staring or fainting even though this was the first time in his recent memory that Casey had been gratuitously playful.

"Well, kitten, some people are feet-on-the-ground types and others... head-in-the-clouds all the time. Usually I prefer the head-in-the-cloud variety but I've been known to dally a bit. What about you, Zeke? What's your preference?"

"Head-in-the-clouds," Zeke stated. "Any day of the week." He had his eyes fixed on the rock in front of him and didn't deviate from that view. "Spielberg's aliens were friendly, weren't they?" he mused.

"Absolutely," Sasha answered.

But Casey said, "We don't know. They seem like they are. They have those big, glowing eyes. They seem like children... but we don't know what happens to Richard Dreyfus after he goes with them."

"Something beautiful," Sasha said firmly.

"You don't know, though," Casey insisted. A tremor worked its way into his voice. "Just because they look friendly doesn't mean they are."

It got quiet.

"I think," Sasha said then, "that the whole point of the film was to overcome the fear that we have of things that are unknown and strange. The payoff is the joy at the end when those ships come down with all that gorgeous light. At least that's how I see it."

Zeke thought that if Sasha had ever met an alien anywhere outside of the movies, he might just reconsider his interpretation.

Suddenly, Casey blurted out, "It did happen, didn't it?"

"What – did what happen?" Sasha asked, puzzled.

Casey addressed Zeke, blatantly not caring that Sasha was present and listening, nor that strangers might overhear them. "With – the aliens? Was it real?"

For the first time Zeke was pummelled by shame for his lie. It had never occurred to him that he had caused such a doubt to begin and fester, but now suddenly he could imagine Casey in Spadoni's office, barely knowing where he was or who he was, being told that his defining moment had never happened.

"Casey," Zeke replied carefully. "Of course it happened. How can you even question it – all the things you saw... that we saw? You're a fucking hero."

"I don't feel much like a hero," Casey returned, his mouth trembling.

"Well, you are," Zeke confirmed without hesitation.

Casey folded his arms around himself, shivering. He couldn't have been cold, in this heat. "I'm... so scared of everything."

"Most heros are," Sasha remarked. "From what I hear."

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