"You realize that it's raining."

Zeke sounded unhappy -- and with reason. Casey felt a slight trickle of water down his cheeks as he blinked and revisited the wicker chair that he was sitting in and the white metal table, and the shrubs surrounding him. He must have been sitting out here for a while. Zeke would have contentedly closed his eyes last night with Casey no more than an arm's length away, and wakened to no Casey at all, because he had crept out of their bed while Zeke still slept and gone up to the roof to get half-soaked. The cushion he was sitting on was damp, a fact that Casey had barely noticed when he sat down, and there was a film of moisture on the table in front of him. The morning was one of fog and mist, and a faint drizzle that had separated Casey's hair into lank chunks that were now getting between him and clear vision, but he hadn't really noticed that. Nor had he noticed that he was shivering in his brand new zip-up fleece that Zeke had bought for him two days ago, which was now almost soaked through.

Then there was the cityscape that Casey had not been seeing either, the downtown core with the mountains laid out behind it. What he had seen, what he had fixated upon instead, was Zeke's ashtray. It was overflowing with butts and caked ash. Lately, Zeke had been smoking a lot more; his kisses were well-seasoned by Benson & Hedges, and it tasted good because that was how Zeke tasted, but Casey would have rather seen Zeke find some other way to vent that didn't shorten his lifespan.

Obviously, venting was a necessity. If Zeke weren't with Casey, his new life in Seattle would be different, better. There wouldn't have to be so much strain and stress all the time. Zeke wouldn't have to panic, jolting awake to find Casey gone. After all, most people got out of bed in the morning and did routine things... brushing their teeth, taking a piss, a shower, a walk. Some people even walked as far as the coffee shop at the corner, drawn by that aroma given off by the roasting of twenty-two custom blends. Some people picked up fresh coffee to surprise their friends who were still trying to shake off sleep back at home. Some people let their lovers sleep in and lounged in the living room for a while, cracking open a book to while away some time before the day started – but Casey had yet to leave the apartment by himself, and he hadn't been reading because he couldn't focus long enough to get through anything but the t.v. listings.

So routine meant something else for Zeke; for the last eight days that they had been living here and the three before that at Stokely's place, the morning had found Casey snuggled body-to-body with him. Casey didn't know how much sleep Zeke was getting. All he knew was that both Zeke and Sasha wore blue smudges on their faces, and it was probably all his fault.

"Oh," Casey said, for lack of any real explanation for being too stupid to come in from the rain. He hugged his body – which was a mistake because his fleece was clammy and uncomfortable. He sneezed. "Sorry, Zeke."

"Sorry?" Zeke put a hand on Casey's shoulder, wanting him to stand up, to come inside. "Don't apologize to me, you're the one who's sitting out here in nothing but your shorts."

"But I made you worry."

Zeke didn't answer that; this worry had to be a drop in one monster-sized bucket. "I think a shower is in order," he counselled.

"Yeah," Casey said compliantly, teeth chattering. But he resisted the pressure to get moving. There was something he had to say. He had spent days full of dread about it, had gone to bed chewing on it, and he had come up here right after waking up to think about how one approached spitting it out.

"Maybe... " Zeke said tentatively. "We could shower together?"

Zeke in the shower with him was something new. To date, Zeke had not made any attempt to invade his private sanctuary, although Casey had an indistinct memory of having invited him into it a few times. "Okay, but Zeke – "

"Can we go inside, please?" Zeke insisted. These days, his voice had a certain tone in it: Not quite impatient, still hanging on to his composure, but with a thread of something less tolerant woven in.

"I – I have to tell you something."

Zeke's brows rose. "How about you tell me inside?"

It wasn't Casey's preference. He had prepared for it here, he had envisioned it, gotten himself revved up for it here. But he should have no trouble with a few simple words, he had practised them enough... I've decided... I'm not going... . Just like that. And if he went inside then maybe Zeke would lose that edge in his voice and it would be easier.

Casey got up willingly and let Zeke escort him down the short staircase to the kitchen. He kicked off his shoes, as per Sasha's household decree, and Zeke did the same, absently sliding his arms around Casey to still his quivering.

"Agh, you're freezing, Case! We really should get in that shower now." Zeke winged a look at the clock on the microwave and Casey remembered that they were meeting Stokely for breakfast. "It's okay, there's tons of time before we have to be at the diner."

Tons of time before breakfast at nine, but a split second before he had to go see the doctor at eleven. He pulled back from Zeke figuring Zeke wouldn't want to hug him in another moment and took to hugging himself again, trying to conserve precious units of body heat. He forced it out: "Zeke – Idonwannnago."

"For breakfast?" Zeke asked, then pursed his mouth as he understood. "Oh. The doctor. Of course."

"I don't want to," Casey said.

"We've discussed this, Case." Zeke sounded greatly fatigued. "It's necessary."

"It's – it's my decision." It was more than a little disconcerting to hear this point move from his inner jabber to a place where Zeke could actually hear it. Casey was dangling without safety lines now, because Zeke would say Something In Response and then he would be expected to say Something Else Back but none of it was scripted. Anything could get said. Dangerous things, things that there could be no recovery from once they got out there.

Zeke, being Zeke, did not appear at all concerned, but Casey could almost hear his brain shift up into a higher gear. "Yes," Zeke replied serenely, examining Casey as though he were some bizarre zoological anomaly that had been discovered suddenly in his kitchen. "It is your decision. But I thought you had decided to agree with me and Sasha on this. Hell, Casey... you know you need to go." Sealing the logic trap with a little emotional glue, Zeke placed his hands on Casey's shoulders. "It won't be like the last time, Case, I promise."

See, this was why it didn't pay to Say Things, because now the creature that sometimes controlled his mouth took over and spat whatever unkind nonsense it could dredge up. "Why? Oh, right – because Aunt Charly told you."

Zeke's eyes darkened but he didn't let himself react otherwise. Instead, he turned Casey around and prodded him down the hall to the bathroom. "If that's how you want to see it, go right ahead," he allowed. "All that happened was I asked her to recommend a doctor – a good doctor. Besides, this appointment's going to be a breeze, Casey. The doctor'll just check you out, ask you how it's going with the pills, tell you to eat more, and make sure you go to therapy. Nothing to it."

Zeke closed the door to the bathroom behind them.

"Sorry," Casey muttered when Zeke turned to look at him.

"It's okay." Zeke was approaching him, taking care not to make any sudden moves.

"I'm not that cracked, I know... I have to go. I do know, I'm just – " Casey almost laughed at the word he was about to use. Alert the media... Casey Connor is scared. Like he ever needed to say that word out loud.

"I know," Zeke replied, his voice softening. "Let's get you out of these wet things." His fingers traced Casey's jaw and continued on their way, unzipping Casey's fleece while he said, "I understand you feeling a bit nervous about this, Case, I would feel the same. Is that what you were doing up there, just getting good and worked up about it?"

Sometimes there was nothing to compare to Zeke. Sometimes, like now, he would have Casey shivering just from being in his presence. One of Zeke's many gifts was a knack for taking charge, for wielding power with a magnificent gentleness, casually brushing off Casey's attempts to self-destruct... like he was doing now.

Casey nodded, shrugging out of the fleece, letting it fall into a damp puddle on the floor. His shivers traded up to shudders, and he sneezed again. "I –" Sneeze. "Didn't want to wake you up."

"Case, I've told you, I'd rather you woke me up than be scared by yourself." Zeke bit his lip and made a worried face. That he could be so masterful and then suddenly so uncertain only intensified Casey's admiration for him. "I should go with you to the doctor."

"You h-have a class."

"I'll give it a miss."

"Don't, Zeke," Casey implored. He feared Zeke giving up his class times, on top of everything else he gave up for Casey. Zeke would come to resent him, or maybe he did already, and all that remained after that was for Zeke to hate him.

"It's just one day..." Zeke said.

Casey attempted to sound playful, saying, "But you d-don't want – a rep – repeat – of – of high s-school." The jibe was spoiled by his chattering teeth. His lips must be blue by now.

"Oh, sure," Zeke returned. "Remind me of my past failings."

Stupid... he was so stupid! "I – I didn't mean it –"

Zeke pressed his thumb to Casey's trembling, cold lips. "Just teasing, Case. But you're right – I shouldn't be skipping class this early on."

So good of Zeke to always find a way to rescue the conversation... Over and over, moment after moment tainted by Casey and redeemed by Zeke.

"Come on," Zeke said softly. "Let's hop in the shower for a bit, okay?" He used his thumb to gently smooth the tremors from Casey's mouth, his gaze wandering momentarily, travelling across Casey's face and down the front of his raggedy old X-Files t-shirt, mouth twisting up a bit at the shirt's obstinate refusal to understand that the truth was not, in fact, out there.

Casey wasn't really sure what Zeke was seeing when he looked at him that way; all he knew was that Zeke looked at him often, and long. So Zeke did want him – Casey no longer needed to question that, not that wanting of that sort was a reliable predictor of future satisfaction. People found all sorts of ways to talk themselves out of what they wanted, and Zeke was no exception.

At the very least, Zeke looking at Casey meant that Casey had plenty of opportunity to look at Zeke. He watched as Zeke's calendar-ideal torso emerged, then the powerful legs, and of course his cock, heavy with arousal. Casey had gotten used to seeing it, and of course he encountered it constantly when they were in bed together, but was never able to do anything about it. Casey wasn't allowed to touch it, the guidelines were strict on that point just as they set it down that Zeke could touch Casey as much as he wanted, and never mind that his body just didn't work, Zeke still kept trying and Casey sometimes thought he would scream at him to stop... Just stop that already and bury yourself inside me but Casey had come on to Zeke at the wrong moment too many times, so why should Zeke actually believe that Casey craved that release, that sensation of being filled and possessed? He longed to be sure of one damned thing, and one of these days he was going to erupt with You want me to say it's sick, yeah, okay, it's sick but I want you to make me feel safe I know you care I know you want me to feel good... It can be this easy--

"Casey?" Zeke interrupted his silent raving. "Come on in, the water's fine."

Zeke was standing inside the shower stall and looking at Casey in that way he did, so kind, so understanding and Casey needed needed needed he never stopped needing that kindness from Zeke except now and then that persistent, unceasing understanding made him want to howl. So strange the thoughts that would come and sometimes he even said them out loud but this time he didn't, he only thought to himself You think you're going to break me but you're not.

The water was just at that point of scalding his numbed skin; Zeke frowned at his slight recoil from it and adjusted the temperature slightly. Then Zeke had his arms around Casey, and he was such a sluttish, weak creature that he forgot everything and just dug into what he craved and yes, Zeke could invade him with empathy as much as he wanted just so long as he could hide his eyes against Zeke's broad chest – and it did feel nice when Zeke stroked his back and shoulders and neck, plying the moist tips of his fingers against Casey's skin, stimulating a pleasant, prickling warmth over his body. When Casey twitched and jumped with nerves, those hands soothed him... Such large hands they were, so much in charge of themselves. He swayed against Zeke, soaking in the steam and wet and the length and weight and heat along his thigh.

"Warm now?" Zeke murmured, his voice strained.

"Mmm."

"Case? You with me?" Zeke tickled his neck.

He scrunched his shoulder up against it. "Hypnotized."

"Oh, I see – " Zeke's breath caught as Casey swayed again, unintentionally bumping certain parts of him that were hyper-sensitive. "You're – really tense."

"Yeah," Casey sighed.

"I'm not licensed but I have been told that I give a deadly massage."

Casey opened his eyes and looked up and up into Zeke's, seeing things there on the verge of boiling over. Zeke was panting just slightly.

"You're tense, too," Casey said softly.

Zeke brought him in tighter to his chest, where Casey could feel and hear the violently throbbing organ within him. "I don't like you going to the doctor without me."

Were they still following Zeke's guidelines? Casey rocked ever so slightly, felt Zeke tremble, heard him say nothing. Was Zeke no longer following the rules? Was he changing them? Casey didn't know what was happening. The normal pattern was, he came on to Zeke, Zeke exhibited his usual degree of discipline, Casey withdrew and resigned himself to another hour or day of being the broken toy that Zeke took to bed with him. Not this slow two-step like it was closing time in a club, people clinging to each other and grinding with a subtle friction. Not this –

Zeke suddenly grabbed him by the shoulders as preparatory to pushing him back but it was too late; he let out a strangled cry, spilling himself on Casey's leg.

"Oh, fuck," Zeke gasped. "I didn't mean for that to... fuck." He raised his eyes, flinging them away before Casey could get a really good, solid look but it was long enough for him to see something in Zeke that he didn't like, something that scared him. It was shame.

"It's my fault," Casey said quickly. "I – I was moving and I'm not supposed to."

"Casey," Zeke rasped. "Don't you dare try to blame yourself." Still his gaze was averted, his visage one of utter misery.

Casey reached for the nearest washcloth and cleaned himself off, hoping to wipe away Zeke's shame somehow, but it was rather too late, wasn't it? It was not far from shame to hatred, after all, and Zeke would be hating Casey someday very soon. No, he didn't hate Casey just yet. For now, he would only be hating what Casey put him through, resenting Casey for forcing him to bottle himself up until he exploded. He would make a point of not blaming Casey, he would hold himself responsible, but over time his bitterness would leach into everything and force him to wonder if this relationship was really worth poisoning himself.

Zeke had rested his head back against the tiles. "I.. I don't know how to do this," he muttered.

Or maybe it was happening sooner than Casey thought – and guess what? He wasn't ready. Actually, he was a manipulative coward who just liked to wallow in whatever tragic demise he was turning over in his head this week. A river of piteous words bubbled up... sorry I do stupid things like go out in the rain and sorry I'm so fucked-up we can't fuck like normal people and sorry I'm constantly on your heels always waiting for you at the door when you get back from school and making you feel guilty about wanting to spend time with sane people or even maybe a couple of hours in the library... I ruin everything.

"Casey?" Zeke said suddenly, lifting his head. "That didn't come out right."

Waiting for judgment, Casey could barely feel the hot water on his skin. "You're not leaving?"

"Not this century." Zeke stooped a little, and rested his forehead against Casey's. "It's just that – that I don't know what I'm doing."

Casey made himself swallow the first thing he thought of to say, and the second, and the third. Finally, he came up with a line that he thought would be acceptable. "I think you need a massage a lot more than I do."

Zeke chuckled, and was himself again. "I think you're right. But we don't have time now, we need to get dressed and go to breakfast."

"I could give you one later."

Zeke considered this, his eyes dark and serious. "I would have to amend the guidelines slightly, but otherwise I say bring it on." He kissed Casey tenderly, and sighed. "But I still don't like this plan where I'm sitting in a stupid lecture hall while you're at the doctor's office."

"Sasha'll– "

"Sasha's not me. Will he tear apart anyone who looked at you sideways? Will he rip the doctor a new one if she isn't nice to you? I don't think so."

"Which is why it's probably better if Sasha comes with me," Casey said. To his own ears he sounded just determined enough, and this time he pulled off the playful that he had wanted to be a little while ago.

He was such a liar.

"Happy now?" Stokely was asking of Zeke.

Zeke did not glance up from his in-depth study of the menu of the Bayside Diner. He said mildly, "They have fifteen kinds of omelettes and four kinds of toast and all the pork you could ever want... what's not to be happy about?"

"And after I slaved over a stove to give you healthy breakfasts," Stokely retorted, rolling her eyes as though she hadn't been totally keen to get them to this place to try the breakfast menu. She had promised that it would live up to all of Zeke's worst habits. "I'm wounded."

"Zeke doesn't like any food that doesn't clog his arteries," Sasha drawled. He elbowed Casey, who was sitting next to him in their booth, sandwiched between him and the wall. "And this one's not much better. His favourite food is bacon-and-egg pasta."

"Ugh!" was Stokely's comment.

"It's a classic, actually," Sasha maintained loftily.

"A classic what?"

"Italian dish," Sasha replied. "And speaking of Italian dishes... check out that guy behind the counter."

Zeke smirked. "If anyone would know about dishing, it's you."

Only half-listening to them natter, Casey was preoccupied with watching Stokely; to his eyes she looked weary and unhappy, her previous healthful glow significantly dimmed. That had to be about Stan, who had not been present at the housewarming dinner that Sasha had cooked a Thursday ago, nor that last Saturday when Stokely came over to watch some movies with them. When Casey had asked Zeke about Stan, Zeke had growled and told him not to worry about it. Casey hadn't felt up to mentioning it again – not just yet.

The Italian dish turned out to be their waiter. He came to take their order and pretended he didn't notice Sasha's appreciative ogling. Zeke ordered enough breakfast for everyone at the table, then looked expectantly at his companions to find out what they were going to eat. He nodded approvingly when Casey ordered waffles with strawberries and whipped cream. Casey had long since learned that there was really no point to trying to protest that his stomach felt queasy; it would not be heard. He kept his head down with his coffee cup, trying to brace himself for eating.

"So how's the job search going, Sasha?" Stokely asked.

Sasha pressed a hand to his brow and sighed dramatically. "Not so groovy. But I have an interview this afternoon and I have a very good feeling about it."

"When this afternoon?" Zeke asked sharply.

"At two."

"You didn't tell me it was at two."

Sasha was unrepentant. "No, I didn't, did I?"

"I have class until three and Stokely works until six."

"You have a point here, I presume."

Zeke scowled. He glanced at Stokely, apparently not wanting to humiliate Casey in front of her, not that it wasn't already too late. It wasn't exactly a stretch to read Zeke's mind. With travelling time factored in, Casey would be alone for at least a couple of hours – that was, assuming he lived through the doctor appointment. Left to himself, he might drown in the shower or accidentally throw himself off the building's roof.

"I'll be okay, Zeke," Casey said. "I won't go anywhere."

"I know that... " Zeke was squirming. "But this is different."

Sasha said, "For god's sake, Zeke, loosen the leash a little." But he and Zeke launched into one of their silent conversations that concluded with an understanding, probably something to the effect that Sasha would assess Casey's condition after the appointment and if he was really agitated, Sasha wouldn't go to his interview. He would just forego having a job.

Casey spoke up, his voice ringing a bit loud in his own ears, "It isn't like I'll fall into a fatal trance. You two go on and have a life." He was appalled by how bitter he sounded. He wasn't, not at all – they were the ones who must be resenting him. He scrubbed his forehead and stumbled on, much quieter this time, "I don't want to be the reason that you miss things."

With a squeeze of Casey's shoulder, Sasha said, "I just don't like to leave you stuck in that apartment."

"I like the apartment."

"That's not the issue," Zeke declared.

Casey turned his attention to the vintage juke box on their table, the same kind that was on every table in every booth. He started reading the list of songs, turning the knob and watching the page flip over to a fresh bunch of selections.

"Could you pop in once or twice maybe, Stokes?" he heard Zeke ask.

Casey stole a look at Stokely and saw that she was examining her hands. He knew he had terrified her that night when he had his little episode. In fact, it had to be exhausting for all of them dealing with those sort of histrionics, so it wasn't exactly fair to claim the right to be alone when his being alone would just make it harder on his caretakers.

"Sure, Zeke," Stokely answered. "If that's okay with you, Case."

He met her eyes, finding himself grateful to her. "It's fine," he said.

The Italian dish soon presented Casey with a platter containing two waffles the size and thickness of physics textbooks, topped with a mountain of strawberries and slathered with cream. He began to chip away at it, despairing of satisfying the Food Police. Oh, they were subtle about it, but they had gotten to be experts in surveillance without seeming to be watching him. Even Stokely was beginning to catch on to the technique. Casey had no memory of eating strawberries and whipped cream before with so little enjoyment. He couldn't taste any of it, and the cream actually was making him feel nauseous.

He glanced up, saw Stokely watching him, grinning. "Good, huh?" she said.

"Yummy," he agreed, lying some more.

The thought occurred to Zeke while he shovelled down his eggs and monitored Casey: He's not exactly in the habit of telling the truth. That hadn't really bothered Zeke to date, but it did now for some reason. Maybe because a bottle of pills was now giving Casey the resources to carry it off on occasion, whereas before it was so pitifully obvious one could hardly call it lying.

But then, he wasn't much better himself. Zeke had been working so hard to put on an encouraging face for Casey, to get him pumped for his doctor visit, that he could deny to himself right up until this moment that he was more than a wee bit apprehensive. None of Casey's recent encounters with doctors had been very empowering, so even if Zeke's head knew that it was ridiculous, his gut feared what this new one might be able to do to Casey. Sure, Casey ate and slept and acted non-suicidal, yet Zeke had moments of sheer terror when he observed Casey and saw the shadows, the distance, or when he thought about the fact that Casey refused to leave the apartment unless in his or Sasha's company, and even then reluctantly and only briefly.

Even worse, this new doctor might ask for all of the notes and charts of the doctors in Herrington, including Anthony-fucking-Spadoni's. Zeke had tried to prepare Casey for this possibility, running through the range possible questions and responses with him. For all he knew, though, Spadoni had slipped Casey some sort of generic release form when he was barely aware of what he was doing and Casey might very well have signed it.

On top of all this Zeke was in the position of having to rely on someone else's judgment, a someone whom he would rather not have trusted at all.

The Tuesday after Labour Day, Zeke had turned his mind to the doctor-therapist question. Reluctant to just pick them at random from the phone book, he had tried asking Stokely first if she had any suggestions, but of course she had only one: Ask Charly. It made too much sense to ignore so he asked for Charly's phone number and called her himself despite Stokely's offer to do it on Casey's behalf. He needed to control whatever relationship that woman might with Casey; unwillingly and a bit hurt, Stokely had understood.

On the phone, Charly had suggested that they talk in person for some reason. Zeke was about to refuse when it occurred to him that he had an opportunity to find out what, if anything, the woman wanted from them. Mostly, he wanted to be face-to-face with her while he was delivering smackdown. So he had agreed to meet her in a cafe near the Chronicle building.

She had gotten herself a huge lunch of hot beef sandwich with fries and gravy, milk, and pie, and was unfazed at Zeke's refusal of her offer to get him something. Seeing her there brought home once again how very much she resembled Stan, which immediately made Zeke feel hostile – well, more hostile.

"So, Zeke," she began, not wasting a moment. If he didn't dislike her so much, he would have appreciated her conciseness. "You mentioned you needed a favour."

"Yes," he admitted, and struggled to find a way to get the words out. He settled on, "I was wondering if you could recommend a doctor. You're the only person I know to ask here."

"And that would be why you're sitting here looking like you have a mouthful of glass?" Charly was consuming her lunch with dispatch as she spoke, not exactly slovenly, but not entirely with pristine manners either. "Are you sick?"

Zeke bit down on the snarling retort he wanted to deliver. "It's for Casey, and... if there's any way you could make it happen quickly I'd be – well, it would be a help."

"I see."

Suspicion flared. "Oh, really. What exactly do you see?"

Charly put down her fork long enough to answer. "I see a couple of things. One, you must really care for your friend to be asking me for help, and two, I'd be risking dismemberment I dared to comment on anything else I happen to observe."

Zeke made an effort to be civil. "Look, I'm sure you're a decent person and all that, I just don't want you talking to anyone about Casey, especially if it has to do with aliens."

"What makes you think I would do that?"

"You certainly made free with your opinions the other day."

"I apologize for that. If I'd had any idea he was that fragile, I wouldn't have said anything."

"He's not – " Zeke shut himself up before he could complete the denial; lying to this woman would just weaken him in front of her. "Will you help me find a doctor or not?"

"Of course I'll help." Resuming eating, Charly inquired casually, "Any particular kind of doctor?"

Where she couldn't see it, Zeke clenched his hands. "A psychiatrist – or, a doctor and some kind of therapist, I guess."

Charly didn't so much as blink; she didn't even stop chewing. "I know a doctor. She's not a psychiatrist but she's very good. She'd probably make room for Casey in her calendar if I ask her, and I'll see what I can do about the therapist."

"Will I like this doctor?" Zeke asked pointedly.

"I have no idea. I do know she's an excellent doctor, and her bedside manner is nothing like mine, if that's what's worrying you."

"In a word... yes."

With a slightly rueful shrug, Charly dug into her pie. "May I have your phone number, so as to call you with the info?"

"We don't have a phone number yet. You can leave a message with Stokely though."

"That works. Do you mind if I ask you for a few details about Casey, just so I can be a little persuasive when I talk to my friend?"

Just when Zeke had begun to relax in this woman's presence, she said something to set him off. He snapped, "I don't think that's necessary."

"So you want me to phone her up and beg for an appointment right away and when she asks me why, I say... what?"

"Okay," Zeke gritted, begrudgingly allowing her point. "He was hospitalized for depression recently. He got out of the hospital two weeks ago. He's on medication and he has panic attacks. Enough detail for you?"

"More than," replied Charly quietly, and it seemed like she was trying to sound gracious, but he didn't want to notice it. "Is it related to –"

"Do not go there," Zeke said. "In fact, the only reason I asked you for your help was so I could say this to you in person: I don't want you talking to anyone about aliens. No references to Time magazine or follow-up articles – in fact, I don't want you talking to anyone about Casey at all, and that includes Stokely. The only other person who's going to know about the aliens is Casey's therapist – if he wants to tell them."

Charly looked pensive; she opened her mouth –

"Please," Zeke emphasized, in a tone that was not really asking.

"I wouldn't have said anything, Zeke, I do have some discretion. But don't you think it's pertinent?"

"Maybe, but it's for Casey and me to deal with ourselves. So I'm asking you... not to bring it up anymore in front of me or Casey if we should happen to be in the same space again, which I'm sure we will."

Charly shrugged. "I can do that. And I do hope that we'll be in the same space, as you put it. I'd still like to have you all for dinner some time."

"Why?"

"Because that's what older aunts do."

"We don't need you keeping an eye on us."

"I hardly thought otherwise. Just trying to come up with reasons why I might want to do something nice for you kids, but you shot me right down, didn't you?

Zeke felt a rising sense of remorse for his behaviour to this woman, who really didn't seem to be after anything except to act upon a sincere desire to be useful – but he squelched it before it could develop any further.

"How old are you, Zeke?" she asked him unexpectedly.

"Why do you want to know?"

"Honestly? Because when you speak I have trouble imagining you to be under the age of forty-five."

"Um... gee, thanks."

"I think you're quite remarkable. That's all I'm saying."

Zeke narrowed his eyes, looking for ulterior motives. "I had to grow up early."

"Because of the aliens?"

"No. Not everything of me and Casey is about the aliens. I'm going to go now. Thank you for your help." Zeke stood up, feeling curiously off-balance. Charly attempted a handshake, and he accepted it. On his way out he had another thought that he didn't want to have: For a woman, she was refreshingly straightforward.

She was also extremely competent. That afternoon Stokely got a call from a Dr. Chakri with an appointment for Casey the following week, and the names of two therapists who were known for being exceptionally successful in treating anxiety disorders. Zeke had called both offices and simply took the therapist who was available sooner – still not until September 30th. The therapist's name was Helen Yves, but Charly knew nothing else about her except that the doctor had recommended her highly.

Casey's reaction when Zeke informed him of the dates of his appointments had been interesting to say the least. A range of expressions had crossed his face, one after the other... slightly angry... slightly afraid... utter betrayal...something unrecognizable... really scared now... finally settling on completely bewildered.

"What?" Zeke had said. "Case... you have to see someone."

"I... thought it could wait," Casey had said faintly.

"Wait?" Zeke had been incredulous. "How could it possibly wait?" He had thought, but didn't say, I don't like to see you hurting, get it?

And Casey had looked at him and said nothing, but as the days counted down, every single day he had found a way to say "Why? Why are you doing this?" Until this morning, when he had balked altogether. Zeke honestly hadn't been expecting that – even after he had found Casey up on the roof in his boxers, seemingly oblivious to the drenched and chilled state that he was in. Zeke had thought Casey was a little bit more amenable to plain logic, even when fear held sway over most of his thought processes.

There was still a lot of waffle on Casey's plate when he set his fork and knife down. "I can't finish this," Casey said to Zeke with a hint of challenge.

Are you going to force me, just like you're forcing me to do this terrible thing?

"Fine," Zeke replied. "It's your stomach."

Eat or don't eat... you're still going to the doctor.

"I didn't think it would be so big."

How could you do this to me?

"It is pretty big, I don't think I could finish it either."

I love you is all, can you get that through your mixed up head?

"Next time... I'll order something else." Casey's voice was very small.

I'm sorry, Zeke, I'm sorry. Please don't hate me.

Zeke was not the type of person to grab someone's hand across the table; it was just not him. What he did was smile at Casey as though he understood. Maybe not completely, but he really did try to understand everything even if it was pretty damn tiring at times.

"I think it's time for me and Casey to get going," Sasha said, intruding on their conversation. "You can take care of the check for us, yes?"

Sasha threw out some money, slid out of the booth and stood waiting. Casey was more than slightly wild-eyed. He wasn't moving.

"Be careful with my car," Zeke said to Sasha, buying Casey some time.

Sasha rolled his eyes. "Sasha can drive, papa."

"This is the big city, you know. Traffic everywhere."

"I'll manage." Sasha addressed Casey with: "Come on, kitten."

Casey moved finally, trailing after Sasha towards the door like a person just denied parole. On impulse, Zeke followed them, saying to Stokes, "Just be a mo'."

He caught up to Casey and steered him quickly into the small alcove between the men and women's washrooms.

There was nothing much to be said. Zeke grasped Casey, and felt Casey's arms encircle and hold on to him like they were dangling from a cliff and that grip was the only thing saving him from a fatal plunge. Yeah, okay, Stan had been right about this one thing: Zeke was sure that he would never be able to stop savouring the experience of Casey making a cocoon in him, breathing him instead of air, drinking in him instead of water. He would never be able to stop being needed this completely.

He detached reluctantly from Casey, applying a pair of soft kisses to Casey's strawberry-and-cream mouth. Sasha was stationed nearby, misty-eyed from watching them.

Zeke forced himself to return to his booth, hating the very thought of going to school. He slid into the vinyl seat across from Stokely.

She asked him something.

"Fine," Zeke replied distractedly, eyes still on the door Casey had just gone through.

"Zeke."

He forced himself to pay attention. Stokely looked a little amused and a lot knowing. "What?"

"How. Casey. Is. Casey. The. Casey. Apartment?"

Zeke was able to chuckle at that. "I'm that obvious?"

"Glaring. My eyes have white spots on them."

"The apartment is great, actually. Sasha's been channelling Martha Stewart... Casey loves the roof garden."

Stokely fidgeted slightly. "Is he... Damn, I hate to say it, it seems like we're constantly talking about him behind his back, no wonder he's twitchy... Are things any better?"

"You've been around, you see him almost every day."

"And I never see him go out."

"He goes to the video rental place, as long as Sasha or I go along." Zeke played with his coffee cup. "And Sasha dragged him to the grocery store once. He threw up on the sidewalk but otherwise it was a grand success."

"Jesusfuck... are you... Don't you ever get discouraged, Zeke?"

"No," Zeke lied. He saw her expression and admitted, "Okay, yes, but then I remind myself that we're really just getting started here. I do kinda wish... I wish everything could look hunky-dory for the parents this weekend."

"Brave of you to invite Mr. Connor into your home. I always felt like he was pissed at me for not throwing myself at Casey in a last-ditch attempt to cure him."

"There was no avoiding the visit. They wanted to come, and Casey seems to like them for some reason. And..." Zeke coughed. "His father has been pretty bearable lately." With that, Zeke segued neatly: "And speaking of homophobes..."

"Yes?" Stokely returned cooly.

"How's it going with Stan?"

"We aren't speaking since I told him I couldn't love an intolerant, small-town redneck."

"You didn't."

"I did. Heat of the moment, Zeke. But I stand by it." Stokely looked sadly down at her hands.

"I'm sorry, Stokes."

"It's not your fault."

"Yeah, it is, kinda. I confronted him and got in his face and made it a major issue. If I hadn't, maybe we all could have just ignored it."

"Don't go there, Zeke. You were right to get in his face and you know it. I still love Stan, I guess – but I really don't like him right now and I don't want to be with someone I don't like." Stokely heaved a sigh. "I've been thinking about this a lot. Maybe everything would be different if we didn't go around saying, 'oh, he's a really nice guy even if he does have a problem with gays' or 'she's a good person despite those cracks she makes about blacks every now and then'. People let that stuff pass like it doesn't reflect on anyone's actual character."

"I have a feeling Stan'll come around, though."

"You do?" Suddenly, Stokes was exhibiting some very serious misery.

"Yeah, I do. I think he has it in him. He quit the football team, right? So he can quit being an intolerant, small-town redneck if he really wants to."

"I'm not so sure. But, hey, it isn't like we're some old married couple. People who fall in love in high school usually don't end up together. It's just a fact."

From Stokely, this was a startling statement. "That sounds more like something I would say."

"You did."

"When... what are you talking about?"

"Well, not exactly. What you said was no one can be everything to another person. On the phone, remember?"

"Suppose I've changed my mind?"

Stokely smiled knowingly. "Zeke Tyler... a romantic?"

"Not!" Zeke did not like the direction this was going in at all; he dug around in his head for a change of subject. "I appreciate you stopping in this afternoon, Stokes."

"No problem. He's my friend too, remember?"

"I'm sure I'm being overprotective. I'll bet I need therapy too for being a controlling asshole... Do they bring you the bill here, or what?" Zeke grabbed his jacket and got on his feet, intending to go up to the cash register to force the issue. "I've got to go, I want to do a few errands before class. See you later."

"Later." Stokely waved.

He had an hour and then some before his class in American Politics – which was a joke, a monster elective filled with every idiot prep girl and grunge kid in the northwest. Zeke constantly marvelled at how some people seemed to feel that just because they had a thought, it was worthy of being shared out loud.

Somehow when he had thought about being in college he had imagined himself in dusty little rooms debating Plato and Kant and Heidegger, but instead, as he had been dismayed to learn, he was being required to take a bunch of other things first. In fact, he had only one philosophy course this term. The professor was an old fart who was currently abusing his students with Cynics, Stoics, Epicureans and Hedonists. The Stoics and Cynics didn't make much impression on Zeke one way or the other, but he had a real problem with the Hedonists.... Could these guys have truly believed that it was possible to pursue pleasure without restraint and not ultimately lose the ability to distinguish an itch from an orgasm? Zeke had said as much in class earlier this week, hinting at the plethora of empirical evidence he could have brought forward to support his claim. It earned him a laugh, although the professor was unimpressed.

Yep, Zeke was all about restraint. Until this morning, when he had become a Hedonist just long enough to get off. He was disgusted by his own lack of discipline. Even if Casey had been surprisingly skilful in deflecting Zeke's embarrassment, Zeke was still cringing every time he thought about it. Maybe he was an animal, maybe everyone was an animal – but there could be no such thing as uncontrollable passion, not for him. That was the way it had to be. Whatever Casey might say or do when the siren took over, however comfortable he was with fucking, he still seemed traumatized by Zeke's attempts to convince him that two people could be together without someone in the room having all the power. His behaviour wasn't exactly difficult to understand, but it was a real drag all the same.

Zeke arrived at class with surprises for Casey stuffed in his backpack along with his textbooks, and it was a challenge to concentrate on a lecture on early U.S. expansion policies in a room of four hundred while he knew that at this very moment Casey was probably finishing up with his appointment. The internal debate over whether to just take off and go home or stay for Intro to Western Philosophy at two o'clock was closing up his ears and brain, but he kept stubbornly in his seat. He was not going to blow this off – he was paying for it, he had come here for it, and it actually was a little bit interesting if he was honest with himself.

After the lecture ended, he had an hour to kill; he meandered to the building where the Philosophy department lived and discovered the undergraduate common room, where he sat down and began to read ahead in his textbook, forcing himself not to think about Casey at home, soon to be by himself.

His ears tuned in despite themselves to a conversation between three other students in the near vicinity. It had started almost in whispers and had now increased in volume to the point that there was really no not-hearing.

A young man was saying. "She does love Spike, she's just too rigid and too Buffy-esque to know it."

"Oh, come on!" replied his main opponent, a woman with an intriguingly gruff voice. "Don't you think at a moment like that she'd have understood her real feelings? I think she didn't love him – yeah, she cared for him and trusted him, but she didn't love him. You just want the sappy ending."

"It was pretty far from sappy," the boy protested.

"I think you can totally love someone and not know it." This was the third person, another woman – more like a girl, actually. "Like once I had this crush on a this guy and I couldn't figure out why I always wanted to hit him, but it turned out I was just nutso for him."

"You had to know it, somewhere in you," insisted the first woman. Zeke was now watching them surreptitiously and observed that she was slightly older than the other two, perhaps in her late twenties. Her features were a genetic potluck, a little bit of everything and the effect was startling. "You can't be in love and not know it."

She noticed then that Zeke was observing them.

"What do you think?" she asked him.

He shrugged. "I think – generally, no one really knows anything about themselves."

"Really?" The way she said that was confirmation: This was a person who liked to argue.

"Really."

"On what do you base that?"

Zeke went along with the debate, enjoying himself. "Actually, I was just thinking that it's funny how you can love someone and not know it, but you pretty well always know when you hate someone."

"What are you," the woman demanded, "A psych major?"

"Kinda," Zeke replied.

"Interesting answer. Come and sit with us?"

After a moment's pause, Zeke joined them.

"I'm Winona," said the woman. "This is Brittany, and that's Jason."

"Zeke."

"I've seen you in Western Phil, we're all in it. Are you a philosophy major then?"

"Apparently."

Winona did not have a giggle; she had a loud, bracing guffaw. "I know what you mean... Nothing's ever exactly like you expect, huh?"

"I agree with that." Zeke couldn't think of more to say. He had never been a person who made conversation; conversations always came to him.

Jason put a conventional topic on the table. "How are you finding it so far?"

"It's okay... you guys in philosophy too?"

Winona replied, "Just me."

"I'm in cultural studies," Jason supplied, "but I'm in the same boat with all of the general education requirements." He was narrow-shouldered, a bit slouching but mainly unoffensive in his appearance. Both he and Brittany appeared to be about twenty. Zeke wondered how Winona had hooked up with them.

"Political science here," said Brittany. "But I think maybe I'll switch to something else."

"Cultural studies," Zeke said to Jason. "Is that where you get to do essays on Buffy?"

"Um," Jason replied, and grinned suddenly. "Well, there is this neat course in popular culture next semester that I want to take."

Casey would love that. Zeke resolved to mention it to him.

He sat with the three of them through the lecture, and afterwards Winona asked him to go for coffee with them. He was shocked to find that he might enjoy such a thing, but it was quite out of the question. Already his adrenalin was rising; he needed to get home, no, wanted to get home.

"Uh, no, thanks," he fumbled. Noting the slightly crestfallen expression on Winona's face, he added, "I have a date with my boyfriend."

Winona raised her eyebrows, letting him know that he was being obvious. Brittany looked a little stunned, and Jason was making a point of not reacting.

"Hmm," Winona said. "Now that we know you're unavailable, maybe we can do coffee next week."

He felt an urge to explain... It isn't just that I'm unavailable, see, I'm not that threatened by you, it's just that I have someone who counts on me to take care of them. And that was stupid because he didn't actually need to explain himself to three complete strangers. He didn't need to go to outdoor concerts and pub nights and make friends and interact with new people. He didn't need to go for coffee and talk philosophy. He didn't need to get to know a single damn person.

"Maybe," he hedged. "I need to get going."

It would take him half an hour to get home on the bus, not including whatever time he spent waiting at the stop. He grabbed his backpack and hurried, not wanting to miss the first available bus. He didn't know the schedules yet.

Well, the waffles were not going to be staying down. They just weren't, Casey knew that long before they pulled into the clinic parking lot. He just made it to the sixth floor of the building, bolting out of the elevator and running for the bathroom; when he emerged from there, in the usual condition he was in after throwing up, Sasha had already grown roots at the reception desk and was waving him over. Casey had told himself that he could still leave if he needed to, and he could he supposed, but Sasha was wearing the expression he always did when he was about to do his tough love thing. Casey didn't want to find out what Sasha would do to keep him from leaving. He dragged his feet up to the desk, gave the nurse his insurance card, and over his shoulder surveyed the waiting room for a secure place from which he could keep an eye on everything.

The clinic was apparently a point of access for several different doctors; the waiting room held rows of interconnecting plastic and metal chairs, and the chairs were full of people. Apart from a single space here and there, there were two empty seats to be found only in the very middle of the room. Casey counted fourteen people, and only a few of them looked convincingly ill. There were a few sets of mothers and children, a bunch of older people –

Sasha put a hand in the small of his back and gently propelled him in the direction of the two free seats. He couldn't resist without drawing everyone's attention so he sat down and tried to remain vigilant, but it was impossible when all the chemicals in his body were charging around, making a hash of his brain. There was a woman on his left who didn't fit in her chair and she kept elbowing him. On his right, Sasha patted Casey's hand each time it happened, a single half-pat, half-caress that was also a message: Stay put. The woman never looked at him, never apologized, but she had to be aware that she was in his space so why didn't she acknowledge their physical intimacy with a smile or a word, why didn't she even glance in his direction to offer apology? That was the human thing to do, wasn't it?

The fourth time she shifted position, her elbow went deep into his arm and he couldn't stand it, he couldn't sit there and just let her invade him; he launched himself out of the chair and went to stand in the available corner adjacent to the cloakroom. Now people were staring at him, quite possibly seeing a dangerous crazed person with wild eyes and tangled hair but people who were locked up in hospitals didn't need to be groomed did they and he didn't care what they knew they could all be looking at him as their next victim anyway even the children even the ones who were making a point of looking sick –

Sasha had followed him, getting between him and his view of the people in the waiting area. "Calm down," he instructed under his breath.

"She was touching me," he tried to explain, his voice too loud.

Sasha made shushing gestures. "By accident. That's bound to happen once in a while."

He did know that. He kept a battered old photograph in his head that depicted how things were supposed to be if everything was well and there were no aliens or monsters or bad guys around. But he also had to be prepared for possibilities of whatever, possibilities that things that were unlikely were also true and things that were merely possible could become true if he didn't get away from here and stop thinking about them.

A tall man unfolded himself from his plastic chair and came at him with a leisurely pace, regarding him intently. He tried to slip sideways along the wall, to get around the man and to the door; Sasha was in the way, blocking him. The man passed by him... retrieved his windbreaker from the cloakroom.

That woman whose elbow he had gotten to know so acutely was looking at him, staring fixedly, not blinking, unfriendly.

"Casey," whispered Sasha urgently.

"I want to go." They always wanted him to assert himself didn't they, they always said tell me what you want Casey and so Casey was asserting himself now... hadn't worked with Zeke earlier but Sasha was a softer touch especially if he poured on the tears and looked pathetic -- "I don't need a doctor."

"I'm not even going to dignify that," was Sasha's reply.

"Casey Connor?" a nurse called. She was standing not five feet away, holding a thin file folder and looking quizzically at them. Her eyes narrowed, assessing him. Trying to decide if he was a maniac, if he should walk about free or not because that was what they did when they weren't coming at you with a tray full of food or a needle.

He was going to run. He fully intended it.

Except Sasha grabbed him by the upper arms and spun him in the direction of the nurse, who reared back slightly like he had just thrown a cat at her. "Casey?" she inquired warily.

Sasha was going to hand him over to them – but no, Sasha wanted him to surrender himself of his own accord. And he managed to remember something important then: If he didn't do this now they would just make him come back and that would be twice the endangerment, so he nodded once and let Sasha march him with hands on his shoulders, making sure he walked to his own execution.

"Your friend's coming too?" the nurse asked him.

Sasha answered for him this time, firmly. "Yes."

Casey concurred with a nod. The nurse's brows had been high on her forehead; now they climbed to her hairline. "All right, then."

They were shown into the doctor's office, which had been arranged to encourage informality. The large, glossy wooden desk was facing the wall. There were two chairs to one side of it, so that visitors would not be sitting across but rather almost next to the doctor, facing towards the window. The window, of course, opened to nothing but air; so he would not be escaping that way. Casey decided his only recourse now was to answer questions and hope his luck held long enough to get out of here safely. Zeke was depending on him and it wasn't Zeke's fault he was here. It was his fault if he couldn't be sane enough so his job right now was to depict someone capable of being out on the street rather than in some sterile, controlled environment.

Sasha sat down in one chair, dragging Casey into the one next to him. As he did, he got a good look at Casey's face, and evidently Casey was not doing such a good job so far, for he said, "Kitten, you know that nothing bad is going to happen."

"I don't know that," he muttered.

"Trust me, then. It's going to be okay."

A small, slender woman of east Indian descent came in, holding that cream-coloured file with Casey's name on it. She wore the doctor's white flag of identity over black slacks and a black turtleneck, and she easily spotted the sick person in the room, walking up to him. "Casey?" she said.

He nodded, not feeling sure of his voice right then.

She held out her hand. "I'm Dr. Chakri." He accepted the touch, briefly. "And who is this?"

"I'm – " began Sasha.

"He's my friend," Casey said hoarsely. He suddenly wanted to clutch Sasha like a life-sized stuffed toy, but that would look a little desperate, wouldn't it? It wouldn't contribute to the appearance of sanity at all. "Sasha."

"You want him to stay while we talk?"

"Yes, I – I want him to stay."

"That's fine, as long as you're comfortable with it."

She took a seat at her desk, assessing him in that careful way that doctors generally did. He tried to keep his eyes up, to return her look. She was in her forties perhaps, but with a sweet, girlish voice that made her sound very kind without even trying. He would have to be careful of that.

"So what brings you here, Casey?"

Sasha started in right away. "Well, he's been – "

"Excuse me, Sasha, sorry to interrupt you, but I'd like to hear from Casey."

From some people that would have sounded rude but from her it was merely to the point. Sasha didn't look offended by it, just a bit startled. Casey clenched his fists, clenched his whole body.

"I just want to chat with you a bit, Casey, find out what's going on." Dr. Chakri flipped open her file. There was one page in it, mostly blank. Casey stared at the few handwritten words on it. The doctor noted the direction of his gaze and held the folder up where he could see what it contained without straining his eyes or reading upside down – which he had already done. "All it says here, Casey, is that you just moved here, and you suffer from depression and frequent panic attacks."

"And – the hospital," Casey added.

"Yes. I also know that, but that's all I know, Casey." The eyes that were watching him seemed too attentive, too knowing even while they pretended to be gentle. "Are you worried that I'm going to put you in a hospital?"

Hearing one of his many fears stated so bluntly did not help him. He nodded, gulping at the elusive air that was whirling around him not getting into his lungs somehow.

"I can only do that if you meet certain criteria, Casey, and it's pretty specific criteria. Why don't we get that out of the way so we won't have that worry between us?"

"O - okay," he granted, his body clench beginning to go to shudders.

"I'll just ask you a few questions... Are you thinking about harming yourself?"

He shook his head.

"Are you thinking about harming anyone else?"

"No."

"Do you have thoughts that scare you?"

Thoughts that scared him – ? What kind of trick question was that? Of course he did, all the time.

"I mean," she edited herself, "do you find yourself thinking about dying or dwelling on how you would do it?"

"Not really."

"Not really?"

He was stuck now, he had to tell her something, and before he could stop himself his mouth opened and the truth came out. "Sometimes I... think about... disappearing," he admitted. He didn't understand why he was telling her this, why he felt compelled to be honest suddenly.

"What do you mean by disappearing, Casey?"

"I don't... I don't want to be a burden." He couldn't look in Sasha's direction, but Sasha's hand caught his, trying to reassure him without uttering the obvious lie that he was not a burden – and he was, he saw them get tired and impatient and sometimes they even looked like they were ready to give up on him altogether. They would talk themselves out of it and remember that they cared for him, but they were only human and it wasn't fair. Maybe he should be in a hospital, there at least the people who spent alldayeveryday looking after him were compensated for it. It was their actual job, not a project they had picked up along the way and had unwittingly committed themselves to spending every moment of their spare time on finishing. But if he were in a hospital, Zeke and Sasha would have failed, and he couldn't do that to them.

Dr. Chakri asked him, "Are you planning to disappear, Casey?"

"No."

"You would tell me if you were, wouldn't you?"

"You don't believe me?" he challenged, his voice ragged. He wasn't planning anything. He didn't have the wherewithal to plan and he wasn't wanting to do anything except occasionally he thought about being somewhere quiet and still, and did he think about harming someone else? Fuck, yes, all the time, he worried about it constantly, it was uppermost in his mind.

"I do believe you, Casey. I find that people who are suicidal are generally up front about it. Sometimes they're terrified by what they're thinking and they want to tell me, or they aren't able to hide it when I ask them. So I believe you. I need to ask you, though... How did you come to be in the hospital? Was it a suicide attempt?"

He began surveying the artwork that was hanging on her walls. Nature prints, all of them. "I can't really remember."

"That's not surprising. You must have discussed it with someone, though. Afterwards."

He shrugged, and tucked his hands into the crooks of his arms. After what seemed like just a minute but could have been much longer, he realized she was still waiting for him to answer, and Sasha was not going to bail him out this time.

"Zeke... brought me."

"Who's Zeke?"

"My – friend."

"He brought you to the hospital?"

"Yes."

"Why did he do that?"

He took a deep breath, collecting his energies. This was one of those occasions, when he had to go a little further, make an extra effort because she wanted to hear that he understood what had gone wrong with him. "I was messed up. I didn't eat, I... would go into these sort of trances and that last day I burned myself with the iron... " He sensed Sasha's ears working at two hundred percent capacity, trying to soak up every word he said. "I had an argument with Zeke and I wandered off and when he found me I didn't know what was going on or anything... He took me to the emergency room and they – I guess they made me stay but I don't really remember much of it."

"And that was when you went into the hospital."

"Yes."

"Was it voluntary or involuntary?"

"Voluntary."

"And you stayed how long?"

"Twelve days."

"And when was this? When did you leave the hospital?"

"About three weeks ago."

Dr. Chakri had been writing diligently while he spoke; now she sat back and sized him up. "How long have you been in Seattle?"

"Almost two weeks."

"So... you got out of hospital and almost immediately moved here?"

Oh, fuck, fuck --"Yes," he said, his voice giving away his distress at the implication that he had revealed something important, that he had moved to this city far too quickly. "It was... We were planning it, to come here – and I wanted to. I wanted to... with Zeke."

"That's your decision of course, Casey." Still leaning back, she laced her fingers together. "You're living with Zeke?"

"And Sasha."

Dr. Chakri acknowledged Sasha with a pleasant look, and Sasha jumped in, unsolicited, with, "We're making sure he eats and takes care of himself, Doctor."

"That's excellent, Casey, that you have two friends supporting you. That makes all the difference." The doctor picked up her pen again. "How's your appetite?"

"It's..." He didn't dare say anything but the bare truth, not with Sasha listening. "Not great, but they make me eat."

"You look underweight to me, Casey."

"I... I feel sick a lot." Casey glanced at Sasha, hoping he would somehow rescue him on this point. He supposed there wasn't much to work with, though. "But I eat."

"He's better than he was," Sasha provided. "I think he's even put on a few pounds."

Dr. Chakri nodded. "When you feel sick, do you throw up?"

"Yeah."

"Do you know why?"

"Mostly because... I get worried."

"Worried?"

"Anxious, I guess."

Kind, brown eyes took him in and decided to give him a break for the moment. "Well, I think it's safe to say we won't be putting you in a hospital just yet." She smiled encouragingly at him. "It sounds like you're recovering, Casey, although it will take some time, of course. Can we go on now?"

"Yes," he said, reminding himself to be on guard. It wasn't over yet, not by a longshot.

To prove his point, she suddenly hit him with, "Would you be willing to sign a release to have your records from – Ohio, was it? – to have copies of your records sent to me?"

But he and Zeke had prepared for this question. They had rehearsed possible questions and answers so he wouldn't lose it when, inevitably, the subject came up. "Is it necessary?" he asked.

"No, but it might be helpful. If you don't want to, that's up to you."

"I don't want to."

"We'll just start fresh, then." Dr. Chakri did not appear to be upset in the least by this, plunging right back into the interview. "Are you on medication, Casey?"

"Yes," he said, distracted by his effort not to cry with relief. "Paxil."

The doctor was writing, rapidly filling up her sheet of paper. "For how long?"

"Since the hospital – four weeks, about."

"Do you know the dose?"

Sasha had come prepared and produced Casey's bottle of pills. Dr. Chakri took it and scanned the label.

"Forty milligrams per day. That's a relatively high dose." She eyed Casey as she asked, "Have you noticed any side effects or symptoms that trouble you, Casey?"

Apart from being dead below the neck? Casey had trouble mustering the words, not really sure why. It could have been just because she was a she. "I..."

"Yes?"

"There is... something, but..."

"Kitten, I'll leave if you want," Sasha offered.

"No!" he refused instantly. The doctor seemed nice but there was really no way to be sure, so he would have to just say it. "It's... I'm having trouble..."

"Your sex drive is missing in action."

He found a laugh for her. "Understatement."

"That's a common side effect of Paxil, Casey. We could try another medication, but I'm reluctant to go to something else just yet, it's only been a month and Paxil can take up to eight weeks to reach full effect. Have you noticed any improvement in your mood, generally?"

"I feel... different," was the most he could offer – but Sasha was practically vibrating in his chair.

"Can I say something?" he burst in.

Dr. Chakri was amused. "By all means."

"You're three zillion percent better than you were, Casey. You talk, you smile once in a while, you don't sleep as much..."

"That sounds very encouraging, Sasha," said Dr. Chakri, "but it's how Casey feels that is the real indicator. So, Casey – would you agree with Sasha? Has there been an improvement?"

He half-shrugged. "I guess so."

"Don't agree for your friend's sake, Casey."

"I don't know... I think..." Casey glanced sideways at Sasha and conceded, "some things are better."

"Ah. Well, do you feel comfortable continuing to take the Paxil? I know the sex thing is a bummer."

"I'll keep taking them."

"Of course, we will re-evaluate in a few weeks, and I should warn you that one option is to increase the dose if this one isn't working for you." The doctor leaned back in her chair again. She pinned him with a considering look. "Bear in mind, Casey, that there may be other things causing sexual dysfunction. That's not always something that men like to hear, I know. It's just something to think about... Perhaps something to discuss with your therapist."

She was waiting for acknowledgment. "Okay," he agreed.

"Now... It sounds like you're having a lot of anxiety."

"Yeah," he said, choosing a focal point somewhere on the floor.

"Can you describe your symptoms?"

"Panic attacks... mostly at night... I have these... I go away in my head and I don't hear or feel anything. The doctor called it dissociation."

"Mmm hmm," she said, writing again. "How long does it last?"

"I don't... know exactly. Depends."

Dr. Chakri prompted, "Sasha?"

Sasha answered readily. "The worst ones could be an hour or more. More often they're just a few minutes."

"And what precipitates them?"

Casey answered, "I get really scared and then I just... I stop feeling or thinking, but I don't realize it's happening until it's over."

"Okay. Anything else you want to tell me?"

He chewed on his lip, knowing his reluctance was written on his face.

"It's all right, Casey, just tell me. There's nothing embarrassing about anxiety, a lot of people suffer from it."

"I'm afraid of people."

"What sort of people?"

"Um... every sort of people."

She lifted her head. "How afraid? Like you just don't want them to touch you afraid or – "

"I don't like to go out of the apartment."

"Are you usually able to overcome that fear and go out, or does it basically keep you from going anywhere – ?"

"Usually... I can go out for a little while. Sasha and Zeke make me go out at least once a day."

"Would you say that you feel nervous or endangered a lot of the time?"

"Mostly."

"Do you feel endangered right now?"

He looked at her. She was watching him steadily, her expression very neutral.

"Yes," he said.

"Okay. It is very possible that with the Paxil your anxiety will diminish, especially as you work through things in therapy. But there is some medication I can prescribe that will help you function better in the meantime. It's called Xanax and it's often prescribed for panic attacks. It mellows you out without knocking you on your ass, to put it bluntly. You can take it if you feel a panic attack coming on or if you think you're going to dissociate. But don't wait until the attack is full blown because it probably won't stop it, okay?"

"What about... going out?"

"That's up to you. If you feel like you're going to lose it, then by all means, take one. You have to decide how much anxiety is too much, but remember, Casey, this is just a temporary fix-it to help you get by. You don't want to be dependent on Xanax to live your life. You have to take a look at the root causes of your anxiety. Understand?"

"Yes."

"Would you like to try it?"

"Yeah," Casey said, checking with Sasha but getting no indication of his opinion on the matter.

"Good, then I'll write you a prescription for thirty Xanax before you go and we'll see how you do. Now – we should talk more about the physical stuff. You do look a bit fatigued, Casey. Do you have trouble sleeping?"

"Not – usually."

"Okay, well, there could be some general health issues for us to address. You're underweight, you're very pale – I think we should do a complete physical. If you weren't eating well for a while then you could be suffering from some nutrient deficiencies – and at the very least we should rule certain things out. We don't have time for the full physical today, but we can get it started. Do you mind if do my vampire thing?"

"Your... what?"

"I'm going to get a nurse to take your blood. I'd also like a urine sample if possible."

"Oh... okay."

"Good. I'll just ask someone to look after you, excuse me a moment." Dr. Chakri got to her feet. Smiling once more at Casey, she stepped out of the room.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Sasha asked.

He didn't want to say, as it wasn't over yet. Nothing should be taken for granted; he couldn't tell Sasha that he was afraid of triggering his usual bad karma by being too confident too soon.

The door made a sound; they both turned their heads to look. It was a nurse carrying a tray with an assortment of plastic tubes and needles, an empty plastic cup, no doubt for his urine, and his chart.

"Hi," she said. Her manner was not nearly as accessible or pleasing as Dr. Chakri's. In Casey's experience, nurses came in two varieties – icky-sweet and ultra-gruff, although their classification would usually have no bearing on their competence. "If you'll come with me, I'm going to take your height and weight, then we'll do the blood and urine."

Casey allowed himself to be escorted, with Sasha in tow, to an empty exam room. Not surprisingly, it was more clinical and much less welcoming, decorated with informational posters and glass jars full of various instruments, and an examination table that was essentially a raised, vinyl and paper-covered dais for preparing sacrifice.

"Why don't we start with the measuring," said the nurse. It was not a request, and neither was, "Do you want to hop on the scale here?"

Ultra-Gruff, definitely. The smell of her perfume bothered him too, or perhaps it was just the scent in the laundry soap that she used. He obeyed her, not really listening as she hemmed and clicked her pen and adjusted the scale, muttering to herself. After that she invited him to step into the bathroom to fill the little plastic cup, which was the easiest part of the visit so far. Then she required him to sit on the exam table and tied the tourniquet around his arm, looking for an appropriately juicy vein. He averted his eyes and didn't think while she inserted the needle. After the sting of insertion he watched as red liquid rushed into four of the vials, filling them one after the other. He had always been fascinated by the mechanistic efficiency of his body when draining itself; an engine that was designed to keep him alive would keep turning over until there was nothing left for it to sustain.

The blood-letting was complete, and as he tried to move a wave of dizziness suddenly drowned him.

"Whoa!" exclaimed the nurse. "A little woozy? Just lie down here for a few minutes. We don't want you fainting." She gave him a push that was a bit harder than necessary, pressing him down.

Panic took hold of him with jagged teeth, obliterating his mind. It was happening, it, the monster was here and he couldn't move, couldn't think, could barely feel his body at all... There was clammy sweat coming up on his skin, his heart was going and going and he was breathing but it wasn't working out. He was trying to get upright and he couldn't seem to do it. Every movement made his head spin but he needed to get up... he needed to get up right now –

"Hey," Sasha's voice said. "What's the matter, kitten?"

"Gotta get up... want to... let me up," he heard himself blathering.

Sasha helped him. He could barely hold up his head, resting it against Sasha's chest. He grabbed onto Sasha's sleeve, as if that were going to keep him from sliding unconscious to the floor.... Such a long time before he heard the soft voice, the girlish, sweet tones of Dr. Chakri saying "Are you all right?" but he didn't like that and he didn't like the way her hands felt on his arm. He shoved them off.

"Just let him sit for a second," Sasha said.

"It's okay, Casey," she said. "Just take your time..." Her voice sounded from far away, going in and out so he heard about half of what she was saying but it sounded like she was looking at him while they waited for him to pull himself together. "... see you have... injuries.... looks.. healing up ... I would... put on some weight, though. I'm going..."

He had to focus, think... so much danger... he was in so much danger. He had to get up, had to leave...

"... do that? Casey?"

"Kitten?

His vision finally cleared and he found himself leaning at an awkward angle against Sasha, staring into a concerned female face. She was too close to him, way too close.

"Not you," he mumbled, panting for breath, fighting to get straight and upright where he could see more clearly.

"May I –?" She reached for his arm, and he half-pushed, half-slapped her hand away.

"Don't touch me."

Dr. Chakri stepped back obligingly and said, matter-of-fact, "Well, this is quite an effective demonstration of your anxiety symptoms, Casey."

He stared hostilely at her, still breathing hard.

"Casey? Are you listening?"

He wheezed, "I don't want you touching me."

"I won't, Casey, but we're going to have a difficult time doing a physical that way."

"Not today, though," Sasha said, sounding anxious.

"Not today," the doctor agreed. "Casey, does this sort of thing happen often?"

His breathing was getting easier now, but he was sullen and completely unwilling now, not caring anymore that she was getting an eyeful of just how fucked-up he was. "Yes," was all he was going to say.

"How long has this been going on?"

He was not speaking.

"Casey..." Sasha reprimanded, in a low voice.

"If you don't want to answer, that's fine," Dr. Chakri went on briskly. "There's plenty of time to figure it all out. Casey, I want to see you next week so we can finish up the physical and go over the results of your bloodwork. Are you going to school, Casey?"

This caught his off-guard slightly. "No," he responded.

"Well, I have some homework for you. Your major assignment right now is to get healthy. A few tests will tell us if there are any obvious things that can be fixed, but in the meantime you'll have your work cut out for you. I'd like you to follow a diet based on the food pyramid and be sure to load up on the vegetables. Plus... I don't usually advise my patients to increase their intake of red meat, but for now it couldn't hurt. I have some information booklets for you about nutrition in general."

"I do a lot of the cooking," Sasha said helpfully. "And I'm very familiar with the pyramid."

"Even better. I'm also going to prescribe vitamin supplements, Casey, because you look like you could use them. I also want you to be sure to get in some exercise every day. Exercise is remarkably effective at combatting anxiety and depression as well as improving your overall health. It doesn't have to be anything intense, I would recommend short walks to start. Also, I would strongly recommend that you avoid caffeine. Do you drink coffee, or soda?"

Sasha looked at Casey and winced in sympathy. "Damn," he commiserated.

"I take it that's a yes? With your anxiety, Casey, it's very important to stay away from the caffeine. It's a stimulant, even a small amount could affect you drastically. It may sound like a hardship, I know, but there are alternatives to coffee... Maybe try some herbal teas. Another thing I'd like to do is to refer you to a clinic, it's called the Powell Relaxation Therapy Clinic, and they've helped a lot of people with anxiety, depression, chronic pain and even more serious illnesses. They usually like to see people for an hour, at least three times a week. And you'll have your other therapy. So you're going to be busy, Casey. Getting well is hard work, but I have no doubt that Sasha and Zeke will help you to get all this done."

"Absolutely," Sasha rang in.

"I'll ask the nurse at reception to get you the information you need." As she spoke, Dr. Chakri was writing her instructions down. "I think you're okay with your medication for now." She smiled, proffering several slips of paper; when Casey didn't take them, they were passed on to Sasha. "Now you're all set. I'll see you in a week, okay?"

"He'll be here," Sasha promised when Casey didn't reply.

Dr. Chakri nodded to Sasha. "Have a good day, Casey."

Sasha held his arm as he stepped down from the exam table. His legs felt weak and shaky, but at least the dizziness had passed. He couldn't wait to be back in the car, which was almost as good as home. He merely had to stand in the waiting room again for a minute or two while the nurse found an appointment for him next week.

Inhaling the blissfully familiar smells of leather and Zeke's car freshener, Casey waited for Sasha to get started bringing him home. But no, Sasha was thinking, getting ready to say something.

"I'm sorry for the way I acted," Casey blurted out, needing to end the silence.

"I know."

"I didn't mean for it to happen."

Sasha twisted to look at him. "Just one thing, kitten. You are not a burden. Say it."

"I'm not a burden," he muttered.

"Say it again... louder this time and make it sound like you mean it."

"I'm not a burden."

"Now believe it."

That he couldn't do, and he supposed he was blatant about it.

"Casey." Sasha sounded unhappy; Casey saw his throat working as he massaged his forehead. "If I fell down and broke my leg and was bedridden for two months, you would want to help me, wouldn't you?"

"Yes," he said, and knew exactly where this was going.

"You would cook for me – god forbid – and bring me my meals on a tray and cool drinks and fan me and feed me grapes like my harem boy, right?"

Casey felt his mouth crook up at one end. "Yes."

"So how is that different from me and Zeke helping you?"

He didn't want to get into all the reasons, but it was different. "You... do more than that for me," Casey said.

"Well, you're welcome."

"I mean... I don't know how I'd... I wouldn't be able to..."

"I understand, kitten, really."

"But I should – "

"Kitten, I appreciate what you're trying to say but you've gotta know you'd have to run me off with a cattle prod to get me to go anywhere. The same goes for Zeke, so just accept it. Now enough of this... Geez, are we flaming here or what? You probably want to get home." Sasha put the key in the ignition and was about to start the engine when his hand dropped suddenly. He turned again and he requested, out of the blue, "Or... we could take a brief detour and get your hair cut?"

Casey whipped his head around in Sasha's direction. "No," he refused.

"Aw, kitten – "

"No."

"Casey. Your parents will be here tomorrow," Sasha said, obviously picking his words with care. "Don't you want to – to –"

Don't you want to look a bit less like a freak so they won't feel like they need to take you away from me and Zeke and haul you back to Herrington?

"Okay," Casey yielded. He hadn't been thinking about his parents' impending visit and how important it was to Zeke and Sasha that he seem to be improving, but he did now. He could do this much for everybody.

Sasha blinked. "Okay, what?"

"Okay, let's get me a haircut."

Sasha smiled brilliantly at him. "Thank you, kitten."

It seemed that Sasha had been plotting this for a while. He already knew of a place in their neighbourhood that met his standards but was not terribly large or busy. One o'clock on a Wednesday afternoon was not exactly a peak time either. They walked in and Sasha asked if they could do without an appointment. The receptionist offered a Julie or an Adam and Sasha grabbed Adam, who was Asian-American and had dyed his dark hair a white blond at the tips.

Adam took one look at Casey and yelped. "Oh, mother of god! It's been a while, huh?" He directed Casey to sit at his station while Sasha looked on from nearby. "So what do we want to do?"

"I was thinking..." Sasha said, eyeing Casey critically in the mirror. "Short up the sides but don't cut too much on the top. Just enough that he can see. Then make it all choppy on the ends and goop it up really good. Give it lots of texture. What do you think, Casey? Still leaves you lots to work with."

"Sure," he agreed, happy to let Sasha play with his live doll.

Adam beckoned. "Casey, is it? Come on over to the sink here."

When he agreed to this he hadn't been thinking about the part where he would have to lie back with his throat exposed while the man's hands were in his hair, near his face. He went down and stayed down for the first little bit until he just couldn't and tried to sit up and only made it halfway as Adam accidentally yanked on his hair.

"Oh, sorry!"

Soap was running down his neck. He put his neck back on the edge of the sink and closed his eyes and tried to think about something else for the next sixty seconds, something that didn't make him hyperventilate, like a sharp pair of scissors snipping away near his face, or a razor hacking at the ends of his hair. He survived the rinse of the soap and let Adam put some conditioner in and rinse that out, but when it seemed like there was going to be some third stage of preparation that still involved the sink and the water, he bolted upright in the chair.

"Um," Adam said, a little uneasy. "I guess that's good enough." He put a towel on Casey's head and began to dry his hair. The moment Casey felt the pressure exerted by Adam's hands around his ears, he was on his feet. Adam was quite uncomfortable now. "I was just going to towel it..."

Sasha intervened, putting an arm around Casey's shoulders and steering him. "Here, let me. Kitten, come sit here."

Casey allowed himself to be positioned once more in the chair at Adam's station. He reached up to dry his own hair but Sasha was already on it, vigourously rubbing with the towel until his hair was just slightly damp. In the mirror, Casey saw Adam approaching from behind him with scissors and a comb. "It's okay," he told Adam's reflection.

He didn't sound very encouraging, nor did Adam appear to be convinced, but he came forward readily enough to start cutting. It only took ten minutes, and Casey kept his eyes closed. He didn't think he zoned but he did startle out of something near to a trance when Adam commented, "You have some nice thick hair here. Hey, we should do some blond lights."

Casey opened his eyes and unexpectedly was looking in the mirror at a face who resembled someone he should know. "Are... are you done?" he asked, and heard his voice tremble.

"Just need to 'goop it up'" said Adam lightly. "No highlights, then?"

"No highlights," Sasha put in. "Not today, anyway."

The moment Adam was done, Casey shot up out of the chair. He stood off by the display of hair care products while Sasha paid for the cut and the stuff he would be needing to accomplish that stylishly messy look he was now wearing. It was a lot like his previous hairstyle, only a bit longer on top than before, while the rest was short enough to make his mother happy.

"Thank you," Sasha was saying to Adam. "It looks great."

"No problem." Adam glanced in Casey's direction. "Come back any time."

So the excursion was over, finally.

"Maybe we should get that prescription filled," Sasha suggested when they were sitting in the car again.

Casey shook his head, really meaning it this time. All he wanted right now was a rest in the quiet, familiar environment of home. He loved their apartment. He loved the furniture that Sasha had tormented Zeke into getting, especially the couch as it was excellent for napping. He loved the way the sun came in the front window in late afternoon, he loved the happy humming noises Sasha made in the kitchen. He loved the stereo and the DVD player and he loved the bed that Zeke had bought. In fact, upon getting in the door he couldn't decide if he loved the bed or the couch more. His feet decided for him, taking him directly to the couch, where he folded himself up in a ball.

He heard a footstep, saw Sasha standing over him. "Can I have some?" Sasha asked him.

"Some what?"

"You know... Casey cuddles. I have just enough time for a quickie before I go."

"Oh... sure."

Sasha sat down and turned on the TV, flicking to a channel that was mostly harmless. He put a pillow in his lap and patted the pillow, grinning a welcome. Casey got comfortable, closing out the sight and sound of MacMillan & Wife.

"There," Sasha said. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"Was too," Casey contradicted, mostly to amuse Sasha, but he meant it too. "Was horrible."

"You're going to have to go out to all those appointments, kitten. Do you think you can do that on your own? If they're earlier in the day I can probably go with you, but if I get a job I'll be working late afternoon to midnight most likely."

Casey dug deeper into the pillow and said, "When do you have to leave for your interview?" Suddenly, the prospect of all those minutes by himself yawned before him and the apartment didn't feel quite as safe. Sasha hesitated. He replied tentatively, "The interview is at two, so I should get going soon."

"Whazzit called... the restaurant, I mean?"

"Sojourn... It's an incredible place, kitten. I've so got my fingers crossed! Gourmet named it one of the top fifty new restaurants in America and the guy who owns it, his name is Oliver Sand and he's a graduate of the Cordon Bleu cooking school in Paris. He's also lived in India and the Phillippines and Japan... They say he's absolutely brilliant... Fuck, if I could work there I'd... I'd... But it's a longshot," Sasha finished sadly.

Casey protested, "You're a great chef."

"And you're not at all biased, I'm sure!"

"You are... I loved those grilled cheese sandwiches you made yesterday."

"I'll be sure to mention that in the interview," Sasha muttered, and Casey realized he was actually nervous. He hadn't thought that Sasha could get nervous.

Struggling into a sitting position, Casey repeated it: "You're a great chef."

"Kitten... You don't need to stroke my ego. I know I'm good, but there's a million of me out there."

"You got the job in Cincinnati."

"Which I got fired from."

He hadn't given a thought to the length of Sasha's stay or what it meant. He was unbelievably fucking stupid –

"Oh, no, kitten, no – I chose to come and be with you and I wouldn't want to be anywhere other than here. It would have been nice if I could say I quit, but them's the breaks. The guy was a fuckin' prick and that's not your fault, okay?"

"Okay," he said with just the right amounts of reluctance and acceptance, just so he could stop the conversation, not because he actually believed it wasn't his fault but because it had to be okay for Sasha to leave him by himself. Casey knew that Sasha was a lot more stressed about not having a job than he let on; he needed this interview.

Shifting to the other side of the couch, Casey reconnected with his pillow and became drowsy again quickly, comfortably aware of Sasha still sitting nearby. Macmillan & Wife gave way to Columbo, and it was not too hard to fall asleep with Peter Falk doing his schtick in the background. When he opened his eyes sometime later, Sasha was gone. If Stokely had been upstairs, he must have missed it. The clock said it was two-sixteen. Zeke would get out of class at three and Casey knew from previous days that it would take about thirty-five minutes for Zeke to get home. One hour and nineteen minutes to go. He could do one hour and nineteen minutes. He closed his eyes and applied himself to sleeping through it.

Zeke never thought of himself as a pessimist, but getting home to find Casey napping peacefully on the couch, he had to reconsider that. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting. If there had been trauma, he wasn't seeing it. In fact, there was something different, a change since this morning... ah, at some point in the day Sasha must have coaxed him into the hair salon for a trim. More than just a trim. It was irrational and very superficial, but Zeke was once again looking at the Casey who had been unwrapped for him last Christmas, the Casey who blown the roof off his house.

Zeke squatted down in front of the couch and tickled Casey's cheek. Casey opened his eyes, smiling happily to see Zeke there, and Zeke's insides did big, sentimental backflips.

"How'd it go?" Zeke asked. He tapped on Casey's leg, telling him to sit up and make room on the couch.

Casey sat up and yawned and stretched – which had to be exclusively for Zeke's enjoyment because such a conspicuous display of raw beauty could not actually be by accident. "It was... okay."

Zeke settled beside him, turned sideways for ease of conversation. "What's the doctor like? Did she ask you about anything? Did she know?"

"Um... she's nice. I told her I didn't want to release the records and she didn't mind." Casey paused. "I don't think she knows about the aliens."

Zeke realized how tense he had been right then, because the loosening of that tension suddenly had him shaking. "And?" he pressed. It came out gravelly; he cleared his throat.

"She gave me a prescription for Xanax. I'm supposed to take one if I start to feel panicky."

"And what else?"

"She gave me a bunch of things to do."

"What things?"

"Exercise..." Casey yawned again. "... And stuff. She wrote it down... Sasha has the paper."

"So it went okay?"

Casey ducked his head and suddenly wouldn't look at Zeke. "I freaked out a bit."

"How? What happened?"

"I just... got panicky. Couldn't talk to her."

"What the heck was Sasha doing?" Zeke demanded. Lowering the volume, he revised, "no, never mind, I'm sure he did the usual Sasha things–" which were adequate, most times "–so when's your next appointment?"

"Next week. I have to get a physical... they took blood. I had to pee in a cup – the usual."

"So it was okay," Zeke said again.

"Uh... mostly. 'M just tired."

"And after all that Sasha made you get your hair cut?"

"Mmm hmm." Casey looked at him with a slight frown. "Is it okay?"

Right, so he had Casey asking him for permission to cut his hair; this was an indicator that maybe he needed to tone it down. "It looks much better," he complimented, meaning it.

"Not so crazy?" Casey asked.

Zeke was about to protest the use of that term when he saw that Casey was wearing a rather coy expression; he played along and agreed, "Not so crazy." Remembering the items he had stashed in his backpack, he said, "Oh, hey. I bought you something."

"Really?"

"What, like I never gave you presents before?"

Hiding his eagerness, he presented Casey with bags from Blockbuster and Mrs. Field's. The Blockbuster bag contained the DVD of "The Philadelphia Story"; they had already rented it last week and Casey had watched it three times before it had to go back and would probably be asking to rent it again soon, so Zeke figured he'd save himself a few bucks and just buy it. The Mrs. Field's bag disgorged a dozen assorted cookies of absolutely no nutritional merit, a desperate ploy to entice Casey to consume a million or so excess calories.

Casey's first response looked like bafflement that anyone would pay so much attention to his preferences. He was staring at Zeke with a luminous face, that face, the one that made Zeke feel immortal. He knew that he was supposed to discourage Casey from looking at him that way, but how could he discourage something that was so perfectly innate? Casey had looked at him that way long before there was a Roy in his life, and Zeke couldn't accept that something that shimmered like that could be entirely wrong. He refused to believe it.

"Can we watch this tonight?" Casey asked him.

Zeke had already prepared himself for this likelihood. "I figured that went without saying. We could even ask Stokes to join us, if you want."

"Oh... sure... She's seen it lots too, but sure."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Mmm?" Casey was distracted, reading the text on the back of the DVD case.

"Why do you love this movie so much?"

Casey looked up. "You don't like it?" he said anxiously.

"No, I do like it, and I'll admit that I wasn't expecting to. Mind you, I don't like it enough to watch it five hundred times. I mean, you must know every single bit of dialogue backwards and sideways."

"It's just... It makes me feel good because it's familiar. I have other ones like that."

"But why? What do you love in this movie? I'm not criticizing – just curious."

The phone, located on one of the end-tables he had purchased from some hole-in-the wall used furniture store because Sasha insisted that they were "vintage", saved Casey from having to produce an answer. Zeke leaned over him to grab it.

"I got it!" Sasha shrieked in Zeke's ear.

"You got the job?"

"Yes, I'm going to be working under the sous-chef in charge of soups and desserts at Sojourn, Oliver said he had a good feeling and wants me to experiment once I get comfortable and I start tomorrow night, I just can't believe it! I need to cook a celebration dinner, I'm going to make some stops on the way home – Casey's okay?"

"He's fine."

"Good, I'll be there in a bit – think we'll have some salmon, you should invite Stokely – and Stan I suppose if he really wants to come I'll leave that up to you, talk to you soon – bye!"

Zeke stared at the now quiescent object in his hand, half expecting it to explode again. "He got the job," he told Casey, rather unnecessarily as Casey had probably been able to hear Sasha's every word without straining his ears at all. "He's cooking dinner. I'm going to pop downstairs and talk to Stokes. I'll just be a sec."

On his way out the door he saw Casey's latest prescription lying on the counter and took it with him.

As much as Zeke didn't like to acknowledge it, Wellth was an intriguing place. There was bin after bin of grains and flours and legumes and varieties of rice that he had never heard of before, and the shelves stocked some of the most exotic condiments he had ever seen. There was also an extensive collection of herbs and spices that Sasha had gotten into the habit of visiting every day, organic produce, dairy alternatives, and a galaxy of holistic healing products. Seeing all these previously unheard-of items had really brought home to Zeke how small-town his existence had been thus far, but he had no intention of letting Stokely know that.

She was currently affixed behind one of the two cash registers; the store was not too busy and there was another cashier so she was able to pause for a quick chat. They stepped just a few feet away, next to the all-natural cosmetics, whereupon Zeke interrogated, "Did you stop in upstairs, then?"

Stokely folded her arms and looked sardonic. "Obsessed, much?"

"I prefer to think of it as follow-through."

"Commander, I can report that at two-twenty I attended upstairs and observed The Subject. He was sleeping, so I didn't stay."

"All right, then."

"Have I earned membership in the elite guard?"

"Just by the skin of your teeth," Zeke replied. "Actually, I'm here to invite you to supper. Sasha's got a job and he wants to celebrate."

"That sounds great – but what's he cooking?"

"I think he said salmon. Acceptable?"

"Farmed or wild?"

"How the frig should I know?"

Stokely winced but said, "Sasha will know. If it's farmed I'll have to skip it."

"Whatever. I should warn you... we're going to watch 'The Philadelphia Story' after."

Stokely groaned, "Oh, Casey!"

"I couldn't see any way around it."

"It's okay, it's only that he made me watch it about twenty times in high school."

"Do you know what the deal is with that movie?"

Stokely shook her head in disbelief. "Zeke, the deal is that he's a total cheeseball. He can't get enough cheese. You haven't figured that out yet?"

"I don't think I buy that," Zeke said in protest.

"He's not going to try to decorate your bedroom with hearts and kittens or anything like that." Stokely eyed up the counter, where a line was forming. "I need to get back to work here."

There was a drugstore on their block; Zeke figured he might as well get the Xanax prescription filled. He ended up waiting twenty minutes, passing the time by identifying the chemical components of the various compounds in the "analgesics" aisle, and then performing a self-administered blood pressure exam. Amazing – he was in the normal range. Then, as he walked past a convenience store, it occurred to him that he should have beer on hand for Casey's dad, so he went in and picked up a case. He felt almost content as he headed home with the beer propped on his shoulder, whistling and dodging people on the sidewalk. He liked being a part of this press of people, feeling like he was at the centre of something.

As he got into their apartment, he had a second to register a presence just inside the door before it became a Casey-sized projectile.

"What's this?" he said, his fragile little euphoria vanishing in the very instant that Casey's body hit his, almost causing a major incident with the beer.

"You left." Casey's voice was shaking, and more than a little frantic.

Zeke quickly put down the object on his shoulder, dislodging Casey momentarily. Straightening, he put his arms around him almost absently. "For half an hour," he said.

"You said 'a sec'."

"Casey... We were apart all day today and you were fine."

"You said 'a sec' and then it was t-ten minutes and I thought maybe you got – you got hurt and I knew exactly when you'd be back before... class ends at three, the bus takes thirty-five minutes – "

And Zeke began to understand exactly what the pattern of his life was going to be. Casey dealt in certainties, he needed them to put on a show of stability. Introduce the unknown and everything fell apart. He couldn't even trust that Casey knew his own limitations; Casey would argue and insist that he was okay and then get pissy when Zeke refused to believe him. So there would be no impromptu bookstore visits or explorations of the city for Zeke. Perhaps a phone call would help but Zeke could allow himself no assumptions. If he'd missed the bus, or made the mistake of going for coffee, what would he have come home to this afternoon?

"Sorry," Zeke apologized, trying to squeeze all the thoughts from his voice. "I just wanted to get this prescription filled, and it took a little bit longer than I expected." He pulled the small white bag out of his coat pocket and moved from the hall to the kitchen, putting it on top of the microwave; later, he would transfer the bottle of pills to the bedroom, where they would be in a position to do the most good. He carefully reconfigured his facial expression before he turned back to Casey.

A strange thing was beginning to happen. It seemed that some ultra-sophisticated transmitting device had been installed in Casey's head, and now Zeke was occasionally privy to what went on in there. The device was not reliable, it faded in and out but sometimes, like right now, he could look at Casey and know what he was thinking as though the words were visibly pouring from him, pooling on the floor in pile of ticker tape. It was repetitive and garbled at times and it all basically added up to: I'm useless, Zeke hates me, I deserve to be alone.

"Casey, stop."

"What?" Casey said, startling out of his internal landscape.

"That stuff you're thinking right now. Stop it."

Casey treated him to a sad, heavy-eyed stare. "What's the point?"

"The point is I don't like it when you do that to yourself."

"All right, then," Casey replied in a monotone.

When he looked at Zeke next, he had cleared the muck out of his eyes. Zeke was well aware that it was just a surface improvement, that Casey's diatribe against himself was merely submerged and not in the least bit silenced. But it was going to take a lot more than commands from Zeke to get him out of those particular mental ruts and grooves.

The remainder of the day unfolded much like an ordinary evening in someone's ordinary life. Sasha breezed in with a few grocery bags, glowing with happiness, and he never came down from his high, rattling non-stop about his new boss, the decor in the restaurant, the menu and what Gourmet had to say about all of the above. The salmon was delicious, and Stokely had decided that it was within her standards to eat it.

After dinner they plugged in the movie. Zeke might have been bored, except that he had Casey plastered to his side. Casey had offered to share the cookies that Zeke had brought him with everyone, but they had all turned him down on various pretexts, and he was now eating them himself. He was agonizingly slow about it, consuming them at a rate of about one per half hour, unconsciously torturing Zeke with his chewing and swallowing and finger-licking and the way there came to be just the tiniest hint of chocolate marring his upper lip. That Casey was unaware of this, or indeed of anything except for Stewart and Hepburn doing it black-and-white style, had Zeke stoked to a fine, hot ache. Every sensory act and moment, however inconsequential, seemed designed to make Zeke forget restraint. He found himself looking down at the top of Casey's head, breathing in the sweet-salt scent of chocolate – or maybe it was just Casey's skin itself – and some gentle, fruity fragrance in his hair. Stewart and Hepburn were on the edge of losing control, drunk on champagne, and Jimmy was over-the-top with emotion. "There's a magnificence in you," he rhapsodized, "A magnificence that comes out of your eyes, that's in your voice, in the way you stand there, in the way you walk... You've fires banked down within you... hearthfires and holocausts! You're lit from within!"

"Ah... " sighed Sasha from afar. "If only someone would say that to me."

"Except only Jimmy Stewart can get away with lines like that," Stokely noted.

"I don't seem to made of bronze, then?" Katherine had replied wonderingly.

"No, you're made of flesh and blood, that's the blank, unholy surprise of it. Oh, you're the golden girl, Tracy, full of love and warmth and delight – what goes on, you've got tears in your eyes."

"Shut up, shut up! Oh, Mike, keep talking, keep talking – talk, will you?"

"No, I – I've stopped."

Stokely and Sasha giggled to each other.

The first time he had heard these lines, Zeke hadn't quite been able to stop his eyes from rolling; it was an instinctual, involuntary guy response. This time, though, he was looking down at Casey and could see how his eyes were just on the point of overflow. Zeke ducked his head down and applied his lips at Casey's temple, brushing them down over his ear; he had learned that this was particular hotspot for Casey. He enjoyed the way Casey shivered in response while still staring at the screen where Jimmy's emotions had once more beaten down reason; he had seized Katherine and bent her back for a Hollywood kiss, lips just smashed together in a frozen semblance of passion, but Katherine was moved enough to breathe, "Golly." Meanwhile it seemed to Zeke that all the blood in his body was pulsing somewhere in the vicinity of his crotch. He wished he could press the stop button and kick everyone out, even Sasha, and move this scene to his and Casey's room.

By the time the movie ended, Zeke had regained some composure... at least enough to feel that he could stand up without humiliating himself. Stokes headed off to her unhappy home and Casey went promptly to bed, holding Zeke's promise to join him after the kitchen got cleaned up. Zeke wondered if Casey had considered how many conversations had to wait until he was asleep, and if he slept so much just to be polite and give people their opportunity to say what needed to get said.

"So how did it go today?" Zeke asked Sasha casually while they washed and dried the dishes in a companionable silence. "He didn't tell me much."

"He was pretty jittery – no big surprise there. If I hadn't been there I don't think he would have gone in, and he sure as hell wouldn't have stayed. This Doctor Chakri is very good, though... caring and thorough and she seems to have a way with people."

Score one for Charly.

"Something funny happened after they took his blood, though. He got dizzy, then he started to panic, and then he just went – wonky. He wouldn't let the doctor touch him and he would barely speak to her. And then later in the hair salon he freaked when the guy washed his hair."

"And it continues," Zeke sighed. "He was totally okay when I got home today, just sleeping on the couch. Then I left him for a few minutes and inadvertently it turned into thirty because I wanted to get that prescription filled and when I got back..." During the course of that last sentence his words had gone from bland to bitter, and he felt an urge to account for himself. He confessed out loud, "I'm not angry, I'm just... I keep being overprotective even when it embarrasses him, and then I get impatient when he proves me right."

"So what you're saying is... you're human?"

Zeke smacked Sasha's arm.

"Ouch! Lay off my poor little limb, would ya?" Sasha protested, then immediately got serious. "Zeke, you know it won't always be like this."

"I know," Zeke sighed.

"Still, you probably could be a little less... "

Zeke raised his brows at Sasha. "Overbearing?" he supplied before Sasha could hang himself.

"I was going to say 'dictatorial times a million' but 'overbearing' works too."

"You're one to talk. You're no better than I am, you're just nicer about it."

Sasha batted his eyelashes. "I'll back off if you will. Anyway, Casey hates it when we aren't doing some thing we want to do because of him – like going to a club or the library – or doing your homework, for Christ's sake."

"I know, but then on the other hand he gets upset when I don't show up at the designated time."

"So you set a schedule that includes your student life. If something comes up, you phone him. You are going to have your cell phone?"

"I meant to get it set up... I've been a little preoccupied."

"Well, you can just have an understanding with Casey that you're going to spend your days on campus and he can phone you if there's some emergency. If you had a job that's what you would have to do, and this is your job now. Don't do what Casey did with Roy, letting his whole life revolve around him. It's not good for you and it's not good for Casey."

"I suppose," Zeke grunted.

"Suppose, nothing. You know it. And when you're not here, I'll make sure that Casey gets to all his appointments and does his homework. This is doable, we just need to keep our chins up."

"When did you get to be Pollyanna?"

"Just born that way, can't help it."

"Have I ever said thank you? Thank you."

"Wow, between you and Casey heaping on the gratitude and my newly employed state, this girl's just brimming with affirmation today. Hey, you know what I'm gonna do? I think I'm going dancing."

"Enjoy," Zeke said with a shrug.

"I wish I could bring my friends with me," Sasha pouted. "I'll be all alone."

"Like that's going to stop you."

Sasha pretended to consider this, then said, "Yep, you're right. Okay, I'm going out."

In short order Sasha had gone and Zeke was sitting at the kitchen table with one of his textbooks. He was attempting to read, but the words kept getting lost in surges of sensory information from earlier that evening. He should be in the shower right about now doing his program of self-restraint – but tonight he was not about restraint. Tonight, he was feeling subversive. In fact, he was rethinking his views about the Hedonists – poor, oversexed slobs, maybe they hadn't been so far off base. The mind being able to control the body was an illusion, after all. Somehow the body always, always got its way and the only real choice was whether to let it happen in an honest, straightforward way, or in a way that was convoluted and crippled by imprisonment.

It felt like hours that he was sitting there, bloated with thinking. He needed some way to make it stop and eventually decided to just go to bed. Doing, taking action, that was always the cure for too much intellectual bullshit. Action always had a way of putting things into perspective.

Zeke got up, closed his book and walked directly to the bedroom. Casey was tossing uneasily in his sleep, thrashing and muttering to himself. The sheets and blankets had gotten twisted around his legs and were probably contributing to his distress. Zeke put on his usual sleeping gear and climbed in; he untangled the sheets carefully, and then tried to draw Casey into his arms. It worked at first; Casey was still for a few minutes, but then he began to shove at Zeke.

"Not her," he mumbled. "No, not... her."

This was an unusual development. As far as Zeke knew, Casey didn't have dreams that were memorable one way or the other. He always slept with absolute focus and determination, unless disturbed by a panic attack. Zeke let Casey fight his way free, just listening and waiting to see what would come.

Then Casey said, "Roy..." It was a plea, borne on a whisper of breath. The rest of what he said was buried in an indistinct mumble.

Zeke's stomach started to hurt. Yeah, he could be controlling, and he could be indecisive and he could bullshit like a champion, but on this point he was clear: He was not Roy. Roy was not in Casey's life, Zeke was in Casey's life. Roy was gone and Zeke was here.

"Roy," Casey said again, this time almost in a whimper.

The hurt spread to Zeke's entire body. Dream or no, Casey should not be calling Roy's name. If Casey could dream about Roy then Roy might still have power over Casey and that was not acceptable. It was Zeke who slept with him every night. It was Zeke who held back everything and denied himself for Casey's sake, Zeke who touched Casey with tenderness and caution, Zeke who tried to undo all the past lessons. It was Zeke who was doing the fucking work.

They said that it was a bad idea to wake someone while they were having a dream. Well, they were just going to have to suck it up, because this was not going to continue. Zeke shook Casey lightly and called his name.

"The name's Zeke," he told Casey softly.

Casey's eyes popped open suddenly; in the dark he stared up at nothing, not blinking. Zeke wondered if he knew where he was. Zeke intended to remind him; he ran his thumb and knuckles over Casey's mouth and then his cheek, barely touching him. Casey didn't appear to notice at first – until suddenly his eyes snapped in Zeke's direction and he wanted to know, "Are we alone?"

"Of course," Zeke replied, frowning.

"Is she gone?" Casey asked. "Did you get rid of her?"

"I... don't know who...."

Casey's eyes were an abyss of depthless black ringed by glittering bone white. "She's not going to leave us alone, I thought we were alone, but she's with us... she's inside." There was a laugh, not the characteristic Casey giggle, but something else altogether, something terrifying in its strangeness. "You can't make her go, once she's inside."

"Casey – "

"She... I'm her... I am... her..."

Zeke seized Casey's shoulders, shook him hard. "Casey!"

Casey jerked and choked on air like his lungs had just jump-started. He wheezed plaintively, "Zeke?"

It felt entirely warranted to clutch Casey to his chest. "It's me."

Hands closed on his t-shirt. "Zeke."

"I'm here." Zeke found that he was shaking as much as Casey. "I'm here."

He was expecting it even before it happened, even before Casey kissed him, because his own need was as powerful, dissolving the very concept of restraint. Casey's lips were dry and fever-hot on his; at their touch Zeke threw away caution, discipline, all of it, everything except need. He sealed his mouth with Casey's and was kissing him back so deeply that he was almost grinding Casey's head into the pillow. He was using his entire body to contain and ingest Casey's – and Casey was matching his urgency, moaning into his mouth and fighting to get as deep into Zeke as he could. Miraculously, he was pushing up and in against Zeke with a cock that felt diamond-hard through his and Zeke's boxers. The feel of it was a spike through Zeke's brain, murdering thought.

Zeke's mouth slipped sideways, looking for somewhere else to devour, and resolved on that place between neck and shoulder where he nearly lived some nights. Casey whispered, "Zeke... Zeke..." and just that, just his name – his name – altered the burning ache in his stomach, changing it from pain into that something painfully wonderful.

He had to have more... he pushed Casey up on his side so he could get at the back of him, encountering the spot right at the centre of his neck, moving down... and now there was cotton everywhere. In frustration he pushed Casey's t-shirt up his back, bunching it at his neck. He was so mindless at that point that he would have tried to tear it away, but Casey took control momentarily, sitting up for a moment and quickly pulling his shirt over his head, reaching for Zeke to do the same for him.

They settled back down, skin to skin almost, tangling up their legs. "Zeke..." Casey whispered and was looking right at him too, looking.... looking, not seeing him, there were the same dark pits of eyes from a few minutes ago, a desperate emptiness appealing without speech for Zeke to deliver him. "Want you... want you inside me... please don't say no, please..."

Zeke could have wept.

"I want him out of me, I need you to get him out."

"Casey – "

He was too far along the path of need to completely withdraw. He could be fucking up irrevocably now but that had ceased to matter very much because fucking up had started to feel indescribably good. He tightened his grip on Casey with his legs and arms, and pressed his lips against Casey's forehead, and rocked them both, adjusting the pitch and angle until he had just the right amount of friction between them.

"Need... need him... out of me... Zeke," he heard Casey say, muffled against his chest, his voice catching and breaking a little every time Zeke's cock brushed his, and moving his hips to meet Zeke on each stroke.

"He is... he's gone... " Zeke whispered.

"Not... gone..."

"Yes... " The tension and ache was winding, winding, tightening to its apex and he started to hump faster, losing his awareness of anything else except he knew somewhere in him that Casey was still moving with him. "Yes... " he gasped. "He's gone... say it..."

"He's – he's gone."

"Uh... ah... again..." Those words in Casey's mouth were driving him past any notion of coherence. He was gripping Casey with all his strength, needing Casey to know him, only him...

"He's gone... he's gone..."

He was one half-second from detonation when reality demolished him. Jacked up and almost stupid with pleasure and believing that Casey was a full participant, he noticed just at that moment when it was too late to stop that he could no longer feel Casey's erection – and then he was coming with a loud, choking sob, pressing his head against Casey's shoulder, wet heat spreading out from his cock and his eyes. He didn't know when it had gone from okay to not-okay, he had been too preoccupied, achieving his gratification with something near to violence, trusting that it was all good because Casey was chanting the words that he wanted to hear.

Even after he finished coming there was still the warmth leaking from his eyes, soaking Casey's skin in that place that he loved so much. His entire body was shuddering. He felt Casey's hand against his neck, in his sweat-soaked hair. "It's okay," Casey whispered to him. "It's okay."

He lifted his head, saw Casey's face damp like his, and with eyes still like coal, empty as before. "Casey – " he choked.

"It's okay," Casey said again, almost inaudible.

Zeke brought his hand up, stroked some of the salty wet from around Casey's eyes. He didn't know what he was going to say when he opened his mouth. He expected that he would be apologizing but what came out was something else altogether. "I do love you," he said.

This brought a ghost of a smile to Casey's face.

"You believe me, don't you?"

The smile faded. "Yeah, I do," Casey said, and he put his head against Zeke's shoulder.

"I... didn't mean for it to happen like that, Case. I thought... I really thought you were with me... "

"I'm sorry," Casey's voice said, tiny.

"Fuck that! Do you hear me trying to apologize right now?"

"Yes... but you... It did feel good, Zeke. It was just at the end... I lost it."

Zeke closed his eyes. He was exhausted and sweaty and extremely uncomfortable and he felt sick inside thinking about what he had just done. He wanted to shower but he didn't dare leave the bed even for ten minutes.

"Can we go to sleep now, please?" Casey asked him, still hiding his eyes from Zeke.

Upon the arrival of morning, Casey was sprawled in a restless doze, while for Zeke there had been no sleep at all. He had to be on campus for an eight-thirty class and he didn't want to wake Casey, so he tried to be quiet as he slipped out of bed to shower, peeling off his boxers with relief. He had never experienced this level of shame about his own orgasm before; the incident in the shower yesterday morning was an emotional flyspeck by comparison. After a very quick shower he got dressed with one eye on Casey, who had shifted and curled into a little ball in the warm spot Zeke had left behind. Zeke leaned over and kissed Casey somewhere between cheekbone and eyelid before stealing out of the room.

Zeke was standing in the middle of the kitchen gulping down a bowl of cereal when he turned about and found Casey standing like a phantom behind him; he leaped half a foot into the air, exclaiming, "Fuck!"

"Where are you going?" Casey asked, purple-smudged eyes fastened on him.

"To school," Zeke replied neutrally. He put his bowl on the counter.

"When do you get back?"

"Classes end at two."

"Right," Casey said, possibly remembering that he should have known that already. He was blinking a bit too fast and too hard.

"I'll come right back after that," Zeke promised him.

"Okay."

"Maybe... try to get in a rest this afternoon." When Casey said nothing, Zeke added, "You remember we have to go pick up your parents at the airport?"

"Yeah."

"When does their flight get in again?"

"I don't know."

Zeke knew that it had been written on a piece of paper that was now magnetized to the fridge along with the instructions from Casey's doctor. He referred to it quickly. "Five forty-seven. I figure we should leave before five, just to be safe."

Casey didn't say a word.

Zeke's head gave a throb, and his eyes burned. "Casey – " he said.

"Go," Casey told him.

"We agreed I shouldn't skip class – "

"I want you to go," Casey said hoarsely.

Zeke had to look somewhere else. He couldn't bear to see what it was costing Casey to be standing there saying what he was saying. His face was screaming Get the fuck out! even as it was begging Don't leave don't leave!. Zeke could only obey one of those messages, and he chose the one that would get him away from here long enough to regain some equilibrium.

"Okay, then," he said. He went for his jacket, his backpack, the door, and the bus, calling himself every synonym for coward that he knew.

All morning he could think of nothing except the magnitude of his many mistakes, the most recent of which was probably leaving Casey there in the kitchen. Around lunchtime he tried to phone Casey but got no answer. He hoped that meant that Casey and Sasha were out doing something healthy. After his class ended at two, Zeke went directly home.

He found Casey sitting quietly on the couch, watching his movie; Zeke's initial relief faded quickly as he took in the consequences of his actions.

Casey had turned off the DVD player, his hand trembling visibly even from a few feet away, and he welcomed Zeke with a bright smile that was fraying badly around the edges. Above the smile his eyes were blank and set in deep shadows. It seemed quite conceivable that when Zeke had phoned earlier and there was no answer, it was because Casey had decided to spend the day completely inhabiting Jimmy and Katherine's world. But Sasha had been around, he wouldn't let that happen, would he? Zeke was eager to have Sasha tell him he was being paranoid – but Sasha was refusing to speak to him. All Zeke got from Sasha was a hot glare as he was going out the door to his first night in his new job.

Zeke approached Casey then, wanting to talk about what had happened the night before, but Casey begged off saying he needed to sleep a bit. They ended up napping in the bedroom for a few hours. Again, Casey slept; again, Zeke did not. He lay there holding Casey and studying the silence in the apartment.

Right about the time Zeke was thinking of waking Casey up, the phone rang. Zeke scrambled to the living room to get it.

"What the fuck did you do?"

Zeke sat heavily on the couch. He had known that at some point Sasha's wrath would be visited upon him, but he hadn't expected it to come in this format. "Do you really want to hear about it right at this moment?" he responded.

"No, I guess I can't... I just needed to tell you off."

"Gee, thanks, I really need to feel like more of a prick right now."

Sasha got quiet. Then, sounding a bit less like he wanted to beat Zeke to a pulp, he said, "We're going to be having some serious discussion, you and I."

"Sasha... What did Casey say to you?"

"Nothing. Not a fucking word." Sasha spoke to someone briefly at the other end. "I have to go now. You're going to get his parents soon, yes?"

"Yes," Zeke sighed.

"Well, good luck with that."

Sasha clicked off, and Zeke just sat there for a little while contemplating the ceiling.

A terrible crash roused him from his stupor. He charged to the kitchen and discovered Casey standing amidst the broken shards of one of the drinking glasses that had been left to dry in the dish rack beside the sink. Casey's expression defied classification, the emotions that Zeke saw there were so varied and so extreme. Anger was definitely among them, and fear... and despair. The evidence was incontrovertible: The glass had not fallen by accident.

Zeke grabbed the broom and swept the broken pieces away from Casey's feet, into a small pile that he decided he would pick up later. There was no time to sort through everything; they needed to be leaving for the airport right now or they would be late.

"Casey," Zeke said, making his voice as calm as he could manage. "I think you should take one of those pills."

"Why?" Casey forced out the one syllable on a choppy exhale of breath, shifting his weight from one jittering leg to the other while he stared at Zeke, his breath ragged, his eyes wide and moist.

"We have to go to the airport. I think you would be more comfortable."

Zeke waited for Casey to remember that his parents' visit was imminent.

No doubt when Dr. Chakri prescribed the Xanax she had not been thinking about how they could use it to preserve appearances for Casey's parents – but to Zeke's relief, Casey appeared to have no reservations about it. "Okay," he agreed.

Zeke got the bottle from the bedroom. He shook out one tiny white pill and offered it to Casey, who swallowed it eagerly, evidently wanting a parole from the prison of his own mind. They got into the car and drove, both of them waiting, without conversation, for the pill to take effect. Zeke kept a sideways eye on Casey, observing as the tremors and tension gradually lessened. By the time they arrived at the airport Casey's body had calmed, and his eyelids were starting to look too heavy to hold up.

Pulling into temporary parking, Zeke hoped he wouldn't have trouble getting Casey to move. He leaned over and touched his shoulder. "Hey."

He was pleased to learn that Casey was still conscious. "Hey," Casey said back, and smiled. The smile was a bit wan, a bit shaky, but it was absolutely fucking genuine; it smashed through Zeke's defences and grabbed him by the balls. "Hi, Zeke..."

"How do you feel?"

Casey blinked in slow motion. "I want to sleep."

"Can you hold that off for a while?"

"Yeah... I really like this drug, Zeke."

Zeke had to laugh. "I think I like it, too."

"Where 're we?"

"At the airport?"

"Already? I must've missed the exit... Hey, Mom and Dad are here, we should go meet them now."

"That was my intention." Zeke watched Casey fumble with his seatbelt. "You know it's probably going to be packed with people in there."

"s'okay."

"It's okay?" Zeke echoed, disbelieving.

"Well, I still think the aliens are going to get me, but I kinda don't really care."

And just like that, Zeke was born again. He worshipped the goddess Xanax.

His status as devotee was confirmed when Casey's parents came through the arrivals gate and Casey gave each of them a warm if not entirely exuberant hug, looking like a reasonably well-adjusted person being reunited with his family. Frank and Allison Connor were neatly flummoxed, turning awestruck to Zeke with What have you done with my son? shouting from them. They probably wouldn't have been so impressed if they had known the answer. Nothing much, just drugged him silly. Right now, though, Zeke's conscience was not capable of so much as a twinge.

"You finally got your hair cut," Casey's mom noticed immediately. "It looks great, hon."

"Thanks," Casey said with a shrug.

"Good to see you, Zeke," she added politely.

Zeke made appropriate noises in response and offered to take her suitcase. Casey's dad surrendered the usual handshake, his countenance neutral; Zeke supposed that this must be deemed a huge step forward. He led them to the parking lot and the Mustang. Casey and his mom took the back seat and they departed the airport with the usual tension already thickening around them.

"Where's Sasha?" asked Allison Connor.

"He's working," Zeke replied. "He got a position in a snazzy restaurant... Tonight's his first night in fact. He won't be back until late."

"Oh," she said, disappointed.

"He's an under chef," Casey volunteered, with a lazy half-giggle.

It got really quiet, and Zeke could think of nothing except the fact that there were three whole days left to go with this visit. From his right side he could feel Casey's dad trying out his gallery of disapproving faces.

"I thought maybe I could take everyone out for dinner," announced Mr. Connor. "We haven't eaten yet. Maybe we could go to this place that Sasha works at."

Zeke had a feeling that Connor didn't know the financial magnitude of what he was proposing. "I think you need reservations," he offered as an out. Casey hadn't said anything, but Zeke could hear the plea ringing in his head: Don't make me, please! He added, "They're probably full for tonight."

"On a Thursday night?"

"Probably." Zeke cast about for an alternative. "How about... there's a place very near where we live... It's just across the street and a few blocks down. It's basic but good food. It's quick too. I think everyone's a little tired."

"I know I am," sighed Casey's mom.

Mr. Connor addressed a question to the back seat. "You look a bit tired, too, Casey. Have you been getting enough sleep?"

"Oh, yes!" Casey replied. It was so forced and artificial-sounding that Connor would have no choice but to believe the exact opposite of whatever Casey told him. "I'm always sleeping."

"Not enough, apparently."

"Last night... wasn't a good night."

Zeke's heart skipped a beat.

"Hmph," said Mr. Connor, audibly letting it alone.

It was surreal, to say the least, eating dinner with Casey and his parents at the Bayside Diner in Seattle. Casey started to lose ground very quickly, picking at his food, his mellow glow withering. After a quick meal they returned home. The Connors' luggage was installed in Sasha's room, and now Zeke was facing several hours that needed to get filled without much help from Casey.

In the end, he resorted to putting on the baseball game, and was surprised when Casey's mom was as keen to watch it as her husband. She also could match him beer for beer; before he knew it, Zeke and Casey's parents had put away ten beers between them, and Zeke was profoundly grateful to the intuition – or whatever it had been – that had reminded him to stock the fridge the day before. While this was going on, Casey was gradually succumbing to the goddess Xanax, and exhaustion. Around nine, he roused himself long enough to say good-night to his parents and go to bed.

Zeke followed him not long after. He had been thinking about staying up until Sasha got home but just couldn't manage it; he hadn't slept for forty-eight hours or more. He expected that the Connors wouldn't last much longer either; Herrington being three hours ahead of Seattle, they were well past their bedtime. He showed them where the towels were, leaving them in charge of the remote, and ignoring their pained expressions at being reminded of what they didn't want to know in the first place: Oh, shit, it's actually true... Our son is gay and his friend is gay and they're going to do gay things in their gay bedroom.

It might have been some comfort to them that nothing was going to be going on in the bedroom tonight except for sleep. Casey was a still, quiet shape; Zeke collapsed beside him and knew nothing until morning. It was some of the best sleep he'd had in weeks.

He woke up to Casey lying almost nose-to-nose with him, watching him with a peaceable face that was almost disturbing given everything that had passed between them. "Zeke," Casey began quietly.

"Mmm."

"I'm sorry about yesterday, and... and the night before."

Zeke stretched, shaking himself to a state of full wakefulness. Casey had determined that they were talking about this now, so he had better be up to it. And he was up to it; he had screwed up to be sure, but he was ready to atone. "You have nothing to apologize for," he stated.

Casey seemed to be thinking, considering before he answered. "I don't... um... I'm not sure what happened."

"You don't remember?"

"No... I remember, I just... I don't know why I said... things."

"I think it started with something you were dreaming. Do you remember that?"

Casey shook his head. It seemed to Zeke that if he were to look closely there would be a gleam of fear in Casey's eyes, and Zeke simply didn't know if Casey was telling the truth or not. Come to think of it, he wasn't sure that he believed anything Casey had said to him just now. Not that Casey would lie to him out of some malicious intent. He would lie because he wanted to believe that he was speaking the truth.

"Hmm," Zeke said. "But I still lost control. I violated the rules and it was a really bad time to violate the rules."

With a sigh, Casey leaned in and rested his head against Zeke. "It isn't fair... I want us to be happy one of these days but I'm always... making everything crazy. We can never be like normal people, and.... and I realized something yesterday. I'm afraid – "

"You don't have to be – "

"I'm afraid to be normal."

Zeke closed his mouth before any words could slip out of him. He needed to take caution -- because his heart was actually pounding with joy. Casey was not saying I don't know how or I'm afraid I can't. He was very nearly saying I don't want to, yet still he seemed to think that he was supposed to aspire to the ordinary. And Zeke sure as fuck didn't want Casey to be ordinary. He adored Casey's strangeness, his unusual looks, his downright weirdness at times. He suspected that once Casey started interacting with the world again, his singularity would knock people on their ass. It would scare some of them and enchant others. Not everyone would be able to appreciate Casey, but that was just fine by Zeke.

"Who needs normal?" Zeke said lightly. "Not me, anyway. I hope you don't think I'm normal, I'd be insulted."

"Okay, not normal," Casey revised himself. "Wrong word."

"Stan is normal, your mom and dad are normal. They're nice enough, but I'm not really interested in them... I'm interested in you."

"I know that," Casey said softly. "I just wish I could be different the way you want and – and – not such a fruit loop all the time."

Meaningful conversation fell by the wayside; Zeke felt a grin split his face from ear to ear. "Did you just say 'fruit loop'?" he asked.

Casey looked slightly abashed. "Yeah, I did." Then he started to giggle, and Zeke was snickering along with him.

"You may be a fruit loop," he smirked. "... but you're my fruit loop."

"Please... Forget I said that – "

"I will... but you're just too funny... fruit loop."

"Zeke."

"Okay..." Zeke swallowed the last of his laughter, needing to get back to the serious. "Casey. Don't ever be normal – whatever that is." He saw Casey's eyes shining still and he took hold of him, putting on his best Jimmy Stewart. "There's a magnificence in you, Casey, that's in your...um, your mouth, in your hair, your eyes, in the way you stand there – "

"No way," Casey said, but the light had spread to his entire face. He was wearing the biggest smile Zeke had seen on him, bigger than the one he had worn the day that Gabe collided with Coach Willis during football practice and they both fell flat on their backs like slapstick characters.

" – you're lit from within... you've got fires banked down in you... holocausts and hearthfires!" He shook Casey for emphasis; it seemed appropriate to the occasion, and anyway, Jimmy had done it.

Casey didn't laugh, he looked into Zeke's eyes, not afraid, not hiding. "You got it backwards," Casey said.

"Whatever." Zeke shrugged. "You still get the gist, right?"

For the first time that Zeke could recall, Casey moved to kiss Zeke, just to kiss him, not to make some attempt to entice him to participate in acts of mutual destruction. It was merely a soft pressure of his lips, an mesmerizing combination of tentative and tender. "I still get the gist," Casey said, his voice very soft.

Scraping off the morning's stubble, Zeke winced slightly as Sasha's voice bounced down the hallway.

" – give an old man a break, would you! You forget I worked a nightshift." Sasha was complaining in the living room, as far from the bathroom as you could get in their apartment and his voice was travelling with a vengeance. The Connors would hear him... People in Portland would be able to hear him. He was worse than an alarm clock.

Zeke surveyed himself in the mirror, wiping off a bit of shaving cream. There was something different about his face today... oh, yeah, he was happy. He actually smiled like an idiot while he was getting dressed. As he walked to the living room, he made an effort to beat the smile down a bit.

Sasha was spread out on the couch, his feet dangling over the end, and Casey was sitting right at the end of it with Sasha's legs across his lap.

"How'd it go?" Zeke asked Sasha, gambling that Sasha was speaking to him once again.

"It was a madhouse, and they just threw me in feet first." Sasha yawned. If he was holding anything against Zeke, it didn't show at the moment. Of course, there would have to be a complete debriefing later; that went without saying. "My feet are killing me but it was good."

"What time did you get back?"

"About twelve-thirty. Some nights could be earlier, most will be later – so you guys are going to have to let me sleep in once in a blue." He looked up and behind Zeke. "Oh, hi, Allison!"

"I thought I heard your voice," said Casey's mother. Impossibly, she was wearing a nightgown and a housecoat. Zeke had never seen such items on a real live person before.

"It does tend to echo to the furthest reaches of our apartment," he remarked.

"Oh, ha ha!" Sasha countered. "Okay, you guys have caught me in my jams, here. Let me go get dressed." He was up and off as though worried they might catch a glimpse of the tiny patch of skin that was showing where the top button of his pajamas was unfastened.

"Morning, honey," said Casey's mother to her son, dropping into the arm-chair.

"Morning," Casey replied, eyes on Zeke. "You didn't want the shower?" he asked Zeke, his message something slightly different than his words; no special surveillance devices were needed to interpret this one. Zeke was more than willing to accept the implied invitation, but there was the slight problem of Casey's mother being in the room.

"Nah, go ahead," Zeke mumbled, trying not to sound disgruntled. Casey flashed a come-hither in his direction before heading to the shower – alone, dammit. Even worse, Zeke was now in the position of having to make conversation with Casey's mother. "So what's on the agenda today?" he asked neutrally.

"We'd like to take Casey shopping," she returned.

"Didn't you do that before he left?"

"Yes, but there are still things he needs... and some banking business we need to take care of. And we're going to get him a computer. We noticed you don't have one here."

"I was getting around to that..."

"You boys can share this one if you want. Casey has one at home but it's very old. He'll need a new one when he goes back to school."

Zeke was beginning to have a new appreciation for the uses of parents.

Mrs. Connor stretched languorously. "I'm going to go get dressed too," she announced. Standing up, she added, "You boys really need a coffee maker."

With a blink at the non sequitur, Zeke followed her part of the way, thinking to go up on the roof for a smoke. As he passed by their dining table, a small pile of envelopes caught his eye. "Mrs. C? Did you leave these here?"

"Yes, they're Casey's mail. There's something from the university there, I thought it was probably important." The woman presented a sly smile. "You can call me Allison, Zeke." She disappeared down the hall.

Zeke was staring down at the letter on the top of the pile, a plain, white envelope, addressed to Casey in black ink. The sender, according to the return address, was Mr. D. Windle.

It took only an instant for Zeke's soul to shrivel.

Before he could consider what he was doing, he had snatched up the letter and stuffed it in the pocket of his jacket, which was hanging on the back of the front door a few steps away. He stood there for a while, his mind completely blank, until down the hall he heard the shower being turned off. He grabbed his jacket and tore the kitchen door open, stumbling up the stairs to the roof.

It was a bit of a chill morning so he wouldn't have to explain having his jacket with him if anyone should come up. Collapsing into one of the wicker chairs, he pulled out his cigarettes and lit one. Thoughts began to turn and tumble in his head, running around in their pen, getting nowhere fast.

Casey probably had no idea that Roy had written to him. It wasn't his fault, so there was no excuse for this vague feeling of blame towards Casey. Nor was it Allison's fault for not wondering about what was obviously a personal fucking letter from fucking Cincinnati – even if she should have heard the name Windle before and was it so improbable that a few neurons could have fired before she just dropped that piece of mail on him like a bomb... no, no, no... It was an innocent mistake. Anyone could have done it. Zeke wouldn't have, but... well, he'd have to let that go.

But hold on – Casey most likely had no idea that Roy had written him. It was just possible that Casey had written Roy a letter before leaving Herrington, and Roy was writing back. Was Casey expecting, hoping to get that response? Had he come to Seattle with the possibility of rescue as a guarantee in his back pocket? Maybe he was even wondering if his parents had brought him a letter, he might ask and then Allison might say, oh, there were three letters here, not two, where did the other go?

A fact was a fact. Roy still had power over Casey. Zeke wished he could believe otherwise, but he couldn't. Even if Casey wasn't interested in going back to Roy, the letter could hurt him. It would set them back, it could not possibly be anything that would help them.

He could just burn the letter. He could, couldn't he, on the grounds that it was the best thing for Casey. Casey need never know about it, never see it. He had begged Zeke to help get Roy out of him... well, this qualified, didn't it? And Casey had placed himself in Zeke's care. But if Zeke did burn the letter, and Casey ever found out, that might just be the end of their relationship. Casey was too forgiving for his own good, but he could and did get pissed off. He was entitled to closure, and he was entitled to make his own decisions – wasn't he? Yes... Zeke had recently had ample demonstration of what could happen when he presumed to make major decisions on Casey's behalf without telling him.

Interim measures. He would hang onto the letter. He would think. He didn't want to create any more emotional upheaval while Casey's parents were here and the three days would give him time to enlist Sasha, get his advice. Problem was, he already knew what Sasha was going to say; he had a little Sasha inside his head yammering away... You're scared and you're jealous and if you do this you'll be no better than Roy... You'll be Roy –

"You realize that it's raining."

Zeke jumped like a criminal caught at the scene. Casey was standing across from him looking somewhat diffident, somewhat playful, and just too fucking ethereal to be believed. He informed Zeke, "Sasha said to tell you he's making a breakfast you'll love. He also said 'tell him to stop his damn brooding and get down here'."

It was indeed raining but just slightly; there was a sheen of condensation on Zeke's clothing that hadn't yet soaked in. His hand was shaking quite visibly, and there were three new butts in the ashtray. He had chain-smoked three cigarettes and had no memory of it.

"I think your folks want to take you shopping," Zeke said. "They want to buy you a computer."

Casey's eyes got a little brighter at that, but he started to jitter anxiously, shifting his weight. "We could buy a computer over the phone."

"Your mom wants to shop for clothes too. You'll have Sasha with you, I'm sure."

"Not you?"

"It's not that I don't want to go with you, but I have classes. I would go, otherwise."

Casey said, valiantly attempting to be lighthearted, "Right, because I know how much you love shopping with my parents."

"More than life itself, but we won't all fit in the car. You four can take it – and maybe you should take one of those pills before you go."

"They make me sleepy."

"Better sleepy than panicky, right?"

"Dr. Chakri said – "

"All right, be scared then."

Zeke didn't quite snap, but he knew the second that he said it that Casey had heard it at twenty times normal volume. His eyes didn't water up, but he stared at Zeke as if he had been struck, the sparkle of mere moments ago completely extinguished.

"Case – " Zeke began.

"I'll take the pill," Casey said hastily.

Zeke got to his feet, holding a hand out to him. "That's your call, and I'm sorry, Case. I just worry about you when I'm not with you."

Casey nodded, agreeing with Zeke as soon as he could. Zeke pulled him to his chest, his arms so tight around Casey's ribcage that breathing had to be put on hold until he was ready to let Casey go.

The breakfast was everything that Sasha had promised, but Zeke could barely choke it down. He was giving everything away, all eyes were on him – Casey's eyes, mainly, hugely asking him what he had done wrong. Sasha's eyes, telling him to prepare himself for some serious ass-kicking. And the parental eyes, accusing Zeke of doing something to their son, although what it was no one could muddle out. But finally all the eyes were gone and Zeke was alone. He went back up on the roof, finding that the rain had already stopped.

He sat up there all afternoon, the letter a burning coal in his pocket.

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