November 18th or is it the 19th, can't remember. At least I know what day it is...as in, that day in November that the sun came out for a whole two hours. The weather here is screwed up. I don't mind the rain, but a little change is nice. They say it even rains in the winter here, which totally sucks. I like snow.

So Zeke's birthday is in two weeks, which we probably would never have found out if it weren't for his dad giving him the PS2. I think he didn't want anyone to know because he likes to act like he doesn't care about stuff like that, like he's too grown up for it but I'll bet that secretly he's always wanted a party with a cake and balloons and singing. Of course now that Sasha is on the case there will be some kind of fuss. Maybe not the singing but we talked about it and we want to throw him a party. The idea of a surprise party came up, but we both know I would probably blow it. I can't hide anything from Zeke, it's impossible. And since I can't be trusted to cook anything edible, my job is to invite our few friends...and convince Zeke to show up. Sasha thinks he's going to put up a fight but I'm not so sure. He'll just be there and never admit that he's enjoying it.

A indistinct clatter could be heard outside the bedroom window, which was open just a crack to invite in the mild, late November air. Attuned to any and all anomalous noises from outside, Casey lifted his head and listened for a moment, tapping the end of his pen on the page.

No Zeke just yet.

There was always generic city noise, an impressionist wash of sound made by millions of vehicles going to their various destinations all at once, with the occasional horn or an accidentally triggered car alarm dabbed on top. Since the bedroom window overlooked the alley, usually the only human noise he might hear in this room — if not Zeke's return — would be from the store downstairs. The stock room was directly beneath where he and Zeke slept, a feature of the building that had been brought to their attention only recently and quite suddenly; they'd been attempting to sleep late the other morning and were startled awake by an enormous crash from below, followed by an impressive and very distinct chorus of swear words from Tara. Once he had overcome the trauma of being torn from a deep sleep, Casey wasn't really surprised. Sound carried easily in this building. Sometimes, if the apartment was quiet enough, he could even hear the normal goings-on downstairs, and he was sure that he could recognize Stokely's voice with its particular timbre and frequencies. It was kind of soothing, actually.

Casey returned his attention to the page in front of him, already half full of blue ink. He'd been slow to warm up to this journal thing, but he would admit that it was beginning to feel less like a chore and more like a pleasurable release of its own kind. There was something perfectly satisfying about the way the liquid spilled out from the tip of his pen in a controlled flood. Right now he would have liked to put on his headphones and reduce the world to that blue stain and the blast of melody and rhythm — except that way he couldn't listen for Zeke's footsteps. And he'd had a couple of mega-shocks already when Zeke walked up behind him while he was immersed in his music. Those were experiences that he really would prefer to avoid from now on.

Zeke went out with W-Monster last night. Of course when he called he asked if it was okay with me. He said W has been a little down lately and maybe she has but I have my suspicions...I said it was okay, like there was anything else I could have said. I don't have the right to control where he goes or who he talks to, I'm not so far gone that I don't know that. I want him to do what he would do if I weren't around. He came back at 8:30 and I knew he would have stayed out later if it weren't for me. He smelled like a bar. I didn't notice anything that might have been her smell on him but that doesn't mean nothing happened.

I wish I didn't have these thoughts. I don't know why I can't stop believing that he's going to leave. I'm writing these words now and looking at them and telling myself they're probably not true but still I can't stop believing them.

If only she would go away and find someone else's boyfriend to hover over, everything would be better then. I don't like who I am now. I get these images, I guess you would call them fantasies, I see myself hitting her in the face and all over her body, again and again and again until she falls on the ground and then I stomp on her head and her face is all covered in blood. I even dreamed it the other night except in the dream she was about ten feet tall and when I punched her it wasn't just blood that came out of her, it was that white, foamy goo like the other time and she wouldn't die. It seemed like the dream went on for days before I woke up and I guess I was making some noise or something because I woke up Zeke too. He wanted me to tell him about the dream but I couldn't say "I just dreamed your girlfriend is an alien, no big whup, let's go back to sleep." I don't usually have dreams that I remember, thank fucking god. I have enough scary stuff going on in my head when I'm awake.

I'm not like this, I'm not. I don't think I'm a person who likes to hurt people but I'm afraid I might just explode one of these days. I told Yves about this stuff (didn't tell her about the white goo of course). Maybe I shouldn't have but I needed to tell someone. She just got her "I'm a doctor" look and wrote some things down. Then she said it isn't so uncommon to have violent fantasies, as long as we don't act on them. Well, duh. She said the thing is to understand why I react so strongly to this person and I should do a mood log every time I have a reaction like that. That's her answer to everything now. Do a mood log, Casey. Analyze those thoughts, parcel them up, make the feelings NOT REAL even if they are.

I skipped the breathing and the waving grasses today. Everyone's going to be so mad at me, they're going to look at me and see a big liar and never trust me to go anywhere on my own again — but it wasn't like I planned it. Sasha dropped me off like usual, I walked into the building like usual and then I just couldn't do it. It was so nice and quiet in the stairwell, I hid in there for an hour and then went home. Now I feel sick about it but Casey Connor learning to relax is such a waste of everyone's time, I'm just using a bed that someone else could benefit from. I'm not good at relaxing, I don't want to relax. Relaxing is the last thing I should do, especially now.

It's just a matter of time before he goes. It hurts him that I can still think that, and it bothers him big time when I bitch about W-Monster so I try not to say anything, I try really hard but sometimes I can't stop myself. If I really mattered to him like he says then he wouldn't hang out with her. I know how that sounds but if she's just someone to hang out with like he says — why does he need her? He's never been the kind of person who keeps people around just so he has someone to talk to. He must actually like her. He must like her a lot to keep seeing her and talking to her when he knows how I feel. He must need her in some way. I know he has to be desperate to get out of this apartment sometimes. He gets this look and I know he's thinking "Just get over it would you, I'm trying to have a life here." He wants to go to L.A. too but he hasn't really asked me and I haven't said anything either. I know him, he'll be agonizing about it, trying to decide what's Good For Casey. I'll bet he pours his heart out to W-Monster and asks her for advice because we all know he won't get objectivity from me.

This is for you Yves: That's all or nothing thinking, it's full of blaming and magnifying and SHOULD statements, and I'm overgeneralizing and mind reading. Zeke has told me numerous times that he wants to be with me, that he is only into her as a friend and we both need to have other friends and acquaintances for our relationship to be healthy. I don't really know what he's thinking so I shouldn't put all this stuff in his head, it's not fair to him. If I want to know what he's thinking, I can ask him. The shortest distance between scared and not-scared is a question.

See, I do my homework.

Except what if all that negative stuff just happens to be the truth? It could be. Everyone really could be an alien, or even if it's just some of them how can we ever be sure? I can't take it for granted that it's safe, just like I can't take Zeke for granted. He could be thinking that I'm more trouble than not trouble, I watch him, I see things on his face, he could be thinking he's tired of it all. That's the problem with this stupid CBT method, just because you're paranoid doesn't mean people aren't after you and your boyfriend isn't actually fed up with you. If I stop being vigilant I just know that

— ah, there it was finally, the tramp of Zeke's feet on the metal stair just outside the bedroom window —

something bad will happen Casey scratched in a hurry and not very legibly, then closed the book and returned it to its secure place in the bedside table. He noted the time as just after six o'clock.

Zeke had been spending longer and longer hours on campus as the end of term approached. There were towers of library books piled on the floor around the computer, books which Zeke had yet to even crack open. Apparently there was some order to them because Zeke had made a point of telling Casey not to disturb any of the stacks. So there was no reason why Zeke couldn't work on his papers at home, no reason for him to be coming home later all the time unless he really wanted to stay away, really wanted to drink a coffee with Winona and talk to someone who didn't turn every conversation into soap opera — and of course to look at Winona because she was fucking gorgeous in the same sort of high maintenance way that Delilah was gorgeous, she was just lagging by about twenty years with her fashion decisions.

Casey scrambled off the bed I will not leap up and run to the door, not this time, I will not I will not and made himself walk to the front door at a reasonable pace, arriving in the entrance way just as Zeke opened the door.

From several feet away their eyes made contact. Zeke immediately braced his body in an exaggerated fashion, putting one foot back like he needed a stable base to withstand some extreme weather while he put on a face of okay I'm ready, love me, smother me, I can take it. His backpack hit the floor and one hand gestured wide in welcome while the other remained at his side holding a large paper bag of take-out from the Bayview.

Casey remained in place, his body quivering with what it wanted to do but wasn't doing.

A grin tugged on Zeke's mouth. "What, so I don't get molested today?"

Casey took the cue that he should be lighthearted, but his sense of humour sputtered and shorted out. "Not since it's so complicated for you."

"Complicated...?" The bag of food was emanating a deep-fried bouquet; Zeke set it down on the nearest flat surface and kept on smiling as he asked, "Say again — ?"

"Maybe you don't want me to jump on you when you come through the door is all," Casey said.

There — he'd murdered Zeke's smile. Hooray for him.

"That's news to me," Zeke said with a puzzled frown.

Casey looked at his feet, at his jacket and running shoes that he had left in a crumpled heap hours ago. "Just thought...I can wait a few minutes to hug you. Maybe you want to take off your shoes and...get organized...first."

"Get organized? Since when do I need to get organized?"

"Maybe you're tired of it," Casey finished in the most teeny-tiny voice ever to originate from a life-sized adult and that was just nice, really nice, really fucking well done make sure it gets more challenging every day why don't you do you know how crazy you are now do you?!

Zeke was solemn. "Where do you get this stuff?" he asked quietly.

The question was not rhetorical, but Casey didn't have a real answer.

"Never mind..." Zeke sighed, rubbing his forehead. He probably had a headache; he'd been getting quite a lot of them lately, and Casey doubted it was from an excess of reading. "Case...I've said this before but I think I need to say it again. Please don't try to tell me how I feel. Let me tell you, and you just assume that those feelings are constant until I tell you otherwise. If I smile at you or hug you, I'd like you to infer that it's because I want to."

It really was too bad that Yves wouldn't meet Zeke. If she ever did then she might believe Casey if he told her that he didn't need to learn the Cognitive-Behavioural method — because his boyfriend was the exemplar of it. They could have gone on the road doing seminars, Casey playing the role of the Many-Disordered Teen and Zeke the Right Response Guy...yup, Yves would have been impressed right now but Casey had no intention of getting her and Zeke together. Not that she had given up on the idea at all; she had asked Casey about it at every session since she first suggested it, three times in a row now.

Zeke had opened his arms wide. "Now...molest me, please. I look forward to it, and when that changes, I'll let you know."

Casey stepped forward even as the words rang and rattled in his head when that changes I'll let you know when that changes I'll let you know let you know let you know and if he were brave he would ask what that meant, but he was not brave. He needed Zeke's warmth holding him, he needed to be enfolded with the scent of cigarettes and library dust...after-shave with a hint of tired sweat...yes, just like that.

A long exhalation from Zeke took some of the tension from both of them. He stroked Casey's neck, trailing his fingers in his hair. "Case..."

"Zeke," Casey answered. He was not doing any molesting this time, he was just holding on with all his pitiable strength but now he might be able to smile. Now his company might be less of an all-around ordeal.

"I didn't want to sound so harsh."

"Not harsh."

"It's just...this end of term thing is starting to get scary. I have four papers due in two weeks...some on the same day, actually, and then I have to study for the exams too. It's just not going to stop until Christmas."

Encircling Zeke's abdomen with his arms and his whole body, Casey rubbed his cheek against the warm, soft cotton of Zeke's shirt and thought that the offer of a back and shoulder rub might be well-received later on. "Hmmm..."

"Hmmm? Can you translate that for me, please?"

"How far along are you on your papers?"

Zeke took himself out of their amorphous tangle of limbs and sensory information, stepping back so Casey could see his expression as he retorted, "Hey, I'll have you know I've picked my topics, I've taken out the books and I'm ready to start. I'm allotting three days per paper."

"Do you...do you need help?"

"Not with the typing, Case, I said that was just the one time."

"But I wouldn't mind..." And that was true. It would give Casey something else to do.

"I know, but I've got to improve those skills anyway. It would be a great help if you could edit me before I hand anything in this time...okay, Professor?"

"Ooh," Casey said with a shiver. "I just love it when you say 'edit me.' Say it again."

Zeke moved in close again, like he was getting ready to kiss him. "Oh, yeah, baby," he said huskily. His lips just barely traced the line of Casey's jaw. "Edit me...edit me hard." He nipped Casey's earlobe.

Casey suppressed a giggle, trying to duck under Zeke's arm. "No editing for you until you write something."

With the perfect application of physical prowess, Zeke hijacked Casey and pushed him up against the fridge, holding his hands up beside his head with palms pressed flat together. "I'll start tomorrow," Zeke promised, his eyes scanning Casey like he was considering where to descend. "Right now I have a few things to check off Tuesday's to-do list."

Casey challenged, "Sooner you start sooner it's done. You wouldn't want me to have to find someone else to edit, would you?"

It was just a tease, of course, and Zeke seemed more than willing to play along. Wearing an expression that was suitably authoritative, he bore down until Casey was compressed between himself and the fridge; he cradled Casey's jaw in both his hands, holding him as lightly as he would have held something fragile, contemplating Casey's skin with the pads of his fingers in such a way that his strength was meaningfully illustrated. His eyes and his breath were hot on Casey's mouth as he growled softly, "You don't edit anyone but me, Professor."

And Casey's entire body was galvanized, his skin tingling and thrumming, blood rushing to fill his lower extremities while his brain busily sketched a plan for the immediate future that started with him taking one of Zeke's fingers in his mouth and...okay, the middle parts were fuzzy but in the end he was face- and stomach-down on the table where they usually ate and Zeke was taking him apart piece by piece, devouring him.

Except there was something else they were supposed to be doing...Zeke was supposed to be doing...yes, only seconds ago Casey had been urging Zeke to do some homework. Knowing that so far this term he had been a serious deterrent to studying, he crumpled his game plan and muttered, "Then you need to get started."

He held to a brief hope that Zeke would ignore him, but to his disappointment Zeke conceded, "Yeah." He reached around Casey and grabbed the take-out. "Right after we eat. You didn't need the computer tonight, did you?"

"No."

"You sure?"

"Quite sure."

"Okay," Zeke sighed. "So what will you do while I hit the books?"

He was probably just making conversation, but there was a strong suggestion that Casey would be in crisis if Zeke wasn't available to entertain him — and it was true wasn't it, Casey was a great, demanding void, a vacancy where Zeke must spend his body, his sex, and of course his time. "I'll just watch a movie."

Casey had stopped at "Video Now and Then" on his way home from the relaxation clinic, looking forward to Anton's ritual welcome as much as the prospect of a diversion from his histrionic thought processes. He and Anton were as close to friends as two people could get while knowing nothing about each other except that they shared the same passion. Anton had invented a game called "What Casey Hasn't Seen": Every time that Casey came in, Anton would have a movie picked out to challenge him, and he kept score on a piece of paper under the counter, tallying it by the week. If at the end of the week Casey was ahead in the count, Anton would give him a free rental. So far, Casey had finished ahead more weeks than he hadn't.

"Did you rent something?" Zeke asked.

"Yeah, I did..." Casey hesitated. He was about to be a bad influence again.

"So what did you get?"

"The Rock." Casey had chosen it for Zeke, who loved all Michael Bay-- Jerry Bruckheimer collaborations. In fact, The Rock was a house favourite — but stupid Casey, stupid! he should have thought before he did that, he should have remembered that Zeke had work to do.

"Oh, fuck," was Zeke's comment. "For me?"

Trying to seem casual, Casey shrugged. "I like it too."

"I could watch it with you," Zeke said, rapidly succumbing to the lure of procrastination. "Say if I do a couple of hours of work...it could be my reward."

Casey considered encouraging Zeke to keep on working instead, but it wasn't like he could be Zeke's conscience. Zeke would get things done one way or another, there was no doubt of that. "I'll wait for you to start it," Casey promised.

"Thanks," Zeke said. "That'll give me something to look forward to." He opened the bag of food, explaining rather unnecessarily, "I brought supper."

"What'd you get?" Casey asked, bracing himself for the bad news.

"Bayview burgers and fries..." Zeke let the threat of healthy food linger ominously for a few seconds, then finished, "And that's all. Acceptable?"

"Oh, yeah." With happy disbelief, Casey watched as Zeke unpacked two foil- wrapped bundles and two cartons of the Bayview's amazing homemade fresh-cut-from-a- real-potato-dropped-in-the-two-year-old-fat fries. Grease had soaked through the cartons in patches.

"Meets your nutritional standards?" Zeke queried.

"Mmm-hmm."

"Just know that I'm expecting great things from the next blood test."

Ignoring that, Casey stole a fry and made it disappear. His empty stomach growled and he made haste to grab the bottle of ketchup from the fridge, then to reach into the cupboard. Eating off real plates would be their nod to Sasha, who believed that even if you were eating take-out you should respect your meal enough to include some minimal form of etiquette.

Then Zeke smote Casey with an unprecedented question: "So how was relaxation today?"

The plates almost met their doom on the kitchen floor; at the last second Casey managed to hang onto them. Maybe Casey wasn't allowed to read minds, but Zeke took it as his personal prerogative. Or this was just karmic justice masquerading as random bad luck but it was beyond uncanny that Zeke would have to choose today to ask about relaxation therapy when he almost never mentioned it and ogodogodhe'llbemad Casey didn't want to lie. He had enough stress in his life without maintaining some new form of deception.

"Case?"

Trying on the plates for armour, Casey said, "I...didn't go."

Zeke tried to pin Casey with a direct look but Casey averted himself, half-facing the counter with his eyes lowered. "You didn't go...What do you mean you didn't go?"

"I..."

"Did Sasha forget to drive you?"

Casey stared at the counter top, at the food that only moments ago he had been looking forward to eating. "No, he...he dropped me off...like usual."

"And then?"

Zeke's voice was composed, aloof. It must sound a lot like that of the inquisitor in some medieval trial — completely contained, sated with its own power as the questioner waited for the wretch to hang himself with his own words.

Raising his chin slightly, Casey managed to meet Zeke's gaze. He said, "I just didn't feel like going, okay?"

Zeke returned the look. And kept looking, until Casey's chin dropped again, unable to sustain its own weight in the face of that steady, analytical consideration. Then and only then, Zeke removed without any resistance the tableware that Casey had been holding against his chest. Setting them down, he very gently turned Casey in his direction. "Why not?" he said.

"Because...it isn't...h-helping."

"I know it isn't easy, Case — "

Something broke inside and Casey had to get it out of him and into Zeke, he had to make him understand this thing, this one thing — "Yeah, and you need to stick — stick with it and keep practising blah blah blah but it never gets any easier and I just didn't want to — wanted to stay where it was safe not do this thing that doesn't help and it's just more danger it's so — I hate it, Zeke, I hate it — !" He gulped for oxygen.

Zeke's hand moved to grip his shoulder, squeezing it lightly in a gracious exercise of proprietorship. "Chill, okay?"

"Are you mad at me?"

"No, not really, no." The other hand indulged itself with Casey's other shoulder. "I can understand how you feel, Case, and I'm not just saying that. I have my doubts about that stuff too but I think...I think that in the long run it probably does help." With lordly aplomb, Zeke returned to unwrapping their supper, placing one burger on each plate and spilling out the fries evenly over the remaining open spaces. "Anyway, I don't think missing one session is a big deal."

So it will only be the one session, Casey, you are going to stick with it because I say so just like I say you will keep going to those other sessions that you hate since you know and I know that I can't show any leniency on this and still be credible and by the way you will only talk about the things I say you can talk about.

"I won't say anything to Sasha," Zeke promised, unsolicited.

The Bayview Burger didn't taste nearly as good as Casey had expected. Bacon, cheddar, swiss, and onions could barely stand up to the bitter flavours of capitulation.

They watched the sports highlights while they ate, or Zeke did. As usual, he asked Casey if he minded and Casey shook his head. People assumed that he didn't know enough to follow what he was watching. People thought that he hated sports, but he didn't — he didn't even hate football despite it being a form of organized gang violence. He especially never minded watching Zeke play football...Zeke crossing and re-crossing that field with his tight, hip-hugging pants and exaggerated shoulders, back and forth like he was on a Paris runway. Back then, Casey had made a point of getting all the rules straight in his head on the minute possibility that Zeke would one day strike up a conversation with him about a game. Zeke never did, just like he never made an attempt to involve Casey in what he was watching right now. He kept his eyes fixed on the screen, occasionally refereeing something out loud but never requiring a response from the Casey.

Casey would bet that Winona liked sports. She and Zeke probably talked up sports for hours on end while they played with their sticks and balls and drank beer.

" — right?"

Casey blinked in Zeke's direction. "Huh?"

"I said, you are going to finish that, right?"

Casey looked at his food. He had stalled and come to a dead stop with half a burger and a lot of fries left. "Yes," he murmured, and swallowed everything.

As soon as he finished eating, Zeke retreated to the bedroom to make a start on his term papers. Casey flipped channels for a few minutes, imagining that there was something that he would have liked to watch but finding nothing. His mind kept switching to the Zeke Channel...that well-equipped body, so adept at straddling the line between assertive and playful, so capable of making his brain shut up and shut down... so near and yet so far.

Shaking off those thoughts, Casey washed the few dishes and tidied up a bit, putting away his jacket and shoes so Sasha wouldn't have to come home to them later. For half a second he considered booting up the PS2 to amuse himself for a while, and dismissed that as requiring a little too much commitment for his current state of mind. Instead, he picked up the fantasy novel that he'd borrowed from Stokely weeks ago and had not yet started, taking it to the couch. He hadn't been at it more than ten minutes before his eyelids came down with a case of super-high density. He struggled with them for a while, forcing himself through half a page of political history of the hero's homeland...something about so-and-so's bastard son marrying the princess of the northern marshes...a civil war...another civil war...

When the phone rang right near his head, it was cruelly loud.

"I'll get it!" he hollered, struggling up onto one elbow. He didn't want Zeke to know that he had been asleep. He caught it before the third ring. "Hello?"

"Oh, hi...Hi, Casey."

The W-Monster.

"It's Winona," It added, like he couldn't have guessed, like Its voice wasn't a nerve-torturing, soul-destroying discord in his ears.

"Yes, I know."

"Haven't talked to you in a long time."

"No."

"Not since we went to that diner that time, basically...So how are you?"

"Oh, I'm just great."

"Do you have plans for Thanksgiving?"

He gritted his teeth, wishing It would get to whatever reason It had for calling. He said, "We're going to a friend's house." That was obscure, but he was not about to trace the degrees of separation from Charly to Stan, Stan to Stokely, Stan and Stokely to himself and Zeke.

"That's...that's nice. I'm going to Vancouver, I guess."

"Hmm."

He waited for It to deduce the obvious from his silence.

"I never got a chance to thank you for your help," It said suddenly.

"My...help?"

"With studying. I got a seventy-four on that mid-term. I was always a D-student in high school, you know, so this was...really awesome."

"Oh, that would have been you, not me really."

"But your suggestions helped. I just wanted you to know."

"Okay..." Some minimal politeness seemed necessary. "You're welcome, I guess, but I really didn't do much. You wrote the exam."

"I know." It sounded bashfully pleased with Itself. "Um...could I speak with Zeke, Casey?"

"He's busy...He's working on his papers."

"Oh."

"Maybe he can call you back."

"Okay, then...um, let him know I called?"

"Sure. Bye."

"Bye — "

He jabbed the talk button, hanging up just as Zeke appeared in the flesh before him. "I was going to talk to her," Zeke said, a vision of displeasure. "That was Winona, wasn't it?"

"I thought — "

"You could have asked me."

Putting the phone aside, Casey buried his hands under his armpits and stared at Zeke. "Thought you were busy."

Zeke half-smirked at Casey, barely amused. "Do you know how you look right now? Like a two-year-old who doesn't want to eat his broccoli."

"Fuck you," Casey muttered.

The smirk fell away, all demonstrations of good will about the situation now cancelled. Casey observed disbelief, hurt and latent fury, and there was still more to see but before he could catalogue the rest his body's reaction caught up with him. He let his eyes drop, quaking inside.

"Did you say what I think you said?" Zeke asked.

Casey said immediately, "No — I mean — I d-didn't mean it."

He couldn't get any current data about what Zeke was feeling with his head down like this but he didn't quite dare to look either. He sensed movement; Zeke came around the coffee table and sat next to Casey, leaving a slight gap between them. Casey held himself very still, dreading eye contact because then Zeke could see the truth, that even though he was remorseful he had meant what he said and he still meant it, which made him the kind of person who would hide and hide and hide — until suddenly he jumped out of his cave to flail in the face of a loved one, only to quickly hide again in fear of being seen. He was repulsive, and Zeke should be repulsed by him.

Zeke put a hand on Casey's knee. "You could have asked me if I wanted to talk to her, Casey," said The Most Patient Boyfriend on the Planet.

"Sorry."

"Oh, I know you are. What did she say?"

"Asked you to call her back."

"That was a long conversation for such a measly number of words."

To elaborate what each of them had said was impossible; they were trivial details and Casey could barely remember them anyway. Silence tyrannized room for some time as Zeke breathed and Casey trembled and waited for him to decide how much he would tolerate.

"I think it's movie time," Zeke decreed. His hand moved up Casey's leg, glided all the way up to his face to execute a single, brief caress.

While Sean Connery and Nicholas Cage drenched the screen in smarm, Zeke nursed a violent headache and a body full of Casey-induced knots. A certain fuck you of not so long ago was still blaring in his head — and hey, it wasn't like he couldn't handle being fuck-you'd. He could even handle Casey being angry at him, it happened often enough.

It was just that when Casey uttered those words Zeke had caught a glimpse of something worse and far more disturbing than anger. He saw his lover standing on a precipice looking over the edge for a good place to splatter himself and his fuck you was really a Watch me, just watch me now, this is how far you've pushed me and I'm going to put a stop to this now, I'm going to end this before you can end it for me so I'm self-destructing now and there's nothing you can say or do anymore. And then it passed and it was just the usual Casey struggling towards someplace less miserable than here. The usual Casey was pleased to collapse on the couch with Zeke and watch the movie, leaving Zeke to wonder if he had even seen what he had seen and how long it had been lurking beneath the surface of things.

On screen, Sean asked Nick, "Are you sure you're ready for this?"

"I'll do my best."

"Your best? Losers always whine about their best. Winners go home and fuck the prom queen."

"Carla was the prom queen."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

Normally this amused the shit out of Zeke but right now he wanted to tell them to just jump in the sack and be done with it. Right now, Zeke was getting a lot more out of just lying here spooned with Casey. He had one arm across Casey's chest, pulling him snug to his own torso, Casey had his hand twined with Zeke's, the headache was receding...essentially Zeke's body was telling him that there was nothing wrong, everything was a-okay hunky-dory, and he was almost buying it.

But then again, he was a total fuckwit. Time and time again he would stupidly let himself get too optimistic because they had a good night or a good moment, and then Casey would immediately yank him back by the short hairs. So what if Casey had shone at dinner with Zeke and his father? He'd just been extremely well motivated at the time. It had been a near thing, but actually wanting the night to be a success had made all the difference.

When it came to Winona, however, Casey didn't even want to try.

Okay, that was unfair because Casey did try in his way. He would never tell Zeke outright to have nothing to do with her, no, he would just lie constantly because he knew what he was supposed to do, how he was supposed to feel — and then for every officially endorsed minute that Zeke spent in her company, there would be an equal and opposite backlash. It might not come in any way that was predictable, but it would come and it would be visited upon them both.

Today being a perfect demonstration. Since the moment he opened his eyes Casey had been a mixed bag of personas; one moment it was pissy-prickly Casey and then a moment later it would sexy-slinky Casey, with occasional appearances from Don't-Try-To-Understand-Me-Because-I-Don't-Even-Understand-Myself, I'm-Not-Talking-To-You-Shithead and I'm-Just-Not-Talking-At-All. And just to highlight the full breadth of his range, Casey had tossed in the missed relaxation session, which had to be outright rebellion, and his telephone performance, which Zeke had heard almost in its entirety from just beyond Casey's sight lines. And for a scene-stealing encore...Fuck you.

If only Casey would comprehend that they needed Winona. She was not the love of Zeke's life for fuck sake, she was not even his best friend. Both of those positions were filled — but if Zeke were to just drop Winona now, if he were never to speak to her again, he and Casey would soon become a couple of co-dependent hermits. So he did have a point to make, dammit, and he was going to make it. He was not dangerously obsessed; he had other things to care about, like a new relationship with his father, an academic life, friends...and Winona was the proof. She was the Anti-Casey.

So he was spending a few extra hours with her here or there, and he really had thought that Casey could handle it. Yesterday's episode should have been a minor blip, not an epic disaster. It had started with a quick visit to the library towards the end of the day; Winona was feeling unsure of her ability to use the electronic database effectively and Zeke had offered to guide her through it. She had been better at it than she thought she was. In the end he only gave her some tips on how to narrow her search and, as usual, she'd acted like she'd just been rescued from academic ignominy: "You know I don't think I'd have made it this far without your help, Zeke."

Now that the ego rush had worn off, that stuff was getting to be tiresome. Not because he thought it wasn't genuine but because she continually refused to believe that she had anything to do with her own success. In fact, he was gradually discovering that she was not nearly as together as she had seemed in September. She was having difficulties with her roommate which meant that she was always keen to avoid going home. There was something about her relationship with her mother and her son that was upsetting her, and her boyfriend situation had fallen through — the latter being a piece of information that, in Zeke's judgment, Casey didn't really need to know. Winona had been hinting for at least a week that she needed a willing ear, and Zeke kept pretending he didn't notice. Not his most shining moments, but he didn't feel he had any compassion to spare these days. He just didn't have it in him to help her or anyone else whose name wasn't Casey — but she had been so wistful and hopeful yesterday when she asked him to join her for a few beers that he'd hesitated to say no.

"Maybe," he'd hedged. In a world without Casey, beer and pool would have sounded great. In the world they actually lived in, he preferred Casey's company to anyone else's.

"Call Casey and get the thumbs-up," Winona had urged.

Something about that comment bothered him. It was almost an undertone of — not dislike but perhaps impatience with Casey and he decided that this would be permitted to pass so long as she never made the mistake of articulating it. From an outsider's perspective it might seem that Casey was more trouble than he was worth, but that outsider didn't know shit. They didn't know that Casey would sweetly lie Go right ahead, Zeke, I'm fine hanging out with Sasha because he wanted Zeke to do what made him happy. They didn't know that Casey would willingly sentence himself to an evening of lonely terror while Zeke played at having social life; Zeke had gotten home after a cursory two hours with Winona to find that Sasha was out and had been out all day. Casey was curled on the couch with Casablanca playing yet again, and Zeke was pretty fucking sure he'd been crying.

The waters seemed to be rising quickly. Zeke was frantically treading water and quite willing to receive some assistance at this point; problem was, he had friends who would listen but none to whom he could really explain. There was Stokely, yes, but there were parts of this — really major parts — that you just didn't share with your female contemporary. Sasha was the nearest thing to a full confidant, and Zeke supposed it would be Sasha sooner or later except he was in no hurry to hear Sasha say told you so. Sasha wouldn't gloat, but he would let Zeke know that he had been doing something wrong. Zeke could not and would not hear that.

Because he was not wrong. He knew that just as certainly as he knew that he was smarter and stronger than most people his age. He knew that once all the layers of disturbance and sickness had been peeled away, this thing between himself and Casey would remain, a shimmering, luminous spark of something ardent and fun and entirely real, and he never stopped knowing that, not when Casey acted like some demented child, not when they fought or fucked or bruised each other, and not even when Zeke could see himself inevitably becoming the bad guy.

The credits were running. Hollywood justice had prevailed, Nick could go home to his prom queen — and Zeke had missed most of it.

Zeke petted Casey's arm and declared, "That was good. Stuff got blown up." When there was no answer he angled his head so he could see Casey's — sleeping — face. It had probably been a bad idea, lying together in this position; Zeke had no idea when Casey had dozed off.

Casey's eyes popped open. "I wasn't asleep," he said.

"Uh-huh."

"I wasn't."

"You were doing a pretty good imitation of it."

Casey fidgeted, playing with the hem of his shirt. "Okay, I was asleep."

"I know."

"I'm sorry, Zeke," Casey said, his voice thick with tears and entirely too heartfelt.

"For being exhausted?" Zeke returned lightly. "It's nothing."

"I tried."

"It's a fucking movie that we've seen about ten times. Forget it."

"Yeah, I know how you look forward to watching me sleep every day."

The level of self-reproach in that was alarming and Zeke winced, trying to think of something constructive to say in response. "Casey..."

Casey grasped for the remote, which had been balanced on Zeke's hip. "I'm being stupid, ignore me. Let's watch some of the extra material — "

Zeke got to it first and withheld it. "Naw, I wanna know what you meant — "

"Nothing — " Casey reached. "Zeke — c'mon!"

" — because if you think — "

"Gimme that."

"Nope."

They ended up wrestling for it. With his height Zeke had the natural advantage, because he could resort to just holding the remote over his head while he kept Casey pinned against him — until Casey pulled up Zeke's shirt, exposing his bellybutton, and used his tongue to draw a little circle around one of Zeke's most ticklish spots. Zeke very nearly shrieked, dropping the remote so he could grab Casey's hands and lay him out flat. "You're in trouble now, fruit loop!"

Casey made a respectable show of trying to buck him off, then gave up. Panting a bit from his recent exertions, he said, "Are you going to punish me, then?"

"Maybe."

"Can you do it without sitting on me?"

"It depends. Will there be any more kamikaze tongue on my ticklish spots?"

"Maybe," Casey said, using Innocent Expression Number Twelve. He was quite content to remain exactly where he was, apparently.

Zeke warned, "I'm going to let you up now — but I mean it! No tongue."

"No tongue," Casey echoed. A smile ghosted his lips.

Zeke got off Casey, letting him sit up and rearrange himself so they were side- by-side.

"Now then," Zeke said. "Your punishment."

"What are you going to do to me?" Casey folded his hands on his lap and cast a sly glance at Zeke, having every reason to believe, given past experience, that they would be carrying on with the game.

"The worst. I'm going to make you explain yourself."

The smile on Casey's face disappeared like the apparition it was.

Zeke proceeded, "You just implied that I don't enjoy hanging out here with you and I'm not about to let that one slide by. This is just a shot in the dark, but...are you thinking that maybe I'd rather be in some bar right now?"

"No." Casey turned his head away from Zeke as he said it.

"So my spending time with Winona last night has nothing to do with that comment, or you skipping relaxation or refusing to let her talk to me on the phone..." Zeke reached for Casey's chin. "Look at me, please."

Casey scooted further away, still with his head and shoulders averted. "But you did have fun with her, didn't you?" he mumbled into the corner of the couch.

"We shot a couple of games of pool. As fun goes, I'd give it a passing grade. Not the best time I've ever had but not torture either."

"Not like hanging out here, huh?"

Zeke didn't have it in him to rebut that misbegotten conclusion yet again, so he pretended he had heard something different. "If you're bored, you could always come with us, Casey."

"You don't want me with you."

And there went Casey doing it again... "Stop telling me how I — "

"You didn't ask me to come with you."

"It didn't occur to me that you'd be interested."

"Maybe I was, though."

"Okay, but it's not like you've ever..." Zeke muzzled himself before he said something unkind. He felt all sorts of devastating retorts pressing on his brain, urging him to victory. Except there was no winning this. He put his hand on Casey's shoulder, trying to assuage the trembling beneath his palm. "You're right. I should have asked."

The question came out of nowhere and thwapped Zeke right between the eyes, stunning him badly: "Do you miss being with a woman?"

Zeke fumbled, "Do I — what?"

Casey twisted around to look at Zeke. "Miss being with a woman."

"I have women friends."

"That's not what I...I mean for sex." Casey's eyes were riveted on him like dual microscopic lenses, narrowing and focusing to take in every twitch and bead of sweat. "It's a lot less complicated with a woman, isn't it?"

Zeke managed not to say Sex with just about anyone would be less complicated. He answered with all due caution, "I think it's always complicated somehow."

With practice, he had gotten to the point that he could actually see that moment when Casey crossed the tenuous line between himself and the frightened and frightening creature who would lash out in mindless, hateful jealousy. It happened halfway though Casey's next bit of speech. "But which way do you like better — ? With a girl...or with me?"

"There's no comparison," Zeke said briefly, knowing that any attempt he might make to comfort or reason with Casey would be useless at the moment. "Doesn't matter."

"But you've been inside us both, it must feel different. How is it when you're with her? Is it good and tight, does she moan and beg you 'fuck me, Zeke, fuck me' and you lose yourself and just pound into her until you can't see straight? I wanna know."

"I think I'm just going to forget I ever heard this," Zeke murmured and closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to see what was before him — just for a few seconds, just long enough that when opened them he no longer saw the unjust accusation or the mania that had to reduce everything sensual to a state of pornography. He saw only that extreme emptiness that knew and hated itself too well. And seeing that, he found it in himself to say the words yet again, not because they would be heard but because they needed to be said:

"I don't want to be with Winona, I want to be with you."

There was a response, a glimmer of Casey behind the claws and teeth.

Zeke pressed further. "If...If you could just see Winona the way she is, maybe that would help. She's just an ordinary person, Casey. She's gets lonely and she wants friends...like the rest of us."

He was trying to invoke qualities that he knew to be a fundamental part of Casey's character but he what he got was nothing like what he had come to expect from the person opposite him — nothing like generosity, or even common politeness. "Why do you have to do that?" Casey hissed, eyes darkening again.

"Do what — ?"

"Why do you have to care about her?"

Whatever Casey's state of mind right now, Zeke was not going to tolerate the assumption that his capacity for human feeling was so limited, as if he didn't need to care about anyone who wasn't on a very select list. "Why should I give a fuck about anyone then?" he snapped. Maybe it was just time for Zeke Tyler to shed his old reputation of not giving a damn about anyone, maybe you've changed me, have you thought of that? Maybe I have plenty of feeling in me now, more than enough for one person because of you, and I mean the real you not this brittle, self-absorbed ghost of you in front of me.

Casey had shrunk from him and was now almost entirely balled up in his corner. "I know," he said in a monotone.

"Case..."

A hand came up where Zeke couldn't see, scrubbing at a face. "I know she's a person...with feelings..."

"Yes," Zeke said, encouraged by something that sounded like understanding, just a glimmer...

A glimmer that was soon lost, drowned in vitriol. "She needs a friend...especially...to hang out with...talk about sports...She knows about sports, right? I'll bet she knows about cars and wrestling, too... because she's the kind of girl that guys always like. I'll bet she's had dozens and dozens of guys like her..."

Appalled surprise held Zeke immobile for much longer than he would have wanted. Shaking himself, he shouted, "Casey, just fucking stop it!"

The monologue ceased instantly, leaving a streaked, stony countenance that vaguely resembled the person behind it.

"Fuck but I need a smoke," Zeke said, and heard his voice tremble dangerously. He hunched over, sitting on the edge of the couch, and put his face in the palm of one hand, rubbing his forehead in a fruitless attempt to banish some of his headache.

The wall in front of him broke and crumbled apart and it was Casey speaking to him once more. Casey said, "Zeke...I don't..."

Zeke couldn't give him the reassuring face that he was looking for. Zeke listened to the call of his cigarettes in his shirt pocket, and the bottle of Tylenol calling to him from the bathroom. Indecision over which voice to heed first kept him right where he was.

"I don't want to be like this, Zeke, I swear I don't — I don't want to be this person."

"I believe that," Zeke said.

"Stuff just comes out of me I can't help it — "

"You have to be able to help it, Case, because sure as fuck no one else can."

A devastated silence fell. They sat there like that for what felt like a long time, both of them completely bereft of arguments, or the will to argue for that matter.

It was time for a confession. Zeke lifted his head from his hand.

"Case...I'm feeling a bit lost here." Replaying that, he thought the words had a somewhat sinister ring to them and hastened to add, "I'm — just — I'm trying to help but I'm afraid I'm...doing the opposite of helping."

It took a long time for Casey to form a reply but eventually Zeke heard, "You...could..."

"Yes?"

"D-Dr. Yves w-wants..."

"What?"

"She asked if you would come to therapy with me."

Zeke blinked in surprise. "I didn't know that sort of thing was possible. What does she want?"

"She said — just to meet you."

"Um," Zeke said, skeptically. There had to be more to it than that but his immediate thought was Yes, yes, oh fuck, yes how he'd like to go to the professional and lay the whole damn conundrum before her so she could solve it for him. Not that such a thing was possible. He had to be practical about what she could realistically accomplish, and he mustn't forget that she was a shrink, a doctor. She had all kinds of authority to fuck with them, including the legal kind. She could be dealt with, but carefully.

Casey mumbled, "I...since I talk about us a lot..."

Zeke had no difficulty translating that: After listening to Casey for a couple of months, the shrink wanted some idea of what the truth actually was. "I see," Zeke replied absently.

"I don't know what she wants," Casey blurted out. "It makes me nervous and she said it was my therapy and it's up to me but she keeps pestering me..." He looked up at Zeke. "Will that h-help? If I say you can come? Will you feel better then?"

Don't leave me. Don't leave me, Zeke, please. I'll let you dissect me on a platter if you just say you won't leave me.

Suddenly Zeke was having a moment of empathy so intense that he could have cried from just that feeling...so exquisite, ugly and arousing all at once, it was a physical sensation from his gut deep into his groin, a shudder down his spine and a prickling on his skin. He reached out and brushed Casey's cheekbone with his thumb, watched Casey's eyelashes tremble slightly in response. "Maybe. Not to tomorrow's session anyway."

"But...will you?"

Please say you won't...but don't leave me.

"Let me think about it," Zeke said. He would do anything not to hurt Casey, and he'd also do anything to help him. His task was now to figure out which need to go with, because somehow the two had become mutually exclusive.

Nov. ?

I can't get warm. I think I just zoned big time in the shower, actually I know I did. I must have been in there for almost an hour because the water was almost all cold when I came back. I was sitting in the tub which I don't remember doing. I've never been so cold. I'm wearing three layers of clothes and covered with my afghan right now and I still can't stop shaking. Zeke's long gone to class and I guess Sasha's still asleep, or he was since he didn't hear the shower running all that time. I can hear him moving around now.

I hate this feeling, I hate it. It's like something really bad is coming and I don't have any skin and the slightest noise or touch will hurt. This is the first one like this in at least three weeks. I'm always losing time here or there, but I haven't had one of these. Yves will want to know. We haven't really talked about them a lot, I think to her it's just another kind of anxiety or something and she wants to deal with the anxiety first so I can go about town like a normal person. Is it possible that the relaxation stuff actually was helping? I don't think so but can't be sure. I hate lying to Sasha. Anyway, Dr. Chakri said that being tired makes the anxiety worse so that might explain it. My sleep has been totally fucked. Tuesday night it was okay because I was so exhausted but I slept too late and then last night I just couldn't sleep at all so I had plenty of time to lay there and torture myself.

I guess I should tell Yves today about Zeke maybe coming to therapy but I don't really want to. He hasn't decided yet. Maybe if I'm really, really good, if I'm as sane as I can be and go wherever and whenever Zeke wants, maybe then he won't think he needs to come. It will be my own fault if he does, I acted so crazy the other night. It's like watching someone else when I remember it. I think I did better yesterday, I just have to keep it up. I will not think about W-Monster, she doesn't exist, I never heard of her and Zeke never met her. I will trust Zeke and not argue with him. I won't make any demands on him, I need to stop causing him so much grief. He has enough stress already.

Fuck fuck fuck I don't want him to come to therapy

Can't stop thinking.

It was too much to put on paper; Casey dropped his pen there. His hand had become so unsteady that his writing looked like a stranger's...like the handwriting of some disturbed person.

"Just stop it," he muttered. You have to stop it, Casey, because sure as fuck no one else can, that was what he said right so just fucking stop...stopitstopitstopit, do it because Zeke says so and you'll never get warm this way so stop!

His hands and the tip of his nose felt icy; he pulled the afghan all the way up to his eyes. He tried to think warm thoughts. Hot tea, Herrington in July...kitten fur, sunshine, fleece sweater...kitten lying in a sunbeam wearing a fleece sweater...He was never going to be warm again and it served him right something terrible was coming...

There was a distinct thump from Sasha on the other side of the wall.

Casey pushed the journal out of the way and crawled out of his bed. He took himself to Sasha's door and knocked. "Sasha?" he said, trying not to let his teeth chatter too much. Not waiting for the invitation, he poked his head in.

Sasha was lying on his side in bed, flipping through a cookbook, his eyes still bleary from sleep. "Kitten? You okay?"

"Um...n-not really."

Sasha frowned over that for a few moments, then pushed the cookbook out of the way and lifted his covers, offering a nest for Casey — and ohgodyesohyes it was warm, blissfully, wonderfully warm. Casey got himself a double fistful of Sasha's flannel pajama top and dragged himself closer. Splendidly, deliciously, euphorically warm —

"Good god, Casey, you're wearing about ten layers here," Sasha remarked, tucking Casey's body in against his own. "Is there a blizzard outside?"

"No."

"Then what?"

"I...zoned."

"Where?"

"In the sh-shower...I came b-back and the water was cold."

"Oh, my poor kitten..." Sasha rubbed his back, trying to generate some heat. "It's been a while, huh?"

"Yeah."

"What happened?"

Casey snuggled and compressed himself under Sasha's chin, squirming until he had his hands up around his chest, inside a muff created by his joined sleeves. He yawned, almost completely comfortable for the first time since forever quite possibly and naturally now that it was daylight and he was dressed and supposedly ready to tackle the day, now he could fall asleep. "Couldn't sleep last night."

"Then crash for a little while," Sasha offered. "I'll just stay right here and read my book."

"Shouldn't."

"I don't believe in the Zeke Program, kitten. If you're tired, sleep."

"But...I don't want to be awake again tonight."

Sasha sighed. "Something is wrong, isn't it?"

It seemed like there was scarcely anything that wasn't wrong — apart from finally being warm and safe — but even that was wrong because he was telling a lie by being here with Sasha who was trusting he had done something that he hadn't.

"Do you want to tell me?" Sasha said quietly.

Casey gathered his courage. "I..."

"Yes, kitten?"

"What if — what if there was this thing that a person was supposed to do for their own good...and they knew it but it was so difficult for them that it doesn't feel like something good? Should they still do it?"

A pause, then: "I take it this isn't just a hypothetical question."

"No."

Sasha took another long while to ponder before he answered, "I definitely need some caffeine in my system before I unravel that one. How about you get up and make me some coffee while I brush my teeth, and then we can sit down and talk?"

Casey nodded, moving his stiff, chilled limbs with reluctance. He would much rather have stayed in his cozy nest and he didn't know that there was much to talk about...but this was how Sasha liked to do things. He shuffled his way to the kitchen, where he made the coffee — and tea, tea would help to warm him up. Food probably couldn't hurt either, but he found himself without the energy to really peruse the cereal cupboard. He pulled down his mug and hunted for a tea bag. Chamomile was definitely out.

No one ever took quite so long as Sasha did to brush his teeth. Casey had no idea what he did in there, but it couldn't be mere teeth brushing. At least it gave the coffee maker sufficient time to do its brewing; Casey had poured Sasha a large mug-full and had it waiting on the table when he sat down.

"So," Sasha began. "You don't want to do this thing anymore."

"I...never really did."

Sasha took a long pull from his cup while he considered that. "All right," he said, setting it down. "Fair enough. What's different now?"

"I just...feel like I can't."

"I don't understand, Casey. How is that you could last week but all of a sudden you can't this week?"

Addressing his tea, Casey said, "Fine. I don't want to do it."

Sasha stood up. He pulled out the chair that was nearer to Casey and dragged it over so that they were knee to knee. He said, "I was wondering how things are but I didn't want to ask."

Casey shrugged. "You can always ask."

"Well, then...How's the therapy going?"

He felt a sickly smile infecting his face. Sasha thought that they were talking about Dr. Yves and Casey needed to correct him...right away would be best. Except they could have been talking about Dr. Yves all along and there was a significant chance that Sasha would understand how the therapy was a trap that Casey had to escape from...

"Not so good," Casey answered, letting the moment of truth pass him by.

Sasha squeezed his knee. "I always thought it would be nice to have someplace where I could just talk about me without being accused of dominating the conversation. Is she not nice, this doctor?"

"It's hard to tell."

"Oh?"

"She's always so — " He struggled for a fair adjective. "Calm."

"That's probably a good thing."

"I guess."

"Well, kitten, it's possible that she isn't the right doctor for you. Do you mind if I ask...What does your Dr. Yves think about your alien thing?"

Casey clenched his hands around his mug. "I haven't told her."

Sasha reared back in shock. "But doesn't that make it...kind of impossible?"

That comment hit Casey with the force of a physical blow, and he wasn't entirely sure why. After all, it was nothing that he didn't already know. He heard his voice shake as he answered, "I can't tell her, she could lock me up if she wanted."

"It doesn't work like that, does it? I mean, look at Spadoni. He knew about it and he didn't lock you up."

"But Spadoni believed me," Casey corrected.

"I — didn't think he did," Sasha faltered.

"Everyone in Herrington believes me. They just need to be reminded."

Like he had reminded Spadoni...Spadoni who insisted and insisted that it never happened until Casey breathed the memory back to life. If he really wanted to, he could do that for all of them. Not that he had any intention of living in Herrington again, but it would be nice if people were a little more honest with themselves. They had good reason to hate Casey, he wouldn't deny that, but he wished they would remember their reasons. They made out that he was a freak who caused the entire country to view them with disdain, and that was true but it wasn't why they hated him. They hated him because he had taken something beautiful from them.

Uneasily, Sasha said, "I don't think I want to touch that one."

"No," Casey agreed.

"Either way...Spadoni knew you were harmless and that was why he didn't try to keep you from leaving, isn't that right?"

Harmless. It wasn't a word that Spadoni would apply to him, he thought — but he didn't want to correct Sasha again either.

Sasha frowned slightly at his lack of response and continued, "My point was how can Dr. Yves help you deal with this phobia that's keeping you chained to home unless you talk about that stuff with her?"

"I can't talk to her about it, Sasha."

"Then I can see why you're feeling frustrated."

"And that's why I think I should quit — "

Sasha's eyes widened, and Casey's hopes for an ally disappeared just like that. "No, kitten, it's important for you to keep going."

Casey washed down the lump in his throat with some tea.

"I'm sorry if that's not what you wanted to hear."

"It's what I expected to hear," he whispered.

"I know I'm on dangerous ground here, Casey...and I'm supposed to mind my own business, but I can't help but feel like you are my business so here goes. My honest opinion is you need to tell your doctor about the aliens, and if she doesn't believe you then you should find another doctor."

"And if she decides that I need to be locked up?"

"I really think that's unlikely, kitten."

"Zeke doesn't."

"Ah."

Casey took in Sasha's expression of annoyance. "Meaning what?" he demanded.

"Meaning that's really the issue, isn't it?" Leaning forward, Sasha said, "Kitten, has it ever occurred to you that Zeke might be wrong about some things?"

"Of course."

"Have you ever told him?"

"Yes!" Casey knew how defensive he sounded but he couldn't stop it from happening. "We have arguments."

"And who's right in the end? I'm betting it's always Zeke."

He barely knew what he was saying, all he knew was he wanted to acquit Zeke of whatever Sasha thought he was guilty of and the words came out before he could proofread them: "I'm the one who's sick."

"What?"

Sasha's face was an epic of protective wrath; Casey scrambled to explain before Zeke got in any more trouble. "My...my reasoning isn't so good."

"Then how about if I 'reason' with Zeke a bit?"

Casey clamped a hand on Sasha's arm, just in case he was planning to get up and do that very thing at this exact moment. "No, don't — ! Please don't do that."

Seconds felt like hours as Sasha's glower slowly faded to a concerned frown. He put his hand on top of Casey's. "I won't say anything to Zeke...for now."

Casey begged, "Sasha."

Looking to the heavens for strength, Sasha said, "Okay. You tell me to butt out, I butt out...but when you need help with something, if you want to talk, with or without Zeke...You had better come to me, kitten. I mean it."

"I will."

"Good." Sasha hovered in and kissed Casey on the forehead. "I love you, you know."

"I know...I love you, too."

There was a rather suspicious glitter to Sasha's eyes as he leaned back. "Now what do you say we talk about something relatively low key?"

"Please."

"You're going to speak to Stokely and Stan today about the birthday party, right? And Zeke, of course."

"Oh...yeah."

"Can you do it soon, kitten? Because I need to know how much foie gras and truffles to order."

"You're — you're kidding," Casey faltered, trying to switch gears along with Sasha.

"Yup," Sasha replied, with a wink. "But I do need to know if they're coming or not, to plan a bit."

"What are you going to cook...for real?"

"Some nice assorted hors d'oeuvres, I think. I have to look through my books." Sasha straightened up with a groan. He ruffled Casey's hair and said, "You may be designed to look perfect when you get up in the morning, but I can just imagine what I look like right now. I'm going to try the shower — I just hope there's some hot water or it's going to be an invigorating time." With a smile to reassure Casey that he held nothing against him, he headed to the bathroom.

For the first time ever, Casey didn't have a panic attack when he got to Dr. Yves' office, but it wasn't much to celebrate. All it took was being too drained and listless to care very much, and knowing that they were mostly going to do the same thing they had been doing the last two sessions: Working through the steps for the damned mood logs, page by page, exercise by exercise. Describe upsetting event. Choose words to describe feelings about it, rate intensity of the feelings. Identify thoughts before, during and after. Identify distortions in thoughts. Reformulate more realistic thoughts about event. Rate feelings again. Feel better.

Towards the end of the session, however, Dr. Yves did find it expedient to enter into some discussion of personal feelings.

"You seem very tired again, Casey," she remarked. For her part, she looked quite well-rested. She was wearing what he would call "K-Mart Casual" today, slacks and a slightly dressy form of sweatshirt with country-floral quilting on the front and a lacy collar peeking out at the top.

"I couldn't sleep last night," he answered.

"Why is that?"

"Too many thoughts."

"About?"

He shrugged. "Stuff."

"‘Stuff,'" she noted dryly, arching a brow and smiling. Even for him that had to be an excessively terse answer, and he found himself smirking a little along with her. "Casey, are you still taking your anti-depressants? Paxil, was it?"

"Yes."

"And you're still taking them?"

"Yes, Paxil and yes, I'm still taking them."

"Hmm...Paxil often has a significant sedative effect on people, but perhaps your body has adjusted to it. We might want to consider switching medications, especially if you're finding that your mood hasn't really improved lately."

Casey didn't think much of that idea, and he supposed it showed.

"It's not my preference either," she said. "You would have to go off Paxil and wait at least a few weeks before you could start taking something else. I think that might be a little risky still. For the time being, though, be sure not to forget to take the Paxil. After a while when we're not motivated by the same level of misery and it's just routine to take them, it can be easy to just let it slip."

He tilted his head, asked, "Am I at a different level of misery?"

"You tell me."

"I don't know...I guess." Sometimes he laughed when a thing was funny. He had managed to enjoy some things now and then, and some of them didn't even involve sex. Certainly, he knew he was thinking much more clearly; it was like a cloud had finally dissipated in his brain and sometimes he wished the cloud back because there was just so much to think and worry about. He would have liked to do other things with his brain, like school, but he just didn't know how to accomplish that when there was so much in his head already.

He said, "You know what's the worst thing about being miserable?"

"What's that?"

"It isn't that you feel miserable...It's feeling like you'll never stop feeling miserable."

"I know," she said, apparently sympathizing with him for once. "I know, but it can stop. And it will, if you let it."

"What do you mean 'If I let it?'"

"I mean that there are things you can do to help yourself. I'm afraid it's up to you, Casey. I can't make you well, Zeke can't make you happy...You make you happy."

"It's not that easy," he grumbled.

"Of course it isn't. If it were I wouldn't have a job. But I can only help you by showing you ways to help yourself."

He knew where she was going with this. "In other words...do your mood logs, Casey."

"Among other things, but yes. You know, you could do a mood log when you're lying there with too many thoughts in your head. It's the perfect time." Surely she saw him rolling his eyes at that suggestion, for she went on, "Or once in a while if you're really struggling with your sleep patterns it couldn't hurt to take a Xanax to help you get back on track. I wouldn't advise that to all my patients, but I know you've been trying really hard not to take too many."

"Okay."

"Now, what are the odds that a few of those things rattling around in your head last night were Zeke-related?"

"Pretty good," Casey admitted.

"Has he made a decision yet?"

His heart bruised itself against his ribcage; for a moment he felt certain that he had spilled to her about the possibility of Zeke joining him here soon and then somehow blanked it from his memory...but he wasn't at that stage of delusion yet.

This must be about Zeke going to Los Angeles. At a previous session Casey had told Yves about the dinner and how Zeke wanted to go to his father's wedding. Yes, that was mind reading but he knew it was true. The possibility of the trip had been referenced a few times since Mr. Tyler's visit, and Casey could read it on Zeke's face as plain as a neon sign — and why wouldn't Zeke want to go? He had a chance to renew his relationship with his father. Of course he wanted to go.

"No," Casey managed. "At least...he hasn't told me."

"What about you? Have you thought about your options?"

"No."

"Are you avoiding?"

"Yes, and I'd like to keep on doing it for a while, thank you."

Yves laughed for the second time within a half hour; that must mean that he was being extremely entertaining today.

"This is just a suggestion," she said, "but if Zeke were to come to a session I could talk to you and Zeke at the same time...maybe we could work out this whole Los Angeles issue together."

He began to pick at the upholstery on her chair...nope, she was not going to let this go any time soon. "Actually...I told Zeke you wanted him to come here."

"You did? When did you do that?"

He tormented the chair some more. "Last night."

"And what was his answer?"

"He said...he...said he'd think about it."

"That's excellent, Casey. Good for you."

Yeah, good for him, except that just the thought of Zeke being here had him on the brink of fearful tears. It could not happen. Well, it might happen, he had been the one to mention it to Zeke in the first place but obviously he'd been panicking about something else altogether at the time and so naturally he would stupidly blurt out whatever he thought would make Zeke feel better. He could only hope that Zeke understood how his offers were not to be taken at face value.

Guess he was not too tired to panic after all.

"If he comes here," Dr Yves probed. "Do you think you can handle it?"

"Sure," he said, starting to wheeze. "No...problem. Or...I might just...jump off our roof."

"That's not funny, Casey."

"I...know..."

"Is jumping off your roof something that might happen?"

"No!" he gasped. "But — "

"What?"

"Don't need to — can't — breathe — "

"Yes, you can, Casey. Breathe with me...slowly...you're okay..."

He inhaled and exhaled to her beat...He could do this, he was taking in air, it was working. His body knew how it was done. "I'mokay...I'mokay..."

"We should do a mood log now, Casey."

He puffed, "Not enough time."

"We can start it. What were your upsetting thoughts just now? Apart from ‘I might jump off the roof.' What will happen if Zeke comes here?"

"Nothing."

"Casey."

"I can't..." He had the book on his lap, and he hugged it against his chest as though she might try to pry it open. "I promise I'll try to do it at home but I can't now...please."

Silence while she studied him and weighed whatever factors needed to be weighed. He felt certain that she could see right through him, that she understood all sorts of things that had never occurred to him. Sometimes he truly wanted to read her mind, to sprout some psychic ability that would give him that little bit of insight. More often, he just didn't want to know.

"Just tell me then," she said. "Are there any topics that you definitely do not want discussed when Zeke is here?"

"W-Winona," he said at once.

Barely blinking, she returned, "I promise I will not bring up things that you don't want me to, Casey, but what if Zeke brings it up?"

"I know he will," Casey whispered.

"Would that be so terrible? Zeke's friendship with this woman is causing you a lot of distress — and Zeke too, I'll bet."

"It is, it hurts him...I was so terrible to him the other night. He said he felt lost and it scared me."

"Zeke isn't indestructible, huh?" Dr. Yves suggested.

"No."

"So don't you think it would be good for us to talk about this situation?"

"Maybe it would be good for Zeke," Casey said. "But not for me."

"You don't have a problem discussing it when it's just the two of us. Would it make so much difference if the three of us discussed it together?"

Casey pressed his lips together and shook his head slightly.

"Well," she said after a significant pause. "It's just about time to go. I would still like you to do that mood log, Casey, please. The sooner the better, while the feelings are still fresh."

Headline: Casey's Fresh Feelings Served Here! Get em while they're hot! "About which part?" he asked meekly, forcing down the frenzied laughter was skulking at the back of his throat.

"Your reaction to Zeke possibly coming with you to therapy, for a start. And perhaps also what were just talking about here."

He nodded quickly, anxious to be on his way home.

"Casey."

"What?"

"Don't forget that you have the right to tell Zeke how you feel about him coming to a session."

"Thanks," he said, rising from his chair. "But I already told him."

The panic was simmering afresh when he hit the sidewalk. Right, it was up to him to not be scared but he knew something was going to happen something terrible something terrible something terrible and scared was perfectly appropriate. He scuttled home and was going to bolt straight up the stairs and into his bed when he remembered his promise to Sasha earlier.

He veered into Wellth, causing the welcome bell to erupt. Tara was on hand, and she spun about wearing that same scared-threatening face he remembered from the incident in the apartment so many weeks ago.

"Hi," she said, watching him carefully. Maybe she would feel better if he were to tear off all his clothes and run naked and shrieking up and down the aisles, maybe then she would be satisfied and just pity him in private. He turned his eyes to the bin in front of him... organic whole wheat farfalle...a long shiver went down his back and he knew it was going to happen all over again the second time today or was it the third...organic rice linguine...organic soba...he wanted to lay down with a Xanax so bad...orzo...fettucine...so bad...brown rice basmati rice lunenburg brown rice...

"Hey, Case."

He startled. Stokely was standing right in front of him, having somehow crept up on him. Right then he decided that he was going to take a pill the moment that he got home and sleep until tomorrow arrived. He'd had enough of failing at being brave this day, this week, and if he was asleep he couldn't cause anyone more trouble. "H-Hi, Stokes."

"You okay?"

"Oh, um...fine." In fact, he was already feeling a little better, having made the Xanax decision.

"Did you just get back from therapy?"

He nodded, wondering when his schedule had become a matter of public interest. "Need to talk."

"Of course!" Stokely looked excessively pleased at his request. "Could we go across the street?"

He shifted his weight, gnawing on his lip. The last time he had sat down at Zorba's was with his parents. Impossible to believe that had been two months ago but it was, and since then he hadn't sat down anywhere that was not home without Zeke or Sasha present.

"Just a little while?" Stokes pressed.

"Ten minutes?" he proposed, imagining himself telling Zeke about it later and then Zeke smiling and saying You've made so much progress, Case, I don't think it's really necessary for me to join you in therapy, do you?

A smile bloomed on Stokes' face. "How about thirty?"

"Fifteen."

"Twenty."

"Done," he said. Twenty minutes, and then he could have his Xanax and his sleep as a reward. He waited while Stokely fetched her sweater, deliberately not noticing Tara's fascinated gaze.

Across the street at Zorba's he grabbed the most secure table he could find, in the corner by the front window. It wasn't the one most accessible to the door, but it did give him a view of almost the entire coffee shop plus the sidewalk outside. He took a seat with his back to the wall, trying to control his vital signs. Stokely followed him but remained on her feet and asked if she could get him anything. Clinging to conversation to distract himself, he gave her a five and requested a cup of decaf. She raised an eyebrow.

"All right," he muttered, taking shallow breaths. "Just...bring me herbal tea. ‘Misty Mint'...that's about my speed."

"You could try one of the special tea drinks," Stokely sympathized.

"Like what?"

"Chai Latte, Brit's Delight..."

"What's Brit's Delight?"

"Earl Grey and steamed milk with a shot of vanilla."

"Doesn't Earl Grey have caffeine?"

"Oh, right..."

"I guess that leaves the chai, assuming there's no caffeine in that." Casey had heard of chai, but never tried it.

"I'll check," Stokely promised, heading for the front counter.

It was very lonely waiting for her but it did give Casey time to acclimate himself to the space. He counted the people in the shop and reminded himself that this outing had a prescribed end time; he only had to be lucky for twenty minutes. He let his sleeves fall down over his hands, warming them, and conjured up Zeke again...there he was sitting in Intro to Sociology and then it was on to Major World Religions and then finally home...oh, but first there would be squash with Stan. More time for Casey to sleep. When Zeke got home Casey would be rested, and he would be sweet and good and not debate anything but maybe he would mention how he had coffee at Zorba's with Stokely and Zeke would see that things really weren't so bad —

"Here we are. The guy says they use a syrup that's caffeine free, so it's all good." Stokely positioned a cup the size of a fishbowl in front of him. The liquid was covered in white foam with flecks of spices. It smelled like nutmeg and some other festive fragrances. He lowered his head so he could sip from it without lifting it. "Well?" Stokes said.

"It's delicious," he replied truthfully, and dared one long, satisfying breath. Fully functioning lungs were a beautiful thing.

Stokely looked gratified to have finally found a tea beverage that Casey could enjoy. "Hey, it's so cool that you're going to be at Thanksgiving dinner with us. I never thought Zeke would agree to it." With a wry smile, she added, "I'll just bet Zeke is strapping up for battle right now, huh?"

"Um..."

"Come on...I bet he shows up next Thursday with that don't-mess-with-Zeke- Tyler look on his face. He could try to be a little less paranoid."

"But Stokes..." Casey trailed off. Aunt Charly was Stokely's friend, after all.

Stokely knew what he wanted to say anyway. "What does Charly want?" she suggested.

"Yeah."

"Nothing, really...except she just wants to ask a bunch of questions."

"Why?"

"Because she believes in life on other planets and she's curious." Stokely shrugged. "I don't really blame Zeke for being the way he is, I guess."

"You don't?"

"I know how he feels, not wanting to talk about it. I don't think I could stand to have all that in the news again. I hated it before." Stokely's brown eyes flitted up, tugging at Casey momentarily. "I don't want to see you hurt anymore, Case, and I know Zeke doesn't — so I understand if that's what he's afraid of." She reached out, patted Casey's hand. "I wouldn't be Charly's friend if I thought she wanted to do that to you."

He nodded, believing her.

"When I first met her she did ask a lot of questions, and I didn't mind because I knew she wasn't thinking that I was lying or crazy. It's just such a good feeling when someone believes you."

Casey tried to imagine what it would feel like to tell the story to someone who would accept it. He didn't get very far. To be polite, he returned, "I guess she's one in a billion."

"Case, tons of people believe in extra-terrestrial life."

"Yeah, and I'll bet most of them would ship me off to the loony bin in a second too. ‘You say your mom is an alien? Okay, kid, come on over here, I've got a nice white jacket for you to try on...'"

"Good afternoon, Mr. Casey." Somehow Casey had missed Thomas Kirton approaching them. He was standing right next to their table wearing a friendly smile along with slacks and a polo shirt, and Casey asked himself why it hadn't occurred to him that he would run into this man. It now seemed confirmed that Thomas spent most of his time in Zorba's. Maybe he even slept here.

Casey put his hands flat on the seat on either side of himself, to hold himself still. "I — I'm talking to a friend."

Thomas addressed Stokely, whose eyes were perfectly round and stunned. "Greetings to you, miss. Would you introduce me, Mr. Casey?"

Casey's voice didn't want to work, so Stokely introduced herself. Thomas nodded and smiled, and gave her his own name.

"And you know Casey," she said wonderingly.

"We've run into each other a couple of times now. I have a little caffeine habit, you see. My apologies for interrupting, I saw you sitting here and thought I'd say hello." Thomas kept his gaze fixed on Casey. "Your hair is a very interesting colour — or colours, I should say."

Stokely chuckled. "Interesting is one word for it."

"It's quite striking. And how are you, Casey?"

"Fine," Casey muttered.

"I believe I heard you say ‘My mom is an alien.'"

There was no real reason to panic, but Casey's body didn't generally listen to reason.

"We were speaking metaphorically," Stokely threw in quickly. "You know mothers...can't live with ‘em, can't live without ‘em."

"Ah. In that case, I'd have to say that my mother also is an alien." Thomas paused, and again addressed Casey exclusively. "It is a pleasure to see you sitting here so comfortably, my friend."

"What do you mean?" Casey ground out.

"Just what I said."

"You don't know me."

"I know you a very little," Thomas corrected. "I would like to get to know you better." His eyes held Casey for a moment longer. "So then...I'll see you soon, I hope."

Casey watched Thomas leave the shop, not daring to lower his defenses until the man was out the door.

"I remember that man from that time when I was here with Zeke and you showed up," Stokely said. "So now you two are pals?"

Thomas waved as he passed by them in the window.

"I — he — " Casey put his hands back on top of the table, clutching his chai. He couldn't sit still.

Then Stokely had a hand on his arm. "Case, it's not worth freaking out."

"He — just kind of introduced himself."

"I've seen him in the store, too. He bought some stuff." Stokely tried a smile. "I think you have an admirer."

"No — no, he said — "

"Don't get so worked up, I'm sure he's just being friendly — and you should do this more."

"Do what?"

"Chat up guys in coffee shops."

"I'm not!" He was not chatting up anyone...and he was breathing not panicking, not panicking... but it was almost three and he was supposed to be at home. Zeke would be phoning shortly and he would expect Casey to be there, not at Zorba's where any stranger could walk up to him and call him a friend, he would be concerned if Casey didn't answer the phone which was the last thing Casey wanted today. He couldn't have today be like Tuesday. And once that call was finished, Casey would be ready for his Xanax sleep. He said, "Can we go to the apartment? Please?"

Stokely was frowning slightly but she said, "Sure, Case."

She made like she was going to escort him from there to home but he didn't particularly care. He picked up his pace, not once but twice, and she ended up nearly running to keep up with him. Once he was inside his own door, which he shut immediately and locked, he felt the madness beginning to subside. He immediately went to get the phone and brought it to the kitchen table where Stokely was sitting, recovering her breath.

"Case..." Stokely ventured. "You know I was just teasing before. I'm glad to see you interacting with someone new is all."

His legs felt a bit shaky; he sat down, still holding the phone. "Don't tell Zeke. Please."

Stokely pressed her lips together, then said, "I won't tell him, although it's not like you've done anything wrong. I thought Zeke was way over the top before. He's really gotta curb that possessive crap."

Casey squirmed and drummed his fingers on the table. He wasn't sure what he could say that wouldn't prompt a spate of questions and he was tired of his well-meaning friends and doctors having opinions about his relationship with Zeke. They seemed to be coming at him from all sides today.

"It doesn't bother you," Stokely observed.

"No," he said curtly. And even if it did, he didn't want to participate in criticizing Zeke with her. He was not going to do it.

"It's his style, I know, and it always has been — and god knows he's really good at being in charge but one of these days you need to decide something for yourself, Case."

"I do."

"Oh, yeah? So what did you decided about the part-time job?"

Casey had completely forgotten about it until this moment. "Oh, right...I don't think so, Stokes."

"You talked to Zeke about it, right?"

"He wanted to know what it was..."

"Let me guess," she said, a bit sourly. "He didn't think so."

Wanting to explain and defend Zeke, he started out calmly enough — "I don't want the job, Stokes, and I don't want to talk about how Zeke is good for me or bad for me — " except his voice rose steadily until it was almost a shout — "or too controlling or whatever. Between Sasha and the shrinks I get more than fucking enough of that!"

Actually, he was shouting, and Stokely had gone pale and bruised in the eyes. "I'll stop being a lecture mouth," she whispered.

"Stokes..." He put the heel of his palm against the side of his head and tried to grind down the knot at his temple. "I'm sorry. I know you're just being my friend."

Her eyes were watering despite her very visible attempt to control them. "I am your friend, Case. You know that, right?"

"Yes," he confirmed. "I do...I'm just really tired right now. I didn't mean to yell at you."

"Okay," she said, swiping at a suspicious track of moisture on her face.

"I'm sorry," he said again.

"Okay."

He looked at the phone, willing it to ring so he could hear Zeke's voice...couldn't see the clock from where he was sitting but it should be any minute and that would help him relax and he could lie down and sleep...once Stokely left...Stokely whom he had just verbally abused, she was his friend a good friend wasn't she and if she stopped being his friend it would be his own fault — "Hey, Stokes...I was going to ask you something."

"Yeah?"

"Zeke's birthday is in a couple of weeks."

"Oh..." Stokely cleared her throat. "What's the date?"

"December second. Sasha and I...we're going to throw him a party, will you come?"

She made a goofy face. "Of course."

"It'll be on the Sunday, whatever date that is because that's when Sasha is off."

"That's fine, I'll ask for a Monday off so I don't have to worry about getting up the next morning, I can just party to my heart's content. Can I help with anything?"

"Um...thanks, but probably not. Sasha's going to make the food."

"Maybe I could bring something? I could make a cake."

She seemed to really want to, so Casey said, "Okay, sure..." and prayed that Sasha wouldn't feel usurped and that it wouldn't be a gluten-free cake with wheat grass icing.

"And we could go shopping for party favours, you and me," Stokely suggested with a mischievous gleam.

"Party favours?"

"Yeah, you know...hats, balloons, maybe some pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey..."

"Zeke will hate that."

"Exactly." Stokely all but rubbed her hands like some evil genius. "It'll be good for him...So who else is coming?"

"Just us, I guess...Sasha, Jerry, you, Stan..."

"Do you want me to mention it to Stan?"

"Um...I can do it."

"I don't mind, though. We've been talking on the phone a fair bit." Casey blinked at Stokely in surprise and she said, "It's no big deal...I'm just not mad at him anymore. So do you want me to ask him?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

"What about Winona?"

He grimaced; to his annoyance, Stokely chuckled.

"Case, maybe I'm taking my life in my hands here, but...you and Zeke are a real pair, you know. I pity any woman, man or alien who makes the mistake of trying to get between you."

"You think I should invite her?"

"Hey, I don't care. I'm merely pointing out that she's Zeke's friend and might actually want to celebrate his birthday too."

"I don't know what he sees in her," Casey pouted. "It can't be the conversation."

"Rowrr!" Stokes said slyly. "As a self-taught bitch on wheels, I'm impressed. Good tone...just the right hint of a sneer, nice implied insult to her intelligence..."

The three o'clock call had arrived. Casey didn't wait for Stokely to finish if she wasn't already; he instantly pressed talk and had the phone at his ear.

Zeke spoke first. "Hi, Case."

Casey saw Stokely looking at him with deep concern and willed himself to sound as normal as he could while listening for any noises in the background that might hint of suspicious activity. "Hi."

"You okay?"

"Sure."

"How was therapy?"

"Um...Stokes is here."

"Ah...we can talk about it later, I guess." Zeke probably didn't intend for that to sound like a threat but it did all the same and now that Casey really analyzed it, there was something altogether Not Right in Zeke's voice, something that made Casey's stomach began to hurt even before he heard the next part. "Case...I have a big request."

The discomfort in Casey tightened. "Oh, yeah?"

"We just saw this poster for a lecture that's happening tonight at six o'clock, it's on ‘Paranoia in Contemporary America'. It sounds really interesting...well, obviously it sounds interesting to me or I wouldn't be asking you this and I know I'm kinda procrastinating about the papers but...anyway, I'd really like to hear it. I know it's a lot to ask."

It came out before he could think of stopping it: "With Winona?"

"Yes," Zeke said tightly. "With Winona."

This had to be a test. Zeke had noticed how he was trying to create an illusion of mental health and was testing him to see if he was actually just as unhinged as he had ever been. And Casey didn't know the right answer. He didn't know, he didn't know...he didn't know and could barely think, his head whirling and clicking and spinning...If he said yes then Zeke would be upset at him for not being honest about his feelings. If he said no then Zeke would be upset at him for being insecure about nothing and would insist on going to therapy with him to talk it out. So if he said yes then maybe Zeke wouldn't go to therapy and maybe that was the whole point of this test but if he said yes he wouldn't be able to hide how it bothered him and he'd be lying again and Zeke would find out and then Zeke would be guilty and upset again and would definitely come with him to therapy but if he said no...

"Casey?"

His heart was racing along with head; he was sure that Zeke could hear it. "Zeke," he whispered.

"I don't want to go if it's going to be an issue. If you'd rather I didn't go, just say so and it will be okay. You believe me, right, that it will be okay?"

In his mind, Casey saw an image of Zeke and Winona sitting in a great marble hall listening to some academic breaking down and analyzing this delusional type who believed people were out to get him. "Fine," he said, wondering what Zeke would do if he just screamed into the phone.

"Huh?"

"I mean, go ahead. I'll see you later."

There was a pause.

"Are you sure?" Zeke asked.

Are you lying again, Casey, are you just trying to pass this fucking trick question by telling a lie so you can be noble and pissed off later are you ever going to get over yourself so we can do normal things like normal people can I go and enjoy this will you let me or do I have to feel guilty can I ever believe a word you say —

The word came out strangled: "Yes!"

"What are you going to do?"

"Take a pill and sleep," Casey replied, and it was nothing but the truth.

"But Casey — "

"I'm going to be fucking unconscious so you might as well enjoy yourself, Zeke. In fact, you should stay out as long as you like."

When Zeke spoke again, his voice was tighter than ever. "I'll be home by nine."

Click.

Zeke hung up. On him.

ZekehunguponhimclickZekehunguponhimclickZeke...

From some distance Stokely's voice reached for him. "Case? What's wrong?"

"Zeke's going to a lecture with Winona," he heard from himself, his lips and tongue so numb he didn't know how he was making sounds, let alone words. "He'll be home...late..." He couldn't stay sitting, he stood up and thought about going to the kitchen for something or was it the bedroom he wanted and he was making quite a good effort at holding himself together wasn't he?

Then the walls spun as Stokely grabbed him and held him. "I'm going to take a chunk out of Zeke," she vowed.

"No..." he mumbled over her shoulder. His eyes were dry, burning and arid in their sockets. He rasped, "It's not his fault. It's her."

"I really think..."

"She's trying to get me, she hates me. She wants him."

"As your friend, Case, I have to tell you that's ridiculous."

"No, I've got to get her before she gets me."

"What you need to do is trust Zeke a little more."

"I do but it's...I'm...not...good for him. He'll have to leave..."

"For Christ's sake, Casey, he's just a guy."

He pulled away from her almost violently, pushing her back. "I know that," he said dully. She stared at him, her face creased with dismay.

The phone rang again. Casey took a step towards the table, reaching for it, but Stokely got to it first.

"Zeke? It's Stokely. You had better have a fucking good.." Her mouth thinned as she listened to Zeke's voice. It was almost loud enough that Casey could hear what he was saying. "Yeah, where else would he be?" She handed the phone to Casey with, "He wants to talk to you."

Casey snatched it from her. "Zeke?"

"I have the solution," Zeke said, breathless.

So you're never speaking to her again? Casey thought, and laughed bitterly to himself.

"Case? Did you hear me?"

"You have the solution," he parroted.

"Yes...You should come to the lecture with us."

Casey said the first thing that came to mind: "I was going to take a pill."

"But this is right up your alley, Case, and you know how you've been trying to decide if you're going back to school in January...This is a chance to test the waters."

As a weapon, Zeke's logic was as devastating as ever. One smart bomb and Casey was on the ground, barely able to lift his head let alone use it. On the surface it was ordinary common sense but the core of it was a challenge: Come on, Case, show me how together you are show me how Tuesday was just a blip this should be no problem for you since you're okay with whatever I do.

"And I'd really like it if you came," Zeke added, finishing him off. Of course he wanted Casey there, he wanted Casey and Winona together, like...like before, he wanted it both ways and he would have it because You can't have me without her.

Casey closed his eyes. "Okay, I'll come," he said, bemused by the sound of separate phonetic component forming and falling away from his mouth.

"Did I hear you say — ? You said you'd come to the lecture with me."

"Yeah."

"Oh...okay..." Zeke's voice came off surprised and excited, like there had been some doubt of him getting his way. "I'm going to meet Stan for squash, Case, but I'll come and get you right after that. That'll give us plenty of time to get there."

"Or I could meet you."

"You'd...take the bus by yourself?"

"Why not?" Casey said flatly. "I'm in the mood."

"I don't know..."

Well, two could play at logic games... "It doesn't make sense for you to come all the way back here to ride the bus with me."

I'll go with you, Stokely mouthed. Casey shook his head at her.

"You're right, Case," Zeke said then. "But you've barely even been on campus. I'd much rather come and get you." The prospect that Winona might be hearing Zeke saying that at the other end paralyzed Casey long enough for Zeke to get in some more words: "Or maybe Stokely could come with you."

"I went to school all by myself for two years, Zeke," Casey snapped. "I can handle a bus ride."

"I know that," Zeke said wearily.

"So I'll meet you there."

"Fine."

"Where is it?"

"There's a bus that comes at five-ten, it's number sixty-seven. Get off at Gate Four and walk in a more or less straight line, right past the fountain. I'll meet you out front of Kane Hall at five-thirty."

"Kane Hall, five-thirty," Casey confirmed. "See you then."

"Right."

"Bye." He hung up quickly, before he could break and beg for clemency.

Stokely was looking at him in a way that suggested that he was very brave and very much insane, and she was about half right. "Case...why don't you...I mean..." She was fumbling for words, trying to handle him but not wanting to be snarled at either.

"I can do this," he said, trying to convince himself. "Don't worry."

"I could go with you and get off a couple of stops early...so no one would know."

That actually had the power to bring a smile to his face. "Thanks for the offer, Stokes," he said, meaning it. "But I'll be okay."

She nodded.

Because an extra apology never hurt, he said, "Sorry I've been so cranky today. I had a lousy sleep last night. I'm just going to try to lie down for a couple of hours before I go."

She was still nodding, until she realized that was her cue to go. "Oh. Okay, I'll be going — but if you change your mind, call me."

Shortly, the door closed behind her and his brain started to chant with a kind of deranged glee something terrible...something terrible...here it comes... He tried to ignore it, going into the bedroom and letting his eyes close for a while, mourning the loss of his Xanax — but he'd just have to try to sleep without it, and with any luck he'd accidentally sleep through this whole twisted excursion.

"...if we examine our citizen's ‘paranoia,' for lack of a better word, it does resembles clinical pathology on the one hand, while in other cases it is very nearly a system of faith. In both instances there is a profound belief in a virtually omnipotent presence working towards some purpose. In the case of one who commits to some conventional religious system, however, that presence is in most cases ultimately well-meaning towards humanity. In the case of our paranoic, their omnipotent presence is malevolent and its primary purpose is to destroy a fantastic, mythologized version of the good life. This is where we tend to see beliefs about hostile extra-terrestrials, although in some instances there may enter in a presence or faction with more benevolent purposes who are working actively to counter their imperialist cousins. If there is any aspect of these popular beliefs that approaches spirituality, it is the figment of the well-meaning alien possessed of technologies and understandings that are far beyond us, and who reaches out to us and interacts with us in ways that we cannot understand, much like God with Job."

Zeke cast a sidewise glance at Casey who was to his right in the aisle seat. He seemed to be trying to make himself as small as possible while staring intently, almost feverishly, at the man who was speaking at the front of the room. Zeke wondered if he was as engrossed in the lecture as he appeared to be. The man at the podium was grey-haired, wearing a grey sweater-vest, and unfortunately possessed of the kind of voice and manner that could transform even the most fascinating content into the sound of paint drying.

On Zeke's other side, Winona squirmed and uncrossed her legs. "These seats are brutal," she whispered to Zeke.

Zeke nodded, resenting the demand on his attention. He scanned the lecture hall, which was nearly full. Apparently this speaker was a bit famous, at least in his own field; Zeke hadn't been expecting there to be quite so many people.

Nor had he been expecting that he'd be quite so uncomfortable. He should have been just a little bit happy, after all it was a fantasy of his, himself and Casey in the halls of academia. Casey had even tried to make it better for him by taking full responsibility for transporting himself — just the way it should have been, and could have been if not for things like genetic fate and that gift for trouble. And still it all felt completely and utterly wrong.

Zeke glanced over at Casey again. This time Casey caught his eye and gave him a small, pained smile.

It was all so fucked up. Their argument earlier shouldn't have happened, and it was his fault, caused by his insisting to himself that he wanted to do this when he really didn't. Sure, the topic had sounded interesting and all other factors aside he would have chosen to hear it without hesitation, but all other factors were not aside and he could have found much more enjoyable ways to spend the evening without violating any of them. He and Casey could have been at home together right now — they could have been naked and argument-free for fuck sake, he could have had that tonight and he'd tossed it away for this on the conviction that this was in the best interests of everyone concerned.

"The crucial way in which our paranoic differs from a person of faith is the central tenet that his own people have in some way sold him out, and by that I mean government, quasi-government and public institutions. This understanding by no means sprang to life in certain popular media products, but pre-existed it. An excellent example would be..."

Or maybe there was nothing inherently wrong with this scenario and he was just starting to be far too good at empathizing with Casey. Maybe this was exactly how Casey felt all the time — every last thought and twitch of instinct running mad and bellowing things that resisted reason. Maybe this was them in the bathroom stall at Sojourn. Casey relied on Zeke to be the rational one in these situations and here Zeke went again losing perspective.

Or maybe not.

Fuck. Zeke didn't fucking know that he was being rational anymore, or if he was, he suspected that it wasn't doing him much good. He was going to call up his father just so he could tell him that reason was not emotion's best servant as per his teaching. If anything, reason was emotion's bitch.

Reason couldn't tell him if he should take Casey up on his desperate invitation to attend therapy with him. He couldn't stop thinking about how shamed Casey had been by his outbursts the other night, about how he'd crept around Zeke yesterday, throwing on a mask of frantic good cheer whenever Zeke glanced in his direction. Pitful or not, it reminded Zeke that Casey really was trying all the time even if he often failed. And it was conceivable that if Zeke decided to join Casey in therapy he would take it as a lack of faith in him, not to mention an invasion of that tiny zone of privacy that he still possessed. Zeke was a private person himself, so he could understand. If it were his therapy, he probably wouldn't have made that invitation at all, no matter how desperate he was to make his lover happy.

Nor did reason did help Zeke when he was waiting out in front of Kane Hall, more than half-convinced that Casey was not going to show up for the lecture, that something would happen or had already happened because he had driven Casey to do something he wasn't ready to do. Especially not today, when Casey had barely slept the night before.

But Casey did arrive, white-lipped and wild-eyed. He marched up the steps to where Zeke was standing, casting about for somewhere to take shelter and when he found it he came right to it, right into Zeke's arms. Apparently the fact that Winona and the entire world would be getting an eyeful didn't matter a whit to Casey, and right then it didn't matter to Zeke either. Except Casey had been in no state to respond to any kisses; his lips had been passive, unresisting to Zeke's smothering attentions. After several seconds of this he had drawn away slightly, just resting his head against Zeke.

From a very oblique angle Zeke had managed to catch a glimpse of the look that Casey directed at Winona then, something feral and almost vicious. And Zeke had been turned on like he'd never been turned on before. He was aghast at himself, yes, but meanwhile his jeans seemed to have melted onto him, so tight he could barely breathe. It had taken the entire first half of the lecture for his body to settle down.

An outbreak of polite clapping made Zeke realize that the lecture was concluded; he was starting to have a serious problem with concentration. The speaker was shuffling his papers and nodding his head, acknowledging the applause.

Zeke hauled his bulging backpack up from the floor; the fucking thing was getting heavier and heavier as the end of term approached. "Let's go," he whispered, brushing Casey's shoulder. There would still be questions but Zeke didn't imagine Casey cared very much. It was a good opportunity to get out of here without getting swept up in a crowd.

Casey nodded and scrambled to his feet. He tripped slightly going up the stairs to the exit; Zeke steadied him, glaring at the one or two people who dared to look. He didn't check, but sensed that Winona was trailing along behind them.

By unspoken consensus they clumped in the lobby, just outside the main doors to the lecture theatre. "That was cool," Winona said, not very convincingly. "Casey, did you like it?"

Casey gaped at her. "Fine," he said slowly.

She was left with a conversational dead end. Gamely, she attempted to wade back in with, "Let's go grab a coffee at The Study?"

"I don't know," Zeke said, wanting some indication of Casey's preference. Meanwhile, it appeared that Casey was waiting for Zeke to answer. There was a distinct twinge of annoyance on Winona's face. Zeke supposed he couldn't blame her for wanting to someday have one of her proposals answered with a straight "yes" or "no."

She turned to Casey right away, aware that it was he who had to be convinced. "I'd like to buy you a coffee or pop or juice or something — just to say thank you."

"Th-thank you?"

"For your advice on studying, remember?"

It took a hellishly long time for Casey to answer. "Oh...right," he said. He put both hands in his pockets, hunching his shoulders, and appealed to Zeke without words.

Winona exclaimed, "Awesome, let's go!" She took off in the direction of the nearest exit before anyone could attempt a different interpretation of the conversation.

Zeke touched Casey's arm. "You don't have to."

"I know."

"Why don't we say just thirty minutes and then we leave?"

With a sickly look, Casey haggled, "Fifteen."

Zeke went with the spirit of the moment. "Twenty-five."

He was quite willing to be bargained down to twenty, but Casey said, "D-Done."

Their destination was a short walk away. Contrary to all expectations, the weather had been pleasant this week and tonight was no exception. The air was mild, the moon was actually out...There were students strolling here and there, some of them holding hands. Zeke took Casey's hand and dared to envision some point in the near future when this could be a daily occurrence, the two of them on campus together.

His spirits sank all the way to his knees when they arrived at "The Study." It was packed, which perhaps was always the state of things at this time of day — Zeke wouldn't know. They wound up stationed in front of the coffee bar holding their beverages for a while, monitoring a table of four students who seemed to be lingering with empty cups sitting in front of them. Zeke was fairly certain that one of them had looked him right in the eye knowing what he was about, and then made a point of disregarding him.

Standing where they were, there was no way to not get jostled. Each time, it was both painful and wonderful to see Casey begin to shrink towards Zeke then pull back slightly, attempting to maintain a distance that would be comfortable for the sake of peer decorum. It just wasn't cool to stand there clinging to your boyfriend but even so Casey had a hand on Zeke's arm at least half of the time, chattering under his breath. It would occasionally rise in volume to the point that Zeke could hear it: "...okayokayokay... okayokayokay..." Winona must have heard it too; she would glance over at Casey, cast an uneasy look at Zeke and then right on cue, the chanting would subside so that one could wonder if they'd heard it at all.

By the time they finally sat down Zeke was convinced that he'd like nothing better than to just leave, and he wished that Casey had bargained a little harder. The tables were not only full, but crowded close to each other so that everyone was continually bumping chairs; Casey pulled his so close to the table that his face was almost in his chamomile tea.

"Geez!" Winona said, looking quite relieved herself. "I thought those people would never leave."

"Yeah," Zeke agreed.

"It's funny how you can be so pissed off at people for sitting in the seat you want, eh? Like you think it's yours and how dare they not move immediately."

"I think they were doing it on purpose," Zeke said. Across from him, Casey was a visible, vibrating mess of nerves.

Under the table, Zeke checked his watch. Inconceivably, only nine minutes had passed since they walked into this place.

"So what did you think of the lecture, Zeke?" asked Winona. She was blatantly not noticing Casey's situation, which Zeke appreciated.

"It was okay," Zeke said, unwilling to admit that he'd scarcely paid attention. "It wasn't exactly what I thought it would be though."

"What did you think it would be?"

"More about media, less about politics. And that guy's style...yawn..." Breaking off, he checked to see if Casey was still — how did Sasha put it? — in a state. And yes, Casey's knees were moving up and down, his hands fidgeting, his whole body making a jittering motion that was a cross between a bounce and a sway.

Winona agreed, "Yeah, it was a bit slow...Casey, what did you think?"

Casey started. "Huh?

"What did you think of the lecture?"

"Oh...interesting."

Neither Winona nor Casey seemed to recall that they'd had this exchange once already, and it was excruciating to listen to. Zeke had to resist the urge to put his hands over his ears.

"Do you miss school?" Winona asked Casey.

Casey stared and didn't speak.

"I mean..." she faltered. "I was just wondering if it felt good being back on campus."

Casey's demeanour was now outright hostile; he looked like he could have torn her throat out if she gave him a reason.

Winona rattled on, "I was out of school for quite a few years, and you know, I really hated it before but right now I'm absolutely loving it. It's totally different to do something because you want to instead of because you have to."

To that, Casey rasped an answer: "I agree."

"Are you going to come back in January?"

"I don't know."

Winona was starting to look flattened. "Zeke — um, Zeke said you were taking physics. I totally suck at science, myself. I signed up for this course this term because it sounded really cool, it's about the stars and planets...but I didn't really notice that it was a physics course so here I am trying to figure out these weird things like doppelgangers and red shifts."

"I'm switching to film."

Zeke saw Winona's lips thinning, along with her patience. Zeke put his hand on Casey's knee, needing to still the bouncing, and hoping that Casey might just read something into it. Winona was desperately trying to make conversation, to include him and perhaps put him a bit more at ease, and he kept shutting her down. The application of minimal social skills could have made a painful situation less painful but Casey was determined to suffer, and to make them all suffer with him.

"Your hair's really cool," Winona said, speaking slowly and looking directly at Casey, defying him to take his antisocial behaviour to a whole new level.

Casey took her dare and one-upped it. Ignoring the compliment, he looked pointedly at the clock on the wall. Twelve minutes gone.

"Are you doing turkey day, Winona?" Zeke intervened, and couldn't quite prevent himself from giving Casey a bit of a glare.

"I was going to drive up to Vancouver for the weekend, do Thanksgiving with my mother and Aaron, but it hasn't been confirmed yet."

Winona was getting her sad face on again. It was on the tip of Zeke's tongue to invite her to come along to Charly's with them even though it wasn't really his place to ask, but Casey's glance stopped him. It said, If you want to know grief such as you've never known before, you'll invite her to join us.

"Maybe we could do something together this weekend?" Winona said, with an eagerness that Zeke found slightly poignant.

He said, as always, "Maybe."

"We don't have to go out. We could get together and study..." Winona flicked an anxious look at Casey. "Or just hang out at your place...?"

"I want to go home," Casey announced.

So did Zeke, but they still had a number of minutes left and he wasn't sure it would be healthful to renege on their contract now. He said, "Case," not really expecting it to be persuasive.

"Zeke, I want to go..."

"You said twenty-five minutes," Zeke said in a low voice. Winona was averting her eyes, taking great interest at some handmade poster stuck to a wall not quite within reading distance.

"I know but I can't."

"Just ten minutes more."

Casey shook his head. He must have been in real trouble to let Winona see this — even if she was doing her best to pretend she wasn't in the room right now. Zeke didn't know if he should stand firm or give in. He didn't know which way would help Casey, or if it even mattered what he thought. He did know that if Sasha were here, he would have convinced Casey to stay.

"Ten minutes, Case. You'll feel better about it in the end."

"I don't care!"

A few heads turned in their direction.

"Yes, you do," Zeke hissed.

Casey hunched up and gave his audience a quality demonstration of paranoia in contemporary America, much superior to anything they could have heard earlier in Kane Hall. "They're looking at me," he whispered.

Zeke saw that he had lost control of the situation; it wouldn't be long before the outcome would be completely out of his hands. Casey would take flight and he would have to chase after him in front of all these people, in front of Winona. It would be humiliating for Casey and Zeke wanted to protect him from that, to calm him down sufficiently that he could leave with dignity intact.

"They're looking at me, Zeke." Casey's voice was going loud.

Zeke jerked his head up and followed the direction of Casey's gaze. People were indeed looking, but only because they had heard Casey accusing them. "They're not," Zeke said.

"They are." Casey was now hyperventilating. "They are...they are looking...they...."

This was now a crisis. It had been a crisis for quite a while now, and Zeke was so fucked up that he was just letting it happen. He saw Winona open her mouth to say something and close it like she was afraid of how it would be received and he knew what she wanted to say: Let's go, for fuck sake, Zeke.

Really good idea, that. He should have thought of it first. He was about to say the words; his mouth was just lagging behind his brain a little.

Winona said quietly, "Zeke."

"Yes," he agreed. "It's time to go."

And Casey was up and weaving his way through the obstacle course towards the door. Zeke knew he should follow immediately, but he didn't. He stayed in his chair and contemplated his own paralysis. It wasn't that he couldn't get up, no...because he never had any problems with taking action when required. It had to be that he didn't want to, that he was just a little bit fed up.

"Zeke," Winona urged, hauling her purse up over her shoulder.

"Sorry about this," he told her, pushing his chair back.

Winona wore an expression that was carefully neutral. "It's okay."

"No, it's not okay, Winona, it's not fucking okay when he'd rather make himself sick than — "

Shame filled him even before he could finish that sentence. And then fear, as the reality seized him that Casey was nowhere in his sight and he hadn't taken a single step yet to remedy that.

"Your backpack — " Winona said, grabbing and lifting it as Zeke was driven to his feet.

"Right...thanks."

"Should I come with — ?"

He shook his head at her. "No...gotta go..." He'd let Casey get ahead of him by entire seconds. Urgency was pulsing in him, making him want to run but the place was too congested. In his hurry, he stumbled over a chair leg and nearly removed some girl's head with his backpack. "Sorry...shit, I'm sorry..." He didn't wait to find out if she forgave him, dodging out the door and into the basement hallway.

He spun in a circle, looking in either direction, hoping but not really expecting to see Casey who was probably heading for the bus stop at high speed. Either direction led to stairs to the ground floor; Zeke took one.

The main floor of the student union building yawned in front of him. There were not so many students around in this part of the building that he couldn't obtain a clear view of the exit and beyond — and still he couldn't see Casey. His thought processes were steeped in terror. Casey could be hurt or in trouble, he could be running somewhere in a panic with no idea of where he was going and this time it really was absofuckinglutely without question Zeke's fault because he was the world's greatest prick and no wonder Casey thought he'd leave him.

There. Casey was just on the other side of the glass that formed the entire front wall of the ground floor. He was walking rapidly down the sidewalk, his back to Zeke. Zeke saw him fail to sidestep a person in his path, crashing into them head on; he pushed around the person, apparently without a word or even a look of acknowledgment. Zeke saw the student turn and shout something after Casey.

Zeke charged at the door and through it, keeping his eyes pinned on the back of Casey, gluing them to that patch of denim with the hood of his sweatshirt protruding at the top, bunching around his neck —

"Casey! Case!"

Casey didn't ever turn but Zeke caught up to him easily, grabbing his arm. Casey spun about with a fist raised and hit Zeke in the ribs, not making a sound. It hurt as much as a blow to the ribs usually did, stunning Zeke long enough for Casey to land another punch. He recovered and got hold of Casey's arm as it rose to strike again.

"Hey, it's me — owf! Casey!"

Just on the cusp of a fourth blow, there was a confused blink. Casey went mostly limp, his chest still heaving, struggling for air. Zeke released his arm and he just let it fall, staring at Zeke. Zeke saw his mouth open, preparing to utter an apology, then close, openly despairing of any verbal expression of remorse that could be adequate.

"It's me," Zeke said unnecessarily.

"Are — are you h-huh — "

"No, I'm...it's okay." He'd been hurt worse playing football but he suspected that would be of no comfort to Casey. He thought of a number of things he could say and just settled on, "Let's go home."

In silence they walked to the bus stop; in silence they waited for the bus and in silence they rode the bus home. Casey sat next to the window, slumped into it and staring through it. He wasn't zoned; he knew when they were at their stop, rising to his feet without being prompted. Zeke couldn't entirely staunch a little bitterness — now, after Casey had sabotaged himself with Winona as a witness, he could ride the bus and walk home without any fuss.

When they got in their door Casey just stopped walking, as if someone had cut his switch. He stood there waiting for chastisement while Zeke divested himself of jacket, shoes and backpack.

"I thought it would be okay," Zeke said slowly, trying to think past a haze of weariness. "You did three whole hours in that restaurant." He rubbed his temples, which were bulging out the side of his head, and realized that in a vague way that he was vaguely apologizing.

Casey looked at him but didn't answer. They both knew that the dinner had been different because that night Casey had needed to be as well as he could be. This night, he had needed to be unwell — although it would serve nothing to say it out loud, other than to feed Casey's hunger for punishment. And Zeke had already said it, hadn't he? He'd criticized Casey to Winona and he would never have thought he'd do that, not ever.

Zeke admitted, "I don't...know what I'm doing."

He looked to Casey for acknowledgment and got none.

"Do you hear me, Casey? I don't know what to do. I want to...I know I want you to feel good one of these days, and I don't want to be the bad guy. I know that much."

"You're not the bad guy," Casey whispered.

"Case. I need...I want to come with you to your therapy appointment on Monday."

It was very quiet there in the hallway. Zeke had expected tears, hysteria, pleading...something.

"I know it makes you nervous, I know you don't want to talk about certain things and we won't. But I need to have some idea of what's going on with you."

Casey lifted his head. Zeke got ready to hear whatever desperate offer he was going to make to entice Zeke to withdraw his threat, but Casey said nothing. He merely nodded, accepting.

The ache was back in Zeke's throat, and he swallowed hard, forcing it down. He said, "This is a good thing, Case. Thank you."

Still there was not much reaction.

"Don't be afraid," Zeke told him, intending for him to know that he would not sell him out. They would go in as allies.

Casey laughed. It began short and bitter, then it strained, stretched out thin and snapped, becoming a harsh, gulping noise. Zeke watched and listened in horrified fascination at first, until he realized that it wasn't stopping and now at last he had no problem taking action. He pulled Casey into his arms with the distinct feeling that he didn't deserve to be doing this — but thinking that way wouldn't redeem him either. He would just have to fix it, he would go with Casey to the shrink and they would work on all their crap.

He channelled Sasha and made his own noises, shushing Casey and rubbing his back until he quieted. Then he tugged on Casey's sleeve, suggesting that he should remove his jacket, and Casey complied silently, letting Zeke help him with the other sleeve as well. Then Zeke provided stability while Casey pulled his feet from his running shoes, not bothering to bend over and untie them.

Without a word, Zeke guided Casey into the bedroom, flicking on the light switch as they passed it. He sat, drawing Casey down next to him. They didn't speak for a long time as Zeke fell into a light rocking motion, just swaying them side to side a little. Regardless of what it did for Casey, Zeke found it quite soothing.

Finally, Casey said, "Zeke?"

"Hmm."

"I — didn't like taking the bus."

Zeke knew there was more, and waited for it.

"I didn't want to do it. It — I was stupid."

Zeke turned to Casey and tipped his face up with both his hands. He brushed at the lines of tension around his eyes, finding and erasing some residual moisture. "You're never stupid."

"I hated the lecture. I hated the coffee shop. I don't know if I — if I can go back — "

It seemed natural that his mouth should be in contact with Casey's then, that it was the only thing adequate to understanding. He could taste everything that Casey was trying to say, he didn't have to hear it. It seemed like they'd barely touched each other the last few days, certainly not touched each other enough anyway. Zeke had never really bothered to keep track of it; he just knew that he was always touching Casey and the sex happened when it needed to. It never had to be planned or scheduled despite their having to dance around Sasha's presence — yet suddenly it seemed that three long, lonely days had passed and Zeke wasn't sure how that had happened but he felt like he was kissing Casey for the first time in three years.

Zeke whispered, "It's okay...it's gonna be okay..." He dipped in again, felt Casey's mouth part beneath his and Casey's lips trembling and suddenly he was plunging in, desperate to drown. He felt Casey's hand slide up around his neck and pull him in deeper, pulling him down. Sentience went under, submerged in a hot, suckling cavity. Zeke's world was reduced to perception; he knew moistness and heat, a meandering trail of fire over his jaw, a tingle in the hollow of his throat. An ache and friction in his groin that gradually overtook everything else.

Some limited consciousness returned to him and he realized that he was holding Casey so hard that they were crushed together and he was dry humping Casey into the mattress. Casey was thrusting up just as hard and they were bruising each other thoroughly without getting much closer to the mark.

"This is...inefficient," Zeke murmured. "Just...let me..."

He peeled himself off Casey and quickly unsnapped and unzippered with one hand, shoving aside the annoyances of a couple layers of clothing, exposing them both while he propped himself up with the other. And he was at last working his raging cock against Casey's. He supported himself on his elbows, planting his hands flat on either side of Casey's head, holding him there. He was aware of Casey's heels against the back of his bare thighs, pressing him closer. All other sensation lost to the pulsing heat at his groin. Feeling like a furtive teenager he reattached his mouth to Casey's and they groped and thrust and rubbed towards a sticky conclusion.

He found himself staring down at Casey's closed eyes as their chests knocked together, trying capture some oxygen. Usually if he was on top of Casey he was quick to move aside and take steps for their comfort, but not this time. He remained just where he was, staring into Casey's face. When Casey's eyes opened, they immediately tried to evade him, shifting this way and that; Casey even tried turning his head to the side but Zeke was relentless, nudging his chin back, following him around until he tired and surrendered, meeting Zeke's eyes with his own wide-open.

"Let me up," Casey whispered. Zeke could see that he was completely vulnerable, completely without resources — rather how he felt himself at the moment.

"In a sec."

Never breaking eye-contact, he lowered his mouth slowly, catching a bottom lip, sucking it for a moment before lifting up. He rested his weight to one side, keeping most of his body over Casey's and with his opposite hand he twined his fingers with the hair over Casey's forehead. He traced a shadow beneath Casey's eye that spoke of his exhaustion.

"Please...let me up," Casey said, beginning to squirm.

Zeke didn't want to, but he did. Casey slid away from him and off the bed. Zeke protested, "Where are you going?"

"I'm going to sleep." Casey's voice trembled, steadied. "Just want to clean up."

That was reasonable, Zeke supposed, but he questioned, "What time is it?"

"I don't know. It's dark anyway." Zeke watched as Casey finished what he had started, kicking off his pants and underwear, tugging his shirt and sweatshirt off. Casey hunted up some fresh clothing and left the room.

While he was gone, Zeke used a tissue to clean himself and zipped up; he would take a shower later. It was still early for him, and he needed to put in some quality time on his papers before he could crash.

Laying back on a pillow with his hands behind his head, he thought about Casey and sex. He thought about everything he knew about Roy and how Casey would let Zeke do the most intimate, invasive things to his body yet still could barely meet his eyes. He thought about all the things that Casey kept to himself, and how Casey would do anything to prevent those things from being discussed — with Dr. Yves or with anyone else — even though they needed to be discussed in the worst way. There had to be some way to make those conversations happen without violating Casey's trust.

Casey returned, dressed for bed but wearing his hooded sweatshirt as before. He got on the bed, under the covers, turning onto his side towards Zeke. He closed his eyes with a small sigh.

"Cold?" Zeke asked.

Casey gave a tiny nod.

Zeke said, "I still have work to do — but I'll take it into the living room."

"Doesn't matter," Casey mumbled. "I won't hear you if you want to use the computer."

Zeke liked the notion of staying where Casey would be constantly under his surveillance, but he didn't want to interfere with Casey's sleep; there would have to be light, and pages rustling and a keyboard clacking. "You sure?"

"Yeah...like the background noise...it's relaxing."

"Okay."

Casey was settling into a comfortable position close to Zeke, his breathing already slowing. "Stay like this until I fall asleep?" he asked.

Which would be all of a minute. "You bet," Zeke returned easily.

Eyes closed, Casey groped for Zeke's hand and held it against his chest. "I didn't want to hit you," Casey whispered. "I didn't know it was you."

"I know," Zeke said, although he wasn't entirely convinced that it was true.

After Casey was out, he worked long into the night by the light of the desk lamp over the computer.

November whatthefuckidon'tknow. Monday, but let's just call it the day that I meet my doom. At one o'clock. Few people are lucky enough to know the precise time of their death. Just me and criminals on death row.

Gee, someone reading this would think that I have a sense of humour about this. All I can do is try not to think about it and treasure the few hours that I have left.

Well, the W-Monster called again on Saturday. Zeke didn't tell me what she wanted but I heard him say he "didn't think it was a good idea", whatever "it" was. She must be thinking now that she looks extra fucking attractive in comparison to me, being mostly sane and all. And she probably thinks I made a scene in that coffee shop just so Zeke would feel bad about spending any time with her but I don't care. It was horrible, that whole night was horrible and I don't know how I can ever go back there. I don't know how I can even GET there because I can't take the bus again. I don't care what Yves would think of it, I KNOW that I was riding the bus with a bunch of aliens and they just decided to spare me for some reason. So I'll never get back to school, but it's hard to care about that at all right now.

Thinking about something else now.

So Jerry came over again last night and we all watched hockey. It seems like this is going to be a regular weekly thing and I guess I don't mind. I think he loves Sasha. I don't think Sasha loves him, though. Sasha likes him really a lot and cares for him as a friend, but when he falls in love it's always with these slightly older, old-fashioned kind of guys. Poor Jerry. He was very nice to me at the restaurant that night. Anyway, I stayed there in the living room with them, I didn't go to my room and read like I wanted to, mainly because Zeke and Sasha have both been fretting and worried and watching me constantly all weekend. Sasha knows that Zeke is coming with me today and I guess he can tell that it bothers me. Go figure. And Zeke is just waiting for me to freak out and beg him not to come but I'm not going to do that. I caught myself at least three times this weekend about to beg with him and I had to make myself go hide for a while. I don't have the right to ask him that after the way I've been.

I know what he wants to talk about with Yves. He says we'll solve the L.A. problem and talk about how much he should push me on things but it's W-Monster he really wants to talk about. He wants to be told that his hanging out with her will teach me not to be clingy and insecure. He wants to know how to cure Borderline Boy. I'm afraid that even though I asked her not to, Yves is going to make her the main topic and then we'll be into the whole thing about my attitude to her and that will lead us to all sorts of places I can't go.

Like sex. Still after everything he thinks that what we do is sick. He thinks that between the two of them they'll trick me into telling them things, like why I am "the way I am." He thinks wrong, because there's nothing to talk about. He just thinks that guys shouldn't like being fucked the way that I do. He's still so fucking straight —

The inevitable knock came. Casey slammed his book shut.

"Kitten?" Not waiting for any welcome, Sasha opened the door. "Casey? I made waffles."

Casey had already detected the sweet-sharp fragrance of sugar caramelizing — which he loved, but he sincerely believed that he'd throw up if he ate anything. "Smells good."

"Well, come out and have some, then."

"Sasha — " he started, and immediately gave up. He knew the face that Sasha was wearing all too well. This was a fight that he was going to lose. "Okay."

He went out to their dining table, where Zeke was already seated, having decided to skip school altogether today. And it looked like Jerry had slept over again; he greeted Casey with a smile and a wave; Casey made himself smile back, dropping into the chair to Zeke's right. Zeke's hand groped in his direction, giving his knee an encouraging squeeze.

Trapped, his brain chattered. Trappedtrappedtrappedtrapped.

"How did you sleep, Casey?" Jerry asked.

"Okay," he answered.

"That's good," Jerry said, and winked.

They were not just making conversation. On Thursday night after the coffee shop disaster Casey had slept very well, but Friday night had started out badly and he finally resorted to Xanax. He slept hard for sixteen hours, so hard that Zeke had trouble waking him. Not surprisingly then, Saturday night was a miserable failure. After lying in bed for several agonizing hours, he'd decided that he would just stay up all night and all day Sunday and get back on track that way, except he had screwed up the plan by falling asleep for four hours yesterday afternoon. Zeke had left Casey in Sasha and Jerry's charge while he slaved on his papers in the bedroom and the three of them watched Giant, which Casey had found boring both of the previous two times that he had seen it. It was totally a Sasha thing, that movie — three deities of the gay pantheon incarnated on screen simultaneously in the forms of Rock Hudson, Elizabeth Taylor and James Dean. Casey had fallen asleep shortly after Jimmy Dean struck oil, and apparently Sasha couldn't find the will or the heart to wake him. They were all three of them taken to task in harsh terms by Zeke when they were discovered, but Casey had gotten to sleep without too much difficulty last night despite the unsanctioned nap.

"Breakfast is served!" Sasha declared, setting a plate in front of Casey. There was one large, perfectly golden waffle topped with mixed fruit and yogurt, with a drizzle of maple syrup.

"Hey," Zeke said. "What about the rest of us?"

"Sorry," Sasha replied, sounding not at all remorseful. "I can only make one at a time after all, and my kitten needs a head start on the rest of us."

Sasha returned to his iron to pour Waffle Number Two while Casey approached his breakfast with serious deliberation. This was one of those times when getting sick would not be permitted and he took his time cutting and chewing, letting each bite settle before he ventured on to a new one. Meanwhile, each new waffle took about fifteen minutes to cook. Jerry was served next, then Zeke, and finally Sasha sat down to the table with his own breakfast.

"You see?" he said, directing everyone's attention to Casey's half-full plate and Zeke's empty one with a head shake.

"What?" Zeke protested. "I like breakfast. We've established this."

"And lunch, and dinner..."

"Is that a problem?"

"Around me? Absolutely not." Sasha took up his knife and fork and tucked in, cutting his waffle into regular, four-sided shapes. "By the way, how do you feel about cake?"

"Cake?" Zeke puzzled out loud.

Oh, shit...shitshitshit. Casey tried to catch Sasha's eye without success.

"Birthday cake." Zeke looked blank, and having shot his mouth off, Sasha finally found it expedient to look at Casey. "You mean you didn't ask him yet?"

"What are you two plotting?" Zeke demanded. "You do know that I'm not into birthday crap?"

Under the table where no one could see, Casey put a hand over his stomach — as if that would do any good but he was not going magnify his latest failure by throwing up his breakfast, he was not. "We just...thought we'd have a few people over," he said to Zeke, hearing his voice from a great distance. It was completely paradoxical that he was having this discussion right now when he could barely conceive of a time after his therapy appointment at one. "I was supposed to ask you — sorry, Sasha."

Zeke's expression of suspicion might have been funny on some other day. "So you're asking me now...How many people are we talking about?"

"How many people do we know?" Sasha retorted. "A few."

"I already invited Stokes," Casey added. "And she's asking Stan."

Zeke assumed a martyred air; he sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes. "All right, I guess I could show up for it."

"We appreciate your willingness to suffer," Sasha said. "So what kind of cake, then? Do you like chocolate?"

"Um," Casey said. "I mighta...kinda...told Stokely she could bring the cake."

Zeke groaned and Casey felt his head sink below his shoulder blades. There seemed to be no limit to his ability to screw up.

"You know...I'm sure it will be fine," Sasha decided aloud, giving Casey a quick glance of reassurance. "Stokely knows how to use regular ingredients when she wants to. Which is more than I can say for you, Zeke." He stabbed a strawberry and skewered it to an equilateral square of waffle, which he then swirled in the pool of syrup on his plate. To Jerry he said, "So, babe, what's on our agenda for today?"

"Actually," Jerry said. "I have a dinner planned...with real ingredients too."

"Dinner?" Sasha said around a mouthful of waffle. He bounced in his chair a bit, chewing and swallowing. "What's the menu?"

"It's a surprise."

"Mmm...sounds intriguing."

"And I thought since it's not actually raining today we might take a drive to Seward Park and go for a little hike."

"Ahh..."

Sasha glanced at Casey, asking if he should be at home when they returned from the therapy, if he might be needed. Casey sent him a head shake, hoping he would read its meaning. I'm not expecting to survive it, see, so there won't be much you can do. But thank you for the offer.

"...sounds lovely," Sasha finished, and smiled at Jerry.

Sasha made short work of the rest of his waffle, and Casey managed to get all of his down as well. Zeke offered to do the dishes; without consultation, Casey helped him. They stood side by side at the kitchen sink while Sasha puttered about and finally declared himself ready to go. Never one to place a high priority on subtlety, he informed them, "Just so you know, I will be home later." He kissed Casey's cheek and patted Zeke's arm. "You boys be good now."

With his departure, the apartment was suddenly very quiet. Casey saw Zeke checking the clock on the microwave. There was more than an hour yet before they would be leaving for the appointment.

"I'm going to play a game for a while," Zeke said. "You wanna join me?"

Casey shook his head. "There's something I have to do."

"Oh. Okay."

He went to the bedroom and even though he would have much rather just written some stuff in his journal, he got out his anxiety workbook, flipping to the back where there were several blank mood log templates. He had agreed to try doing one of these, and as much as it was the last thing he needed, he didn't want Dr. Yves to check up on him and find that he hadn't done his homework.

Step One: Describe upsetting event.

Zeke is coming to therapy with me today.

His stomach burned out of control, turning breakfast to ash. He tried to ignore it and went on to Step Two...List feelings about event and rate their intensity. A handy list of adjectives was provided and he chose a few.

Afraid.

Ten out of ten.

Apprensive.

That would be a ten.

Panicky.

Tententen.

There were plenty more words that applied, but he figured he should stop there. So next...List all thoughts about event in the minimal space provided...okay, but it was tough to choose from the thousands of ideas swarming his brain. Some of them just shouldn't be put down on paper but there were still enough to fill page after page.

Why is he doing this?

They want to trap me, why do they have to do that?

I'm going to die.

I hope I die.

Shaking, he stared down at the last thing he had written. He knew that it wasn't true. He was just so very tired of striving; here he was always flailing and struggling upstream and somehow it had gotten him to this moment that he didn't want and couldn't stop from happening, it got him more trapped than ever.

His head felt heavy and he let it fall, his right cheek coming to rest flat on the book. He was not going to finish this exercise. She could give him a failing grade if she wanted, he didn't care. There didn't seem to be much point to it. From his current vantage he stared at the incomplete lines and squiggles that were, at that angle, just blobs on a white surface. He watched them blur and detach and the next thing he knew Zeke had come to the door and said it was time to go.

They took the car for once since Sasha didn't need it, reducing the trip to Dr. Yves' building from its usual twenty minutes to ten. Zeke parked on the street in front and sprang out with his usual energy, locking the door, going around to the other side to put money in the metre. Eventually, he noticed that Casey was still in the car. He came to Casey's window and knocked on it. Casey sprouted a sudden fantasy of popping the lock and tearing off in the Mustang, heading for the open road like Peter Fonda — except he didn't have the keys and Zeke had his hand on the door now so too late.

The door opened. "You ready?" Zeke asked him.

Casey thought it best if he didn't answer that. He swung sideways and put his feet out on the ground. Each one felt like it was encased in granite and he just stayed that way for the moment, searching for the will to hoist himself upright.

From way up above, Zeke spoke. "Case..." He seemed to be groping for something to say. "I'm sorry this is so hard," was what he settled on.

"Yeah."

"Just think about when it's over...we'll go home, maybe we'll have the apartment to ourselves for a few hours." Casey worked up a smile for Zeke, although he couldn't vouch for how that smile came off. He noticed that Zeke didn't smile back. Zeke just held out his hand and invited, "C'mon."

The moment they got inside it started to go wrong. For a start, Zeke took Casey's chair, the one that he always sat in while in the waiting room so he was forced to take the one next to it. And then he noticed the copy of National Geographic that was strewn on the table in front of them and that was wrong too, because the receptionist always kept the magazines in two neat piles and Casey had yet to see them in any sort of disorder. Everything was chaos today.

"Hello, Casey."

That was like normal at least. Dr. Yves was standing just inside the waiting room, saying his name just as she always did — until her eyes shifted to the person beside him who had gotten to his feet at the same time as Casey had.

"Zeke," she welcomed him.

Of course, she would remember Zeke from the first time he brought Casey here — abandoned Casey, actually, and he'd much rather have stayed abandoned right now, thank you very much.

"Let's go into my office, shall we?" Dr. Yves said.

Casey made sure he got his usual chair this time, scurrying ahead of Zeke. Zeke took another chair that was nearby, just within hand-grasping distance.

"I believe Casey told you that I wanted to have an opportunity to talk to you, Zeke," Dr. Yves said as she sat down and rested her notepad on the arm of her chair, holding it in place with her forearm.

"Yeah, Casey told me," Zeke said briefly. He was nervous too, Casey realized. I don't know what I'm doing, Zeke had said. Zeke had even admitted to wanting help, a sign of just how frustrated he must be feeling — but if they survived this, Zeke might feel better. That was important. It was all that Casey had going for him at the moment.

Dr. Yves' sharp gaze was on Casey, watching him, perhaps wondering why he was not hyperventilating yet. "Casey, how do you feel right now?" she asked.

"Like I'd rather be anywhere but here," he said.

"I appreciate that this isn't easy for you." Casey shrugged. He didn't have it in him to say anything gracious right now and Dr. Yves let him be, turning to Zeke instead. "It's always a bit awkward bringing someone new into a therapy situation but I hope you'll feel comfortable enough to just talk openly, Zeke. I am glad you could be here."

"I'll do whatever it takes," Zeke replied.

"For what?"

"To make Casey happy — or happier, anyway."

With renewed dread, Casey recognized Zeke's tone and posture; he was in High Battle Mode, his brain running at five hundred percent capacity. This was Zeke at his most dangerous, and his most independent. He would follow his own judgment at times like this; he always did because he always had and that was what worked for him.

Dr. Yves smiled — she had already smiled at least twice and Casey wondered if there really was a rule in the counselling handbook that said Show No Emotion To The Patient because she seemed perfectly capable of it otherwise. "Because no one can ever be entirely happy, right?" she suggested.

"Yes," Zeke agreed. "I remember reading something about Freud saying...He said something like the goal of therapy was to take a person from neurotic misery and restore him to a state of everyday human unhappiness."

"It's not often we get to quote Freud in here," Dr. Yves observed. "He did say some remarkably astute things." Casey could see that she was making certain mental adjustments, revising her assumptions about Zeke. Hmm, so when the neurotic client said that his boyfriend was really smart, he wasn't just indulging in rampant hero worship.

"Well, we wouldn't be sitting here now if it weren't for him, would we?"

"Perhaps not — but perhaps we would too. I think that sometimes certain concepts are waiting to happen because of a given moment in history and it's all in being there at the right time...so if Freud hadn't happened, someone else would have."

"That's a good point," Zeke allowed, with his usual confidence.

"Where did you have occasion to read Freud?" Dr. Yves asked him.

"Oh, I haven't really...oh, yeah, it was quoted in my Intro to Psych textbook," Zeke returned, with an offhand smile for Casey.

Casey did not want to be smiled at. Wasn't it nice, Zeke and his shrink had bonded. If they were going to do that, then maybe they could just take the whole hour and chat about the history of psychology. Zeke would like that, and then maybe he'd go home intellectually fulfilled and not ever feel the need to come back.

"My apologies, Casey," Dr. Yves said then. "I got on a bit of a tangent. Do you feel calm now?"

"Calm-er," he mimicked Zeke.

"That's good. Can you tell me what it is about Zeke being here that scares you so much?"

"No."

"No because you don't know or no because you don't want to tell me?"

A little from Column A and a little from Column B...

Unperturbed by Casey's failure to answer, Dr. Yves continued, "Well. Since you are here, Zeke, I thought maybe I'd ask you if there's something you want to tell me or ask me? Obviously it has to be something that you're comfortable saying in front of Casey."

Zeke replied readily, "Okay...There is something."

Casey turned his attention to the carpet. It was a lovely industrial blue-grey. The pattern of the threads — the pile, that was the word, wasn't it — was fascinating. So was the rubber on his shoes with its millions of tiny stress cracks. He ran the toe of his shoe over the pile, watching a line form in a deeper shade of blue.

All the while, Zeke was speaking. "I don't know if Casey told you about this, but the weekend before last my father was in town. We went for supper with him and his fiancιe."

"Casey mentioned that to me, didn't you, Casey?"

"Yes," Casey said, giving them no more than that. He was busy with the carpet anyway.

"For a start," Zeke continued, "You should know that my father and I haven't really spoken for about three years, and I never expected to hear from him."

"How did you feel when he called?"

Casey just had to see the expression on Zeke's face at this. He probably hadn't been expecting this; the way Zeke saw it, Casey's feelings were the subject at hand. It was a little bit funny. Zeke in a room with a shrink was funny, actually.

"I don't know how that's relevant," Zeke replied.

"Well, Zeke, I'm trying to determine how important your relationship with your father is to you, and it is relevant to this discussion."

"All right, I'll tell you. I haven't had much of a relationship with my father and I've been fine without one. Like I said, I never expected him to call."

"Except he did call."

"You'll think I'm in denial or something, but I'm not. I am angry and I let him know that. I also let him know that he isn't all that important to me."

Casey couldn't help but squirm a little bit, shifting to the other side of his chair. Any moment now she was going to say but Casey seems to feel your father is very important to you and Zeke would turn to him with an expression of disappointment at the violation of his privacy.

"Do you have something to say, Casey?" Dr. Yves prompted, seeing him fidget.

"No."

"I know that Casey thinks this whole father thing matters more to me than I say it does," Zeke supplied casually. Casey stared at Zeke, completely surprised since the last time they had this discussion Zeke had totally shot him down at the mere suggestion that fathers usually cared about their sons — or vice versa.

"Is that true, Casey?"

Casey couldn't answer.

"It's okay, Case," Zeke said, reaching over to squeeze his hand briefly. "I know I kind of bit your head off when you tried to talk about it with me."

"Zeke, can I ask you something?" Dr. Yves intervened. "Why did you agree to see your father?"

Zeke was quiet, thinking about that. Casey felt himself hunching into his chair and forced his spine to straighten a bit.

"What if the answer has to do with Casey?" Zeke asked. "Should I say it?"

"If you feel comfortable doing that, yes. Whatever you tell me here does have to be something you could say to Casey. It has to be something you're prepared to have an honest dialogue about."

"All right," Zeke said slowly. "The reason I went to dinner was — okay, yes, at first I thought I'd just like to know what the guy had to say. But it started to be this big, stressful thing for us and I realized that...I think Casey really wanted it to happen. It was important to him."

Casey found himself staring at Zeke yet again. He wanted to point and yell What about him, huh? He gets to do all the mind reading he wants, it isn't fair...

"Why do you think that is?" asked Dr. Yves.

"This has to do with Roy." Zeke eyed Casey in apology. "You know who Roy is?"

Casey pulled his sneakered feet up on his chair and crossed his legs, clenching his hands in his lap. Dr. Yves observed his efforts to present a smaller target without a word, her eyes briefly commenting on his shoes that were perhaps soiling her chair. She'd never said anything to him about that but he was working on a theory that she was an obsessive-compulsive clean freak. Thus far her observed behaviour had not been contrary to the thesis.

"Yes," she said only.

"Roy always kept Casey a secret, right, and it was about wanting to please his father. He made Casey feel like it was his fault that his father disapproved of him, and I figured that if I backed out on the dinner because it was too much bother, Casey would think that was his fault too."

All this was said in a rush, like Zeke was still nervous. Fuck, but he was good. Casey knew that he was being absolutely calculating about what he said right now, meting out useful information for the shrink while monitoring everyone to gauge the effectiveness of his performance. It was vintage Zeke.

"But you know that wouldn't have been true," Dr. Yves made a point of saying.

"Of course it wouldn't — but you don't know what that fuck — excuse me, that asshole — did to Casey. He had problems with being gay so everything was Casey's fault. If his father didn't like him it was Casey's fault. I mean, in Roy's head."

"How do you know this, Zeke?"

"Our roommate, Sasha, he was around, he saw it all happen. He saw Roy in action — and then there was this letter that Roy sent to Casey."

"Ah, yes. I have heard about the letter."

Zeke blinked at this information and went on. "Well, Roy basically told Casey that it was all about his father, didn't he? I was afraid that if we didn't do that dinner then Casey would think I was ashamed of him in some way."

"Casey?" Dr. Yves prompted. "What do you think about all this?"

Zeke's eyes were urging him: Come on, Case, I handed this to you, go for it...

"I guess it's true," Casey acknowledged, as though it hadn't occurred to him before.

"Which part?"

"I...I did feel like...if Zeke didn't..." It was so hard to make himself talk, he had to consciously force the muscles of his mouth to activate. "...if he couldn't, or the dinner was a dis — disaster it would be my fault."

"Why would you think that?"

"'Cause...what Zeke told you."

"Zeke? Did you think Casey had any responsibility for how your relationship is with your father?"

"No," Zeke said.

"Casey, did Zeke say or do anything that led you to think that?"

"No," Casey said, meaning it. Zeke had been his usual, dazzling self through that whole episode...so strong, so forgiving and understanding even while he was struggling with his personal barriers about his parents. Dr. Yves had yet to appreciate how very formidable Zeke was, really.

"You understand, Casey, that you are not responsible for Roy's emotions, or his father's, or Zeke's, or Zeke's father's?"

"Yeah."

"But? I hear a 'but'."

"I...I was the reason that Roy and his father didn't get along...if I hadn't been around..."

"If you weren't around, things would have been different for Roy?"

"Wouldn't they?" Casey challenged.

"Actually, I doubt it. Don't you think that if it hadn't been you in Roy's life, it would have been some other young man who got all the blame for Roy's poor relationship with his father?"

That comment was like a blade that cut right through his body. It murdered him.

"It wasn't about you, Casey," Yves finished.

"But...he loved me."

"Is it so important — "

"He did...he did love me."

Zeke suddenly looked at the window, and Casey knew that even now he didn't want to hear this, he didn't want Casey mourning and protesting over Roy. Zeke didn't want Casey to still feel things about that — but Casey couldn't not care, he had to care because if everything had happened without so much as an iota of love...no, it was not acceptable and therefore it was not true.

Dr. Yves said, "Maybe Roy did love you, Casey, I don't know. We can talk about how we define love some other day, but right now my concern is with this persistent belief you have that there is something about you that causes trouble for the people around you — the people who love you."

"I do make trouble."

"Zeke. Is there something in Casey that makes people act up? Is he that different?"

The pause was slight but it was there. Yes, it said.

"No," Zeke said. His eyes caught Casey's for a moment and reassured him You know that's a lie, Case, a total and utter lie but that'll have to stay between you and me while the world at large with all its shrinks can't know it. Zeke added, "But he is special...I think."

"I'm sure you're right," Dr. Yves agreed tolerantly. "You care for him, it's understandable that you would have feelings like that — and we're all special, aren't we, in the sense that we're all unique?"

"Yes," Zeke said absently. His eyes were burning, possessing Casey, promising him...When we get home I'm going to show you just how special I think you are.

The doctor had to interrupt, dispelling the moment. "Was there more about this thing with your father, Zeke?"

"Oh." Zeke dislodged his eyes from Casey's face. "My father asked me to come to his wedding in Los Angeles in a month or so."

"Yes, Casey told me."

"I told him I didn't know because I didn't know if Casey would be able to come."

"And you don't want to go unless Casey goes."

"I can't leave him alone."

"Okay, there's a couple of things here. First of all, if you weren't involved with Casey would you go to L.A., Zeke?"

Zeke shifted uneasy. "Only if — "

"No, Zeke, I said do you want to go. Just you."

Still uneasy, Zeke admitted, "Yes. I do want to — but if I didn't go, I wouldn't be devastated either."

"I understand that. You'd like an opportunity to renew ties with your father but if it doesn't happen it'll be okay."

"Yes," Zeke said, settling down.

"Having said that...I presume it's okay with your father Casey comes with you?"

"Yes."

"When is the wedding?"

"New Year's Day, so I could go and spend Christmas with them too if I wanted. Or I could fly up right after Christmas. I know Casey wants to be with his family for the holidays and they've invited me there too...so it's really awkward."

"And have you asked Casey if he wants to go with you?"

"Not — explicitly."

Dr. Yves turned to Casey. "How do you feel about going to L.A., Casey?"

Well, duh...like he wanted to be in a strange place, a strange bed, looking at strange walls, strangers galore all looking at him, no Sasha... "I'll go," he said quickly.

"But how do you feel about it?"

He didn't look at Zeke as he answered, "Terrified."

"What if Zeke went alone, then, and you had your holiday with your family? How do you feel about that?"

"Terrified."

"Which terrifies you more?"

"They both terrify me more."

Dr. Yves' mouth twitched. She said, "Bear in mind, Casey, that we're talking about something over a month away. You may be feeling different then. Zeke, you don't have to decide right now, do you?"

"I would say no," Zeke answered, "but my father did ask me to let him know as soon as possible. It's a planning thing."

"How so?"

"He wants me to be...like his best man."

"I see."

"But I don't particularly want to do that."

"Then you could tell your father that and he could plan his wedding accordingly. And you'd be free to decide closer to the date of the wedding whether or not you'll be coming."

"I guess I don't owe him much more than that."

"What you owe to him and to yourself, Zeke, is to be honest with him. And remember that choices don't have to be all or nothing. There are a number of different options you and Casey could choose."

"Right."

"Does this help any?"

"Yeah, actually."

"Good. Now, Casey, what I would suggest is don't be hasty about making a decision. We can discuss this more later too."

"Okay," Casey said, more than willing to let the subject drop for a while.

"Let me ask you this, though. Would you be willing to contemplate being apart from Zeke for the entire time that he might be in L.A.? You would be at home with your parents for most of that time, I assume."

"I don't want to go without Casey," Zeke said.

"I appreciate that, Zeke. But I am thinking it could be a very valuable exercise, a way for Casey to practice being — well, not alone because we know he'll be with his parents or with Sasha — but for you and Casey to be apart for a more substantial length of time. I'm sure you're both aware that it isn't necessary for you to be together constantly." Dr. Yves was openly observing Casey and Zeke closely as she dropped her little bomb. She remarked, "I guess that neither of you really like that suggestion."

"Really?" Zeke said, and he was no longer in High Battle Mode. He was in Don't Fuck With Me Mode. "What would make you think that?"

Dr. Yves ignored the sarcasm and answered him literally. "Well, Zeke, you're looking quite hostile to me at this moment. And Casey looks like he expects you to take charge. Are you going to take charge?"

"Yes," Zeke stated. "I am, and I'll tell you why. When Casey was in the hospital before, I had a doctor tell me to my face that I should stop coming around because it was in Casey's best interest. I absolutely refused then and I refuse now."

"What if Casey ever asked you to leave?"

"He won't. Or maybe he will, someday, and if it happens I'll respect that but for right now it's not going to happen. He needs me and I intend to make sure he has me."

Zeke said this while looking directly at Casey, and it wasn't entirely soothing to hear. It should have been a comfort...but it didn't just mean what it sounded like. It meant everything it had meant before, it was I'll never let you go and that was just fine except it also meant I'll determine what you need and deliver it, I'll protect you from your own craziness no matter how it hurts.

"Very well, Zeke. I'm not telling you to do anything though. I'm suggesting a thing that may be a therapeutic experience for both of you, which you can do or not do. For what it's worth, I think it was rather ill-advised of my colleague to try and make you stop seeing Casey. His assessment of the situation may have been accurate, but from a therapeutic standpoint that was not the most productive approach."

Zeke expelled air, calming visibly.

"Have we hashed this point out sufficiently, then, gentlemen?"

"I think so," Zeke answered for them.

Dr. Yves looked to Casey for his agreement and raised her eyebrows when Casey had no response. She said, "I'd like to move on to another topic, then."

"Okay, shoot," said Zeke. He shifted again, resettling into his chair and folding his hands like he was preparing himself to defend his dissertation.

"I was thinking that there you might be able to help us with some information. Casey and I have talked about his anxieties about being around people but we were unable to determine when it really started. He has difficulty remembering and I thought perhaps you could shed some light on this. If it's all right with you, Casey?"

Casey could only shrug and hope that he didn't look too apprehensive. A little part of him was curious to see how Zeke would handle this part without ever touching on alien factors. Maybe by the end Zeke would understand how it made coming here a bit useless and finally give him permission to stop.

"All right, Zeke?" Dr. Yves confirmed.

"I'll try," Zeke said casually.

"You've known Casey quite a while, right?"

"Since high school."

"Do you remember him ever telling you or showing you that he had this fear?"

"Yes, he did tell me one time..."

The memory came easily, Casey sitting across from Zeke eating fries, telling him his worries about aliens. Back then, they only interfered with his sleep, but the more he thought about it as time went on and he went to Cincinnati and everything happened and he came home and everything else happened, the more he realized that people couldn't be trusted to be people —

Modifying history just as required, Zeke said, "He told me he was nervous about people hurting him."

"Which people?"

"Students, mostly."

"Why should he think that?"

"Because they did hurt him, all the time."

"You mean they bullied him?"

"Yes."

"Casey has mentioned this to me but..." Dr. Yves turned a stern expression on him. "You made it sound not all that serious."

Zeke also frowned at Casey, who was perfectly aware that this was a performance for his benefit. This was The Story of Casey Connor as previously spun for Dr. Spadoni. Zeke was showing him how it was done, teaching him his lines — no sweat, be cool, just lay out the selected bits of history.

"How frequent was this bullying, Zeke?" Dr. Yves pressed.

"Daily, just about."

"And what did it consist of?"

"Pushing, hitting...sometimes worse."

"Casey, can you describe worse to me?"

Let's just say the flagpole and me were really close. "They were just always there, always...doing things. If they didn't do things they would say things."

"What sort of things?"

He shook his head, not too keen to relive it. Some of it was stupid, some was painful, and some was just too humiliating to speak about.

"Were you afraid to come to school?"

"Yes."

"But you still came."

"Yes."

"That took some courage."

Casey shrugged.

"You don't think so?"

"I didn't have a choice."

"You could have chosen to skip school, but you didn't."

"My — my parents expected me to — I always had good grades and I didn't want to blow my chances for college."

"Did you tell your parents about the bullying?"

"They didn't want to know about the — about what was going on."

"Did it start then, do you think? The feelings of panic?"

"I don't think so."

Zeke interposed, "But you were always kind of jumpy, Case. I remember that."

"Yeah," Casey conceded.

"That's understandable, isn't it?" said Dr. Yves. "Zeke, when's the first time that you noticed Casey having an anxiety attack?"

"It seems like it got really bad right after the hospital," Zeke mused out loud.

The trap was closing. Casey could see it all around him and there was nothing much that he could do to stop it from happening. He clenched his hands into fists.

Zeke went on, "Although, come to think of it, there were times last summer when he wanted to stay in, but we went out sometimes too and he didn't have panic attacks."

Dr. Yves turned back to Casey. "Would you agree, then, Casey, that it was right after the hospital that this phobia became more severe?"

"Yes," he said, because it seemed that was the truth and he wouldn't be helping his cause by denying it.

"So what happened?"

"When?"

"What happened in that time leading up to the hospital — or was it in the hospital — that made it so much worse?"

Casey felt two sets of eyes burning his face — one in enquiry, one in expectation. "N-Nothing in particular."

Dr. Yves regarded him for a few moments without speaking. Then she looked to Zeke and brazenly asked him, "Do you have any thoughts about this, Zeke?"

And Zeke — Zeke waited way too long before replying and you could be sure it wasn't by accident because Zeke was in top form now, he was in complete control and he would make his decisions on Casey's behalf without regard or reference to what Casey felt about it. He wanted Yves to see his long hesitation. "I don't think so," he answered at last.

"There isn't something that you want to say?"

Casey heard himself break in with, "It — it wasn't any — not any one thing, it just happened...There doesn't have to be a cause."

Dr. Yves nodded at him, but that was the extent of the acknowledgment. "Is there something you want to say, Zeke?" she pressed.

And Casey was seeing into Zeke's mind with complete clarity.

Zeke was face-to-face with the ideal opportunity. He had always wanted healing powers and now they seemed to have been granted to him. Tell Yves that there was a thing with a hotel, tell her that Casey was fucked up about sex and he, Zeke, fretted because Casey seemed to get off on self-destruction and got angry every time Zeke brought it up. This stuff was good for several months worth of therapy at least so it would not only sort Casey out, it would keep Casey and his shrink busy and off the subject of aliens. It was absolutely perfect — notwithstanding the fact that Casey was going to be furious and traumatized but Casey needed Zeke too badly to stay angry at him — and wasn't Zeke brilliant for manipulating this entire conversation to this point.

"Zeke?"

"I want you to know something," Zeke began. "About...the events leading up to the hospital."

"All right."

"Casey doesn't like to talk about this stuff and I know he's going to be pissed at me but..."

I'm going to say it anyway because I'm Zeke Tyler and I know what I know and I know this is for the best.

"...I have to tell you."

Dr. Yves wondered, "Do you know which something he's talking about, Casey?"

"No," he blurted. "I don't."

"Casey," Zeke said. Just like that. Just Casey, and he was betrayed. Casey, don't be so obvious, everyone knows the something is there so don't make yourself ridiculous by denying it.

"You have no right to talk about it!" Casey cried.

"I'm talking about my behaviour here, Casey." Zeke sucked a deep breath, as if there was something about this that was difficult for him, like he knew a fucking thing about difficult. To Dr. Yves he said, "What I want you to know is that...I think I'm responsible for things getting so bad during the summer."

Casey fought to assimilate that statement — okay, it was not exactly what he had been expecting. It had to be a part of the Zeke Tyler Plan, though. Probably just a little texture to make the story more effective.

"How so?"

"We started hanging out a lot this summer and...in a nutshell, I was afraid. I've always been attracted to Casey but I was afraid of what people would think, I didn't want anyone to know."

"Because of his being male?"

"Yeah, and I never thought I would be that stereotypical, I really believed I was totally open-minded until suddenly I was the one who was gay."

"It's still a big adjustment to make."

"I'm telling you this because I want you to understand that I was really not nice to Casey at all. He probably tells you about all the terrible things he thinks he's done to me, but you need to know that I've done things to him." Zeke's voice trembled slightly.

Casey couldn't follow this. It had to be some kind of lure or trick, baited with the suggestion of guilt. He could just stare and listen and wait.

"Go on, Zeke," said Dr. Yves.

"Casey was in trouble and I didn't support him. I didn't — "

"That's not true," Casey blurted, feeling that he had to resist this even if he couldn't see where it went.

"It is true," Zeke insisted. There were even tears in his eyes. "I made my plans to come to Seattle and I never once suggested to you that I wanted you with me. You thought you were alone...I drove you back to Roy."

"No, I wanted — "

"You let him use you, Case."

Casey shook his head furiously. "It wasn't like that, it — "

But Zeke was ignoring him. "Dr. Yves, when I found out that Casey was seeing Roy — "

"I was fucking Roy," Casey spat. "The term is fucking."

" — I was angry and hurt. I'm possessive, I admit that. It's not one of my best qualities. I lashed out at Casey when he was about ready to fall apart. I called him a slut and that was so wrong I can't...it was terribly wrong. And then Casey ran away and the next thing I knew, he was in the hospital. Maybe if I had behaved better, it wouldn't have happened."

Dr. Yves said, "I appreciate you telling me this, Zeke, and I know it isn't easy — but I want you to remember that you are not responsible for the state of Casey's health."

"I just want you to know that he has good reasons for believing that people will leave him."

There was a silence, and then — it seemed to Casey that they both turned on him at exactly the same moment, all the better to pin the specimen in his chair, keep him from moving. And indeed, he couldn't move, he was so caught that he could barely see the outline of his cage but he would involuntarily twitch and thrash a bit and put on a nice little display for them....Poke it there...see, how its legs move? Now try there...Ahhh, fascinating reflexes, poke it some more.

"So Casey, do you agree with Zeke's version of events as he described it just now?"

"No."

"What do you not agree with?"

"Zeke's not responsible for me being in the hospital."

"Who is, then?"

"I am."

"Are you just saying that because you want to get the right answer, Casey? Or do you believe it?"

"I know it."

"Do you know the difference between blaming yourself and taking responsibility?"

"I'm not blaming myself. I just got sick and it's up to me to get better but it's no one's fault, right?"

Dr. Yves tilted her head. "You're a good student, Casey," she commented, and began to scan the notes she had made. They waited while she reviewed her page, searching...considering her next question carefully, how and where to prod him for maximum response. There was nothing to do but wait until she found what she was looking for so when she asked her question, he was already bracing himself.

"Casey, a few minutes ago you said something to Zeke. You said Zeke didn't have the right to tell me something, what did you think he was going to tell me?"

"Nothing," Casey muttered. "Just — what he said."

"I didn't have the impression that it was nothing."

"So don't believe me, then."

"What if I asked Zeke? Could he tell me?"

"He'd love to tell you, but he doesn't know a fucking thing." As much as he wanted to disable the feeling parts of himself right now, it wasn't working; he was rapidly losing containment. He could not remain sitting another second, he was up and ready for flight, but he was just going to make sure she understood a few things first. "He wants to tell you something right now but he would much rather have me do it so he can be the good guy, that's the whole point here!"

"Casey — " Zeke started in his Very Reasonable Voice.

"Don't," Casey warned. He thought he heard a hissing noise...something was about to explode. "Just fucking don't."

Dr. Yves spoke with a voice that must have been developed solely for the purpose of calming rowdy patients while tidily putting them in their place. It was both soothing and firm. It said it wasn't going to take any crap. "It was not my intention to make you feel threatened, Casey, I was only exploring something you said yourself a few minutes ago."

"Fine, and I'm — " His voice had started to wobble. He had to get out. "I'm d-done here."

"Don't leave, please, Casey," he heard as he ran from her office.

He had been thinking to sit in the car until Zeke came out but that was of course nonsense, and not only because the doors were locked. He would not sit in Zeke's car and wait for Zeke to give him a ride. He didn't want to see Zeke or talk to him, and he certainly didn't want any more of Zeke's particular brand of help.

"Should I go after him?" Zeke sighed.

"I think that's up to you," said Casey's shrink. "Do you want to?"

Zeke had been perched on the edge of his chair, ready for pursuit, but in response to her question he subsided. "No," he said slowly. "I'm sure he'll just go home, and I'm in no hurry to start the next battle." He looked up. "I feel like I should apologize."

"That isn't necessary." Dr. Yves folded her hands. "Regardless of how it ended, I think this was a good session. Thank you for coming, Zeke, it's been very helpful. If you're willing, I'd like for you to come to another one."

"Not next time, though."

"I don't think so. Casey and I have some things to talk out together." Checking the time, Dr. Yves said, "We do have a few minutes left. Is there something else you'd like to talk about?"

"You aren't going to ask me what Casey's big secret is?"

"Would you tell me? Of course I would have to share with him whatever you shared with me."

"I know that...and anyway the answer is no."

"All right, then."

"I really was hoping to talk about something that happened the other day. A whole bunch of somethings, actually. And I need some advice about practical things."

"I'm not really in the business of giving advice, Zeke — but tell me about this thing that happened."

"We were in this coffee shop — don't ask me how I got him there, it's a long, sordid story but there we were, Casey, Winona and me."

"Winona?"

"You know who she is, right?"

"Yes." Dr. Yves' mouth wore a wry twist.

"Then you know that she in herself is a big issue."

"Yes, but Zeke, I promised Casey that we would not talk about that issue, and I especially can't do it with Casey not present."

"I see," Zeke remarked. For someone who acted like he was powerless, Casey did a fine job of sewing everyone's mouths up tight. "Fine, I'll just stick to the part that isn't about Winona. What happened was Casey promised that he would do twenty-five minutes in the coffee shop but after ten he wanted to bail. I argued with him and tried to convince him he should stick it out and he got more and more anxious until he was really losing it, and in public too. I was right in the middle of it trying to figure out if I should cave or not and I just didn't know which way to go. I mean, this is just happening to me all the time now. There's the stuff where I say I'd like to go out somewhere and he says go ahead but I know he desperately wants me not to go. Should I do what he says or what I know he really wants?"

After some moments to digest Zeke's ramble, Dr. Yves remarked thoughtfully, "You do have a lot on your plate, don't you, Zeke?"

He shook his head. "Sure, whatever, but I can handle it as long I know that I'm helping him."

"I'm afraid it can't always be that clear. Above all, you need to remember that you aren't responsible for whether Casey is sick or well or happy or sad."

"I know that."

"But from the way you were talking earlier, and just now, it seems that you want to dictate where Casey goes and how long he stays when in fact that is Casey's decision and Casey's alone."

"With all due respect, Doctor..." Zeke had to make an effort to speak evenly. "...I understand the whole I'm-Okay-You're-Okay individual responsibility concept and that's all well and good but I'm in the trenches every day here and I have a million chances to nudge Casey one way or another so I don't want to hear about how Casey is responsible for himself and I'm responsible for myself. I know all that. What I want here is information."

Dr. Yves smiled broadly. "All right, point taken."

"So if Casey says ‘Zeke I want to go home...?'"

"You're going to be frustrated with me, Zeke, but there really is no easy answer. There is a thin line between helping and enabling and it's different in different scenarios. Yes, on one hand it is good for Casey to do what he fears so he can gradually learn that he will be okay...but then there can be a point when the fear becomes so overwhelming that it only reinforces the anxiety. I can't give you a magic checklist that will show you where that point is in any given situation."

Zeke grumbled. "Fine...I guess I should have known that. It just feels like he's testing me sometimes."

"Which is why you should try, as much as possible, to make your decisions based on what feels right for you. Otherwise you turn yourself inside-out trying to second guess everything. And I do think that if you make a decision about something major — such as your trip to L.A. — it would be best if you didn't back out on that." Dr. Yves put her pad of paper aside, and reached for her daytimer. "I'm afraid our time is up now, Zeke. I was going to speak to Casey about his next session but since he's not here...Usually we meet on Thursdays but this week is Thanksgiving of course, and since I'm taking Friday off as well, that really only leaves tomorrow or Wednesday."

"Couldn't you just go until next Monday?"

"We could — although I feel it is probably better not to let too much time lapse before I see him again. Can you ask him to call me so we can sort this out?"

"Sure," he said, wondering how she could speak so calmly of the next session when her patient had just fled her office in a rage.

"I hope I was of some help," she said as he got up to leave.

Zeke tried for a smile. "I suppose it's wrong to expect anything to do with Casey to be simple and easy." He shook her hand. "Thank you."

"Take care, Zeke."

As he had predicted, Casey was not in the waiting room, nor outside on the steps, nor anywhere near the car. Zeke repressed the burgeoning panic and went home, relying on the assumption that he would find Casey there. He did the speed limit, though; as much as he wanted to reassure himself that Casey was all right, he was not looking forward to confronting the aftermath of the past hour.

It appeared that Sasha was not home yet. Zeke took a quick tour of the apartment, expecting to find Casey in the shower or in the bedroom under his afghan — but Zeke eventually discovered him sitting up on the roof, huddled in one of the wicker chairs. He did not look up or even acknowledge Zeke.

"Case."

Nothing. Not a twitch.

Zeke sat down in the second chair. He said, "Casey, if you're mad at me be a grown-up about it, don't give me this silent treatment crap."

In reply, Casey kicked the small, metal table, knocking it over. If he wanted to demonstrate how very irrational and immature he could be, he was succeeding very well. Zeke merely watched the table fall, then asked, "Do you feel a little better now that you've assaulted an inanimate object?"

"Maybe," Casey growled.

"Are you going to talk to me?"

"No."

"Are you staying up here, then? Because I'm going to be in the apartment a lot over the next few weeks and I don't need some passive-aggressive person glaring at me every time I turn around."

Casey sat forward, trembling, staring at Zeke with such intense anger that Zeke began to ready himself to receive some new bruises. It didn't seem like Casey was going to use his mouth at all — but then it went off like a gun: "If you don't like it then maybe you shouldn't have said what you said. Maybe you should never have come at all so — and you're not coming with me again — so she could be all what do you think Zeke and do you agree with that Zeke while I'm fucking sitting right there! What a relief that the freak took off so you could have a real conversation with her!"

Zeke commanded himself not to react. "Casey," he said. "I didn't tell her a fucking thing."

"I was right there, I'm not deaf."

"I didn't tell her anything."

"Only that there was something to be told!"

"Well, isn't there?"

"No!" Casey screamed at him.

"Are you going to tone it down?"

"No!"

"All right, yell, then," Zeke retorted. "But I just gave you a fucking gift — a real issue that you can discuss with her."

Casey jumped up so he was in a position to shout down at Zeke. "Maybe you could stop trying to help me, how about that!"

"I was helping you, Casey."

"That's what you think! Every time you meet with a shrink, I get fucked over!"

Zeke attempted to ignore how much that hurt. "I can't believe you think that...I only want to — "

" — to help me, yeah...I told you before, I told you and I told Sasha...There is nothing to talk about, do you get me?"

"Yeah," Zeke replied, controlling himself with an effort. "I get you, but here's the thing, Casey. That's a lie. There is something and it's a huge part of the problem. I'm not going to tell you what I know about it because it wouldn't do us any good right now, but you should know that I've figured some things out. So you needn't go around thinking it's some big secret that no one else can even guess at."

From the look on Casey's face, the possibility that Zeke knew exactly what had gone on between himself and Roy was unthinkable. It was not to be contemplated.

"I'm not asking you to have a conversation about it with me," Zeke said. "Just please — please — can you talk about it with her and no one else will ever have to hear about it. It can just be between you and her. You won't have to fight her every week and worry about her finding out about the aliens because it has nothing to do with them. This is something you can really work on with her."

"You don't know," Casey said, nearly crying. "You don't know."

"I guess I don't," Zeke said tiredly.

"Zeke, I can't."

"I heard you."

"Can't go back there."

Zeke was exhausted, in fact. "Do we have to keep having this discussion?"

"C-can't go back, it just isn't working, Zeke, please, there's nothing to talk about — "

"You have things to talk about, lots of things," Zeke insisted. Casey started to walk away from him, heading towards the stairs and Zeke caught his arm. "Case — "

Casey cringed away from him, yanking his arm so hard that it seemed he would have willingly left the limb behind to get away. "Let me go!" he cried.

Zeke obeyed instantly but remained in Casey's space. Maybe he would let some things go, but not the essential point. "You have lots of things to talk about," he reiterated.

"I'm going to..." Tremors tore through Casey and his face shuddered with the things that he was desperately holding behind it. "To...have a shower."

Zeke did not follow Casey down the stairs. He was not done, no fucking way was he done yet but he would give Casey twenty minutes before he went in to fetch him. It was more than long enough for a cigarette.

When Zeke was done smoking that cigarette, he went downstairs and waited at the kitchen table. Perhaps he should have spent the time strategizing, but his mind was curiously empty. He had no idea what he was going to say or do; he only knew that he wasn't done talking yet.

Only fifteen minutes had passed when he heard the door open and Casey came out to the dining area. He was still dressed, his hair dry; it seemed he had not been in the shower at all. He stood in front of Zeke and said, his manner miraculously both submissive and defiant, "What if I told her about the aliens?"

Zeke's head gave a painful throb. Frowning, he took a few extra seconds with that statement but he couldn't solve it, no matter how he worked with it. "I'm confused," he admitted at last. "Did you say...you want to tell her about the aliens?"

"No," Casey said. He pinned Zeke with a glare so that there could be no doubt about why he was saying this. "Don't want to. Just — maybe I will."

It took a moment for it to sink in all the same, but once it did, it had Zeke on the move. He was out of his chair and advancing on Casey, demanding, "Is that some kind of threat? Are you trying to tell me you would talk to her about aliens to avoid telling her about what Roy did to you?"

"N-No, that's not it — not — "

Casey took a frantic step back, but Zeke was quicker and he wasn't letting him get away. He got both hands on Casey's shoulders, imprisoning him. "I think it is."

"I — "

"Or is this is some new, subtle attempt to disappear on me, Casey? Because it's not going to work."

"I was just thinking — "

"Well, stop it." Casey was a brilliant thinker, of course. His thoughts were prolific, fascinating, they rocked — unless it had something to do with his own well-being, in which case he seemed incapable of being anything but counter-productive.

"I still have to tell her something," Casey argued. "I have to or we'll sit there — like — and she's supposed to help me but she can't — it's not fair to her. I have to give her something to work with."

"So you tell her about Roy."

Still trapped in Zeke's grasp, Casey actually stamped his foot. "Tell her what?" His mouth formed a tight, trembling line.

"You know what."

"I've — already told her everything I'm going to tell her about Roy."

"Okay," Zeke said, panting with rage. "Tell her whatever bullshit you like but get this through your head — you are not talking to her about the aliens!"

Casey tugged himself, trying unsuccessfully to break Zeke's grip. "You think you're ordering me..."

Zeke gritted, "If you want to call it that. I call it me stopping you from doing something completely insane." Casey made yet another attempt to separate himself from Zeke; Zeke let him go absolutely nowhere, this time clamping down on his upper arms and dragging him even closer. "You want me to remind you what it was like?" he pressed. "I don't know how it's possible, but maybe you've forgotten what it's like to have every person in the country think that you're crazy."

"I'm only talking about telling one person," Casey muttered.

Zeke could feel the danger all around him. He was drowning in it. "No, you're only talking about how to avoid talking about the bigger issues — and you're trying to scare me into backing down, but I can't, Casey." Completely without warning, sobs tried to take control of his voice. "I can't — I can't lose you — and — if I have to be the bad guy to stop that from happening, I will."

"What would you do?" Casey asked. He said it without his former defiance, almost resigned but still testing the limits, his voice thick with tears but steady.

"Don't ask me, Case. Let's just say you know and I know that I have ways to do it."

It took an eternity to hear an answer, during which Zeke was staring into the face of mutual assured destruction. Casey could choose not to back down. Regardless of what Zeke did or said, Casey could still act and once he did Zeke would no longer have any leverage against him. He could do as he threatened but he'd have nothing left with which to threaten. Zeke was counting on Casey's desperate addiction to silence and his fear of being alone — and Casey knew it. He knew that Zeke was deliberately using his anxieties against him. He knew that Zeke was a bully.

It only took one word for Casey to submit. "Okay."

Zeke wasn't satisfied. "Okay, what?"

"Okay, I won't tell her."

Zeke nodded, releasing Casey. He didn't dare say thank you. He didn't dare a comforting touch. Anything he did would make his actions that much more brutal so he stood by and watched as Casey rubbed his wrists slowly, not looking at Zeke.

"I need some Tylenol," Zeke rasped, not sure why he was announcing it. He couldn't be hoping for Casey to feel sorry for him. He went to the medicine cabinet, and then, lacking the courage for anything else, he went up for a smoke. He noted in passing that Casey was still standing exactly where he had been, still not looking at Zeke.

When Zeke came downstairs again he immediately recognized the dialogue from some of the early scenes from Casablanca. He told himself to stop being a fucking coward and walked into the living room.

Casey had pulled the curtains to create a dim, womb-like setting, and Zeke saw that he was a dark bundle on the couch, arms around his shins, hands holding onto the hems of his pants. His gaze was dull and resolute on the screen. He blinked in Zeke's direction briefly, then returned to his viewing of one of the classics without a hint of acknowledgment or welcome.

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